Hey, guyz! Here's a new story for ya. I know I should really be working on that RWBY fic - and I am, trust me. It's just taking a little longer than expected. Mainly because of this story. Think I might make this my priority...

Anyway, this is a fic I've been working on for a few months now. If you've seen the movie 50/50, you'll know how this story will play out. If you haven't, give it watch - it's a great film. Some things are a bit different to the movie, though, so it could fit the characters and shite.

Also, it's BeChloe [kinda]. Enjoy~

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters or movies used. Pitch Perfect is property of Universal Pictures, and 50/50 is property of Summit Entertainment.

It was a cold morning in the state of Georgia. The birds were twittering their happy melody, the breeze was light and the water in the canal was gentle. It was the perfect morning for a jog, so that's what Beca decided to do. She was just thankful that there weren't many people around at this time of day. Beca wasn't what you would consider a 'people person'. Far from it, in fact. She would go to any lengths possible to interact with as few people as possible.

Jogging along the canal's edge, letting the wind brush through her chestnut hair, Beca skipped the current song on her iPod, a huge grin splitting her face as the opening to a certain jam played through her headphones. Turning up the volume full blast, she softly sang along.

You shout it out, but I can't hear a word you say.
I'm talking loud, not saying much.

Beca began to jog faster to the beat, soon reaching the waking streets of her hometown, eventually coming to stop at a pedestrian crossing; it changed to a red hand just as she reached it, much to Beca's dismay – why does this always happen to her? But she didn't let her foul mood deter her favourite song, though.

She jogged on the spot, patiently waiting for the green man to make his appearance. Looking around, she could see that there was no traffic passing her, the majority of people probably still in their homes, enjoying their breakfast. However, the good citizen that Beca claimed to be, she stayed put, not taking any chances.

She softly hummed along as the next song kicked in [another of her favourites, of course], just as a fellow morning jogger – or runner, in this case – pelted past her and across to the other side, his long legs taking him places [seriously, this guy could give Usain Bolt a run for his money]. Beca couldn't help but scoff to herself at how reckless he was, risking his life like that. But a quick look to the left, and to the right, she realised it didn't matter at all – there were still no vehicles. Not that Beca cared. She stayed jogging in place; she's no idiot.

As soon as the signal to go showed up, Beca continued her jog. She suddenly got a sharp pain in the small of her back. It didn't stop her, however – she held at the spot and massaged it, hoping it would ease the ache. Beca didn't stop her jog until she reached her house.

Deciding that she was in desperate need of a shower, she stripped down and stepped over the edge of the bathtub, being careful not to slip. Letting the hot water cascade over her naked form, she breathed a content sigh, washing her body with honeysuckle and orange peel scented shower gel. Although, when it came time to wash her hair, she discovered that she had ran out of shampoo.

Squeezing and shaking the bottle as much as she could, she eventually gave up when not a single dollop landed in her palm.

"Son of a bitch," Beca uttered, sighing in exasperation as she gazed up at her boyfriend's share of shower products. Scrunching her mouth to the side, she picked up what she hoped was shampoo, flipped open the cap and brought it to her nose. Yep, smelled like Jesse, alright. She bobbed her head to the side slightly and raised her eyebrows a fraction, as if to say 'I suppose this could work'. So, Beca wasted no time in splatting a generous amount of the shampoo into her hand and got to work.

Beca was now clean, dry, dressed and ready for whatever the day would throw at her. Tightening her watch into place, with much difficulty, she asked, "so, are you staying over tonight?" to her boyfriend, Jesse, who was in the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

"I'm not sure," Jesse said honestly, standing a fair distance from Beca as she looked in the mirror. "There are a few gallery openings I want to go to." Jesse likes art, always has and probably always will. If one were to just look at him and guess his profession from first glance, they'd maybe say something like a musician, what with his boyish good-looks and charming smile, wooing women with a guitar melody and gentle singing voice. Truth be told, Jesse is a self-employed artist, who spends his days painting abstract on white canvases and, on occasion, having them displayed in galleries across the city. Beca turned to look at him, almost disappointed. "I'm kinda nervous about this show," Jesse breathed. "I still have two more paintings to do." He shoved the toothbrush back into his mouth and moved it about vigorously, nearly making it impossible to hear what he was saying. "I mean, everything I have so far is garbage. I just need to..." Jesse trailed off, eyes squinting and in search for something within the bedroom. "Where's my stuff?" he asked, utterly confused.

Beca paused packing her bag for her day of work. "It's in your drawer," she said to her boyfriend, almost guiltily.

"Oh, so I have a drawer?" Jesse cocked an amused eyebrow.

