A/N: Well, it's certainly been awhile! Sorry for the delay! I've been busy with other stories, and life in general, so this has taken a back seat for the past few months. It's a bit of a short chapter this time around, but I just wanted to let you guys know I'm still here, with every intention of continuing. Thanks for putting up with the wait, and I hope you enjoy my meager offering to you this day!

Chapter 5: Sweet Company

"I really think that you should-..."

"No."

"But your hands-..."

"They're fine."

"It'll get infect-..."

"Let it."

It's not often than Chloe Beale gets frustrated, but five minutes spent arguing with hardheaded Beca Mitchell, and she's beginning to understand why Aubrey's father is always spewing idioms about "picking one's battles". The freshman is as stubborn as a mule, more unyielding than a steel wall, and every attempt to suggest further aid is shot down on takeoff. At this point, she's beginning to think she stands a better chance of convincing herself that the moon is made of cheese than persuading Beca into seeking medical aid.

"You look like a boiled lobster," she huffs, indignantly. Beca's skin is an amalgamation of every shade of red, from the flushed pink of her cheeks, to the dark, angry crimson of her hands, and the dusky rose that mottles every other inch of her flesh. In other words - not pretty.

"That is oddly specific," Beca replies dryly, voice muffled beneath the towel that Chloe drapes unceremoniously atop her head. "And slightly insulting."

"Yeah, well, it's true…" the redhead murmurs, as she buffs the brunette's sodden locks. "Seriously, burns can be dangerous if they're not cleaned or treated properly. Aren't you even the least bit worried they'll get worse?"

"I took a shower, didn't I?"

Chloe scoffs, tugging the towel down and draping it carefully around Beca's narrow shoulders. "I don't think that counts for nearly as much as you think it does," she sighs, shaking her head at the younger woman's obstinance.

Beca offers only a half-hearted shrug, ignoring the sting of her still raw flesh as it rubs against the fabric of her towel. "Better than nothing, right?" she asks, carelessly.

It's so close to nothing it may as well be nothing, but Chloe decides not to push it, as much as she disagrees. "Fine, be that way," she states, crossing her arms assertively. "But if that's the game you want to play, then you'll have to let me take care of you. You don't want to see a doctor? Okay then, but you're going to let me clean and wrap your wounds. No arguments, end of story."

The statement is just enough to give Beca pause; because if Chloe's idea of a helping hand consists of barging into her shower - butt naked, mind you - touching her (somewhat inappropriately) under the guise of "washing", and coercing her into singing a duet of said redhead's 'lady jam', then she's hesitant to learn what her definition of first aid entails. And frankly, judging by previous experience, she'd really rather not find out…

"Chloe, look. I… I'm not ungrateful for your help," she begins, adding a silent "per se" in her own head before continuing, "But you really, really do not need to stick around any longer than you already have. I know it looks bad now, but I promise you that I'll be fine in a few days - a week tops! I've… uh, I've always been a naturally fast healer… so… erm, so yeah. You can go…"

Beca knows she's being awkward and blunt, but words have never been her strong point, and Chloe seems to find it strangely endearing; thus, she only feels mildly guilty for basically ordering her out, but then again, this is her shower, and she has every right to privacy. Still, the slight pang in her chest - right around where her heart should be - is enough to stir further feelings of remorse, and so she quickly adds, "I appreciate what you've already done, but I can take it from here. You don't need to worry about me."

"But I want to."

The words pass her lips before she can even register what she's actually saying, said with such conviction, that even Chloe herself is momentarily taken aback. But she doesn't regret it; she means it more than she knows, repeating it again as she returns to her previous task, gently dabbing Beca's towel along the outer edges of her body. And to her relief, that is somehow just enough to soften the DJ's resolve.

She can't explain it, but something draws her to this girl - something inexplicable; like gravity, she's pulled into the brunette's orbit, and Chloe simply finds no desire to fight it. Beca is different; she doesn't fit into the usual mold, doesn't conform to any standard of what is prim or proper; she's a paradox - one moment she's strong, a brave soul in the face of danger, and the next she's soft, vulnerable, unsure of her own self. She's any number of things at any given time, layers of unknown, ready to be peeled back and revealed; a mystery that Chloe is, at all costs it seems, determined to solve.

"...-what about you?"

"Huh?" The question breaks through her reverie and Chloe blinks, letting the question sink in. "What about me?" she asks, curiously.

Beca averts her eyes, waving a hand at her in a sort of blundering flourish. "You're, um… you're wet too."

