CHAPTER THREE.

(it's just- the names of these chapters! they're so beautiful... sniff...)


Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

-Edgar Allan Poe

A Dream Within A Dream-


Sheila is a woman of principle; she believed that honesty should be the way one walks.

She'd been with Warren for nine years now. She knew that he had faults (he was a man, after all). But she wouldn't be a woman of principle if she didn't accept them for what they were, and she wouldn't be a good wife if she didn't try to curb the worst of them.

She wasn't a homewrecker, though for a while she certainly felt like one. It was tough to believe that Warren lied to her, especially when she'd been beginning to think that he was the one when she'd found out. He'd been married for the first year that they'd started dating- and she hadn't known. She was told that he was living with his sister. It wasn't in her nature to distrust him. There was a brief period in the beginning, however, where she'd had some doubts. Turns out, those doubts were right. How could he have cheated on his wife? How could he have lied to her?

When he explained it- how his relationship with his wife could no longer be called a relationship, how his wife ignored him and drank or gambled their savings away, how his wife treated him when he was home- she understood his reasoning a little better. Make no mistake that she'd forgiven him, she hadn't, but she understood. People are made to be loved. There's only so much loneliness one can take before they learn to adapt, or before they react. As much as she loved the man, she couldn't help wondering if he'd cheat on her, too.

When he asked if things were okay between them, if she'd continue to be his girlfriend, she asked for some time; a break while he got his divorce papers settled and she could think things out for herself.

God, she was the other woman.

How hadn't she known?

A few months and one faculty-staff appreciation day later, and they'd gotten back together. She still felt terrible that she was the cause that destroyed Warren's marriage, but it was heading towards divorce anyway, the way that Warren told it.

They'd been together another three years before he proposed.

It was a total of nine years to the day his wife left him when she'd found it.

Would an omission of truth be considered a lie?

It hurt like one.

While he was sleeping, she put on a pot of coffee and washed a load of laundry from the day before. She found his wallet in the back pocket of one of his dress pants, pulled it out so it wouldn't go into the wash, and set it on the edge of the machine until she finished. The moment she shut the door, pressed go, and the machine started to shake as it washed, the wallet fell open on the ground.

When Sheila picked it up, there was a picture of a little girl carefully preserved behind a thin sheet of clear, synthetic plastic.

No more than three or four with dark, indecipherable eyes much like Warren's and rich, earthy brown hair. The girl's features were reserved, and sharp- more serious than a girl her age should be- yet a little smile played at the corners of her lips. A Mona Lisa smile that made her wonder what secrets the girl was hiding.

One could imagine, then, how curious Sheila was. Wouldn't you be if you could see the resemblance in a little girl's picture to the man you were married to? She sat down at the island counter she had in their kitchen, sipping quietly on her coffee, as she observed the wallet. She didn't go through it, just pondered at the little girl and wondered if she should ask. The question in her mind wasn't if Warren was lying to her, but if he had just never told her something she, as his wife, should've known and if would it be an invasion of privacy to ask. She was sure he had a reason why he didn't tell her about whoever this little girl was. Maybe he'd lost her. Maybe she was a little sister, or cousin, or his niece-

"That's my daughter," his voice broke in behind her. "Rebeca."

Warren stood there, rubbing the back of his head sleepily, as he looked down at the open wallet on the counter. It'd been years since he'd actually looked at that picture. The sides were worn in, the photograph wrinkled and faded. He walked over and sat down next to her, "She'd just turned four when we took it."

Her eyes searched his, but he still gazed down at the photograph, drinking the image in. "Rebeca would be about seventeen now... Her birthday's next week."

The way he spoke, Sheila assumed the worst. "Is she... ?"

His eyes snapped up, hectic and frightened at the thought, "No! No. I just..." His eyes drifted back down to the picture. "I was never the father I should've been."

Sheila's jaw tightened as she realized that the girl was still alive. Warren had a daughter whom he'd never thought to mention to his wife of nine years. While that made her angry, it wasn't that factor that made her outraged. She just needed to clarify. "So, your daughter is still alive?" Warren nodded. "Still breathing?" Again. "Still walking, and talking?" Hesitantly. "When was the last time you've seen her, Warren?"

