SUNDAY, THE BELLATORUM HQ (LOS ANGELES): 0957
(One week later...)
Blue.
That's the first thing that Beca feels against her sweaty skin. A soft blue.
The grossest color know to existence: blue.
The speed with which Beca's brain cells unanimously decide that she hates such an unassuming color is the direct result of Aubrey's tackling her against the blue mat of the Bellatorum practice gym.
"You," Aubrey states as a huff of air, between panting, "WHAT?!"
Beca's Aubrey-senses start tingling, as she immediately recognizes the proximity of Aubrey's rage meter to explosion. Shit. This is a really bad time to break it to her. Aubrey has her pinned down on the mat by the power of sheer, blond rage.
"I—" Beca starts, but it's a little hard to complete a sentence when your boss's thighs are locked on either side of your head, while your own thigh is twisted in a godawful position. In another life, she and Aubrey would look fantastic as pretzels.
"Fuck... Bree..." Beca breathes, but barely, because Aubrey's thighs are like a goddamn python. "Let me... finish..." Aubrey is possibly a millimeter close to snapping her neck off. Oh boy.
"You made a deal with the Triplus?!" Beca can't tell if Aubrey is asking, accusing, or is justifying killing her right now.
"I can't... me... breathe..." The last syllable sounds like an angelic little wheeze from Beca.
...
TRIPLUS MAIN HQ, (NEW YORK): 1258
(Same day)
There is a collective WTF!? moment that escapes the members of the Triplus, who are having pizza for lunch in the Triplus headquarters kitchen. Kolio drops his phone, Unicycle spills coffee on his precious abs, Benji hits his head against the table when he tries to stand up from looking for his Ace of Hearts, and Bumper's spoonful of Cheerio's (because he has a weird habit of eating breakfast at lunch) stop halfway on its travel from the bowl to his mouth.
"You... WHAT?!"
All of them stare at Jesse, who shrugs apologetically.
...
Aubrey releases Beca, and Beca gasps for air. Aubrey is behind her, catching breath as well. But that doesn't mean that the tension in the air is clear, oh no.
"Jeez, Bree... you almost... killed..." Beca starts, feeling her neck to see if it's still intact.
"WHAT THE HELL, BECA?! Are you out of your mind?!" Ha. If Beca had a dollar for every time Aubrey questioned her sanity, she could buy her own damn jet. The woman is clearly on the verge of a nucleartastic breakdown. Great.
What started out as a little sparring session turned deadly as Aubrey and Beca conversed about the events of late, between throwing half-punches and friendly tackles. Things started to go not-so-friendly the moment Beca volunteers the information (really bad idea) of a wager between the Trebles, and the Bellas. At which point, Aubrey's relatively safe lock around Beca's limbs turned hugely scary. Motivated blonds are terrifying.
"Let me finish, okay? God..." Beca says, catching her breath and sitting down to face her boss, who is steadying herself against her knees, panting. Whether it is from the exhaustion or from the impending panic attack, Beca's not sure.
"If this is... another one of your horrible ideas, Beca—" At this point, Aubrey looks about ready to transform into a huge, green monster.
...
"You are... absolutely..."
"Dude!"
"... insane!"
"You are... kidding, right?"
"What the hell were you thinking, man?"
But Jesse takes it all with an innocent look to his huge eyes as he tries to bit of the string of mozzarella connecting his mouth to the slice. All the Trebles are looking at him with such comical looks, that he can't help but think he could Instagram this moment.
"Why are you all so worried," Jesse replies, mid-mouthful of pizza. "It's not like they're gonna win," he tells them, and the Trebles ponder the thought with an equally collective confidence.
"'Sides," Jesse says, right before taking another bite on his slice, avoiding the bellpeppers because he hates bellpeppers, "I've got a plan."
"You better fucking have one, Swanson, because I'm not losing our jet to those dumb bitches," Bumper finally speaks up, shrugging it off as well, and finally pushing that last spoonful of Cheerio's into his fat mouth.
...
MONDAY
(7 days before operation...)
"The Triplus jet. And a head start at catching the drive, but mostly, the jet."
Aubrey's expression changes. Everyone's does.
