Hey everyone, thanks for the encouraging reviews and follows - it really gives a writer inspiration. Anyway, I wrote this in honour of finally watching Agent Carter, the premiere of Carmilla Season 2, and the start of the 2015 Leaving Certificate (fucking Bono, he's spreading like the plague).A lot of the stress I've been under has recently been alleviated, so this is like an anonymous thank-you to the anonymous reasons for that - I love you all so very much, even if all you've done is read and favourite - it really does affect my mental health in a positive way.

Also, if you'd like to follow me on tumblr, I am the lemonyorange there too. Cheers, lads. And good luck to anyone doing exams over the next few weeks. You'll be grand.

Chapter 3 - I've been doing just fine on my own

Beca spent most of her day preparing for the mission. She didn't have to go to work because she had no important meetings, so she could do her usual pre-fight routine. She spent the first few hours in the gym that took up the entire top floor of the house. They had converted the attic, so that the roof was now mostly panes of glass, aside from the supports and metal beams that suspended targets, boxing bags and other useful equipment. The walls were lined with other instruments, for both sparring and solo practise, and there was a pile of barely used protective gear in the corner. Jesse and Beca both agreed that it was restricting and defeated the point of toughening yourself up. People aren't going to wait for you to strap on your gloves in the middle of a fight. She spent her time in the gym throwing darts at the targets and hitting the series of wooden poles that took up one corner. Each pole had a section of rope wrapped around it near the top, and the idea was to hit that spot as much as possible without breaking a wrist or an ankle. It toughened up the skin and increased pain-threshold. Sometimes, Beca hated that Benji didn't fight. He designed all these torture devices, yet he never had to use them. Bastard.

After her workout, and a shower, Beca made her way to her ultimate favourite cafe, 'Il Latte'. It was a relatively small place, with a nice atmosphere and it was never too crowded. Beca loved it, but not just because of the amazing blended-ice and privacy. The waitresses there were really good-looking. They must send in headshots with their CVs or something, Beca supposed, in order to get the job. It was a very clever profit ploy.

As Beca entered, the bell above the door tinkled, announcing her arrival. The DJ scowled at it in annoyance. She hated that noise. Every time she opened the door it rang a slightly flat B note - her least favourite note. It was however, a small price to pay for the amazing coffee she knew was waiting for her.

"Oh my God! Beca? Beca Mitchell?" Beca turned, sighing internally. She hated when people recognised her in public. It felt like an invasion of privacy, like she was surrounded by people watching her every move.

To her surprise though, when she saw the person who had called her, it was a familiar face. A familiar red-headed face with a smile that could've out-shined the sun.

"Hey Beca, remember me? It's Chloe Beale, from Barden?"

"Chloe! How could I forget?" Beca smiled at Chloe, which made her grin become impossibly more blinding.

"It's been so long right?! I haven't seen you in years! What happened to you? Everyone said you moved."

"Uh yeah, my step-mother got relocated, so we moved to New York. I... uh... I guess I forgot to tell you and Aubrey."

Beca hadn't forgotten. She just hadn't been able to convince herself that telling them would be a good idea. Instead she spent the two weeks before she moved pretending that everything was normal, maybe avoiding Chloe and Aubrey a little more. The blonde control-freak had made it a little easier - she'd yelled at Beca for playing Legend of Zelda in European History instead of paying attention and subsequently failing a test on Ancient Rome so badly she'd earned the entire class detention.

Chloe raised one eyebrow skeptically, clearly seeing right through Beca's lie.

"Well, never mind, it's in the past! Can I get you a coffee?"

Beca placed her order and then took her drink to a booth in the corner. She opened her laptop bag and but her computer on the table, pulling up her e-mail inbox and sifting through her messages. She had a couple from co-workers, just asking for help with certain things, one from her assistant with a contracct drawn up for the Miley Cyrus project, and two from Jesse. One read: "Call me when you get this." and the other said "Also, buy more microwave popcorn. We're watching Star Wars over the weekend."

She sighed into her coffee and in order to punish him for that decision, she carefully read her contract three times before she called him.

"Becaw! You got my message!"

"Don't call me that! And I got both of them. We're going to have a LONG conversation about you making decisions for me. When have I ever expressed an interest in the biggest cliche movie the world has ever seen?"

"You'll love it. It's got all the things you like: cheesey villain lines, fascist-like organisations and a guy with bad asthma and clothed entirely in black."

"Not one word of that sounds remotely appealing to me."

"Well, never mind. The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I'm packing. What darts do you want? I have no idea what you need for this one."

Beca had colour-coded darts which she used for different reasons. Red darts had tiny explosives in the barrell, greens one had tranquilisers in them, blue ones had cyanide and the black ones were just normal. She briefly considered her options, and then gave her answer.

"Take 30 greens, 30 blacks, 20 reds and 10 blue. Also, grab some stars from my room, they're in the third drawer down in my dresser. Just put as many as will fit in my belt-bag."

"Got it. Also, when will you be home? Benji wants to give us a quick brief before we head out. He's almost got into the CCTV in the building. You almost done your weird pre-mission routine?"

"Excuse me, mine is the weird one? I actually train and then stop to get coffee. You freaking meditate and then let your OCD take over when you pack everything!"

"Yeah yeah, bye Becaw!"

"Bye Jess. And don't call me that!"

She heard the tone that meant Jesse had hung up, and put down her phone. She opened her work from last night, and began to do more, typing out song lyrics, and notes on the country style. She was planning at least one Avicii-style remix - inspiration has to come from somewhere.

After an hour or so, she shut down her laptop and put it away, grabbing her coffee cup to return it to the counter as she stood up.

"Oh, you're leaving?" Chloe looked so disappointed, Beca felt the need to come up with an excuse.

"Uh yeah, I have to um... my assisstant is having trouble locating some of my files, and my boss needs them, so I have to go to my office." Internally, she cringed. There was a reason she preferred using darts to words.

"Oh, ok. Well, bye then. And come back soon!"

Beca nodded, and turned to leave the shop. She walked out and took a left, walking right into a crowd of teenage girls.

"Oh, shit, sorry I didn't - wait, are you Beca Mitchell?" A few awkward photographs and autographs later, the DJ was walking back home again, this time staunchly avoiding anything she could possibly crash into until she got home, where she had two more hours to sleep before she had to get ready. This was going to be one fun operation.

-LemonyOrange-

I don't know if American's take European History, but I literally know nothing about American History other than the Revolution and Presidents and Policies from Roosevelt to Reagan. That's all we learn about. I doubt that they study Irish History, which is my speciality but it's a pretty safe bet that they know something about Rome, right?

Chapter title from Unstable by Chaotica