Chapter 15: All I Ask of You

Disclaimer: read chapter 1

Song for Chapter: Hurt - Christina Aguilera

(Jazz's POV)

"She was... is a fighter." As if my dignity couldn't disappear soon enough, here I was kneeling before the most hated man I have ever known, spilling everything I had left. Almost everything. Luckily some places in body remained intact. I was merely looking at the floor not imagining the man's chest hair.

"She had this two years ago. We thought she was cured five months after from chemo... but I guess fate has other plans for her this year... I might be celebrating Christmas with her for the last time."

I wiped the tears by the sleeve of my jacket. No doubt my mascara was running despite my liner was waterproof.

"The song," Pieter gestured the stereo.

"Was one of Marianna's classics," I explained. "She performed the song that awarded her crowns and trophies."

"She was a dancer," he stated the obvious.

"Mm-hm, and a pageant queen. Fortunately, the gift skipped over my dad's blood and into mine. I love dancing for as long as I can remember." I scoffed at the thought of my parent's plan for my future. "Mom and Dad would rather have me become someone rich and serious like a doctor or stock marketer - whatever the fuck that is. They thought college could change my mind about being a Broadway star, but not Mariana. She's always supportive. She is my best friend."

I tried not to shiver as the warm contact running up and down my back. I needed it despite it coming from an enemy. For seven long minutes, he simply put the feud the side to tend to what matters most. I appreciated it. I supposed he appreciated that I wasn't cursing him out. I couldn't if I wanted to. My energy went down the drain from all the tears and depression.

"My heart goes out to her, Mein Liebling."

The sweet moment didn't last as long as I hoped. He decided to insult me with that word I couldn't understand or spell out.

"Why are you doing that?" I asked, staring up at him with hooded eyes. I captured a glimpse of his thick brows drawing together, denting the smoothness in between. Was he genuinely confused or played pretend?

"Do what?"

"Calling me by that name."

"Mein Liebling?"

"Yeah!" I slapped a hand against my knees in frustration. "Seriously? I am burying my soul here, and you couldn't spare me the insults."

"Oh guter Gott, Frau! (Oh, good god, woman!)" Pieter raised his voice, saying more words in German. "Sie ist dumm! Wirklich dumm! Sie hat nicht den Mut, ein Wörterbuch zu suchen! (She is stupid! Really stupid! She doesn't have the nerve to look up a dictionary!)"

"What?!" I demanded. "What are you saying?!"

Pieter must've realized that I couldn't understand a word he was saying. Maybe it's because I just told him a millisecond ago. He took deep breaths, muttering more words in German quietly.

"Eins. ..."

Was it me or was he counting? I recognized the technique from Health class in elementary school. A positive way to calm your anger. Maybe he was forced to take anger management class after he punched me in the face.

Finally, he seemed to regain little composure, turning to me with a thin, insincere smile.

"Jazz girl, Mein Liebling is German for my dear."

It may not have happened, but I could've sworn I had been slapped in the face... more like punched in the face... again. Was he lying? I finally found the muscles to move my legs, leaping upright for my bag that contained my phone.

I unlocked the passcode and looked up the German with Pieter's assistance of its spelling. There it was.

According to Bing Translator, Mein Liebling was indeed German for either my darling or my dear. Crap! All this time, I was believing Pieter to be insulting me, when it was only just a simple pet name. It's official. I am a child in an adult body. I only prayed that Pieter wouldn't compare his intelligence with mine. His look on his face was smug that tempted me to slap it off.

However, it didn't change the fact that I was an idiot. Time to own up to it, much to my dismay.

"So you weren't really insulting me every time you called me that?" I asked.

Pieter shook his head, his smug never faded. "Trust me. If I wanted to insult you, it wouldn't come from a language you couldn't comprehend. I would want you to know."

I sighed, returning to my original spot on the floor, two feet from Pieter. "Okay. Okay, I admit it." I took another deep breath, closing my eyes and forcing the confession out. It's like admitting your sins before a priest, only this was worse. I am talking to the enemy of the Bellas. I really wished I could smack the smug away.

"Admit what?" Pieter pressed.

