This is what happens when you tear yourself away from the pitch perfect tumblr tag and stumble upon a gifset of Ross's list about Rachel from Friends. Hope you all enjoy this and big thanks to Star-crossed92 for her awesome messages and for reblogging the aforementioned gifset that inspired this. She's really lovely, go check her out and send her hugs. Or creepy messages. Either one would be amusing.

THE PRO LIST

"Honey, I'm home!"

I don't need to see her to know she's rolling her eyes – not just because I say it every time I come home on a Friday and she always reacts that way, but because I know her well enough. She always has a witty retort, but she can't help but laugh when I grin at her. She insists her incapability to keep a straight face around me is because I'm funny looking, but I know it's because I've worn her down.

I throw my coat over the rack in the hallway, walking through to the living room to find her. The house is cold and silent, and I frown. There's a forgotten half finished mug on the table beside the sofa. As I search the house, I see traces of her, the little things like the forever unmade bed and the left on lights and her large computer screen glowing in the spare bedroom turned music studio. Her dirty socks are balled up in the hallway. But she doesn't seem to be anywhere. I lean over the hallway bannister, calling her name down the banister, worry creasing my forehead.

"Beca?"

"Here," she calls, and I can hear the distraction in her voice. Actually walking into the music studio, I see that the ladder for the attic is pulled down – the source of the cold – and scattered around it are photos, old photos. Like, Barden old. I feel my worry spike.

"What you up to?" I ask as I climb up, turning my head to look for her. I see her hand appear above a stack of old cardboard boxes that hide the rest of her and I frown; why is she over there? That's the corner we never touch. It's the boxes that remained unpacked when we moved into our house four years ago, the stuff we keep because we can't seem to gather the heart to throw it out.

As I walk towards her, I see the trail of destruction she has left in her wake. Old papers and dust sheets litter the pink fluffy handcuffs that her friends got her for her bachelorette party dangle out of a small crumbling box. She's rooted around in the Christmas decorations, bits of tinsel sparkling on the floor. The memory boxes full of our old photos and trinkets are virtually empty and I presume is where the discarded photos below are from. I catch sight of a photo from the last big group get-together of our Barden life, everyone trying to squeeze in and most laughing at Amy who stands in the middle, pulling some ridiculous pose.

When I realise she still hasn't answered me, I try again. "Are we having a yard sale? Because I don't think this stuff is really worth anything…" I gingerly finger the faded fabric of some forgotten shirt that does not belong anywhere but hidden in this loft or burning in a fire.

She pokes her head out from behind the boxes, on her hands and knees as she looks up at me with an unreadable expression. She has changed a lot since the picture on the floor – it has, of course, been eight years since it was taken – with her eyes no longer heavily outlined, her hair longer and pulled back into a braid down her back, her ear spike gone, her eyes a little older and a little wiser. She's still just as beautiful though, and I feel the same breathless joy when I see her that I have experienced since I was eighteen years old.

She does not seem so delighted to see me.

"Jesse," she begins in a disapproving tone. I crouch down in front of her on my knees and kiss her softly on her forehead in greeting. She makes no move to return the sentiment, sitting back so her legs are crossed beneath her.

" I'm sorry." I go with that, because I have no idea what I've done but it seems a safe bet to assume I've done something, judging by her narrowed eyes and thin lips.

I don't notice the sheet of paper in her hand until she thrusts it at me, an eyebrow raised. I make no move to take it, still trying to gauge from her expression how much trouble I am in, and she glances at it, shaking it at me to emphasise what she wants. I take it from her cautiously, safe in the knowledge there aren't enough pages for it to be divorce papers.

"You have to look at it to know what it is." Her hands are back in her lap and she keeps her face neutral. The only way I am going to know what is going on is by reading the paper. I swallow down my nerves because she's scaring me, watching me like that, and turn my attention to the page.

"Oh." I recognise it instantly. "Oh no..."

"Oh yes."

"I still have this?" I'm amazed and half way through breaking into a grin when I see her expression and it falls again. "I can explain," I add quickly. Her lips scrunch up in that adorable way that I have always loved and she looks at my expectantly, waiting for me to continue.

I can't explain.

I have no idea how to explain this.

She wasn't supposed to even find out about this. Ever.

"How'd you find it?"

She clasps her hands together and I know she's not going to say anything until I start talking, so I instead glance back down at the old piece of paper, the slightly faded ink still displaying the title clear as day.

The Pro List

Time to sink or swim, Jesse.

"I made a list. A long time ago. About you." I cough self-consciously and she nods.