His silence answered her, and she blew up.

"You mean to say that you have a seventeen year old daughter whom you haven't spoken to in nine years?!"

His eyes glazed over as her thought back to that night and the look on his daughter's face, "She hasn't wanted to see me."

"And you know this how?" Sheila questioned, still enraged. Warren shrugged. "God, Warren, have you even tried to call her?" He looked away again, and she threw her hands up in the air, letting out a loud, angry huff. "You're a father first. Then a husband. Then a man. Grow a pair and start acting like one." She stalked over to the house phone, picked it up, and slammed it down on the counter next to the still open wallet. Beyond annoyed, she questioned, "Do you know their number, or do you need me to do that for you too?" She didn't wait for his answer and stomped off, she paused for a moment as she realized something. "She's my step-daughter, Warren. You might've been avoiding her for a decade, but I'd like to get to know her."

It was around five in the morning, the world the long stretch of grey that it is just before the sun begins to rise. He sat there a long while, at that counter in his kitchen, thinking. He was ashamed, and depressed, and guilty. His wife was right. He missed his little girl more than he'd ever admitted to himself. He thought she'd be better off without him, and yet it was more than that. It was selfish of him, but the night when Rebeca came to him and looked at him with those eyes so much like his own, he couldn't handle it. It was as if he were looking at his inner demon, his troubles, his own reflection in his little girl. He loved Rebeca, but on that night he needed someone to blame. And he was so drunk at that point his mind easily made the connection from all of this pain and problems happening because of Rebeca. Back then it was her fault he was in the situation he was in. She was the only reason he'd stayed with his wife, who he couldn't stand. The wife who was no love to him. Rebeca was the reason he hadn't gotten a divorce and he lied about where he'd been. Rebeca was the reason he couldn't openly be with Sheila. Rebeca was the reason he came home to misery and a drunk. It took so much work to raise a child. It cost so much of his time, and money, and patience. It took more out of him than he'd expected fatherhood to; when coupled with the stress from his wife and his job, he'd needed an outlet. And then both Sheila and his wife were leaving him.

It made sense to blame everything on her.

Which, obviously, was complete crack to him now.

She was his responsibility. There was a time in his life when he and his first wife were in love, or in love with what the other could've represented. Bringing a child into this world seemed like the next rational step. Then he got a new job. Then, his wife lost hers after she'd stayed on an extended maternity leave. Then, the baby kept them up until all hours of the night, only stopping to cry when someone held her close and rocked her to sleep. They'd gotten a new computer for his wife's job hunt, and she'd found a new way to earn money. Then, he'd gotten a promotion. And she stuck with gambling. And he'd had work to do; his wife and the child were a distraction that kept him lagging behind. They'd started to grow apart. She'd started to ask him for money he didn't have. He started to ask for an intimacy that she wouldn't give because he didn't have any money. He'd hardly noticed his little girl growing up without him.

But she was always there, hiding in the shadows.

Now, years later, after all was said and done, Rebeca was his greatest regret.

So he sat there staring at a phone, laying aside his wallet.

Outside the squat window above the sink, the sun was starting to rise, revealing the purple bags beneath his eyes. The coffee Sheila made earlier sat cold in the pot. He remembered, just barely remembered, the number of his ex mother-in-law. At least, he thought it was her number. It was a place to start.

He picked up the phone.


Beca couldn't believe she was here.

The other morning, on the phone? Turns out it was her father calling.

Though she didn't talk to her mother much anymore, she couldn't blame the woman for being a little mad. She thought it was hilarious. Even more so once she'd found out why he was calling. The guy wanted to get back in touch. Wanted to get to know her. Wanted to meet up and talk.

Guess what dude? Not in the same state anymore.

And, oh yeah. Forgot about this- 'cuz, whoo, time sure does fly by in the blink of an eye- but it's been frigging nine years.

It didn't deter him in the least.

After calling another three times, stubborn mule, he showed up on their doorstep like an unwanted surprise from the neighbor's cat. She recognized him: same bed-head hair and professor get up. Same partially distracted expression. And his eyes were the same color as hers. And like the complete mess that he was right there on her doorstep, she felt the need to clean that shit up and get on with her life. Her nose scrunched up in distaste.