"Yeah, I just," Beca stumbled over her words, "I figured that I'd put some of your stuff in–" Words weren't Beca's strongest attribute. "There was nothing in the drawer before," she finally managed a full sentence. "Well, there were a couple of things, but I just..." Beca let out a long breath in hope to get her speech under control. "I moved them to a different drawer – just made sense that way," she finished.

Jesse chuckled at his flustered girlfriend. "Who knew Beca Mitchell could be so..." he paused, inching closer to the petit brunette, "domestic." He shot her a wink and jumped slightly as a loud honking sounded from outside.

"I gotta go, but good luck with your paintings," Beca said, glancing out the window to see her best friend – Amy – smacking her hand repeatedly against the horn with a bored expression. Beca leaned in to give Jesse a peck on the lips, but had to quickly pull away, as certain leakage was occurring.

"I still have a lot of toothpaste in my mouth right now," Jesse managed through a mouth full of saliva and tooth cleanser. "But have a great day." Beca shot him a smile before nodding and Jesse kissed her cheek as best he could. "Bye."

Beca closed the door behind her as she left the house, quickly making her way to her best friend's car waiting outside. Opening the passenger door, she slid into the seat.

"Waddup, Bee?" Amy said in her strong Sydney accent.

"Hey, Amy, sorry I'm late," Beca replied, making sure her seatbelt was secure.

"What's that smell?" Amy asked, sniffing the air around her. "What is that?"

"What?" Beca asked, genuinely confused.

Amy grimaced. "Why do you smell like a thirteen-year-old boy trying to impress his English teacher with massive jugs?" she asked seriously.

"That is oddly specific," Beca pointed out. Shrugging, Amy moved in closer and inhaled deeply once her nose was against Beca's hair. "Stop that." Beca swatted her away, stifling a laugh. "I ran out of shampoo, so I had to use Jesse's." Once more, Amy sniffed Beca's hair, Beca rolling her eyes.

"You smell like you fucked a boyband," Amy deadpanned.

"Are we gonna go?" Beca asked, exasperated.

Amy turned her head to look at her best friend, puckering her lips dramatically. "Little BecBec don't wanna be late?" she joked.

"I'm already two minutes late, so."

"You're already two minutes late," Amy repeated.

"I literally just said that." Beca closed her eyes, trying to keep her cool.

"If you really cared about that, you should probably learn how to drive," informed Amy, earning a simple nod from the brunette in her passenger seat. "You know what's really gonna make us late?"

Beca smacked the back of her head on the headrest. "What?" she sighed, and Amy started the car.

"When I stop off at Taco Bell," Amy said, her car roaring to life.

"No," Beca whined, "we are not stopping for a burrito."

Amy pulled out of the driveway, and began heading down the street. "How about a quesadilla, then?"

"Dude."

Taco Bell was surprisingly quiet this morning. The queue wasn't overly long like it usually is, and you could actually hear the music playing for once. It smelled the same, though.

"Your back still hurts?" Amy asked with mild concern as she watched Beca double over with her hands pressed to the small of her back.

"Yeah," Beca confirmed, "I'm going back to the doctor today."

"That's not right," Amy said, earning a hum of agreement from her best friend as she stood up straight. "You been fucking in weird positions?"

Beca scoffed. "Of course that's where your mind would go."

"I tried froggy style once with one of my boyfriends," Amy explained, "and it fucked up my back."

"I'm not even going to ask what that is," Beca sighed.

"It's like doggy style, but you're up higher," Amy informed. "Here, let me demonstrate." Amy pulled Beca in front of her and attempted to bend her over, but she was having none of it.

Beca repeatedly slapped her friend's arm to get her to release her. Eventually, she did. "Dude, no." Beca pointed a finger at Amy, as if she was scolding a child. "Jesse and I haven't done it in like, three weeks anyway," she added quietly, avoiding Amy's judging gaze.

"You haven't had sex in three weeks?" Amy repeated incredulously, and a little too loudly, drawing the attention of fellow Taco Bell customers.

Beca rolled her eyes. "Well, he had a yeast infection," she tried to reason, "and then I got my period after it cleared up, which is finished now." Beca sighed once more.

"You can't fuck with a yeast infection?" Amy interrupted, because clearly that's the part to focus on. "And you can totally fuck on a period."

"Dude, that's gross." Beca grimaced at the mere thought of having sex while menstruating.

"I've done it." Amy shrugged, acting as if it was a normal thing.

"Of course you have," Beca grumbled under her breath.

They stayed in silence for a moment, Amy deep in thought. "He's being going down on you though, right?" she finally asked.

