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Chapter Text

New Year’s Eve in New York was a cacophony of sound and light. The city hummed with the buzz of celebrations, but in Beca Mitchell’s sprawling apartment—a blend of industrial chic and timeless elegance—the atmosphere was decidedly more intimate. The annual NYE gathering at her place had become a tradition, a mix of her Juilliard colleagues, music students, and a smattering of old friends from her entertainment industry days.

Beca, now a tenured professor of Music Production at Juilliard, was a figure of begrudging admiration. Her grumpy exterior belied her immense talent, and her students loved her for her unfiltered honesty. They’d long accepted her snark as part of the deal, often exchanging amused glances when she muttered about their "cliché chord progressions" or "tragic overuse of reverb." Her father—a now retired professor with a penchant for dad jokes—found it endlessly amusing that his once-rebellious daughter was now a respected academic.

Her apartment, perched high above the city, was as much a testament to her past as it was a retreat from it. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered breathtaking views of the skyline, while the minimalist decor—highlighted by exposed brick walls and a carefully curated collection of vinyl records—spoke to her love of authenticity. It was a space funded by her wildly successful but short-lived music career. Beca had left the industry years ago, disillusioned by its fakeness and the relentless demand for self-promotion. Still, she consulted occasionally, her sharp ear and keen instincts highly sought after.

Tonight, she floated through the party with a tumbler of bourbon, exchanging pleasantries and the occasional sarcastic remark, her high heeled Jimmy Choos click clacking on the hardwood floor.  Her cocktail dress was in her signature colour, black, and threaded with strands of silver. It was sleeveless, showing off her tattoos, another eccentricity that endeared her to her students and raised eyebrows among the more uptight of her colleagues.  Her hair was wavy and cut chin length, still a deep brown with a silver streak of colour  across the front that she’d chosen to accent rather than hide. The silver went well with the deep blue of her irises, elevating her from merely beautiful to absolutely striking.  More than one set of admiring eyes followed her movement around the party as she mixed and mingled.  Beca could sense the looks but did not acknowledge them.  Maybe later she’d indulge, if she chose to see the New Year in with a bang so to speak.  But for now, she was happy to be the single host, enigmatic to a degree, desirable to many.

  Across the room, her ex-wife, Thalia, was effortlessly charming a small crowd. Thalia, a renowned designer whose bold, innovative creations had graced countless runways, was a force of nature. Their marriage had ended amicably, and they’d remained friends, often delighting in the fact that they managed their divorce better than most people handled relationships. Thalia’s new girlfriend, an up-and-coming artist named Eva, was by her side, and the two looked impossibly glamorous together.

Beca’s eyes scanned the room, a faint smile playing on her lips. She’d been reluctant to host this year, but now, seeing her friends and students laughing and mingling, she felt a rare sense of contentment. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, the universe wasn’t entirely awful.

Her musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. She frowned. There was a sign: “Come on in” scrawled in her sharp handwriting. Who was ignoring it?

She opened the door, her default irritation quickly giving way to stunned silence. Standing there, clutching a coat and looking both polished and frazzled, was Chloe Beale. Chloe, whose bright smile and boundless energy had been a constant ten years ago, now looked older, though no less radiant. Her red hair was impeccably styled, and her outfit—a tailored coat over a shimmery dress—spoke of someone who’d dressed to impress but hadn’t quite managed to mask her nerves. And her eyes. Her eyes still cut to Beca’s core.

“Chloe?” Beca’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Hi, Beca,” Chloe said, her smile wavering as her eyes darted around the room behind her. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I just…” She trailed off, looking uncharacteristically unsure of herself.

“Didn’t you see the sign?” Beca asked, the words coming out automatically. Chloe blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“Uh, yeah, but I… I wasn’t sure if it really meant… you know, for me.”

Beca stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in. “Well, you’re here now,” she said, her tone softer than she’d intended. “Might as well join the chaos.”

Chloe stepped inside; her movements hesitant. She glanced around the apartment, her eyes widening as she took in the space. “This place is… wow. It’s so you.”

Beca snorted. “If by that you mean it’s a little austere and overly curated, then sure.”

Chloe’s laugh was like a balm, familiar and warm. “No, it’s… it’s amazing.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Beca’s mind raced with questions: Why was Chloe here? What had she been up to all these years? And why did seeing her now feel like a punch to the gut and a breath of fresh air all at once?

The silence was broken by Thalia’s arrival. She approached with her usual grace, Eva trailing behind her like an awestruck shadow.

“Ah, a new face. And a fellow redhead as well,” Thalia said, her eyes lighting up as she extended a hand. “I’m Thalia. And you are?”

Chloe’s eyes flicked to Beca; a question unspoken but clear. Beca opened her mouth, then closed it again, her brain struggling to catch up.

“Chloe,” Chloe said finally, taking Thalia’s hand. “Chloe Beale. I… uh, Beca and I go way back.”

Thalia’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Oh, how lovely. You must come in. Please, help yourself to a drink or some food. Beca darling, don’t just stand there, introduce your friend properly.”

Beca gave a weak nod, her usual quick wit completely abandoning her. Chloe stepped further into the apartment, her movements still tentative, as if she were navigating a minefield. The party seemed to pause for a beat, a ripple of interest passing through the room at the sight of the striking newcomer.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Beca’s heart raced. Ten years had passed since they’d last seen each other, ten years since their lives had veered off in wildly different directions. And now, against all odds, Chloe was here, standing in her apartment on New Year’s Eve.

Beca’s grip tightened on her glass. Whatever this was, it was about to get interesting.

Chapter Text

Numb.  That’s how Beca would describe herself at this moment.  After the initial rush of seeing Chloe Beale outside her door, after the tumult of joy, surprise, fear and yes, even anger, she now felt numb.  She felt like she was going into shock so she did the only thing she could think of in the moment.  With a hand that she was immensely proud showed nary a tremble, she brought her glass to her mouth and took a large gulp of her sipping bourbon. One of the catering staff appeared as if by magic to help Chloe remove her jacket and whisk it off to the spare bedroom that had become a makeshift coat check for the night.

