A/N: Welcome back, and thank you to everyone who added this to their fav/follow, and of course, to those of you that left such wonderful reviews! I'm really glad I could catch your interest, and I hope I can keep you guys coming back for more. There is a tiny reference in here to another Marvel character, and several mentions will be made throughout the rest of the story. As I said before, this belongs mainly in the Pitch Perfect universe, though aspects of Spiderman and other Marvel events/characters will be making appearances (much) later on. For now, enjoy the story!

Chapter 2: Moving In

"Where to?"

Beca barely registers the question over the noise of her music, pulling her headphones away just long enough to answer with, "Barden University." He nods his head in acknowledgment, and after resetting the meter, pulls away from the motel and out onto the streets. Fortunately, he doesn't push her into making any sort of conversation - unlike some cab drivers - and for that, Beca is grateful; the day is stressful enough without the added pressure of small talk, and all she wants to do is lose herself in a song or two before she's forced to endure the chaos that is college move-in day.

Slipping her headphones over her ears once more, the freshman listens keenly as her latest mix plays, scrawling messily into her notebook as she scrutinizes every beat and drop of the bass. Five minutes into the ride, and already she's itching to get back onto her laptop; her mind runs rampant with new ideas, brain practically buzzing in excitement, and-... wait, no.

This is more than a flash of musical inspiration, she realizes; her skull prickles in warning, and she has just enough time to shout, "stop the car!" - just as an unsuspecting delivery truck backs its way out of a loading zone, and directly into their path. The sound of squealing tires fills her ears as the startled driver slams his foot onto the brake, the car screeching to a halt mere inches from impact.

"Watch where you're going, asshole!" he screams, honking his horn and repeatedly flipping the bird at the (un)apologetic truck driver. Huffing with indignation, he locks eyes with Beca through the rearview mirror, tipping his hat at her in gratitude. "I have no idea how you saw that coming, but thanks for the heads up."

She doesn't respond, offering only a shy grin before turning back to her notes, silently thanking the non-existent Gods (the mighty Thor notwithstanding) that he doesn't question her methods. The remainder of the ride is uneventful, and twenty minutes later (but a lifetime too soon), the taxi pulls into the university's main gates.

'Would you look at that,' she muses, eying the gaudy banner, splattered with the school colors and an unholy amount of glitter, strewn over the street, 'Hell has a welcome sign.'

"You know your hall?" her driver inquires, speaking for the first time since the earlier mishap.

"Uh, Baker Hall," she replies, only seventy-five percent sure of her answer. Maybe seventy. Her father had dealt with the majority of her paperwork, after all; she was pretty much just there to show up, do her time, and get the hell out.

"I'll get you as close as I can get," he says, maneuvering past the long line of cars towards her new, but temporary home. It takes a few more minutes and a lot of patience, but he makes good on his promise, pulling into an open spot only a stone's throw away from the entrance. After paying her fee, Beca politely declines his offer to help with her bags and slips out of the backseat, quickly unloading her things from the trunk.

"Need help?" a man offers, indicating to the empty cart that he pushes. "I'll just need your name and student ID number, and I can have these delivered straight to your dorm room."

Beca contemplates it only for a moment before she shakes her head 'no'; she could care less about the clothes, but she had slaved all throughout high school in order to afford decent sound equipment, and she doesn't dare risk losing it in some sort of mixup. Besides, it's not as if she'll have trouble handling her own things; so, ignoring his incredulous stare, she slips on her backpack, hefts her largest bag over her shoulder, and dual-carries the remaining two suitcases like they're nothing more than a sack of feathers.

As she turns, she's met by a rather pompous looking blonde, who sports a bright yellow polo and a sort of psychotic smile that she assumes - in some backwards, alternate universe - is meant to come off as friendly. Before she can even attempt to get in a word, the woman begins rattling off this or that, to which Beca almost instantaneously tunes her out. Instead, she lets her eyes wander, taking in her surroundings as she waits for the other girl to finish talking. There isn't much to look at, but she looks anyway, searching for a much needed distraction from Barden's personal welcome committee.