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't outside of her comfort zone. He didn't look too pleased to see her either, which made Beca wonder why he'd even showed up in the first place. It was a good thing that woman she lived with was out right now, otherwise the police would've shown up to their door again. The man looked at her and she could tell he had no idea who she was. This could be fun. First time talking to her sperm donor in years; he'd come here looking for her and couldn't recognize his own daughter when he saw her. She smirked.

"Can I help you?" her tone was cut and pasted, precise and clear. It startled him. He hadn't exactly expected her to stop there.

The man scrambled to his feet, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets. He looked sheepish, "Oh! Uh, yes. Yes, my name is Warren Mitchell." He offered his hand, she didn't take it. She wasn't impressed. "I'm, uh, I'm looking for an Elizabeth Taylor or Rebeca Mitchell? I knocked on the door, but no one seems to be here." There was one difference with the man, she noticed upon closer inspection. His hair was thinning.

She rolled her eyes and said, "Maybe you should take that as a sign and go."

He blinked. "Excuse me?" Warren used that tone that demanded respect.

She shouldered her way passed him to the front door of her house, sliding out her keys and unlocking it. "Oh, I'm sorry. I would've thought that'd be a word in your vocabulary." Saucily, she continued over her shoulder, "Go. Gee- Oh. It's a two letter word that means get the hell out of my yard!"

Warren took in the girl's dark clothes, heavy eye liner, her many ear piercings and tattoos. She could practically see him sticking his nose up in the air like he was above it. There was a twitch in the man's jaw and his face was reddening in anger. She laughed, "O- There it is! Careful, old man! Don't want all that hot air in your head to blow-"

He raised his finger at her. Her eyebrows raised somewhat incredulously in response, "Look here, young lady, I'm just trying to get back in touch with my daughter. If she's not here, or if they've moved, that's fine and I'll leave. The least you can do is pay me some common human decency and tell me straight out. There's no need to be rude."

Beca opened the door and stopped. She turned around to look at the man. "Straight out, huh? Okay, how's this for an answer-"

Before Warren had a chance to take in her words, the door had been shut and locked in his face.

That was the first time that he'd shown up at her door.

The next time she'd seen the man, he knocked persistently on the front door at eight in the morning... during her mother's weekend off. It was hilarious when ol' Ms. Taylor answered it, because it was clear that of the two people he knew to live in this abode, he recognized his wife. He'd barely gotten a word out in explanation before her mother splashed her morning tequila in his face and slammed the door shut. He sputtered before heading back to his rental car.

She debated the pros and cons of vandalism.

In the end, she decided she was more of a music person than an artistic person; if she was going to vandalize a vehicle, it had to be done right or not at all.

And then he showed up on her birthday.

She hadn't bothered to answer the door since the moment she heard someone knocking on it. Beca knew who was there and she had work later, besides. She decided to let him think that no one was home, which wouldn't be too difficult since her mother really wasn't there. She'd gone out with Mr. Ryan.

An hour later, the knocking stopped. This suited her perfectly since she'd rather he not be there when she leave for work. Which, speaking of, her shift started in thirty minutes. Now was a better time than any to go.

Four hours later, she came home from work and went to get the mail. There, sitting snug in the mailbox, was a small package all wrapped up in ribbons and bows. She didn't bother to open it; she threw it in the trash. There weren't any letters from the recording studio in LA she was trying to get a deal with. That was her future. Music. Not Portland, Maine or Atlanta, Georgia, but sunny side LA, California.

She just needed to get a deal with a recording company somewhere out there, or even just to get her name out there. Get some notice. When she turned twenty-one, she could sell the house and move out there, really start to make a difference. Her mother hated this place anyway, and she was nothing if not a resourceful woman. Hell, her mother'd practically moved in with Mr. Ryan already. Beca was confident her mother would land on her feet.

Warren tried again later that night, when her mother was home. To her surprise, Ms. Taylor (she kept the woman as separate from herself as possible- never Elizabeth) let him in.

