A/N: In light of me recently getting my covid shot and Wolvezzz joining us on Tumblr (and later on, on ao3) here's a little Bechloe one-shot for you all…
(I had to basically rewrite this due to some stupid mistakes I discovered halfway through in the middle of the night, so I am so sorry if some parts do not seem to add up or are too unrealistic. **I tried**)
(Also, let us just assume that the guy that Stacie is talking about is quarantined with his sister, aka no covid.)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Pitch Perfect universe.
Beca hands over the clipboard to the lady at the desk and smiles tightly behind her mask in thanks as she receives a post-it note in return.
"Put this on the chair you're going to sit in and come back to it once you're done receiving the shot for the fifteen minute observatory period," the lady says, bored but polite as she recites the practiced line Beca heard her give to several people before her.
"Cool. Thanks." Beca plays with the sticky part of the post-it note in her hands as she walks over to plop down into the plastic chair next to Stacie.
"I hope we don't have to wait as long as Amy did when she got her shot last week," her friend says, rubbing her own post-it note onto the arm of her chair and crossing her legs as she leans back.
"Fuck yeah. Me too. Amy's took at least two hours." Beca copies the taller brunette's actions and sighs as she tilts her head back, blinking leisurely up at the ceiling.
Stacie groans. "I will punch someone if we have to wait that long; I'm already hungry as it is."
Beca snorts, despite being ninety percent sure that her hangry friend will do just that, "Why didn't you get something to eat sooner?"
Green eyes flit to the side to look at her, "Boy from last night didn't understand the definition of a one-night stand."
Of course. Beca rolls her eyes and laughs, the sound muffled behind the piece of fabric covering her mouth, her chest quivering with mirth at the prospect of a guy refusing to accept that his "lucky shot" with her friend was over, "Seriously?"
"Yep." The mask on Stacie's face moves in a way that's a telling of her pursing her lips, her gaze following her hand as fingers trace the unmarked portion of the arm of the chair her wrist is lying on, "He wouldn't leave even when I told him that I had to go and get myself some breakfast with my mom before meeting with you to get my Covid-19 vaccine, even going as far as to offer to be my personal chauffeur."
Beca lowers her head from the back of her chair and raises her eyebrows, "Wow. That's like, a serious guy looking for a serious relationship, dude. Are you sure your friend would be okay with this?"
Stacie had informed her the night before that the brother of one of her most trusted friends would be staying the night with her doing some...choice activities.
"Yeah," the brunette wrinkles her nose, "I had made sure that both her and her brother knew that I don't do relationships." She then brightens, as if suddenly remembering a thought, "Oh, he texted me too." Stacie turns around and rifles in her purse for her phone, humming in her mouth as she pushes aside the keys and tampons within, and lets out a small noise of triumph as she whips out her device, "Aha."
Beca chuckles at the scene but leans forward nonetheless, eager to spend the time waiting for her covid vaccine in doing something else besides counting the water spots on the ceiling tiles above her head, "What did he say?"
Stacie unlocks her phone, bouncing slightly in her seat in suppressed amusement as she goes to tap into her messages, "Look."
Beca doesn't think she has ever seen anything more desperate and pathetic in her life than the digital text glaring into her face, "Oh my god, he wants to know where you are at and wonders if he can take you out to dinner? Dude."
Even through the mask Beca can tell that a sly and catlike grin had unfurled across her friend's lips, followed by a mischievous wink, "Right? I don't think I've ever had someone this desperate for another round right after the one the night before." She then cocks her head, adding the next words almost as if it's an afterthought, "And the one the early morning after."
Beca shakes her head in disbelief, eyes scanning the multitude of text messages subsequent to the one she had just read aloud, "Maybe he just wants to see if last night and early this morning was a fluke."
Stacie gasps in mock offense, yanking her cellular screen away from Beca's face, "How dare you, Mitchell. The Hunter is never a fluke."
Beca just shrugs her shoulders in response, shifting her legs to accommodate the position for her to palm her chin.
She blinks innocently up at her.
Stacie narrows her eyes.
"Stacie Conrad?"
