A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaack! Alive and kicking, too! So I promise I haven't abandoned this story, life just got in the way – you know how it goes. I'm just not good at keeping regular updates, though apparently I'm fantastic at false hope. Shrugs. Sorry, guys. I'll try to be better 'cause I have big plans for this shit and I'm not giving up but I really don't know what the update schedule is going to be like. Some more shrugs. Anyway, enough of my crap. You ready? Go forth and enjoy, aca-bitches!
Tom watches the three girls in the corner with a frown tugging on his lips. He's not sure what it is about the sight of the trio huddled laughing in Beca's favorite booth that has him unsettled, but something does. It's gnawing at him from some hidden place inside his brain that he just can't find.
Usually, when things like this happen Tom is content to let the thought go until it comes back to him, more defined and easily identifiable. But this is Beca. This is the young woman who came in their shop at five in the morning on her first day on campus with what was honestly the most terrifying don't-fuck-with-me glare Tom has ever seen in his goddamned life. The fact that it came from this tiny little thing who could weight no more than a 100 pounds soaking wet only seemed to make the brunette even more unapproachable.
Tom wouldn't have bothered, he really wouldn't have except that there was this moment. This awful, achingly sad moment when Beca first walked into the shop. It was like her entire face blinked. One moment it was a glacially cold façade with perpetual indifference burning in her eyes, the next… all Tom saw was a terribly young girl looking around their warm, lovingly cared for shop with such desperate longing in her eyes that it was painful. Then her face blinked once more and all he could see was that same indomitable indifference, shields firmly raised and blank.
Tom couldn't ignore it. He couldn't ignore this girl who probably tried to push the whole world away from her, glaring to death anyone who dared to come even close. He just couldn't do it. Because he knew, right in that moment that her seriously unsettling mask was just that – a mask. A mask used to hide a lonely little girl that Tom just wanted to scoop up and hug to death until she felt happy and loved.
So he pushed down his disquiet at her ridiculously cold stare – god, he's met gangbangers who can't glare as well as she can –and started throwing out bad puns. Terrible jokes that never fail to crack him up, they're so bad. He can feel Stella's curious eyes on him but he ignores her. He doesn't usually talk to their customers preferring to chat with regulars and old friends instead. Talking to this girl who's the complete opposite of friendly is out of character for him and his wife knows it.
But the brunette is smiling and her eyes looks so happy and she hasn't left yet so Tom keeps going, wondering if he can get her to laugh. The girl is probably the toughest sale he's had yet, usually he gets people in three or four god-awful coffee puns (and he shouldn't know so many but he so does) yet they've been standing there for the past fifteen minutes and she's just smiling, not laughing like Tom decides he wants her to be. So he tries harder.
"Why is a bad cup of coffee the end of a marriage? Because it's GROUNDS for divorce!"
"No? How about: Why are men are like coffee? The best ones are rich, hot, and can keep you up all night!"
"Really? Girlie, give me something! Okay how about this one: What's fat, hairy and drinks a lot of coffee? Java the Hut!"
"You're a Trekkie aren't you? Can't appreciate a good Star Wars joke without feeling turncoat, huh? Okay, okay, I'm down but not out. How about a pick up line? You can use it on a nice fella the next time you go out: They call me "coffee", 'cause I grind so fine."
"Sugar, really?! That one was gold! Guess you're not trying to find yourself a man. I can respect that, all the single ladies and what not. Okay, how about I define coffee instead: Coffee. Noun. An attitude adjustment in a mug."
"Damn, you're a hard one to please. Just keep drinking that mocha little lady, let's see if it'll adjust you into a more receptive mood to my brilliance. How about this: You haven't had enough coffee until you can thread a sewing machine while it's still running."
"Oh, come on!"
