[A/N: This is a first. We'll see how it goes. .com posted a couple of prompts, one of which helped create this, although I take some liberties with the song selection. TY :-)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly.]

„Besides, maybe this time..."

Chapter One

"This is the first day of my life. Swear I was born right in the doorway."

Beca Mitchell had a decent life. At age 28, she had an apartment, she had a job to fill her days (and sometimes nights), and she had a carefully cultivated caffeine addiction.

After graduating from Barden University in Atlanta with a business degree, Beca had decided to make her home in New York City six years ago. Since then, she had continuously worked on blending in as much as possible. Blending in in New York was easy. Everyone had their own style and story, and even in the somewhat conservative world of publishing, piercings, tattoos and a near pathological liking for tank tops could not set Beca apart much.

She had been working in publishing for a while. Her first job in the city (apart from her very short-lived Starbucks stint – she just liked the beverages too much) had been working in the marketing and sales departments of a large publishing company specialized in children's literature. It felt good to get away from college, to move back to the North East, to smell snow in the air in November and to have proper, adult things like a job and a dental plan; but the bright colors of the book covers, the cheery back cover copy, and the silly character names contrasted too starkly with the dark hues of her hoodies, the ocean gray of her eyes, and the general gloominess of her moods for her liking. Publishing specialized for accounting professionals at Blumberg & Gurtsky seemed much more fitting. Not that accounting interested Beca in the slightest, but it was darker. At least, she liked to remind herself from time to time, her time at Fairies & Balloons Inc. (what a ridiculous company name! They had to be insane.) had helped her develop the very grown up comfort of her love for coffee.

Beca spent a lot of time in coffee shops, all sorts of coffee shops. In the morning, while running from her run-down Queens apartment building to her train stop, she would dash into the small Greek coffee shop where didn't have to say anything anymore. She would shuffle in and stand in line, and be handed her usual morning drink, the darkest of roasts, black, one sugar. She'd sip it on the train, toss the paper cup in a bin at the station and then walk down Sixth Avenue towards the Blumberg & Gurtsky office building. First coffee of the day; first coffee was good. And helped her find the power of speech. Most of the time.

The second coffee shop was usually a Starbucks on Sixth Avenue. Depending on whether her Greek brew had rendered her able to talk to coworkers, she would drop by one of the chain's locations right after exiting the train station or as a lunch break. At both times, she would order a gigantic portion of latte, with double shots.

A stop at a third coffee shop would sometimes occur after work where Beca would sit in whatever place seemed nice to her at the time, and she would read up on news from the accounting and publishing worlds. Usually, however, Beca would just sit at her desk until the Manhattan sky was darker than the circles under her eyes (which was saying something). Blumberg & Gurtsky had a way of filling so much of her day that not much was left. Which was exactly how Beca liked it. Work and coffee. That was what adults did. Right?!

It was nothing but a Tuesday, a normal, regular Tuesday in February. When Beca exited the train station and started her way towards her office, she almost bumped into a man shoveling snow off the walkway and onto Sixth Avenue. Snow was something that Beca didn't pay much attention to unless it was so high she couldn't walk anymore. February this year was snowy (but not too snowy to not walk anymore), foggy and cold, everything you would expect February in New York City to be.

The only somewhat exceptional thing was that Beca had plans for the night. Not the actual night because, well. But plans she did have. February (be it in New York City or elsewhere) meant that March was coming up. And March meant the annual Bella meeting. And that meant that Beca was hanging out with her friend Amy who – like every year – would make her go to the stupid meeting. Tonight they were going to do the planning. Which was ridiculous. Because A, she didn't want to go in the first place and usually managed to have enough excuses to only come in for a day (obviously, Beca had to do the planning on that by herself). And B, they were going to go about it the same way they did every year. Amy would book their flights to leave for Atlanta on Friday night, with returning flights for Beca on Saturday afternoon and for Amy Sunday night. Same thing every year, no planning needed. But arguing didn't seem all that grown up to Beca so she agreed to meet Amy at a coffee shop downtown.

When Beca switched her computer off before most of her coworkers, she garnered some confused looks. Everybody knew that Beca Mitchell was the one who locked the office door every night. Beca who had felt their eyes upon her, looked up to find people scrambling through their purses and pockets. Shrugging, she took her coat, stuffed her brown hair under a beanie and ventured into the cold.

A while later, Beca entered the coffee shop, a tiny place in the basement of a brownstone which served decent coffee and nice pastries. Finding a spot in a corner away from the door, Beca sat down and ordered a large cup of Italian coffee; she refrained from the baked goods. She pulled out an accounting magazine and started reading.

