Deus Ex Machina

by tekken4life

Sometimes, you have to help people by helping yourself first...

1. Chapter 1

Deus Ex Machina – Do Not Try This At Home

Disclaimer: I do not own Community or any of the characters.

Author's Note: Hey guys, this is my first Community story, and I thought I'd give the Jabed (Jeff/Abed) pairing a try. Thanks for taking the time to read and please let me know what you think. Anything in italics takes place in a flashback.

I'm suffocating as I stare hopelessly into those meltingly chocolate eyes, feeling the air in my body effortlessly declare itself extinct. There's a chill in the air from the air conditioning, but I feel as though I'm caught somewhere outside, somewhere in the middle of the sun's infernal rays. I'm scared to be here right now. Not that I'm ever explicitly happy in this place, but there's a certain nuanced sanity that rings around my head here. Today it's gone: today I want to run away from this place on any wind that will carry me and yet I'm transfixed by the beautifully broken pieces of a human being that sits next to me. I'm addicted to this helplessness... actually no, I'm addicted to BEING this helpless before him, my own shameful little secret.

"The doctors say I might get discharged this week" he murmurs, slowly swinging his line of sight down to the floor. The soft snatch of his voice hits every miserable note so perfectly. I can't get over how much he's changed. The quirky resilience has given way to the utter acceptance of defeat. I smile weakly, even though he can't see it. "Yeah, I heard. I know it's not the Prison Break you wanted, but it's still pretty damn good."

"Maybe. I don't... I don't know yet." He's picking his words carefully. I can tell he's wary of me, like I might bolt out of here if he says the wrong thing. If he only knew how incapable I am of escaping at this point. Part of me hopes that he's pretending, after all he's a fucking good actor. But it's too real to just be fantasy. He's too crushed, too injured to be faking this so exquisitely. He's dead on the inside. Even in Annie's most fanatical of fits, she's never managed to pull of this level of catatonic fragility. The Abed Nadir I know was no more, not even a shell.

"So Troy and Annie are really excited to have you back home" I offer quietly, praying to somehow colour the blackened mood settling over us. "They're planning a twenty-four hour marathon of Inspector Spacetime." The air here grew thick with discomfort, the kind of bitingly acidic distress that we humans put out in response to our fears. I'm afraid of where this is headed, of being so deeply invested in this entire situation. I can't breathe like this. I'm about to dive headfirst into what I've been running from my entire life and I don't have a clue about how to swim across it. How do you tell someone, anyone; that they render you utterly incompetent as a human being? I feel tainted just by being in the same room with him. He's far braver than I ever could be: just by him being here, he's acknowledged that it only takes the simplest tinges of emotion to upset the finely-tuned universe he occupies. Me? I run, and I keep running until I can't feel it anymore.

"I don't know if it's a good idea for me to be around other people yet" he whispers. "It's... it just doesn't feel right yet."

"So what? You're going to hide from the world until you feel you're normal?"

"Isn't normal what you want?" My chest suddenly contorts around the dagger piercing cruelly through me. It's refreshingly sickening to wake up every day and suddenly remember you're the one responsible for vandalizing an innocent soul. There's not a single second where my guilt doesn't just call it a day and walk into some unhappy abyss to kill itself. I've betrayed him because I don't know how else to process my relationships. This is my curse, to walk a traitor's path in life. "I want you to get better Abed" I say softly, reaching out my hand to his. Almost instantly, I feel him steel himself rigidly and withdraw his arm to his side of the table. It kills me a little inside, but I guess I deserve it. "I'm trying to be normal Jeff" he croons brokenly, and for a single second I hear the sound of two hearts crumbling in the silence between us.

-xoxoxoxoxo-

"He's not coming home?" I stare vacantly at Troy's questioning expression before bequeathing him with a silent shake of my head. An exasperated sigh perfumes the air from somewhere behind me, letting me know of Annie's presence in the room. My head heavily weighs itself down, pressurized with the conflicting storms streaking belligerently through the harbours of my emotion. Unable to face either one of them, my line of sight decided to take a page out of my favourite filmmaker's book and hold the floor beneath me in solemn esteem. Every fibre in my being told me to barricade myself away, but I owed them this much at least – a chance to tell them that their Abed wouldn't be returning home in every sense of the sentiment.

