Later that evening, Beca reports to work with such a wide grin on her face that Blake comments on it the second she steps into the bar. "Holy shit, Mitchell, you're smiling," He says, looking suitably impressed – his thick black eyebrows knitted together and a couple of inches higher up his forehead than usual – the kind of expression people have when they're solving a surprisingly difficult math question. "Does this have anything to do with that girl you've been moping about for the past few weeks?"
Beca rolled her eyes. "No shit, boy genius."
He smiles and rolls his eyes, then decides to pour them both a glass of champagne to celebrate. He raises his glass to hers and clinks it. "What are we celebrating?"
Beca contemplates this for a few seconds. "To Newton's first law," She says finally, lips curling upwards.
Blake frowns in obvious confusion, but clinks her glass anyway. They both take a swig. "What's Newton's first law?"
"It's the law of inertia," She says, Intro Physics classes at Barden coming back to her with a rush. It's the only class she ever shared with Chloe in her four years at college and although it wasn't exactly a subject she'd expected to enjoy, the classes had been...well, interesting enough. Although she's fairly certain that has more to do with Chloe Beale than the short, bald, slightly pudgy physics professor who was, more often than not, absent from class. Which was entirely fine with Beca.
It's only until Blake clears his throat that Beca realizes she's zoned out completely. "Oh! Sorry." She says, trying to remember what they were talking about before. "The law of inertia. An object at rest stays at rest. An object in motion stays in motion. Everything stays the same and nothing changes – unless acted upon by an unbalanced force."
"Oh-kay..." Blake says slowly. "Is that something I should even try to understand, or..?"
"I think we're finally moving," Beca whispers. And it's true. After years of buried emotions and abandoned dreams, it seems as though they've finally overcome the doubt and uncertainty that have crippled them both for so long. They'd taken the leap through miles of darkness, and gravity – fate, even – had brought them together, like dense white stars coalescing into one dazzling burst of light.
"You are dorky as fuck," Blake says, laughing and shaking his head. He downs the rest of his champagne in a single gulp.
"That's what dumb people say to smart people." Beca replies. She's about to finish her drink as well when John comes striding up to the bar counter. He points an accusatory finger at the glass in her hand. "That wouldn't be... company alcohol, by any chance...?" They both freeze.
"I saved some for you," Beca says, showing John the remaining liquid in her glass. She gives him a winning smile.
"I'm going to fire the both of you one day," John mutters under his breath, joining Blake behind the bar counter.
"Oh please," Beca scoffs, settling into her stool in front of the mixing table.
John lets out an exasperated snort and turns to Blake. "I think I liked her better when she was all emo and shit."
Blake looks at Beca and shakes his head. "He's just grumpy because he hasn't humped anything since like, the last century or so."
John narrows his eyes. "I'll have you know that over the weekend, I-"
Beca puts on her earphones and drowns out the details of her manager's sex life with music.
...
After work ends that day, she walks out of the bar with Blake, who grills her about her new situation and gets almost nothing out of her except a tacit agreement that Chloe's smoking hot. He's about to give up when suddenly, out of the blue, Beca says, "We hardly get to see each other except on weekends. On weekdays she comes home from work and I leave for work like, thirty minutes later."
Blake laughs. "You could give her a foot rub like a dutiful sixties wife," He says. "I could totally see you in one of them apron things. Yeah – make her dinner too. So like, foot rub, dinner, and a quickie in the kitchen. Slam her against the-"
"Oh my god! Shut up," Beca says, shutting her eyes to get the offending images out of her brain. "That's gross!"
Blake chortles. "Well, dinner's a good idea, though. I mean, you can cook, right?"
"Of course I can," Beca scoffs.
...
She can't.
She's standing in Chloe's spotless kitchen and feels incredibly out of place amongst the neatly arranged pots and pans and seasoning bottles that she has no idea how to use. She picks up the frying pan – at least she hopes it's the right one; honestly she has no clue – and turns on the stove.
It takes exactly one millisecond for disaster to strike. Blowing frantically on the singed end of her right sleeve and thanking the Gods that her hand was still intact and unburnt, she throws the remainder of the ingredients into the sizzling pan and prays nothing blows up. There's a loud hiss and oil splatters everywhere. By this time, her hair is already slick with sweat and oil, and her hands smell strongly of garlic. The salmon fillet sizzles on the pan and Beca is about to get a heart attack rushing around the kitchen, trying to find the rest of the ingredients and put them into the pan at appropriate intervals.
She's on her way to grab the potatoes when her phone rings. "Uh, Chloe... I can't really – oh shit – I can't talk right now!" She says.
"Oh," Comes Chloe's rather confused reply from the other end of the line. "Well then, I'm almost home. See you in ten minutes!" Beca gives a horrified squeak and hangs up.
After a couple of close shaves and a short, hysterical sally out into the living room to send a distressed snap chat to Fat Amy ("Does this look cooked to you?!"), Beca successfully heaps two pieces of Norwegian salmon, a bunch of vegetables and some potatoes onto two plates.
