FromTumblr: Thanks. There is a lot more Mitchsen to come from now on.
SunDanceQT: Thank you!
Mwallace: ...a war that I will win.
96itadakimasu96: Non-fiction isn't really my thing, or else I would give it a read.
RJRMovieFan: I would not say the story has evolved toward or away from anything. I would just say the story has evolved. I am happy with the direction it has taken, and while I would definitely consider the endgame to be more Chaubrey now, I don't think it's going in a disappointing direction with Beca.
Pixie1913: Thank you!
G: This story has definitely made me more of a Mitchsen fan than I used to be before it.
Ash: Thank you!
A/N: I have a new Chaubrey/Mitchsen/TT discord! Hit me up if you'd like to be invited!
Dysrhythmia
I wish that I could cry,
Fall upon my knees,
Find a way to lie,
About a home I'll never see.
It may sound absurd, but don't be naive,
Even heroes have the right to bleed.
- Five For Fighting
They stay in Aubrey's bed, curled up together under the blanket, with Beca's head lolled lazily to the side, her cheek pressing up against Aubrey's forehead. She isn't sure how long they go from station to station, stopping to listen to the end of a song or to see which one is coming up next. She's more or less just drifting in and out of a heavy fog, actively listening only when Beca makes a comment or asks her if she's familiar with a song. Usually, the answer is no – unless it's something popular that is impossible not to know, because Chloe has had it on repeat for hours at a time. But, some songs, she does actually know – and, shockingly, even enjoys.
Her guilty pleasure of purposely loitering around in Chloe's room when she's playing late 90s/early 2000s soft rock isn't filling her with so much guilt right now.
"What about this one?" Beca asks.
Aubrey tunes back in and lets the music become something more than just white noise again. It takes a moment for recognition to set in – not because she's unfamiliar with the song, but because resting makes her head feel full of cotton.
"Should I change it?" Beca asks.
Aubrey shakes her head. "Now that she's back from that soul vacation, tracing her way through the constellation," she sings along, earning herself an impressed smile from Beca, "She checks out Mozart while she does Tae-Bo, reminds me that there's room to grow…"
"Now she's back in the atmosphere," Beca joins, "I'm afraid that she might think of me as Plain ol' Jane, told a story about a man who is too afraid to fly, so he never did land."
Aubrey closes her eyes. "But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet? Did you finally get a chance to dance along the light of day and head back to the Milky Way? And tell me, did Venus blow your mind? Was it everything you wanted to find? And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?"
"You do have some taste," Beca comments.
"I will have you know that I have plenty of taste," Aubrey tells her, "You just don't know how to appreciate the classics."
"I can appreciate classics," Beca informs her.
"Name one classic you love," Aubrey replies.
"I may have a very deep appreciation for Cher," Beca answers.
"That's a person, not a song."
Beca laughs. "Do you believe in life after love? I can feel some-"
The door opens, and Julia walks in. "You know all the nurses can hear you in the hallway, right?" she asks, looking mildly entertained and a little bewildered at the sight of them.
"Tell them I accept tips," Beca replies.
"I don't think the kind of tips they have for you are the kind you're expecting," Aubrey says.
Beca shoots her a glare.
"Alright, Girls, sit up." Julia sets a bag of food on the table. "How are you feeling, Bunny?" she asks Aubrey, "You look a little better."
Aubrey eyes the food warily as Beca sitting up straighter forces her to do so as well. Just because she's feeling 'better', it doesn't mean that food seems edible – and the moment she's up, her body just want to be back down.
"I want a nickname," Beca jokes.
"Midget," Aubrey gives her one immediately as she pulls her soup out of the bag.
"You know that is offensive to people who have dwarfism?" Beca says.
"Why?" Aubrey asks, "Because they're taller than you?"
Julia pulls the plastic silverware out of the wrappers for them. "Here you go, Peanut," she says as she hands Beca a spoon.
