"Do we have a good sex life?" Beca said, out of the blue.

She didn't know how or why the thought had popped into her head, really, but it did and Beca decided to say it. Maybe she was just thinking aloud. Maybe saying it really had been a conscious decision. She didn't really know. Whatever the case, there was no taking it back now she'd spoken it aloud.

Aubrey blinked, face blank.

It was understandable.

They were in Aubrey's room enjoying each other's silent company. Aubrey had cleared her already immaculate desk for Beca so that she could sit her laptop on it and spread various sheets of paper around in the hope exposure to sheer volume of knowledge would help it sink in a little be before any of the big exams came up. Beca's method of studying was not the most space-efficient.

It had been the whole reason these hang-outs had started, actually. When Beca had finally begun putting effort into school after she came to the realisation she'd be staying on in college, she's been frantic and defaulted to the tried and true 'absorb everything at once by putting it everywhere' method that had proven serviceable in high school. Kimmy Jin was less that amused. When she recounted the story, Aubrey had just laughed and offered up a practical solution, as Aubrey usually did.

Wondering if Aubrey was waiting for Beca to clarify herself, she said, "Am I bad at sex?"

"No," Aubrey replied a little too quickly. "Of course not."

Aubrey was sprawled out on her bed in a rare moment of serene disorder. She was flicking through a textbook armed with a highlighter in her hand and a pencil tucked behind her ear, lost a little bit in the messy curls that were spilling out of her lazily done bun. She would have been the picture of calm if it wasn't for the way her fingers twitched, awkward and hyper-active, over the corner of the page.

"But am I good at sex?" Beca said.

Aubrey took a second to reply. "Sure you are."

"Why did you pause?"

"I didn't pause."

"You paused!"

"I was just finishing a sentence. I didn't want to lose my place in the book."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"So I'm good at sex?"

"..." said Aubrey. "Okay, let's not go that far."

"So you lied and I'm not good at sex?"

Aubrey paused. For sure this time. Beca was counting the seconds. Diplomatically, she responded, "You're eighteen."

It was the tone that Beca hated hearing her use. The exasperated, 'you're so cute and unworldly' tone that sent Beca back to high school and all the times she spent with hopeless crushes on seniors who played in indie rock bands in their spare time. She bragged, "On a scale of one to twenty?"

Aubrey bit her lip, maybe to keep from bursting into laughter. It was showing in the corner of her eyes. Beca felt her cheeks flush and immediately regretting saying anything, joke or not.

"More like thirty," Aubrey said.

"Oh." Beca swallowed. "Well, that's not so—"

"Five," Aubrey added airily. Then, quickly, she added, "Thirty-five. Or maybe thirty-nine. More like thirty-nine."

Beca's math had grown little iffy from disuse but she was pretty sure eighteen out of thirty-nine was under fifty percent. That was to say, a failing grade. A non-majority vote. It implied that, in general, Beca was not doing well on the sex front. (Oh, god. Sex front? What the hell, no wonder Aubrey didn't think she was that good at it! Sex front. Jesus. Fuck. Stupid brain.)

Aubrey must have noticed some signs of an internal struggle because her posture softened and her face became apologetic. "You know I'm only teasing. You get an A for the enthusiasm."

"Not effort?"

"No, I'd probably have to give you a C for effort," Aubrey said. "You seem to be under the impression it all goes a lot faster than it actually does, which would make sense, really, the more I think about it."

Beca buried her face in her hands. She heard the bed creak as Aubrey, presumably, climbed off it. Choking down something that sounded suspiciously like a snicker, she slung an arm around Beca's shoulders and sighed.

"You're getting there," she said, rubbing soothing circles into Beca's back. "And, anyway, I thought you were enjoying yourself."

"I am. Were. Is. Whatever," Beca said.

"So it's good. We're good. There's not one definitive right way of doing it, Beca." She leaned down so her head was tucked into Beca's shoulder and Beca could feel her breathing and hear her heartbeat. "Besides, I've been enjoying myself."

"Yeah," Beca said. She allowed herself a small smile. "I mean, I guess it's better than just your hand, right?"

Aubrey tensed and replied, "Yeah, sure, let's go with that."