'Oh, look! Grass,' she snarks, silently, not at all entertained by what she sees.

From the corner of her periphery, something catches Beca's eye, and she watches in dispassionate interest as a guy randomly serenades her from the backseat of his parents' car. His head pivots and bounces, fingers strumming in an intense rendition of the air guitar, and it's just so ridiculous to watch that she's beginning to feel the starting effects of secondhand shame. When his father spots an opening in the traffic and guns it, swiftly accelerating to make it through the rapidly closing gap, Beca can't help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction as he's jerked backwards into his seat, gone with a yelp and the roar of an engine.

'This place just keeps getting better and better…'

Rolling her eyes and holding back a smirk, she returns her attention to the blonde, whose speech finally appears to be coming to an end. "... and lastly," she proclaims, holding out a corded wristband, from which a small, metallic object hangs, "this here is your official BU rape whistle! Don't blow it unless it's actually happening!"

Beca's eyebrows shoot upwards at the peppy - almost cheerful - exclamation, nearly disappearing into her hairline as she stares bewilderedly at the proffered trinket. Was this girl for real, or what? Shaking her head, the brunette shrugs her shoulders and indicates to the several bags that she carries. "Thanks, but no thanks," she says, offering a grin that's half grimace. "My hands are full anyway…"

Without so much as a goodbye, she steps past the now incensed woman and walks (more like runs) away to her awaiting dorm room.

Ten minutes and one terrifyingly awkward introduction later, Beca carefully - almost reverently - sets up her workspace, ignoring her new roommate who is but all too happy to do the same. It takes a lot of trial and error, but she eventually arranges a layout that can work for her on the rather limited desk space she's been given, and wastes no time in laying down a few ground rules.

"Um, well, this is it," she says, clearing her throat to grab the other girl's attention, "My music is sort of everything to me, so please don't touch. Cool…?"

"..."

"Like ever," she asserts, earning herself a major dose of side-eye, and the slightly passive aggressive setting down of a bonsai tree. "It… it's extremely important to me that you acknowledge this interaction," she (almost) pleads.

Silence.

(... somewhere, Beca swears she can hear crickets chirp…)

Realizing she won't be getting a word out of the girl, Beca sighs with defeat and slumps into her chair, settling in to work on her mixes. Throwing on her beloved headphones, she licks her thumb and leafs through her notes, searching for her earlier annotations. It takes a lot of squinting and a little bit of guesswork, but she's eventually able to decipher what her mother had so lovingly named her 'chicken scratch', putting her earlier observations to good use as she cuts back through the mix to her first point of reference.

For the next half hour, Beca is able to get in a few good edits; layering tracks and throwing in new beats, tweaking the pitch and speed, she thinks she's made some solid headway. Just as she considers stopping to unpack and organize her other belongings, her senses alert her to an approaching hazard; it comes to her in a flash, a brief vision of her father squeezing his way out of the packed elevator and into the equally congested hallway.

'Yeah, no. Not happening,' she decides. Beca quickly saves her progress and bolts for the window, announcing a little too enthusiastically, "I'm going to the activities fair!"

Her new BFF, Kimmy Jin, swivels in her chair and stares apathetically as the DJ unlatches the window and throws it open. It's only when she realizes Beca's exit plan does she show an emotion other than indifference, eyes widening a fraction of an inch as she sits up straight, as if to jerk forward and pull the girl back.

"Wait, what?" she asks, watching with no small amount of trepidation as her roommate straddles the landing. "White girl, no. This the-..."

Beca leaps.

"... fourth… floor."

For a long moment, Kimmy Jin simply sits and stares, wondering if she's now a first-hand witness to suicide. It takes a second or two for her brain to process what she's just seen, and a few more before she gathers enough courage to peek her head outside and check the status of her assigned roomie. Expecting the worst, but hoping for the best (though she'd never admit it aloud), the young Korean searches for the telltale signs of blood and guts, breathing a sigh of relief when she finds nothing of the sort. Instead, she spots the other freshman sauntering off towards the quad, very much alive and seemingly without a care in the world.