That isn't any better if the expression on Beca's face is anything to go off of. If anything, it appears to be so much worse. "Why does Aubrey get a cute animal nickname and I get a nut?"
"Peanuts aren't nuts, they're legumes," Aubrey answers smugly, "They're more closely related to the pea part of their name."
"Thank you, Plant Expert."
"It's called a Botanist." Aubrey nods her appreciation.
"I like you better when you're singing," Beca tells her.
"Likewise."
"You two seemed like you were getting on so nicely before I got in here," Julia points out, "What happened?"
"You gave her the opportunity to insult me," Beca answers.
"I don't think Aubrey needs me to provide her with that opportunity," Julia says.
Beca arches a brow, and Aubrey smirks down at her food.
"You both know that's not what I meant."
"How does it feel when those words are said to you?" Aubrey asks Beca curiously.
Beca just gives her food a tight smile.
"Alright, you two, all done bickering. Eat so we can get out of this hospital sooner rather than later."
Aubrey stirs her soup, pushing the noodles around with her spoon.
"That means putting it in your mouth," Beca points out, her mouth half full.
"I know how to eat." Aubrey proves it with a spoonful of broth. "I've been doing it my whole life."
"You were eating soup on a spoon when you were a baby?" Beca asks.
Aubrey looks at her – contemplating shoving her spoon down Beca's throat.
Beca quietly goes back to minding her own business.
Aubrey eats a few bites and tries to focus on how it warms her stomach, rather than how badly it burns sliding down her throat. Now that they're all silent, Aubrey realizes this might be a good time to tell Chloe's mom what she didn't tell her earlier. "My brother is coming tomorrow."
Julia looks up from poking at ice cubes in a paper cup with a plastic straw. "Is that a good idea, Aubrey?"
"That's what I asked her," Beca says.
Aubrey doesn't answer.
"What about the rest of your family?" Julia asks, "Are they coming?"
"I don't think so." Aubrey follows another noodle around in her bowl with her spoon. If her family does show up, it'll only be to remind her she couldn't save anyone – not even herself. Beca must have found a phone after she was shot. Beca saved her life, and Chloe's…
"I can't tell you not to see your family," Julia says, "But I do hope that you will keep one of your friends in the room with you."
Aubrey had actually been hoping she would be there with her, but that's a lot to ask…
"I'll stay with her," Beca volunteers.
If Beca is there, well, maybe she'll be more apt to listen to what Aubrey has to say afterwards. She glances over at Beca for several seconds before she finally decides to ask, "How did we get here?"
"To this point in our lives?" Beca asks.
"The hospital, Beca."
"By helicopter," Beca answers.
"No, I mean how did you find a phone?"
Beca starts playing with her food now. "I ran to the Maritime Museum. I thought it'd be faster than breaking into house after house."
"That was really smart," Aubrey tells her.
Beca stills her spoon, and Aubrey watches her press down on the top of it with her thumb.
"That must have been very frightening," Julia says, "Trying to get help alone while your friends were hurt."
Beca releases a watery laugh. "I'm just shocked Aubrey called me smart," she brushes it off, "I don't think Aubrey has ever complimented me before."
"I'm sure I have…"
"Name one thing you like about me," Beca puts her on the spot.
"I just told you that you did something smart…"
"So, you think I'm smart," Beca confirms.
That's pushing it… "I'm sure you've had other moments where you acted intelligently."
"Like?" Beca asks.
"Well, if you have to think about it…"
Beca raises her eyebrows.
"You name one thing you like about me," Aubrey retorts.
"You know complimenting people is supposed to make them feel good, right?" Julia cuts in.
Beca looks up at the ceiling, thinking. "You persevere," she decides, "And you force others to persevere with you – relentlessly."
"I feel like that was half-insult," Aubrey points out.
"Dude, how what that half-insult?"
"Your tone was reproachful at the end."
"So, it was your default tone?"
