Surgical Procedures and Soft Furnishings
It had started out quite innocently, in retrospect.
Dean Pelton had gotten himself into some kind of administrative mess that was so traumatic, Greendale County had to get involved and shut down the institution for an indeterminate amount of time, allowing for their winter break to be months longer than it normally would be. It was the last thing Dean Pelton wanted for his school, but in the end, resistance was futile. They were to return to school sometime in April, maybe a little earlier, but until further notice, their school year had been abruptly put on hiatus.
Annie had, of course, taken this the hardest and it took many consoling and soothing relaxation techniques Britta had learned in her psychology lecture to calm her down. Once she was finally convinced that everything would eventually work out, the study group bid their farewells for the long break, Annie calling out obsessively after them that they all needed to stay and touch and meet at least once a week to stay close. Jeff had pretty much ignored her because if she didn't know by now that they would remain friends no matter what, she was a lost cause.
At first, Jeff had been thrilled and relieved that he was able to spend this much time away from the study group to get back to his old habits. Yes, he loved them and yes, he had finally accepted them as his new family, but seeing them all day, everyday really wore him down. He needed time away from Troy and Abed's antics, Annie's obsessive-compulsivity, Britta's erroneous ranting, Shirley's Jekyll-and-Hyde personality, and Pierce's, well, existence. And when this was finally granted, Jeff couldn't explain his joy.
But then, around mid-January when real colleges were going back to school, Jeff became pretty lonely. After all, there were only so many times he could go bar-hopping and pick up random girls before he longed for the structure of his Greendale life. One by one, as January droned on, Jeff began to reach out to the study group to spend time with them and give his life a little variety. He caught a movie, once, with Troy and Abed and went bowling with Shirley (imagine that, just imagine it). Annie was currently on a reluctant family vacation in Florida and Jeff really had no interest in meeting up with Pierce. So, basically, that left Britta.
Now to be completely honest, Jeff was looking forward to his day with Britta the most, mainly because whenever they seem to hang out, it always ends with some hilarious or embarrassing (or hilariously embarrassing) story that they always vow never to tell the group. Sometimes the stories come out anyway, like the whole "nipple play" thing (although, Britta did not find out about this while they were "casually hanging out"). But either way, Jeff and Britta rile each other up, so when they hang out, they always manage to have a good time.
Except this time.
Again, it their day starts out completely normal. It's a Sunday, the last Sunday in January, and for some unknown reason, they decide to spend it at the mall. And instead of using this to their advantage and going into stores they would actually purchase something in, they make the day a competition- who can find the most pointless thing to buy. Jeff ducks into a Justice and picks up a light-up tiara, much to the eight-year-old's chagrin behind him, but Britta one-ups him by stepping into Brookstone and pointing out the glow-in-the-dark, light-up clock that was pen-shaped but didn't actually write. Jeff admits defeat and buys the pen anyway.
They ride the carousel like children, suck down slushies at the food court, and then spend twenty minutes looking for a store that sells Tylenol for the brain freeze. They're in Hallmark now, reading the cheesy messages on the romantic cards because, of course, Valentine's Day is in the distant future and the store has to be ready. Britta snatches a bright pink one and reads, "Roses are red, violets are blue. You hold my heart and I hold yours too. Wow! That was the most ridiculous thing-"
"No, no, this is the moneymaker," Jeff cuts her off, reading his. "The ABCs of Happiness. On this Valentine's Day, I could go through the alphabet to list everything I love about you. But if I could, I would just rearrange the alphabet to put U and I together. I love you."
"I'll be right back," Britta cringes. "I need to find a fountain deep enough to drown myself in."
"Only after I go and vomit," Jeff smirks and Britta chuckles, lifting another.
"This one looks promising," She begins. "Roses are red, violets are blue. I have five fingers and the middle one's for you. Now that's my kind of valentine."
"It does not say that," Jeff disagrees but Britta shakes her head, handing it over.