"Really?" Beca deadpanned, turning her head. Her chin bopped Aubrey's forehead and the blonde recoiled with a pout, rubbing the injured spot.

"Really what?"

"Really your hand is better?"

"It's not your fault," Aubrey started. "I've very good with my hands. My hands and I have been acquainted for far longer than you and I have been."

"Your hands?" Beca said.

Aubrey frowned. "Don't talk as if you don't appreciate them too."

Beca felt her face heat up again, even worse this time if that was possible, at the thought of Aubrey's long, slender fingers and the many uses of them. Aubrey just snickered again and the noise was like a wind chime.

"It's not funny!"

"Okay, okay," Aubrey conceded, hands in the air just to emphasise the point. "Really, it is okay. I wasn't lying. I really do enjoy being with you."

"I— I think I should go."

"Beca," Aubrey pleaded.

"I would like to go," Beca said. "I want to leave."

Aubrey looked her over. Beca did her best to project an air of resolute confidence even if she was shaking inside. Finally, Aubrey rubbed the her temple and let out a breathe in a deep exhale through her nose: a sigh that didn't want to be.

"Okay," Aubrey said. "I'll walk you back to your hall."

Beca couldn't stop thinking about it. She'd politely turned down Aubrey's offers for more study-date/hangout times, but she didn't want to give Aubrey the wrong impression and so answered every concerned text she received. She just wanted a little space to think. As of late, most of her thoughts tended to centre back to Aubrey, but now they were distinctly soured.

At least she still had the radio station.

Being a music producer and having her works play on an actual radio station had been staples of all her lofty dreams for years now. Sitting there, behind the desk with the 'On Air' sign lit up was such a rush. The school was entering an end-of-year lull and, after her run on the station during spring break, Luke had judged her capable enough to take a few more of his shifts.

They were more like ships passing each other in the night now. Luke was still cordial in the way a cool boss was, but it was more in the way of inquiring about the weather or her day or if she wanted him to grab her a sandwich for lunch while she had to stack CDs than anything grand. Still, Luke had granted her free-run of the station in her shifts, trusting that she'd maintain something that kept up with the WBUJ radio sound.

It was nice, in a way. Beca felt like it was a little step forward in her trek to adulthood. She'd entered Barden resigned, brimming with the sort of confidence you had when you'd only sketchily thought through a dream. LA still rang around her dreams at night and music was still the only thing she ever wanted to do for the rest of her life, but now all the 'What If' possibilities rattled through as well. Being with Aubrey made her acutely aware of just how much of a rift in priorities four years could make.

Aubrey made off-hand comments about her day, maybe in an effort to overcome her nature and share because they were as forced as anything she'd ever said, but they were about jobs and the awful superintendent in her apartment complex or that time she had to file her taxes. She spent her evenings e-mailing people she'd met on internships or networking events, clipping out articles from newspapers or looking for part-time jobs or combing through her receipts and entering things into that budgeting ledger she kept beside her bed. Aubrey was practically an adult. Aubrey had a list of things she'd make for dinner across the week and a grocery list pinned to the fridge. Beca had trouble figuring out how to feed herself at the end of the day and still thought eating ice cream for dinner was novel.

It was just a little alienating.

But Beca still had a job, and a dream and enough knowledge about music (she hoped) to go get that dream. She didn't know how networking worked or how to bully an exec into listening to her music but she could get there. Beca was determined. She had four years to make a start on LA and four years to keep practicing, to keep improving, to keep doing what she loved in a place with friends and new opportunities. Barden and Georgia weren't Portland, not in the slightest. Beca figured she could use the practice in flying away from the roost, even if she'd admit it to absolutely no one.

She got to the station earlier than her shift entailed. Strangely, Luke wasn't at the station when she got there. It was fine, really, because Luke wasn't one to turn down extra work. He practically lived in the place himself in the times when he wasn't off doing who knows what. He went about his work in extreme binaries, either lingering around the place the whole time or being conspicuously absent for a while. Beca asked him once and he said he did his best work in spurts. 'Marathons of inspiration', he called them and for a second Beca could smell the stink hipster douche that Jesse joked hung around the guy.