The front door of the coffee shop burst open, banged against the wall behind it and a loud voice said, "No! Absolutely not. There's no way in hell, I'm going to that thing! … I know you call it a party but I would never… Yes, way! Whatever. I gotta go!". And looking around frantically, the blonde woman spotted Beca, her dark tresses hiding most of her face. "C'mere and give me a hug, little squish ball!" Beca rolled her eyes, and with a halfhearted hug around Amy's very cold college jacket greeted her friend: "Hey." Amy froze while putting her jacket on the back of her chair and raised and eyebrow at Beca. "Usual, huh?" She winked and pointed at the coffee mug. Beca knew that Amy was not talking about beverages at all but she decided to let it go and simply nodded.

Half an hour later, Beca had accepted that she had to come to the Bellas meeting, as per usual. Munching on a large banana cream cupcake, Amy had run down her list of arguments like every year. She had told Beca how much it would mean to her and everyone in the group if Beca came and since Beca had had a great part in the group winning the ICCAs in Beca's freshman year at Barden, it would be weird if she stayed away. Amy called their entire time at Barden but especially that one year the best time of her life. Beca could only smirk. Yes, she had enjoyed college somewhat. And she was glad her father had made her participate in an activity. But a capella? Couldn't it have been something a little more adult? The debate team would have been great, or a book club. But singing and dancing? She still didn't quite know how she had ended up there...

Well... except that she did.

Beca got off the train two hours later. The snow had picked up again and it was windy so that she had to bend forward to walk properly. Someone had written the word 'POOP' in the snow of the windshield of a car she passed. She shook her head – why were people so childish? Why couldn't everyone just mind their own business?

Her apartment building welcomed her with the usual gloom. The paint was peeling off the walls, the front door needed a kick in a very specific place to close all the way, the light in the lobby was flickering and the mailboxes in the left corner was banged up and almost falling apart. Beca had entertained a theory about the mailboxes ever since she had moved in five years ago. If more than one or two of the mailboxes were ever open at the same time, Beca was sure the whole construction would crumble into pieces (if not dust).

Tonight, on this regular, normal, not at all out of the ordinary Tuesday in February, Beca's mailbox contained a bill and a bright green envelope. Bestowing the latter with a quizzical look, Beca pocketed it, punched the elevator button brutally (the only way it would work) and drove up to her apartment. The elevator halted on the fourth floor with a huge jump. Even though she would never show anybody she did this, Beca always got her keys out before the lift stopped and held them by the short chain attached to the ring. She twitched her wrist at the same time the elevator bounced and the keys would fly up for her to grab them out of the air. Shaking her head at how silly she was, Beca stepped out of the lift and unlocked her door. Coat, keys and shoes found their usual places. As did the gray envelope housing the bill. Mail waited for the weekend; that way it would receive the appropriate amount of attention. The green envelope followed the bill after Beca had turned it once more in her hands.

After her night routine, Beca walked into her bedroom. There was a dresser and a bed, and a cupboard with jeans, tank tops, button ups and one awkwardly fitting suit and skirt. The only decoration that Beca indulged was a picture of herself sitting with her mother on a park bench. The empty room calmed Beca's mind. She sat on her pillow and rolled her head to get rid of her stiff neck. Even though she had agreed to go to Atlanta yet again, she had another month to get ready for it. And tomorrow would be Wednesday and there would be no coffee dates with loud Australians, just her routine, work and coffee. Quiet. Normal. Good. Beca heaved a sigh.

Almost ashamed, Beca left her bedroom once more five minutes later. She felt silly for doing it but she snuck to the kitchen and pulled the green envelope off the fridge. There was something about the bright color and the nice feel of the paper. It stuck out crassly from her usual gray and brown mail. But why not? Today was weird anyway.

How ordinary can turn into most mind-blowing extraordinary within seconds...

The envelope contained a folded green sheet of paper and a pale blue postcard. Turning the postcard, Beca saw it asked for an RSVP with the options of "I'll solo.", "There will be an epic duet.", and "We will perform with a choir of...". An elegant combination of letters showed "C & J" in the upper corner. Confused, Beca unfolded the sheet of paper. A weird sinking feeling strained her insides pulling them further down with every word:
"We will gather in the face of the aca-gods and in the face of this competition, to join together these two women in holy harmony:
Chloe Tiffany Beale & Julia Anne Hewitt."