A/N: A Merry Pitchmas gift to oceansand-anna on Tumblr. May or may not be continued, but for now it remains a one-shot. Enjoy!
Chloe knows it's wrong; she knows it's selfish of her to thank fate, the universe, or whatever deity one believes in for the apartment fire that drove Beca Mitchell from her home and into her own. But she can't help it; it's impossible to feel wrongly about something that, to her, just feels so right. It's almost a blessing in disguise, is what she oftens thinks, and it's nights like these - when the wind howls, and the winter storm rattles the building - that she's thankful for the younger woman's presence. Curled together beneath layers of fleece and the thickest comforter she owns, she stares through half-lidded eyes at the slow rise and fall of Beca's chest, taking comfort in the warmth of her body and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
Head nestled against the brunette's shoulder, Chloe grips her loosely by the arm, which is draped firmly around her own waist, securing them in embrace even in sleep. Her lips twitch, teasing into a smile as she watches the DJ slumber; five years they've been friends, and still she's in awe of the way Beca's hardened outward exterior seems to melt away in her sleep. Brows that are often cinched with irritation or exasperation are now relaxed, and her mouth, which is almost always drawn into its usual thin line, is parted slightly as she emits a quiet snore (which she will vehemently deny come morning).
Lifting her hand, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind Beca's ear, tenderly smoothing her fingers through a stray wisp of russet brown. A habitually deep sleeper, the now former Bella surprises her by blinking awake, eyes fluttering momentarily before fully opening to reveal her steel blues. As always, it has the effect of drawing all breath from her body, and for a time, it's as though Chloe's forgotten how to breath.
The air that escapes her is eventually drawn back in, only to be expelled a second later in a soft chuckle as Beca's nose crinkles, and she mumbles, "Stop staring, Beale. It's weird." Her voice is hoarse and groggy from sleep, tinted with an edge of playfulness as the corner of her mouth lifts upwards into its trademark smirk.
She breathes a coy whisper of, "You love it," which serves only to further amuse the smaller woman.
"Keep telling yourself that," Beca retorts, her own gentle laughter floating in the empty space between them.
"I will," Chloe assures, nodding her head in affirmation, before adding, "Maybe if I say it enough, it'll actually come true."
Beca cracks a grin, and Chloe muses at the way she smiles - less with her lips, and more with her eyes, which glimmer in silent delight. But then it's gone, fading away into something soft, affectionate even if she dares to hope. "Couldn't sleep?" she questions, though she already knows the answer; Chloe is notoriously afraid of storms and the unpredictability of the weather. She's lost count of the times she's been awoken in the middle of the night, only to find the redhead sheepishly crawling into her bed.
Of course, with no place currently of her own, it's Beca who now finds herself in Chloe's bed; though the locations are reversed, their positions aren't, and already she's tightening her hold on the ginger's waist, instinctively drawing her closer.
As small is she is, Beca has a way of making Chloe feel safe; beneath her badass persona and feigned indifference, the DJ is fiercely protective at heart, and the way she wraps herself around her now leaves Chloe with the impression that she's untouchable - that here, in Beca's arms, she can't be hurt. Already, she can feel the anxious swell in her gut recede, and soon she finds herself on the cusp of sleep. Just as she's on the brink, teetering along the edge of her dreams, the sound of static shatters the tranquility of the moment, followed by a soft gurgle and faint whimpers.
Charlie.
"Like mother, like son," Beca murmurs, and Chloe groans, preparing to leave their warm cocoon in order to tend to her infant's needs. But she's stopped by the hand on her wrist, coaxing her to lay back down, and she turns, resting on her side to watch as the brunette sighs in anticipation of the cold, getting up in her stead. "I'll go," she says, a note above a whisper. "You fed him before bed, and changed him not too long ago, so he's probably just spooked by the storm. I'll take care of it, just try and get some sleep."
