Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me.

I had this chapter about half-way done before I got sick and then I couldn't do much after that. But hopefully this chapter makes up for the long wait.

Day of Regionals – Back on Campus

She stares at him and he stares back.

Her dad's car is driving off already, leaving them behind. She's glad. The tense atmosphere and being so close to her angry father was killing her. But now she's in another damn situation. Beca can admit she may have overreacted a bit back at the Police Department. After all, Jesse had only been trying to help. But now things with her dad are messy, well messier than they already were, and she can't help but be angry with him over that.

"Well, bye," Beca says monotonously as she moves to walk around him and back to her dorm.

"Wait, Beca," Jesse pleads, reaching for her arm and letting go when she shrugs him off. "Come on, Bec. I'm sorry. But who else was I supposed to call?"

She whirls around and glares at his glum face. "Anyone," she seethes. "Anyone else."

"Who else would pay bail for you?" Jesse reasons. "I don't have that kind of money; if I did, you know I would have done it in a heartbeat. But no college kid has that kind of money to spare. There was nothing else for me to do, Bec."

"You could have let me spend the night in jail," she throws her hands up. "Anything other than my dad. You know what our relationship is like."

He does. It only took a random, unplanned meeting at the quad and an introduction to realize that Beca never had any intention of him meeting her father. Jesse had first worried that it was because she thought him unlikeable or maybe just not important enough to introduce to any family member, but a look at the tight-lipped smiles and strained conversation between Beca and her dad quickly refuted that idea. Beca does not get along with her father. And it probably ties back to some childhood issues that he has no business prying into.

But who else was he supposed to call?

"I'm sorry," he says helplessly. There's nothing he can do. She's going to stay angry at him, no matter how many times he apologizes, and that hurts almost as much as her telling him he's not her boyfriend.

"I know," Beca mutters with a furrowed brow. She just wants this conversation to be over. She wants to go to bed and try to forget about all of it. About the fact that her relationship with Jesse, the one person she didn't want to screw things up with, is now pulled taut, almost stretched to its limit and she doesn't know how to fix it. She rubs her eyes as she goes to walk around him again, passing by him with barely a glance.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he says softly, remembering the far-away look in her eyes after she stopped trying to reason with her dad; the awkward silence that had surrounded the three of them as Beca kept her stare on the dashboard.

Beca stops mid-step, looking over her shoulder to give Jesse an uneasy smile. "I know."

I didn't mean to hurt you, either.

See, here's the thing.

She is…confused. That did not go as planned.

It was supposed to have gone like this: Beca ignores Jesse. Jesse gets confused and maybe even pissed (because neither of them likes to be ignored). Jesse does not expect Beca to fight back on night of Riff-Off. Jesse too stunned to do much. Jesse flustered. Beca wins. Yay for Beca.

Except it had gone like this: Beca ignores Jesse. Jesse gets confused and pissed (progress). Jesse does not expect Beca to fight back on night of Riff-Off (progress continues). Jesse stunned, but gives as good as he gets (progress stops). Jesse flustered (progress back on). Jesse starts communicating with her through lyrics (progress stops and heads downhill). Beca fights back and tries not to choke up (mission aborted). Beca gets 'cut-off', so Beca loses (explosion). Beca hates the look on his face (it's always a damn rollercoaster with him). Boo for Beca.

So now she feels guilty and sad and vengeful and hurt and angry. Too many feelings. Always involving him. She shouldn't feel guilty; he's as much to blame as her and she will not let Jesse turn this around on her. She hates feeling sad because it's not worth it; there's nothing to fix. Revenge, she will gladly seek. The hurt, she can't do anything about. The anger, she can work with.

It's what she's been using as fuel for this long, anyway.

…

Radio Station – Monday

She's ten minutes late, but it's better this way. She needs to measure his reaction to her. It's what'll initiate whatever plan she has to make up in less than thirty seconds.

His back is turned when she walks in through the doorway, but that doesn't mean she misses the way his shoulders stiffen up and then forcibly slump down into a more relaxed posture. Okay, good. Apparently, her presence still has an effect on him. This works in her favor. She has nothing to lose. It's not like he has an effect on her, too.

No way, dude.