Aubrey is about to retort, but Chloe's mom stops her.
"Aubrey, the longer it takes you to start eating and drinking, the longer it's going to take for you to get home to New York. Remember that, because I can see you're procrastinating."
Aubrey's lower lip juts out in an angry pout. Aubrey does not procrastinate. She takes a large bite of soup to prove herself. It feels like swallowing fire, and she already doesn't want any more. But she does want to go home. So, she falls quiet and eats, telling herself that she has no idea what real burning feels like, while the screams of everyone on the docks echo in her mind. That sound is never going to go away. She's going to have to think about it for the rest of her life. She can still feel Chloe in her arms, hear her singing to herself to make it all go away…
"Aubrey, are you okay?"
Aubrey nods. She picks up her spoon from where she somehow placed it down in the bowl without realizing it. Things could be worse. Her throat could be burning from smoke inhalation as she dies. But, it's not. So, she's okay. She just wishes see could still feel Chloe in her arms. Hear her voice. Make this all go away.
But, she can't. She just has to deal with it. She just has to accept that it happened, and it is what it is, and deal with it. She takes a breath, and focuses solely on her food. She just has to deal with it. Just deal with, Aubrey. Eat. She forces another spoonful of soup down her throat – and shuts her eyes to the way Beca accidentally brushing up against her makes her want to put her head down one of their shoulders and cry, because it all just fucking hurts.
xxxxx
Doctors and nurses come in and out the rest of the evening, poking and prodding the various injured parts of Aubrey's body until she wonders if it's their job to make her feel better or worse. At some point, she loses track of everybody. Doctors. Nurses. Psychologists. A nutritionist. They're all the same – people with too many questions. People who Aubrey doesn't want to talk to. People who Aubrey realizes are just trying to do their jobs, but whose presence leave her feeling drained in every sense of the word.
"Can you feel this?" a woman asks, pressing on the exposed skin between Aubrey's cast and shoulder bandage.
"It feels like pressure."
"It's difficult to tell right now, but it appears that there is some nerve damage. You're definitely going to need an extended amount of physical therapy once your arm starts to heal. But, you can move your fingers, so that's good. The way the bullet hit spared you from the damage it could have caused – especially considering the other injuries."
"So, after physical therapy, will it work the same way it did before?" That's the important question here.
"Like I said, it's hard to tell at this moment."
"So, no," Aubrey confirms.
"I don't think you're going to win any typing competitions or become a famous pianist, but I also don't think it's going to alter your daily life."
Aubrey nods her understanding as another thing she loves disappears just like that.
"It seems like you've maintained all basic function-"
Aubrey listens to her repeat everything she just said in different words, like she's providing new information that will somehow soften the blow. She sinks down and leans back into the bed, letting Beca's shoulder dig uncomfortably into her temple – letting that distract her, that and the music still drifting quietly through the radio speakers.
"So, there's no reason to worry," the woman finishes her spiel, "You look like you're still worried."
No. Aubrey shakes her head. She isn't worried – not about her arm, anyway. Just sad. "Thank you," she tells her politely as the woman stands up to leave.
"Just let me know if you have any questions."
Does 'will you just leave already?' count as one of those questions? Aubrey just nods and watches her go.
xxxxx
"You know there are people who were told they would never walk, and now they run marathons and shit, right?" Beca tries to assuage some of her grief awhile later when she hasn't spoken and won't stop looking at her cast. "And they probably don't even have half the determination you have."
"Mhm," Aubrey agrees, trying to sound hopeful instead of defeated and tired. She doesn't want to relearn how to play the piano. She already knows how to do it. It took years to train her fingers to move at the speed they were once able to. Years of practice and dedication.
"I'm sorry, Baby," Chloe's mom takes the sympathetic approach with her.
"I'll just have to practice the basics again," Aubrey tries to brush it off, "It's no big deal."
"Your words tell me one thing," Julia says, "But the way you don't want to look at us tells me something else."