"Well, if he's not coming here, where will he go?" asks the football star, emphasizing a latent whip of fury in his voice. My shoulders shrug unknowingly. "Fortress of solitude? An Australian dentist's fish tank? Who knows?"

"You don't think that he's going back to live with his dad?" I pause briefly to consider the question. I hadn't really given it much thought to be honest. I'd always assumed that Abed would come back to Troy and Annie, but the truth was I didn't really care where he went, as long as he was taken care of and that he wasn't with me. I had already poisoned him once; I wasn't prepared to do it again. Once was enough to know that I wasn't worthy of something like him. "If that's what he wants, then I guess so" I say quietly. My humiliation began to peak at infinity, showing across my face in the slightest of burning crimsons.

"Would you please look at us when you talk?" Annie belts out indignantly. I raise my head against its wishes, seeing the burning wonder that had now gone over to stand next to her roommate. Her eyebrow arches itself cockily. "Someone has to say something to him; we can't just let him go off into the world like some broken toy soldier!"

"Actually-"

"Troy, I swear to my Jewish God, if you say 'Troy soldier', I will gouge your eyes out with my menorah!" The football star purses his lips in defeat as the youngest of our ill-fitting circle turns her delicate wrath onto me once more. "Are you the least bit concerned that someone we care about very dearly is being released from a psychiatric rehab soon?"

"Please don't say that." The very mention of that term was like cheer from the monster inside of me, which gleefully opted to take no hesitation in clawing at me from the inside. My very own insane Frankenstein... I shudder sickeningly at the thought. "Look, maybe it's for the best. The intent is admirable, but let's just put a brake on things."

"How very Jeff Winger of you" sneers the girl, her tone cutting through me like Arctic ice. My eyes narrow at her caustically. "If you want to smother and overwhelm him, that's your own damn business." My voice is barely above a dangerous whisper – it's all I can manage, but I'm not about to let her know that. "You'll send him right back to that place within an hour, and for what?"

"To show that there are people who care! God, for once in your life Jeff, can't you put your ego aside and just feel something for someone else?"

"Yeah Jeff, can't you just feel someone else for once?" The footballer shuffles anxiously on his feet, quickly realizing his mistake. "I don't think that came out right. I'm sorry, I'm sure you've felt plenty of other people in your life." My eyes travel ardently from one roommate to another, both of them blinded by their determination. I was but one person, one weak man half-heartedly trying to navigate away from this mess. They think I don't care, but I've cared more than the sum of the entire world for my precious TV zealot. They think I'm unfeeling, but I feel each and every tiny perfection of his shattered state. There is only but a single state left for me to achieve in this hazed enlightenment of misery, but I'm not ready for it yet. It is impossible for me to go through more than what I have already put myself through. I am devoted to this madness; that is my punishment alone to bear. What more can I give than my sanity? "Do what you want."

-xoxoxoxoxo-

He's staring at me again. Coming from anyone else, I'd regard that as flattery, but I hate it when he does that. I can't stand those eyes studying me, storing away all sorts of silent judgements. Other people choose to see perfection in me; he chooses to see the truth. He pierces through the illusions by living in an illusion of his own. I usually ignore it. I'm busy trying to finish this assignment for our History class, but I can feel the intensity of gaze surge with an intense gravity. Something's not right about it, but I'm too distracted to worry about it. So I'll let him stare quietly from his edge of the table... for now anyways.

"Is it just us today?" I look up tentatively to see him finally move his eyes back to his own writing pad. The relief in me breaks like high tide and makes no attempt to hide its modesty. "Troy went to go see his Dad and Annie's off grocery shopping for the apartment" he says, his hand neatly flying from line to line across the page. "I offered to go with her but I think I annoy her when I get to the cereal aisle. I can't help myself."

"Ah well; Superman has kryptonite, you have cereals. The universe balances itself out" I say wryly, curling a grin upon my mouth. "Don't feel too bad."

"Do you know where the others are?"