"Dude!" Beca exclaimed, really wanting this conversation to be over. "He doesn't like doing that," she uttered.

"No fucking shit, he doesn't like it," Amy said, beginning to get exasperated. "Who likes putting pussies in their mouths? It's messy down there, Bec."

"Shut up for like, five seconds?" Beca suggested, noticing people looking sceptically at them.

"I will not shut up, Rebecca Mitchell." Amy gently whacked her on the arm.

"Please don't call me that," Beca groaned, despising her full name, moving forward in the line.

"He stays at your house all the time, right?" Amy asked, receiving a nod from Beca. "He leaves his shit everywhere, which you clean up, because you're a nice person." Amy poked her in the chest a little too hard. "The least he could do is eat you out!" She said the last part way too loudly, just as they reached the counter.

Beca just smiled awkwardly at the cashier, wishing to just crawl under a rock and die.

"You put up with a lot of shit when you're dating a hot guy," Amy commented as she and Beca exited Taco Bell. "That's why I didn't date any hot guys in high school," she added matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, that's the reason," Beca said, distracted; Amy nodded smugly. "In case you haven't noticed, we're not in high school anymore." She took a sip of her Pepsi before continuing. "The relationship I have with Jesse is about more than sex."

Amy lifted a single eyebrow. "What is it about, Beca?" she asked condescendingly.

"It's about each other," Beca said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We care about each other, and we actually talk." She shrugged, crossing the street. "It's great," she furthered her point.

"You know what would be greater?" Amy spoke, Beca looking at her with a raised brow, silently asking her to carry on. "If you could do that, and then bang the hell out of each other afterwards." She took a huge bite of her grilled stuff burrito.

"Ideally, yes, that would be fantastic." Beca was beginning to get agitated now. "Unfortunately, the real world isn't that generous. Please hurry up," she added as an afterthought, climbing the steps to the radio station, two at a time.

"Your mom didn't wait for you, so why should I?" Amy snarked, following Beca up the steps.

Amy walked into the radio station like she owned it, greeting, waving and winking at every person she walked past. Beca, on the other hand, kept her head low, not wanting to interact with her co-workers at such an early hour. Instead, she bit her fingernails discreetly. Not too discreetly, however, since Amy spoke up about it.

"That's so disgusting," she said, Beca immediately replacing her hand back into her pocket. "You shouldn't do that."

Old habits die hard, or so they say.

It wasn't long before they ran into their boss.

"Amy, Reggie," he said as he approached them, removing his sunglasses from his face. "Where have you been?" He folded his arms across his chest and regarded Beca.

"I'm sorry, Amy made us stop at Taco Bell," Beca justified, raising a bag which contained her meal. Her boss took the bag, peeked inside, and placed it under his arm; Amy stifled a laugh.

"Don't be late again," was all he said.

However, before he could leave, Beca spoke up again. "I, um, actually wanted to talk to you about the a-cappella piece," she said rather timidly, while Amy finished her third burrito of the morning and her boss rolled her eyes. "It's coming along great – I've got all the research and interviews done," Beca reassured, her boss nodding and glancing at his watch, "but the narration is a bit of a problem. Whoever did it kept going off topic and saying some incredibly sexist things about the all-female groups." Beca made a few frantic hand gestures, Amy nodding agreement, even though she wasn't listening to their exchange at all. "I've cut it down to seven minutes, and that's clearly not enough; I need–" she was cut off as a phone started ringing.

"Yeah, great," the Boss said down to the mobile in his hand. "Just do whatever you gotta do. I'm counting on you, Reggie!" he called as he brought his phone to his ear and walked off.

Beca sighed. "How come he remembers your name?" she asked, frustrated, to her best friend who was currently munching on a taco.

"It isn't exactly hard for my sexy, fat arse to stand out," Amy commented with a full mouth, shaking her rear end slightly. "You're like, down here," Amy motioned her hand just below her belly button, "with those guys who do shit about volcanoes and the Royal Baby." She then lifted her hand high above her head. "And I'm up here, talking about the things that people actually give a shit about."

"People care about a-cappella," Beca defended, taking a seat at her desk.

"Keep telling yourself that, Bee," Amy said, sitting at her own workspace.

Beca breathed a heavy sigh at the computer in front of her. No matter what she did, she just wasn't able to get the perfect configuration for her a-cappella podcast. It didn't help that she had a sexist prick talking through her headphone, or the fact that Amy was talking on the phone obnoxiously loud to someone in Wales.

"You sound like a robot," Amy yelled down the receiver. "Do I sound like a robot?"

