This Could Be Just Like Heaven (Don't Throw It All Away)
Pairing: Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale
Movie: Pitch Perfect (series)
Rating/Warnings: T ~ M, no smut, femslash, slightly A/U, mentions of canon.
Disclaimer: Nothing owned, nothing gained, only prose is mine.
Summary: In which Beca Mitchell gets the life she wants but realizes maybe it's not all it's cracked up to be.
Chapter 1
Beca Mitchell almost misses the plane by a second.
Almost.
But the cab driver seemed almost like something straight out of a "Fast and the Furious" movie, hitting the gas and slamming on the breaks furiously, shifting gears like his life depended on it, ignoring traffic lights and the annoyed drivers he passes by. The palm trees, the cars and shoppers and shops selling designer products are a blur. From afar, she can see the famous "Hollywood" sign.
In what seems like seconds, in which she feels like her life seems to have flashed before her eyes, she is at the airport, private jet waiting, tiny, impatient pop star, publicist, manager, and massive, muscled, impassive pop star bodyguard in tiny, black shirt, glasses and jeans and the rest of the entourage waiting.
She gets out of the cab, instructing the cab driver to "wait here" while the driver triumphantly says, "Told ya I'd take you here fast."
They meet half-way,blonde pop star in glasses and entourage and her, bodyguard taking the flash drive from her at a snap of the finger from the pop star. Another snap of the finger and a large pair of Beatz headphones are handed to her along with a Mac book. No sound is made as the Mac book is opened, flash drive inserted and Beca's mix is played to said pop star.
Pop star says nothing. Her face - smooth, made up to within an inch of its life, with an aquiline nose and icy blue eyes - expressionless, intent on the song. No one else says anything and it is as if time itself has stopped. Beca realizes her heart has been hammering away in her chest since the pop star had her manager call Beca's agent and a request to make another demo for her new album. The first time pop star asked Beca to collaborate with her, Beca had been thrilled. This was it. Her big break. Professional validation. Before this she'd been mixing and playing in clubs and doing tours and establishing a reputation in the underground as the next hotshot DJ. Her name and music started popping up in blogs, videos, social media, even reddit, being discussed along with other DJs as one of the up-and-coming artists, generating a buzz that was making her agent very, very happy. What they needed, her agent said, was a big name star who would attach herself to Beca and her projects, somebody to validate her. Her agent had been working on introducing her to these famous musicians and she'd had no luck until pop star came along and heard an earlier bootleg mix of Beca's.
Beca'd been surprised that pop star showed any interest in her music at all. Pop star (her agent had asked her to stop referring to their paycheck as "pop star" to which Beca had snarkily said someone who refuses to get a real name and insists on everyone calling them Kitty Fantastique would have to just settle to being referred to as pop star instead - an answer that earned her an eye roll) was not only interested, she wanted to collaborate. Beca hadn't wanted to at first. Pop star was what you would call a commercially successfully but critically derided and oft-dismissed star whose music was never really ever going to be taken seriously. She made her name via youtube, was signed after placing second in a singing contest, put out her first song, an awful, steaming pile of cow dung entitled "Forgiveness" that had no rhyme or reason behind it and made her first million amidst scathing reviews that called her album a rotten piece of hackneyed shit and her a talentless hack. So you could understand why Beca didn't want to be associated with her. She wanted to be taken seriously. She wanted people to listen to her music. But she also needed exposure and, as her agent said, "Lord knows we need that paycheck". So she did one collaboration with pop star, and that one song became a worldwide hit and made pop star, Beca, both their agents and their recording companies very, very happy.
They were now on their nth album, and Beca had moved on to work with other artists - DJ Khaled, Alesso, Mark Ronson, Pharell Williams, Timbaland and her favorite, David Guetta, and had artists like Taylor Swift, Demi Lovato, Selena Gomez, and Justin Timberlake feature her music in their albums. She'd gotten song-writing and producing credits on some of those songs, even won a Grammy or two for those. Now she's working on helping produce an album for pop star and though they've worked enough man-hours for Beca to feel comfortable, working with pop star still made her feel nervous.
But when pop star starts to follow the beat, nod her head,turn to her bodyguard and nod, take off the headphones, smile and announce to everyone, including Beca, "I think we got another hit on our hands people!" Beca breathes a sigh of relief. When pop star says, "Good job, Beca," Beca just smiles.
As everyone heads back to the plane (pop star has some kind of interview or concert somewhere in Europe) pop star pulls Beca back. Beca wonders why but then she looks at pop star and pop star can't look her in the eye. Pop star quietly says, "Listen, um, I know you don't think much of me but...do you wanna go out for drinks or something...?" When Beca doesn't say anything, pop star rambles on, a bit defensively, "It's not like a date-date or anything, I just think you're really talented and I'd really like it if we could be friends..." The last part trails off as it is said shyly by the girl.