Beca had gotten her way through making inventory of the vinyls in one lot of shelves in the station when the door creaked open and Luke sauntered in.

"Beca," he greeted neutrally.

"Hey, Luke."

He plonked down a cup of coffee on to the table, next to a pile of CDs she was stacking.

"Here you go," he said. "I don't think anyone should be up this early in the morning."

Beca chuckled. "Did Jesse ruin your evening last night with all his talking?"

"If only it were that simple," Luke said. "I had to pull an all-nighter, so I got some coffee on my way here. I thought I might as well get some for you too."

"How considerate."

Luke didn't notice her tone, or maybe he just ignored it. He was a had guy to read. British stiff upper-lip and all. Beca got a uncomfortable when stereotypes like that had truth in them. She wasn't sure if she should be amused or disappointed.

Luke continued pulling CDs off shelves and into his crate. Then he ducked back into the booth to retrieve another crate, this one also filled with a loose pile of albums, this time, Beca observed, mostly soppy love ballads and David Foster compilations.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Beca said. Truthfully, she just wanted a neutral dumping ground for her and some advice with Aubrey but she figured she could be a little considerate and try and offer something back to Luke in return. Or butter him up. One or the other. If she could kill two very well-cut birds with one stone, all the better.

Luke grimaced. He paused for a bit, then said. "I heard my ex was seeing someone."

"Oh," Beca said. "Too fast?"

"We broke up a while ago." He rubbed his neck. "For a long time I was just mad at her. I just made myself busy with work and school and we're alike in a lot of ways, so it seemed like she was doing the same. It wasn't anything special, probably, but it felt like it could have been."

"So, you just got over it? Since it didn't matter?"

"Some things don't end messy or cleanly," he said. "They just sort of end. It just goes to figure. That's what happens when you just assume things are going well. I should have tried harder, maybe. We both should have. Talked, or did something."

He ran a hand through his hair. "It's pathetic really. It's been long enough. I just haven't been looking. When we were together, we fought a lot so I guess a part of me just thought we'd get back with each other again eventually. It was just easy. We were easy. I don't think the break up ever really set in right."

"That sucks," Beca said.

"Hnn," Luke replied, lingering over the soundtrack to Titanic before shaking his head and deciding better. He took a second, but then he added, as a polite afterthought, "What about you?"

"Relationship woes," Beca said. "Same as you."

"Well, you've got to cut Jesse some slack. Boy like him, girl like you? He's bound to be a little nervous. Gotta let him relax. It's a lot to step up to."

"Jesse? What? No. I'm not dating Jesse."

"Has that ship sailed and sunk already?" Luke said. "I guess I don't have worry about that desk anymore."

"Jesse and I decided we were better off just friends. It was getting weird when we tried something else."

"Of course it did."

"Really, it did."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me."

"It did," she stressed.

"Okay, okay," Luke said. He raised his hands in mock surrender.

Beca rolled her eyes. "Aubrey's not really making things easy for me."

Luke snapped to attention. The same way he asked if Beca was really an a cappella girl and had flight attendant training, he asked, "Aubrey? Aubrey Posen?"

"You know her?"

He nodded. "You're seeing Aubrey?"

"Yeah," Beca said. "Is that a problem?"

"Oh," Luke said. "No. No, of course not. It's just I— Never mind. That was rude."

Of course he'd pick this moment to develop a stong sense of propriety.

"No," Beca said. "Go on. It's just what?"

Luke looked pensive. "It's just I didn't really think you were her type."

"A girl?"

"What?" said Luke, snapping out of whatever brooding trance he'd just been in. "What? No. That's not the surprising part. Everyone knows Aubrey's bi."

'Everyone knew except me, apparently,' Beca thought. She had a piano and her own lack of decent hand-eye coordination to thank for thatparticular revelation.

"So what?" Beca said.

"You're just not that...preppy. That's the word, right? To describe Aubrey?"

"I guess it fits...?"

"Yeah," Luke said. "Preppy. Clean-cut. Nice girl next-door sort of deal. I thought that was Aubrey's thing. More like, uh, who's that redhead friend of hers again? Do you know her? Blue eyes, always really cheerful... Carol?"

"Chloe?"