In conference room C of the Bellatorum HQ, all the Bellas stop what they're doing to just gape at Beca, who had just explained what's at stake...
.:.
"I'm listening." Beca narrows her eyes as she says the words. Hmm... the nerd wants a wager.
"What happened to London?" Jesse is asking about the fact that her last words to him in Las Vegas were about the next lead for the drive.
"Nothing yet. The operation is a no-go. It's scheduled in two weeks."
"Great," Jesse's smile morphs from charming to devious (but still slightly charming... no wait. Shut up, Mitchell). "I propose a race to get to the next lead there, since we'll both probably be working on that same operation. Of course, the first prize is exclusive possession of the information... But if the Triplus get to it first, you go out with me."
"Coffee?"
"Yeah, coffee. Right."
"And if you don't? What happens if we win? What's in it for me?"
She sees him racking his brains, thinking about what could possibly get her interested in his little game...
"How about... the Triplus jet."
What.
The Triplus Jet is a Citation X, 43,000 feet in 30 mins, at mach 0.92, that's 313 meters per second...
She isn't able to help the automatic reaction of her eyes, widening against her sockets. His arms are crossed over his bare chest, still leaning across the window, across from her, and he has that face of a smug bastard who just won the lottery, because, okay, she's not hiding her shock here. Is he... serious?!
"Are you serious? You're fucking with me..."
He lets out an amused chuckle that is irritatingly smooth. (Ugh.)
"As much as I wish I were, I'm serious here," he replies. And he just waits for her to give her verdict on the proposition, as she scans his face for any hint of deceit in those swollen eyes, any lies written on his biceps, which his crossed arms bring into glorious perfection...
(Oh god. No, Mitchell. Get a grip.)
"That's not it," she says, focusing (trying, at least) on something other than his shirtless form. "That's not a fair deal; what are you hiding?" She squints up at him, because it is too good to be true. Sure enough, a smirk teases her from across the window.
"Well, think of it this way," he starts, the sound of his super chill tone making her wary as he shifts his weight on the wall across her. "When I take you out—"
"Oh, wow." She doesn't miss his cocky use of the interrogative adverb "when".
"—Let me finish. When I have coffee with you, it'll take us at least half the day to get to where I wanna have that coffee, plus the actual, you know, drinking the coffee, and another half-day to bring you home for curfew, which I'm sure your Bella leader strictly enforces. So, to save us both the time and hassle, when I win—"
"You're really pushing it, aren't you?"
"—Yes, well, when I win, you'll be gone from the Bellas for at least a whole day."
"At most."
"At least."
Smug asshole.
"And during that time," he continues, ignoring the way she pointedly mocks him with her I-really-don't-think-so expression, "you would not be participating in a mission with the Bellas. Because you're with me. And I get to choose when."
Oh. Now she gets it. And as much as she feels flattered that he is basically saying that the Triplus are at a great advantage if Beca isn't in the picture (because, well, she's the best), the playing field is not quite fair yet. She's still a little suspicious...
"Also," Jesse adds, "you can't take it against us if we, uh..." she can tell, he's looking for a way to put this nicely,"steal from you. Ever again. I know, I know, seems a bit excessive. Don't get me wrong, I'm really not for sabotaging your operations and stealing your stuff, but I gotta level the playing field for this wager. I mean, If you want the jet."
Her eyes bug out slightly, only slightly, because that is a pretty hefty request. The Trebles' severe lack of ethics on that part have been what has kept Aubrey, and all of the Bellas, justified in their hatred of the other organization. What he's asking is a clean slate from the Bellatorum. This means the Bellas won't have the ethical right to retaliate, ever. Beca takes a few moments to weigh the consequences...
Still, a chance at the Triplus Jet? This makes the deal pretty fair.
And all is fair in love and war, after all.
This? This is the latter.
"Alright. It's on," she replies after a few moments of pondering.
"Seal the deal with a kiss?"
"You got lucky tonight, Swanson. Don't push it."
"That makes sense, especially because it's not like you weren't just ogling me right now." His all-too-serious tone is meant to annoy her.
"Right. You're about as fascinating as a car crash." Her affectionate tone is purified sarcasm.