But Beca doesn't do friendships. She makes music and she makes money, that's it. That's what her million-dollar house with the pool and the studio and the car is all about. That's what this is all about. So she shakes her head and tells pop star, "I don't really do drinks with people I work with, sorry."
As she walks away from crestfallen pop star, her agent calls and Beca tells him she's got another project with pop star. When she adds, as an afterthought, that pop star asked her out for drinks she could almost see his eyeroll as he says, "She's always had a crush on you."
Beca ignores that as she gets into the cab (she curses the shop for not fixing her SUV sooner). She gives the cab directions back to her Beverly Hills home.
"...So..." Her agent starts by way of introducing a new topic.
"What?" She asks.
"Any plans for Christmas?"
Beca doesn't answer right away, annoyed at the question. "Nothing. Probably stay at home and work on my mixes."
"Hey, don't you have a dad and a stepmom...?"
"Who are halfway across the country," Beca cuts in. "No way I'm going to fly all the way there on the red eye just to see them."
"But it's Christmas eve," her agent says. "You've gotta take a break, too. Lord knows you've earned it. We've worked long and hard for this, maybe you should slow down a bit..."
"Exactly why I should get started on this new project,"Beca says.
The agent laughs. " Sure, sure 'cause you know there's always a new up-and-coming artist just waiting to snatch that number one spot away from you if you disappeared even for a minute on the charts..."
"I don't appreciate your sarcasm," Beca says as her agent chuckles. "Weren't you the one who said hard work always trumps talent if talent isn't willing to work hard?"
"I know, I know," her agent says in a conciliatory tone. "And I'm happy you're working hard enough that we don't have to rock the casbah so we can afford ski trips and pay for holidays and staff..."
"Your point being...?"
"You gotta get a life, Beca..." Agent says.
"I have a life!" Beca insists.
"... In fact you need a love life," agent says.
"I have a like life it suits me fine."
"Your dusty, old uterus isn't getting any younger.."
"What is your point, Bill?"
"My point is,Beca, there's more to life than the relentless pursuit for the next worldwide and the next paycheck," Bill the agent says. "I think you need to slow down a bit, stop and smell the roses...life's short. You don't want to die wishing you'd done something more with your life."
"Now you sound like my dad,"Beca mutters.
"I'm not trying to sound like anything," Bill says, "But yes, I'm just a little bit concerned about this workaholic work ethic you've got going there. It's really disturbing."
"That disturbing work ethic is paying for your next ski trip, that new jacuzzi you wanted in your backyard and those new boobs your wife wanted..."
"Hey! I'm hurt you think I'm just staying with you for the money.."
Beca laughed. "Money that you enjoy spending Bill. Don't tell me I'm not making you happy. I just made you a shit-ton of money last Christmas. And I am doing something with my life. I'm making hits. I'm churning out hits. I'm touching people's lives."
"You say that like the cynical Millenial you are," Bill, ever observant, says. "Are you even happy at all?"
"I am happy, Bill."
"You sure?"
"Sure. I've got everything I could ask for. I can spend what I want, on what I want, do what I want...I'm on top of the world. Hell, I'm over the moon...I'm..."
"Right," Bill the agent says in tone that says he is not entirely convinced Beca is telling the truth. "You sure about that?"
"Yeah."
"You're really sure?"
"Yes Bill I'm sure." Beca laughs. "Stop psycho-analyzing me,Bill."
"Alright, honey," Bill says. "Then I guess you get what you asked for. Just remember, money isn't everything. Money can't buy everything."
Beca laughs. "Whatever, dad. Good night,Bill."
"Good night, Beca," Bill says. " Stay safe out there. And don't do too many drugs" - to which Beca laughs - "Hope you like your present."
Beca fiddles around in her expensive, newly renovated recording studio, playing around with beats and rhythm and some old 80s and 90s tracks, thick headphone on her ears. She'd sent Maria, the housekeeper home, so it is just her, microwaveable food, eggnog and wine for Christmas eve. In the back, an old television set is playing "It's a Wonderful Life" - she isn't really paying attention, she just wants some white noise playing in the background. The whole house, the whole neighborhood is quiet tonight, celebrating Christmas eve in Switzerland, Aspen, the Caribbean, or wherever it is that other rich people go to for Christmas.
Beca glances at the clock on the wall - two minutes to midnight, to Christmas day - she takes off her headset, leans back on her swivel chair, rubs her eyes and grabs another glass of wine. If she's really being honest, she's actually a bit drunk on wine and high on weed.
She takes out a note left on the table by Maria. Maria had written a note about somebody named "Kloe Bill" calling to ask for Beca Mitchell and if Beca could give her a call.