Burberry Cashmere Trench from two seasons ago, Beca noted.  Being married to a fashion designer for four years had definitely honed the brunette’s fashion sense. She could now appreciate a well made garment.  The dress that was fully revealed when the trench was removed caused her to finish her bourbon in one swallow.

Silk off the shoulder gown.

Tea length and cinched at the waist.

A vibrant periwinkle with gold threading that looked like stars.

It fit Chloe like a glove.

It fit her just as well as it had done twelve years ago when Beca had helped her pick it out.

It’s your first big industry event, Becs.  Are you sure this dress is appropriate?  As your plus one I so don’t want to embarrass you in front of your new co-workers.

Beca shook her head, clearing the cobwebs of time gone by and looked at Chloe again.

She could see that the redhead wanted to say something.  After all these years, after all the time apart, she still knew Chloe better than any person she’d ever met.

She was shaken out of this reverie by the voice of her ex.

“Come on everyone, let’s get Chloe a drink” Thalia said in a firm voice with just a hint of humour.

Like the former catwalk model, she used to be, the statuesque redhead turned on her six inch heels and started moving to where the bar had been set up for the party.  It was three hours until midnight.  Still prime drinking time in Thalia’s book.

The partygoers parted as if by magic as Thalia strode forward, Eva behind her and then Chloe and Beca trailing in her wake.  The three of them were like ducklings as they followed  Thalia to the source of the evening’s liquid refreshment.

As they reached the bar, Thalia turned around sharply and looked at the trio with a mischievous grin. “Shall we play a game?  Let’s see if I can guess what our new guest will have to drink”

She made a show of looking Chloe up and down, making a moue with her mouth.  A brief shake of the head as she took in some aspect of Chloe’s appearance. Finally, she snapped her fingers and made her pronouncement. “White wine, domestic, not too dry, half glass only.” 

Happy with her analysis she turned to the waiting bartender to place the order.

 Before she could speak, Beca interrupted her and addressed the woman tending bar.

“She’ll have a Manhattan, no ice in a high ball glass, two cherries”

Two cherries. To share. One for me and one for you, Becs.

A brief look of surprise flitted over Thalia’s immaculately made up face as her eyes moved from Chloe to Beca and back again.

“So, Chloe,  where did you say you knew my charming ex wife from?”

Chloe looked nervous. “Umm we went to college together. Barden.  We were in an cappella group together.”

Thalia’s eyes narrowed. “Well, well, well”

“Tally, ” Beca spoke, her voice having a slight edge to it.

Thalia continued, the early playfulness her voice once contained nowhere in sight. “Barden, you say.  Acapella you say.  So you’re her.  The ghost that haunted my marriage”

“Thalia” Beca’s voice was sharper now.   Eva looked confused and little frightened.  Chloe’s eyes were getting larger in her face, betraying the nerves she was obviously feeling.

The taller redhead didn’t turn her head at Beca’s tone, but her eyes moved to lock with the smaller brunette’s.

A wry grin was on her lips when Thalia spoke again: “You do seem to have a type, Beca darling.   You know, as a designer I’m always worried about people copying my work, cheapening it by producing shoddy copies.  And yet  I had no idea that I myself was nothing but a knockoff of the woman my wife wanted to be with”

“Elizabeth, enough!” Beca voice was louder and cut through the crowd like a whiplash.  The people closest to the group looked over in shock and reflexively stepped away.

At the use of her legal, birth given name, Thalia went rigid as if struck.  Without saying another word to Beca, or sparing a glance in Chloe’s direction, she snapped at her girlfriend.  “Eva with me, now”.   With that she strode off across the room, Eva tagging along, heading  to the point farthest away from Beca Mitchell. 

And Chloe Beale.

Chloe was now gripping the drink Beca had ordered for her, her left hand tightly wrapped around the glass, the amber liquid in it rippling as the trembling of the redhead’s hand was transferred to the alcohol within it.

Without being able to stop herself, Beca’s eyes travelled down to that hand.

Looked at one finger in particular.

And there it was.  Bare and unadorned.  But with  an indented band of skin around it, close to the base.  The imprint of something that had been present for years but was no longer there, only the impression of its existence still lingering on milky white skin.

Beca would apologise to Thalia later. One of many apologies her ex-wife deserved from her. They’d met at some music industry event. One of the countless ones Beca had endured in her relatively short lived but successful musical career. Thalia was an up and coming model already planning her move from walking the runway to creating the clothes others wore on the runway. Beca was the singer of the moment, the voice the world fed on at that point in time. Ubiquitous and on every list for every party/awards show/festival or gathering that mattered.  And countless others that didn’t.  Every move tracked, dissected and blasted over every media channel available. She was so in demand, and she was already planning her escape.  To say their romance was whirlwind was to undersell it. They met, they bonded and then they cleaved together, seeing in each other something their own life was lacking.  Something they needed to navigate the treacherous rapids of modern fame.

It was Beca who first realized the truth of their relationship.  Thalia was a rocket, shooting up into the stars.  Beca was a meteorite, blazing bright in the sky but falling to earth.  Their paths were diverging and eventually they reached a point where they were too far apart from each other.  Their divorce was amicable; they both realized their marriage had run its course.   Thalia needed to be out in the world, feeding off the energy of the crowd.  Beca chose to withdraw into the shelter of academia, seizing the chance to use her fleeting fame to build a refuge in which she could still share her art and her passion for music, but with an audience that was infinitesimally smaller.    

They were still each other’s plus ones when needed, and they still shared a warm affection for each other, looking out for each other’s well being.  Beca approved of Eva, she was the right fit for her ex.  Thalia had given up trying to matchmake for Beca.   Instead, she still organized and co-hosted the annual New Year’s Eve party, Beca’s sole social effort of the year.

Beca had always felt guilty because there was a part of her that Thalia never got to see.  It was hinted at and the designer caught glimpses of it in the rare moments Beca’s guard slipped down. When some passing moment in life triggered a look on the brunette’s face that hinted at a loss that remained painful even after being endured for years.

Now it stood before after all this time.

At a party co hosted by her recent past, her distant past reappeared.

She stood looking at Chloe Beale.

