Pitch Perfect Winter Wonderland

_Before ROTG, but with a twist._

* * *

Beca Frost screams with joy as the wind carries her around the city. The cold rush of air on her face makes her feel alive, and the trill of flying around is heart stopping.

She loves it.

She stops and floats by the window of a nearby elementary school, tapping on the glass a few times and smiling as a pattern of ice forms and trails up the glass from were her staff was. A little boy, about nine years old, looks up and pushes his blonde hair out of his blue eyes. He looks over at the window and squints, and Beca's heart freezes (no pun intended).

Can he see her?

He turns back to his desk and resumes coloring the purple and orange dinosaur in his coloring book. She hits her head against her wooden staff and exhales slowly.

No, he can't.

But Beca's used to being ignored. In fact, she hasn't had any physical contact with anyone in one hundred years. The problem is, nobody believes in Beca Frost, the winter spirit that causes snow to fall and hail to form and lakes to freeze. They believe it's science. Pure, 'logical', science.

Stupid science.

Beca flies out into the open again, but a flash of red catches her eye. Down the street, a young woman in a blue beanie walks the empty sidewalk below her, marveling the falling snowflakes. Beca smiles at the sight and flies down towards her.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asks, not expecting a response from the woman next to her.

But she gets one.

"Yeah, it is. Good job, by the way." Her voice is smooth yet husky, and Beca jumps up nearly fifty feet, the wind blasting her upwards. "By the way, isn't your hair supposed to be white?"

Beca doesn't respond. She only lowers herself to the woman's level, staring at her as if she's grown a second head. "You..." Beca starts, overwhelmed with hope and excitement, "you can see me?"

The woman nods, smiling.

"You can hear me?"

She nods again.

By this time, Beca feels like screaming in joy and hugging the woman.

Which she ends up doing.

After she releases the redhead, she says, "God, I'm sorry. I-I just-"

The woman laughs, putting a hand on the spirit's cold shoulder. "It's fine. Really! I know not a lot of people see you, let alone believe in you. You didn't answer my question. Isn't your hair supposed to be white?" Beca scoffs, turning to float on her back.

"No! That's ridiculous! My hair's always been brown, my skin always pale, and my eyes always blue," she explains, looking at the ginger. Beca flips backwards and back onto her feet, now walking alongside her new companion.

"I'm Beca. Beca Frost," she says, sticking her hand out. The woman chuckles as she sticks her gloved hand out.

"I know who you are, silly. My mom told me stories about you when I was little. I'm Chloe Beale." Chloe grasps Beca's cold hand with her own, and their eyes lock. Beca can't help but notice how blue Chloe's eyes are. Like the ocean- no, like the sky. They make her feel nervous and happy all at the same time.

"So, Beca Frost," Chloe starts, and they begin walking again down the sidewalk, "tell me. Who were you before you became… you know, Beca Frost?" she asks.

Beca sighs and runs a hand through her chocolate hair. She twirls her staff around in her hand, watching as tiny snowflakes fly from it. "Honestly? I don't know. All I remember is being really, really cold, and seeing the moon really big. And then poof. I could fly and make it snow and this staff thingy was my weapon. Seems legit," she jokes, but she feels terrifyingly cold on the inside. More than usual.

"Huh. How old are you?"

"How long ago was the French Revolution?"

"Jesus Christ, Beca." It's silent after that. They keep walking down the sidewalk until Chloe suddenly stops. "Do you have a place to sleep?"

"Do rooftops and unlocked cars count?" Beca jokes, but she's being serious. Chloe shakes her head.

"No, no, no. That won't do. C'mon, you're staying at my house with me tonight," she insists, grabbing the winter spirit by the wrist and tugging her along. They pass a few stores and cafes, not bothering to slow down. Beca just gives up on trying to stop. "How far away is your house?"

"Just a few more blocks-" She doesn't get the chance to finish because Beca's already grabbing her by the waist and jumping into the air, laughing loudly as Chloe shrieks at the cold wind that blows up her skirt. Beca looks sideways at her new friend and just _looks_. The way her eyebrows are raised and scrunched together, the pink flush of her tan cheeks, the way she's biting her lip as she looks down and giggles.

Beca can't help but stare, because this is the very first person who can see her. Not her snow, not the closed school days that she causes, but this woman can see her. Her face, her hair, her eyes. She can hear her words, and not just the sound of snow hitting the ground or the cold wind blowing down an empty street, but she can hear her speak legitimate words. And she responds.

"-eca. Beca!" Beca looks away from Chloe just in time to see the telephone wires and she points her head upwards. The wind carries them over the black wires, and Chloe screams in delight.

"God! You almost killed us!"

_Us._

"Here. That house down there. The blue one. That's mine," Chloe informs, pointing to a small house just below them. Beca lowers them down as gently as they can, and when she touches base, Chloe keeps her arms wrapped around Beca's small waist.

The ginger leads them inside. She pulls out her keys and jams it into the hole as Beca taps the glass window beside the doorbell and smiles as a pattern of frost covers the glass. Chloe giggles.

"You're really into snow."

"Yep. It's my thang." Chloe chuckles at Beca's silly accent.

The door swings open and Beca follows Chloe into the home, which seems to be magnificently bigger on the inside than on the outside. She looks around for her friend, but she seems to have left. Beca shrugs, thinking she'll be back, and wanders around the kitchen, looking at her reflection in the pots that are hung out to dry.

Is her face really that pale?

Is she really that skinny?

What the hell is that thing on her neck?

Oh, wait. It's a snowflake.

Beca brushes the snow off of her shoulder as Chloe comes running into he kitchen, a black sweatshirt and a pair of basketball shorts in her hand. "Here," she says, shoving the clothes into Beca's hands, "put these on. Let me wash those for you." She motions towards the winter spirit's blue hoodie and brown pants. "Bathroom's upstairs, first door on the right."

Beca walks in the direction Chloe's pointing in, walks up the stairs, and locks the door of the first door to the right as she closes it shut. She switches out of her old clothes and puts on the new ones, not feeling a difference in the heat of the clothing.

Everything is cold to Beca Frost.

She grasps the edges of the sink and glares at herself in the mirror. This is her chance. Don't blow it. Don't make a fool out of yourself. This woman is the first person who can see you. Fuck things up and you're dead.

Beca gathers what self-confidence she has left (which, in all honesty, isn't really that much) and trudges down the stairs to see Chloe lift up a blanket and point to the spot next to her.

As the brunette sits down, the ginger asks, "Have you ever seen West Side Story?"

Beca shakes her head.

"Good. Because that's what we're watching." Beca has not time to marvel at her confidence because Chloe's arms are wrapping around her waist, her head snuggling into the crook of her neck.

Her eyes flutter shut as she hears the credits end, and she catches a glimpse of a gang of men snapping by a basketball court.

And for the first time since she can remember, Beca feels warm.


End file.

Pitch Perfect, Friendship, Romance