Chloe watches as Beca crosses her arms, as if to carry the heat of their bed with her, and shuffles out into the hall. A smile flickers across her face, and she burrows further beneath the blankets, conscious lulling with the knowledge that her son is in good hands - the best, if she has anything to say about it.
"Hey, little dude," comes Beca's hushed voice, filtering into the room through the monitor's speakers. There's the sound of shifting, and Chloe knows she's lifted the child from his crib, can imagine the way Beca tenderly cradles Charlie to her chest as she coos softly. "Did that big, bad storm scare you? Don't worry, it can't hurt you while I'm here - promise. I swear, kid, you and your mother…"
Chloe's smile lingers; for someone who was always so vocally opposed to the thought of children, no one stepped up to the plate more than Beca Mitchell, when she realized her bout of the flu post-Worlds was, in fact, not a bad case of the traveler's bug. A hazy, drunken one-night stand in celebration of their acapella world domination had resulted in an unintended pregnancy, and though she had been reduced to a panic-stricken mess upon confirmation, there was no doubt in her mind that she would be keeping the child.
Her parents, to be expected, were disappointed in what they considered to be a reckless display of behavior; they had been understanding nonetheless, but supporting her through three extra years of college, they felt she had been sheltered from the 'real world' long enough. They cut her a check for twenty grand, the entirety of the savings they'd kept for her intended wedding day, and promised to be there for her when she needed them, but this was her mistake and she would learn from it.
Aubrey, as the "official" godmother, did her part in helping Chloe do her research; from doctors, to hospitals, to classes - she helped with it all. The Bellas, now spread out across the country, eagerly gave what aid they could; by the time Charlie was born, she was well stocked on the essentials - diapers, wipes, bottles, formula. Everyone contributed to the birth and rearing of baby Beale, but Beca… Beca was not to be outdone.
She drove Chloe to every appointment, holding her hand because she was too afraid to go alone; she made sure the redhead was always well fed and taken care of, traveling to every corner of the city whenever Chloe's cravings demanded something specific; she read and damn near memorized every baby book suggested, and had even given up one of her precious Saturdays in order to become CPR certified; she helped Chloe move into her apartment, refusing to let her do any of the heavy lifting, even as she struggled to rearrange furniture all on her own; everything there was to do, Beca did.
She had even gotten her a job.
Once fragile and near non-existent, Beca's relationship with her father had flourished during her years at Barden, and she had turned to him in order to pull some favors. Calling in an "IOU" from an old friend - also a professor, and now principal of a local private school - he'd set up an interview for her, and Chloe had eventually been hired on as a teacher's aid. The pay was decent - just enough to support herself and Charlie in relative comfort - with a program for continued education that would cover part of the costs for Chloe to receive her teaching credentials, in hopes of her actually becoming a full-time teacher one day.
Chloe sighs, a soft exhale of warm air that billows past her lips as she thinks of all that Beca has done, and all that Beca continues to do for her. Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion, half-listening to the brunette as she reassures the frightened baby, shushing his cries with soft words. Although her heart aches for more, she's mostly given up on the idea of them ever being more than friends, and she's content with the relationship they have now; is grateful for how much time, energy, and resources the DJ has devoted to her, and how she treats her son as if he were her own.
'It's enough,' is what she always tells herself.
Suddenly, Beca's voice wafts over the radio, smooth and clear, quiet but powerful as she sings softly. Never one for silly nursery rhymes, she insists music is in Charlie's blood, and often serenades him with the classics, the great hits, songs her own father sang to her - back in the happier moments of her childhood, when she could still remember what it meant to be a family.
"It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money, but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where, we both could live…"
Shivers run down her spine, like miniature bolts of lightning, and Chloe knows it has nothing to do with the temperature; Beca's voice just does that to her, the way it fills her with emotion; the way her voice strengthens gradually, ebbing and flowing like tide against the sand - softly, slowly, lapping gently at first, building to a crescendo that crashes over her in waves, and never fails to sweep her away.