"It actually does, and I'm kind of loving it," She says and then winces. Jeff glances at her but she waves it off. "Stomachache. Must've been the slushie. Anyway, where to?"
Jeff shrugs as they leave Hallmark and notices the sun is setting and the mall's emptying out. "I don't know they're closing in forty-five minutes. We could head back to my place, order a pizza?"
Britta nods nonchalantly and then she stops mid-step. "Gumball machine! I haven't had a gumball since like… middle school?"
"Probably because they're for children," Jeff comments sarcastically as she fishes for a quarter and feeds the machine. "Are you joking? What are you, five?"
"Says the man who forced me onto the carousel," Britta winks conspiratorially at him and pops the gumball into her mouth.
Jeff frowns. "Nobody else was riding it!"
"Man, I wonder what all of those promiscuously-dressed women at the bars you frequent would say if they knew that Big-Player Winger is a teeny little toddler at heart," Britta thinks and Jeff snorts.
"Oh yeah, because those scrawny little vegan guys you go after wouldn't think anything of your gumball habits," He responds and she laughs, but clutches her side again. "And honestly, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Drop it," She sidesteps and instead asks, "Are we the two lamest adults in the world? Spending our day at the mall like a bunch of thirteen-year-old girls?"
"Pretty much," Jeff affirms. "But at least we can spend the night drinking and forget it ever happened."
"Touché," Britta tells him and they head back to his apartment.
On the way back (and yes they're carpooling; there's supposed to be an ice storm tonight and Britta's fragile car can't handle that shit), they argue for fifteen minutes about what channel to listen to on the radio and since they never compromise, they end up listening to ESPN in Spanish. Britta claims she can remember more Spanish than he can and so, of course, it becomes a competition, even though neither one of them really learned anything in Chang's class anyway. Britta's gum loses flavor about ten minutes after she's started chewing it and Jeff tells her to spit it out ("Are you joking? I don't litter!") and then she's seized by the mysterious pain in her right side again but when Jeff attempts to offer suggestions, she vehemently tells him he is not an ex-doctor and therefore has no business offering medical advice.
"This is a nice place you've got here," Britta comments jokingly as they enter the dark environs of his apartment. Obviously, this isn't the first time she's been here, but it's the first time this year and some things have changed. He's got a new lamp, a new coffee table… Yeah. That's pretty much it. "You know your rug doesn't match your couch upholstery?"
Jeff sighs from his bedroom, where he's retreated to drop off his things. "Yes Britta, somehow you manage never to forget that."
"And this bothers you, but the mismatching rug and couch doesn't?" She chuckles. "How many of your one-night stands have commented on the rug?"
"You're the only one," Jeff calls back. "Clearly, it only bothers you."
"Or you didn't spend any time in the living room," Britta points out and, well, yeah. Jeff has to give her that. "I'm making the executive decision not to order from Giordano's tonight."
"Good call," Jeff says, entering the room again. "It took over an hour last time."
"So, Angelo's, then?" She asks, but it's rhetorical because she's already dialing.
"Sure. Menu's-"
"By the phone?" She smirks, waving the paper menu before him. "I'm not new here, Jeff."
He rolls his eyes at this because, frighteningly, that is true. For some reason, this short exchange about where to order pizza from just solidified that one annoying little fact about his and Britta's relationship- they're so comfortable. They're scarily domestic and it's something he's never had with anyone before- and hasn't with anyone since. And it's not like he hasn't missed Britta; he misses her a lot, actually. He misses their random three a.m. conversations, their pointless banter, the sex (good God, he'll never stop missing the sex). He even misses her now, even with her sitting right beside him because this is somehow different. They've always been really great friends, but he misses the thing they used to have, whatever it was. He misses it. He misses them.
But whatever. This is better than nothing.
They get a small pizza so they won't feel guilty for polishing off the entire thing and then they have a genuine conversation. It's pretty nice because genuine conversation between Jeff and Britta is pretty hard to come by. They've only had a beer each, so they're not even slightly tipsy yet (this is important- it means what they're saying, they actually mean). Jeff asks, "How's psych coming along, Dr. Freud?"