She starts walking forward, toward the booth. At the last second, right as she's passing him and before she can talk herself out of it, Beca lifts her hand to run it along his shoulder blade slowly, her index finger on the nape of his neck. "Hi, Swanson," she says softly and then continues on her merry way. From the corner of her eye, she sees his head snap toward her in disbelief, but she's already inside the booth, closing the door on his gaping face.

Huh. Not bad (pat on the back for Beca).

…

She's in the middle of playing Track 4 when she sees Jesse glance back at her from where he's stacking CDs on the shelf. He's been doing this for the last ten minutes and she's pretty damn proud of herself for making him this flustered, but there's only so much she can get done with his eyes on her. Beca adjusts the headphones around her ears and looks up to meet his gaze, raising an eyebrow at him. Jesse frowns as his cheeks flush and quickly looks back toward the album in his hand. She lets out a small laugh and shifts her concentration back onto the program on her laptop.

A few minutes later, she looks at the big ass clock on the wall and decides it's time to have a little fun again. Beca skips (not literally, she has some pride) out of the booth and scowls when she doesn't see Jesse near the shelves. Where did that nerd go?

"Looking for me, Mitchell?" She whirls around and tries not to let out a gasp when she finds him closer than she'd expected.

Jesse arches a brow at her and slightly tilts his head. "Everything okay?"

Beca nods and bites her tongue when she sees the smug look in his eye. Of course he isn't going to let her get away with her stunt from earlier. Well, she always rises up to meet the challenge, right? "Oh, I'm fine. Are you okay? You look a bit flushed; are you getting sick?" She moves forward to lay her hand on his chest, looking at him with a worried expression that loses all credibility with the mocking glint in her eye.

"I'm fine," Jesse murmurs as his eyes shift between her face and the finger now grazing the silver of skin peeking from beneath top button he always leaves undone.

"Good," Beca smirks as she gives his chest two firm pats. "Then mind getting me lunch? I'm starved. Thanks." She turns around and walks back into the booth, her hand giving him a backwards wave.

And once again she closes the door on his gaping face.

She's having so much fun.

…

"Yes, Ian. Everything's fine."

"Are you sure? Nothing's on fire? The desk still retains its innocence?"

"When are you going to get it through your giant head that that rule will never be at risk of getting broken with us?" Beca tells him exasperatedly through the phone tucked in between her ear and shoulder.

"Right," Ian scoffs. "As if. I am not blind, Beca. I know what UST is."

"UST?" She asks as she frowns at the CD she's examining in her hand. The Breakfast Club. Ugh.

"Unresolved Sexual Tension."

Beca almost loses her grip on the case, opening her mouth to tell her darling boss off, but instead she ends up choking when her windpipe is suddenly blocked. "Well, that just proves my theory," Ian says when he hears her coughing through the phone. "You don't have to act so surprised. I know how much you want that hunk of a man. It's okay, Beca. I know." She wants to kill Ian. And this conversation reminds her way too much of the one she had last week with another meddling friend of hers.

"So what's it like having a room all to yourself?"

Beca shrugs and moves her straw more forcibly through her much too frozen chocolate shake. "It's okay… Honestly, it's kind of lonely. Especially because you don't forget a roommate like Amy, but I guess the privacy is nice."

Donald gives a small hum and raises an eyebrow at her. When all he gets in response is a perplexed arch of the brow, he gives a frustrated sigh. "Ever use that privacy for more personal issues?" He elaborates. "Like working out some…tension?"

"What?" Beca asks slowly. "Dude, what are you talking about?"

Her friend with the hipster glasses throws his head back at the sky, as if he has no more prayers for her. "I'm talking about Jesse! Swanson! Whatever you call him. I mean, you have your own room now. Isn't that enough of an incentive to invite him over and do what you crazy kids have wanted to do for over a year now?"

Beca can only gap at him.

"Come on, Beca! Everyone can see it. Why do you two keep on wasting time?"

"What the hell, Donald!" She snaps once she gains back use of her vocal chords. "That doesn't make any sense. We hate each other. What the hell." She sits back and narrows her eyes at him as she takes more forceful sips of her drink. Damn it, why won't it melt?

"You don't fool me. Neither of you. I know, Bec. I know."