"What's the difference between a Starbucks latte and a whore? Nothing, they both suck and empty your wallet!" is the joke that gets her. It's a snicker, not a full bodied laugh like he hoped for but he gets the feeling that even this little chuckle is more than most people get. So he cheers. He does a little dance and crows and Stella's giving him this fondly amused look but after thirty-four years of marriage he can read the question in her eyes.
So he makes up some explanation about needing a "quality control" for his joke board and hears Stella snort behind him. Everyone knows that none of his jokes have "quality" in the first place, that's why they're so funny. But he wants this girl to come back so that he can make sure she smiles at least once every day. And he feels this protectiveness over this girl which is ridiculous but he does. She reminds him of his granddaughters, Tom thinks.
Mia and Antoinette are both blonde and cheery – always with a smile on their faces. Mia loves bad jokes as much as Tom does and Toni's a devious little prankster. The pair of them are 7 and 9 respectively and absolutely inseparable. Tom doesn't want to imagine a world where his little rascals could grow up as cold and alone as Beca seems. Something happened to that girl, he's sure of it and Tom hates it so he wants to make Beca happy, happy like his granddaughters. If he has to force her into being "quality control" (he smirks at the thought) to get her to feel comfortable enough in their coffee shop to thaw out then he goddamn will.
The smirk is still planted firmly on his face when the brunette's smile fades and raises a ridiculously judgmental eyebrow, coolly asking "What makes you think I'll be back?"
Damn, Tom thinks approvingly. Girl's got sass. He doesn't say that though, nor does he say that he wants to her to come back because he wants to make her smile like his granddaughters. Instead he takes one look at her, smirk widening as he notices her death grip on her mocha and her hilariously protective posture over a little paper cup and says "Because friends don't let friends drink bad coffee and you're holding that cup like you're a non-believer who just found religion."
She looks startled and it's everything Tom can do to not laugh as she realizes her body's position. She looks up at him slowly and he can see the grudging acceptance in her eyes as she tilts her head forward as if to say point won. But Tom can see a twinkle of playfulness in her eyes as she does so, so he doesn't feel guilty when he jumps up and cheers. Stella, of course, hits him with her dish towel rolling her eyes.
It's a loving gesture and it makes Tom grin because, she'd been doing that since they met all the way back in home economics during their junior year of high school. He'd been as much of a child then as he is now. It's no surprise when Stella scolds him to act his age.
Tom just winks theatrically at Beca and tells them that he'd much rather act his shoe size. It's so much more fun to be 11 than it is to be 52. The brunette chuckles at their antics, her navy eyes much warmer than they had been. She walks away, hands still wrapped firmly around her caffeine but she glances back once before she goes. Tom sees resolve harden in her eyes, knows she coming back then she's gone, out the door to start her day at 5:45 in the morning. The older man shakes his head. Only crazy people voluntarily get up before 6 in the morning, especially if they're in college. It's a damn good thing he's crazy too or else befriending this girl would be a bad idea all around.
She comes back the next day, up at same ungodly hour as Tom and Stella. There's literally no one else in the shop. They haven't even finished opening so there's still chairs up on tables and what not. Tom is running late, finishing a batch of brownies in the back. When he walks up front ten minutes behind schedule with arms full of trays of fresh out of the oven goodies, he's surprised to see the small brunette already in the shop.
He's even more surprised that she's walking silently around the shop, putting down chairs and wiping tables with what he's certain is Stella's dishrag. The older man quickly arranges his baked goods inside the glass display cases before whirling on his wife.
"How come I don't get to play with your towel of doom!" He whines playfully, tugging theatrically at his wife's black apron. Stella's hands whip down to pat her sides, her eyes widening. She glances rapidly between Tom and Beca, jaw agape and Tom bursts out laughing.
"You didn't know she had it?" He wheezes, both delighted and appropriately awed. His lovely wife guards that rag like it was one of her own children. Husband or no, Tom wasn't allowed to touch it for penalty of having a limb removed. He's not sure how long she's had it, it feels like forever and it's been a permanent fixture of her appearance for as long as he can remember. It's downright unnatural to see Stella without that damnable dish towel.