"And yet, you can't take your eyes off me... It's a good thing we're going to be best friends and/or lovers."
Oh no, he didn't.
As much as Beca would like to finish off Hennrick's work on Jesse's future as a father, It's hard to hate the huge, shit-eating grin he gets from teasing her when his face looks like a puzzle that a toddler has put together. So, Beca settles with the traditional, playful banter that she has grown to give and take from him.
"Oh my god, did that one bottle of beer get you wasted already? Are you drunk right now, or do you just have, like, no regard whatsoever for your nuts?"
Jesse winces. That got to him alright.
"A little below-the-belt much?"
"You asked for it," she replies, with a non-too-sublte self-satisfied grin of her own. Across from her, he chuckles. Still wearing that infamous grin that has her questioning all her previously-held beliefs about sincerity in their world, behind layers of finesse and a very black eye, she knows he's just one huge dork with an absolutely lame sense of humor.
"Oh come on, Bec. You know we're perfect for each other," he starts again, and there is just no stopping him is there? She rolls her eyes.
"You're a spy, I'm a spy... We'd make perfect spy babies. It's inevitable," he adds.
Did he just... spy babies? Really? Really? The guy redefines "unsubtle" and brings the word to new heights. (But the amusement fades from her eyes just as fast.)
"Anybody ever tell you how lame you are?"
"You mean 'cute'," he corrects.
"Annoying."
"Persistent."
"Weirdo!" She finally throws the last word to halt... whatever it is that's happening here. This strange comfortability around this maybe-stranger, who is also not quite.
"So are you." He laughs at her right back, his body shaking in laughter just as hers is. This is a strange night, and maybe "weirdo" is an appropriate term for both of them. The odd thing about that is... she doesn't mind. But she kind of minds that she doesn't mind... However, she will think about that another day.
"Also," Jesse says, serious this time. "If we're gonna do this, we need to have some ground rules..."
.:.
The Bellas are hushed around the big round table that serves as the center piece for conference room C. Thinking whatever the hell happened table manners, Beca lets out a loud cough that she hopes would coax the Bellas into giving their opinions on the matter. So far, only Lilly has shown the least bit of responsiveness, changing her look from distant to within acceptable radius.
Come on, guys. Bear with me here.
Fat Amy is the first one to speak up.
"Wait, so you just... agreed? He randomly made a wager for the documents, and you agreed?"
"Yeah," Beca replies, not even remotely telling the whole truth about the central idea behind this bet.
"Are you sure? 'Cause if there's one thing I pegged Mr. Hotshot Treble for, he's not the competitive type," Amy offers.
"Yeah, he seems pretty nice," Chloe muses.
"You're asking me if I'm sure that's what happened?" Beca replies, sarcasm intended. Out of the corner of her eyes, she feels Aubrey scrutinizing her expression. For sure, one wrong intonation, and Aubrey would know something's up.
Beca takes a deep breath. She hasn't exactly told them the entire bet; as far as they know, the Trebles want to be able to keep on stealing from the Bellas without fear of retaliation, and it's just a race for the next lead. She didn't tell them that she would have to go out with Jesse. Instead of telling them that, though, she decides to distract them with details.
"Also, um, we had to come up with rules of engagement," she says.
Wait, no. Wrong phrasing. Stacie and Amy give her that singular look they have that represents probably half of the world's kinky. "Ew, no, I don't mean—"
"What kind of rules?"
"Didn't really peg Mr. Hotshot Treble as a kinky freak, but okay."
"It's not—"
"You sold yourself for a chance at the jet?!" Chloe joins into the totally illogical assumption of Stacie and Amy, which Beca is finding more and more difficult to control. "Oh my god, Beca..."
"Don't you need, like, a contract for that kind of thing?"
"Do you have a safe word?"
"As long as you use protection," C-Rose adds calmly.
"Yea—no, protection's not gonna cut it when there are, like, paddles involved." Amy speaks from experience.
"PADDLES?!" Jessica looks scared for life.
"Did he make you sign a non-disclosure agreement?"
"Did you talk to your lawyer about it first?" Ashley says. She's the Bella who studied law, after all.
