A/N: Good evening, friends! What an exhaustive weekend it has been. I've been struggling with shingles, so updates have been fewer and farther between, but at last, I am very happy to present our last hurrah for this lovely fic. I have had a tremendously fun time writing it and can't wait to write even more Jeca stories!

On that note: Enjoy!

Every tearful goodbye and meaningful speech culminates in the night before move out.

In spite of its inherently bittersweet nature, the farewell party is off the hook.

Jesse has a great time. Really. He mingles, he drinks, he dances, he drinks. Once his blood alcohol level reaches a certain tipping point he stays on the dance floor, attracting many an admiring stare as he parties to whatever hits the DJ puts on. Beca's off duty and he hasn't seen her in like, fifty minutes, so he feels his way around, getting sidetracked half a dozen times ("Oh my god, dude, how long has it been?") as he laughs and exchanges promises to meet up over the summer.

"Hey, stranger," she greets, wrapping her arms around his waist and rocking them from side to side. "How's it going?" Then, amused, she adds, "How'd you get trashed already?"

"I am so not trashed," he says, except it comes out as, "Wow, you have amazing shoulders," and he drapes his arms around them and refuses to let go for virtually any incentive because, "Seriously, Beca, you are like, totally physically flawless."

She grins at him and escapes with a quick kiss and a slap to his ass, reminding him to play nice and make good choices before she vanishes back into the crowd.

He misses her for a handful of seconds and considers finding her and asking her why she doesn't want to dance with him when his favorite song comes on and then he forgets about her entirely as he crows into the night.

At some point he gets an entire pitcher of punch upended over his head and Beca asks why he smells so fruity and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "I smell delicious," which is evidently code for "I am very, very drunk, please take me home before I make it on YouTube."

So she drags him away from the fun, from the pounding beat and the laughter, exchanging hugs with Bellas as she goes, promising Chloe – twice – to call her when she gets home, kissing him somewhere in between as a sort of general "thank you for being perfect" or something else obviously along those lines.

It's a little blurry after that, his mind helpfully omitting the walk to their house and reentering the scene with The Avengers. "I thought you hated Marvel," his totally sober brain quips, while his completely trashed mouth says, "If I sing the theme song, will you give me a massage?"

"There is no theme song, dumbass," she tells him, scratching a hand through his hair as he hugs her hips tighter – when did they get horizontal? Doesn't matter, he decides, immediately discarding the fact that his shoes are gone and his punch-covered shirt is, too – and hums happily.

They actually watch the whole movie together. Jesse's certainty that he has the most amazing girlfriend ever is redoubled when she lets him talk the entire time, proving how not drunk he is with his Marvel facts, and at some point between Thor falling from the sky and Bruce Banner showing up buck naked in a warehouse, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, there's a pillow under his head, a blanket over the rest of him, and a trash bin next to his head. The little post-it on it reads, "Please don't puke on the floor, we don't have any floor cleaner. Xoxo."

Obligingly, he heaves into the bin and sinks back into a total stupor.

The second time he regains consciousness, there's another sticky note sitting on his chest. "Hey, loser, when you feel up to it, come out back. Xoxo."

He's grateful for the permission to take his time, because even sitting up takes an extraordinary amount of will power before his first cup of coffee. He stretches and groans lavishly, working all of the kinks out of his back. After snagging a quick cup of coffee from a fresh made pot (he'll make a new one, he's not a total dick), he yawns and tugs on a black shirt lying on the back of a kitchen chair, sauntering outside in all his post-party wild-hair glory.

"Morning, Hilary Swank," he greets, reaching up to block most of the sunlight reaching his eyes with a fist. "What'd I miss?"

In response, she hands him an Advil. "Thank you," he says sincerely, gulping it down and massaging his forehead.

She's quiet – unusually so – and he finally opens his eyes enough to look at her face and ask, "Everything okay?"

"Go shower," she tells him instead.