She'd not thought of her and the other Bellas til now. In fact, she wouldn't have thought of them had Chloe not called her. She'd briefly wondered why Chloe would call her now, after all these years. She'd not thought of her, of the other Bellas in so long. She wonders where they are after the Bellas and Barden. Did they get the lives they wanted? Are they happy? Successful? Do they have families? Careers? Is it all they'd ever imagined it to be? Out of the blue she wonders where Chloe is. She hadn't spoken to her since she graduated and had gone on to vet school.
She takes out her phone, goes over facebook and finds a photo shared by Fat Amy taken some years ago. It's a photo taken right after their first win at Nationals. All the Bellas are there. Aubrey, Fat Amy, Lilly,Stacie, Cynthia Rose, Ashley and Jessica. And there, right in the middle, is her.
She doesn't know why but her eyes, previously blurry from alcohol and weed, suddenly clear up, and all she can see is a red-headed, blue eyed woman smiling at the camera, smiling at her.
Chloe. Chloe Beale.
She closes her eyes and thinks about her for awhile.
She'd been so beautiful then.
She wonders briefly if she's still beautiful now.
Suddenly the clock chimes 12 midnight, and her eyes fly open. Now why'd she suddenly think of Chloe? And think of Chloe like that? Strange.
She sighs, decides to call it a night, gets up, lurches to her room, muttering drunkenly herself as she makes her way up the long and winding stairs why the studio is so far from her bedroom. She looks around the sweeping, tiled living room, the overpriced couch, the overall expensively decorated house and she wonders how she let her real estate agent and interior decorator talk her into buying a so-out-of-character, so very adult expensive house in the Hills with a pool and immaculately cut Bermuda grass - that is as empty as it is depressing - a testament to the wealth she has amassed churning out pop hits for pop star and company - and also a testament to the increasing loneliness she feels right now.
She stops. Oh my god, she thinks, Why would I feel lonely? I'm rich, I'm successful, I'm accomplished, I've got everything I've ever wanted, what more could I ask for?
She shakes thede thoughts from her mind, resolves not to have a pity party again, makes a beeline to her room, strips herself down to her tank top and underwear and crashes on her ultrasoft bed with its threadcount appropriate sheets.
In a few seconds she falls asleep.
Beca is rudely jolted out of a deep, dreamless sleep by an alarm clock. She groans, thinking she doesn't remember setting an alarm clock for Christmas day (who sets an alarm clock for Christmas day?) The first thing Beca feels is a slight cold coming into the bed and a mild irritation at being rudely awakened. Groggily she wonders why the room smells vaguely of lavender, and why there is a weight on her chest, and something tickling her stomach. She rubs her eyes, and her temples, feeling a slight headache coming on.
Suddenly she hears a muffled voice from below her, on her stomach, saying "Five more minutes, please..."
Then her eyes fly open and she sees someone with a wild flurry of curly, bright red hair lying on top of her. At first she wonders what a woman is doing on top of her, but then the woman shifts, and she feels somebody's arms snake around her (is she hugging Beca? She looks down. Yes, she's hugging her). She realizes at about the same time that the woman may also possibly be naked beneath the blanket, judging by her warm skin against Beca's body and Beca feels herself blush and turn warm all over. But before she could process all of this, a little ball of red-headed energy bounds up on the bed and starts screaming "It's Christmas, it's Christmas! Get up mommy! Get up mama!" Followed by a barking dog.
The woman on top of her sighs, rolls over and says resignedly, "Too late..." Before sitting up and grabbing the child jumping up and down the bed.
Beca does a double take, her eyes widen and she almost falls off the bed when she realizes who it is.
"Chloe? Chloe Beale?" She stares at Chloe.
Chloe, in a top and short shorts, turns around and grins, "Nobody's called me that in years, but sure..." She stops. Looks at Beca. " What? You're drooling."
Beca blushes. "No, I...sorry... It's just... Wow, you look...hot...like super hot."
Chloe grins. "I know. But thanks. You kept telling me that last night, too." Chloe winks at her and gives her a mischievous wicked smile that makes Beca know exactly what they were doing last night. Beca blushes even more.
Oblivious, Chloe just starts fussing all over the little girl.
"Morning, mom!" The little girl in Chloe's arms says before they both leave the room. "Merry Christmas!"
"Coffee, strong coffee," Chloe mutters as they both make their way to the kitchen, dog in tow.
Beca stands there, in what appears to be not her bedroom in L.A., she looks out and it's snowing and it's not L.A. and she looks at her left hand and catches a glimpse of a gold wedding band and she realizes she's married. She's seen the same gold ring in Chloe's ring finger, too. So she's married. To Chloe Beale.
She feels the first stages of a major panic attack coming on.
Oh no, this can't be happening, I have a million dollar contract meeting with Sony Music, a meeting with Justin Timberlake, why am I here? Oh god...
She feels nauseated, feels dizzy and feels like she is going to pass out.
What is she going to do?
She is doomed.
Doomed.
Her life is over.