"Right. Chloe."

"You think Aubrey and Chloe have a thing?" Or maybe it should have been 'thought' they had a thing. Still had a thing? Would have a thing at some point in future? Shit.

"Not really," he grumbled. "I just thought when I heard Aubrey was seeing a girl, it'd be her." Finished with selecting CDs, he dropped the crate full of them back onto the table, queuing Beca to sort through them without even having the decency to ask about it. It was an implicit order at this point.

"Hmm," Beca mused.

"Anyway, congrats about it."

"Congrats?"

"Yeah," Luke said. "With Aubrey. Good luck, too."

Beca paled. "Why would I need good luck?"

"It's not bad. It's just...luck. Good luck. Aubrey's a bit much to handle for the best of us."

Beca flared up, indignant, on her behalf. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Luke raised his eyebrow at the display. "I didn't mean anything bad by it. Aubrey's just a hard girl to please. Anyone would have difficulty keeping up with her."

"Oh," Beca said. It sounded like a disturbingly accurate description of their relationship as it was unfolding. She swallowed.

Luke's gaze flicked up from the shelves of CDs just a long enough to catch it. Awkwardly, he patted her on her arm.

"Well, don't be discouraged," Luke said. "More experienced men— excuse me — people have treaded where you've treaded with less luck."

To Beca, it sounded an awful lot like 'I hope you don't get eaten alive'. Eaten in the bad way. It did not inspire much in the way of hope, but Luke was not a particularly inspirational sort of fellow.

He went on. "And whatever happens, you'll always have music. You've got talent and talent doesn't need company to shine."

Like Aubrey? Aubrey who had all her shit together and a million other things going for her and a set date for graduation with a thousand plans and contingencies for dealing with the real world?

"The music industry can be brutal, but don't let anyone ever tell you your ambitions are a pipe dream. The stuff you make is good. If you don't believe in yourself, just remember other people think you can do it. Don't turn back."

Luke paused. He must have noticed her silence. With a sympathetic glance, he said, "The trick is persistence."

"Are we— We're still talking about Aubrey, right?"

"We're still talking about Aubrey."

When she got back to her room, the thought was still ringing around her head. Persistence, huh? Beca still wasn't sure if Luke knew anything about what he was preaching on the topic of if his advice was a case of careful sabotage, but she thought a lot about the topic.

It seemed out of character for Aubrey to let Beca get by with lackluster sex-performance. (Oh, shit, there she went again. It was a good thing Aubrey wasn't into dirty talk, because Beca would be hopeless. Wait. Was Aubrey into dirty talk? If she was, Beca was both terribly under-researched and horrible unprepared. Those two things, in combination, would not help her situation with Aubrey.)

Anyway, Aubrey didn't abide by incompetence in any other aspect of her life. Why here? Why Beca? Who was settling, really?

What would she have done if she were Aubrey (no-nonsense, endlessly pragmatic and a go-getter from the start) faced with herself (young, awkward and bitingly sarcastic, perhaps to the detriment of proper performance, all bluster and show) in this situation (i.e. the bedroom)?

Well, it was probably key not to scare anyone off with perceived insults at their sexual prowess (and it was at this thought Beca decided she'd never be able to dirty talk if her life depended on it). Then again, between the hardheaded personalities involved and less than stellar control over word choice, bringing up the subject would be awkward. Awkward on a super painful scale of awkwardness. An indirect route would have be taken. There would be positive reinforcement, because Beca hated being told what to do. Small changes over time, just a nudge here and a hint there until Beca would think it was her own idea. Beca did her best learning on the job, doing things, so it'd probably trial and error anyway, and in the mean time, actual demonstrations would be better than talking because Beca really was a 'show' instead of a 'tell' girl. That would, of course, necessitate, a lot of doing and not too much dwelling on the days she couldn't quite get it.

So, essentially, Beca thought with a dawning comprehension, what Aubrey had been doing all along before Beca's sudden question.

Great. Now she felt bad.

If she hadn't gone and messed up Aubrey's perfect plan with her random questions, they probably would have been in Aubrey's room right now having fantastic sex. Or what Beca thought was fantastic sex. For her, anyway. Whatever.