"Oh?" She glances down, taking in the beads of moisture that cling to her own damp flesh, and only then does she remember where they are and what they've been doing. "Oh, no worries," Chloe grins. "It's not that bad, mostly second hand spray. I just didn't want my clothes getting wet. But I don't mind, this is fine. Besides, I usually prefer to air dry when I can."

The freshman stiffens at the admission before relaxing, rolling her eyes in an expression of amused exasperation. "Of course you do," she breathes, shaking her head. "Why does that not surprise me?"

Chloe doesn't respond, at least not verbally, instead throwing a playful wink that immediately reverses what little progress they'd made in the whole 'naked conversation' department; what follows next is a flailing, blubbering mess as the DJ assures the Bella that she can finish drying herself, and then gently but firmly shoves her out of the stall. For a moment, Chloe doesn't react, blinking back the confusion as she watches the shower curtain spread impossibly wider, until both ends are pressed on either end of the tiled booth.

Eventually, she laughs it off, snorting into her hand as she listens to Beca clamor for her things while fumbling to keep the thin plastic veil up between them. "You're so cute," she remarks, earning herself a flustered, "please put your clothes back on!" and the younger woman's towel, which is flung at her from over the curtain.

Deciding that a heart attack would be counterintuitive to her efforts in helping Beca heal, Chloe decides to do as told, folding the towel around her torso as she returns to the bench where she'd left her things. Dressing quickly, she turns and is met by the sight of a now robe-clad brunette, who is standing guardedly against the wall with one hand held protectively over her eyes.

"Is it safe?" she asks, voice wavering with hesitation.

Cerulean eyes roll upwards in exasperation as thin lips twitch with amusement; Chloe reaches forth and gently takes Beca by the hand, tugging it down to reveal her now - thankfully - clothed figure. The younger student exhales loudly, breathing a sigh of relief as she moves to shuffle past.

"Well, come on then, I guess," Beca murmurs, nodding her head in a 'follow me' sort of gesture. Dutifully, Chloe does as told, following a short step behind as she's led out of the showers and down the hall to her room. The key is shoved roughly into the lock as Beca manhandles the door open, allowing her guest to enter first before kicking it shut behind them.

"Sorry for the mess," she apologizes, shoving her supply caddy into the closet and moving to grab her clothes off the floor, which she'd left in her haste to leave for the showers. "I wasn't really expecting anyone…"

"Don't worry about it," Chloe smiles, waving it off as she stands to the side, pretending not to notice as Beca gathers her mess and shoves it beneath her bed. "Did you want me to turn around while you changed, or-...?"

"I mean, you've already seen it all already," Beca laughs awkwardly, "But yeah, if you don't mind… could you just, like… face the door for a second?" She watches as the senior turns around, allowing herself a few cautionary moments before hastily pulling on dark grey sweats and a tank top. "Thanks, you can take a seat if you want."

"No problem!" she cheerfully exclaims, bounding over now that Beca has given her the all clear to approach. "Sooo… about those burns," she begins, plopping onto the bed beside the DJ, who bounces slightly from the impact. "I really think you should let me take a look at them now."

Beca groans but relents, resting her hands palm side up on her knees as she finally lets Chloe inspect them. Although still very much fresh, the wounds are far less significant than when she'd first received them; the blood is clotted, skin raw and tender, but mending. It's exactly as she'd expected, her body's natural regenerative ability expediting the healing process to mere days, rather than weeks.

Chloe's brows furrow in question as she examines the extent of the damage, baffled by the noticeably diminished injuries. She could have sworn they were far more mangled in the showers, and though Beca's hands are still grave in appearance, they aren't quite as distressing as she'd originally thought. Dismissing it as poor lighting in the stall, the redhead glances about the room, searching for a first aid kit or something similar.

"Do you have anything I can clean these with?" she asks, as Beca nods and points her in the direction of a plastic storage container. Expecting to find maybe a pack of bandages and some ointment, Chloe is instead surprised to find the entire tub filled to the brim with various medical supplies; pads of gauze in all shapes and sizes, compressive bandages, adhesive tape, suture kit, bottles of sterile water and peroxide - even an IV line and bags of saline. "What the… oh my god… no wonder you didn't need to go to the hospital - you've already got the hospital here! What, are you preparing for the apocalypse or something!?"

Beca's cheeks light up, lips straining into a sheepish grin. "No, I just… you know how it is," she mumbles, "Anxious mother, only child's first time away from home, thinks I'll die without her…" Truthfully, she'd bought it all herself, what with the sort of trouble she constantly stumbles her way into, but she isn't about to admit that out loud. One, because it was kind of embarrassing, and two (and most importantly) because of the questions it would no doubt bring up.