"You're a weird one, Donny."

Once she starts breathing properly again, she walks back over to the desk chair and takes a seat as she prepares for the small minded discussion ahead of her. "You're wrong. There is nothing between me and Jess- Swanso- whatever."

"Okay," Ian drawls. "Sure. Let's go with that. Let's pretend the air around you two doesn't sizzle with repressed feelings and misunderstandings. Let's pretend you don't want to throw him down onto that precious desk and-"

"Stop! That- don't- ugh," she sputters. "You're wrong. All of you are wrong," she says, referring to her other friends' misguided perceptions, remembering the look Fat Amy had given her after the Riff-Off.

"All of us? You mean the voices in your head telling you to shove your tongue down his throat and-"

"I'm hanging up now. Goodbye." She ends the call and winces, knowing she's going to get hell for it later. Ian's just dramatic that way and he'll want to talk her ear off with a discussion on proper manners and etiquette.

Beca sighs as she reaches for her headphones and prepares to go back on air. But she can only stiffen up as she hears the booth door open and resist the urge to turn her head to the side and look at him.

"Got your lunch," he sets the bag down in front of her and she raises her eyebrows at the logo of the pizza place they used to frequent in freshman year. So, he remembers. Well…that's interesting. But she didn't expect him to actually get her lunch either- her eyes widen as she feels his breath down the nape of her neck (why did she wear a bun, again?). She's not facing him but she can feel his body heat near her back and it's enough to unnerve her.

The chair's suddenly spun towards him and Beca feels quite proud of herself for holding in her squeak, but it's hard to keep her face expressionless once she meets his eyes. Jesse's looking at her intently, almost searchingly, and it's giving him the upper hand. She doesn't like it.

He's bracing his hands on the arms of the seat and his face is level with hers. "What are you doing?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Beca answers as she eyes the flexed biceps on either side of her. Nerds shouldn't have muscles.

"I got you lunch. I was just doing my job. You, however, are trying to start something you don't have the guts to finish," he says, his eyes boring into hers.

Beca narrows her eyes at him. "Excuse me?"

"The touching. It needs to stop."

Her body leans forward as if on autopilot. "Why? Does it bother you?" If she moves one more inch, her lips will brush against his…but she doesn't want that. "You can't handle it and that's okay, Swanson. But don't accuse me of not having the guts, because we both know who's ahead in this game." Not that she necessarily thinks she's ahead, but he doesn't need to know that.

Jesse stares at her for a couple more minutes, his gaze heating hers and neither can look away. Beca swallows hard and hopes it's inconspicuous enough. "If you're sure about this, Mitchell, then there's no backing down," he finally says. "Once you cross this line, you can't go back."

…What? What does that mean? She flushes when she sees his smirk, realizing she's just spoken her thoughts out loud.

"It means," he whispers, his breath brushing across her lips as she watches on with dilated pupils. "That if you're going to play this game with me, then you're going to accept the consequences of where it takes us. It means that things will change and we won't be able to back out easily. Are you prepared for that?" He's watching her steadily, searching her eyes for…well, she doesn't what he's searching for. Maybe a shred of doubt or even reluctance. And she's not sure what her answer should be; all she knows is that she wants to prove him wrong. She does have the guts to finish what she started. Doesn't she?

"I can handle it. Can you?" The answer springs forth and it's then she realizes that she's just agreed to something she hadn't thought through. At all. The soft look in his eyes, the one that had taken over while he was searching her face, fades away and with it gone comes a cool, blank mask. He nods, his nose brushing against hers and making her breath hitch because that's how close they are (she's almost gone cross-eyed).

"Enjoy your lunch," is all he says before he steps back and walks out of the booth like their conversation never happened.

Now she's just confused and okay, maybe a little panicked (no pat on the back for Beca; maybe a bitch slap for Beca).

Jesse was right. The dynamics of their relationship (if it can even be called that) did alter. She doesn't think there's ever been this much touching. Two more weeks of this and Ian will either be pissed at the fact that the desk has been defiled or pleased that he's been proved right. UST.

And lots of it.