She pulls a face and Jeff can't tell if that's because of what he called her or because of the pain she's trying to ignore. "It's going fantastically, thank you very much. No thanks to you or your study group members who are praying for my failure."
"I think that's a little dramatic," Jeff tells her. "We don't want you to fail."
"You just think I will." Britta corrects and Jeff hesitates.
"Your track record isn't particularly positive," He says and she rolls her eyes, taking another sip of beer. "But I personally think you'll do fine."
"Whatever," She responds. "Did you ever find a new therapist?"
"Not yet," He pauses. "There really aren't that many of them around here."
"Now I am appalled you wouldn't ask your best friend to help you out," Britta shakes her head. "I stole faucets for you, I took a paintball to the chest for you, and this is the thanks I get?"
"Britta, I didn't ask you to do any of those things."
"Exactly my point!" She states. "There's nothing wrong with asking for help, Jeff. I got your back."
He grins at her. "Vice versa, Miss I-Can-Do-Everything-Myself."
She frowns. "I can. And don't use reverse psychology on a psych major, pal. It won't work."
"You can't. No one can," Jeff says. "And seriously? You honestly just called me pal?"
"Suck it," Britta replies and Jeff chuckles.
The night wears on and the ice storm kicks in with a vengeance. Luckily, neither one of them have planned on leaving- and call him sentimental or what-have-you, but Jeff's kind of glad she's decided to stick around. It reminds him of the previous year and gives him this warm feeling in his chest- although he'd rather pluck his own eyes out than admit that to anyone. They continue to drink- he assumes Britta's doing it to numb her right side pain, because that hasn't gone away- and it's a Sunday night so nothing's on TV. They end up watching Bridezillas, of all ridiculous things, because it was either that or Kardashian nonsense.
"New game, new game," Britta slurs a bit. "Let's drink every time one of them has a tantrum."
"Good way to die of alcohol poisoning," Jeff says, but agrees. "Let's do it."
It doesn't take long for both Hallie and Nicole to throw tantrum after tantrum and Jeff and Britta keep throwing back gulps of alcohol like they're water. Britta swallows and shakes her head, saying, "I don't know why anyone would want to get married."
"I don't get it. Everyone I know who gets married always gets divorced," Jeff admits. "It's useless."
"Me too," Britta agrees. "It's stupid. Not to mention expensive, and who has that kind of money to spend on roses and lace?"
"I hate roses," Jeff sighs. "Every time I touch one, I bleed."
"I mean, I guess it would be fun to have a day where all of the attention was on me," Britta considers. "And the reception would be fun. Open bar."
"Tax benefits," Jeff points out. "They're not kidding about those."
"Yeah," Britta says. "But honestly. The wedding industry is ridiculous."
"Definitely."
Hallie and Nicole never stop throwing tantrums. They continue to do so even right until the last second, right before they're about to walk down the aisle (Hallie's veil goes missing and Nicole's flower girl throws up on her shoes). So, since the tantrums don't cease, neither does the drinking, and they're definitely pushing the legal limit as Hallie finally does get her happy ending and marries her Slater-looking husband (that's A.C. Slater, not Michelle Slater, just so you're aware). And as Hallie and Slater share their first kiss as husband and wife, Jeff looks over at Britta until she looks back. When she does, she has this look in her eyes Jeff's never seen before and, on impulse, he acts on it.
The next episode begins and continues Nicole's drama while introducing newcomer Yvette. But Jeff and Britta aren't watching anymore.
Jeff realizes, now, as he's fiercely kissing Britta and running his hands over every part imaginable, that he can't just be best friends with her. The fact that they are best friends provides them with the opportunity to be a great couple and, even though he's not sure he's completely read to take that leap of faith, the alcohol has completely taken over his mind and rational thought. He's going to venture a guess and say Britta feels the same because, well, she isn't exactly protesting, here.