Stood dressed in the costume of a successful, respected, well off woman of the world.

Surrounded by colleagues and acquaintances who admired her. Maybe even envied her. Hell, she was positive some of them actually aspired to be her.

In her home that showcased her taste, her achievements, her hard work and her talent, she stood.

And it all fell away.

Leaving her feeling empty, scared, anxious.

But also determined, anticipatory and hopeful that this reunion, one she had never expected, was happening at last.

Chloe still played with her glass, not having taken a sip.

Her eyes, the eyes Beca remembered so well, kept sliding to meet Beca’s then darting away skittishly.

Timid Chloe was a new beast for Beca, something that demonstrated how much things between them had changed over their time apart.

Beca opened her mouth and spoke.  “How are you here, Chloe?  Why are you here, Chloe?”

So, it began.

The die was cast.

Pandora’s box was opened.

And let the chips fall where they may.

What every tortured metaphor you chose to use, it had begun.

It was going to be one hell of a start to the New Year.

Chapter Text

“Not here” were the immediate words that came to Beca’s still recalibrating mind after she asked Chloe the first questions that came to her.

She could see Chloe trying to figure out what how she would respond to Beca’s short questions that would require a world of words to answer completely.

The brunette couldn’t help but notice that older Chloe still wrinkled her nose when faced with a particularly challenging question.

Ten years later and Beca could still read her tells like her favourite childhood storybook.

But this wasn’t the right place to hear what the redhead had to share with her on why and how she’d showed at Beca’s apartment.  For her annual party. Dressed in an outfit made up of as many memories as yards of silk.

Beca didn’t want to do whatever this was going to be in front of a catering company bartender who was looking between the two of them as if they’d gifted her with the best story to share with her friends after the night was over.

In front of her friends and colleagues who were looking at her curiously, never having heard her raise her voice as she just had with Thalia.

And definitely not in front of her ex-wife who was now shooting daggers at her from across the room.

She instinctively reached out to grab Chloe’s free hand, to lead her somewhere more private.

She touched Chloe Beale for the first time in a decade.

Beca felt a shock run up her arm.

She saw Chloe’s eyes widen and her pupils dilate.

Beca tried to pull away.

She really did.

But Chloe gripped her hand tighter.

In a voice Beca barely recognized as her own, she managed to get out the following words: “This way. Follow me.”

With a gentle but firm tug of her arm, she led the unresisting redhead out of the main room and down a hallway.

When Beca had bought this place after her split from Thalia, it had been with the desire to create a sanctum for herself to retreat to and lick her wounds.

The place she was guiding Chloe to was the inner sanctum of that sanctum.

Her ex-wife (who had helped Beca decorate her new home) called it Beca’s lair.

If she was feeling annoyed by Beca, she called it her hobbit hole, a moniker that earned her a glare that could cut diamonds from the brunette.  Thaila, in all her Thailaness, had long since grown immune to the variety of glares and looks Beca Mitchell had honed over the years to indicate her displeasure with something or someone.  It didn’t stop the older woman from still trying them out on her though.

The space had originally been a walk in closet, adjacent to the master bedroom. With Thaila no longer part of the living arrangements, Beca found she suddenly did not need so much storage space for clothing, accessories or the tsunami of shoes that were part of living with an ex-model and current designer.

So, she had made it into her sanctuary.

The door to the room was old, made of oak with iron fittings and latch.  Beca’s designer (Thalia) had salvaged it from an old 18^th century farmhouse in upstate New York. Dropping Chloe’s hand, Beca opened the door and walked through, beckoning the redhead to follow her.  She felt a twinge of loss with that separation, but she reminded herself that now wasn’t the time nor place for nostalgia.  She needed to find out Chloe’s purpose for being here and then usher the redhead back out of her life as soon as possible.

Reaching past Chloe, she pulled the door shut and walked further into the space, vaguely aware of Chloe looking around the room with awestruck eyes.

It was a cozy space. Lined with rich coloured wood panels, one entire wall was a wooden, hand carved series of bookshelves.   The room had no window but was lit by hidden ambient lighting that gave the appearance of candlelight.  The regulations of the building and the design of Beca’s apartment had ruled out installing a real fireplace, so a gas fireplace that did a good job of mimicking the real thing was put in instead.

A built in sound system played soft jazz.  In one corner there was an overstuffed armchair beside a small oak table with a built in chessboard.  There was a game in progress, part of a ritual that Beca had begun with her newly retired father.  They had a weekly FaceTime to play chess and catch up.  Sheila had thanked Beca more than once for saving her sanity by giving Warren something to keep busy and out of her hair.

Her father was also present in another part of the room: the desk that Beca now sat behind, placing a barrier between her and the redhead.  Built of reclaimed wood, the desk had been a project Beca and her father had worked on after she received tenure.   “Every tenured professor needs an impressive study desk.  It goes with the archetype, “ he’d told her. They’d designed and built it together, step by step, by trial and error.  The desk was perfect for the space and for Beca’s needs.   It also was the repository of all the good memories created during its construction.

Chloe seemed eager to avoid conversation as they entered the space.

She flitted around the room, looking at the bookshelves, picking items up here and there.

She gave a gasp as she found one book that had been displayed by itself on a stand that looked like an artist’s easel.

A well worn hardcover copy of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince.

Under Beca’s watchful gaze, Chloe picked the book up and flipped to the inside cover.

Written in cursive handwriting was the dedication. “It is only with the heart one can see clearly. What is essential is invisible to the eye”

Signed “With all my love, Chloe”

Beca would be lying if she said she didn’t have that quote memorized.

Chloe put the book back on the easel, a small smile on her face.

She looked at a thriving plant towering in the corner and pointed at it with a questioning look.

Beca nodded.   The plant had been a parting present from Chloe when Beca had left New York for L.A.   Beca Mitchell, killer of house plants, had managed to keep Fiona The Fiddle Leaf Fig Ficus alive all these years.   Plant name bestowed by Chloe of course.  Fiona had traveled from dwelling to dwelling with Beca, another lingering reminder of love that had never quite reached its full potential.  And had never quite faded away.

