Bechloe-4evs: Thank you. I really enjoy writing it.
Pixie1913: Soon enough, Noah will be back from Florida and there will be more of them together.
Agentcanaryscotx: That's my whole aesthetic goal: awe-inspiring and terrifying, adorable but could kill you in a dark alley.
SunDanceQT: I mean, everyone has a demon that lives on the side of the house farthest from the bedroom, right?
96itadakimasu96: Beca and Aubrey haven't even figured out Beca and Aubrey.


Dysrhythmia


They say the best way out is through;
And I am short on words knowing what's occurred.
- The Fray


Light is streaming in through the window curtains when Aubrey wakes up, and she's alone. Or so she thinks as her mind groggily takes its time in trying to wake up. It's when she stretches out her aching muscles that something moves down near her feet, and she knows immediately it's not Beca or Julia. Her eyes fly open and she scrambles upright with start, pulling at the blanket and bunching it up in front of her chest. Her heart thudding strongly against her ribs, she stares down at the intruder.

The dog.

Bark stretches in response to her sudden movement then lifts his head and rests it on her leg like she's some sort of…dog pillow.

Aubrey jerks her leg away and sits crisscross at the top of the bed, her mind still trying to adjust to the rude (and terrifying) awakening.

This doesn't come across as a deterrent to Bark; instead, he sees it as an invitation to inch his way up toward Aubrey and rest his entire head on her lap. He remains there still for roughly three seconds then scratches at her knee.

"Make a friend?" Beca asks.

Aubrey looks up to see her standing in the doorway. "Get it off of me," she demands through clenched teeth.

"Just push it off," Beca says and walks inside to kneel down beside their things.

"Beca."

"Oh my god, you are scared of dogs," Beca points out.

The corners of Aubrey's lips twitch. "I am not scared of dogs," she denies it, "I just don't feel like being mauled first thing in the morning."

Beca looks amused. "It's hardly first thing in the morning."

Aubrey looks around for a clock.

"Do you know how nice it was sleeping in for the first time in days?"

"What time is it?" Aubrey asks.

"It's like 11:30."

Aubrey pales. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I'm trying to reset your circadian rhythm." Beca stands up with her clothes for the day.

Aubrey looks down at the dog and then up at her again, and Beca rolls her eyes.

"Shoo!" she says half-heartedly, then shrugs when the dog doesn't even look at her, "I don't know what you want me to do."

"Call its name," Aubrey replies.

"Bark Twain," Beca says with feigned enthusiasm.

Bark looks at her without lifting his head and flicks his tail back and forth.

"Come on!" Beca pats her leg with one hand. Nothing. "Just push him off."

"I don't want it to bite me, Beca."

"He's been sleeping with you for the past, like, two hours. I think if he wanted to rip your remaining limbs off, he would have done it by now."

"I'm going to rip your limbs off if you don't get it off of me," Aubrey threatens her. She digs her nails into the blanket as breathing starts to become more of a challenge. "Please."

Beca places her stuff on the bed then grabs the dog around the middle and drags it off of Aubrey's lap.

"Where's my mom?" Aubrey asks, getting out of bed before the dog can pin her down again.

"Kitchen," Beca answers simply and playfully rolls the dog side to side, "You're welcome, by the way."

Aubrey ignores her walks out into the hall.

The dog follows her. It leaps off the bed the moment she steps foot out of the room trots after her.

Beca is all around useless.

Aubrey glances back at it a few times until she reaches the kitchen.

"Good morning," Julia greets her with a smile.

"It's not morning anymore."

Julia glances at the clock on the wall. "It's still technically morning. Come here."

Aubrey obeys and walks around the table to where Julia is sitting on the counter.

The dog decides to ditch her for its water bowl.

"How are you feeling?" Julia's hands press against Aubrey's cheeks and forehead, and the look on her face says she already knows the answer to her question. "Let's get those meds in you before it starts getting really bad, okay? Sit down."

Aubrey sinks down into a chair and pulls her feet up so the dog can't get to them.

"Brian told me he put he put the meds he got filled in here before he left this morning." Julia opens a cupboard door. "So I put the rest of them in here too, okay?"

Aubrey watches as she removes single pill from each bottle. Pain reliever. Anti-emetic. Fever reducer. Anti-Anxiety. Anti-Depression. At least someone is keeping the pharmacy business alive. She holds her palm out as they're handed to her.

"He also got you this," Julia adds, walking to the refrigerator. She pulls out a bottle and sets it on the counter so she can get a cup.

Aubrey turns her nose up at it. Pedialyte? "That's for babies." Hence why it's called pedialyte.

"Then why does it have dosage instructions for adults on it?" Julia asks.

"It has a bear on the bottle."

"I didn't realize that bears could only be marketed toward children."

"It's wearing a shirt."