"I... I was..." How could I possibly admit my faults with that smirk? Bidding him congrats after the first dance-off was hard. How am I going to do this? My eyes adverted to my bag with an idea in mind.

"Do me a favor," I grabbed my bag, dumped all my contents out, not caring if my tampon was inside. "Put this on your head."

I tried to put it on his head, but he obviously resisted, yanking his head back and shoving the bag away.

"Nein! Are you out of your mind, frau! You are crazy! Loco! Your bag smells like scheiße!"

"Do you want me to boost your ego or not?"

Pieter's elbow was on the floor, not leaning back an inch further. He must be considering my proposal. He knew that I wouldn't say it, not to his face, even when we both know the silent truth. Seeing someone admit her faults was one thing, but hearing it was all the better. He reluctantly straightened his posture, nodding his head, gesturing me to crown him with my duffle bag. Finally, this process could go easier. I just had to block out the smug look that already tainted my mind.

"Hurry up, please. I have a prior engagement."

I huffed in frustration. He wasn't the only one. I have homework that required finishing at the school library. My knuckles cracked the laptop screen that was rudely closed as I was typing. The only way to get a laptop was asking Santa one for Christmas. If only Mom and Dad extended the warranty that included damages caused by a Bumper.

"Okay... I admit... I... I was a jerk." Thankfully, he didn't remove the bag or utter a word. "I have been a jerk since the day I hit you with my phone that day... and conned you... and ditched you... and called you 'bigfoot... and spat my gum at your head."

"Whoa! Augenblick mal (Wait a minute)!" He cut me off, raising a hand an inch close to my face. Was that peanut butter I smell on his fingers? "That was you last week?! That was you and not a kinder?"

I smiled sheepishly. I was so glad that bag was on his head. "Think about it. How could a four-foot boy reach to your six-foot head and smack the gum in the back of your head?"

"That was really you?"

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. That didn't last as Pieter yanked the bag from his head, and all I saw was red. Flushing bright red. A part of me wished the heat was the reason.

"I don't see why you have friends! You are a cruel woman, Jazz girl! Cruel!"

"I'm sorry!"

~000~000~000~

(Pieter POV)

I heard the words that didn't come from me or a kinder. There I was sulking over the gum incident that turned out a child wasn't responsible. Frankly, I wasn't surprised the bigger child - Jazz girl was responsible. After all, she did throw her phone at me during the first meet, and spit water on the face during the car show, months ago.

I heard the words that came from the enemy. I saw her lips moved while the words were uttered out loud. I must be dreaming. Was her apology sincere?

"What?" I asked.

She huffed, no doubt hated repeating herself. It seemed she wasn't used to owning up to her mistakes. I'm not surprised that she didn't take ownership with the incident at Kennedy Center. She and Flabby Abby represented national disgrace.

"I am sorry," she uttered the words again that came out easier and more süß (sweet).

"I admit I have been a total bitch," she continued. "I don't have an excuse other than you stole our tour from us."

I furrowed my brows together. Did that sound like an excuse? It sure sounded like one.

"But the gum... the name calling..."

Including the comment about Hitler? I suppressed the urge to say it out loud. This girl was apologizing, one wrong move and she'll lock on defense mode.

"It's uncalled for," she continued. "So with that being said... I'm sorry."

There was a long pause. I didn't know what to say. Do I forgive and forget? After all what transpired between us? Kommissar always taught me growing up not to show mercy when the person shared no loyalty. The girl betrayed me the second her slippery words left her mouth. I spent months researching and daydreaming of the girl on her knees. The taste of revenge slipped from my buds down my throat, forgetting its sweetness. All that's left was the aftertaste of sour. This wasn't a game of who's best anymore. She stopped it herself with those small but powerful words.

I'm sorry.

"We disagree on a lot of things." Jazz girl admitted. "Arguing isn't going to change what we have to do for our teams. Whether we like it or not, we are both here for a selfish reason... almost a selfish reason. We both love the kids here, as much as I hate to admit it, you are good with them."

She certainly wasn't wrong. The blonde eleven-year-old was talking about introducing me to her lawyer father as her Freund. The black junge was the adorable frog that couldn't stop hopping or hip-hopping with sass. Both were adorable.