Even stranger: ex-husband and ex-wife sat down in the kitchen together and had a rational conversation over a glass of wine, like real people do.

To her complete disbelief, it was about her.

She thinks her mother knew more about her future plans to sell their home than she let on, because the next thing she knows they're actually agreeing on getting Beca a "proper" (*cough* *cough* FREE *cough*) education, and encouraging her to rethink her future. They want her to attend Barden. As in, Barden University. As in, the Barden University in Georgia- the place her father works at.

She's not really sure she'd ever had a say in the matter. Why. Why. Why is the legal age of becoming an adult set at eighteen? Sure, maybe she could file for emancipation if she could afford it. Minor detail being that she doesn't get her inheritance until she's twenty-one. By then, it's kind of pointless. She doesn't need to rethink her future. She doesn't want to go to college. She doesn't need to further her education. She knows what she wants to do with her life. Why couldn't they understand that? Hell, why did they choose now of all times to band together and act like over-controlling parents?

If there was one upside to this, she'd be away from her mother.

Warren wanted her to live with him and his- hold on a second, wife?- Sheila. He wanted to get to know her again, and he wanted her to get to know Sheila. Wow, what a noble endeavor you've undertaken, Warren.

Beca flat-out refused.

Still, since she didn't have much of an argument in this case she set the rules.

She would be dormming.

She'd choose her own courses.

And she would not be forced to check in with Warren.

And he was fine with that so long as she'd come back to Georgia with him. Funny thing he forgot about her daughter was that she still had to finish her senior year of high school. It'd be a few more months before she could go.

Beca was not excited for it.


Today was the day.

Today was the day.

Today was the day.

The start of her final year at Barden University, but, more importantly, the start of her co-captaincy of the Barden Bellas. Both she and Aubrey'd gotten the torch passed onto them by a rather aggravated Alice. Which, she couldn't exactly blame for her frustration. It was, partially, sort of their fault for the mess at last year's ICCA's. Literally.

Aubrey'd certainly been a wreck for the first few weeks following. Chloe tried her best to be there for her friend, and tried her best not to show how disappointed she actually was. Music was a hobby to Aubrey, who'd had her life planned out for her since the age of two months. For Chloe? Her parents wanted her to be happy in whatever she did. She'd tried, for a while, to follow in her father's footsteps and be a surgeon... but blood tremendously grossed her out. So, she'd tried to be a teacher. There was only so much even Chloe herself could take of children before she cracked. Chloe was many things, and singing was pretty much her life, but- and please don't think her snobby or overbearing or ridiculous for saying this- she didn't want to go with the obvious choice.

And, as much as singing meant to her (she'd never let it up), she wanted to be able to help people in some way. Like, really help people.

She majored in psychology and in the theatre arts, for no particular reason.

Aubrey tried to help her out, to really make some decisions about her future. Chloe appreciated the effort, it was... She couldn't make any decisions. There was something she was waiting on. Something was going to happen. Something was missing.

When that something came along, then she could figure out her future.

Until then... she was stuck.

Aubrey worried about her, she could tell. They'd lived together for four years now; had known each other for basically their whole lives (since the second grade if you were one of those people and needed to be precise). There was a little indent in her brow and a nibble on her lip that gave it away.

Rather than continue to think on this topic, Chloe got back to thinking about today. Because-

It was the day.

She was elated, excited, jumping up and down on her tippy-toes. Today she got to meet new people and talk about her favorite subject. Aubrey was rolling her eyes at her, but Chloe felt like throwing her head back and opening her arms up to the world and dancing around and around in circles-

"Now you sound like the Running in Circles Club," Aubrey put her two cents in.

Chloe, radiating happiness, explained, "But doesn't today feel so wonderful? Like, there's so much potential-" She grinned. "Let's go, Aubrey! Time to go find some new Bella sister's!" Chloe tugged on her arm as Aubrey tried not to smile. Chloe's happiness was infectious, and Aubrey wanted to keep a clear head for the day. She didn't quite feel that sense of opportunity like Chloe did, but she had to agree that she was excited and a little nervous. There was some potential for that day.