The fact that Beca took it without Stella knowing is a feat worthy of epic poetry. Seriously, Tom is going to write a huge ode to this day. Actually no, Tom can't write. The extent of his literary genius is rhyming "black" with "lack". So, no Tom isn't going to be writing poetry, hopefully for never. Maybe he could find some broke college student to do it for him. Yes. He could pay them in coffee. All these kids look like the need a caffeine mainline into their system, anyway. He'll give them their daily fix in exchange for poetry. A masterpiece detailing the magnificent legend of Beca and the Cunning Theft of the Dish Towel of Doom. It'll be glorious.
Stella still looks dumbstruck and doesn't answer and Tom finally gets his giggles under control just in time for Beca to finish setting up their shop. She casually saunters up to the counter, gently folds the towel, slides it over the counter to Stella and quietly orders an iced coffee. Stella stares at the dish towel then at Beca, back to the dishtowel before snatching it from the counter and placing it carefully in the waistband of her apron. She turns to make the girls coffee then pauses, staring at the brunette with a stern expression. "Mine." His wife raises to of her fingers, points them to her eyes then points back at Beca who simply stares at them with a bemused expression.
Bemused might be a little strong of a term. The brunettes face doesn't really change but Tom can see her eyes soften and her lips quirk the tiniest bit upward. He counts it as a win. Stella brings Beca her coffee and the girl pays. She turns to Tom, tilts her head at something behind him, raises her cup, tweaks her bendy straw, winks then smirks as she walks away.
He turns around, sees his joke board and laughs harder. Written on it is one of his "What Your Coffee Says About You" series. Today is Iced Coffee: You're assertive and outspoken. You don't let season dictate how you live your life. Also, you totally like straws.
Stella watches her go, left hand fingering her dish towel and says loudly right before Beca reaches the door "I'm adopting that girl." She says it in such a definitive voice that Beca pauses and Tom nods enthusiastically while whining playfully "Nooo! I saw her first! She's mine, all mine!"
Tom can't see her face but he's sure she's smiling as the brunette finally pushes out of the store.
The pattern held for the rest of the week until the next Sunday when Beca comes in three hours late. Tom was honestly one edge the entire morning because he was terrified that something had happened to the girl or worse, she had decided that she just didn't want to come anymore.
So it's probably with an odd amount of relief that Tom sees a vaguely apologetic Beca enter their shop around 9 in the morning. She ignores the long line easily, strolling up to where Tom's stocking the baked goods and halting. He can see she's nervous and on-edge and is curious as to why. It's honestly the most emotion he's seen on her face that isn't semi-mocking laughter at his jokes. "Overslept" is all she says and Tom is skeptical. She doesn't look rested, in fact she looks like shit. Her eyes have dark circles and her face is paler than it usually is. Her navy eyes are a little bloodshot. But Tom nods easily and offers her an espresso crinkle then gently takes her arm and leads her to what would become her favorite booth.
The moment he touched her, the girl gave a full body flinch but she followed easily enough. Tom noticed that when they finally sat she put as much space between them as she could without it being obvious. She also doesn't look at him, instead focusing on a point right in front of his hands. Her shoulders are hunched and her entire frame reeks of tension and Tom realizes she's waiting to be scolded.
Which, no. This girl, for all her small stature, is a grown-ass woman. He may be older but it's not his place to scold her. So instead he tells stories, tales of his childhood antics, adulthood antics, how he met Stella, his marriage antics, a lot of antics. A lot of these stories are insane and ridiculous and Tom should probably be at least a little embarrassed telling them because he's done some pretty stupid stuff. He's not at all.