It started off simple enough. A brush of the hands, a heated gaze, a stroke across the shoulder in hello. Then it was a hand trailing down her arm, her fingers stroking the nape of his neck, a squeeze of her hips, her hand sneaking under his shirt to brush against his (hard) stomach in passing. And then it was unto something…more. His chest against her back as he stacks a CD, while she 'helps' him; her hand trailing down his spine as she presses into his side; his hot palm against her lower stomach, moving down toward her hipbones; her breath against his ear, her lunch order against his cheek; his breath brushing across her lips, him nosing her neck.

So, yes, it had gotten up close and personal. But- this was not done with sighs or fluttering eyelashes and cute smiles. This was done with gritted teeth, reluctantly flushed faces, mischievous smirks, and glares.

What she's trying to accomplish? She has no clue. Maybe she just wants him to admit that he can't handle the pressure of being that close to her, because she has more of an effect on him than he has on her. And she hopes that this is the case, or else she'll have to cave first.

Because being that close to Jesse without actually having any right to be, hurts. He's not hers. And she's not his. And that won't change.

It's too late to change now.

...

Two weeks later - Radio Station – Tuesday

"You're late."

Jesse smirks as he heaves his backpack onto the desk. "Worried about me, Mitchell?"

"Worried about my lunch, actually. It's two o'clock and I'm starved, so chop chop," Beca replies as she looks through the crate of CD's. Her new mix is playing in the booth; an uninterrupted hour of good music for her listeners. She tries not to look up when she feels him inch closer to her.

"What do you want?" Jesse asks as his hand grazes her elbow.

Beca chews on her bottom lip as she spies on him from the corner of her eye. Jesse's sorting through another pile of albums, but she knows where his real attention's directed; if the hand tracing her hipbone is anything to go by. "Surprise me," she murmurs.

She can feel him move behind her, sliding her hair over one shoulder and bringing his mouth closer to her ear. "I'll do that."

Beca grits her teeth as she tries to ignore the heat building up in her lower stomach. She really hopes her face isn't red. Quickly thinking, Beca lifts her right hand to reach behind her and lightly rake her nails across the nape of his neck, the way she knows he likes (she found out about this a week ago when she'd done it to the skin of his stomach and he'd let out an involuntary groan; safe to say she'd won that round). She feels Jesse's breath hitch against her cheek and his hands tighten their grip on her hips. She waits for his turn.

And tries not to jump half-a-mile away when she feels his lips on her skin. They've never brought their mouths into the equation before; not with direct contact. Apparently, though, this asshole's decided to step up their game. Beca stays perfectly still, her hand sliding up to tangle in his hair as he continues to place soft kisses on her neck.

"What are you doing?" she asks shakily, once she finds her voice again.

She feels him pause. "I don't know," he whispers back, his mouth brushing against the skin above her pulse.

Beca closes her eyes and tries to breathe in deeply before turning around in his arms to face him. He's looking down at her but she keeps her gaze on the neckline of his shirt.

"Tell me to stop."

Beca frowns and tilts her head up to meet his stare. He's right. They should stop. What are they doing, anyway? This can't go anywhere.

She opens her mouth, fully intending to say the words, but all she can do is close it again when she sees the way he's looking at her. There's some sadness in his eyes, but there's also some hope. She doesn't know which feeling connects to each course of action; telling him to stop or letting him continue. And she's pretty sure he doesn't know, either. But there's something else under his scrutiny. And Beca's seen it before. Freshman year.

"You can't look at me like that," she replies, her voice breaking through the silence.

"How do I look at you?"

"I don't know! But you need to stop!"

"I'm not looking at you any differently from before."

"Yes, you are!" Are their faces getting closer?

Yup, their faces are closer.

Her eyes dart down to his lips. When she snaps them back to his face, she sees his own eyes trained on her lips.

Jesse was right. This game of theirs has changed things between them. And even worse, the moment they both lean in, they lose any chance of going back.

Wednesday

"Pillow fight!"

Minutes later, Beca's whole room is covered in feathers.

"You guys are dorks."

