A Little Fairy Godmothering
Title: A Little Fairy Godmothering
Author: novel_concept26
Pairing: Chloe friendship, side Beca Mitchell/Chloe
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Nothing owned, no profit gained.
Spoilers: For Pitch Perfect.
Summary: It’s so mismatched, the way life goes sometimes; the strangest combinations of people get thrown together, and maybe it isn’t really good for anyone involved, but they make do. They muddle through, and Chloe’s okay with that. But sometimes, maybe, muddling through could use a little extra fairy godmothering along the way.
A/N: You know the drill.
“No,” Beca drawls, staring up at her with wide, faintly-amused eyes. “Absolutely not.”
Chloe is a little bit stung, mostly because she just finished telling Beca her brilliant-upon-brilliant idea, closing off an admittedly-lengthy monologue with, “Am I right?” And Beca, who is usually pretty good about opening her mind to new ideas (or, at least, Chloe’s new ideas), hasn’t seemed to give it even a heartbeat of thought before-
“No,” she says again, and shakes her head violently until her loose hair whips around her face. “Chloe, stop.”
Hurt, Chloe wraps her arms around herself and puffs out her lower lip. “Stop what? Beca, it’s a really good idea.”
“No. It isn’t.”
“I think it could work!”
“It won’t.”
Ugh, Beca can be so hardheaded. If Chloe didn’t love her so dearly, she might smack her for it.
Honestly, how she can’t see the vast potential in Chloe’s idea is beyond her. This could change everything.
All she needs is Aubrey’s father’s email address.
***
It came to her in a burst of genius, right around the time Beca was complaining that her father is now squirreling progress reports out of all the professors he has buddied up to over the years. Progress reports, Beca repeats, hurling the words from her lips like they’re synonymous for “Hitler’s agenda to rid the world of kindly Jewish folk.” Can you believe that shit?
Chloe, whose mother is both unwaveringly kind and slightly daffy around the edges (God love her for it), has no idea what it feels like to have a parent so…interested in her schoolwork. Her mom mostly just asks if she’s making friends, if she’s got a new boyfriend, and how singing is going-because her mom gets that those are the really important things in Chloe’s life.
She loves her mom.
But Beca doesn’t talk about her mom, like, ever. It’s all about the father in the Mitchell household, and Beca’s is…not bad. Chloe’s met him once or twice in passing, and though he seems a little spacey-he tends to smile through her, rather than at her, which she finds deeply discomfiting-it isn’t in an unpleasant way. It’s apparent that he cares very much about Beca, despite her unwillingness to accept his methods of showing that love, and Chloe finds that both charming and slightly sad.
Then again, that’s Beca for you: charming, and prone to elbowing absolutely everyone out the door as soon as they find a key.
It’s depressing, because her father, though a little lost in his own world, seems genuinely nice. Chloe doesn’t have much experience with fathers herself, but the only other person she knows with daddy issues like the ones Beca is raving about has a hell of a lot more reason for it.
Which brings her to the idea.
See, Dr. Mitchell-who tries so very hard to connect to his uber-talented, bone-headed daughter (Chloe loves her, she truly does)-is well-meaning, but pushed aside. Beca doesn’t want his validation, or his pride, or his helping hands. Beca doesn’t seem to want him around at all, in fact, which is the polar opposite in every way to how Aubrey feels about her family situation. Aubrey would kill for a father like Dr. Mitchell, even if he is a little worn through in patches. Aubrey wouldn’t mind his distant smiles or his bumbling attempts at conversation. As long as he cared, as long as he made an effort, Aubrey would fall all over herself to accept him.
It’s so mismatched, the way life goes sometimes; the strangest combinations of people get thrown together, and maybe it isn’t really good for anyone involved, but they make do. They muddle through. Chloe’s okay with that.
But sometimes, maybe, muddling through could use a little extra fairy godmothering along the way.
And what is Chloe, if not a bright-eyed fairy in disguise?
***
Aubrey’s father is nothing like Dr. Mitchell. They don’t even look alike; where Beca’s father is slim and compact, barely tall enough to look commanding beside his miniature-sized daughter, Aubrey’s dad is enormous. Not big the way you’d think of Santa as being so, with a round belly and the sort of jolliness that fills a room, but big the way you’d think of an army as being. His shoulders stretch every jacket placed around them, his biceps straining through shirt sleeves; his chest is a barrel, his neck is a tree trunk, and his expectations for his only child manage to fit every inch of that enormity. Aubrey’s father is, in Beca’s words, a tank-and Aubrey is scared to death of him.
Chloe honestly can’t find a reason to laugh that fear away.
It makes her sad, watching Aubrey’s face whenever her father calls or writes (always handwritten letters, each word etched into the page in a pristine hand; Chloe has never seen a man’s writing so precise). A hello from your dad should make you feel warm inside, like someone strong and wonderful is looking out for you, even from far away. That Aubrey always wears the same uncomfortable expression-one that starts off looking almost anticipatory, and quickly devolves into something very much like terror-makes Chloe’s heart clench for her.
Beca may not like her dad very much, but at least she’s never looked quite like that.
Chloe would give anything to ease the tension Mr. Posen drafts in his hard-working, anxiety-ridden daughter. Anything at all. Even if it means-
***
“It’s not your place,” Beca tells her, in the kind of tone that lets Chloe know she is absolutely struggling to sound patient. They’ve been running circles around this debate for almost an hour now, and no matter what Chloe says, she can’t seem to convince Beca that this is a genuinely fantastic idea.
“I do it for everyone!” she argues for the third time. Beca tosses her hands in the air.
“But you don’t do it for him. You never have. Why mess with a working plan?”
“Because it’s Aubrey’s last chance!” The words explode out of her, and with them comes a fresh wave of that unholy pain she’s been holding at bay for weeks now. It’s Aubrey’s last chance to be a winner, absolutely, but that particular sword swings in her own direction as well. If they don’t pull it together at the finals, if they don’t succeed now-
Beca awkwardly lays a palm across Chloe’s knee. It feels a little like a child trying for the first time to be empathetic, but the heart behind it is enough to send a faint smile across Chloe’s lips.
“We’re going to win,” Beca tells her, more emphatic than Chloe’s ever seen her. “We’re going to be amazing, and we’re going to crush Bumper and those other assholes. But he doesn’t have to be there for us to do it.”