"Just make sure you use stainless steel chains. Trust me hon. Rope burns are a bitch." Stacie speaks from possibly even more experience.
("Don't drink and drive" is Lilly's quiet contribution to the conversation... the fact that that made sense given the context is both enlightening and horrifying.)
Beca watches in slow-motion horror as the wrong assumption sinks into the other Bellas, who have now taken to discussing the very sexual nature of the "rules" that Beca has just mentioned, which is totally untrue on fifty different levels.
"Seriously guys—"
God, sometimes, she just hates Amy and Stacie.
"So... there's sex involved?"
Jessica's one question snaps Beca back from her mental collection.
"NO. You guys, that is not what I meant!"
The Bellas finally hush. (Beca ignores Stacie's pointed "What? Why not?") She takes the time to finish the briefing.
The wager is this: the Bellas and the Trebles race for the next lead when it comes to the drive. The lead in London. So far, while working together to avoid the CIA, the two organizations have also been sharing leads and information about the whereabouts of the drive. Nevertheless, Beca's little stunt with the Armenian Mob (which wasn't in any way condoned by Aubrey, fyi) coincided with the dying down down of the CIA's hunt for them. As luck would have it, Beca's pissing off the entire Mob apparently got the CIA really excitable; after three days, the Data and Logistics Division of the Bellatorum (which is composed of one Lilly Onakuramara, and no one else) informed everyone that the overly-excitable CIA have withdrawn their resources from hunting down the organizations, to hunting down one famous Armenian Mob Boss, who had thrown a hissy fit and burned several empty (but still expensive) yachts. It just so happens that one of those yachts had belonged to a senator, so yeah. The CIA had reorganized its priorities accordingly.
So now, the Bellas and Trebles are back to ground zero: mutual loathing and sworn hatred against each other.
Now, both organizations are back to wanting the drive, that cursed piece of plastic containing god knows what.
"The operation is simple..." Aubrey starts, briefing the Bellas on what is about to happen, but throwing Beca an exasperated look that says if this goes wrong, this is all your fault.
...
The Bellatorum and Triplus brief their members on this race of an operation...
Location: London, Great Britain
Objective: Extract valuable documents from Target, before he makes the drop.
Details: Target will be coming in from a flight from Monaco. Target will be at the location airport at 1025, Monday. He will be carrying with him valuable information in the form of documents, most likely in his leather carry-on. He is assumed to be scheduled to meet with several potential buyers, in order to exchange this information. The goal is to intercept these documents before he can make a sale.
...
"Who's the target?" Stacie asks. Aubrey looks to Beca.
"Daniel Rivers."
...
"Daniel Rivers," Jesse tells the whole Triplus in their HQ/luxury bachelor pad this side of North America. He gives himself a well-deserved pause in order to arrest the annoying little images that flash in his brain, that night in Las Vegas. With Beca... and that target.
"What? But we already had him at the Rocky," Greg asks, his semi-spiky hair gelled to perfection.
"Yeah, and he got away," Donald replies for him.
"In any case, we didn't know that he had the information. Now we do," Bumper adds, addressing his entire team in the conference room. He's a little ecstatic at the thought of beating the Bellas, yet again. "And our job is to get to that information before the Bellas do. So suck up your balls, gentlemen. We are going to London!"
"Hang on, Bumper," Jesse addresses the Trebles, "All of you, listen up. Since this is an official wager between us and the Bellas, there are rules you can't break."
The Trebles whine in protest, because manly men don't have rules. It's a good thing that their testosterones respect Jesse.
"Rules? Dude, your estrogen levels are at an all-time high," Bumper comments, grimacing at Jesse's killing the mood.
...
TUESDAY
(6 days to operation...)
"What are the rules again?"
The Bellas are in the gym, and it is but a few more days before the major operation in London. Beca is running on the treadmill when Stacie asks her to recount what needs to happen, so she does so in between huffs of breath.
"One: we can't count on outside resources... Two: we can't make a move until the target is in Britain, and—"
"Okay, so we'll totally catch him from Monaco, right?" Stacie asks, thinking two steps ahead to break the rules in order to win this wager.
"No."