He realizes that it's not just some perceived slight that has the girl wound up when a loud couple walks past their little booth and Beca presses herself further into the worn vinyl. Tom realizes that she probably has a bit of a fear of people. Why else would she never walk within five feet of another person if she could help it? It had to be why she flinched when he touched her, why she gets up at five in the morning for a cup of coffee when there's literally no one around. It makes him happy then that he picked a lonely booth, oddly separated from the rest of the store.
It's somewhere in between the accidental tribal marriage to a duck and the time he was convinced he could simultaneously juggle and unicycle but before the story of the ensuing hospital visit and wheelchair races when he noticed Beca relaxing. It was after the tale of that disastrous trip to Yellowstone in '82 when Beca decides to talk herself.
Her face is guarded but relaxes as she tells him tales of her adoptive brother and father (she says their names with such love and affection that Tom is ecstatic because at least this girl has someone, somewhere who loves her unconditionally like these two must) with a small smile etched into her lips.
She tells him how Stiles (what kind of a name is that?) tried to wakeboard one time in an inner tube on asphalt with Jackson's Porsche, how her adoptive dad John was so pissed when he found out that he banned Stiles from curly fries and bad werewolf movies for a month. Apparently, the boy had an addiction and Beca had to sneak him the fries in the dead of night, stubbornly ignoring the fondly exasperated looks John would shoot her the next morning when the idiot would tumble downstairs with potatoes tucked behind his ears. Her brother is not, Beca told him, a morning person.
There were more stories and more laughs and the ice around the girl thaws with each fond re-telling until her eyes are warm and smiling just like the rest of her. It surprises Tom a little then when she suddenly stands up and walks over to the counter where Stella is swamped with the usual morning rush. He hears Stella say something about how they can't afford a new employee and figures that Beca offered her assistance.
He snorts back a laugh because of course they can afford an employee, their shop is more profitable than one would think but he and Stella don't hire anyone because they like the work. It keeps them busy. He does laugh when he sees Beca nod seriously then easily hop the counter and start fiddling with those magic coffee machines. Seriously, they must be from the future with all those buttons and knobs and levers and Tom cannot even fathom knowing what any of them do. He watches Stella hit the girl with the gentlest whap of her towel he's ever seen then immediately show her how to work those mystical contraptions. Something warm and happy expands in his chest and he knows he just adopted himself a new granddaughter whether the girl knows it or not. The fact that he's mostly certain Beca won't be opposed just makes it better.
That morning seemed to unlock a door and now it feels like Beca never leaves their shop and that probably shouldn't make Tom as happy as it does. But the girl smiles with him and sasses with Stella, helps bake treats in the back and prepare coffee. He feels like Beca needed this, a place to be besides her dorm and he's happy that it's here with him and Stella.
He know she feels the same way because one day they're elbows deep in biscotti dough when she abruptly says, apropos of nothing that she feels safe here. She immediately blushes (only ever in the tips of her ears) and focuses far too hard on the dough she's kneading and Tom can't have that because considering who it's coming from, that's probably the nicest thing anyone's ever said to him.
So he stops everything he's doing and immediately wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her loosely against his side. He knows she doesn't like being trapped, doesn't know why but respects her enough not to pry. It's a testament to how much she's come to trust him because she doesn't move and even sinks into the embrace, allowing him to drop a quick kiss to the top of her head before she pulls away and says some bitchily sarcastic comment about something or another.
Tom just grins and allows it, telling her that the back room is for baking and if she wants to sass, go sass Stella because he's a gentleman and can't hit her with a dish towel like he wants to. Beca laughs and everything is warm and fuzzy and Tom makes a promise to himself that he will do everything in his power to make sure this shop will stay this girl's safe space.
Which is why he's eyeing the trio of girls with concern, some grand-paternal instinct twinging as he watches them talk and laugh. It might just be the fact that Beca's interacting with those two girls with such ease and openness that he hasn't seen her have with anyone except himself and Stella. She's interacting with these strangers like she's known them for years and the couple is doing the same. But he knows they've only recently met because he's sure Beca would've mentioned them by now if they were someone important in her life. Tom could probably give detailed biographies of everyone Beca considers important to her, that's how much she talks about them.