"No, it's really okay. Chloe has an old keyboard that I can use. It'll give me something to do." It could be worse. Luke choking her with his rifle could have damaged her vocal cords. Aubrey absently rubs her throat. She could not be able to sing. But she still can, so it's okay. She's okay. She's going to need something to keep her occupied for a few days until they let her go back to work.
"I can tell you're starting to feel better," Julia points out again, but this time she doesn't make it sound like it's a good thing.
"Aubrey," Beca says, "I think-"
Aubrey pushes away the blanket then moves the table out of her way. "I have to use the bathroom," she announces, choosing the only place where neither of them will follow her. Where she really wants to excuse herself to is Chloe's room, but Chloe's mom will go after her if she tries to leave the room.
They both knowingly watch her walk to the restroom without moving.
Aubrey locks the door behind her.
She doesn't know what to do after that. She doesn't have to use the restroom, and letting the two of them out of her sight makes her lungs contract rather painfully.
It might be time to try to fully examine her neck in the mirror, she decides, and slowly turns around to face herself – or, the shell of her former self. It doesn't matter what she feels. She looks empty. Even when she tries to form some sort of facial expression at herself, it doesn't reach her eyes. It looks like she traveled somewhere else and left her body behind to deal with the aftermath without her. If something could look like nothing, she would look like nothing.
She lifts her head and looks at the ugly, yellowing bruise on her throat. It hurts worse in that position, so she doesn't look at it for very long. It's embarrassing. People are no doubt staring at it, wondering what happened. She can cover it up with makeup once she gets home. What she can't cover up is the shame that she had been filled with while Luke was choking her, and pure, unadulterated terror made her pee herself. No. That didn't happen, and she's never thinking about it again. It never happened. She can barely meet her own eyes in the mirror without wanting to punch the glass.
But that would just leave more cuts and bruises – and she already has one hand out of commission.
So – bad idea.
It briefly crosses her mind, now that she's in the bathroom, thinking about things that she doesn't want to think about, that she should be on her period right now, and so she just takes a moment to fully appreciate that at least the world decided to cut her a break there. Her chest and throat and everything else may hurt, her arm may not be fully functional, and everything may feel like it's crashing down around her, but at least there isn't blood coming from her vagina. So, there's that. It seems like everything just comes with an 'at least' tagged on it now – at least there's that.
She runs her fingertips lightly across the exposed skin on her arm, unable to feel that at all until she presses harder. She wiggles her fingers, goes through the excruciating pain of moving her shoulder. It all still works – just slower than before. She's grateful that it all still works. It could be worse. She could…not have an arm. She could be dead. Chloe could be dead. But they're not. At least there's that. But the 'at leasts' don't make her feel any better… She still just feels like she's trying not to scream.
xxxxx
"I'm going to see Chloe," Aubrey announces when she finally leaves the bathroom.
Beca is back to turning the dial on the radio, and Julia is looking at her phone. Only Julia looks up at her, not saying a word.
Aubrey makes for the door, freezing when Julia calmly stands up and blocks her exit.
"Okay," Julia says, "Let's go sit with Chloe."
Aubrey lets her guard back down and looks at Beca, who avoids her eyes. Even after talking, Beca still doesn't want to see her. "Beca."
Beca ignores her for the radio.
"Come." Julia ushers Aubrey out the door. "You cannot make her go," she says after she closes the door, "She has to make that choice on her own."
"You talk to her," Aubrey demands. Chloe's mom can convince anyone to do anything.
"Aubrey…"
"Chloe would want her there." Even if Aubrey doesn't want to share her.
"I know she would," Julia agrees, "But we cannot make somebody do something that they don't want to do. If you push too hard, you're going to get the very opposite of what you want. You have to have patience – which I think you've done. You two seemed to be getting along earlier."
Aubrey wishes she could cross her arms. Instead, she's left standing vulnerable.