"Cool. So when do we... wait, what did you say?"
Beca keeps running, as the other Bellas realize that that was the wrong, monosyllabic answer. Yes, there is the assumption that they will need to get to the documents first, by getting to the target before he even gets to Britain. And any other operation, she certainly wouldn't think twice about double-crossing her competition and doing whatever it takes to get to those documents. It's the game.
But she gave Jesse her word, and she knows he's going to keep his.
"We're not gonna cross them, Stacie."
"What do you mean?" C-Rose drops her weights in order to partake in the discussion, "They'll probably just cross us first. It's a given... right? The Trebles will try to get the documents from the target while he's still in Monaco and—"
"No..." Beca pants, "They won't."
Chloe, brisk walking on one of the treadmills, has now turned to look at her Beca beside her, who is running with a calm, even pace.
"What aren't you telling us?" Stacie stops her sit-ups, places her arms from the back of her head to across her chest. Her eyes narrow to teeny-tiny slits. "You may be a very good liar, Beca but—"
Just then, Fat Amy enters the premises with a towel slung over one shoulder. "What, good liars, what?" she enquires. After the events in New York, Chinatown, once the Trebles have gone away, Fat Amy has reappeared at HQ, insisting that she has severe allergies to dickwads in the shape of a certain Treble, whose names start with the letter 'B'. But since he's not going to be around anymore, she's back in the game.
"Beca's not telling us something," Stacie answers, her arms still crossed over her chest.
One look at Beca, and Amy gets that nasty little smirk she always does whenever she knows something's up. And if there's one thing that makes Amy valuable to their profession, it's that she's a damn great wrestler... and she knows everything.
Everything.
Beca can just... feel the impending doom of getting ratted out, but she can't help it. When Amy smirks at her that way, from the reflection of the gym mirrors, she has to roll her eyes.
"Yeah, Beca," Fat Amy starts, tauntingly sweet. "What are you not telling us about this wager?"
Beca keeps running. Her evil troll of a friend is not going to get anything out of her.
Chloe has now stopped her treadmill in order to join Stacie and C-Rose in the ranks of those who are patiently annoying Beca with their stares. Because Beca has nerves of steel though, she pretends to be unaffected.
(In reality: Goddamnit Amy, I could kill you right now.)
Just when the suspense is getting to be too much (and Beca is running out of breath from running too hard, afraid to stop and face their questions), Lilly bursts into the gym, bless her soul.
"Guys," she says in her tiny voice. She was always better at speaking in zeroes and ones. "I think you might wanna see this..."
Curious, the Bellas casually follow to where Lilly leads them to the screen of her computer. Playing on the screen is a Japanese news clip, featuring what seems to be heavy traffic in Tokyo.
("Lilly, what is she saying? Translate for us."
"I was born in Florida.")
The Bellas crowd around Lilly's computer screen, cheeks almost touching each other's, as they watch the images play out carefully. And then a birds-eye-view of the road traffic is shown, shot from a helicopter. Taking up around approximately half a kilometer of highway space are the following words, spelled out in trails of rose petals. Like, probably several gallons of it:
DEAR WEIRDO, YOU KNOW YOU WANNA HAVE COFFEE WTIH ME. Love, your favorite T
End clip. The Japanese newscaster starts talking about other world news, but it's too late. The image has already been seared into their minds.
Goddamnit, Swanson.
Beca closes her eyes. Any second now...
"Beca... did a Triplus operative just..."
"Do you know anything about this?"
"Are you... said 'weirdo'?"
"Is he talking to you? This spells Treble all over it... but in... a flirty way..."
"Oh my god, is he flirting with you?"
"What aren't you telling us? Details, woman!"
(If she made a run for it now, she could maybe get back on the treadmill fast enough to—)
"What's that?" Aubrey rounds the corner into Lilly's workspace, where all nine of the Bellas are crowded, mouths agape at what they just read. Coffee still hot in her hand, suit pristinely pressed to get her ready for another day's work.
"Well, hell if we know," Amy remarks, reaching for the keyboard to replay the entire clip, while the Bellas return their eyes to the screen for a second viewing. Aubrey squeezes her way between the faces, and watches as Beca's Treble love letter unfolds before her eyes, causing traffic and public disturbance in Tokyo. Beca takes the time to distance herself from the rest of the girls.