"I gathered that. But I don't understand it. Why do you have a list of my 'positive' traits?" She air quotes and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself smiling at how cute she looks in this moment, her eyes wide and full of misunderstanding, wisps of hair falling around her face. The amount of I love have for this woman after all this time terrifies and thrills me at the same time.

"I wrote it with Benji in college. After you got arrested." I don't add the 'for the first time' on the end of my sentence because I know she hates it when I bring her criminal record up.

"Why?" She looks confused and her eyes rise to the ceiling as she makes an effort to remember the significance. It dawns on her and her face falls, but she simply nods for me to continue.

I shift uncomfortably. After being together for eleven years, looking back at our beginning was… Weird. Yeah we joked about it sometimes, but we had come a long way. Reminiscing on the not-so-great memories of our first six months in college seems, well, not exactly progressive.

Especially for nights like the one this was written during.

"Beca, do you really want to go back to this?"

She nods quickly, apparently very convinced in her decision to pursue this. "Absolutely. I want to know why you wrote it. Why you chose those things."

Her eyes are softer, forgiving, and I can see, now, why she wants to know. Beca doesn't understand the things I chose. She wants to know why I chose them.

She wants to know why I chose her.

So I shuffle across the dusty floor until I am next to her, leaning back on a sturdy looking box and letting her rest against my side. I put my arm around her and can't help the quickening heart rate – she's incredible and she's here with me. Holding this list in my hand makes me realise just how far we have come. How we have beaten all the odds, worked through all the problems, pushed ourselves to make it work. Because twelve years ago I was writing a love sick list on why I wanted her, and well over a decade later, here I am with her in my arms; my wife; my best friend; my everything.

"Number one," she reads to me. "The way she looks when the mix is just right."

I grin and rest my cheek against the crown of her head.

"That's an easy one. It's something I still love about you to this day, the way you light up and look so disbelieving over what you have created and how amazing it is. I will never forget the first time I saw that look, at the first Riff Off when you rapped Blackstreet." I feel her chuckle against my shoulder. "Seriously, that was so hot."

"I was horrific at it." She scoffs, but I would bet anything that she's blushing.

"All the same."

She laughs again and begins to play with the fingers on the hand I have holding her close, our fingers lacing together lazily. It's a subconscious habit she's picked up over the years, and she only does it when she's comfortable and relaxed, so I take it as a good sign. Seriously, the way she does it without even realising would be on this list if I wrote it now.

"Number two." She stifles a yawn and then continues on with her reading. "The way she struggles more and more with hiding that smile from me."

This was another easy one, but I have no idea how I can explain it. It's difficult to put into words, how that developing smile kept me going all those years ago. But I try, because sometimes I don't think she understands quite how much she revealed to me – still does, really – through just her smile.

"The smile meant it was working." I look down at her and she seems sleepy but she gazes back, seeing something there that makes her smile. I point. "That smile. It was that smile. When we first met in that radio station, you didn't do anything but just look generally pissed off. But you intrigued me, so I pestered and I pushed. And slowly, you started smiling."

Beca presses her lips against mine for just a moment. "I almost always smile."

"Now." I nod. "But not always. I had to work really hard to get you to show a smile, you know."

Her eyes glaze over and she grins again, laughing. "Like the records thing."

I chuckle, a little proud of myself that she still remembers that. "Exactly like that."

She settles her cheek back against my shoulder. "Dork," she mutters, and I squeeze our joined hands. She looks surprised, and I know it's because she hadn't realised we were linked in the first place. I roll my eyes, a habit I've picked up from her, and then settle myself further, the cold hard floor uncomfortable beneath me. I worry about whether she's okay sitting here with me.

"Number three. How completely convinced she is that she's a badass."

I laugh and see her glare at me, punching me lightly in the shoulder. "I am totally a badass."

I scoff. "Hardly. You're the biggest softie I know."

She gasps and pulls away from me, her mouth open in shock. "That's so not true!"

"Beca, I'm sorry that I'm ruining your perfect mental image of yourself, but just because you try to be a badass does not make you a badass."

She frowns and shakes her head. "We need to stop saying badass, it's giving me a headache."

I chuckle and pull her back to my side. "Beca, rather than just apologise like anyone else would do after I shut that door on you" – she shifts uncomfortably and I know it's because she still finds the memory painful – "you instead serenaded me at the finals of an acapella competition in front of your dad." She forces back the smile that threatens to escape. "When I had to be in New York on our anniversary three years ago, you sent me that giant teddy bear so I could pretend it was you when I slept!" I point to the giant grey bear sitting by the loft hatch, a giant red heart stitched to its paws.