No, he doesn’t have to. Aubrey has gotten this far without his approval, and Chloe has no doubt she will press onward on her own for as long as it takes. Aubrey is a lot stronger than anyone wants to give her credit for; there’s a reason she’s captain-a reason that stretches beyond the obvious, like how their former teammates kind of loathed Chloe and her perpetual optimism, and how Aubrey was literally the lesser of two evils in their minds. Aubrey has the title because she wanted it with everything she had, and she’s even been strong enough to release the wheel and let Beca take a crack at it. Aubrey is a true leader, even if she hasn’t always made the ideal choices for them, so, no: she doesn’t need him to be there.
But Chloe sends out the invitations to the parents of all their girls whenever the Bellas edge toward a fresh competition, and really, what harm could come of her finally nutting up and sending one along to Aubrey’s father as well?
“He won’t come,” Beca tells her, each word enunciated carefully. Her hand clenches on Chloe’s knee, her head ducked to meet Chloe’s darting gaze. “Hey, listen to me.”
She is listening. It doesn’t mean she agrees.
“Dads like him-guys like him, they don’t give up their lifelong philosophies just because their kid gets the lead in a school play, or makes it to a national-level singing gig. You can’t fix this.”
It’s funny; though the words ring clear in her ears, and though Beca’s face is dead-serious, and though the palm on her knee is hot and impossible to ignore, all Chloe can hear and see and feel is the sheer challenge of it all. She is Aubrey’s best friend. Aubrey is graduating. This is her last chance to see a glimmer of pride on her father’s face as she dances and belts her way through the thing she loves most.
Screw logic, and forget Beca’s pessimistic attitude; she is doing this. She is going to make Aubrey’s year.
***
Beca, for all her protesting and inappropriate eyerolling, doesn’t flee the room when Chloe tells her she’s going through with it anyway. She does narrow her eyes and grumble, “What the hell did you even ask my opinion for, anyway?”, but Chloe doesn’t hold that against her. She’s technically got a point.
It’s just that Beca doesn’t know Aubrey like she does, or love Aubrey like she does, or understand how important something like this is to someone like Aubrey. Beca has some troubles with her father, sure; Chloe isn’t going to deny that. Maybe they even run deeper than Beca’s willing to share with her. But Aubrey’s father is so brutal, so cognizant of everything she wants and so equally determined to hold it just out of her reach. Dr. Mitchell jumpstarting a divorce just can’t compare to that. Not from where Chloe’s standing.
Beca, after all, is remarkably well-adjusted for someone so uneasy around the human race. Beca knows who she is. Which isn’t to say that Aubrey doesn’t, because Chloe sometimes thinks Aubrey has known who she was meant to be from toddlerhood, but there’s just something different about Beca. Some switch that never got flipped in Aubrey, but is stuck permanently in the ‘on’ position for Beca, and it makes it impossible for the two of them to see eye-to-eye.
Psychologically, it’s probably fascinating, but Chloe doesn’t have the time to dwell right now.
She’s busy trying to craft the perfect email to the scariest man in Seattle.
“What sounds better,” she asks, fingers delicately stroking across the keyboard on Beca’s MacBook, “you are cordially invited, or your presence is requested with the utmost respect?”
Beca crosses her arms over her chest, frowning. “How ‘bout, quit being a dick and come watch your only daughter singing her face off, you pretentious asswipe?”
Chloe glances over her shoulder. Beca is watching the screen moodily, fingernails digging into her sleeves. She sighs.
“You don’t have to help if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to,” Beca agrees without missing a beat, but her arms unfurl and one hand moves to the back of Chloe’s chair. The tips of her fingers brush lazily against Chloe’s shoulder, as if she wants to grab hold, but can’t quite talk herself into it. “But you shouldn’t do this alone.”
Chloe isn’t sure if that’s supposed to mean Beca is offering emotional support, or if Beca just doesn’t trust her to behave on her own. Either way, she doesn’t mind the company.
Just as long as Beca doesn’t swap back to trying to talk her out of this.
“I’ll just stick with the classic approach,” she decides, and proceeds to bang out the same sweetly-simple message the rest of the parents received.
Your daughter has made it to the national-level in collegiate a capella with the Barden Bellas! Please accept this invitation to the Lincoln Center on Saturday, April 28th, 7 PM, and cheer us to victory!
She quashes the impulse to add, Because Aubrey is the most talented senior we have, and it would be a real shame to miss out on the thing she was born to do before you wisk her off to a law office that will crush the song right out of her beautiful heart. That would probably be counterproductive.
Beca rests a hand on her shoulder and leans in, scanning for grammatical mistakes. “You’re good,” she says at last, reluctantly. “Send on, Macduff. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. This is so not going to end well.”
Chloe taps the send key and cranes her neck to grin up at Beca’s furrowed brow. “You worry too much. This is going to be great.”
She wishes Beca would stop frowning like that. She’s going to get wrinkles.
***
“You did what?” Cynthia Rose lets the cigarette she shouldn’t be smoking drop. Chloe stubs it out with the toe of her boot, putting on her most disapproving expression.
“What are you doing with that cancer stick?”
“Stress habit,” Cynthia replies, like she’s not even listening. “Last one ‘til we take the trophy, scout’s honor. You let her do what?”
Beca gives a helpless shrug, hands buried in the pockets of her jeans. “What was I supposed to do, sit on her until we got to the bus?”
“Hell yes,” Cynthia Rose snorts, pulling another cigarette from her pack and letting it dangle loosely from between her lips. Chloe moves to smack it out of her mouth. “Don’t even think about it, Red, I’m not lighting the bitch up.”
Chloe bites back a retort. This isn’t the point right now.
“I sent one to your parents,” she notes. “I always do.”
“Right,” Cynthia Rose replies placidly, “but my ma would catch a friggin’ grenade for me. Aubrey’s dad would be the douche throwing the damn thing.”
“S’what I said,” Beca adds, unhelpfully. Chloe digs an elbow into her side.
“Look, just because he hasn’t RSVP'd yet doesn’t mean he won’t show up-“
“Oh Christ.” Cynthia Rose groans. “Please tell me you haven’t told the Queen Bee about your half-assed little fix-it plan.”
“That, I managed to nip in the bud,” Beca informs her. “Granted, it meant sleeping on their floor all week…”
Which, Chloe refrains from pointing out, only stirred Aubrey’s suspicions. Anyway, it wasn’t like she was going to say anything. She’s helpful, not stupid.