They stand and begin making their way back towards the bedroom, not separating for a moment and blindly navigating through the apartment. Jeff has Britta pressed against the far wall of the hallway and as he's slipping off her jacket and shirt, they hear a loud crack, a sparking sound, and then silence again, which they both promise to investigate later. Instead, they're both topless as Jeff kisses her collarbone, her neck, behind her ear and then finally her lips. Once there, he breathes, "Marry me."
His insistence shocks both of them and they freeze for just a moment. This isn't technically the first time he's asked, if you count that very first day of study group back in the fall of 2009. But still, she laughs, says, "Shut up," and continues kissing him. Jeff at first lets this happen and then, maybe it's the alcohol talking, stops them again. They're drunk, they're belligerent, but he's still pretty sure this is what he wants. She looks up at him in confusion and he says, "I'm serious. We should get married."
"You're joking," She deadpans. "We just spent three hours berating marriage and now you want one? More importantly, one with me?"
"Why not? We get along great, we already bicker like a married couple," Jeff lists and pulls her into his arms again. "Plus, we'd get to have sex all the time."
"Speaking of sex," Britta says. "Can we get back to that please?"
"Yes ma'am," He tells her and she rolls her eyes.
"It's the alcohol talking," She replies and they both let it go for now, mainly because they're afraid of what would happen if that wasn't true.
Britta wakes up a few hours later, around two fifteen, to that sharp, blinding pain in her right side again. For a moment, she's pretty sure she's been drugged and kidnapped, because as her eyes come into focus, she doesn't recognize a thing about the bedroom. The expensive mahogany dresser, the giant California king bed, even the sheets are a higher thread count than she's ever seen before. But when she sits up, an arm is anchoring her to the spot, and her eyes fall upon Jeff's slumbering form beside her. She remembers everything at once (so obviously she wasn't drunk enough) and groans, pushing his arm off of her and searching blindly for her clothes.
She can't find anything besides her underwear and camisole, so she slips these on and gives up hope of finding the rest of her attire. The pain is so great now she can barely sit up and when she does so, she realizes she's covered in a salty sheen of sweat that has nothing to do with the previous sexual encounter. It hurts so badly, she has to bite her lip from exclaiming the pain and decides, then, to find Tylenol or Advil or something to kick it. She stumbles out of bed and into Jeff's adjoining bathroom, leaving him behind.
Britta had been so convinced, earlier, that this was just a routine stomachache, but she's never had one that felt like this. Closing the door behind her, she flips on the light, squints harshly under his lighting and rummages around in his medicine cabinet for something to kill the pain. When she finally finds what she's looking for, she shakily sucks down the pills because, honestly? It feels like something's exploding inside of her, like she's dying from the inside out or something, and she's not sure how two over-the-counter drugs will help her. She takes three instead.
As she writhes on the floor in agony, Britta contemplates the day and evening that led to this very event. Nothing stood out in particular that could have caused this and even if it did, Jeff ate the same things she did today and he's perfectly fine. Maybe a little insane, because really? Marriage? Britta doesn't do serious relationships and neither does he- how could they ever make a marriage work? Plus, the thought of being with one person everyday for the rest of your life kind of freaks her out.
Even still, the sincerity in his voice despite the drunkenness was what shocked her the most, not so much the "proposal" itself. The way he looked at her so intensely was almost scary; it was like he had thought about this, thought about her, for weeks on end leading up to this moment and had wanted to make it perfect. She's afraid of commitment, let's admit it; but somehow, she thinks they could be different. Somehow, even after her lifetime of disappointment, she still wants to believe.
The pain becomes too much, then, and Britta scuttles across the floor and vomits. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, afterwards, and she looks absolutely dreadful. Her eyes are all sunken, her hair looks straggly, and she's paler than she's even been before. Whatever is going on inside of her really wants to overcome her and at this point, with the pain being unbearable, she's ready to let it. Go for it, take over everything, because Britta just wants this to stop.