Sitting behind the desk, watching Chloe move around her sanctum sanctorum, Beca began to feel agitated.  This disruption to her yearly routine was throwing her more than she’d like to admit.  She needed to face it head on.

So, of course, being Beca, she instead decided to approach her dilemma in a very roundabout way.

Clearing her throat, she asked: ”How did you find me ?”

Chloe quickly answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world: “Aubrey”

Of course, Beca thought, it would have to be Aubrey.  When she’d first relocated to the East Coast, she’d attended a number of mixers and receptions as the College wanted to show off their new hire.  At one of the events, she’d run into two faces from her distant past.   Aubrey Posen, partner in one of New York’s most prestigious boutique law firms, and her life partner, Dr. Anastasia Conrad, surgeon and Hawking Visiting Chair of Neurology, Columbia University, Irving Medical Center. It had been an awkward reunion, three people who’d once spent hours together in cramped quarters now struggled to make small talk.  Life had moved on, and the Bella sisterhood hadn’t kept up.

Before they made their excuses and went their separate ways, the time honoured custom of the professional elite, the exchange of business cards, took place.  As was her habit, Beca handed the collected cards from every event she attended to her administrative assistant, who updated her Outlook contacts.  This was why, when Thalia was planning the housewarming party for Beca’s new condominium, she’d used Beca’s Outlook to search for local contacts to fill out the guest list.  Beca’s persistent and consistent anti-social tendencies had meant that most of her friend circle had been, by default, part and parcel of her marriage to Thalia.  When that relationship waned and faded, so did Beca’s social calendar.  All of this explains why anyone, anyone at all, within a 100 mile radius who was in Beca’s contacts received an invite to the soiree.

Aubrey and Stacie couldn’t make the event.  Double booked at some legal dinner.  But they did send a housewarming gift (a very nice Creuset Dutch Oven that Beca used to hold the Halloween candy she reluctantly dispensed every October 31^st to the few children in the building that dared to knock on her door.  You snap at one child for pushing all the buttons on the elevator and  jokingly (?) threaten to bite off their fingers and suddenly you get a scary reputation among the property’s under ten set .)

She should have guessed that meticulous Aubrey Posen would have archived Beca’s address for her own Posen purposes.

She phased back into the conversation to catch the tail end of Chloe’s sentence.

“And the girls and I have been staying with Aubrey and Stacie the last year and a bit while we sort things out.”

That sentence contained a lot of information, some of which seemed rather rife with meaning. Trying to avoid diving in too deep, Beca seized on the one thing she knew was a safe conversation topic among people of Chloe’s social set.

“The girls?  You have children?” she said artfully.  Get parents talking about their offspring and you can usually defuse any awkwardness.

Chloe’s face lit up.  The nervousness that had hung around her like a shroud melted. 

She reached into the pocket of her gown.

Of course, her dress had a pocket.

“All dresses should have pockets, Becs.  It’s blatant misogyny that they don’t.”  Chloe spun around in her formal dress, the skirt flaring as she did. The rich green complimented her fiery hair perfectly.  Beca smiled wryly at her: “That’s right, Chlo, it’s a global conspiracy.  Big Pocket is scheming to drive you crazy by denying you a place to store your crumpled Kleenex during the oh so glamorous Barden Senior Formal.  AKA grads get drunk and try not to throw up over the most expensive articles of clothing they’ve ever owned”.  Chloe rolled her eyes.  “Shut up Becs, you know you’ll have fun.  You look amazing in your dress by the way.  Whoever helped you pick it out has excellent taste.” She arched her eyebrow. Of course it was Chloe who’d picked the dress out. At every moment, in every choice, it was always Chloe. “You and Jesse will be quite the head turning couple. You really don’t need me third wheeling the night.  “ “Shut it Beale, you’re coming along to make sure I don’t go completely crazy tonight.  I still can’t believe you couldn’t get a date.  You’re so… you.  I figure you’d have them lined up around the quad.”  The redhead shrugged. “You’d think.  But it just didn’t pan out. I guess I’m just too much for the Barden boys. Or girls “

Chloe walked towards the desk, holding her iPhone and obviously unlocking it.  She seemed surer in her movements as she approached Beca, turning her phone so Beca could see her lock screen.

Two girls took up the whole picture,  the older one looked to be about seven with darker skin and almost black hair.  She had expressive brown eyes and a smile that was wide enough to show the spaces on her upper jaw where new teeth were beginning to show.  Tucked into her side, with one of the dark haired girl’s arms wrapped around her, was a smaller child, pale of skin with red ringlets down to her shoulders.  She looked to be about two and was wearing the most adorable set of green framed glasses.  She looked up at her older sister with complete awe.

Beca gazed at the picture, a tumult of emotions churning in her.

“They look beautiful, “ she told Chloe.

And she meant it.

Chloe’s eyes were glued on her phone as she spoke. Her thumb stroked the screen, caressing her daughters’ faces, as her voice continued, steady at last.

“Mallory is my oldest.  She’s almost eight. She’s so funny and opinionated and she loves everyone she meets.  I mean everyone.  I’ve seen the most crusty, grumpiest people light up when she’s around.”  Chloe looked up at Beca with a half smile. “She’d probably do a number on your surly self.”

Beca fought the reflex to roll her eyes.  She was almost forty.  She didn’t do that anymore.  She was a grownup.

Her eyes rolled on their own accord.

Chloe continued: “You know I always wanted kids.  And we tried.  Four miscarriages in a row.  All the specialists saying it would be a miracle if I carried to term.  But I didn’t give up.  Even when he wanted to.  I didn’t.  She was our first foster child.   Came to us with a Lilo and Stitch backpack that contained two changes of underwear and three t-shirts.  That’s it.  I spoiled her so much .  I think I overwhelmed her.  I had too much love inside me that was dying to get out and I kind of exploded on her.  I got better.   She made me better.  She was adopted after a year with us.  There was no way I could let her go.  Now she’s my wise owl who makes sure I get at least five hugs a day.  Minimum five hugs”

Chloe cleared her throat. Beca found herself unable to move, unable to speak.

