This entire story was supposed to be around 2,000 words -_-

Mitchell and Beale clearly gave no effs to my outline, little shits that they are.

Hope you enjoy it – and your feedback would be much appreciated!

Of course they don't last.

No happily-forever-after for the girl whose own parents ended up in, as she told people around her when she was 14, "the divorce to end all divorces".

Her relatives looked aghast at her, like what a horrible thing to say and this is what happens when broken families –

Time to put on her headphones.

Her best friends had a similar expression as well, but soon learned to giggle at it – in fact, by the third week since she's said that, they've now moved on to stories of chalk lines drawn straight between the house.

On how she's subsisting on pizza because her mom has the electricity, but can't use the water to cook. Or how the first yelling of the day isn't from yet another argument, but from her dad, who has all the water in the world, but still can't have a hot shower.

And as the stories increase in magnitude, so does the eyeliner, as does the volume in her music player(s).

She's sure that in two months, she'll have advanced to how Snow White ended up poisoning the prince herself – the evil queen would have left detailed instructions somewhere, okay; she's a queen – she doesn't do sloppy. Or how Prince Eric "accidentally" threw Ariel back into the sea – legs and all – because he just couldn't get Ursula out of his mind.

At least she's guaranteed an A plus in AP English – or a doctorate in symbolism-in-parental-separation-and-abandonment.

Whichever gives her better protection against the storms that brew inside of her.

Anyway, back to her own separation.

At least they aren't bringing children into this mess, she says half in jest to Jesse, whose expression says that he doesn't think it's funny at all God Jesse I was only kidding, don't look like I killed our kid or something. Maybe this is why he's dumping her; the inappropriate jokes at serious times may have been charming to him at the start, but would have surely worn off after the first anniversary.

But this is all she has left in times like these, and if he doesn't get it, maybe breaking up isn't such a bad thing after all. She's always hated how she inadvertently became a cliché herself anyway, as Amy never fails to remind her. Of how the Ice Princess' heart was melted and won over by the goofy prince.

(Chloe may be the one this time to gasp and force her to sit through a couple more Disney feature animations so that she'd finally get her story lines right.)

Fourteen-year-old Beca Mitchell would have traveled to the present – after building that time machine herself – and gave her the ass kicking of her life, if she knew.

So another one bites the dust.

She fails again.

Whatever.

"No, I just don't get why we're putting this in the set, it isn't gelling with the rest of the songs!"

"Oh my god, how many times do we have to go through this before we –"

She supposes it's nobody's fault but her own to think that better days are ahead after the Bellas find their voice. Or after she and Emily received good reviews for the song.

Emily is the only the only person Beca didn't correct when she gushed about how she single-handed created "The Bella Sound", and that was because Beca was busy pretending that she's been at the party the whole time.

Nobody else gets away with it, because it just isn't true. The girls trust her for the most part, but every Bella set – from their charity performance in preschools to the ICCAs – doesn't see the light of the day before it has everyone's sign-off.

And most of these sessions, while not as bad as pulling teeth or her parents' divorce, duh, took time, arguments, and – in the end – booze for everyone to agree.

Since the results are always an improvement on what she first presents, Beca's usually happy to sit back and let them have at it.

Tonight, though – she walks out of the house, knowing they won't even notice that she's gone – they are only hour one into their minimum-two-day to-and-fro after all.

Staring at the pool, she should have known that a campfire heart-to-heart wouldn't have solved anything; that her highs from doing slightly better in life after the retreat would only last so long.

The Worlds are only a few months ahead, but Chloe and she have led the Bellas damn well so far, and they've pulled last minute stints that are way closer to this. And surely being handed more tasks at work is a sign that Sammy is starting to trust her?

She's also doing better since the break up, even if Jesse can't stop giving her that sullen look when they can't avoid each other in time, and her dad's non-stop calls or texts urging her to return his are probably to congratulate her on getting through college.

If she passes her finals, which are even closer than Worlds, that is.

She doesn't know, then, why she's having trouble breathing. Maybe it's her mother's eyes that are staring right back at her stupid face. Eyes that used to crinkle from laughter at her dad's terrible high brow jokes before it all went to shit.

Or maybe it's the pool water that's being stupidly still, and seem to not move even more on purpose against her increasingly short breaths. Something's missing and it's feeding the storm that's about to eat her insides –

Is this it? Is life having the last laugh by punishing her for too many energy drinks and Taco Bells and damnit why won't the Bellas stop calling for her and can her phone stop ringing for one goddamn second –

She'll show it.