Actually, no. What was she thinking? It wasn't her fault Aubrey hadn't chosen to be upfront about the whole. It wasn't her job to censor her thoughts and feelings for a relationship. If it was her fault, it was just as much Aubrey's.

Only Aubrey had been nothing but apologetic when she'd realized she crossed a line and sent Beca a flood of worried, frantic texts (still, somehow, with perfect spelling and grammar, probably because of how Aubrey obsessed over conveying her message). Then, after Beca had rejected enough of her offers to talk, she's tried to give Beca some space to think it out, only sending an occasional line to check in on her.

It wasn't like Beca had been ignoring any of those forms of contact. Beca had been texting back, and keeping Aubrey informed and thinking about their relationship and—

Okay. So maybe it wasn't anyone's fault. Maybe it was just a thing that happened. Or maybe it was everyone's fault and there was no point in laying blame.

God, relationships were hard.

Beca gulped and dialed Aubrey's number on her phone.

"I'm glad you called," Aubrey said.

Beca had elected for the two of them to meet up in the Bellas' Practice Hall. It brought things full circle, in a way, since it was the first place they'd ever confessed their feeing for one another.

Maybe it was a little too full circle, though, because Aubrey was squirming like she was about to have her head cut off. Beca cringed. This would be the sort of semi-public place that would make dumping someone easy enough. Beca only hoped Aubrey didn't think she was cruel enough to do something like that in the place their relationship started. (But then again, it was also the place they fought and had the worst of arguments when they were rehearsing for the ICCAs so maybe there was something in that and now Beca was starting to regret her choices.

"I'm glad you came," Beca said abruptly, after the quiet stretch out too long.

Aubrey let out a timid smile. "Are we still, uh, an us?"

"Us? Oh, uh, yes! Yeah! Of course we are! I— Did you?" She swallowed. "Did you think I'd—"

Aubrey just kept looking down.

"Oh. Oh, shit. I'm sorry. That's not what I—"

"It's stupid," Aubrey said. "My fault, anyway. Forget it. I was being dumb."

"No, no you weren't. I should have—" Beca sighed. "Look. Let's just talk about what happened."

"That's what I wanted to do," Aubrey said, tersely, knuckles gripped bone white around the edge of a chair she was leaning against in an attempt to seem casual.

Beca tried not to rise to the bait. The last thing they needed was a real fight, even if everyone's nerves were raw. She was proud she did too.

"I don't need to be convinced I'm great in the sack to stick around," Beca said and cringed. "I mean, you can actually tell me if something's bothering you."

"It's not your—" Aubrey looked caught somewhere between crying and laughing. "I just— It felt like I was just giving you another reason to leave."

"Aubrey, how does that even make sense?"

"It really isn't you. It's me. It's been the same in every relationship I've ever had." She turned to look up and away at the lights hanging from the ceiling. Her shoulders sank. "It's not easy for me to get, uh, how should I put this, get into it like that. I mean I can—" She laughed nervously and rested her head in her hand, cheeks ruddy with colour. At least, it would have sounded like a laugh if it wasn't so bitter. "It just takes a while to actually get there. I don't even like— The build up's better for me. I mean it took me years to figure out how to actually get to orgasm on my own, let alone to get someone else to do it for me and— It's just hard. I'm not really— I don't enjoy sex that way."

Beca shifted uncomfortably. "You don't enjoy—"

"No, no," Aubrey protested. "No, I mean, I like sex. It's fun. I like the feeling. Physically, I get what's going on. I understand where the fun in it's supposed to be coming from. I just like the other parts of it more. The other person. Making the other person feel someone. I like the giving more than the receiving, and even then, I guess the receiving's more fun because I know the person I'm with is—

"I'm sorry. This probably doesn't make much sense. What I'm trying to tell you is that I like the feelings. The emotional part of it. I can appreciate the physical part. It's stress relieving. I like that too. But it's not my favourite part. It's not what I need from you. It's not something you should think you need to be doing.

"I like you, Beca. A lot. That's— That's basically what I'm trying to tell you."

Beca's eyes weren't getting wet. No, they definitely weren't. "You're so corny," she said. "God, I don't know how I put up with you."