"I hope that maybe we can make this tolerable if we put our rivalry aside during the hours here. Marianna told me that compromise is the best and cheapest lawyer. It's better to bend a little than to break to what's at stake. Not just us, but for the kids."

She wasn't wrong about this either. However, this wasn't going to be easy. This situation was like divorced parents trying to stay together for the sake of their little ones. Why punish the little kinders for our rivalry? This was only temporary. Thirty-six hours left. Two hours of dance and three for yard work with DSM. It will be over way before Christmas. Surely, Madame Murphy can take over once I am through with my hours. As much as I wish to stick around for the kids and bid adieu, Kommissar won't hesitate to hit the gas and speed away from the petty town of Georgia. Away from the shame taken place. Away from Barden Bellas. Away from Jazz girl.

My thoughts were snapped by her nimble fingers.

"Hey."

"What?" I asked.

She offered me a look as if I was the idiot. This came from a girl who couldn't have the mind to look up 'mien Liebling'.

"Do you think we can pretend to tolerate each other? For everyone's sake?"

I scoffed. My mind believed I time traveled. I could've sworn we had this conversation before with Madame Murphy.

"I thought we were tolerating our presence."

"Me avoiding you, and you disagreeing my opinions do not count."

I suppressed the urge to huff. Again, she was right. I was so glad I didn't have to express my thoughts out loud or she would be the one 'smugging'. I have no other alternative than to agree. I need my hours, and she wasn't going to wave goodbye if I asked nicely. Silently accepting her offer, I reached my hand out for her to take, which she did.

Her hands were softer as a feather than I remembered. The last time I gripped them for our Paso Doble. I could almost smell the coconut aroma. Tropical like her blue, captivating eyes.

Knowing where my intrusive thoughts were headed, I immediately withdrew my hand.

"I must leave. I am already in hot water for being out for so long. Kommissar will kill me if she knew I ditched Drew."

"Wait," she perked her head at me with furrowed brows. "Your cousin doesn't know that you're here for community service?"

"If she did, she would've created operation hostile takeover. Madame Murphy forbade me to involve the team." I huffed with frustration, refocusing the task at hand, waving off the coconut and... peanut butter. Why do I keep smelling it?

Jazz girl leaped up on her feet, swaying her hips to the stereo. Those narrow hips and round butt covered by her jacket. I could almost imagine her in those shorts again, dancing for me...

There I go again. I blinked away the image and followed her lead.

"Someone did leave their phone buzzing here." She lifted up my golden iPhone bedazzled in rainbow gems around its edges. Most of the group including Drew made fun of the design, asking me if I had gained some femininity in my masculine body. From the girl's smile that threatened to show, terrible of hiding it, was having a laugh as well. Ficken her. Ficken them. It's my phone. My right. My choice. I liked the way I am thank you very much. Drew shouldn't be making fun of me considering we both wore fishnets and mesh tops. Kommissar's orders.

"Oh," Jazz girl wasn't done, "and here's the playlist CD for the recital." She grabbed the empty disk in its case from the floor. These people need to learn to put things away where they belong. Broken glass and lawsuit wasn't a good combination. "Maybe you want to play with it a bit since sonic mastery is kinda your thing. Madame Murphy did encourage us to make the Nutcracker unique. Exceptionnel." She attempted a French accent that came out poor. I couldn't help but snort in laughter that flushed the girl's round cheeks.

"Merci, Mon chéri," I uttered. "Je te dis au revoir, jusqu'à ce qu'on se rencontre (I bid you goodbye until we meet again)." My French accent was better for I was born European. I snatched my phone from the stereo and the CD from the girl's hand. My teasing smile widened at the words under the girl's breath.

"Show off."

I walked away towards the door, before turning back to the girl. I really needed to leave, but I couldn't help to reach out to Jazz girl. She was currently in a fragile state. A swan waddling a broken wing. You can't help but pity it. The rules of Kommissar - show no mercy - had been cast aside. They don't apply to a little girl whose grandmother was dying from cancer. A dreadful disease. I can take the pushups. Kommissar would bestow the punishment anyway for tardiness.