And dives headfirst into the pool.

Messing up the calm waters with glee.

Resurfaces.

Dives under again.

She stops hearing her name, but is pretty sure she's not dead.

So the arms that are hauling her to the water surface probably don't belong to the devil. Because she's also pretty sure that Satan's voice doesn't have the gentle tilt of her co-captain.

Who's carrying her like a lifeguard does and asking her "And where do you think you're going?" like she was commenting on the weather. As if Beca didn't just jump into the pool with her blazer, jeans, heels, phone and all.

"Chlo."

Splash.

"Chloe."

Splash splash.

Only to be ignored like the naughty child that she is, judging from the way Chloe's shushing and making tutting noises.

"Beca, it's okay."

Splash.

"I've got you," Chloe whispers.

And despite wearing jeans, both of them float on the water until she starts breathing normally.

The water is calm again.

But Chloe's with her.

The Bellas are going on without their leaders.

And the world keeps spinning.

It's almost one in the morning when both of them step foot in the house. Maybe Chloe's said something to the Bellas before, or maybe someone just had a midnight food craving. Either way, the entire group's shifted to the kitchen by the time they return.

She's hustled up the stairs, straight to the showers, Mitchell, and when she's drying her hair in Chloe's room, Amy sticks her head into the room to say that her shared room with Beca is Beca's for the night, if she wants. Chloe shakes her head and thanks her anyway.

So there's that, then.

Just like the night after Beca's break up with Jesse, Chloe's lying on her left side, facing away from the door. Beca had stumbled into the room after staying at the bar long after Jesse left, calling out for Chloe. She felt guilty when Chloe didn't even stir from the smell of what must be the floor of a distillery, so she decided – with her alcohol addled brain – to join Chloe in bed.

"Shh, it's me," Beca whispered. Or slurred. Whatever.

"Beca? What –"

"Don't – don't turn around," Beca pleaded. "Just stay where you are." Chloe seemed to understood what Beca needed – she always did – and did as she was asked.

She had stayed still as the gargoyles that Beca often advocate for – "Don't hate on 'em, okay, it's not like they asked to look like that," – even as the back of her shirt got increasingly soaked. And stayed quiet as Beca, through sobs, told her how Jesse didn't want to be with her, didn't want her anymore.

Sometime throughout the blubbering, she had reached behind, fumbling in the dark to search for Beca's hand. It was soon found and clasped tightly, and the crying ceased over time.

When Chloe confided in Stacie about the breakdown the next day – after Beca told the Bellas what happened (in so many words), Stacie didn't even have the heart to make a sex joke about how she had a hot cutie pie in bed and ended up with a soaked shirt as well as sore arms.

Chloe was grateful for that, and she suspected it was because Stacie had spotted two – instead of one – pillows in the sun. Pillows that took in the tears of two people the night before: one who didn't think she was enough, and one who knew she wasn't.

"You look deep in thought," Beca mumbles as she falls in behind her.

She hums, wondering if she should face Beca or stay put.

"Thanks, by the way," Beca continues, clearing her throat, "for just now. Did you want me to be quiet? Or I can go, if you –

She turns around.

"Beca," she coaxes, trying to catch her eyes, "it's okay. I'd do that for you anytime. I just didn't know if you wanted to talk about it or sleep or just…"

"Yeah, I haven't been communicating well with you, have I?" Beca says, scratching her nose. "I'm sorry I put you in this position."

"It's oka –"

"No, please, Chloe – hear me out," Beca finally looks her in the eyes, and Chloe stops. "I've wanted to apologize to you for leaving you alone to deal with the Bellas, for what I said at the retreat, and for making you second guess yourself when it comes to…dealing with me."

Oh. So it wasn't about what happened at the pool at all.

"Beca…" she sighs, unprepared to open that can of worms. "I just…you knew that no matter how obsess we are – or I am – with Worlds, or the Bellas, we'd never begrudge you for getting that internship, right?"

An affirmative nod.

"So what gives?"

"I…I don't know," Beca says. "I just felt guilty. And I kept meaning to tell you – I did, Beale – and you were the first one I wanted to tell about Snoop Dogg, but…things just started piling on, and there was never a good time, then Sammy asked if I had anything original to say, and it's not something you want to announce to people, y'know?"

"Stop," Chloe chides her gently. "Beca, we're not 'people', and you know that no matter what you do, we'll always be proud of you. So you had a setback. We're here to help get you back on your feet again. We always will be."

