Support Group

AN: This is a serious PP fic that deals with mental illnesses. Please read respectfully but alert me at once if anything was portrayed inaccurately or offensively. I swear I only intended to write this as a fresh outlook on DSM and as an experimental piece, but if it seems detrimental or cruel or crude or ignorant or just plain wrong, please, please, please tell me.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here!" a German accent called out to the young American. The American thought she recognized the voice and turned around hard enough to give herself whiplash in her haste to see if her guess was correct. It was. There, standing before her, was none other and the fearsome leader of the German Acapella team known as Das Sound Machine.

"Kommissar!" the American squeaked.

"Ah, it is good to hear that my Maus still as her squeak!" Kommissar smiled smugly down at the much smaller singer.

"Of course I do!" the brunette, Beca, tried to draw herself up only to realize that she had pretty much agreed to an insult. Of course. Of course. Of course she'd make a fool of herself in front of this German goddess even though barely 10 words had been exchanged between them. Kommissar only laughed at the girl and shook her golden tresses.

"I have missed these foolish displays of yours," she told Beca.

"Well I've missed you too!" the young woman tried to retort only to slap her forehead once she realized what she had said.

For once, though, Beca did not hear Kommissar's mocking laugh and she dared to look up. She saw two beautiful blue eyes staring at her with an unreadable expression. Unable to take the awkwardness any longer, she cleared her throat.

"Soooo, what brings you here to America?" she asked. "Another concert tour?"

"Yes and no," Kommissar replied. "It is true that DSM is touring in America right now for charity, but we have a few days before our next show and I thought I might try and come find you, seeing as you are an old rival of mine."

"Wow. Stalker much?" Beca asked, both flattered and creeped out that Kommissar had taken the time to find out where she lived.

"Not so much," Kommissar waved off Beca's remark. "It was not too hard to find you. All I need was Facebook."

"Oh, right," Beca cringed. Her place of work was plastered right there on her profile- "Wait. You Facebook stalk me?"

"I keep up with people I know," Kommissar replied smoothly.

"But we don't know each other!" Beca argued. "At least not very well..." she added.

"Then why don't we get to know each other now, ja? Like I said, DSM does not have its next show for a few days. Perhaps you could show me around this American city?" Kommissar asked.

Then she trailed off, looking at Beca with an inquisitive look that revealed neither a desire to see how many times Beca could make a fool of herself nor a desire for genuine friendship. Beca had no idea what she was getting herself into by agreeing... But she was going to agree anyway. Of course she was! What kind of idiot would say no to someone like Kommissar?

"Ok," she said boldly. "I accept your offer! But just to let you know, you'd better watch out because these streets can be kind of rough. I don't want anything to happen to your gorgeous face!" Beca added before smacking her face again. Why couldn't she go more than maybe one or two sentences without totally word-vomiting over Kommissar?

"Good thing I have you to protect me then," Kommissar replied without missing a beat, smirking. Beca, meanwhile, could only squeal internally that Kommissar considered her good enough to be a body guard even though she knew Kommissar was only teasing.