"If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a girl who makes potions in a traveling show
Oh, I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song
And this one's for you…"
The music calls to her, and in natural fashion she answers; Chloe hums along, crooning faintly beneath her breath. Beca's voice swells, rising higher still with such clarity, and it takes a moment for her to realize that the brunette is outside her door, swaying Charlie back and forth as she carries him down the hall towards the living room. Curiosity gets the better of her, and despite her reluctance to leave the bed, she sheds off the blankets and tip-toes after them.
"And you can tell everybody, this is your song
It may be quite simple but, now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind
That I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world…"
Beca shuffles from left to right, rocking the eight-month-old as she soothes him with song, dancing in the light of their Christmas tree. A noble fir, its branches spread far and wide, beautifully symmetric and majestically green. The DJ had braved the cold winter weather in order to procure the tree, and wrestled it up two flights of stairs to get it into Chloe's apartment; she'd bought brand new lights and decorations - even surprised the mother and son with a class at the local craft store, where they painted and engraved their own star with which to crown it.
Chloe lingers in the hallway, obscured by shadow as she watches the two; Beca's voice dwindles like a dying flame, lower and lower it falls until its nothing but a murmur. She continues to rock Charlie, stepping from side to side in a leisurely trot as she strokes a hand through his wild tuft of burnt copper. He gurgles happily, and Beca laughs - light, airy, and filled with warmth - as she cups his little head, supporting it up as she holds him out in front of her.
"What are you making those funny noises for, huh?" she asks, feining a frown. But Charlie, like his mother, is able to read between the lines, can see through every one of Beca's disguises, and only giggles in response. She makes a show of rolling her eyes, because while he doesn't really understand the concept of sarcasm, he always seems to find the action of it highly entertaining.
Beca sighs and shakes her head, placing him against her hip. "Seriously, kid, why aren't you asleep yet? Singing usually knocks you right out..."
Charlie, being a baby, doesn't say much in return.
Stifling a yawn, the brunette paces back and forth, hoping the repetitive motion will lull him to sleep; instead, it has the opposite effect, and Charlie squeals as he reaches his chubby hands for the Christmas tree, with its tiers of blinking lights - like the twinkling of stars in the nighttime sky. Beca immediately shushes him, thinking Chloe has fallen back asleep, and leans closer, gently guiding his hand to a bauble in Barden green and gold - something they'd picked up at the on-campus store during one of their frequent visits to Emily, who now captained and led the next generation of Bellas.
"Barden University. This is where your mommy and I went to college," she explains, lifting the ornament by its string for closer inspection. "Hopefully, one day when you're older, you'll go there too. I mean, no one is going to force you there - not like they did with me, but I really do hope you consider it. It's a great school, with great programs and fields of study, and the people… the people are something else."
Returning the trinket to its rightful place, Beca shifts Charlie onto her other side, toting him along on her hip as she maneuvers towards the couch. Falling into its faux leather cushion, she sets the pint-sized Beale on her lap, holding him sideways into the crook of her arm. Chloe, who's still hidden in the hall, crouches low to avoid detection; she can't explain it - there's no rhyme or reason for why she lurks in the shadows, rather than join her best friend and son. All she knows is what her gut tells her, and right now, it tells her not to intervene; to let things play out naturally, without interruption.
"Y'know, you're a real lucky kid," Beca claims, after a brief moment of silence. "We may not be related by blood, but the Bellas - even the Trebles - are family. We're not together by chance, but by choice, and you couldn't have been born into a more incredible group of people. They're crazy, wild, hugely inappropriate, and have this strange tendency to break out into song at all the wrong times, but they're loyal to a fault, and love more than anyone should ever be capable of…"
"And honestly," she continues, her tone almost wistful, "God only knows who your father is, but your mother… your mother is the most amazing woman I've ever met. Really, dude, you won the lotto in life with that one… and really, I probably did too. Because if it weren't for her, I most likely wouldn't be here right now. I definitely wouldn't have joined the Bellas, I certainly wouldn't have stayed at Barden all four years, and I'm positive I'd never be so lucky as to watch you grow."