Abruptly, there comes a knocking from the door, and she ducks back in as a male's voice calls, "This is campus police! Hide your wine coolers!" She turns around just in time to see him step in, a silly grin on his face that immediately falters as he realizes that she's not the person he's looking for. "Oh, sorry," he apologizes, sheepishly. "I was just looking for my daughter, Beca. I was told this was her dorm, and… uh…"

His words teeter off at the sight of Kimmy Jin's callous stare, blinking once, then twice as a shiver of something races up and down his spine. It's unnerving, to say the least. "Y'know what, nevermind," he says, pointing towards Beca's side of the room. "I can see she's made it here safely, so… uhm, uh…" And once again, words fail him.

'What is wrong with me?' he wonders, as he - a fully grown man - stutters like a child beneath the irate gaze of this girl no larger, nor less scary, than his own daughter. 'I teach Comparative Literature, for goodness sake! Language is my specialty!' He makes a few more attempts at conversation before giving up, throwing his hands up in defeat and simply walking out. He'll just have to try talking to her later…

(And if Beca happens to request a change of rooms, well, he thinks he might just be inclined agree.)

"Hi, would you like to be a member of the-..." Aubrey's jaw clenches, lips forming a tight line as a group of girls push past, blatantly ignoring her advances and dismissing her offer to join their acapella sisterhood. Chloe glances worriedly in her direction, only to have a handful of papers shoved onto her clipboard and a terse command to keep handing them out.

"How about we just get good singers?" she suggests, helpfully, though the look her captain gives her says otherwise.

"You want good singers? What?" a voice replies; one that, judging by its Australian accent, does not belong to Aubrey.

The two Bellas turn as one, eying the newcomer with varying degrees of emotion. Aubrey is less than pleased with their latest prospect, whereas Chloe is happy simply to be given the time of day, her elation seeping into her tone as she greets cheerfully, "Hi! Can you sing?"

"Yeah," the girl nods.

"Can you read music?"

"Yeah," she repeats, a goofy sort of grin slowly forming at her lips.

"Can you match pitch?" Chloe presses, eagerly.

"Try me," she insists, pointing at them in invitation.

The two captains share a look before Chloe belts out, "Watermelon cantaloupe!" in varying ranges, which - to both their amazement and shock - she matches perfectly. Aubrey is pleasantly surprised and can't help but join in for the final chant, with a delighted smile that turns into one of polite confusion as the girl continues where they left off, and runs with it.

"... watermelon cantaloooooupe, pizzaaaa, fries, pancakes," she smacks her belly, "yum!"

"Oh, wow. That-..." Aubrey stutters, struggling to form coherent words.

"I love your enthusiasm," Chloe states, bobbing her head. "So, uhm… what's your name?" she asks, readying her pen to take down her information. Maybe she's a little heavyset, and not the most aesthetically attractive (at least by society's standards) but she's always held the belief that everyone is beautiful, and this girl exudes a sort of confidence that makes her far more appealing than any physical attributes ever could. Besides, they're desperate for new members, and she isn't one to let a golden opportunity pass her by.

"Fat Amy," she declares, proudly, "Or, well, it used to be medium-sized Amy, but y'know…" Amy slaps her belly once more for dramatic effect and laughs, "freshman fifty!"

"Freshman fif… ty," Aubrey laughs, awkwardly. "O-okay. We can, we can work with that..."

Amy rambles on, seemingly oblivious to the older girls' discomfort as she all but recites to them an entire résumé of random, obscure talents; stuffing free candy from their bowl into her bra between every word. Aubrey's protests of a 'one per person' limit are largely unheard, and she ultimately resigns herself to her fate, merely calling repeated goodbyes in an attempt to get her to leave. Eventually she seems take the hint (or they've run out of chocolate) and, after a final wave, disappears into the crowd of students, leaving just as suddenly as she had came.

Aubrey waits five seconds, making sure she's truly gone, before crying out, "What are we going to do? The Bellas are finished! Our lives are over! We're never gonna-..." She clamps a hand over her mouth mid-rant, feeling the familiar sensation of bile rising slowly up her esophagus.