It's not the fact that the blonde and the redhead are obviously a couple. It doesn't bother him at all. He remembers the day when Beca shyly told them she was gay. He'd excitedly shouted that he now had a new wingman to trade tips on how to pick up girls with then laughed when he saw her mouthing '3,2,1…' before Stella hit her with the towel significantly harder than she ever hits Beca. She never whaps Beca harder than a light swish because they both instinctively know that if Stella ever hit any harder, they wouldn't like the consequences. They also both know that Beca would be upset if Stella ever stopped her little swats because it's like a secret handshake. That she's important enough to get a gentle whap because Stella cares enough to include her, that it's Stella's show of affection.
So no it's not the gay. Or maybe it is. Tom's eyes widen as he watches the redhead say something and the usually unflappable Beca blushes, her ears turning red, smiling down at the table. He totally forgot that Beca could blush! The implications come thundering though his brain and he sighs sympathetically.
"Oh, Beca." He says sadly, a frown tugging his mouth.
"Figured it out?" Stella comments, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. Her chin settles on his shoulder and Tom nods leaning back into the embrace.
"Firecracker has a crush." He says dejectedly and Stella hums.
"More than one, I think." She replies, nodding in the trio's direction as the blonde aww's at something Beca said then gently runs a hand over hers. Beca's ears are flaming at this point and Tom thinks it's a good thing she doesn't blush with her face or else his favorite firecracker would be in some trouble.
"Someone's going to get hurt, honey bee. Those two girls are as in love as love can be." He gestures covertly to the blonde and the redhead who are currently holding hands, have been since they entered the store. The redhead's talking, gesturing with their conjoined hands like she doesn't realize she's still holding it and the blonde just smiles adoringly, content to be waved around like a flag. Toms sees envy and jealously flash in his firecrackers eyes then it's gone, happy smile back in place. Stella squeezes his waist and Tom knows she saw it, too.
"Not a thing we can do, darling." She says quietly. "It's not out place. If she brings it up, we'll tell her to be careful but that's just about all we can do. We don't want her to think we're judging her. Safe space, remember?"
Tom nods unhappily even though he knows his wife is right. They'd made up a little set of rules when they'd realized how important their little shop was to Beca. No judgment, no allowing people to make the girl nervous, never prying, only listening and to just be there. A safety net, nothing else. A word of caution and a shoulder to cry on.
He watches Beca flush again and prays to God that these girls don't hurt his little firecracker. He knows how fragile she is, knows the tape holding her pieces together is weak at best. Her walls have always been strong but they were and always have been her only line of defense. Once you're inside, she's soft and unprotected. These two have jumped her barriers like they were nothing and it makes Tom worried. If anyone could wreck his indomitable trooper, it looks like it would be the two of them.
"Why are they staring at us?" Aubrey whispers lowly to Chloe, subtly keeping track of the admittedly adorable older couple out of the corner of her eye. Beca had introduced them as Tom and Stella, the owners of the store and her bosses. Though, they acted more like grandparents than employers. Tom had swept the little DJ in a quick but strong hug almost the minute she walked through the door, asking how her audition went, didja get in? Didja, didja didja?! Are you going to be a staaaaaaarrrrr?
His wife came over, hit him with a dishtowel and told him to hush, of course she got in she's got the voice of an angel. Beca scoffed and gently jostled Stella only for the plump grey haired woman to peck the DJ on her cheek before turning to her and Chloe, demanding their names and their life story.
They had complied, introducing themselves and telling the older couple that they were both seniors and the captains of the Barden Bellas. The thin older man had squealed excitedly and demanded very seriously that Beca be immediately added into their group to which Aubrey replied that she had been a member since the first note had passed her lips. Tom was ecstatic and enthusiastically wrapped Beca in another hug, squeezing tightly and not letting go.