Apparently, her singles room will now be used to host all future sleepovers. She's fine with this; it gets too lonely too quickly, anyway. Fat Amy never fails to remind her of this ("You miss me, Shawshank. You miss the Fat Amy loving. Don't worry, I am always here in spirit. You can tell with the way I've decorated your room"). And it's true. Beca finds a picture of Amy (either with two of her boyfriends or wrestling dingos) on every available surface throughout her room. It's a bit weird, but she doesn't have the heart to take them down. And the rest of the Bellas like the idea because they've also taken pictures with funny faces and taped them to her closet door. Aubrey and Chloe sent some, too (more like ten). Her friends are weirdos. But Beca loves them.

Which is why she wakes up in the middle of the night while everyone's asleep, spread around in their sleeping bags on the floor. She's betraying them. She's going behind their back. She's lying to them. And all for a guy. Well, okay, not just a guy.

Jesse.

But he's the last person she should be doing this with. He's her ex-friend. He's her ex-crush.

He's a fucking Treble Maker.

And she kissed him. And then she freaked, gathered her stuff and power-walked out of the station, ignoring the call of her name. Her first name. And now she doesn't know what to think. She doesn't know what she's doing. This can only end badly.

Beca feels sweat gather at the base of her neck. Her heart's pounding; small, frantic beats that are too strong and going too fast. Her stomach feels queasy.

And she barely makes it to the toilet in time. She's dry-heaving by the time she feels someone gather her hair into a bun and smooth a wet towel over her flushed cheeks.

"Beca?" Jessica questions softly. "Try to breathe, hun."

She can hear Kristen and Fat Amy's voice in the background. Her three friends pull her up gently from the floor and lead her over to the skin to splash some water on her face. She can make out the rest of the Bellas forms in the mirror, looking at her worriedly.

"I'm fine," she says when she can speak again, taking the bottle of water Amy offers her. "I just felt a bit nauseous. No big deal."

"But you're pale," Kristen frowns. "Was it something you ate, maybe?"

Beca nods slowly, "Yeah. That must be it. Sorry I woke you guys up."

Stacie waves her hand dismissively at her and grabs her arm to gently tug her back into the bedroom. "I have a bottle of Gatorade somewhere. You should drink that."

They spend the rest of the night watching bad soap operas and making sure Beca gets better. She gives a reassuring smile whenever one of them glances back at her apprehensively. Physically, she feels okay. Mentally, she's exhausted. And emotionally, she…doesn't know. She feels guilty. And the guilt weighs her down; it's like she has a brick in her chest.

Beca feels guilty because she knows what she's going to do tomorrow. And it goes against everything she's been taught as a Bella. Especially that damn oath.

Radio Station – Thursday

She doesn't expect Jesse to be there so damn early, so she's pretty surprised when she walks through the door and sees him calmly alphabetizing CDs.

She stares at him.

He stares back.

Not even threes seconds later, they meet each other halfway and then they're at it again. The worst part's the fact that it's not even strictly lustful tongue-hockey. It's a series of pecks. He's cupping her face and kissing her languidly, once, twice, three times. She holds onto his wrists as she tries not to melt from the sensation of being treated so gently; she's never had a series of kisses this beautiful before. Damn it, nerd. She can't think as he sucks on her bottom lip the fifth time around. Their noses brush together and his thumbs run over her cheeks as she strokes her fingers over his wrist bone.

They're both breathing heavily by the time they pull back. Jesse rests his forehead on hers and Beca keeps her eyes closed, hoping to avoid reality for as long as possible.

"What does this mean?" He asks her.

She opens her eyes to meet his. "That can't happen again," she replies. His face falls but he doesn't have time to feel the disappointment because Beca leans forward to capture his lips in a rough kiss, her tongue sliding along the seam of his lips to tangle with his. Jesse's gasp gets muffled against her mouth and then he kisses back just as fiercely. Beca pulls back after a few minutes, laying a peck on his chin. "But that can."

Jesse furrows his brow as he watches her with dilated pupils. "I don't understand. What does that mean?"

Beca clutches his shirt as she prepares to cross the final line in their game. "It means that we're just having fun. It means that you're my distraction. And it doesn't go farther than that."

He stares at her. And she stares back. "Okay."

Yes, I made Beca feel as crappy as I do for a moment (I'm evil that way).

Now, back to huddling in a blanket and sipping tea in bed! Fun!

Review, my awesome peeps (if you haven't gotten sick of me and my late updates already)!