When the clip ends, they wordlessly turn towards her.
"Yeah, about the wager..."
Damnit. She's going to face an eternity of endless jokes and puns about this.
After explaining to them what the real wager is, and of how Jesse wants to take her out for coffee ("Is 'coffee' an international code for something else—" "No."), she makes a lame excuse to go to the shower, before she hears another "Beware of Treble", "Smells like Treble..." and "I knew you were Treble when you walked in" jokes from literally everyone.
She is so going to kill him for this.
(But the thought is made while she's smiling, for some strange reason.)
But as always, when it comes to Jesse Swanson, she should have known that one instance isn't going to be enough.
...
The highway in Tokyo was first.
The next day, five days to operation, Beca gets a call from Chloe at six in the morning, which is bloody murder at any other circumstance. Unfortunately, 'bloody murder' is no such luck for her.
Apparently, some brilliant hacker had decided it would be a good idea to rearrange the letters of "Google" to spell out the words "It's inevitable", with a little note at the lower corner: "love, T". While the Bellas try to wrack their brains on the possibility that this might, maybe be a hidden message from the Triplus, just when Beca thinks it couldn't possibly (it could not) get worse, facing infinite questions from the Bellas, a few hours later, the letters are made to spell out, yup, her name. Innocent internet users must now ponder what meaningful historical event her name must represent, because obviously, Google is celebrating some kind of Beca Day. Beca has Lilly take the whole thing down in about five minutes, but the damage to her ego has been irrevocably done.
(And then she has to explain, and file an actual report, about the words "it's inevitable", and why Jesse stated that, spy babies and all.)
As if that wasn't enough to rile her up, the next day (four days to operation), she gets a call from a frikkin beer company, telling her that a certain "Ms. Beca the Bella" has just won a lifetime's supply of Heineken.
(She just might feel compelled to drown someone in beer, the next time she hears another "Weiss so serious?" and "For richer and for pourer", courtesy of C-Rose and Stacie's extensive knowledge of all things alcohol.)
But, no. She will reserve her strength for when she would see the person that she would like to drown very much.
Damnit, Swanson.
(Still, she laughs at some of the more clever puns, and she forgets about wanting to skin his ass alive. It's been a while since she's laughed like this.)
...
FRIDAY
(3 days to operation...)
"Yes, I know, Stace. I got your mocha latte... really... (Beca rolls her eyes while flicking on the left-turn signal light, phone pressed between her head and shoulder)... can we stop it with the Treble jokes already..."
"Oh come on, Shawshank," Amy says from shotgun, "It's just... too much Treble for us."
Stacie hears her, and there is a godawful amount of laughter from the other end of the phone. Beca has to wonder what has happened to her life. Driving down sunset boulevard, she is tasked with getting everyone's morning coffees, as "punishment" for "fraternizing with the enemy". Chloe's idea of a joke, and Stacie's idea of getting out of coffee runs (for fraternizing with everyone).
"You see, Shawshank, just give us the juicy details of your Treble encounter and the safehouse sex you must've had, and we'll let you off the hook, just like that... beer the change you want to see in the world," Fat Amy comments from behind her huge-ass sunglasses. She just couldn't resist to add that last pun.
"I'm not—yes, NO, Stacie—I'm not, it's not a big deal, okay. It's just a... random thing, and no, there was no—shut up Stacie!—sex, like none. How could you even... what is up with that conclusion anyway? Seriously. Why are you all trying to ruin my life," Beca chuckles to both Amy and Stacie. She already has one, fully-functional Treble on that particular endeavor, she doesn't need any more spies to try to embarrass her at every turn.
"Put her on speaker phone," Amy suggests, while simultaneously taking Beca's phone, pressing "speakerphone" and placing it on the dashboard.
"Hey, Stacie! You're on speaker phone!" Fat Amy belts at the phone.
"As I was saying, Beca, the fact that you're in denial—"
"I am not in denial."
"That is exactly what a person in denial would say," Fat Amy comments.
