The night is a huge success for Beca – well, at least in terms of attracting future employment. An acclaimed Italian director looking to make it big in Hollywood asks her to send in a sample soundtrack to accompany a rough-cut of his feature-film, blue city, and Jules Anderson hires her for his spring fashion runway event.

Chloe accompanies Beca out of the building. "How was your night?" Beca asks, once they hit the streets. They were both heading towards the subway station a few blocks down.

Chloe smiles. "I wish I had more time with you tonight."

Beca quirks an eyebrow. "Then invite me out to dinner next time," she teases.

Chloe shrugs. "I'd like that, actually."

There's a long silence, then something snaps and Beca can't hold it in anymore. She stops and turns around to face Chloe. "I don't get it – if you've always wanted me and now I want you back, why aren't we giving this a shot?" Beca's voice cracks at the end and she immediately hates herself for it.

Chloe's blue eyes drill holes right through Beca's soul. "Do you know how long I waited for a sign – any sign – that my feelings for you were reciprocated in some way?"

Beca gulps and feels her heart do an uncomfortable flip in response. "We spent too long pretending that we didn't care about each other in college. But why are we making exactly the same mistake now? Aren't you tired of it?"

Chloe takes a step forward. "I dropped clues. I dropped hints. I did everything in my power short of whisking Jesse fucking Swanson off the planet. You did nothing."

Beca bites her lip and feels a tremor go down her spine. "I was scared, Chloe, I-"

Chloe shakes her head, her blue eyes full of tears. "You didn't even try, Beca. You weren't willing to sacrifice even a little bit of skin for me. You're not scared anymore, I get that – but what happens the next time you get scared?"

Beca stares at her mutely, anger and hurt boiling up to the surface. "That's not fair. I'm not a coward, Beale."

"I know," Chloe says quietly. "That's why it hurt." There's a moment of silence. "I know you, Beca. You fight for the things you want. And I wasn't one of those things." With that, she turns around and quickens her step, leaving Beca standing dumbfounded by the side of the road.

"But I do want you," Beca says, but it's too soft and Chloe's already too far gone.

...

It's ironic how well every other part of her life is going. John increases her pay. Business at the Pulse picks up. She sends a small collection of hastily cobbled together mixes to the Italian director and for some reason, he likes it enough to get back to her with suggested revisions, the director's cut of the film and a contract to sign. She watches the film and is astounded by how good it actually is and how she actually has an invitation to be a part of the post-production crew.

She has to defer to the judgment of the music composer, who takes charge of the overall mood and comes up with the scores for the major, hard-hitting scenes. Still, she has a large role and the producer promises her a fat paycheck at the end of the day – it's definitely the big break she's been looking forward to since college.

And yet she can't even seem to celebrate properly.

Chloe has always been there to celebrate her victories with her – their championship wins, graduation, a hard-earned A on a difficult paper, even the little things like the first time she managed to cook a semi-decent omelet without burning anything down. It feels strange now, chugging beers with John and Blake at the dive bar. They are genuinely happy for her, but can't quite figure out why she doesn't seem to be happy.

"It's about the girl, isn't it?" Blake asks.

"No," Beca says, scowling. "I have a life, you know. I'm perfectly capable of functioning without her, thank you very much."

Blake laughs. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry."

There's a knock on the door outside, and John frowns. They're not open till six thirty and it says so clearly on the sign at the entrance. Blake gets up to open the door. A woman in her thirties with big, curly hair beams at them from outside. "Hey there, I'm Roan, from the Post. I'm doing an article on up-and-coming dive bars. I'd like to feature Pulse, if that's okay with you guys."

"Okay," says John skeptically, waving her in. "What dyou want to know?"

Roan takes a seat at the bar. Blake offers her a drink, but she refuses with a wry, "can't drink on the job." She asks a couple of questions about the place, its atmosphere, philosophy, background details, scribbling the answers down in a little notebook. She talks to Beca about the music, too, and is very impressed when she hears about her role in blue city.

"Is this what you've always wanted? To be a DJ?" Roan asks.

"Yes, I got sidetracked along the way, but I'm back on the right track now," Beca says, thinking about something else entirely.

Roan frowns. "Sidetracked?"

Beca shrugs. "You know, like, sometimes it's the things you really want that you don't allow yourself to fight for. Because you condition yourself to think that because it's so perfect, you're never going to get it. And so you don't allow yourself to chase it so you won't have to be disappointed. It's dumb, but that's how I lived my life for a long time."

Roan nods slowly. "And now it's different?"

Beca snaps out of her reverie. "Yeah," She laughs. "Well, I'm working on it, at least."

Roan grins at her. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to squeeze those quotes into the article but I sure hope so." Beca waves a hand at her to indicate that it doesn't matter to her either way, and goes back to her drink. When six thirty swings around, Roan stands up and exchanges phone numbers with John. "Thanks so much for the help. I'll text you when the article comes out."

...

The article is in tomorrow's papers, and the portion about Pulse is supplemented with a sidebar profiling Beca, her music, some quotes, and her experience working on the soundtrack for blue city. There's even a small photograph of Beca at the mixing table, looking all fierce and intense. "I think she likes you," Blake says, handing a copy of the newspaper to Beca. "Attracting all the girls except the right one, huh?"

"Shut up, Blake. You're just jealous cause none of the chicks ever dig you." Beca says.

"What was that philosophical spiel about anyway?" Blake eyes her curiously.

Beca rolls her eyes and doesn't volunteer any additional information.

When her shift ends that night, she checks her phone, half-hoping that Chloe read the article – it was stupid, though. No one she knew ever read the Post, let alone a small side-bar profile. In any case, there are no missed calls from Chloe, no text messages.

Nothing since the night of the fashion gala. Beca's thumb hovers around the keyboard and she contemplates sending something over to Chloe to break the silence, but decides against it. She doesn't know what to say, and even if she did, she doesn't know if it's a good idea to resume a friendship that's clearly fraught with... complications. Especially since it seems that despite Chloe's protestations to the contrary, they'd both not quite gotten over their strange and turbulent college history.