"Are you going to be alright, Mein Liebling?" I offered. "You wish for me to take you home?"

The woman may be depressed, but her pride was still present.

"No."

My brows furrowed. No? No, as in she won't be okay, or no as in she had made arrangments for transportation.

"I have friends to pick me up," she explained. "She'll be here soon. If I were you, I would run for the hills before she gets here."

I scoffed. "I don't run from little elves."

"What about Fat Amy?"

I have nothing to say about her. I remembered the bruises that nearly destroyed my perfected face. I preferred to stand clear from plastic surgery, unlike Kommissar. I suppressed a giggle at the mere memory of her botox procedure. The aftermath of it. She mustn't move or massage her face, avoid strenuous exercises, and refuse alcohol. We required nasogastric feeding when she couldn't close her mouth and chew her food. She was in a pussy mood but had the smile of the Grinch.

"I'll see you next week, Jazz girl." For that, I had taken my exit.

~000~000~000~

(Jazz's POV)

I had about ten minutes until Beca picks me up. School and I was a good excuse for Beca's long-term absence. Since we both know her secret job, she and gay Dax could take me to the Bella mansion that's currently not covered in toilet paper. Hopefully. I would probably be hearing the girl express stress of how she was going to present a unique demo for her boss and create a piece for the Worlds to beat DSM. She really should stop being a little self-centered. She wasn't the only one with problems. I have to balance dance, school, Bellas, and dealing with my best friend dying...

Putting the pettiness aside, I really wished that Beca could tell Chloe the truth. What's the worst that can happen?

'How would she react to Pieter being a part of this class?'

Oh yes. If Chloe did find out about Pieter being closer to a hundred feet, she would freak out. She would lash out how I broke the condition of staying away from the enemy. Then Mad Dog Fat Amy would sick him for coming close to me. Then Jesse will hear it from Beca, and he'll attempt to padlock the windows and doors to keep me from going anywhere including dance class. No. I don't mind keeping this detail to myself.

As I resumed the final round of leaps, I jumped with startle from the set of buzzes. My ponytail whipped to the side, facing the stereo. A cellphone was vibrating on the machine, but its pattern was the same I have been hearing for a while.

Its beat almost sounds familiar. Since when did my phone become a Celene Dion fan?

As it turned out, it wasn't my phone buzzing. It was Pieter's rainbow bedazzled one. I am curious to know if the man was gay. What did it matter? It was killing my depressing mood and my dance. I turned off my music to check out the instant message on his phone. More like instant messages from Drew. Pieter mentioned him before. Who was he again? The soprano? No, that's female.

Scrolling up to read the messages.

"Hallo?"

"Wie geht's?"

"Wo bist du? I'm below the bridge."

Damn. More German words an American girl like me don't understand.

"Pieter, Kommi called and told us to meet her on base."

Good, he's speaking English.

"Why isn't class over? I can't cover you another minute."

Another message.

"Oh, and she wanted us to get food for Adelissa."

Another message.

"The wet kind, not the dry. Adelissa hates crunchy. It doesn't do well for her dental hygiene."

Another message. Jeez, this man couldn't catch a break.

"Blue Divine Delights, she said. Lamb, not beef."

Hopefully, that was the last time. It's clear that Pieter's phone was here, but didn't he take a phone with him?

Dreading the thought in mind, I immediately rushed to my bag for my phone. I shooked the empty bag, then picked up my clothes, behind CD's, inside my shoes. Nothing. It's clear that Pieter took my phone. Couldn't he have told the difference between a rainbow and a custom designed phone case that had a picture of a hummingbird and pink rose? Was he color blind?

What am I going to do? This phone was password protected. I couldn't reach my phone if I wanted to.

(Pieter POV)

I was driving the bus, hurrying back to my meeting spot with Drew. I reached for my phone to text, without looking entered my passcode. Surprisingly, I felt the buzz indicating it's the wrong passcode. This time I looked down briefly, pressed a number before returned back on the road.

Passcode incorrect. What gives?