He obliges, scarcely able to think about her at all in the ensuing chaos. Everyone is up and about, finalizing the move out. He's able to find enough of his own clothes tucked away in Beca's drawers to dress himself, gratefully brushing his teeth and hair until he's presentable.

Beca's room is already empty, with only the bare bones of furniture remaining. It looks untouched, brand new, and there's an unexpected heaviness in Jesse's heart at the sight.

Fat Amy's side is reassuringly cluttered, but he knows it'll empty out soon, too. They're all leaving in the next week or so – some sooner than others; Ashley and Jessica have already moved out – but it's nice to still see a familiar presence in the room.

Even so, he's excited for Beca, for the possibilities awaiting them, for the future doors waiting to be opened. He doesn't know where they'll go or what path he'll take next, but he's looking forward to the journey.

It isn't until he's standing on the front porch chatting with her, bantering about driving times and immediate plans for the weekend that he realizes how indispensable she is in his life. Once she would have been a Katie who he would have – regretfully – parted with on mutually beneficial terms at the end of the year. They're off to bigger and better things. They can't hold on to the past when so many future opportunities await them. They'll only be holding each other back. It's better this way.

It's different, with Beca, and the meaning behind her unusual quiet becomes abundantly clear all at once to him.

She hides it well, but he can see the uncertainty in her eyes, the nervous disquiet of her stance.

I let you into my life, her tiny, reserved smile says. I don't want to let you go, her body replies, leaning against his, head on his shoulder.

He wraps an arm around her waist and wonders how he was ever trusted with so much. She gave herself to him knowing that he could leave her in the end, congenially parting ways until they're nothing to each other, friends from a time they'll scarcely remember in ten years.

So when he lets her go, he's careful about his next words. "So. This is it."

Her lips pinch in a tight smile. "This is it."

"Ready to put music producer on your tax form?" he asks, leaning his folded arms against the column.

"Someday," she agrees breezily. "Right after 'three time national a cappella champion, current world a cappella champion.'"

He grins and tells her, "That might not fit on the blank."

"I can make it work," she says, stepping aside as Stacie lugs a duffel bag out of the house and down the front steps. Turning serious, she looks at the bags stacked along the curb, waiting to be piled into her dad's car, and adds, "I can see why Chloe failed three years. Now that we actually have to leave it's kind of intimidating."

He pulls her into a hug and says simply, "More college won't make you more successful and putting it off won't make it any easier."

"What happened to the nerd who couldn't wait to get me my first drink at an a cappella party?" she asks. "Careful, Swanson, you're starting to sound reformed."

He grins in reply before Chloe catches up to them first, apologetically prying Beca away to help with boxing everything in the kitchen up. Jesse steps in to lend a hand and the work goes by quickly, taxis loaded and final goodbyes exchanged until at last it's time to part ways with Chloe.

He's actually choked up when he hugs her tightly. She's got a watery smile of her own when she tells him to keep Beca out of trouble, and he laughs when Beca assures Chloe that it'll be the other way around.

It isn't until Chloe's gone, the house is in Fat Amy's trustworthy hands, and everyone has finished packing or finalizing their move out plans that Beca hitches her bag over her shoulder and hugs the remaining Bellas – Cynthia Rose, Emily, and Fat Amy – before meeting him on the front porch. They'll move out, too, and only Emily will return. For now, though, the house won't be totally empty.

"One last thing," she adds as the three girls join them. Digging into her pocket, she pulls out the famous pitch pipe, passing it to Emily with a grin. "Take care of it, legacy."

Emily holds it together while Fat Amy claps her hard on the shoulder and tells her, "The Bellas are back."

And even as the Bellas' captain leaves for the last time, Jesse feels a sense of rightness at it all.

It won't be easy, and it won't ever be the same, but there will be another generation of Bellas to kick ass at competitions, and that's all that he needs to be happy.

Sitting in Beca's dad's car next to her, Jesse intertwines their fingers and pretends not to notice when she cries, trying to assure her with every tiny stroke of his thumb over her knuckles that it'll be okay, that they'll be okay.