"That's partly why I felt guilty," Beca replies softly.

"What?"

"That you'd always be here – that's not how I meant it, Chloe," Beca grabs her hand before Chloe can take it back. "I meant it literally – I felt guilty because I was afraid that you'd still be here, long past us, even after Emily's gone."

"Wow…" She tries to tug her hand away, but Beca's grip is unyielding. Throughout the years, Beca was the only one who never pushed her on graduating. She thought they had a mutual understanding, that Beca knew Chloe wasn't ready yet, that she needed just a little more time.

So she guesses Beca did mean what she said at the retreat. Did she…has Beca been thinking that she should have left since the beginning? Was she part of the intervention in her second super senior – wait, did she start it? Was that why Beca never told her about the internship – that Chloe's so far behind that it didn't matter if…

Et tu, Beca?

"Listen to me, please."

"No."

"Chloe."

"NO!" she yells, jumping out of bed, and regrets it as soon as she sees Beca's expression. Now Beca probably won't spit on her hand if it were on fire.

But she should have known – that the girl who's never ceased to surprise her, since her unconventional song at her audition, that underestimating Beca Mitchell was Aubrey's mistake.

Not hers. Never hers.

Because not only that Beca didn't let go of her hand, she yanked Chloe forward and latched on to her like…like they were back in the pool, only this time, Beca's drowning.

So she holds back just as tight.

"Why?" She says into Beca's hair.

"Why what?"

"Why are you always so fearless?"

"Fearless?" The laugh is half muffled by Chloe's shoulder. "Did you not just see me jump into the deep end of the pool in the middle of the night?"

"Exactly my point." She doesn't join Beca.

"Chloe, I was scared shitless."

"Then why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you always running into the future? Why are you always fixated on the next big mix? The next…whatever?"

Why are you always going somewhere I can't follow?

"Chloe – I've never learned how to live in the present. I looked forward to my own parents' divorce, for God's sake, and high school was just generally sucky, so I dreamt of taking that flight to L.A. for years. That's not being fearless – that's running away."

"Then why are you doing it now – do you hate it here…?"

"God, Chloe, no," Beca says. "Look, promise me you won't be mad?"

Chloe almost laughs as she imagines freshman Beca Mitchell saying that to anyone at all, much less now, when she's much more self-assured.

"Promise."

And then Beca's standing on her toes and whispering into her ear, "You, Chloe Beale, you're fearless."

She laughs. And worries whether Beca's suffering from short term memory loss. Then shuts up when Beca's looking at her with her David-Guetta-serious face.

"Chloe," Beca continues, holding her shoulders, "you and Aubrey stood at the courtyard and handed out flyers from a sinking ship. You barged into my shower and wouldn't leave until I sang your lady jam with you.

"You took a chance on me, fought Aubrey on my behalf, and look at this year. The Bellas turned into a national disgrace overnight, and what did you do? Get us into Worlds. Which, by the way, is halfway across the world."

"But you just said at the retreat that I was –"

"I know, Chloe," Beca says. "And that's what…it scared me, okay? I just thought that you needed to fulfill your dreams or whatever at first, and then…

"I mean, all these years, I just followed you, wherever you went. And the past few years…"

"I stopped leading," Chloe finishes for her.

At Beca's silence, she pushes forward: "And you felt that you were on your own."

Because you couldn't follow me any longer.

"And so you started to run headfirst into the future."

More acquiescing silence.

"But Beca, I've decided to graduate – why are you…"

"You've said that before," Beca mutters. "I didn't know if you were going to change your mind again."

"Beca – I won't. I really won't."

"I know," another muffled reply.

"Huh? But you just said…when did you know?"

"When you jumped into the pool with me and told me that you got me."

"Oh."

"You promise you're going to graduate?"

"I do so solemnly swear, that I, Chloe middle-name-redacted Beale – ouch! Mitchell, it's too early in the morning to be hit that hard!"

"Ass. Also, that's always been my line."

"What – 'you jump, I jump?'"

"Chloe!" They hang on to each other and fall back on to Chloe's bed, covering their mouths to stop their laughter from disturbing the rest of the Bellas.

"Alright, alright, I promise."

"That you will graduate, Beale."

"That I will graduate, Mitchell."

"And that you'll get out of Barden and won't look back. For whatever reason."

"And that I won't look ba – Beca, isn't that a bit drastic?"

"That you won't look back, Beale. For whatever or whomever."

"…that I won't look back."

"Good enough."