Julia pours a glass full of it and puts the rest of the bottle back in the fridge before she turns to Aubrey and places her hands on her hips. She looks serious, but…Aubrey kind of wants to laugh. "What do you want, Aubrey? Do you want it to be a stripper? Would you feel better about replenishing your electrolytes if the bottle featured a bear pulling its shirt off like it's auditioning for a role in Magic Mike?"

Aubrey has a few comments about being 'thirsty' that she definitely isn't going to make to her mother, so she just stares at her like maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea. Sell it at the bars and clubs? There would definitely be a lot less hungover people in the morning.

"Drink it." Julia places the glass down in front of her then stands there with her arms folded, watching her.

Aubrey sort of gets why Chloe enjoys tormenting her mother whenever she gets the chance. She boldly tosses her pills back one by one, downing them with the smallest possible sips. It's kind of fun watching Julia clearly want to pour the entire cup down her throat all at once, while knowing she won't because she has a strong belief in respect and boundaries. Aubrey admires her self-restraint. She locks eyes with her and takes even smaller sips when she no longer has pills to wash down. She is drinking it after all.

"Conrad is downstairs making some lunch," Julia says, ignoring her antics, "After we eat, we're going to go to the pet store and get some things for your cat, then the police would like to see you at the station, then we're going to go to the hospital to see Chloe, and then we'll go to your apartment for a little while. If you're not feeling up for it though, Conrad can go get what a cat will need by himself."

God, isn't it bad enough living with a dog? Why can't they have fish? They're confined to a tank with no chance of escape and all one has to do for them is feed them and change their water every once in awhile. And if said fish happens to be floating upside down at the top of the tank one day? Oh well. Flush it down the toilet and spend five dollars on a new one. "This tastes like chalk."

"It's strawberry."

"Strawberry flavored chalk."

"I've never tasted chalk before to know what that would taste like," Julia says, "How do you prepare that? You put it in a blender with some water or milk? Or do you just bite it right off the stick?"

Aubrey offers her the glass to drink some.

"Nice try. Drink it all, please. Now would you like to pick out things for this cat or would you like Conrad to go do it so you can get some more much needed rest?"

"I'll do it," Aubrey says. She has to do it for Chloe.

"Are you sure?" Julia asks, "Because you can always pick out what you want online and have Conrad go pick it up."

That actually sounds really tempting…

"Think about it."

"What are we thinking about?" Beca asks as she walks into the kitchen.

"About whether or not you guys want to go with Conrad to the pet store."

Beca looks at Aubrey, and Aubrey can see it on her face – it's a hard no.

"I'll just see if they can do same day in-store pickup," Aubrey says.

Julia passes her her phone. "Why don't you do that now? Thank you for plugging my phone in for me, by the way."

Aubrey nods, neglecting to mention she said goodnight to Noah as well. She opens the website for PetSmart, and she already knows everything Chloe wants. And now that she's home and has access to her own debit card, she can buy whatever. The purple cat bed. The food bowl with the stars on it and the fountain water bowl with the little flower sticking out of it. Every cat toy Chloe has ever pointed at and said 'oh, that's so cute!' about while Aubrey tapped her foot impatiently and waited to leave – because who went to PetSmart when they didn't even have any pets? The glittery blue collar with the bell attached to it. The electronic litterbox. Catnip. Cat treats. Organic cat food, because, God damn it, it can't just eat that cheap crap that Chloe saw on a commercial and got the jingle stuck in her head; Aubrey has to have some say in something here. She even puts in an order for a personalized tag that says 'Catsy'.

What idiotic names: Bark and Catsy.

She hates herself with every click of the button. She hates herself, because it's everything Chloe wants, and Chloe isn't here to enjoy it.

"I'm going to go get my wallet," she says when she's done.

"How about you get some clothes too, and then I'll do your hair?" Julia suggests.

Aubrey didn't even bother taking it out of the bun Beca put it in before she passed out last night. It's probably a rat's nest.

"Do you need help getting dressed?" Julia asks.

"No. I've got this."

xxxxx

Aubrey does not got this. She ends up lying on the bed on her back, trying to hook her bra in the front so she can then just spin it around and slide the straps up. But every time she comes close to latching it, one of the sides falls. She finally growls upwards at the ceiling and slams her fist down by her side. "Beca!" She knows what she should do. She should demand royal treatment rather than look completely incapable. Don't queens have servants that dress them?

Beca opens the door and walks inside, and before Aubrey can demand anything, she's already making a remark. "What? You want me to paint you like one of my French girls?"

"T'es con comme une valise sans poignée." Aubrey gives her the finger.

Beca snorts, oblivious, and shuts the door behind her. "I could get used to this."

"Seeing me helpless or seeing me naked?" Aubrey inquires.

Beca crawls onto the bed and straddles her lap to hook her bra. "Neither. I just love responding to your every beckon call."