This isn't over, he thinks, tucking his cheek against her hair for the long ride ahead.

Two weeks later, Jesse is moved into an apartment fifteen minutes from campus and back at the station when Luke steps out of his booth, looking grave.

"Hey, Jesse, a word?"

"Sure, man, what's up?"

Luke looks at him appraisingly for a moment and Jesse almost thinks he's going to be laid off.

Then: "I'm leaving."

Jesse blinks, trying to fathom how Luke, an unbreakable link to his past, can be moving on. Good reflexes alone enable him to catch the set of keys Luke tosses him a moment later.

"Station's yours if you want it," is all he says.

Jesse stares at the keys, wondering what would happen if he tossed them back, a polite refusal already on his tongue.

Instead, he steps inside the dimly-lit booth and sits in the chair.

"It's pretty simple," Luke begins, leaning against the door, "you'll catch on quickly."

Jesse tries – and fails – to suppress a grin. "Fantastic. Teach me."

Six weeks later, her first demo is released.

It peaks at number four on the radio.

Beca couldn't be happier.

On the last day of summer, he takes a long hard look at his life choices, his breathtakingly awesome girlfriend, and his quiet lifestyle as a bachelor, and promptly changes everything.

He calls Benji first, which is good for his nerves because Benji assures him repeatedly that he can't mess it up, promising to rescue him if he does somehow crash and burn, and otherwise being the best best friend ever by telling him again and again that It's time.

Then he calls Emily for additional support, which is awkward until she guesses what he's trying to explain and then he's in a group Skype chat with half the Bellas, all of whom are urging him to just do it. Fat Amy threatens to call Beca herself until Chloe hastily shuts the mission down, Jesse losing and regaining his nerve over the course of the conversation until he abruptly terminates it when Beca shows up early for their date.

He isn't ready and he totally stammers out an apology and hastens to make himself more presentable while she makes herself comfortable on his bed and talks with Chloe, ha ha. After quietly having a meltdown in the bathroom, he dresses, agrees with her purple tie choice, and finally follows her back to the car for date night.

They go to an aquarium because they've never been and there's a strange seduction to the place after dark. It's a summer special and they take their time, leisurely noting various oddities in each exhibit, gazing in silent wonder at a shark passing overhead.

At dinner, they have plenty to talk about, and he grins and listens to her talk about her job, prodding for details whenever her train of thought slows. They share a plate of cheesecake and head back to his apartment filled with soporific bliss.

Walking over cool, prickly grass amid a steady stream of cricket chirps, he pauses to kiss her, lingering over the warm, sweet taste of her lips. She melts against him, her fingers sliding back to grasp his shirt. His nerves vanish as he presses delicate, butterfly kisses along her throat, savoring each one.

When at last he pulls away, she stares at him, unfairly, immeasurably beautiful in the dark, and he sinks to one knee.

It slips off his tongue as easily as his own name. "Beca," he says, then, chuckling softly, his own nerves overcoming any fanciful speech, he adds slowly, "will you marry me?"

For a moment he thinks she'll drag it out, lay it on him, playfully refuse. But her voice shakes a little on, "Jesse," and her next word brings tears to his eyes as she says simply, "Yes."

The Bellas are almost more excited about it than she is when they get the news.

Of course, Jesse and Beca laugh and kiss and refuse to talk to anyone for hours before they break it to anyone, savoring the familiar press of skin-on-skin, overcome by the simple joy of being together with no one in between.

He doesn't need her titles or her achievements to love her, and she doesn't need his job or his future plans to love him.

He needs nothing to be happy but the certainty that she'll be with him.

And somehow he knows that she feels the same.

In the morning, he grins at the ceiling and listens to her sing in the shower.

"They say you're a freak when we're having fun

Say you must be high when we're spreading love

But we're just living life and we never stop

We got the world."

All told, Jesse Swanson really loves his awesome nerd.