Chloe's eyes widen and she takes a tentative step back, leaning away just to be safe as she watches Aubrey go through the motions of controlling her reflex. She hesitates to ask, but does so anyway, "Did you almost vomit?"

"Yeah," the blonde replies, sweeping her hair from her face in an effort to appear unphased. "It's the stress," she adds, as if it's no big deal.

"Do you need some water?"

"No. No…" she insists, sniffing. "It didn't come up that far."

Chloe is just about to argue that she take a break, maintaining the need to remain calm if they're ever going to get through this, when something - or rather someone - catches her attention through the corner of her eyes. It's a girl, all brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a red tank top beneath a layered gray vest; she's just a girl, an ordinary girl, and nothing particular stands out about her other than the fact that Chloe knows her - knows that she is the very reason she herself stands there today.

"Oh my god!" she gasps, smacking her hand frantically against her best friend's shoulder, "Oh my god, Aubrey! Aubrey! It's her… i-it's really her!"

"Ow, Chloe! Stop!" the blonde whines, cringing away from her increasingly heavy hits. "It's who? Who are you talking about?"

"Her!" she nearly screams, slapping both hands on either side of Aubrey's cheeks as she forces her to look in the right direction.

"Alt girl?" the taller senior asks, eying the freshman as she walks aimlessly through the crowd, glancing at each booth as she passes. "What about her?"

"She's the one who saved me!"

Aubrey seems skeptical. "Are you sure? She seems a little… small." Sure, she has impressive musculature for someone her size, and definitely looks like she can hold her own in a one-on-one, but to take down four men? That, to her, sounds like a bit of a stretch.

"It's totes her, I know it is!" Chloe replies, persistently. "You can never forget the face of the person who saved your life - it's like, a rule. I just wish I'd caught her name. The police arrived just as I'd asked, and she only stayed to answer their questions. But by the time the ambulance came around, she was gone and… I just, I never thought I'd see her again after that. Aubrey… what do I do…?"

Her voice is small, and Aubrey softens at the way Chloe seems to shrink in on herself, as if suddenly uncertain with how to proceed; clinging to the leather hoodie that, in only a few short days, had become her adult safety blanket. She wore it everywhere, curled up to it at night, and even now - in the Georgian heat - wrapped it around herself like a cocoon. Although cheerful on the outside, Aubrey knows how terrifying this whole ordeal has been for her, and vows to do whatever it takes to help her through this. Even if it means interacting with a Bilbo Baggins' wayward grandniece…

"Look, why don't we wave her over and-..." She's cut off almost immediately.

"But what if she doesn't remember me?" Chloe frets, shooting anxious glances at the girl who gradually wanders closer.

"It's been three days," Aubrey reminds, "Unless she has short term memory loss, I doubt she's forgotten you. Besides, you never forget the face of the person whose life you've saved. It's like, a rule," she says, smiling tenderly as she rephrases Chloe's earlier statement.

The shorter Bella beams, nudging her shoulder against Aubrey's in playful gratitude, and turns forward to search out her unsung hero, only to realize then that she's headed straight for her…

Beca doesn't need enhanced sensory capabilities to know she's being watched.

She can practically feel the eyes on her as she makes her way through several stalls, stopping every now and then to browse their offerings. It takes only a cursory glance of the vicinity to spot her spectators; two women standing before a booth, conversing through hushed whispers as they toss her less than subtle glances. The tall one, a rather stiff looking blonde, is a complete stranger to the DJ, but the redhead… well, she's a bit more familiar.

She instantly recognizes the jacket she wears as the one she'd draped around her shoulders only a few nights ago - a rather impulsive act of comfort for a girl she didn't know, but felt obligated to help. It wasn't often she stuck around to further aid those she'd rescued, opting more for a quick in and out approach; but there had been something different about her, about the way she looked at Beca with those wide blue eyes - eyes that were so undeniably honest and pure - that called out to her; that brought out every protective instinct within her tiny body.