The sound of her retching must've woke him up, because in the next moment, Jeff's entering the room, yawning and doing a double take at the sight of her. "Are you alright? You look terrible."
She shakes her head miserably. "I think I'm dying."
Jeff rolls his eyes. "Didn't I tell you to deal with this earlier?"
"I took Tylenol a while ago," Britta tells him weakly. "It hasn't helped."
He looks at her in concern but before he can say anything, she cuts him off, saying, "Go away. I'm going to be sick."
"You feel sick now too?" Jeff asks, eyes wide. "Britta, what-"
"No, I don't. It's from the pain. Now, seriously," She waves him off. "Get out. I don't want to throw up in front of you."
Jeff smirks but doesn't have time to honor her wishes, because Britta's body decides to act against her. She wipes at her mouth and flushes the toilet when she's done and Jeff not-so-helpfully says, "You sound like a velociraptor."
"Shut up," She whines, feeling and looking absolutely miserable. "If I die, right here, right now, nothing in my apartment goes to you. Give my cats to Annie. She'll be good with them."
"In all seriousness, if it hurts that badly, we really should get you to the hospital, or something," Jeff says uneasily.
"I don't want to go to the hospital."
"You'd rather die?"
Britta hesitates for a moment and Jeff incredulously asks, "You're honestly contemplating that?"
"Okay," She sighs pathetically. "Help me up."
He offers her his hand, which is soft and warm, not at all cold and clammy like hers is. Bastard. She dresses after finally locating her clothes in the hallway- which she is now vaguely remembering- and very slowly, very carefully walks with him outside and to his car. He warns her he will seriously disown her if she vomits in his Lexus, and if Britta had any kind of energy, she'd come back with a sarcastic remark. Instead, she makes herself comfortable and tries to breathe through the pain. Jeff is looking at her with this panicked expression, an apprehensive edge to it, and it makes her smile that he's worrying this much about her wellbeing.
However, it's only when Jeff is pulling out of his apartment complex's parking garage (which, seriously? What kind of douchey complex has a parking garage?) that they remember the ice storm.
Everything, from tree branches, guardrails, roads, and sidewalks, is covered in ice. It isn't a thin sheet either, like patch of black ice or an icy cover over a pond. It's inches thick and impossible to drive in; driving in ice honestly is lethal. Jeff takes one look at Britta, who has resulted to just barely existing, at this point, draws in a deep breath, and drives slowly forward. She wants to stop him, to tell him they'll go in the morning, when everything is hopefully melted by sunlight, but she can't even form a sentence. It is in this slow, painful agony that they reach the hospital thirty-five minutes later.
"Are you two insane?" The woman behind the emergency room front desk shouts at them as they approach her. "You drove in this? Hell, we're not even driving in this, unless it's a matter of life and death."
"Look, I think this might be," Jeff tells her with Britta nodding slowly beside him. "She's been complaining about this pain in her side all day."
The woman nods and motions for another nurse to take over while she begins to file paperwork. "What's your name, hun?"
Britta nearly collapses into the wheelchair the second nurse brings her and says, "Britta Perry."
"Wait a second, Perry? Like Dr. Jameson Perry?"
"Yeah, yeah he's my brother," Britta waves this off and Jeff shoots her a look.
"Wait, your brother works here?" He asks and she nods painfully.
"Third floor."
"I knew you looked familiar," The nurse chuckles, handing her the papers to fill out and sign. "You look a lot like him, you know."
"I've heard," She scribbles a bunch of unintelligible words and then asks, "So what's the verdict? Am I dying?"
"Well it could be anything," The nurse tells her. "We'll get you situated with a doctor as soon as we can."
Jeff is still looking at her like she's going to keel over any second. She braves a smile and nudges him. "Relax Winger. I'm going to make it."
He shrugs. "I'm relaxed. You relaxed?"