"Good, now get off of me." Aubrey tries to sit up, frowning when Beca doesn't move. "Get off of me, and maybe later I'll let you get off on me."

"Are you trying to bribe me with sex?" Beca asks.

"Is it working?"

Beca is about to answer when Julia's footsteps in the hallway have her springing off of Aubrey so fast, she nearly rolls off the bed, and Aubrey sits up and tries to fix her bra. The footsteps head into the bathroom instead, and the two of them look at each other like teenagers nearly caught in the act. "Can we talk about the whole poppers things?" she asks when it's clear Julia is not about to walk in on them.

Aubrey blatantly ignores the question as she puts on her dress.

"How did Chloe convince you?" Beca presses.

"Who says it was Chloe who convinced me?" Okay, it had been Chloe who had convinced her and not the other way around, and they both know it.

"How was it?"

"It was fine. I'm not relaying my sexual experiences to you." Aubrey stands up and straights out her dress. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go finish getting ready."

Beca flops back against the pillows. "I'm going to keep asking about it."

"And I'm going to knock your teeth out if you do."

Beca grins and runs her tongue across her top teeth.

"What is that? An invitation to punch you?"

"How many times have you threatened to hit me without actually going through with it?" Beca asks, and Aubrey decides she's getting too bold.

"I prefer to fight people my own size – or bigger," Aubrey replies, "Not someone as tall as three apples. But I will make an exception for you if it comes down to it."

"I'm honored."

"You should be," Aubrey says decisively and leaves. She smirks when she hears Beca mumbling behind her.

"…as tall as three apples."

xxxxx

"Aubrey, if you don't stop squirming, I'm going to accidentally pull your hair," Julia warns her, brushing out all the knots.

Aubrey can't help it. The bathtub ledge is uncomfortable to sit on, and her body still sort of aches absolutely everywhere. She tries to sit still. She knows she can sit still. Back straight. Muscles locked. Pretend your father is breathing down your neck. It's a lot easier to sit still when the person behind you smells like sweat, cologne, and beer and is demanding you do it than when they smell like vanilla and patchouli and they're just worried about accidentally yanking your hair out. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." Julia places the brush next to the sink and begins fishtail braiding Aubrey's hair back. Probably so it's out of the way if Aubrey pukes again.

Aubrey looks at the wall and tries to find a pattern in the varying shades of grey tiles. "It's a personal question."

Julia holds Aubrey's hair with one hand and stretches back to shut the bathroom door with the other. "That's okay."

It must be so easy to be whoever just blindly grabbed a tile and added it to the wall with no rhyme or reason or regard for which color it was next to; and the walls still look good.

"Are you going to ask me?" Julia inquires, "I'm getting curious now."

"What happens when you don't take Zoloft?" Aubrey asks as all one word. It's hard to imagine her any different than she is now.

Julia hums and fixes part of Aubrey's braid. "That is personal."

Stupid. She had been specifically instructed to mind her own business.

"Well, I guess a few things happen," Julia says, "It's really hard to focus – and when it's hard to focus, it's difficult to think rationally. I'm definitely more impulsive. And tired. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to go to work. I don't want to walk to the beach. I don't even want to shower. Just the thought of getting out of bed takes every ounce of energy. And then I get upset with myself, because I'm so used to be useful to people, it's easy to lose sight of having worth to them beyond that. And when people get used to you being useful, sometimes that is all they care about – and when you're not useful anymore, they go find someone else who is. I start wondering if people like me or if they just like what I do for them, and then I start to not like the very core of myself very much. And it's hard to want to exist when you don't like who you are."

Aubrey doesn't quite believe it. It sounds like she's describing a person completely different than herself. "But you like yourself when you take it?"

"I do, because I can think more clearly and be more empathetic toward myself. I can have a bad day and realize it's ridiculous to think that I am leading a completely useless life because of that. No one is happy or useful all the time, and there's more to me than just helping other people. And it helps with things like what's happening right now. I may not want to open my eyes in the morning right now, but it gives me the boost to do it anyway. Does that answer your question?"

It does. Aubrey waits for her to tie off the braid at the end then turns and faces the rest of the bathroom.

"How are you feeling now?" Julia asks and sits down on the toilet seat. She places her fingers under Aubrey's chin and tilts her head up so she can examine the bruise on her neck. From there, she checks Aubrey's shoulder, and then every tiny visible bruise and scrape.

Ugly. Even though everything is starting to fade and heal now, arm and shoulder aside, Aubrey feels ugly. She's saved from answering by the sound of the door opening and Conrad yelling that he's home. Or so she thinks. Apparently, he can wait, because Julia appears to still be waiting on an answer. "I'm glad to be home," she answers with the utmost sangfroid.

xxxxx

Lunch is white rice and leftover soup from the previous night with a side of freshly made sticky buns for the people who actually feel like eating. Aubrey picks at the rice and the soup, taking a bite here and there to keep everybody happy. She isn't feeling quite as nauseous with this new medication, but unlike at the hospital, she didn't exactly wake up feeling ravenous either. She stares at her food and taps her foot up and down as everyone engages in meaningless conversation that they occasionally make an effort to involve her in. She's never been much of a foot tapper in the past, but she is one now apparently.