She rolls her eyes. "I bought you that ironically."

I look at her pointedly. "No you didn't."

She presses her lips together to stop her smile and after a moment's silence she groans and hides her face in my shoulder. "Okay fine! I'm a giant softie! Congratulations of foiling my identity!"

I pull her tight against me and press a kiss into her hair. "You didn't hide your true self very well if I picked up on it as early as this list was written."

She keeps quiet, moving herself awkwardly until she is sitting between my legs, her back against my chest. She takes the list from me and I wrap my arms around her shoulders and chest, leaning my chin on top of her head. She straightens the slightly crumpled paper out and then looks for the next pro on the list.

"Number four. Her facial expressions." She scrunches her nose and twists to look at me. "This one makes no sense. It's the most confusing out of the lot."

"It's my favourite." I smile and lean down to kiss her softly. She smiles back against my lips and we both keep our eyes open, her face so close to mine it's blurry.

I don't know how to tell her about this one. It's strange, really, because it's not something I think she's fully aware of. I just can't help it. Her funny little expressions, especially back then, drew me to her like a moth to a flame. Like her nod and 'you're-a-crazy-person' smile when I sang to her from my car. Or her lip bite when she finished No Diggity at the Riff Off. Or how she widens her eyes and grins when I do something silly, like with the records. It doesn't even need to be an obvious thing. Sometimes it can be as simple as the way she closes her eyes for a few seconds when she makes a joke, like when she asked if we could do anything but watch a movie, or her grin when I heard her music for the first time.

Even after I wrote this list, it was still something about her that I really loved. I could list a hundred thousand examples of all the times her face has made my heart skip a beat, how it morphs so strangely and beautifully into the perfect reflection of her mood or her feelings. Even now, as she looks at me with that tiny little furrow between her eyebrows, I feel the same thrill at it as I did all those years ago when I told her we were going to be best friends and lovers and she looked at me like I was insane.

I feel a surge of victory at how perfectly I had predicted my own future, our own future, within ten minutes of meeting her.

But I don't know how to explain all of this to her, so instead, I whisper, "I love you."

She kisses me again quickly and then pulls back, tilting her head in confusion. "You're not going to explain it are you."

I shake my head and grin. "You'll stop doing it if I tell you."

She gives me the same wide eyed smile that she let slip in the station twelve years ago and I can't help but let my grin grow wider. She raises an eyebrow but lets me have this one, carrying on with the list.

"Number five. Her dedication to music." She doesn't look back up at me but she leans further into my chest as I stroke her shoulder with one hand. "I know this one already."

I nod into her neck and press a sweet kiss against her pulse point. "'Your omnipresent love for music is something that makes me love you more and more every day, and your ability to twist it and turn it into something so beautiful and so reflective of who you are is-'"

"'Something that I will always greatly admire about you and makes me only a little jealous that your first love isn't me, but music,'" she finishes, and I feel the vibration of her laugh through her back. "Yes, I remember your wedding speech."

I hold her that much tighter at how she has my words so perfectly engraved in her memory despite it being seven years since that day. "And now I have to settle for third best."

She leans her head back on my shoulder so she can see me, her smile as bright as the sun. "Music used to be my entire life, but now you are. Despite how impossible it seems, I will always love you more than music."

As I kiss her gently, she takes my hand from her shoulder and places it on her swollen belly, letting me feel the kicks from under her skin. "I'll never get tired of that," I murmur against her lips.

"Well considering this baby is my first love, you should be insanely jealous," she breathes. Our baby kicks in agreement and I chuckle, watching her eyes sparkle at the thought of what was growing safely inside her.

"Actually," I say disapprovingly, pulling back to frown at her. "Why are you up here? You're six months along Beca, you could have really hurt yourself or the baby."

Beca rolls her eyes at my protectiveness. "I'm pregnant not paralysed."

"You could have waited until I got home, I'd have gotten whatever it was you needed. The doctor told you specifically that you needed bed rest. What if you'd had another dizzy spell?"

She shrugs and threads her fingers through mine that rest on her stomach. "I was looking for the paint rollers."

"We agreed to paint the nursery together!"

"I was bored," she whines, pouting like a child. "The label hasn't sent over my next project yet and I just thought that I could at least make a start, try and surprise you."

I felt my frustration ebb away but I upheld my disapproving tone of voice. "How long have you been up here anyway?"

She shrugs again. "I don't know. What time is it?"

"6 ish I think."

"About 3 hours," she says like it's no big deal. I huff in annoyance.

"And how long have you needed to pee for?"

Her face morphs into a pained expression and she grimaces. "About half an hour."