Aubrey was surprised at how accepting of the embrace the tiny brunette was. She and Chloe had tried to link arms with the DJ once on the walk over. Beca had tensed immediately and Aubrey could feel her arm twitch like she was resisting the urge to pull away. The blonde had detached herself as soon as an opportunity arose and gave Chloe a look until she did as well, though not without a pout on the redhead's part.
The blonde caught the apologetic yet relieved look on Beca's face when they stopped touching her and frowned a little. The brunette had a death grip on them last night in the shower, freaking the fuck out when they tried to remove themselves from her grip. It's odd that Beca has what seems like a serious aversion to touching now. But if Aubrey's being honest, Beca doesn't look the tactile type – her discomfort just now only proving it. Maybe she just really needed something to ground her yesterday, an occurrence of necessity, nothing else.
The blonde senior isn't surprised at how sad that makes her feel. Chloe is a ridiculously tactile person. She's always touching people, like she can't survive without the physical contact. Like right now, she already trapped Aubrey's hand in her own and is swinging it back and forth as she chats easily with Beca about music. It's weird to not to be able to reach out and grab Beca because Aubrey wants to. It's a habit that's rubbed off on her from Chloe. She respects Beca enough to not make her do something she's uncomfortable with, though. Chloe, she can't say the same.
Aubrey glances over and sees that her girlfriend is still discussing the merits of rap versus rap with the DJ and yet manages to be lightly brushing the brunette's arm and shoulder, quick and gentle as she makes a point. Beca doesn't seem to notice and Aubrey is slightly in awe because she's almost certain if she tried the same thing Beca would stiffen in an instant.
She is also completely unsurprised because Chloe is just a naturally unthreatening person. The girl is bubbly as fuck and can't sit still unless she's wrapped around you like an octopus but she just makes you feel happy, like her good mood in contagious. It's hilarious sometimes how innocent her girl seems because Aubrey knows the pre-med student is damn fierce when she needs to be. Chloe has a mean right hook. Her older brothers taught her how to punch hard and fast and Aubrey has seen more than one drunk frat boy dropped, TKO. It's funny every time it happens. It's also ridiculously terrifying because Aubrey hates the idea of her girlfriend in a situation where a mean right hook is necessary, especially when Aubrey isn't there to help. She knows Chloe can handle herself but she still worries.
All the sudden, Stella is asking her how she takes her coffee and Aubrey realizes she's been staring off into space, lost in thought for a while now. She ignores Chloe's laughter to hastily ask for the café mocha because she's heard good things from a very small brunette chick with these amazingly scary ear spikes. Stella rolls her eyes and fondly mutters something about a goddamned chocolate addict as she walks to the gleaming silver coffee machines. Aubrey looks over and sees Tom finally release Beca, saying that they need celebratory espresso crinkles.
Beca agrees with more seriousness than Aubrey thinks is strictly necessary for the situation. She also thinks it's adorable.
Stella chooses to show up just then, carefully leading the trio to a cozy looking back booth a little separated from the rest of the store. She doles out the full cups, congratulates Beca then wanders back behind her counter as Tom disappears into the back.
The coffee is magic just as Beca said it was and Aubrey tells her so. So does Chloe but it's more of a series of moans that are more sexual than they should be and makes Aubrey flush bright red, fidgeting slightly and feeling hot under her collar. The blonde huffs, exasperated because not only are they in public but she also knows exactly what she has to do to get Chloe to make those kinds of delicious noises and the fact that coffee is doing the same thing has her ego a bit wounded. Beca looks unaffected except for some reddening in her ears and Aubrey is seriously surprised because, honestly? Chloe sounds like she's in a porno right now. Aubrey doesn't know if it makes it better or worse that she knows for fact that the redhead is completely oblivious to what she's doing.