"If you want to be helpful to Beca-"
Aubrey shakes her head and opens her mouth to speak. This is about Chloe. This is not about helping Beca. Is it?
"If you want to be helpful to Beca," Julia repeats before Aubrey can get a word in, "You can't meet her where you're at. You have to meet her where she is at."
"So, just…not care."
"No." Julia shakes her head. "That means doing things on her terms instead of your own, and accepting that things may not go how you want them to."
That isn't fair to Chloe. Aubrey looks down and traces the words on her cast with her finger.
"I'm sorry nothing is going the way you need it to."
That's one way to put it.
"I know you need consistency and predictability, and nothing is making a lot of sense right now."
Aubrey takes a breath. And then another. She's done with this conversation. She doesn't care about this. She doesn't care about anything other than going to sit with Chloe. Nothing else matters. When Chloe wakes up, she'll see who was there for her and who wasn't - …and it will hurt her that Beca wasn't there. Or, maybe, she'll completely understand, and she'll get onto Aubrey for trying to force Beca to see her. She lifts her hand to her forehead, dizzy from trying to decide what's best for Chloe – when she doesn't even need to, because Chloe's mom is here to do that.
She feels useless.
"Come on. Let's go sit down."
"I want to go alone," Aubrey says, trying to put some distance back between them.
Julia nods. "Okay. I'll just walk you there."
"I can walk myself there," Aubrey informs her. She knows where the room is.
"I'm not saying you can't," Julia says.
"I want to walk there myself."
"I hear what you're telling me, but I'm still going to walk you there," Julia says, "Not because I think you're incapable, but because you're starting to feel better and you're upset, and I'm afraid you're going to get it in your head to leave this hospital for one reason or another, and that's just not going to happen." She shrugs. "So, you can walk there with me or you can go back in your room. You can have privacy, but someone is going to know where you are."
The most frustrating part of that is…Chloe's mom is probably right. The only thing keeping Aubrey from locating her wallet in Julia's things and taking the first plane back to Queens is Chloe. "You have my things," Aubrey reminds her. She can't even catch a taxi cab without her wallet – and she has no phone. There's that too.
"Yes, I do," Julia confirms, "And they're going to stay with me for now. And I'm still going to walk you to Chloe's room. Do you have an argument that you would like me to hear?"
Does she? Everything feels so out of control, and Chloe's family is just so…steady. She clenches her jaw, staring downward at the floor. She needs the consistency, the boundaries, someone to tell her what's going to happen next and then follow through with it, to feel like everything is under control.
"I'm willing to hear you out," Julia offers, "I can't promise to agree, but I will listen."
Aubrey shakes her head.
"Do you want to tell me what you're thinking right now?"
Aubrey shakes her head again.
"You know, in the end, I can't make your decisions for you; I know you're going to do whatever you want to do. But I am going to keep your best interest in mind, and make it very difficult for you to make poor choices."
Aubrey's face starts to burn. She feels like she's standing in front of her parents – only Chloe's mom seems ready to hug her, not smack her. "I am not a child."
"I know you're not. But I do think you're overwhelmed and could benefit from a little extra direction right now. You know what else I think?"
No, but Aubrey is sure that she's about to find out.
"I think you need someone to take the reigns right now, and you're trying to let go, but you don't know how, because you're used to people trying to control you for their benefit instead of looking out for you for yours. You're allowed to not want to deal right now. It's okay to not be okay, and to let someone else look out for you. I'm telling you, it is okay to not be okay right now. You are surrounded by people who want what's best for you. We aren't trying to control what you're doing, Honey, we are trying to help you."
The exhaustion is coming back in full force, as is the inability to breathe and the sick feeling in her stomach. Aubrey takes another breath. And another. And another. If she cries, she's never going to be a able to stop.
"Let's get out of this lobby. Let me walk you to Chloe's room and then you can have your privacy, okay?"
Aubrey nods. Okay.