"Yeah," She rolls her eyes. "I'm super comfortable."
Another twenty minutes goes by and once she's finally been seen by a doctor, it turns out that it really isn't anything trivial. She has appendicitis, because that's just her luck. Her doctor orders an immediate emergency appendectomy because when Britta tells him she's taken painkillers for the insatiable pain, he tells her over-the-counter remedies actually speed up the rupturing of the appendix's lining. Oops. So she has to sign off on a whole other round of paperwork because she doesn't have a medical proxy and when they're finally shooting her up with anesthetic and ready to wheel her off to surgery, Britta glances over at the fearful expression on Jeff's face and chuckles.
"I'm going to be okay, Jeff," She says because at the moment, he looks as if he doesn't know that.
Jeff nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."
Britta nods too and soon, her vision blurs into a shady, omniscient black.
Jeff awakens with a jolt hours later to the sound of the television being flipped on above his head. He cracks his neck and sits, wincing at the cramped feel of his back and legs from the odd position he had just been sleeping in, in the chair. He rubs his eyes, yawns and glances around to find the waiting room of the hospital and momentarily has a memory lapse; why is he here? Clearly his bed is much more comfortable than this plastic chair in the E.R. waiting room. Suddenly there's a buzzing vibration from the unoccupied purse beside him and when Jeff reaches inside to produce Britta's phone, humming with a text from Annie, he remembers everything.
The woman who had switched the TV on apologizes immediately but Jeff waves her off, insisting he hadn't really been sleeping, anyway. Once Britta had gone under, the doctors and nurses pushed him out of the room, telling him his services really weren't necessary anymore. He watched them wheel her into surgery and then had proceeded to slump into the waiting room until the doctor returned with some news. There, he watched the random things that were televised at 4 a.m., took a trip to the gift shop, and had a running conversation with the elderly woman behind the desk named Estelle.
But most of the time, he spent his idle time worrying about Britta and honestly, it felt so weird. Hospitals had always freaked him out and even though she had assured him she was fine and the doctor confirmed this theory, there was still that doubt factor. The doctor had told him this was a routine procedure that he's done many times and when Jeff asked what would happen if he didn't operate, the doctor had hesitated before telling him she would probably die. Yeah, so that was reassuring.
About an hour later, he'd returned with great news- the surgery had gone well and Britta was now resting in recovery. He had also returned with not-so-stellar news- since he was neither family nor her medical proxy, he wasn't allowed to see her until visiting hours the following morning. He'd then proceeded to list a bunch of hospital policies and medical jargon that Jeff neither understood nor gave a shit about and when he apologized and went off to find the next needy patient, Jeff wanted to strangle him. Oh, if looks could kill…
He looks at his watch now and sighs. It's eight fifteen, only three hours after he finally fell asleep. There's a new women behind the desk now, a middle-aged African American woman who looks like she really doesn't want to be here. She looks as if she's not going to take anyone's crap… so Jeff decides to test her. He stands, stretches and saunters over to her and she takes one look at him and glances away, already bored.
"What can I help you with, Mr. Winger?"
Jeff balks. He was not expecting this. "How… What? How do you know my name?"
"You think Estelle doesn't talk?" She asks. "And anyways, it isn't eleven o'clock, Mr. Winger. You still can't see your friend."
"She's not my friend," Jeff shakes his head. Estelle couldn't have told her everything, could she? "She's my wife."
"No she's not."
"My fiancée?"
"Guess again."
"My girlfriend?" Jeff tries but Rhonda- he's finally looked at her nametag- shakes her head again. He sighs. "My… sister?"
"Nice try, but Dr. Perry works on the third floor and I'm sure he'd be happy to prove you wrong," Rhonda says. "She isn't any of those things."
"Okay, but she isn't technically my friend either," Jeff informs her. "I mean, she is. She's my best friend. But… it's complicated."
Rhonda glances up. "Well, I'm always up for a juicy story. Lay it on me, Mr. Winger."