"Wow," chuckles Chloe, "All my mom gave me was the number to our doctor, and a reminder to call home at least once a week." Making her way back to the bed, she sets down the necessary material and sets to work, ripping open an alcohol pad and gently cleansing Beca's hand.

"Fuck," she breathes, jaw clenching as it sends ripples of pain shooting up her arms, jolting her nerves like bolts of lightning.

"Sorry," Chloe apologizes, offering a sympathetic smile as she grabs a fresh wipe and repeats the process on her other hand. "I know it hurts now, but it'll help you out in the long run."

"I hate the long run," Beca grumbles, teeth clamped. "I hate any run… short run, long run, medium run… hate it all," she grits out, which isn't entirely true; she loves running, so long as it leads to leaping off twenty foot precipices and the tops of buildings, but her mood is on the decline the further her pain increases. It takes all her power not to shove Chloe through the wall in aggravation (and there's no question now whether or not she can), but Beca reminds herself that she's only helping, chanting it silently to herself like a personal mantra.

"I'm almost done," the Bella assures, smearing a generous dollop of antibacterial cream onto her wounds, careful not to create friction as she smooths it into Beca's skin for proper absorption. "Let me just wrap these up, and then we'll be finished." Layering pads of gauze atop the more damaged portions of her hands, Chloe wraps them in roller bandage, securing it tightly enough to prevent it coming undone, but not so much as to cut off her circulation.

"Good as new," Beca jests, flexing her fingers as she inspects the redhead's handiwork.

"Well, not entirely," Chloe corrects, as she gathers the leftover supplies to put away, "But with the right start, it's on its way."

The younger student nods appreciatively as she reaches for the shelf above her, grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen from her stash of medicine. Breaking the seal, she pops two into her mouth and wiggles her way off the bed, retrieving a bottle of water from the mini fridge beneath her desk. Washing down the pills, she releases a heavy sigh of relief, eagerly anticipating the reprieve it will give to her sore and aching limbs.

"Want a drink?" she offers, figuring it's the least she can do in return for Chloe's kindness. "I don't have any booze, but there's coke, gatorade, water… I think a redbull or two somewhere in the back."

"A water would be nice," Chloe replies, catching it with a startled yelp as the beverage is tossed underhand, nearly throwing her off balance. "Ooh, whoa… looks like you didn't lose any strength in those hands at all."

"Sorry," Beca repents, chuckling shyly as she makes her way back. "I didn't mean to throw it that hard. Anyway, uh… I guess this makes us even now, huh?"

"As if," the ginger scoffs, uncapping her bottle and taking a sip. "You saved my life! All I did was sing to you in the shower and wrap your hands in bandage. I hardly consider that even."

"Nah, I'm… I'm pretty sure it was the other way around," the DJ insists, mouth curving with a roguish smirk. "As I recall, you were the one to ask me to sing to you - though pressured would probably be the more appropriate term."

"You know what? I think you may have a fever," Chloe deduces, placing her hand delicately atop Beca's forehead. "Or maybe you inhaled too much smoke… oh, yeah. You're definitely warm - you must be delusional."

"I'm not delusional," she defends, gently swatting the offending hand. "You're just in denial."

"Funny," the older woman muses, azure eyes twinkling with unseen mischief, "I thought I was in Barden."

"What…?" It takes Beca few moments to catch on, but when she does, she very nearly reconsiders throwing Chloe through that wall. "Oh my god," she groans, as the senior cracks a grin, "You did not just make that joke…"

"Like I said," she teases playfully, "You're definitely delusional."

Beca's eyes slant, narrowing at the other woman in contempt, who only returns the glare with a smug grin. They hold each other's gaze for several moments, neither willing to relent, until the freshman's lips give an involuntary twitch and Chloe cries out in victory. "Shut up, it means nothing," she grunts, arms crossed in a desperate attempt to fight the smile they both know is coming.

Chloe lets her off in favor of redirecting the conversation, having sought and now found the perfect transition into something she's wished to speak about since the showers; since she first heard Beca's melodic voice echo off those tiled walls, reverberating in her ears and resonating with her soul. "Since we're on the topic of singing," she begins, tentatively, "I wanted to ask if you might reconsider auditioning for the Bellas?"

Beca recoils instantly, as if the mere idea is painful itself, and shakes her head in adamant refusal. "No," she states, bluntly.

"Oh, come on!" Chloe pleads, lower lip jutting in a pout. "You don't even have to join! Just audition first, and see how you like it. Your voice is amazing - seriously! - and the Bellas would really benefit from having you on the team. Besides, given the chance, I really think it's something you'd enjoy…"

"Please," Beca snorts, "I think you're the one who's delusional now. Seriously, you can beg all you want, but there's no way that I'm joining an acapella group."