As well as being the day their senior year began, it was also Orientation Day, which meant there was an Activities Fair they had to be at. They had a stand to set up. They were both a little worried that people might still remember the disaster that became last year's ICCA's (it was on national television: everyone was calling it Puke Gate). Still, Aubrey remained optimistic that people would turn up. And Chloe? She'd started out that way, but as more and more people kept on walking by, none of them having qualified Aubrey's vision of bikini ready girls who could sing, her hopes for that day started to die.

There was that feeling again that something was missing.

It was an itch in her back, and in her side, and in her mind, and it was on the tip of her tongue- but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was that was missing. It was something. Something was supposed to be there.

It irritated her to no end.

When Baloney Barb, of all people, turned them down, she knew enough was enough. "How about we just get good singers...?" she clued Aubrey in. From there, it was like dominoes all set up. She tipped one over, and the rest kept falling.

They passed a flier to a girl named Amy (Fat Amy, she corrected herself), and another to Denise, Jessica and Mary Elise, who each grabbed a few more in turn for their friends. One girl snuck by, stared at them strangely for a moment until they passed her a flier, and then left without saying a word. Chloe was starting to feel her hopes lifted and it was Aubrey who started to feel her hopes fall. She was hoping for a total of eight girls this year in order to have a precise, even number of ten. One could not imagine how much it bugged Aubrey to no end that they couldn't find one more girl to fill that potential slot, not to mention what would happen if none of the other girls who'd grabbed a flier could sing. And Chloe knew how much those details irritated Aubrey, who needed everything to perfection, so she looked around for an answer.

Then Chloe saw the girl and couldn't help herself, she almost felt like she'd found what she was missing as her heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, Aubrey, what about her?"


A.N.

I was looking to make this chapter a little longer than it was, but some things have come up right now that're making it difficult to write. Just some problems in the family that've been going on for a while now that I'm trying to come to terms with. One of my reviewers requested more from Chloe's angle, and while you have to understand that it is definitely my utmost intention to do so sometime in the near future, Chloe's character is an extremely upbeat and happy person. It's difficult for me to write for that tone when I'm not exactly happy at the moment, otherwise everything that I read and write feels kind of fake to me, and it's nearly impossible to get into the story. I just need some time to sort things out and find my center again.

This, in no way, means that I'm going stop writing this fic or that the chapters are going to be few and far between; I'm just trying to explain why some of what I write might not be to the same degree (in my opinion anyway), or as much from Chloe's POV.

Writing is very cathartic for me, whether through fanfiction or otherwise; there'd be no way possible for me to stop.

That said, thanks for reading.

Special thanks to my Guests, Bechloe always, crystalsoda1, KissKendrick, and mo11 for leaving beautiful comments and for the encouragement- It still seriously surprises me how much of a response I'm getting to this fic. Love your input guys! This is going to continue to be a slow-ish pace, Beca's mom will most likely stay terrible, and I'm gonna need to know what you guys think the final pairing should be if you have a specific pairing in mind: personally, I have three different endings this fic could go... :) Hope you can sort of see where the next chapter's heading!

smw48910: I have a plan for Aubrey 3:) Mwah-hah-ha-hah-hah-ha... And unless the general feedback from all of the reviewers tell me otherwise, Bechloe is probably where this fic is going to go.

Snow White Misery: Out of plain curiosity, how would you describe a long, detailed fic if you were a vegetarian? ^^ Not that I am; that was just a thought that popped in my head. But, seriously though... ? And I completely understand where you're coming from with the Chloe thing; it's honestly bothering me like crazy that I haven't included her so much, but it's difficult for me right now to put myself into her shoes. Chloe's about a bazillion times more affectionate, loveable, optimistic, and happy than I am. Don't get me wrong (total Bechloe diehard), Chloe's a great character- but another thing right now is that I sort of think I need to focus more on Beca and Aubrey than Chloe at the beginning so we can see where each girl is coming from in respect to what Chloe might represent in their lives, and draw Chloe more into this fic later. It's a little bit of two things. Don't worry though- You're not at all a downer! You're just being honest about your opinions, which is something I definitely can appreciate- Thanks for the great review! Hope you continue to enjoy it. :)