“I wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant.  I stopped taking birth control.  He and I were barely speaking, let alone sleeping together.  Two bottles of red wine at a friend’s barbeque, less than a minute of sex and there she was.  Our rainbow baby.  The thing that wasn’t supposed to happen happened. Rivka my miracle.  Rivka my gift.”

Beca eyes shot to Chloe’s when she heard her daughter’s name.  She knew what that name meant.  What is was a variation of.

Chloe looked back and nodded. ‘ Yes. I knew what I was doing.  Yes he was too stupid to figure it out.  He was stupid about a lot of things’

Chloe’s voice went cold and flat again. She sounded detached as she shared the next bit of her history.

 “At the hospital, on one of the happiest days of my life. Alone with my husband god knows where, I got to listen to my doctor tell me my newborn daughter had an eye infection. A serious one.  One caused by gonorrhea. That’s how I found out he was cheating again .  I could get past the cheating.  I’d done it before.  But he harmed our child.  Our baby.  Doctors say her eyesight should improve but she’ll always have issues.  I called Bree that night and the girls and I never went home.  We went to their condo.  Bree and Stacie took us in.  And there we are.  I’m working again and soon we’ll be back in our own place.  But I’ll never forget what they did for us.  Never!”

The emotion had come back into Chloe’s voice at this point.

Beca was moved by what Chloe had shared.  She’d have to made of stone not to be.

However, she still wanted, no needed, answers.

“Why are you here, Chloe?” she asked. 

Chloe turned her face away from Beca, staring into the fake fireplace: “I almost came to find you. When things were bad the first time.  Then there was a big announcement about your engagement. , and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t mess up your life just because mine was a disaster.”

“Chloe?” Beca prodded.

Chloe shook herself out of the memories she was webbed in.

“You turn forty this year.”  It wasn’t a question but a statement.

Beca frowned. “I do.  Thanks for reminding me, Chloe.  Not something I’m looking forwards to.’

Chloe continued: “The pact”

Something stirred in the recesses of Beca’s mind.  A memory.  Long buried.

Chloe reached back into that dress pocket and pulled out a piece of white lined paper, folded in half.  From the perforations along one edge, it looked like it had been ripped out of a spiral notebook.

Chloe unfolded the paper and started reading: “ We the aforementioned and undersigned do solemnly pledge, that if the youngest of us reaches her fortieth year in an unmarried state, and the oldest is in a similar state, we will marry and have aca-babies and sexy times.  For ever and ever, totes cool”

It was late at night up in Beca’s attic room.  Amy was out defiling some poor junior.  Beca and Chloe had long since given up pretending to study and were deep into a bottle of Cotton Candy Schnapps.  Beca gagged as she took another swig.  “Chloe, this stuff is fucking vile”  Chloe pouted. “It was on sale”  “I can see fucking why” Beca passed the bottle to Chloe who took a long swallow.  Then burped.  “It does the job, doesn’t it?”  “How do you make burping sexy, Beale?”  Chloe leaned forwards to push Beca in the shoulder but missed and fell face down on the bed. From her muffled position, face buried in sheets that smelled like Beca she asked. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Becs?”  Beca was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know, Chlo.  I mean I’ll all kinds of messed up when it comes to relationships.  Look at me and Jesse.  Who would want to be married to a basket case like me?”  Chloe rolled on her side facing Beca and blew the red hair off of her face.  She looked at Beca as seriously as her level of inebriation would allow her. “I’d marry you, Beca.  Fact, if you’re still single when you’re forty, I will marry you!’ “What if you’re married though, Chloe?”  The redhead screwed up her face in thought. “Then I’ll divorce whoever I’m married to and marry you instead. “  Beca got misty eyed.  “You’d do that for me” “Totes”  Chloe sat up, swallowed deeply to keep the schnapps inside where it should be.  She reached over and tore a page out of Beca’s barely used calculus notebook.  “I’m going to create a legally binding contract to prove that I am committed to this plan.  And to you.  Or forty year old wrinkly you”  Beca looked offended.  “I will have you know, Ms. Beale. That the women in my family age very gracefully.  I will be a stunning forty”  “Sure, sure” After writing for a bit with the tip of her tongue adorably sticking out as she concentrated,  Chloe held out the scrap of paper and pointed.  “Sign here”  Beca scrawled her name then looked at Chloe with a puzzled expression.  “Don’t we have to like notarize important documents?  I swear I read about that in my third year basic law course.  But I slept through most of it so I might have dreamt that”  Chloe nodded sagely.  “I think you’re right Becs.  So, what we’ll do….what we will do.  What…” She trailed off.  Beca stared at her with wide eyes. Chloe jerked into action again.  “What we’ll do is seal our pact with a kiss.”  Bringing the document up to her mouth she made an exaggerated kissing sound and left her signature shade of pink lipstick on the paper.  She passed the contract to Beca who with slightly less enthusiasm and a touch more embarrassment, kissed the paper as well, embossing it with her deep plum shade of lip tint.  “Right” Chloe said, clapping her hands together.  “Now we have to make a duplicate copy for you”

Beca stared at Chloe with a stunned expression.

Chloe was still holding the now unfolded piece of paper in Beca’s direction.

“SHE STILL HAS IT. Of course, she still has it.”  Beca’s thoughts spiralled disjointedly in her head.  She remembered it all now. The drunken promise.  The signing.  The lipstick stains.  How warm Chloe felt next to her .  The smell of the redhead’s hair as she leaned in to watch Beca kiss the contract.  It was so long ago. It was too long ago.

Beca spoke, looking at Chloe but not quite meeting her eyes.

“Chloe,  you’ve had a rough few years, it sounds like it’s been tough for you.  But this thing, it’s not a real thing.  It was a drunken moment decades ago.  It’s not real.  I can barely remember it (LIAR her mind screamed).  If you think about it, really think about it, you know this isn’t realistic.  It’s not good for you.”

Then Beca delivered the low blow. “It’s not good for your daughters.  It’s not healthy for their mother to be hanging onto a fantasy from the distant past”

With every word Beca spoke, she could see Chloe shrink into herself, flinching with each syllable.  She knew she wasn’t wrong.  She knew whatever she and Chloe might have had was embers now.  She was positive that what she was telling Chloe was what her former best friend needed to hear.