(And it sort of hurts, that Beca doesn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut. She is excellent at surprises, thank you very much.)
Cynthia Rose shakes her head slowly, gnawing on the end of the cigarette. “Dumbass white girls, the both of you. This shit is going to get butt-fuck ugly.”
This time, Chloe really does smack the death stick from her lips.
***
“Oh. My god.”
Fat Amy looks horrorstruck. Stacie’s hands are clamped over her mouth. Lilly keeps glancing furtively toward the bathroom door.
Beca, standing just behind her with her arms folded and her back holding the door shut, says nothing.
“Are you crazy?” Amy demands. “This is the biggest thing to happen to me since Russell Crowe stopped by my Nana’s for tea, and you invited the devil to join the party?”
“He’s not the devil!” Chloe groans, exasperated. Honestly, not one of these girls have even met Mr. Posen. This is ridiculous.
Aubrey is busy registering them at the front desk, and this was supposed to be her opportunity to warn the girls ahead of time about the massive oak tree of a man who ought to be marching backstage after they take first place. It was not supposed to escalate into a gang-up-on-Chloe-a-thon.
“This is a terrible idea,” Denise insists. Jessica nods her head vigorously. Stacie still has both hands pressed against her red lips, her eyes the size of tennis balls.
“We've all heard the stories. He’s so scary,” she squeals, the words muffled by her palms. Cynthia Rose gives her hip a comforting squeeze.
“I got you.”
“It’s not me he’s going to come after!” Stacie protests. “Chloe, did you put your name on that email?”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Beca sighs at last, pushing off the door. “He’s her dad. If it’s going to be weird for anybody, it’s going to be Aubrey. He’s a douchecastle, not a threat.”
“I carry three switchblades in my left shoe,” Lilly whispers. Chloe decides to pretend she hasn’t heard a thing. Beca blinks.
“Anyway. We’re not focusing on what matters here. Quit jumping down Chloe’s throat, and start worrying about the show we’re about to put on. We’ll have to crank it out on level twelve if we’re going to take out the Trebles.”
Chloe isn’t entirely sure what level twelve is in relation to their usual performances, but Beca’s brief pep talk appears to have done the trick; the other girls are swiveling away, back to the mirrors and the line of makeup strewn across the sinks. She blows out a breath, groping for Beca’s hand without looking.
“You think I did the wrong thing?” she asks, knowing the answer. Beca squeezes more tightly than she could have hoped.
“You know I do,” she says quietly. It sort of helps, in a weird way, that Beca refuses to lie to her. “But I know why you did it. And I think that part was really sweet.”
Chloe looks her in the eye, biting her lip. “Do you think he’s going to show?”
Beca hesitates, and squeezes her hand a second time. “I don’t know, Chloe. Honestly, I have no idea.”
She looks like she isn’t sure which outcome she would prefer.
At this point, Chloe gets how that feels.
***
The lights are way too bright to see a damn thing happening out there in the crowd, which turns out to be for the best; Chloe has to give every ounce of energy to the performance, to the words that still feel slick and new on her tongue, to the notes she’s never been able to drop her voice to reach before. She gives herself over to the ebb and flow of the voices around her, eyes rooted on Beca at the lead of their pack, and for a few moments, she isn’t thinking about emails and fathers and Aubrey’s disheartened face. All she can see is what they’ve become, this glorious machine in suspenders and sneakers, and it’s beautiful. They are beautiful.
And Beca, twisting her shoulders and singing in her strong, love-it-or-leave-it voice, has brought them here. Beca, and Aubrey, whose hair flows loose around her shoulders, and whose smile has never been brighter on a stage like this one. They’ve left the judgment, and the stress, and the expectation behind now; all that’s left is the triumph of doing things right.
When they win, Chloe throws her head back and loses herself in the roar of the audience. Beca’s arms sling low around her middle, her tiny biceps straining to lift Chloe from the ground in an uncharacteristic fit of ecstasy, and Chloe embraces back with her mouth full of tangled brown hair. She loves this girl in her arms, like she loves the ones pounding her back, grabbing for her hands, screaming in her ears. She loves them all, and if this is her last hurrah, if she has to go out somehow, this blaze of triumphant glory is the best she could have hoped for.
She spots Aubrey over Beca’s shoulder and stretches for her, dragging her into the fray. She’s never seen her best friend like this before, so open and clear of worry; for a minute, she catches Aubrey’s gaze and clings to it, her head spinning with the sound of Beca’s happy cries in her ears. Aubrey looks amazing. Aubrey looks like this year hasn’t broken an ounce of her spirit. Aubrey looks-
-over her shoulder, and her face goes slack.
Chloe spins, staring off into the wings. A man stands with his arms stiffly at his sides, his expensive suit hanging just a little bit too awkwardly on his broad shoulders and expansive chest. His blond hair is cropped close to his head, his jawline strong and tense. He looks absolutely nothing like his beautiful daughter, whose hand is suddenly clutching Chloe’s like it’s the singular lifeline in a sea of sharks.
“Sweet Jesus, he actually came,” Beca breathes into her ear, arms still warm around Chloe’s midsection. “Chloe, you did it.”
No one else notices; Stacie is slapping a hearty kiss against Cynthia Rose’s cheek, and Lilly is being spun, bridal style, in Fat Amy’s arms, and Denise and Jessica appear so overwhelmed with emotion that they’ve burst into relentless sobs. It’s just the three of them here, Aubrey with her ghost-pale face, Beca’s teeth sunk deep into her lip, Chloe drowning in the uneven pattering of her own heartbeat.
She can’t read his face from here. She’s only met the man on a smattering of occasions, and not once was he what anyone would call an open book; even Beca is more vulnerable than Mr. Posen, with his steel-gray eyes and his thin lips. Aubrey’s father is-
Here, she reminds herself hurriedly, grasping Beca’s belt loop and praying she doesn’t try to make a break for it. She needs someone to lean on right now, because Aubrey knows she didn’t invite him, Aubrey knows Chloe, Aubrey knows no one else would have even tried to reach out-
But he’s here. He never responded to her message, he never gave any indication that he had even gotten it, but he is here. Stern and scary, perhaps, but he flew all this way, and that has to mean something.
Doesn’t it?