Both brunettes whirl around at the mention of the name, Beca taking in the blonde hair and blue scrubs standing at the entrance to the hallway of doctor offices hidden from view, and she sighs as Stacie grins and jumps up, practically skipping over to the woman holding a pen to another wooden clipboard in her hands.
They disappear from sight and Beca turns back around, pouting slightly as she waits for her turn, the foot that isn't hanging uselessly in the air tapping impatiently on the floor beneath her chair. Just as she is about to delve into a full on sulk, a melodic voice chirps her name.
"Rebeca Mitchell?"
Fiery red hair and bright blue eyes meet her gaze, and Beca's mouth goes dry as the woman waves cheerily at her, her entire body freezing in her seat as the organ in her chest decidedly unfreezes, and it is not until the cerulean pools has vanished into a blink that she has realized that she has stared too long and should probably get her ass up and over there.
Beca swallows and nods, and almost trips over her feet in the act of standing up without first uncrossing her legs. Blushing furiously and praying that nobody in the vicinity has noticed besides her awkward and idiotic self, she tugs at the hem of her blouse and quickly makes her way over.
"Hi," the redhead greets, the smile lines on her cheeks creasing prettily as she crosses out her name with a ballpoint pen, "Rebeca Mitchell?"
"Beca," she says, automatic in her response to the correction of the name that she has loathed since birth, "It's Beca."
She looks up at her, and Beca wants to slap herself in her haste to blurt out the two liner that she usually only reserves for people with whom she wants to be casual with, "Beca."
Her fingers twitch at the way her name sounds rolling through the air in that sweet melodic tune, and she suddenly wants to find out how it sounds like rolling off her tongue, clear and without the obstacles of the stupid masks blocking its way.
Before she could do much more than tip her chin in acknowledgement, the redhead has twirled around in a flurry of red and blue, and Beca is dutifully following her down the hallway into the office attached at the very end.
At the gesture for her to sit on the stool in front of the wall, Beca sat, and promptly stares as the redhead sets the clipboard on the table before reaching for a pair of new latex gloves, watching the way she snaps them on and pulls a card out of her scrub pocket, drinking in the sight of her tilting her head as she flourishes her pen over the newly revealed card.
She is so fucking gorgeous.
Beca wishes that she is not in the middle of a fucking pandemic.
"So is that with one C or two C's?" Her question snaps her out of her daze and Beca has to reluctantly pull her gaze away from the smooth expanse of her neck.
"Oh, um," she gulps to lubricate her throat, sitting up taller to properly project her voice, hoping upon hope that the louder volume will drown out its slight tremble, "It's actually Rebeca on paper. With one C."
An inconspicuous murmur floats into her ears, and if Beca hadn't known any better, she would've described it being accompanied with a teasing smile, "I see."
Her heart pounds in her chest and it's a big struggle to refrain from squirming in her stool.
The redhead finishes writing on the card and sets that and the pen aside, before slowly making her way towards her. Beca's eyes stay determinedly on her face—or more accurately, on what she could make of it—her nerves growing more jittery and jumpy by the second, and she finds herself holding her breath as the redhead comes to a stop, feet away. She nibbles on the inside of her cheek as a gloved hand picks up a small package and tears at the seams, taking out an alcohol wipe and shaking it out, before placing the empty pieces of said package back onto the paper on the exam table from which it came from.
Sneakers step forward and then red hair and blue eyes are inches closer.
"Roll your sleeve up for me, please?" Her voice lilts at the end, Beca's heart instantly mimicking the gesture, and she fumbles with the sleeve of her blouse on her left arm to comply.
The redhead leans forward to rub at the uncovered skin with the cold wipe, causing shivers to emanate from the affected area and spread through and around every nerve ending in her entire upper body, and Beca has to clench her hand into a tight fist to hold herself still.
"Relax," she says, not moving away even as she sets aside the used wipe as well, removing the cap from the needle from which contained the Covid vaccine. "You need to relax, Becs; the muscle will sore if you don't."
Beca's gaze snaps up, sure that the redhead had just uttered a nickname of her already shortened name, but apart from the fact that her blue eyes seemed to twinkle even brighter—a fact that Beca stubbornly gives credit to the fluorescent light from overhead, in addition to their sudden close proximity—her expression betrays nothing.