Chloe spoke in a small voice: “ I know I’m an idiot.  And I wasn’t expecting marriage, truly I wasn’t.  But I just hoped that I could get you back in my life.  In some small way, any way at all.”

Before Beca could speak again, Chloe turned quickly and darted out the door, pulling it firmly behind her.

Beca leaned forwards, her face in her hands as she rested her elbows on her desk.  

She sat like that for a moment, then with a deep sigh, she ran her hands through her hair, disturbing her painstakingly styled locks.

She reached down and pulled open one of the bottom drawers in her desk. She took out a dark wood box. It was intricately carved with musical motifs. A lot had work had gone into making it and it didn’t look cheap. It was the kind of thing a person might give their co-captain after they won a national acapellla competition for the third year in a row.   With a shudder and a deep breath, she opened it and  pulled out a folded piece of paper.  The paper was well worn and looked like it had been folded and unfolded many a time. Beca unfolded it once more and stared at it. Her eye was drawn to one particular thing on the page. Two lipstick kisses imprinted along the bottom, one of them in a colour she no longer wore. Another in a color she remembered all too well.

She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, letting her emotions wash over her.

She no longer had much hope of a Happy New Year.

Chapter Text

Beca freely acknowledged that she’d been impulsive when she was younger.  Getting into a fight with aca-nerds.  Jumping in and singing another song at an important competition to Aubrey’s ire.  Kissing a boy she’d didn’t like all that much because that’s what her moviecation taught was the logical conclusion to a whirlwind wooing.   Hell, her decision to leave New York to go all in on a promising music career had been the most impulsive thing she’d ever done.

The thing with being impulsive though is that sometimes there are factors to the decision that you neglect to consider.  And in your rush to act, you may miss out on how your decision will impact those you care about.  Cared about.

Quitting the music grind and coming back to New York had tempered her character.   She wasn’t impulsive anymore.  What she was was decisive.  She weighed the impact of her choices before she made.  She considered the ramifications of her actions on those around here.   And when she acted, it was with a sense of purpose and surety her younger self hadn’t possessed.

She’d also learned the benefits of having a second opinion.

With everything that had happened tonight, the reappearance of Chloe, their awkward, their painfully awkward, attempt at talking and then Chloe’s bombshell of revelation, Beca felt she needed a second opinion more than ever.

In the brief time since Chloe had fled her study, she’d quickly analyzed and assessed what she thought.  What she felt.   She knew, looking around her sanctuary, that pieces of Chloe were embedded into the fabric of the space.  The book, the plant, the box.  Her copy of the contract.   Chloe had always been there.  Hovering just out of sight, over the horizon.

Seeing her again had stirred things to life, unearthed the wreckage left behind by certain decisions.   Hearing a fraction of what Chloe’s life was like had chipped away at a frozen part of Beca’s heart.  And in a throwback to her youth, she’d lashed out in response, wielding her words in a way she knew would hurt the redhead the most.  That’s the peril of knowing someone so well, of opening up to another person so intimately.  You place in their hands the power to utterly ruin you if they so chose. 

Shaking her head to clear her mind, she picked up her phone and place a call.

“Becs?  It’s not midnight yet.  Shouldn’t you be hostessing the mostessing right now?”

Beca let out a snort. “That was so lame, I don’t think it even qualifies as a dad joke, pop”

The relationship she’d built  or rebuilt with her father, was one of Beca’s proudest achievements.   The foundation had been laid at Barden.  Chloe had been a big part of prodding Beca into breaking the ice with her dad.  To talk with him.  To listen to him.  He was the one she went to when she got the offer from Juilliard and began to consider leaving her singing career behind. He cared about her, supported her and mostly importantly was honest with her.

“Beca, are you okay?”  His voice came over the line, uncertain what Beca’s silence meant.

“No, Dad, I’m really not.  Chloe showed up at the party tonight”.  No beating around the bush, she was going to lay it all out in the open.

There was a short intake of breath on the other end and then a hesitant question. “How do you feel about that?”

Beca’s right hand went to the desktop and started fiddling with the pen caddy.   She didn’t know how she felt about that.  She knew she felt something but what?

“I don’t know, Dad.  It was a lot.  We kind of talked and then we kind of argued and then…”

“Beca, I know how much you’ve missed her. Can I be honest with you?”

Beca grunted.  “Why stop now?  Lay it out.”

She heard her father chuckle: “Okay, I never liked Thalia,  didn’t feel she was the right fit for you.  You both wanted different things.   You were looking for a replacement for Chloe, but you never acknowledged that. You just plowed forwards, hardening your shell and ignoring your heart”

“Way to sugar coat it, dad”

“Beca, this is too important to sugar coat.   Where’s Chloe now?”

‘She ran off, I bet she’s not even at the party anymore”

“What are you going to do? Not what you should do, what you think you have to do, what are you going to do?”

Beca was silent.  She gripped the phone tighter in her hand.  Her eyes shot around the room, cataloguing the echoes of Chloe that her sanctuary held.

“I’m going to go after her, I’m going to see what I can salvage.  I’m going to take a chance”

“Yes you are, Beca.  Remember I love you.  Always will.  And I want you to be happy.  Really happy.  Now go.  It’s almost midnight and you have places to be”

“Night dad, Happy New Year to you and Sylvia.  I love you and I’ll talk you tomorrow”

“Love you too, squirt”

Beca disconnected the call and stood up, pushing her chair back.  She knew what she had to do.  Not what her mind told her to do, but what her heart was telling her to do.  The lingering afterimage of Chloe Beale had been hovering in the background of her life for too long.  She needed to face it head on.  And from what Chloe had shared, she was in a similar situation.  Better to face any lingering spark together than to continue trying, and failing, to extinguish it by themselves.

Beca strode out of the room and down the hallway back to the party. She wasn’t surprised that a cursory scan of the room failed to show Chloe anywhere.  But another redhead did catch her eye and tentatively approached her.

“Beca,  are you okay?”  Thalia hesitantly asked, reaching out to softly touch Beca’s arm.  Her girlfriend stood awkwardly behind Beca’s ex wife, eyes casting around like she wasn’t sure where she was supposed to be.