“She’s not going to throw up, is she?” Beca hisses nervously. Chloe grips Aubrey’s fingers until Aubrey’s forehead creases in a wince.
Throw up, probably not; murder Chloe outright for being so bold? Not out of the question. She’s beginning to wonder if Lilly’s miniature armory wouldn’t be of use after all. She probably should have thought this through a little better.
Aubrey’s hand clenches in hers once more, then slips free entirely. She’s charging toward the wings, ignoring the announcer’s voice as he shouts something about making a capella history. Darting a quick glance over her shoulder at the rest of the team, Beca lets Chloe drag her in the same direction.
“Isn’t this private?” she asks sharply, hand hot on Chloe’s side where her shirt has come untucked. Chloe shakes her head.
“Not if he isn’t proud.”
Yeah, she really should have thought this through better, because it’s amazing that he’s here-but what comes next? To Chloe’s knowledge, Mr. Posen has never once attended his daughter’s anything; not a debate, or a talent show, or a volleyball game. To Chloe’s knowledge, this is one big-ass first, and if Aubrey doesn’t faint or scream before it’s all over, she doesn’t know what to expect.
Aubrey skids to a stop two feet away from her father, and already, Chloe can see the changes. Her posture snaps into its most upright position, her shoulders creaking backward until her chest puffs out. Her body language screams confidence, but her head tips down, her ears red, her face flushed. Her eyes don’t meet his.
“Good god, that is a big man,” Beca mutters. Chloe winces.
“Hi, Dad,” Aubrey says softly. He doesn’t smile.
“Speak up, Aubrey.”
“Hi, Dad,” she repeats, volume on the up-and-up. He looks almost satisfied--the closest to satisfaction Chloe has ever seen on his face, anyway.
“I’m, uh-“ She clears her throat, her spine straightening until it gives an audible crack. “I’m surprised to see you. I didn’t know you knew when-“
Her voice trails off, her enthusiasm at winning trickling out of her posture more quickly by the second. He just keeps looking at her, the way a man might look at a horse after a hard race as he decides whether or not its worth another go-round. If he doesn’t start speaking soon, Chloe might have to leap in, and won’t that be awkward for the whole family?
“I received an email,” he says coolly, his eyes flickering over Aubrey’s shoulder to rest on Chloe. “I had some free time.”
He doesn’t say her name out loud, but Aubrey knows. She wouldn’t be Aubrey if she didn’t. Chloe just hopes the vocal-cord-rending part of this little fiesta comes later, and that Beca doesn’t soil her newfound respect by punching Aubrey in the face.
“What did you-“ Aubrey clears her throat, adjusts her top, tries again. “What did you think?”
For a second, Chloe is sure he’s going to denounce everything they’ve just accomplished. His lip will curl in a sneer, his eyes going mean-spirited and ugly, and he will snap off something along the lines of, That is what you have been spending four years cultivating? That circus, that abhorrent waste of time and money?
(If he does that, Chloe might not be able to hold Beca back from decking him.)
His lips part. Chloe braces herself.
“That was acceptable,” he says, his voice crisp and smooth. At Chloe’s side, Beca pulls the most skeptical face she’s ever seen.
“Accep-“ she begins haughtily. Chloe pinches her side, head weaving from side to side. She clams up instantly, though her eyes flash with barely-contained irritation.
“I’m not sure I understand the…” His eyes rove down Beca’s front and back up Chloe’s. “Costumes. Nor do I condone the rampant homosexuality that seems to have taken root since I last visited. But I must admit…”
Chloe realizes with a start that Beca’s arm is still tight around her waist, slim fingers digging into her hipbone. Her own arm is slung low around Beca’s back, where it's been resting ever since their names were announced. They probably do look just a little bit gay right now, which could bother her, but Beca’s body feels surprisingly comfortable, fitted against her own so snugly, and-
Honestly, the furious flare shadowing Beca’s blue eyes requires her full attention right now.
“Listen up,” she begins, and Chloe can sense a tirade about homophobic bullshit and so what if we are lesbians, maybe we love each other, what business is that of yours-- She claps a hand over Beca’s mouth and offers Mr. Posen an olive branch in the form of her sunniest smile.
“We’ll just leave you to it,” she announces, relieved when Aubrey shoots her a smile that is less terrified and more pleased. Frightened, sure, but not looking as though she wants to cling to Chloe’s leg and never let go.
Or, y’know, throttle her until she sees stars.
“He’s an ass,” Beca hisses as Chloe is hauling her away from the Posens’ awkward family reunion. “He is the biggest, assiest ass I have ever met in my life, can you believe what that toolbox was saying?”
“That we’re kind of gay?” Chloe drawls. Beca waves her off impatiently.
“Oh, please, you’ve had a thing for me since you saw my junk and my vocal range all in the same night. Are we seriously leaving Aubrey alone with that?”
“He’s her dad,” Chloe says with a shrug and a grin that threatens to split her face wide open. Because, yes, Aubrey’s father is the biggest jerk she has had the nerve to smile at since Bumper, but he is still her father, and he is here. He got the email, and, instead of junking it, he actively chose to buy a plane ticket and support his little girl.
He’s an ass, but he’s a supportive ass tonight, when Aubrey needed him most. Which means-
“Say it,” she jibes, digging her fingers into Beca’s ribcage until she squirms. “Say it!”
“Okay, okay, maybe I’m a little gay for you, too!”
“Not that,” Chloe laughs, her cheeks warming pleasantly. “You know what I mean!”
“Holy crap, is that Aubrey’s dad?” Stacie shouts, oblivious to how loud she’s being. “He looks like that muscly sergeant dude from The Fairly fuckin’ Oddparents!”
Cynthia Rose nearly trips over Lilly in her rush to muzzle her. Fat Amy actually lands on her ass, she’s laughing so hard. Over in the wings, Mr. Posen shoots them a dark, slightly curious glance.
Over the calamity, Chloe arches an eyebrow and waits. Beca blows out a breath, grinning.
“Fine. Maybe inviting him wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had. Maybe.”
“Thank you,” Chloe chirps, and slides her arm through the crook of Beca’s elbow. “I am a genius.”
“You’re insane,” Beca corrects. Chloe shrugs, feeling one hundred percent like Aubrey’s fairy godmother and the best friend in the universe rolled into one. Maybe she is insane-but it certainly got the job done. She smiles.