She'd lingered just long enough to ensure that the other woman was properly taken care of, answering the officer's inquiries as she watched intently while his partner cuffed the perpetrators; relaxing only when all of them had been rightly detained, and hauled into the backseat of a patrol car. When she heard the sirens blare in the distance, indicating the fast approach of the EMTs, Beca decided she had done her part and made a quick getaway, retrieving her backpack from the roof before leapfrogging her way back to the motel.

Frankly, she assumed she'd never see her again after that night, and though Beca vaguely recalls her mentioning Barden in her explanation as to why she was out late, it doesn't hit her until now that she too must be a student. She does her best now to stay away, to keep her distance; after all, she's made it a point to never involve herself in the lives of those she's helped over the years, but just like before, she finds herself unexpectedly making a change in routine.

Ever so slowly, she strays in their direction, pausing every now and then to make it appear random. A few booths actually do catch her attention, and she spends some time signing up for an internship at the university's radio station before continuing her casual trek towards the two, reading through a pamphlet to keep up appearances. Only, she's so focused on making it seem unintentional that she doesn't watch where she's going, and inadvertently runs head first, directly into her target.

(She swears it's an accident.)

Beca moves faster than she can think, reaching out to grasp the redhead by her waist as she stumbles back, pulling her firmly against her chest in order to stabilize her. It all happens in a single breath, and the next thing she knows, she's staring into eyes so blue, they could give the sky a run for its money. For a brief moment, all the world is calm; they're two separate entities co-existing as one; a shared gaze across space and time, leading up to this very instant…

Aubrey's eyes are about as round as saucers as she watches them first collide and then fall apart, only to come crashing back together in the very next second. The air grows heavy with tension, the atmosphere around them sizzling with electricity, and she can't help but feel as though she's intruding on something sacred. In other words, it's intense; a little too intense, if you asked her, and so she clears her throat in hopes of getting them to stop. (Because, whew! Was it getting hot out here or what?)

It does the trick and they spring apart, the younger student making a clear effort in defining whose space belongs to whom. "Sorry, I should have watched where I was going," Beca says, apologizing through a cringe as she hastily figures out what to do with her flailing hands. 'My god, stop spazzing! What are you, epileptic!? You are a badass, and you will act accordingly… so sack up, Mitchell!'

"No, no," Chloe replies, smiling shyly, "It was an accident. It's totally okay."

Beca chooses not to comment on the whole 'accident' bit, and instead (silently) agrees to disagree. "Well, if you say so…" she murmurs, which is followed by a beat of silence; and then, "Uhm, I know that this may come off as weird or strange, but do you recognize me? See, there was this girl a few days ago, and-..."

"Yes!" the redhead exclaims, shaking her head vigorously. "Yes, of course I recognize you! You were the one who saved me from those jerk-faced perverts the other night. Y'know, I never really got to thank you for that…"

"Oh, no thanks necessary," says Beca, releasing a bashful grin. "It was really just a matter of being in the right place, at the right time. And it's not as if I could just sit back and watch whatever was going to happen… y'know, happen, so… yeah, it was no problem at all. Glad I could help."

"Well, I appreciate it. Really, thank you," Chloe says again, reaching out and placing her hand on Beca's arm in a show of gratitude. Though the girl is short, she's nothing but lean, sinewy muscle, and the senior can't help but give a testing squeeze. 'Oh, wow, those are firm,' she gushes, slowly caressing her hand against it.

Beca's face all but glows as she stares down, eying the hand on her bicep as she is undeniably groped. There is war between her mind and body; no one is allowed to touch her without her express permission, and yet, no matter how hard she screams at it to pull away, the rest of her refuses to listen. The most she can manage is to stand there with the expression of a deer caught in the headlights, willing herself not to further make a fool of herself.

Thankfully, the (mostly forgotten) blonde seems to sense her discomfort, swooping in to rescue her as she delicately takes the ginger's hand and gently pries it off her arm. "Okay, Chloe," she whispers, softly, "That's enough touching, she's barely legal…"

Chloe snaps out of her daze and flashes an apologetic grin, letting Aubrey hold her hand to keep it from straying back.