"Abed, does it really matter?" The litigious flow from his pen temporarily freezes. He draws air into his lungs with soft, ragged breaths. I've struck a nerve, a small one, but I feel bad nevertheless. One more piece of evidence to add to an already very long list – it's becoming very possible that he's the only person that makes me aware of what a dick I am. "Shirley's taking her kids to the doctor's" I say gently, watching as his body thaws to the sound of my voice. "Britta's putting on her monthly striptease for her landlord so she doesn't have to pay rent and Pierce went to visit one of his stepchildren."

"So it's just you and me?"

"Looks like it."

"Cool." I can't help but throwing him a curious look. "That's it? Just one 'cool'?"

"I'm actually trying to find a new catchphrase to use, but it's proving harder than I expected. I'm phasing this one out. I'll send out a group memo to make it official."

"Boy, you are some kind of weird" I murmur, flourishing my pen on the last sentence of the assignment. My hand near numb from the last forty-five minutes of almost continuous writing. "Definitely passable." I lift my head up to look at him. "How far are you?"

"I need your help Jeff."

"Of course. How badly do you want to fail?" A shake of his head tells me I've misunderstood his sentiments as he throws his pen down. "No, not with this" he says flatly. There's a note of gravel in his voice, like he's unsure of how to proceed next. There's a malfunction in the clockwork. He's being dissolved into something he can't understand – it's actually disturbing for me to watch. I abandon my seat to take Britta's, soothingly placing my hand on his back. "Abed, are you OK?"

"Not yet" he whispers faintly, rocking slightly back and forth in his chair. He bolts up suddenly, staring around the room intently. Within the space of a breath, he's on his feet, zooming to the windows to shut the blinds. "I will be Jeff, don't worry" he calls over the metallic rustling. He's surprisingly quick on those drawstrings. "But I need your help."

"Sure buddy" I say uncertainly, watching him zoom to the other side of the room. His work is perfectly symmetrical, systematically shutting out the outside until it's only the faint chatter that flits between the barriers. I might very well die here.

"What I say to you is bound by attorney-client privilege, right?" he asks, reclaiming his seat. My line of sight deters sideways. "Well, I'm not an attorney yet and, besides you're not paying me." I return to his stare, smiling brightly. "But don't worry, whatever you say is safe with me. What do you want help with?"

"The only reason I'm asking you this... actually, I'm not sure why I'm doing this. It's just been stuck in my head and I can't get it out." The slight tremor squirming around his slender frame doesn't go unnoticed by me. I swear, if this turns out to be some sort of act on his part, my foot is going up his ass and I don't care how Republican that sounds. His hand reaches out to mine, his tiny fragile sticks for fingers slowly wrapping around my wrist. That stare of his is back, but up close, it's more haunting than intrusive. There's a worried shadow passing through those limpid pools. I can't help but fall for the intrigue. "Abed tell me what's wrong."

"Can I kiss you?" My eyes blink in confusion. I must not have heard him correctly, but the question hangs profoundly in the space between us. "You're kidding, right?" I say, feeling my head spin right away from the normal realm of logic. He's silent, understandably so. There's no need to answer me when that gaze fixes itself on me, almost pleadingly. "Please tell me you're joking."

"No. But I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you." My hand is freed back to me. Neither one of us is sure what to do with ourselves. The spell of his look finally breaks. He won't so much as glance at me now. I can't tell if he's dejected or not, but maybe that's just as well. The rules between the two of us have changed. It's not the same anymore.

-xoxoxoxoxo-

The sunrise is such a misleading part of the day. The surgical pink of the early morning is slightly nauseating, but I press on my intake of the natural beauty in any case. Why is it that watching a ball of flaming hydrogen gas peaking over the horizon to start the natural process of photosynthesis in plants makes you feel so hopeful that things will change for the better even if you're incapable of changing them yourself? I know I'm not. Still, looking out over the horizon, I feel some false sense of separation from my own body, like I don't have to be Jeffrey Winger as long as I stare at the pink. Pelton would give both of his kidneys to hear me say something as gay as that.

It's been two days since I last saw him, two whole days of his empty shell draining away the drapes of colour from my life. I've come to accept what I've done, mainly because I can't take the agonizing contortions of my intestines every time he wafts into my thoughts. With that, my senses took an extended leave of absence: I can't seem to function properly anymore. Everything I do, I do it because I feel I'm obligated to do it. I can't take pleasure in anything. I'm stuck in my penance. I don't even deserve to get frustrated about that fact. Acceptance is so perfect in its victory.