“Isn’t it all the same in the end?”
Author: novel_concept26
Pairing: Chloe friendship, side Beca Mitchell/Chloe
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Nothing owned, no profit gained.
Spoilers: For Pitch Perfect.
Summary: It’s so mismatched, the way life goes sometimes; the strangest combinations of people get thrown together, and maybe it isn’t really good for anyone involved, but they make do. They muddle through, and Chloe’s okay with that. But sometimes, maybe, muddling through could use a little extra fairy godmothering along the way.
A/N: You know the drill.
“No,” Beca drawls, staring up at her with wide, faintly-amused eyes. “Absolutely not.”
Chloe is a little bit stung, mostly because she just finished telling Beca her brilliant-upon-brilliant idea, closing off an admittedly-lengthy monologue with, “Am I right?” And Beca, who is usually pretty good about opening her mind to new ideas (or, at least, Chloe’s new ideas), hasn’t seemed to give it even a heartbeat of thought before-
“No,” she says again, and shakes her head violently until her loose hair whips around her face. “Chloe, stop.”
Hurt, Chloe wraps her arms around herself and puffs out her lower lip. “Stop what? Beca, it’s a really good idea.”
“No. It isn’t.”
“I think it could work!”
“It won’t.”
Ugh, Beca can be so hardheaded. If Chloe didn’t love her so dearly, she might smack her for it.
Honestly, how she can’t see the vast potential in Chloe’s idea is beyond her. This could change everything.
All she needs is Aubrey’s father’s email address.
***
It came to her in a burst of genius, right around the time Beca was complaining that her father is now squirreling progress reports out of all the professors he has buddied up to over the years. Progress reports, Beca repeats, hurling the words from her lips like they’re synonymous for “Hitler’s agenda to rid the world of kindly Jewish folk.” Can you believe that shit?
Chloe, whose mother is both unwaveringly kind and slightly daffy around the edges (God love her for it), has no idea what it feels like to have a parent so…interested in her schoolwork. Her mom mostly just asks if she’s making friends, if she’s got a new boyfriend, and how singing is going-because her mom gets that those are the really important things in Chloe’s life.
She loves her mom.
But Beca doesn’t talk about her mom, like, ever. It’s all about the father in the Mitchell household, and Beca’s is…not bad. Chloe’s met him once or twice in passing, and though he seems a little spacey-he tends to smile through her, rather than at her, which she finds deeply discomfiting-it isn’t in an unpleasant way. It’s apparent that he cares very much about Beca, despite her unwillingness to accept his methods of showing that love, and Chloe finds that both charming and slightly sad.
Then again, that’s Beca for you: charming, and prone to elbowing absolutely everyone out the door as soon as they find a key.
It’s depressing, because her father, though a little lost in his own world, seems genuinely nice. Chloe doesn’t have much experience with fathers herself, but the only other person she knows with daddy issues like the ones Beca is raving about has a hell of a lot more reason for it.
Which brings her to the idea.
See, Dr. Mitchell-who tries so very hard to connect to his uber-talented, bone-headed daughter (Chloe loves her, she truly does)-is well-meaning, but pushed aside. Beca doesn’t want his validation, or his pride, or his helping hands. Beca doesn’t seem to want him around at all, in fact, which is the polar opposite in every way to how Aubrey feels about her family situation. Aubrey would kill for a father like Dr. Mitchell, even if he is a little worn through in patches. Aubrey wouldn’t mind his distant smiles or his bumbling attempts at conversation. As long as he cared, as long as he made an effort, Aubrey would fall all over herself to accept him.
It’s so mismatched, the way life goes sometimes; the strangest combinations of people get thrown together, and maybe it isn’t really good for anyone involved, but they make do. They muddle through. Chloe’s okay with that.
But sometimes, maybe, muddling through could use a little extra fairy godmothering along the way.
And what is Chloe, if not a bright-eyed fairy in disguise?
***
Aubrey’s father is nothing like Dr. Mitchell. They don’t even look alike; where Beca’s father is slim and compact, barely tall enough to look commanding beside his miniature-sized daughter, Aubrey’s dad is enormous. Not big the way you’d think of Santa as being so, with a round belly and the sort of jolliness that fills a room, but big the way you’d think of an army as being. His shoulders stretch every jacket placed around them, his biceps straining through shirt sleeves; his chest is a barrel, his neck is a tree trunk, and his expectations for his only child manage to fit every inch of that enormity. Aubrey’s father is, in Beca’s words, a tank-and Aubrey is scared to death of him.
Chloe honestly can’t find a reason to laugh that fear away.
It makes her sad, watching Aubrey’s face whenever her father calls or writes (always handwritten letters, each word etched into the page in a pristine hand; Chloe has never seen a man’s writing so precise). A hello from your dad should make you feel warm inside, like someone strong and wonderful is looking out for you, even from far away. That Aubrey always wears the same uncomfortable expression-one that starts off looking almost anticipatory, and quickly devolves into something very much like terror-makes Chloe’s heart clench for her.
Beca may not like her dad very much, but at least she’s never looked quite like that.
Chloe would give anything to ease the tension Mr. Posen drafts in his hard-working, anxiety-ridden daughter. Anything at all. Even if it means-
***
“It’s not your place,” Beca tells her, in the kind of tone that lets Chloe know she is absolutely struggling to sound patient. They’ve been running circles around this debate for almost an hour now, and no matter what Chloe says, she can’t seem to convince Beca that this is a genuinely fantastic idea.
“I do it for everyone!” she argues for the third time. Beca tosses her hands in the air.
“But you don’t do it for him. You never have. Why mess with a working plan?”
“Because it’s Aubrey’s last chance!” The words explode out of her, and with them comes a fresh wave of that unholy pain she’s been holding at bay for weeks now. It’s Aubrey’s last chance to be a winner, absolutely, but that particular sword swings in her own direction as well. If they don’t pull it together at the finals, if they don’t succeed now-
Beca awkwardly lays a palm across Chloe’s knee. It feels a little like a child trying for the first time to be empathetic, but the heart behind it is enough to send a faint smile across Chloe’s lips.
“We’re going to win,” Beca tells her, more emphatic than Chloe’s ever seen her. “We’re going to be amazing, and we’re going to crush Bumper and those other assholes. But he doesn’t have to be there for us to do it.”