So Jeff goes into the entire story of how he was disbarred, how he chose Greendale to replace his bachelor's, how he first met Britta. He tells the story of the long year of sexual tension, the bantering back and forth, the sex on the table that they kept a secret and even about his kiss with Annie at the end of the first year. He then explains the year of secret sex and leads all the way up to the previous night, in which they had had sex again. Rhonda chuckles and says, "So she's the Mila Kunis to your Justin Timberlake?"
Jeff frowns. "Actually, we preferred No Strings Attached to Friends with Benefits. Better acting."
"Potato, potahto," Rhonda says. "I think you have to deal with your feelings for each other before one of you gets hurt."
"Yes," Jeff agrees. "But I cannot do that if I can't see her. Now will you let me in?"
Rhonda deadpans and points to the waiting room again. "In two and a half hours, yes."
Jeff groans and slumps back to his chair, where he waits while watching Good Morning, America. Time passes super slowly and when eleven o'clock finally comes around, he spends half a second finding out what room Britta's in and the rest of the time trying to find it. She's in 531, but apparently that's at the other end of the hallway and he frowns upon realizing this. Once he finally arrives at her door, he gives a half knock on the open door and she turns her head to face him. She still looks incredibly pale, almost deathlike, but much more placid than yesterday.
"Hey," He says apprehensively, taking a few steps into the room.
Britta smiles slowly. "About time you showed up."
Jeff grins, then, because she's still exactly the same. "Listen, I've been here all night. I slept in a chair, I had pretzels from the vending machine for breakfast and I've been arguing with those women at the front desk to let me come in here and see you, but no! God forbid I break the coveted rules of visiting hours!"
Britta wrinkles her nose. "Really? You stayed the whole time? You could've gone home and gotten some actual sleep."
"And miss hearing about Estelle's trip to Tahiti with her hot new boyfriend? As if," Jeff jokes, but still, Britta smiles.
"Thank you," She says quietly. "You know, for staying."
"Of course," He shrugs and sits down in the chair beside her bed. "You just wait, Perry. This is going to turn into your worst nightmare- me taking care of you! Oh, the horror!"
She shoots him a look. "Fine. Just don't expect gratitude sex… Mostly because I can't have sex for the next three weeks."
He gives her a look of terror and she points to the end of the hospital bed. "Seriously. It's on the clipboard."
"Damn. Good thing we knocked that out last night," Jeff says once he's read the giant list of post-surgery no-nos. "It also says you're being discharged at one, though. They must've operated on you laparoscopically. Show me the scar."
Britta clutches her blanket and disagrees. "Ew, no."
"Buzz kill," He comments, but is grinning. "You didn't leave anything at my place, did you? We'll get you home and make you nice and comfy."
She gives him an odd look. "Why are you acting like my caretaker?"
"Because you scared the fucking shit out of me, that's why," Jeff tells her honestly. "And I want to make sure you're okay."
Britta grins. "You really did worry about me, didn't you?"
"Obviously."
A moment of silence passes and then Britta asks, "Did you mean it, last night? When you asked me to marry you?"
Jeff pauses and doesn't look at her. God, why is he such a fucking girl? "Uh, I don't know. Maybe. Why? You gonna to say yes?"
"Well I think we should figure out what this is first," Britta says, gesturing in the space between them. "I mean, marriage is a huge step for two people who aren't even dating. We weren't even sleeping together until last night."
"This is true," Jeff thinks. "Well, we've got time to think about it. You've got three weeks to heal."
"At my own apartment, Jeff," Britta warns. "If you take me back to your place, I cannot be held responsible for anything that happens to that ugly rug of yours."
"Again with the fucking rug," Jeff sighs, throwing up his hands. "You're still full of drugs; aren't your bantering powers supposed to be inhibited?"
Britta grins. "Oh, I think I'll be healed in no time."
They don't get married. At least not right away.
They move in together, instead.
The first thing to go is that ugly, mismatching rug.