Her girlfriend finally calms down and they all start debating the auditions. It mostly involves her and Chloe since they actually watched the auditions but Beca makes a few valid points and the blonde is impressed. They have a finished line up sooner than Aubrey expects and despite their rather slim pickings, there's still a handful of girls that get cut.
That was a fifteen minutes ago and they've just been talking about whatever comes to mind. It was halfway through the merits of being in jail versus being homeless when Aubrey noticed that the couple was staring at them.
Aubrey whispered the question but somehow Beca hears and sighs softly. "Ignore them, they're just being nosey."
"Are you sure, Becs?" Chloe questions quietly. "They look kind of… concerned?" Her eyebrows furrow. "Actually they look kinda sad but I also feel like they're glaring at me." She turns to face her girlfriend "Why are they glaring at us?"
Beca chuckles. "They're not glaring at you, Ginger Spice."
"How would you know?!" Chloe hisses, eyes darting between the brunette and the older couple. "Your backs to them, you can't see their faces!"
"Maybe not, but I do know them." Beca says calmly, taking a sip of mocha with a raised eyebrow at the redhead's outburst. "They're just protective."
"And we worry them?" Aubrey asks with a frown. She didn't think they were, you know, scary. Sure, Chloe is a little enthusiastic and she's a little uptight sometimes but they're totally respectable and trustworthy people. "Is it because we're older? Do they think we're going to be a bad influence?"
Beca shakes her head dismissively. "You're not that much older than me." She tilts her head thoughtfully. "No more than a couple months, I'd guess." She shrugs and finishes her drink. "You two are just the first people I've voluntarily introduced them to."
"Wait, a couple months?" Aubrey asks, shocked. She digs around in the stacks of paper in front of her and pulls out Beca's application form. She scans the contents with a furrowed brow, certain that it said somewhere that this girl was a first year. There! Incoming freshman.
"Yeah, Becs." Chloe agrees, looking over Aubrey's shoulder at the little print. She raises Aubrey's hand holding the paper. "I know you're a freshman."
"Which I am." Beca admits easily. "But I'll also be twenty-one in about two months so…" She trails off and shrugs again. She goes to take another sip of her mocha then frowns when she realizes that it's empty.
"Why the fuck are you a freshman?" Aubrey exclaims loudly, then winces because that could be taken kind of badly. Which Beca does. She watches in dismay as the DJ's face shuts down. "Extenuating circumstances." She answers coldly before standing up and stalking over to the counter. Aubrey watches her go open mouthed and feeling lost.
"Damnit." Aubrey mutters, slamming her head on the table. She feels Chloe rubbing her back gently.
"Could've said that a little better there, babe." The redhead says apologetically and Aubrey nods into the table because she definitely could've. "On the bright side," Chloe starts wryly "Tom and Stella are totally glaring at us now. Stella's even twirling her towel threateningly. Oh, no wait that's just at you because you're the tactless idiot, not me."
Aubrey twists so that one eye is open and glares half-heartedly at her grinning girlfriend. "You're not funny." She grumbles. "And we're a package deal," the blonde adds, waving their joined hands dramatically and turning back into the table "if I fucked up, you did too. Reflexive property of equality."
"I don't think that's how that works." Chloe says amused, playing with the other senior's fingers. "We're a package deal, not two of the same thing. Reflexive is when x=10 because x=10."
"Really?" Aubrey groans. "Jesus, Chlo. How am I supposed to know this shit? I'm pre-law, I haven't taken math since high school!"
"That's no excuse. We learned this in grade school, you should be able to remember it."
"Oh my god, fine. What did I say it was?"
"Reflexive property."
"Transitive property, then?"
"That's the one where if a=b and b=c then a=c. We're only a and b. There isn't a c."
"C is being a fuck up. Ergo, if Chloe = Aubrey and Aubrey = being a fuck up then Chloe = being a fuck up too. Simple math. Package deal. Transitive property of equality...suck it." She adds after a beat, twisting her head again to smirk up at her girlfriend.