No, he doesn’t have to. Aubrey has gotten this far without his approval, and Chloe has no doubt she will press onward on her own for as long as it takes. Aubrey is a lot stronger than anyone wants to give her credit for; there’s a reason she’s captain-a reason that stretches beyond the obvious, like how their former teammates kind of loathed Chloe and her perpetual optimism, and how Aubrey was literally the lesser of two evils in their minds. Aubrey has the title because she wanted it with everything she had, and she’s even been strong enough to release the wheel and let Beca take a crack at it. Aubrey is a true leader, even if she hasn’t always made the ideal choices for them, so, no: she doesn’t need him to be there.
But Chloe sends out the invitations to the parents of all their girls whenever the Bellas edge toward a fresh competition, and really, what harm could come of her finally nutting up and sending one along to Aubrey’s father as well?
“He won’t come,” Beca tells her, each word enunciated carefully. Her hand clenches on Chloe’s knee, her head ducked to meet Chloe’s darting gaze. “Hey, listen to me.”
She is listening. It doesn’t mean she agrees.
“Dads like him-guys like him, they don’t give up their lifelong philosophies just because their kid gets the lead in a school play, or makes it to a national-level singing gig. You can’t fix this.”
It’s funny; though the words ring clear in her ears, and though Beca’s face is dead-serious, and though the palm on her knee is hot and impossible to ignore, all Chloe can hear and see and feel is the sheer challenge of it all. She is Aubrey’s best friend. Aubrey is graduating. This is her last chance to see a glimmer of pride on her father’s face as she dances and belts her way through the thing she loves most.
Screw logic, and forget Beca’s pessimistic attitude; she is doing this. She is going to make Aubrey’s year.
***
Beca, for all her protesting and inappropriate eyerolling, doesn’t flee the room when Chloe tells her she’s going through with it anyway. She does narrow her eyes and grumble, “What the hell did you even ask my opinion for, anyway?”, but Chloe doesn’t hold that against her. She’s technically got a point.
It’s just that Beca doesn’t know Aubrey like she does, or love Aubrey like she does, or understand how important something like this is to someone like Aubrey. Beca has some troubles with her father, sure; Chloe isn’t going to deny that. Maybe they even run deeper than Beca’s willing to share with her. But Aubrey’s father is so brutal, so cognizant of everything she wants and so equally determined to hold it just out of her reach. Dr. Mitchell jumpstarting a divorce just can’t compare to that. Not from where Chloe’s standing.
Beca, after all, is remarkably well-adjusted for someone so uneasy around the human race. Beca knows who she is. Which isn’t to say that Aubrey doesn’t, because Chloe sometimes thinks Aubrey has known who she was meant to be from toddlerhood, but there’s just something different about Beca. Some switch that never got flipped in Aubrey, but is stuck permanently in the ‘on’ position for Beca, and it makes it impossible for the two of them to see eye-to-eye.
Psychologically, it’s probably fascinating, but Chloe doesn’t have the time to dwell right now.
She’s busy trying to craft the perfect email to the scariest man in Seattle.
“What sounds better,” she asks, fingers delicately stroking across the keyboard on Beca’s MacBook, “you are cordially invited, or your presence is requested with the utmost respect?”
Beca crosses her arms over her chest, frowning. “How ‘bout, quit being a dick and come watch your only daughter singing her face off, you pretentious asswipe?”
Chloe glances over her shoulder. Beca is watching the screen moodily, fingernails digging into her sleeves. She sighs.
“You don’t have to help if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to,” Beca agrees without missing a beat, but her arms unfurl and one hand moves to the back of Chloe’s chair. The tips of her fingers brush lazily against Chloe’s shoulder, as if she wants to grab hold, but can’t quite talk herself into it. “But you shouldn’t do this alone.”
Chloe isn’t sure if that’s supposed to mean Beca is offering emotional support, or if Beca just doesn’t trust her to behave on her own. Either way, she doesn’t mind the company.
Just as long as Beca doesn’t swap back to trying to talk her out of this.
“I’ll just stick with the classic approach,” she decides, and proceeds to bang out the same sweetly-simple message the rest of the parents received.
Your daughter has made it to the national-level in collegiate a capella with the Barden Bellas! Please accept this invitation to the Lincoln Center on Saturday, April 28th, 7 PM, and cheer us to victory!
She quashes the impulse to add, Because Aubrey is the most talented senior we have, and it would be a real shame to miss out on the thing she was born to do before you wisk her off to a law office that will crush the song right out of her beautiful heart. That would probably be counterproductive.
Beca rests a hand on her shoulder and leans in, scanning for grammatical mistakes. “You’re good,” she says at last, reluctantly. “Send on, Macduff. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. This is so not going to end well.”
Chloe taps the send key and cranes her neck to grin up at Beca’s furrowed brow. “You worry too much. This is going to be great.”
She wishes Beca would stop frowning like that. She’s going to get wrinkles.
***
“You did what?” Cynthia Rose lets the cigarette she shouldn’t be smoking drop. Chloe stubs it out with the toe of her boot, putting on her most disapproving expression.
“What are you doing with that cancer stick?”
“Stress habit,” Cynthia replies, like she’s not even listening. “Last one ‘til we take the trophy, scout’s honor. You let her do what?”
Beca gives a helpless shrug, hands buried in the pockets of her jeans. “What was I supposed to do, sit on her until we got to the bus?”
“Hell yes,” Cynthia Rose snorts, pulling another cigarette from her pack and letting it dangle loosely from between her lips. Chloe moves to smack it out of her mouth. “Don’t even think about it, Red, I’m not lighting the bitch up.”
Chloe bites back a retort. This isn’t the point right now.
“I sent one to your parents,” she notes. “I always do.”
“Right,” Cynthia Rose replies placidly, “but my ma would catch a friggin’ grenade for me. Aubrey’s dad would be the douche throwing the damn thing.”
“S’what I said,” Beca adds, unhelpfully. Chloe digs an elbow into her side.
“Look, just because he hasn’t RSVP'd yet doesn’t mean he won’t show up-“
“Oh Christ.” Cynthia Rose groans. “Please tell me you haven’t told the Queen Bee about your half-assed little fix-it plan.”
“That, I managed to nip in the bud,” Beca informs her. “Granted, it meant sleeping on their floor all week…”
Which, Chloe refrains from pointing out, only stirred Aubrey’s suspicions. Anyway, it wasn’t like she was going to say anything. She’s helpful, not stupid.