Coughing to hide her awkwardness, Beca shoves her own hands into her pockets and rocks back and forth on the heels of her boots. "Uh, anyway," she begins, "I was just walking around when I spotted you, and I just… I wanted to see how you were doing? Your arm, it was injured, wasn't it?"

"My wrist," Chloe nods, pulling up her sleeve to reveal the bulky brace. "But luckily it was only a sprain. I don't know what I'd have done if I'd actually broken it. Fortunately, this can be taken off when needed; otherwise, I'm not sure how I could ever make such an ugly cast work with my uniform."

"Uniform?" Beca asks, curiously.

"Oh! We're an acapella group," she explains, pointing back and forth between her and the blonde. "We sing covers of songs, but we do it without any instruments. It's all from our mouths."

She can feel her face twist in revolt at the image those words bring to mind, responding only with a startled, "Yikes!"

Suddenly Chloe jumps forward, once more pushing Beca's boundaries as she asks excitedly, "Hey, you wouldn't happen to be interested, would you?"

Beca blinks, taking a moment to let the question to sink in. Was… was that the sort of vibe she was giving off? That she was the type to be interested in 'making music from her mouth'? "Sorry, it's just… it's pretty lame," she says, wincing slightly.

"Aca-scuse me?" the blonde interrupts, and Beca has to do a double take at the genuine offense she hears in her voice. "Synchronized lady singing to a Mariah Carey chart topper is not lame."

"We sing all over the world, and compete in national championships," Chloe adds cheerfully, hoping to diffuse the situation before it actually becomes one.

"On purpose?" Beca asks, bewildered by the mere notion that there were actual competitions surrounding the activity.

"We played the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Center!" Aubrey retorts, adding a silent, 'you bitch!' to the end of her statement. It's only out of respect for her heroics does she keep the comment to herself, because as much as she loves acapella, she loves Chloe more, and insulting her best friend's savior is a definite no-no at this point.

"What she means to say," Chloe cuts in, "is that we're a close-knit, talented group of ladies whose dream is to return to the national finals at Lincoln Center this year." Smiling brightly, she finishes, "Help us turn our dreams into a reality?"

This was getting weird - weird even for someone with unexplained super powers - and Beca realizes she needs to get out of there before it has a chance at getting any weirder. "Sorry, I don't even sing," she lies, taking a few steps back. "But it was nice talking to you two, and uh…yeah. I'm… I'm going to go now."

She makes it only a few yards to safety before Chloe goes running after her, tugging the back of her vest to keep her from going any further. "Wait!" she exclaims, moving to unzip Beca's jacket. "Your hoodie - I totally forgot, but I have it. Let me give it back to you."

"Huh?" Beca turns and pauses, watching as Chloe's hand grasps the zipper and slowly pulls it down. "Oh, no. No, don't worry about it," she finds herself saying, reaching out to stop her from taking it off. "It's fine, keep it."

"What? Are you-... wait, what?" Chloe hesitates, "A-are you sure?"

No, no she isn't. 'That's actually my favorite jacket,' Beca thinks, but instead of saying that, she offers a warm, crooked grin and nods, telling her, "Yeah, I'm sure. Keep it. It… it looks better on you."

A bashful smile spreads across the redhead's lips. "Thanks," she murmurs, and for a good minute, the two do nothing but stare.

But then, as if just comprehending the meaning of her own words, Beca's face turns a beet red and she moves quickly to make her escape. This whole thing had taken a full turn into Nopeville, and she was not about to stick around to watch it burn down. "Okay, nice talk! Take care! Bye!" she spits out, shaking Chloe's hand before power walking her way through the crowd, as fast and as far she could go as humanly as possible.

Despite the abrupt exit, Chloe grins as she clutches the fabric of her jacket, embracing its warmth and inhaling the distinctive scent of leather and old vinyl. She'll be seeing a lot of that girl around - she just knows it. Though, it's only five minutes later, when they're signing up a tall, dirty blonde with legs for days, does she realize she's missing one key detail…

"I still forgot to get her name!"

A/N: Would love to hear what you think!