Chloe rolls her eyes and huffs, pushing Aubrey's shoulder.
"Why are we discussing number properties in relation to being fuck ups?" Beca asks idly, standing next to their booth with a warm espresso crinkle and hot to-go cup in her hands. Aubrey jerks up, blushing while Chloe tries desperately not to laugh.
"Doesn't matter." Aubrey blusters waving a hand dismissively. She collects herself and says earnestly "I'm sorry for offending you earlier, by the way. There's nothing wrong with being a freshman at twenty one."
"Twenty." Beca corrects, the corners of her lips ticking up. Her gaze focuses on her cup and Aubrey feels awful. "It's not because I'm dumb." She says quietly not looking at either of them. "I have the credits of a sophomore." Her eye flick up briefly then settle back on her coffee. "AP credits. From high school."
"I didn't think you were." Aubrey says gently, wanting to take her hand but resists because she doesn't know how well that would go over. "Neither of us did." Chloe nods enthusiastically behind her and Beca's lips curl up a little more. She sighs.
"I just don't like talking about it." She admits almost inaudibly but both seniors hear. "It's just, the past couple of years…I don't like talking about it."
"And that's okay." Aubrey agrees quickly, thinking fuck it and pats Beca's hand twice, swiping her thumb across the other girl's knuckles before retreating. Beca only twitches minutely and Aubrey counts it as a win.
"You can talk to us if you want to, though." Chloe says sincerely. "We're really good listeners and we don't judge. Plus, we have sappy rom-coms and wine."
Beca shakes her head slightly, tiny grin still in place. "I don't like movies. Or wine." She adds.
"Ice cream and good music then." Chloe changes easily but raises a curious eyebrow. Beca just shrugs and Chloe lets it go. She won't forget – the girl's mind is a steel trap, Aubrey knows – but she'll let it go until Beca wants to talk about it. It makes Aubrey fall in love with her girlfriend just a little bit more. Kit's like a dog with a bone but she'll simmer down when she needs to, and Beca obviously needs her to.
The brunette studies the two of them and the seniors relax their faces, allowing the DJ to see how sincere and earnest they are. Finally, Beca nods and Aubrey resist the urge to grin like a maniac. No need to scare the shorter girl away now.
"Okay." Chloe confirms and it feels like a promise. They all stand (Beca) and sit there in silence for a moment. It's not awkward but it's not comfortable either. Finally, Beca breaks the quiet. "So you guys have the names of the new Bellas, what's next." Aubrey does grin like a maniac this time and Beca looks vaguely concerned. "That, lovely, is a surprise for us to know and you to find out." She ignores Beca's nearly audible eye roll and stands up, pulling Chloe up with her.
"It'll take a little bit to set up so the actual initiation will probably end up being on Friday after classes."
"It takes five days to set up initiation?" Beca asks and Aubrey can hear the judgment in her voice clear as day.
"No, silly." Chloe says sweetly with a shit-eating grin. "We just like to make the newbies stew. I like to imagine them in a constant state of freaking out, not sure if they made the cut or not. Freshman mental breakdowns are amusing."
Beca looks at her, mouth slightly open. "You're kind of terrifying." She says seriously after a minute then nods decisively. "I approve."
Aubrey snorts and Chloe laughs brightly. "Bye, Beca!" She exclaims then darts forward and steals a hug before Beca can stop it. The redhead lets go quickly and steps back smiling. Beca huffs fondly and Aubrey chooses the more sedate route, squeezing Beca's shoulder softly and saying her own goodbyes. Beca looks grateful at the respect of her boundaries and Aubrey sends Chloe a smug look. The redhead sticks out her tongue.
Beca rolls her eyes and walks both of them out the door, saying her own goodbye as she walks off in the opposite direction calling over her shoulder "Have fun tormenting the freshies!"
Chloe watches her go. "God, I like that girl."
Aubrey couldn't agree more.