(And it sort of hurts, that Beca doesn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut. She is excellent at surprises, thank you very much.)
Cynthia Rose shakes her head slowly, gnawing on the end of the cigarette. “Dumbass white girls, the both of you. This shit is going to get butt-fuck ugly.”
This time, Chloe really does smack the death stick from her lips.
***
“Oh. My god.”
Fat Amy looks horrorstruck. Stacie’s hands are clamped over her mouth. Lilly keeps glancing furtively toward the bathroom door.
Beca, standing just behind her with her arms folded and her back holding the door shut, says nothing.
“Are you crazy?” Amy demands. “This is the biggest thing to happen to me since Russell Crowe stopped by my Nana’s for tea, and you invited the devil to join the party?”
“He’s not the devil!” Chloe groans, exasperated. Honestly, not one of these girls have even met Mr. Posen. This is ridiculous.
Aubrey is busy registering them at the front desk, and this was supposed to be her opportunity to warn the girls ahead of time about the massive oak tree of a man who ought to be marching backstage after they take first place. It was not supposed to escalate into a gang-up-on-Chloe-a-thon.
“This is a terrible idea,” Denise insists. Jessica nods her head vigorously. Stacie still has both hands pressed against her red lips, her eyes the size of tennis balls.
“We've all heard the stories. He’s so scary,” she squeals, the words muffled by her palms. Cynthia Rose gives her hip a comforting squeeze.
“I got you.”
“It’s not me he’s going to come after!” Stacie protests. “Chloe, did you put your name on that email?”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Beca sighs at last, pushing off the door. “He’s her dad. If it’s going to be weird for anybody, it’s going to be Aubrey. He’s a douchecastle, not a threat.”
“I carry three switchblades in my left shoe,” Lilly whispers. Chloe decides to pretend she hasn’t heard a thing. Beca blinks.
“Anyway. We’re not focusing on what matters here. Quit jumping down Chloe’s throat, and start worrying about the show we’re about to put on. We’ll have to crank it out on level twelve if we’re going to take out the Trebles.”
Chloe isn’t entirely sure what level twelve is in relation to their usual performances, but Beca’s brief pep talk appears to have done the trick; the other girls are swiveling away, back to the mirrors and the line of makeup strewn across the sinks. She blows out a breath, groping for Beca’s hand without looking.
“You think I did the wrong thing?” she asks, knowing the answer. Beca squeezes more tightly than she could have hoped.
“You know I do,” she says quietly. It sort of helps, in a weird way, that Beca refuses to lie to her. “But I know why you did it. And I think that part was really sweet.”
Chloe looks her in the eye, biting her lip. “Do you think he’s going to show?”
Beca hesitates, and squeezes her hand a second time. “I don’t know, Chloe. Honestly, I have no idea.”
She looks like she isn’t sure which outcome she would prefer.
At this point, Chloe gets how that feels.
***
The lights are way too bright to see a damn thing happening out there in the crowd, which turns out to be for the best; Chloe has to give every ounce of energy to the performance, to the words that still feel slick and new on her tongue, to the notes she’s never been able to drop her voice to reach before. She gives herself over to the ebb and flow of the voices around her, eyes rooted on Beca at the lead of their pack, and for a few moments, she isn’t thinking about emails and fathers and Aubrey’s disheartened face. All she can see is what they’ve become, this glorious machine in suspenders and sneakers, and it’s beautiful. They are beautiful.
And Beca, twisting her shoulders and singing in her strong, love-it-or-leave-it voice, has brought them here. Beca, and Aubrey, whose hair flows loose around her shoulders, and whose smile has never been brighter on a stage like this one. They’ve left the judgment, and the stress, and the expectation behind now; all that’s left is the triumph of doing things right.
When they win, Chloe throws her head back and loses herself in the roar of the audience. Beca’s arms sling low around her middle, her tiny biceps straining to lift Chloe from the ground in an uncharacteristic fit of ecstasy, and Chloe embraces back with her mouth full of tangled brown hair. She loves this girl in her arms, like she loves the ones pounding her back, grabbing for her hands, screaming in her ears. She loves them all, and if this is her last hurrah, if she has to go out somehow, this blaze of triumphant glory is the best she could have hoped for.
She spots Aubrey over Beca’s shoulder and stretches for her, dragging her into the fray. She’s never seen her best friend like this before, so open and clear of worry; for a minute, she catches Aubrey’s gaze and clings to it, her head spinning with the sound of Beca’s happy cries in her ears. Aubrey looks amazing. Aubrey looks like this year hasn’t broken an ounce of her spirit. Aubrey looks-
-over her shoulder, and her face goes slack.
Chloe spins, staring off into the wings. A man stands with his arms stiffly at his sides, his expensive suit hanging just a little bit too awkwardly on his broad shoulders and expansive chest. His blond hair is cropped close to his head, his jawline strong and tense. He looks absolutely nothing like his beautiful daughter, whose hand is suddenly clutching Chloe’s like it’s the singular lifeline in a sea of sharks.
“Sweet Jesus, he actually came,” Beca breathes into her ear, arms still warm around Chloe’s midsection. “Chloe, you did it.”
No one else notices; Stacie is slapping a hearty kiss against Cynthia Rose’s cheek, and Lilly is being spun, bridal style, in Fat Amy’s arms, and Denise and Jessica appear so overwhelmed with emotion that they’ve burst into relentless sobs. It’s just the three of them here, Aubrey with her ghost-pale face, Beca’s teeth sunk deep into her lip, Chloe drowning in the uneven pattering of her own heartbeat.
She can’t read his face from here. She’s only met the man on a smattering of occasions, and not once was he what anyone would call an open book; even Beca is more vulnerable than Mr. Posen, with his steel-gray eyes and his thin lips. Aubrey’s father is-
Here, she reminds herself hurriedly, grasping Beca’s belt loop and praying she doesn’t try to make a break for it. She needs someone to lean on right now, because Aubrey knows she didn’t invite him, Aubrey knows Chloe, Aubrey knows no one else would have even tried to reach out-
But he’s here. He never responded to her message, he never gave any indication that he had even gotten it, but he is here. Stern and scary, perhaps, but he flew all this way, and that has to mean something.
Doesn’t it?