Lifting the phone back in eye view, my wrist resting on the steering wheel. I noticed something off about my phone - way off. Zuallererst (first of all), my case didn't have the gems as protection. Zweite (Second), why's there a hummingbird on the case?

"Scheiße!" I cursed banging my fist against the steering wheel, accidentally honking an innocent pedestrian. No doubt the set of honks and curses came from him, wondering what he had done wrong.

The phone buzzed, but not in a Celiene Dion remix I possessed. I flipped the phone over to find a message sent from a woman named Beca.

"Sorry, Jazz. Traffic is bad. Wait another thirty minutes for me, will ya?"

Yes, I do indeed have Jazz girl's phone. What should I do? There was a passcode on the phone. I couldn't tell the woman the truth if I wanted too... unless she calls, then I am geschraubt (screwed).

Another boring, single buzz happened again. This Beca woman didn't text again. It was another by my phone number. I heard honks, and I immediately saw I was in between the lines. I quickly swerved back in place. I really need to be careful. I must pay attention, but my mind couldn't help but wonder.

I safely pulled over to the side to see the message.

"Drew wants you to get Blu Divne 'wet' dog food."

"Lamb not beef."

"After, return back to base."

"Passcode - 2014."

The only person who could have my phone was the owner of this one.

Jazz girl.

I entered the passcode, taking note that she used this year as a passcode. How could she have guessed mine? Admittingly, 0000 wasn't really much of a passcode. An easy way to respond to Kommissar faster.

First thing I noticed Jazz girl used as wallpaper was a picture of a young girl in a white Christmas T-Shirt and ballerina tutu. Was that her? It must be her eyes dazzled just the same.

I returned the message, careful not to send it to Beca.

"Warte mal."

Hopefully, this girl could pick up that the message wasn't for her specifically, but to pass along to Drew. Please don't ask the translation, Jazz. Please don't ask for the translation.

BUZZ!

Another message from Jazz girl, this time was short.

"Sent."

Thank you, Jazz girl. For that, you must be rewarded with a return favor.

"Beca will be thirty minutes late."

Immediate message.

"Awes."

I furrowed my brows confused. Awes? I sent in a question mark.

She responded. "For Beca not for you!"

I awed in understanding, immediately sending the one word to Beca. After Beca sending in another sorry and set of x's and o's - hugs and kisses, I let Jazz girl know the message.

"Thank you."

Before I could reply that to - I finally recognized the name - ugly troll, Jazz buzzed in another message.

"For you, not her."

Those were the words I hadn't heard in a while. Gratitude only it came from words on phones not a voice in a fake German accent. If only I could hear it from the American with sweet honesty. However, I'll take what I can get.

It's clear that knowing how tough and impatient was Kommissar and how much time I have wasted, Jazz girl wasn't getting her phone back anytime soon. I knew she accepted it for she would've demanded it back. We have come to silent terms to send messages to send to our companions. Talking to my comrades by voice wasn't difficult. I have my bluetooth. I must suggest Jazz girl do the same. I would help her with the process if I have free time left to spare.

It's only one week. What's the worse that can happen?

Playing the CD on the radio, listening to the sleeping nutcracker jam, attempting to escape the trap I placed myself in highway traffic, I couldn't help but think the same thing that Jazz girl could be thinking herself.

This was the start of a beautiful 'phone' relationship.

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! Hope you all have a great start this year! Yes, I am alive! Yes, it has been a month since I updated something. Yes, It has been a year since I updated this story. I apologized for the delay. I have excuses but they won't cut it. However, if I have to pick one it would be the holidays. Busy time for me with work, shopping gifts, and stepping back to spend time with family.

What do you all think of this phone relationship? It seemed like it brought the two closer, even a sincere thank you. Will Pieter open himself up and utter the sweet words back? He did punch her. How will they work together to create a unique interpretation of the Nutcracker? Leave your opinions down below.

Thank you - theoriginalsrizzlesouat1D, Guest, diandra. andra1, Bluecean, Crystal, Crystal-Wolf-Guardian-967, Melissa for reviewing. Thank you, readers for taking the time to read, favorite, follow, and being patient with this story. You guys, rock!