Having enough of this bullshit, Beca pushed her headphones onto her shoulders. "Amy, shut the fuck up, I'm trying to–" But, Amy was ignoring her, continuing her conversation with the Welsh – or was it Wale-ish? – person.

"I know, it's unbelievable, right?" Amy laughed. "I don't know what it is either."

"It's unbelievable!" Beca imitated in a god-awful Australian accent. "I don't what it is either. I'm a fucking cunt, I'm the queen of the fucking world, lick my vag." She shoved her headphones back on with a grunt before continuing to butcher the Australian dialect. "My friend Beca hasn't had her vag licked in six fucking months." She then went on to mock Amy's laugh, which she's strangely proud to admit that she had perfected.

After work that day was Beca's doctor's appointment. Needless to say, she was shitting herself. Hospitals kinda freaked her out, and so they should. Nothing good ever comes from visiting a prison full of sick people, riddled with diseases and on their death beds. At least she managed to convince Amy not to come with her.

She was waiting in her doctor's office, nibbling her nails and reading a pamphlet about incontinence. Why? She didn't know, and she didn't want to know. Her heart was thumping against her ribs – why the shit was she so nervous?

The door opening made her jump in her skin. She turned around as she saw Doctor Whittaker walk in. Beca needlessly stood up before immediately feeling stupid and sitting back down. Without saying a word, the doctor made his way around Beca to perch at his desk and peruse a folder. Sitting in silence, Beca pursed her lips and glanced around the room, waiting for the doctor to speak.

It felt like an eternity before he spoke – into a voice recorder, that is. "Patient has been complaining of back pain and night sweats," he said monotonously. "Blood tests and urine analysis are normal." Beca breathed a small sigh of relief. "MRI suggests a massive intradural malignant schwannoma neurofibrosacroma extending in the psoas muscle," the doctor said in a rush, getting quieter as he went along. Beca bit in the inside of her cheek, having no idea what the hell he was talking about. She did catch the last bit, however. "The growth extends from L2 to L5. Will send patient for biopsy to confirm."

Amongst the doctor's scientific ramblings, Beca silently raised her hand, in hope she was being polite. Thankfully, the doctor saw the raised hand and questionable look on the short brunette's face.

He turned off the recorder and said, "yes, question?"

"Sorry, I just," Beca stammered, "I didn't catch any of that, not really." She put on a smile, trying to be as courteous as she knew how. "Is there something wrong with me?" she finally asked.

"Yes," the doctor deadpanned, and Beca's face dropped. "If you look here on your MRI," Doctor Whittaker gestured to a screen to his left, pointing to a specific area with his pen, "you can see this cephalopod-like object that's spreading down your spinal column." Beca opened and closed her mouth, still not getting a single word this man was saying. "This is a massive schwannoma neurofibrosacroma."

"Right," Beca got out. "And what does that mean?"

What Beca received as an answer was the last thing she expected to hear.

"It's a malignant tumour," the doctor told her.

"A tumour?" Beca said slowly.

"Yes."

"Me?" she asked again, needing further clarification.

"Yes."

Beca breathed out a short laugh. "Sorry, that doesn't make any sense," she said. "There must be a mistake – I don't smoke, I don't drink, I –"

"Your case is actually quite fascinating," Doctor Whittaker interrupted, ignoring Beca's frustration. "Your cancer is result of an incredibly rare gene mutation."

That's when Beca fell quiet. After the word 'cancer', she tuned him out. She stared ahead, her vision blurring and she could hear a high-pitched ringing in her ear, along with that single, fearful word.

Cancer.

She eventually came around to the doctor's droning voice.

"Given the placement and size of your particular tumour," Beca rose from her seat, still in a slight daze, "the wisest course of action is to see if we can possibly reduce this thing down to a more manageable size." Beca wandered over to window and gazed down at the street below. All those happy, carefree people, living their lives as best they can. Living in general. "Then we can consider surgery." Doctor Whittaker took a breath, before heading onto the important stuff. "Now, chemotherapy can often result in fertility issues."

"I'm going to be okay, right?" Beca asked longingly, still trying to wrap her head around this bombshell.

The doctor was quiet for a moment before saying, with some remorse for once, "if you need someone to talk to, we have an excellent staff here at the hospital of social workers and psychologists."

Once again, Beca tuned him out as he went on to explain the side effects of chemotherapy. Instead, she just stared out the window.

You hear about this stuff from gossiping neighbours and on TV, but you never think it'll happen to you until it does.

Woo! First chapter - yay! Let me know what you guys think, and if you want me to continue it. Chloe will most likely enter the next chapter anway.

Here's a question for you, though - is Taco Bell any good? Living in England, this stuff is in short supply.

Catcha later and have a great day.
Dilly xx