"I hate you guys so much."
"—means that, you know, that Treble guy... what did you call him?"
"Mr. Hotshot Treble," Amy replies. Beca does not approve.
"Yeah, him. Anyway, he probably means more to you, even if you don't know it. Psych fact, Becs. You're into this guy." Ah, Stacie. Psychoanalyzing the shit out of you since 1989.
"Hanging up now," Beca says, cutting it off before another beer joke, Treble pun, or glaringly annoying (slightly accurate) analysis could waft its way out the phone. When the few moments of quiet pass, Amy speaks up.
"You know—"
"Don't you dare, Amy," Beca snarks back, stopping all possible conversations about Jesse, because such a conversation with her best friend would only lead to a lot of questions, which she has yet to answer for herself. Questions like "what happened" and "who is he" and "why does he want to go out with you" are all a little too personal, and she doesn't want to be reminded of the kiss at the Ritz. That might open up the possibility of why she went and saved his sorry ass from the Armenian Mob without the Bellatorum's consent, and really. She doesn't know how to explain her actions other than the fact that she has, maybe, only a little bit, considered him like, (in a teeny, tiny way) a... non-stranger...
Who wants to have coffee with her. Wait, slash that. Who has made it his life goal to have coffee with her, apparently.
(Slight warning bells for Beca here, but she convinces herself that she is still very much in control of the situation.)
"Alright, alright, calm your mammaries," Amy says, taking on the defensive. "I'm not going to say that Stacie has a point—"
"You just did."
"—and I'm not going to tell you how I think that... you're kind of... different. Just saying."
This comment makes Beca pause her focus on driving. Different? What kind of different? What does she mean? "What are you talking about?"
"Nope, sorry. I promised my friend I'm not gonna talk about it, so..." Amy mimics zipping her mouth. Beca wants to kill her, stupid reverse psychology tactics.
"Damnit, Amy, don't be a dick," is her reply, her tone is screaming I hate you so much right now.
"Well, if you insist on this conversation, then okay."
"You're a bitch."
"No need to shower me with compliments, it's still early in the morning. But all I'm saying is... you know... you seem a little bit more..." Amy struggles for words, drawing it out like this morning's toothpaste.
"What? Just tell me."
"Smiley."
"Smiley?"
"Yeah. Like, you generally wake up on the right side of the bed nowadays."
"As opposed to?"
"As opposed to, you know, waking up with a dingo in your thong."
"I do not wake up with a dingo in my thong, whatever that means... What do you mean by 'smiley'?"
"Eh, you know. Smiley. It's what people do when they're happy. I know it must be a foreign concept to you, but people actually do smile. And lately, you've been smiling a bit more and... like, killing a bit less, so that's nice."
"What? No... I'm just same as always, what are you talking about?" Beca replies, suddenly feeling defensive. Of course, Amy notices this.
"Well, well. Why so defensive, Ms. I'm always in control of my emotions? Don't like the idea that Mr. Hotshot Treble has that effect on you?"
"I'm not even gonna reply to that." Though, her reply is coupled by a smirk that she can't help.
"Pleading the fifth, I see. Weak move, Shawshank. Only the guilty plead the fifth. And don't get me wrong, 'evil' You is a treat, but sometimes, it's nice to have a change of scenery. You're just so consistent with hating the world, I often forget what you look like when you smile... You know when I last saw you smile? And I mean, really smile?"
Beca tries to recall, but she has no memory of such a thing. She shakes her head.
"When I picked you up from the airport from New York after you saved your man candy. You sat right here," Amy motions at her shotgun seat, "and you looked like you rolled around in a puddle of Koala poop, but when you closed your eyes to sleep, you were smiling... It was really creepy, that you were smiling, I mean. I thought about taking you to the emergency room, because you must have inhaled some heavy drugs or something, but now, it all makes sense."
A small, contemplative "huh" is all Beca can reply to that. So, according to her best friend, she smiles a little more nowadays. Possibly because of... Jesse? It's a possibility, but not a probability. People smile for a lot of reasons. A successful operation is one. Not getting choked by a two-hundred-pound hunk of a woman is another. Surely, there must be other factors that cause her allegedly "smiley" state.
