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The tension in the Bellas' dressing room still hung heavy in the air. After the disaster at Regionals where Beca improvised their set, Chloe’s sudden suspension, and Aubrey’s desperate plea to keep the group intact, Beca had been a hair’s breadth away from throwing in the towel and walking out for good. But Aubrey’s words echoing through the room—acknowledging that she, too, knew the burden of living under the shadow of an overbearing father—had stopped Beca just in time.
Later that evening, the dorm hallway was dead silent. Beca stood outside Aubrey’s room holding two mugs of instant coffee, hesitating. She knew it was a gamble; their dynamic had always been a non-stop clash of wills. But for the first time, behind Aubrey’s rigid posture and polished exterior, Beca had caught a glimpse of someone just as broken as she was.
She knocked twice on the heavy wood.
The door swung open almost immediately. Aubrey’s hair was down, and though she wore an immaculate robe, her eyes looked exhausted—a far cry from the invincible captain she usually portrayed.
"Mitchell?" Aubrey asked, an eyebrow raised. "What are you doing here?"
"I was going to say I brought coffee, but honestly, it tastes like burnt cardboard," Beca said, raising the mugs with a faint smirk. "I just thought... maybe we should talk. About what you said earlier."
Aubrey glanced up and down the hallway before stepping back to let her in.
"Come in. But if you spill a single drop on the carpet, you’re scrubbing it out with a toothbrush."
Aubrey’s room was exactly as Beca imagined: ridiculously tidy, complete with a color-coded board tracking all the Bellas' schedules. Beca sat on the edge of the bed and held out a mug. Aubrey sighed, taking it, and sat down at her desk chair, keeping her distance.
"What I said back there..." Aubrey began, her composure tightly held. "I don't usually lose my cool like that."
"I know," Beca replied, staring down at the dark liquid in her cup. "You’re not big on showing you’re human. But you brought up your dad. And... let’s just say it hit close to home."
Aubrey traced the rim of her mug with her thumb, keeping her gaze down.
"My dad’s a colonel," she said softly, almost out of breath. "His motto is, 'If you're not winning, you're losing, and if you lose, you don't exist.' My whole life has been a checklist for him. My grades, my posture, my tone of voice, my weight... The Bellas are my responsibility this year, Beca. If I fail, if we don't win Nationals doing things the traditional way, I won't just be failing the group. I’ll be proving him right: that I'm just not good enough."
Beca listened in silence, feeling a tight knot in her chest. In an instant, the dictatorial captain vanished, leaving behind a girl who was simply exhausted from carrying the weight of impossible expectations.
"That's seriously fucked up," Beca blurted out with raw honesty.
Aubrey let out a short, dry laugh.
"A bit unrefined, but... yeah. It is."
"My old man isn't in the military," Beca said, leaning forward and setting her mug on the nightstand. "He’s a college professor. Supposed to teach people how to think for themselves, right? Except with me, it doesn't work that way. Everything I care about is a waste of time to him. Making music, mixing tracks... to him, that's not a real path. Coming here was his condition: if I don't major in something 'useful,' he won't support me. He constantly tells me I'm going to crash and burn and end up with nothing."
Aubrey looked up, her blue eyes locking onto Beca’s.
"He demands resignation from you. Mine demands perfection."
"Two sides of the same coin," Beca agreed with a bitter smile. "They both just want us to be whatever blueprint they designed in their heads, not who we actually are."
A long silence settled over the room, but it was surprisingly comfortable. The defensive walls built between them out of sarcasm and rigid rules were finally starting to crumble.
"Sometimes I feel like if I don't take first place, I just vanish," Aubrey confessed, pulling her legs up against her chest on the chair. "The thought of letting him down literally makes me sick to my stomach. *Literally*."
"I noticed," Beca said gently, taking any bite out of her tone. "But Aubrey... you're not him. And this group isn't his unit. You're actually incredible at running this thing, even if you can be a total control freak."
Aubrey rolled her eyes, but a genuine smile slipped through.
"And you're a completely insubordinate pain in the ass, Mitchell. But... you're talented. A talent your dad is clearly too blind to see."
Beca felt a sudden warmth hit her cheeks and quickly looked down at her boots.
"Thanks. I think... that's the first nice thing you've ever said to me."
"Don't get used to it," Aubrey countered, though her voice was soft.
She stood up from the desk and walked over to the bed, sitting down next to Beca. For the first time, there was no power struggle or defiance—just the quiet solidarity of two people who understood the exact weight of parental disapproval.
"I guess that's why we clash so much," Beca murmured, looking at her out of the corner of her eye. "You try to control everything so you don't disappoint him, and I try to tear everything down to prove to mine that I don't care."
"A surprisingly deep analysis for someone who dresses like a teenage delinquent," Aubrey teased, her shoulder lightly brushing against Beca's. "But you're right. We see our worst triggers in each other."
"Or maybe the only person who actually gets it," Beca corrected quietly.
Aubrey looked at her, caught off guard by the proximity. For a heartbeat, their eyes locked in the dim lamp light. They weren't the uptight captain and the lone-wolf DJ anymore; they were just two girls tired of living for everyone else's standards.
"If we're going to survive this year," Aubrey said softly, breaking the spell without pulling away, "we're going to have to stop making each other's lives miserable."
"Deal, Posen," Beca smiled, holding out her hand. "Though I still think we need to change the setlist."
Aubrey let out a clear, light laugh—one Beca had never heard from her before.
"Don't push your luck, Mitchell. But for tonight... I'm really glad you didn't leave."
Beca gave Aubrey’s hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, knowing that even if their fathers remained dark clouds over their lives, at least they wouldn't have to weather the storm alone anymore.