The NYPD is going to want them to relay everything that happened, she realizes. Aubrey is going to have to listen to them talk about what they know and ask her questions about what she knows. But then again, the same exact thing is going to happen with this guy Julia knows. But at least he's willing to give her something in return – if he even has anything to give her that she doesn't already know. She finishes her glass of liquid strawberry chalk that isn't actually as bad as she's making it out to be. It's tolerable. It's easy to get down and doesn't feel like it's sloshing around in her stomach at least.

Julia stands and takes her dish to the dishwasher once she's finished then comes around behind Aubrey to check her temperature again. And then she just stands there, one hand on Aubrey's forehead and the other rubbing her arm, as she talks to Conrad about picking up the cat stuff from the store for a good few minutes – and Aubrey has to resist the urge to loll her head sideways and close her eyes for a little while longer, because, somehow, she's still tired.

She doesn't want to go downtown to the station.

She wants to go back to bed for an hour or two.

And, if she had the option to, she realizes she probably would – and then she would do the important things like see Chloe and go home.

xxxxx

"Aubrey, hey!" Brian greets her the moment they step foot into the busy building. He looks tired. Marc stands a few feet behind him looking quite similar. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I'm going to punch the next person who asks me that." Aubrey gravitates toward him, checking to make sure Beca and Julia are close behind.

"I'll make sure the next person you talk to is someone I dislike then. Let's go this way."

Aubrey follows him and Marc past the lobby to two officers waiting for them by a door. They introduce themselves as Officer Mack and Officer Beaumont, Federal Agents, and lead them into a room that makes Aubrey feel like she's on an episode of SVU. There is a table in the middle with a few chairs and a couch off to the side. It's drastically different than the grey, mostly metal room she imagined herself being questioned in.

"Have a seat," Mack says without specifying where.

Aubrey chooses the couch between Julia and Beca – and Marc sits at the table while Brian drags a chair to sit between the table and the couch. The officers introduce themselves further and express their apologies for everything that happened. Aubrey does her best to focus as they ramble on, but her heart is already pounding in her chest and she can hear her blood rushing through her ears.

"Can you identify some people for us?" Beaumont asks, gaining some of her attention with a question, "People who may have been on the island with you?"

Beca releases a breath and sinks into the couch. "Are you asking us to identify bodies, because I thought everyone had been burned."

"No," Beaumont replies, "We're just trying to get an idea of who all was with you as well as maybe what happened to them. Families are asking questions about their loved ones, and we have some pictures of the wedding party as well as some of the locals. Maybe you can confirm if they were there with you or not."

Aubrey looks at Beca then slowly nods. It's only right. She can at least bring herself to do that – for her friends and their families. "I'll do it."

Julia rubs her back.

They lay out photos across the table – a lot of photos.

Aubrey stands up to take a look. The majority of the faces looking back at her are all too familiar. You can do this. She approaches the table and tries to ignore the flashes of what happened to each of them when she looks at them. You can do this. She organizes them into three groups. From there, she grabs a pad of sticky notes and a pen that were already lying on the table and makes notes of the people that aren't there to put in their respective categories. The owner of the Maritime Museum. Tyler. The dead man she and Cynthia-Rose dragged across the floor. All she can write for him is a simple physical description. She then writes a label for each category and sticks it to the top.

1. I Never Saw Them

2. Missing

3. Dead

"You're sure all of these people are dead?" Beaumont asks.

Aubrey nods and backs up to the couch where she sinks back down into Julia's side.

Beaumont gathers up Aubrey's first two categories into one stack, using the sticky notes to keep each stack labeled. He pushes them off to the side then looks at Category Number 3: Dead. "I know it's not easy to think about, and I'm sorry you're going through this, but do you think you could describe what happened to them? You can write it down if that would make you feel more comfortable."

What?

"No," Beca answers in place of Aubrey.

"I don't think that's a good idea at this moment in time," Julia agrees.

And then everyone is silent – like the entire room is waiting for Aubrey to make a rebuttal. She decides, however, that she can think independently and still agree that she doesn't want to do that. She rests her head against Julia's shoulder and slowly shakes it no.

"Their families-"

"I said no." As she stares at the photographs of Cynthia-Rose and Amy and Lilly, she wishes there was something she could say to their families; something other than how they died. Nothing comes to mind. Nothing Aubrey could say could ever be enough. And she doesn't think knowing the brutal ways they died is something that's going to bring them closure when the person who did this to them is still out there free.