“She’s not going to throw up, is she?” Beca hisses nervously. Chloe grips Aubrey’s fingers until Aubrey’s forehead creases in a wince.
Throw up, probably not; murder Chloe outright for being so bold? Not out of the question. She’s beginning to wonder if Lilly’s miniature armory wouldn’t be of use after all. She probably should have thought this through a little better.
Aubrey’s hand clenches in hers once more, then slips free entirely. She’s charging toward the wings, ignoring the announcer’s voice as he shouts something about making a capella history. Darting a quick glance over her shoulder at the rest of the team, Beca lets Chloe drag her in the same direction.
“Isn’t this private?” she asks sharply, hand hot on Chloe’s side where her shirt has come untucked. Chloe shakes her head.
“Not if he isn’t proud.”
Yeah, she really should have thought this through better, because it’s amazing that he’s here-but what comes next? To Chloe’s knowledge, Mr. Posen has never once attended his daughter’s anything; not a debate, or a talent show, or a volleyball game. To Chloe’s knowledge, this is one big-ass first, and if Aubrey doesn’t faint or scream before it’s all over, she doesn’t know what to expect.
Aubrey skids to a stop two feet away from her father, and already, Chloe can see the changes. Her posture snaps into its most upright position, her shoulders creaking backward until her chest puffs out. Her body language screams confidence, but her head tips down, her ears red, her face flushed. Her eyes don’t meet his.
“Good god, that is a big man,” Beca mutters. Chloe winces.
“Hi, Dad,” Aubrey says softly. He doesn’t smile.
“Speak up, Aubrey.”
“Hi, Dad,” she repeats, volume on the up-and-up. He looks almost satisfied--the closest to satisfaction Chloe has ever seen on his face, anyway.
“I’m, uh-“ She clears her throat, her spine straightening until it gives an audible crack. “I’m surprised to see you. I didn’t know you knew when-“
Her voice trails off, her enthusiasm at winning trickling out of her posture more quickly by the second. He just keeps looking at her, the way a man might look at a horse after a hard race as he decides whether or not its worth another go-round. If he doesn’t start speaking soon, Chloe might have to leap in, and won’t that be awkward for the whole family?
“I received an email,” he says coolly, his eyes flickering over Aubrey’s shoulder to rest on Chloe. “I had some free time.”
He doesn’t say her name out loud, but Aubrey knows. She wouldn’t be Aubrey if she didn’t. Chloe just hopes the vocal-cord-rending part of this little fiesta comes later, and that Beca doesn’t soil her newfound respect by punching Aubrey in the face.
“What did you-“ Aubrey clears her throat, adjusts her top, tries again. “What did you think?”
For a second, Chloe is sure he’s going to denounce everything they’ve just accomplished. His lip will curl in a sneer, his eyes going mean-spirited and ugly, and he will snap off something along the lines of, That is what you have been spending four years cultivating? That circus, that abhorrent waste of time and money?
(If he does that, Chloe might not be able to hold Beca back from decking him.)
His lips part. Chloe braces herself.
“That was acceptable,” he says, his voice crisp and smooth. At Chloe’s side, Beca pulls the most skeptical face she’s ever seen.
“Accep-“ she begins haughtily. Chloe pinches her side, head weaving from side to side. She clams up instantly, though her eyes flash with barely-contained irritation.
“I’m not sure I understand the…” His eyes rove down Beca’s front and back up Chloe’s. “Costumes. Nor do I condone the rampant homosexuality that seems to have taken root since I last visited. But I must admit…”
Chloe realizes with a start that Beca’s arm is still tight around her waist, slim fingers digging into her hipbone. Her own arm is slung low around Beca’s back, where it's been resting ever since their names were announced. They probably do look just a little bit gay right now, which could bother her, but Beca’s body feels surprisingly comfortable, fitted against her own so snugly, and-
Honestly, the furious flare shadowing Beca’s blue eyes requires her full attention right now.
“Listen up,” she begins, and Chloe can sense a tirade about homophobic bullshit and so what if we are lesbians, maybe we love each other, what business is that of yours-- She claps a hand over Beca’s mouth and offers Mr. Posen an olive branch in the form of her sunniest smile.
“We’ll just leave you to it,” she announces, relieved when Aubrey shoots her a smile that is less terrified and more pleased. Frightened, sure, but not looking as though she wants to cling to Chloe’s leg and never let go.
Or, y’know, throttle her until she sees stars.
“He’s an ass,” Beca hisses as Chloe is hauling her away from the Posens’ awkward family reunion. “He is the biggest, assiest ass I have ever met in my life, can you believe what that toolbox was saying?”
“That we’re kind of gay?” Chloe drawls. Beca waves her off impatiently.
“Oh, please, you’ve had a thing for me since you saw my junk and my vocal range all in the same night. Are we seriously leaving Aubrey alone with that?”
“He’s her dad,” Chloe says with a shrug and a grin that threatens to split her face wide open. Because, yes, Aubrey’s father is the biggest jerk she has had the nerve to smile at since Bumper, but he is still her father, and he is here. He got the email, and, instead of junking it, he actively chose to buy a plane ticket and support his little girl.
He’s an ass, but he’s a supportive ass tonight, when Aubrey needed him most. Which means-
“Say it,” she jibes, digging her fingers into Beca’s ribcage until she squirms. “Say it!”
“Okay, okay, maybe I’m a little gay for you, too!”
“Not that,” Chloe laughs, her cheeks warming pleasantly. “You know what I mean!”
“Holy crap, is that Aubrey’s dad?” Stacie shouts, oblivious to how loud she’s being. “He looks like that muscly sergeant dude from The Fairly fuckin’ Oddparents!”
Cynthia Rose nearly trips over Lilly in her rush to muzzle her. Fat Amy actually lands on her ass, she’s laughing so hard. Over in the wings, Mr. Posen shoots them a dark, slightly curious glance.
Over the calamity, Chloe arches an eyebrow and waits. Beca blows out a breath, grinning.
“Fine. Maybe inviting him wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had. Maybe.”
“Thank you,” Chloe chirps, and slides her arm through the crook of Beca’s elbow. “I am a genius.”
“You’re insane,” Beca corrects. Chloe shrugs, feeling one hundred percent like Aubrey’s fairy godmother and the best friend in the universe rolled into one. Maybe she is insane-but it certainly got the job done. She smiles.
“Isn’t it all the same in the end?”