Then she realizes how terrible the kitchen looks and dashes around trying to clear everything up – the stains and spills and knocked-over seasoning bottles. She's somewhat partially done a couple of minutes later, so she carries the plates out into the living room.
At this point, she's feeling rather pleased with herself, but the smug grin is completely wiped off her face when she hears the key turn in the lock. Before Beca has time to react, the door swings open and Chloe steps in. Beca stands motionless in the middle of the dining room in a sauce-splattered apron, with a spatula in one hand, plate in the other, and smudges of sauce on every conceivable patch of skin.
"Uh, hi," Beca squeaks, shooting her an endearingly nervous smile. Chloe bursts out laughing.
"One week in and you're already getting into fights with the kitchen?" Chloe leaves her handbag by the door and moves towards Beca. Smiling slightly, she picks out a food particle from Beca's frazzled hair and wipes a greasy stain off her cheek. "Mm, you smell good, at least."
Beca swallows and clears her throat. "I thought, you know, I had time before work, so... I made some dinner. There's uh, there's some for you too."
Chloe blinks, taken completely by surprise. She turns her attention to the food on the table and ends up grinning. Impulsively, she grabs Beca's apron strings and pulls her in for a kiss. "Thank you," Chloe says, pulling away finally. "You're really sweet." Beca mumbles something into Chloe's blouse in response and turns slightly pink.
Chloe pulls away eventually to give Beca another quick peck on the cheek. "You look kind of adorable in that apron," She says, eyes twinkling in amusement. "Can send a picture of you to Aubrey?"
"Don't you dare," Beca growls, stripping out of the apron in three seconds flat. They scoot into the chairs at the dining table and tuck in. Chloe has nothing but praise for the food, and they settle into a comfortable, familiar routine of banter, light-hearted chatter and appreciative chewing. Beca feels a warm, fuzzy glow spread over her each time Chloe glances over at her. She almost forgets about work – about anything other than kissing Chloe Beale, in actual fact – but is jolted back to reality when her cell phone begins to vibrate, John's face – with its perpetual scowl – lights up the screen. Beca groans and viciously stabs at the 'end call' button on her phone, but Chloe laughs and kisses her hard on the lips before pushing her gently towards the door. "I don't want to go to work," Beca whines. "I want to stay here and-"
Chloe raises a single, teasing eyebrow. "-Wash the dishes?" Beca swats at her. Chloe laughs again and reaches out to put both hands on the smaller woman's slim shoulders. "I won't go anywhere, Mitchell, I promise. I'll wait up for you tonight." Their eyes lock, and then someone – Beca isn't quite sure who – leans in and their lips meet, soft and sure, and they kiss until all coherent thought has long since fled from Beca's mind. She has her hands threaded through Chloe's hair and Chloe has her hands pressed firmly against her hip, and they're pressed so tightly against each other that Beca can feel Chloe's heartbeat quickening against her own chest.
And then her phone vibrates again and Chloe leaves a faint trail of kisses on Beca's neck as she slowly steps away and draws apart. Beca feels like throwing her phone out of the window in frustration, but Chloe prods her in the ribs and grins. "John's going to behead you if you don't show up at work within the next ten minutes," She says.
"People die for love all the time," Beca says offhandedly. Then she realizes what she's just said – the four letter word – and panics. She contemplates taking it back, spluttering out an excuse, coming up with some lame joke as a follow up, but her brain just goes blank, and she's left floundering for something – anything – to say. She didn't really mean to say the l word, because she's not really ready to say that she loves Chloe – does she love Chloe?! – but taking it back now would be mean and cruel and strange and awkward and besides she was totally making too big a deal of it and Chloe probably thought nothing of it until now and oh God – was Chloe laughing at her? "What?" Beca asks, eyeing the chortling redhead suspiciously.
Then she can't help it and starts giggling too, and within seconds they're both laughing their heads off and she can only just barely make out the words Chloe's squeezing out through breathless gasps of laughter. "God – should've seen – your face – hilarious – so worried –" Eventually they both stop laughing and Chloe actually pauses to wipe some tears out of her eyes.
Beca rearranges her features to resemble something closer to a scowl – even though the corners of her lips kept trying to rise up in mutiny and curl along the edges – and tells Chloe, rather primly, that she's an absolute arsehole. Chloe straightens up and solemnly agrees, before unceremoniously shoving the smaller woman out of the door. "Earn your keep, Mitchell. I'm not running a charity for hobos." Beca sticks out a tongue at her, and Chloe softens and pulls her into a final parting kiss, whispering, "see you later."
Beca's not sure what does it – the promise of some sort of later, or the tingle of Chloe's breath so close to her ear. Either way, her entire being shivers with anticipation all through the night and carries her straight back home at 2 a.m. with her heart pounding in her chest.
A/N: Sorry this took so long! I'm moving into college in about a week's time and things are hectic. Don't worry though, folks, nothing's being abandoned - I'll just be updating more slowly, is all. Thanks for your comments and feedback, really keeps me entertained and connected to this world even when I can't write.