She's joining an acapella group.

Or, at least, she's very much considering it as she dangles above the auditorium one week later, lurking from the rafters as she watches yet another performance of Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone". As if it isn't bad enough that she let her father coerce her into attending Barden, he's now forced her to join a club in exchange for his financial aid in moving to LA. With a shake of her head, Beca settles onto a crossbeam, knees pulled to her chest as she continues to watch auditions.

Loathe as she is to admit, there's some real talent hidden amongst the group of acapella hopefuls; unfortunately, there's also many more who are mediocre at best, and even some who leave Beca with the unrelenting desire to rip out her own ears and stomp them to pieces. Vaguely she wonders how Chloe puts up with it, and for a brief moment, allows her eyes to wander away from the stage. Instantly, she zeroes in on the familiar figure, her fiery red mane standing out vividly amongst the palate of blacks, browns, and blondes.

In spite of herself, Beca feels her lips tug into a small, affectionate grin; she finds it funny how things can change in a single week, how she can go from total recluse to social caterpillar (butterfly being too extreme) in the span of a few short days - all thanks in part to Chloe. Together, they'd had coffee twice, met for breakfast off campus once, and she'd even let herself be convinced into attending her dorm hall's annual mixer the night before.

She figures if she's going to join any club, it may as well be the same one as Chloe - even if the idea of acapella still makes her skin crawl, and her stomach churn…

Beca sits through a dozen more auditions, mulling over the idea in her head; she's still hesitant on whether or not this is what she really wants (it's not), but the choice is all but ripped from her hands when it's announced that tryouts are now finished, and everyone slowly begins to trickle out. Her heart sinks as she realizes she's missed her chance, and she's just about to run off, hoping she isn't too late to attend the Comic Book Club meeting, when she notices that neither Chloe nor her friend have left yet.

Seizing the opportunity, Beca crawls down from the ceiling and hurries her way backstage, emerging from the side door with a shy, awkward wave. The blonde stares her down, scrutinizing her every move, but Chloe beams and excitedly motions for her to come forward.

"Uhm, I didn't know we had to prepare that song," she says, slowly walking towards the edge of the stage. Truthfully, she'd figured out by the third time around that it wasn't some weird coincidence that everyone just so happened to sing the same song, but if she was forced to listen to it one more time - let alone sing it - Beca swears she'll go insane.

"Oh, that's okay!" Chloe assures, shaking her head, "Sing anything you want!"

"May I?" she asks, indicating to the yellow cup they'd set up as a pencil holder. Given the go ahead, Beca carefully tips the cup and allows the pens and pencils to slide out before settling down into a cross-legged position, anxiously preparing herself for her performance. She'd once gone through a phase in high school where she had obsessed over online tutorials of instruments and songs, stumbling across a video that had incorporated the cup game in place of percussions, and - for whatever reason - it had stuck with her throughout the years.

Clap, clap; tap, tap; clap, tap, shift. Her hands cycle through the familiar motions, taking her back to those long and lonely days spent practicing her music as she watched, hidden atop buildings or nestled in the safety of treetops, as the other students milled about at lunch. Beca had felt alienated all her life, a small voice in the back of her head always telling her that she didn't belong - that she wasn't like everyone else; after her parents' divorce, and especially after the manifestation of her powers, those feelings of isolation had only grown, and the longing carries in her voice as she begins to sing.

"I've got my ticket for the long way round, two bottles of whiskey for the way," she croons, voice quivering as she reaches the next line, "And I sure would like some sweet company, and I'm leaving tomorrow - what'd you say?

"When I'm gone," she belts, keeping tempo with the beat, "When I'm gone. You're gonna miss me when I'm gone. You're gonna miss me by my hair, you're gonna miss me everywhere, oh… you're gonna miss me when I'm gone."

Beca gives a final clap-tap combo and sets the cup down, a sense of finality hanging in the air as she tucks her hands between her knees and nervously awaits their judgement. Chloe stares up at her, face alight with joy as her lips stretch from ear to ear in a bright eyed smile, and Beca feels the tight knot in her gut loosen. But then she looks at the other woman - Aubrey, if she remembers correctly - and the knot clinches beneath her irksome glare, anxiety rearing to the forefront as the blonde offers only a frown in response.

As she's dismissed, Beca wonders if she's just made a huge mistake.

I'd love to hear your thoughts - reviews are always appreciated!

You can find me on tumblr at: the-effin-mitchell