Without another word, I slowly pull us both to our feet, noticing out of the corner of my eye as I lead us back to the hatch that she folds the list and puts it in her pocket. I grab the paint rollers from one of the few unopened boxes, ignoring her grumble at how easily I had found them, and grab her hand in mine. Carefully, I help her descend the ladder, dusting her down once we safely reach the ground. She rubs her fingers into her lower back, groaning at her discomfort.

I make her tea as she uses the bathroom, a constant smile on my face at the hour's nostalgia. I had thought it would be a bad idea, looking back on the difficult beginnings of us, but it was actually nice. No matter how confusing a time it had been for us, it was still our beginning, and without it, we would never be what we are today.

"No matter how much I love this baby," she grumbles as she pads into the kitchen, "I am never doing this again. One is enough, you got your wish, but that's all you're getting."

I hand her the mug which she accepts graciously, sitting heavily in one of the breakfast stools, and I shake my head at her. "Nope. My wish is for a hundred mini-Beca's, not just one."

She looks at my pointedly over the rim of the cup. "If you want to carry all of those little wishes yourself for nine months at a time, be my guest. But my womb is off limits to you."

I lean on the counter and kiss her cheek. "Just you wait. I've been correctly predicting our future since the day we met, and my newest prediction is that this isn't the only time you get to look adorable while resting your cereal bowl on your stomach every morning."

She waves me away, hiding her smile in her tea, and I turn to start dinner, grabbing various pans and ingredients from the cupboards. She watches me, as she always does, with the jealous eyes of someone who to this day has never learnt how to cook without starting a fire.

"So where's the con list?"

I turn in surprise and look into her guarded eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Where's the con list? This is a pro list." She pulls it out of her pocket and drops it on the counter. "That means there must be a con list."

I stand perfectly still, hesitating. This could go one of two ways, and with Beca's whirlwind of hormone-fuelled emotions that she's been scaring me with recently, I have a bad feeling it will not go perfectly.

"There isn't one," I try weakly, which Beca just raises a doubtful eyebrow at. "Okay well it doesn't exist today. I burnt it."

"Why?" She rubs her belly absently, her mug forgotten beside her.

"Because I…" I falter, turning back to the food on the counter so my back is to her. "I couldn't write one."

There's a beat of silence before she laughs in disbelief. "What?"

I spin to face her and look at her in determination. "I couldn't write one."

The smile drops off her face as she realises I'm serious. "But… But Jesse when you wrote this…"

"I know."

"I was horrible to you."

"I know."

"You're telling me you came up with this list when you were mad at me, but couldn't find a single bad thing to say about me?"

"I wasn't mad at you."

She looks surprised. "Yes you were."

I raise my hands in a surrender like fashion. "You had every right to be angry at me that night. I was more mad at myself because I knew things with your dad weren't great back then."

She lowers herself from her stool, walking towards me without ever looking away from me. Her eyes are full of wonder, shining with something close to admiration, and when she's close enough, she slides a hand up my chest and around my neck, pulling me to her until our lips meet. She kisses me hard, pushing herself against me the best she can, her fingers in my hair. The counter presses into my lower back and I cup her jaw in one hand, the other trailing down her back to massage her sore muscles there. She moans at the pressure of my fingers, and I feel the muscles underneath my fingertips begin to relax.

"I love you," she says, breathless, as she pushes herself back into my hand, letting me soothe the muscles our baby is putting pressure on. It's become a daily occurrence for me to do this, to help soothe her discomfort, and every time her eyes roll back at my touch, it lets me see just how beautiful she is.

She's looking at me, her eyes full of lust and love, and she licks her lips in anticipation. I raise my eyebrows at her suggestively and she bites down on her lower lip as her eyes run over my face. I reach behind me to turn off the stove and her fingers dance down from my neck, opening my shirt buttons easily as she works her way down.

"Beca…" But my words are lost as she presses a kiss against my clavicle. She pulls on my fingers lightly and walks backwards towards the stairs, her eyes boring into me so intensely I swear my heart skips a beat. I sweep her up into my arms, laughing at her squeal of surprise as I rush up the stairs towards our bedroom, her mouth on mine as I kick open the door. Laying her down gently on the mattress, I run my hands down her arms, kissing across her jaw and whispering into her ear with hot breath, quote the final line on the forgotten list downstairs.

"Number six. How she so easily takes my breath away."

So that was the first part - what did you all think? Second part will be up at some point but no specific date. I'm working on my other stories at the same time so lots going on but the second part should be posted within the week. Please review and let me all know what you thought!