Beca spoke softly and quickly: “Thalia, I’m sorry about tonight.  I’m sorry about a lot of things.   I placed a lot of my issues on you and that wasn’t fair.”

Thalia looked like she was about to say something, but she was stopped by Beca’s next words.

“Have you seen Choe?”

Something shifted on Thalia’s face; “No, no I haven’t?  Why do you ask? Did you lose her?” Her tone was sharp, almost accusatory.

 Eva spoke up: “But she ran by us T, grabbed her coat and rushed  right out the door. And then you said good riddance to old rubbish…”

She shut up when Thalia glared at her.

Beca looked at her ex, almost sympathetically “Oh, Tally.  I’m sorry for what I did.   I forgive you.  And I hope you’ll forgive me someday too.”

With that she turned and moved towards the entrance, already kicking her heels off as she walked.

“Beca you’ll miss the New Year’s toast;  you’re the host you have to be here for that.” Thalia’s plaintive voice called after her.

“Why don’t you handle that for me this year, Tally.  I have something I need to fix before the New year begins.”

Ignoring Tally’s distraught look, she opened her coat closet, pulled out some old Van slip-ons, threw her favourite leather jacket over her haute couture, grabbed her car keys and headed out the door and down to the parking garage.

Beca had never been much of a driver and New York City really wasn’t the place to be a car owner. However after her seventh creepy uber driver and given the fact her job had gifted her with a  faculty parking spot, mirroring the one that came with her condo, she decided to take the plunge.  It took her awhile, lots of talks with Dad, more than one harrowing test drive in the streets of New York, but she finally found her perfect match.

“I think you should drive this, Becs.”  Beca stared at the image displayed on the laptop Chloe had flipped to face her.  She glared at the redhead.  “Why because I’m small?”  “No because you suck at parking and this will be easy. Plus, it’s cute like you.  I call permanent shotgun.  And I get to control the music.”  “Uh no, driver’s choice. “  “You’ll cave.” Chloe wiggled her eyebrows.  And Beca huffed,  refusing to respond when they both knew Chloe was right.    “Oh, and I have the perfect name. “ “ I’m not naming my future hypothetical car that I don’t have. And probably never will have.  I can barely afford to pay extra for guacamole. Purchasing a clown car seems like a slim to none option” Chloe just waved her hand in the air, dismissing Beca’s reply.  She sank back onto their fold out couch, staring   at the water stained ceiling of their Alphabet City apartment. “Hear me out.  Alice.   Like Alice Cooper.” Beca let out a long groan. “ You’re such a nerd.”  “Yeah but you love me.” Beca looked at the image of the Countryman Mini Cooper Chloe had pulled up to show her.  “Keep on dreaming the dream, Beale.  Just know that whatever vehicle I get” Here she raised a finger for emphasis. “That is if I ever get one, you’ll never control the music” Chloe just let out an airy giggle. “We’ll see, Miss Mitchell, we’ll see”

Beca stood in the parking garage of her building, handing resting on the roof of her car as she replayed that memory in her head once more.  She patted the roof of her red Mini Cooper EV.

“What do you think, Alice? Want to brave the streets of the city on New Year’s Eve to track down a redhead I can’t shake myself loose from not matter how much time has passed?”

She nodded like she was listening to a reply. “Yeah, me too.  To paraphrase that cowboy movie I was forced to watch more than once as part of my moviecation,  I just can’t quit her.“

As Beca slid behind the wheel, she was struck with a realization.  Planning to chase after Chloe was all well and good, but she had no idea where she was chasing the woman to.

Whispering a silent prayer to the goddess that her assistant had lived up to her reputation for meticulous, almost obsessive, detail in cataloguing Beca’s life, professional and personal, she pulled out her phone and started scrolling through her contacts.

Passing by countless names and numbers she barely remembered (How and why does she have Lucy Liu’s contact information?), she found a number that she’d never used and pressed call.

The phone was picked up almost immediately.

The voice that spoke was familiar but softer, gentler now.

“Beca?” Aubrey Posen asked tentatively.

“Hi Aubrey, long time no speak.  I’m calling about Chloe.”

There was a sharp intake of breath  on the other end. Then a muttered “I should have known.”

Aubrey spoke again. This time her voice had some of the familiar Bella captain steely resolve in it.

“Did you see her tonight? Is she okay?”

“I did, she showed up at my party and…”

Beca was cut off by Aubrey turning her head and yelling at some else. “She was at Beca’s, Stace.  She’s okay.  She was at Beca’s”  A faint “ Oh thank god, now I don’t have to kill her” could be heard replying in the background.

Aubrey came back on the line: “She’d been acting squirrelly all week.  Then she asked me and Stacie to watch the girls when she went out.  Said she had something important to do.  We were just glad she was getting out of the house, so we didn’t ask any questions, just let her know we’d be happy to baby sit. I should have known when I saw what she was wearing.  The dress.”

All this came out in a cascade of worried words.

The next thing spoken was in a quieter, less hurried tone.

“Be gentle with her please, Beca. She’s had a rough couple of years”

Then a sniffle.

When Beca spoke, her voice cracked with emotion: “ She was with me, Aubrey.  Then she wasn’t.”

‘What happened, Beca?” Aubrey’s voice wasn’t angry or judgemental.  It was just disappointed.

Beca leant forward, resting her head on the steering wheel as she replied.

“ A lot happened.  Things were said.  Old wounds were opened.  Damn it, she showed up out of the blue and it was so much.  Too much”

Aubrey’s voice was calm when she asked: “So where is she now?”

“I don’t know, I wish I did but I don’t. She rushed out of the party and I’m trying to find her. I want to find her.  I just don’t know how”

“Right”, Captain Aubrey Posen spoke again.  “ I knew asking her to install Find My Friends was a smart decision”

Beca actually chuckled at this. : “You can track her location.  Of course you can, Aubs, Always prepared, right.”

Aubrey gave a snort. “We’re women in New York City.  Keeping watch over each other is just common sense”

There was silence for a second and then a quiet “Oh, of course, “ reached Beca’s ears.

When she relayed the location to Beca, the brunette felt the air leave her lungs.