At this, she smiles and lowers her chin, dropping an affectionate kiss into Charlie's hair.
"Chloe, she… she's special," Beca goes on, laying her cheek atop his head as she holds him closer, "I know I'm not the most observant or perceptive when it comes to other people; things tend to just fly right over my head. And no," she adds, eyes narrowing, "I'm not talking about my height."
"But, I guess what I mean to say," she sighs, "is that I'm not stupid or blind enough to realize that your mom is one in a million. Y'know, they… they say that sometimes a person comes into your life and you know right away that they were meant to be there… to serve some sort of purpose, teach you a lesson, or to help you figure who you are, or who you want to become. Chloe, she was that person for me… still is that person…"
Lifting Charlie, Beca turns the child so he faces her, and looks him squarely in the eye. "Now, I know you haven't heard this story before, but you'll definitely hear it several times as you grow older. I want you to hear it from me first, though, because that's the only way you know you're getting the truth. See, your mom likes to twist her words, and make things seem more innocent or harmless than they actually are. But the cold, hard truth is that your mom and I met because she assaulted me in the shower my freshman year."
Chloe slaps a hand over her mouth, smothering an indignant snort as she listens to the blatant lie that Beca is intent on feeding her son. She reminds herself to tell Charlie the correct version at a later date, because while - yeah, okay - maybe she was a bit overeager the day she barged into Beca's stall, there was certainly no assaulting.
"Frankly, though," Beca laughs, unaware of Chloe's prying ears and eyes, "I'm so glad she did. As terrified as I was, and as naked as we both were, I'm fortunate that she was so bold enough as to break into my shower. Because your mom, Chloe… she… she came into my life exactly when I needed her to - even if I didn't realize it at the time."
"See, the thing is... " she mutters, and Chloe strains to hear what she says next, "My parents divorced when I was very young, and I have so few good memories of our time together that I guess… I guess I grew resentful. I didn't want anything to do with other people, because they were the only example of a family I'd had, and if that was what it led to, I wanted no part in it. I pretty much gave up all hope for friendship, closeness… even trust. Music was my one companion, my only friend - the only thing I wanted or needed.
"But then your mom appeared in my life, or more like strutted her way into it, and things were never the same - I was never the same. She didn't change me, didn't pressure me into being anyone or anything I didn't want to be… but she helped me evolve, let me grow into a person who could believe in friendship, closeness, trust… and love. And I'm infinitely a better person because of that… because of her…"
Beca pauses, and Chloe doesn't know how much more she can take; doesn't know if she can sit there (because her legs had long ago given out) in silence any longer as Beca says all the things she never knew she wanted to hear. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and she tells herself it's because she's hormonal and her body is still transitioning back to how it was pre-pregnancy, but she knows that's a lie; knows that it's because Beca cares so much more than she lets on; knows because she can hear the adoration in her voice as she speaks, and Chloe can't remember a time when she's ever felt more loved - platonically, or romantically. And though she can't distinguish with which tone the brunette speaks, she finds herself overwhelmed nonetheless.
But before she can further contemplate the DJ's words, or evaluate her own thoughts and feelings, Beca surprises her one more time. "You wanna know a secret?" she asks, and pretends to wait for Charlie to answer, before continuing, "Okay, but you have to promise me you'll go to sleep right after. I think I've sufficiently talked you down, but this'll be the last thing I tell you. And it's gonna have to stay between us… no blabbing off to your mom. Deal?"
Charlie spits a bubble, which Beca takes as her answer.
"Right, so… you know your Aunt Emily? The tall one, with brown hair," she describes, before shaking her head as he babbles in response. "No, no, you're thinking of Stacie… the one with the big boobs." She cups her free hand at chest level, mimicking aforementioned boobs, and despite her current state of emotion, Chloe finds herself amused at the way Beca talks to Charlie; as though he's aware enough for this conversation to be more than one-sided.