She heeds the request and unclenches her fist, and as the prickling feeling signalling the intrusion of the vaccine starts from her arm, a glare on the breast pocket of the redhead's scrubs catches her eye.
Dr. Chloe Beale.
Huh.
Beca grins, elated at the realization that she had just found out the name of the gorgeous woman standing before her.
She sends up a mental thank you to whoever had the intelligence and generosity of coming up with the invention of name tags.
The prickling sensation resides, and Beca looks over to see that Chloe is done delivering the shot. She makes to lower the sleeve of her blouse, but a gloved hand brushing against her sensitive skin stops her.
"Hold on, I need to give you a Band-Aid." Despite the blue latex covering her fingertips, Beca can still feel the warmth and tenderness of Chloe's touch.
Beca nods, dumbly, as Chloe quickly peels off the ends of the Band-Aid and pastes it carefully over the reddening spot. Gloved hands linger, taking the time to rub out every last inch of the two ends of the patch, fingers wrapping lightly against the circumference of her upper arm, and Beca stares with bated breath, suddenly afraid to look at any place else.
She is glad that she is in the middle of a fucking pandemic.
"There." It is a soft puff of a sound, and if Beca hadn't already been so close to her face, hadn't already been close enough to wish that she had the ability to rip off her mask and smell her undoubtedly sweet and floral perfume, she wouldn't have heard it. "You're all set."
Chloe finally steps away, and Beca wishes that she hadn't spun around so fast because she is pretty sure that she had just sent her a wink.
"So, here's the card that I have filled out for you, and it's really important that you bring it back when you return for your second dose," the card that Chloe had written on earlier is handed over, covered in beautiful, curling black ink, "And you should receive a text in the next hour or so telling you when that second dose is going to be."
"From you?" The words had left Beca's mouth without her notice or permission, and it was not until an auburn eyebrow had risen into the air in amusement that Beca had realized what she had said.
"Fuck."
She covers her face in her hands, only to be embarrassed even further when the evidence of her forgotten boundary scrapes against her palms. She settles for letting out a groan and closing her eyes, laying her elbows onto her thighs and hanging her head in a full manifestation of her humiliation.
Her body feels like it's on fire and Beca wants the goddamn ground to open up and swallow her whole.
Chloe giggles. "Not from me, silly. From the Department of Health of the state."
Beca is positive that had she whipped her head up any faster, her neck would've snapped. Chloe's laugh is like a drug. "Yeah, sorry. That was not supposed to come out of my mouth."
Now that is definitely a wink. "What was supposed to come out then?"
Her jaw slackens, and if Fat Amy was there in the room with her, she would've made fun of her for looking like a fish. The heat in her cheeks burn hotter and Beca hastily shakes her head, hopping off from the stool, grateful that she had managed not to trip like the time before. The hard cardstock digs into her lines of her palm of her right hand further with each pulse against the side of her neck, and Beca wills her feet to power walk to the exit of the suffocating room lest she makes even more of a complete and awkward idiot out of herself in front of Dr. Chloe Beale.
Fingers tug on her wrist, and then something small is slapped onto her card. "Here," Chloe looks like she's chewing on her lip, "You forgot your sticker."
Confusion furrows her brows, but something in her hisses at her to not to say a word, especially when sparkling blue eyes dart down the hall agitatedly as if its owner knows that she is doing something she's not supposed to and if she is caught, she is going to be in major trouble.
There seems to not be enough air in the world for her to suck in, and Beca clutches both the sticker and card tightly against the space between her breasts and speeds down the hallway, her converse squeaking against the floor as she spins to beeline the rest of her way into her yellow post-it noted designated chair.
Stacie looks up from her phone from which 14:39 flashes across her screen and moves her foot out of her way so Beca can sit down, "So? How'd it go?"
Beca finally unleashes the death like grip of her hands, the side effect of her recent dose of something far from a vaccination of a worldwide virus causing her temperature to spike and her body to hyperventilate when ten beautifully, flirtatiously, unabashedly, confidently written digits wink at her from the back of the tiny sticker. "Like how it's supposed to. I got a shot."
A/N: I think this is gonna be my one and only covid related fanfic; it was absolutely exhausting to write, and I am still 98% sure that I haven't fixed all the mistakes… XD.