Of course.  It made sense.  Perfect, twisted, gut wrenching sense.

“Go get our girl, Beca. Please for the kids, for us, for you.   For her.”

“I will, I promise.  Night Aubrey”

Beca disconnected the call and pressed Alice’s starter.

Almost one hour to midnight.

The timer was running down.

Traffic was light.  Most people were huddled inside or crammed into Times Square, preparing for the final countdown.

Not tearing through the streets on a mission of what?  Rescue?  Redemption? Madness?

Beca navigated roads that she’d once walked regularly. 

But never alone.

Always with someone who made each walk magical.

As she pulled up to her destination, she saw how much the area hadn’t changed.

How is still evoked a certain feeling, a vibe of hope, of dreams, of aspiration.

Of potential.

And there, huddled on the stoop of their old apartment building in Alphabet City, was a forlorn redheaded figure.

Beca pulled over, half in and half out of a parking spot and flicked on her hazard lights.

Chloe didn’t look up as Beca approached.  She was staring at her hands and muttering to herself.

Beca stopped five feet away and called out gently. “Chloe?”

The face that shot up and stared in her direction was streaked with mascara, eyes red rimmed with tears.  Cheeks were raw with the cold and hair was tangled in snarls framing a face, that despite all the havoc wreaked on it, was still breathtakingly beautiful.

“I fucked up Beca….I fucked up so badly.”  Chloe choked out.

“ No, you didn’t  it’s okay you came.  We can get you home.  To see your girls”

Chloe’s brow furrowed and she stared at Beca as if she was missing the point.

“Not now, Beca.  Though this wasn’t my proudest moment.  I meant then.  I fucked up then”

Beca drew in a sharp intake of breath.

“What do you mean, Chloe.  When?  When did you fuck up?”

A half sob, half cough left the redhead’s mouth.

“When I sent you away.  When I let you go.”

Beca froze in place.

She knew what Chloe was referring too.

Their last conversation before they vanished from each other’s lives.

The one where Beca had talked about Chloe coming to LA with her.

When she’d tentatively floated the idea of that maybe, just maybe, there was something more between the two of them.

Her voice was cold when she spoke to Chloe: “ You said we wanted different things.  That I was a distraction from what you needed to do. Who tells their best friend that?

Beca’s voice cracked as she repeated the words that still replayed in her mind during her darkest moments  “You said you flirted with everyone.  It didn’t mean anything special”

“I lied, Beca.  I lied” Chloe said in a rising voice. “ You were hell bent on going to LA.  I was scared okay.  And I made the biggest mistake of my life.  You had these big dreams and I had to force you to leave because I couldn’t face my cowardice everyday. Because I know you would have stayed. And that wasn’t right.  You deserved to chase your dreams. I still can’t face what I said and how I acted.  I hurt you. I hurt myself.  But we wanted different things. I had to cut you off cold because you never would have gone.”

Beca’s next words were softer: “I wanted you, Chloe.  What dreams did you have that we couldn’t have realized together?”

Chloe rubbed the heels of her palms in her eyes and tiredly uttered the next words. “ You wanted to be the big producer slash singer slash entertainment superstar.  I wanted the home, the quiet life. “ She hesitated before continuing. ‘I wanted kids. A family’

Beca stood there, arms dangling at her sides and shook her head softly. “Unbelievable”

“What is?”

“You never asked”

Chloe looked puzzled. “I never asked what?”

Beca’s voice pitched higher: “You never asked if I wanted kids. A family.  You never gave me that choice”

An incredulous look came over Chloe’s face. “ I never asked?  Do you know you Beca? You were the most anti family person I ever met. You said you never wanted to be married. Never wanted kids. On more than one occasion.  Right to my face.  You SAID!”

It was like a boil had been lanced.  All of the poison Chloe had been keeping inside her spurted forth.

Beca’s expression showed that she also had things to say. “ You. NEVER. Asked. Chloe.  You never did.  You were my home.  You were my family. I only wanted that with one person.  Kids. The house, The family.  One person. You.”

“Then why didn’t you say that? Why? “Chloe wailed.

“Because I was scared too.  Before you said those words, I’d always thought I was making things up in my head about how you felt.  Why would you want me?  Really why? And then you said those words. It hurt so much to not be wanted by you.”  Beca’s voice dropped at the end of her speech.

Chloe stood up from the stoop and walked slowly towards Beca: “Our formal .At graduation. Jesse had broken up with you just before the dance.  Like he always did when something important was coming up. It was his method of control. Of making you come crawling back to him.  We were going to go together. We’d planned our outfits.  We were so excited.  I was so excited. Then he called.  And I was the third wheel.  Again.”

She stood in front of Beca, and looked searchingly into those dark blue eyes: “Did you really think I couldn’t get a date to formal, Beca?   Think hard.”

Chloe reached out and touched Beca’s cheek softly.  Beca’s eyes closed.

“You’re so successful.  And you deserve it.  Who knows what would have happened if I’d come with you to Los Angeles.  I did what I thought was best.  In the most clumsy, hurtful, stupid way.  And I’m so sorry.”

Beca opened her eyes and looked into Chloe’s “I am. I am successful, that’s true. Everything dream I thought I wanted has come true.  All of them but one. Every success I had always felt hollow. Because without you in my life, my joy was never complete.,  And I made bad choices, and I hurt other people. I played with their hearts trying to replace you.  And it never worked.”

Two bruised women stood in the streets of New York, gazing at each other, inches between them. 

In the distance, the countdown could be heard, being screamed by countless faceless voices.

10 – 9 – 8-

“I can’t promise anything” Beca whispered.

7-6-5

“I wouldn’t ask you too.  All I want is a chance.” Chloe replied softly.

4-3-2

“What do we do next, Chloe?”

“We see what the New Year brings us. Beca.  And we try.’

1!

Fireworks started bursting in the air, colouring the dark sky with light, making New York City with all its ‘don’t fuck with me attitude” a magical fairyland for a few seconds.

Down on earth, in front of a nondescript department, in the chilly streets, two long lost souls pressed their lips together in a moment too long coming.

And the night was filled with the promise of a new beginning.