And yes, Jesse is one of them. But... (and this is an emphatic, abrupt cut in her train of thought about him) he's not the sole reason...
Is he?
"Whoa, don't hurt yourself there, Flatbutt," Amy suddenly says, only now noticing the deep furrows where Beca's brows had previously been smooth and uncaring. "Don't overthink it... you don't want to overthink it. This is my advice to you: don't do that, you know, that thing that you do wherein you panic and overheat and next thing I know, I'm getting called out of retirement in Tasmania to save your flat and starved butt from a Russian prison, which I would of course do again in a heartbeat, but you know how well that went last time."
Amy's tone is affectionate, and yes, it's a taboo topic, Amy knows this, but Beca knows that Amy has a point.
"Speaking of ice cream..." Amy starts, redirecting the conversation to something lighter.
While Amy takes a sudden segue into discussing food, as she usually does whenever she talks, Beca does not know what to make of this weird revelation. (And though Amy tells her not to overthink it, of course that is exactly what she does.) Different, Amy said. Smiley, even. Strange vocabulary aside, has she really been that different? It's not like she thinks about him all the time. Not even remotely most of the time. She doesn't think about him. Ish... is thinking about the wager on the same level as thinking about him? Of course not. She is focused on the impending mission, on how she and Aubrey have organized the play so they can bring home a much-deserved Triplus jet, and perhaps cripple the other organization so that they won't be compelled to steal from the Bellatorum as often...
Then again, thinking about the operation has gotten her mind off of some of the more heavy things that have constantly plagued her. So okay, maybe (she begrudgingly admits) this operation has provided a temporary distraction, an escape clause, from constantly thinking about trying to get on another plane, on the next mission, and cycle of endless missions that is her life. Maybe she's glad that Jesse, that stupid dork, has provided enough of a distraction by being his stupid self, doing all these stupid things and getting himself into all these stupid life-threatening shits that she always feels compelled to get him out of. Maybe she likes looking after him (ew, gross, she's not his babysitter okay, but it is what it is) in a way, because he has this carefree attitude that (unfortunately) complements her very precise attitude when it comes to missions. And he was her partner. Acquaintance... good acquaintance...
So, okay. He is a friend. But she's not about to admit that. Certainly, not to Amy.
Who has suddenly stopped talking, lowering her shades with her mouth agape. Beca spares a side glance to see her friend in a state of shock.
"Why are you—"
She's not able to complete the sentence when Amy squishes her mouth to bring her face to look outside... up, up... on the billboard.
On a series of billboards.
Addressed to her:
Dearest B, the first one says. A few meters forward, another one pops up:
I'm taking you down...
And another, a little farther down the road:
And out...
For coffee...
Love,
your weirdo.
:)
He ends with a smiley face. Literally, an entire billboard, with a smiley face. Seven consecutive billboards on Sunset Boulevard addressed to her, just to tell her that he's "taking her down".
Beca absently stares for a while at the final billboard, unable to function. It takes three horns from the car behind them for her to snap out of it and realize that Amy has her phone out, and is now probably tweeting the pictures. The next five minutes are spent wrestling with Amy, who is trying to get her to turn the car around in order to take pictures of the rest of the public declaration. She gets a ticket for reckless driving.
Aw, shit. What the hell did she get herself into.
But no matter. She resolves to prove him wrong. The best way revenge is success, after all. She'll win that Jet from the Triplus; we'll see how he plans on international travel then.
AN: A whole lot of crockery that I pulled out of my ass just because I miss you guys. This chapter was only made decent by my ever-wondeful Beta, ohchan. Also, I must apologize, because I feel like I missed something. But I had a whole lot of fun writing this chapter, and it's all going to (hopefully) make sense. :) You are all too wonderful. You guys make me want to keep writing.
[ps. On a side note, all is quiet in our little Beca/Jesse town. I hope you guys are doing okay with your finals and such. Many thanks to my Beta and to Tiff, for taking the time to pm me. I love you guys.]
Next up: London. Catch Me if You Can... who do you guys wanna win? Team Jesse or Team Beca? Other options open, feel free to let your voices ring true!