"Anyway," Beca moves on, "your Aunt Emily and I recorded a demo - actually the same song that won us Worlds, and… sorta, kinda led to you being conceived and born. But, details!" She waves her hand. "Like I was saying, we made a demo, and I sent it out to various recording labels because, as you know, becoming a producer… that's kind of always been my thing.
"And you should have seen the feedback. I got tons of responses… more than I'd anticipated or hoped, and… and it was all coming together. I'd finally gotten my golden ticket to LA, but then we found out your mom was pregnant with you, and I knew I couldn't leave. I mean, how could I? How could I just up and leave, when the tables had turned, and Chloe finally needed me and not the other way around? I couldn't do it, there's no way I would.
"Thankfully, the internship I had at Residual Heat led to an actual paying job, so I got to stay here in Atlanta with your mom - and you, of course, once you were born. And I mean, yeah, there are some days when I wonder what life could have been like if I'd gone, but that's all I do: wonder. I don't regret it. I'd make the same choice if I was given the chance to do it over again, because…" Beca ducks her head, and swallows a humorless laugh, "because I need Chloe to need me as much as I need her. And as long as she does, I'll be here."
"I'll always need you."
Chloe speaks before she can stop herself, before she can even think of the consequences of her words - of answering a statement that was never intended for her to begin with; it simply spills out, tumbling past her clumsy tongue and out her lips, which widen now in a stunned gasp. Beca's head snaps in her direction, and there's a beat of silence before she's staggering to her feet, clutching Charlie to her chest as if his tiny body can shield her from the sudden feeling of exposure; as if she can somehow hide behind him, because she's never felt more naked, or vulnerable, or stupid than in that moment.
She had never meant to say as much as she did; it was a mindless monologue, brought on by a combination of sleep deprivation, the desire to tire Charlie out, and (if she's honest - which she isn't) some inherent need to unleash these pent up thoughts and emotions she's so desperately attempted to ignore - even if it meant unloading on a baby, who probably only understood one or two words of what she's actually said. (Boobs. He definitely only understood boobs.)
"Chloe," she breathes, and it's all she knows how to say. The initial twisting in her gut is like a punch to the stomach, but what follows next is only worse. It starts as a terrible wrenching, her trachea seizing beneath an invisible fist, throat squeezing shut, and it's as though she can neither get air in, nor get air out. Beca's paralyzed, frozen in fear; she's all but confessed to being in love with her best friend - to her best friend's baby, no less - and all she can do is stand there and stare, awaiting the proverbial axe to cut her down.
But it never comes.
The redhead struggles to her feet, pulling herself up by the wall, and in three large strides, she's crossed the ocean between them; there is no axe, only an oar that propels her into the two, and it's only when Chloe's arms wrap around her neck does Beca realize she can finally breathe again. And breathe she does, inhaling the familiar scent of cherry blossom, and absorbing the warmth that was her eternal ray of sunshine.
"Beca," Chloe sighs, exhaling into the brunette's shoulder as she drops her head to press a kiss atop Charlie, who gurgles happily at her arrival. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asks, pulling back; not enough to pull away, but just enough to see her face to face.
"Tell you what?" Beca murmurs, eyes averting as her jaw sets, teeth clenched. And Chloe knows that means she's shutting down, that she's preparing to close herself off from the world - from her - and that can't happen, not when they're so close to crossing that line they've been dancing around for years.
"LA," she insists, touching her hand to the younger woman's cheek. "You told me that no one was interested, but… but Becs, if people were interested in you, why didn't you go? Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for everything you've done, and for everything you've apparently given up for me, and for Charlie. But LA, it… it was your dream."
Beca's eyes flicker towards her, and her lips twitch shyly into an anxious grin. "Well, the thing about dreams," she murmurs, finally locking gazes, "is that they can change…"
The "and you became mine" is never actually said aloud, but Chloe still hears it, clear as day. It rings in her ears, runs through her mind, and resonates in her very soul. It's not an official "I love you" but it's the closest she's ever gotten yet, and something tells her she'll get there soon.
Reviews are appreciated!