Aubrey smiled. "I don't know how you do it either."

"But, if that's it, then why didn't you just tell me about it?"

Aubrey's nose crinkled. Beca was distracted by how adorable it looked.

"We both have trouble with letting other people in," Aubrey finally settled on saying.

"I'm working on that," Beca said.

"Me too." Aubrey rubbed her arm. Her fingers looked like they wanted something to fidget with, and it made Beca regret asking to take the pitch piper from her before the year was really out.

Should she say something? Or was Aubrey working up the courage to say something herself? Beca wasn't sure. It wasn't like their usual silences, comfortable and easy. It was loaded and not with any sort of lust or tempers.

"It's stupid," Aubrey said suddenly. "It's stupid. I know it shouldn't let it get to me so much. When I was younger, I dated— well, sort of dated — this guy. I'd had sex before, and with him it was pretty much the same, I think." Another bitter laugh. "Isn't that stupid? I can't even remember. Aubrey Posen with the perfect memory and a head for details.

She shook her head ruefully and went on. "Anyway, sometimes I couldn't— He made it seem like it was my fault. Like I wasn't trying, or I didn't want him, or I was defective. We broke up, but I think I've been carrying that with me for a while. And every person I've ever dated has been having to try and prove that guy wrong without every knowing that was what they needed to do. I don't think it was fair to any of us. He just—" Her voice cracked. "I think about what he said a lot."

"That guy was a jerk," Beca said. "You deserved better. I'll kick his ass."

Aubrey laughed. It was a sound like bells ringing. The sound made Beca smile a bit back.

"Here," Aubrey said, wrapping her arms around Beca. Her fingers dipped into the waistband Beca's low-riding jeans. "Let me make it up to you."

Beca swatted her hands away. "Uh, no. That's what got us into this whole mess in the first place—" (She ignored the way Aubrey was rolling her eyes) "—and anyone I want to make things up to you."

Aubrey allowed to Beca pushed them towards a seat, chuckling as they went. "Sex in the rehearsal hall is becoming a bad habit of ours."

"Not a bad habit," Beca replied. She moved to fumble with the zipper on Aubrey's dress.

"You know you don't have to do that," Aubrey cut in. "The dress was for easy access."

"Someone was confident in themselves today."

"I was being optimistic."

"Well, I'd like to unwrap my gift anyway. Foreplay's an important part of the process, isn't it?"

"You don't have to—"

"I'd like to," Beca said quietly. "I'd really like to. I mean, god, Aubrey. You make me feel—" She closed her eyes and tried to figure out the words. "When you touch me, it's just like— I feel less alone. I feel wanted. I feel amazing. I just— Let me make you feel like that too. Please, Aubrey. I just— I need to show you I—"

"Hey, hey, shh," Aubrey soothed. "You don't have to say it. I know."

"You do?"

Aubrey smiled dryly. "I can guess."

'But not all the time and not without doubting,' Beca thought. Christ, Aubrey had been wondering if Beca wanted to break up with her. Guessing wasn't going to be enough. Aubrey lived by actions and evidence. Beca knew because she was the same. She'd lived with the knowledge a thousand phone calls and apologies a words from her father wouldn't make up for the hugs and lazy mornings and stupid jokes he should have made, but didn't because he wasn't there.

Beca's hands trembled on Aubrey's hips. "I want to show you. I want to do it right."

"Beca," Aubrey said. "There's no right, you just—"

"Then let me be better."

Beca could feel Aubrey tense underneath her. Then, just as quickly, she relaxed and leaned towards Beca. Her fingers ran through Beca's hair, sorting out the messy tangle of waves.

"Okay," Aubrey said. She placed a kiss on Beca's temple. "Okay. But not here. Not like this."

Beca didn't remember when her breath got so ragged. She tried to speak, tried to say something back to Aubrey so she'd know she wasn't being rejected or ignored but her throat was frozen and her tongue felt betrayed by the awful wrenching in her gut. It must have been a lot like Aubrey felt all the time, she thought. Maybe it was ironic in a way.

"Not now," Aubrey said again, a little more clearly. "Not like this."

Beca nodded. "We're going to be okay," she said.

"We're going to be okay."