Over the past forty-eight hours, my Blackberry has been coming to life with texts and calls at virtually every hour. I've ignored every one of them. I'm actually proud that my fingers are resting in mourning instead of tapping furiously on the keypad. Annie and Troy left an apologetic duet on my voicemail that would have made Sara McLachlan cry... and then commit suicide. Britta tweeted me for ideas on next month's peepshow for her landlord, while Shirley texted me to say that she went to the clinic, and in her opinion, maybe Abed would be better off staying there for a little while longer. I was too lazy to text back to say that it should be me locked up there.

I don't know how exactly to feel about him. If I did, maybe it would be a little clearer as to what I have to do. I care for him, I really do. Who wouldn't? But there are a million plunges I have to take before I'll ever be comfortable with that particular truth. There's actually this fastidious sound that I keep hearing, this throaty call of my name slathered in unadulterated longing. If I concentrate hard enough, I can still feel his skin shudder uncontrollably beneath me. He felt so fragile in my hold, like he'd break if I held him too long. My sight surrenders to the blaze of the rising sun, the pink slowly fading away to the light blue of the sky. Beneath my fingers, I feel the solidarity of my Lexus's bonnet. My day begins.

He's not like me at all. He's honest about who he is and what he believes in. I could never do that: I hide myself behind deception after deception to protect myself. Too many people have left me, and I have left too many people, to change that. Just having someone so brutally honest like that near me sends wildfire through my body. For someone who claims to not understand emotion, he connects with it way too easily. He makes me realize I'm empty, inside and out. You just don't forget that you've ever been with someone like that, no matter how much they hurt you, no matter how many knives they slide between your ribs.

One seamless hour later finds me at the reception to the rehab, hands in my pocket, eyes straight ahead – mind completely blank. I'm actually not sure why I have to be here. I'm sure his father will come to fetch him and take him home. I think my conscience wants me to be here as an option. Quite fitting actually. The receptionist before me smiles warmly, blinding me with her required enthusiasm. "Hi, how can I help you?" I love generic.

"I'm here to pick up Abed Nadir; I think he's being discharged today."

"Oh, his father is already here to fetch him." I also love being psychic. With a polite nod to my nonspecific informer, I turn away to back out into the world. Not even four steps later, I'm graced with his presence. His father leads him with confident strides while he lags behind. He doesn't see me, oh the irony. He stops for a second, and my heart ceases to beat. He looks down, ahead and eventually to the side. Brown meets blue, colliding in conjoined melancholy. The certainty, our assuredness is lost. I'll never breathe around him. One second... one second was all it took for a pain so foreign to inch its way across my chest. One second is all it takes for him to wound me. "Kill me, weird boy. I dare you."

-xoxoxoxoxo-

I'm waiting here outside Greendale's award-lacking film department for no apparent reason. Actually, that's not completely true; I know why I'm here, I just don't know why I want to be here. Damn, I should really take a philosophy class. There's not a cloud in the sky, but I feel the static in the air. Everything in my being tells me I shouldn't do this. So why am I here again?

He steps out of class, cocking his head questioningly at me. Such innocence won't do him good in the future. My hand slips into his and my feet lead him in leaping bounds to our destination – the supply closet. I pull him in, quickly flicking on the switch near the door. The sound of the outside distorts its way in, but I can't hear anything but the rampant tattoo thumping in my chest. His expression is quizzical. If I could explain it to him I would. Oh well, we'll have to settle for this.

"Jeff, I-"

"Tell no one." We're colliding. I capture his lips like rose petals. He's resisting, but I persist to my goal: he gives in. His body sways weakly onto mine, falling into my waiting arms for support. My head flashes black, white and red. He moans, and I feel it run through my flesh like it came from my own throat. God, this electricity between us is fucking amazing. I pull back for air, surprisingly with the utmost reluctance. He's still wearing that confused expression, but there's something starting to light behind his eyes. I can't help but chuckle softly. I've escaped to somewhere that shouldn't exist for me. Things have definitely changed.

"Boy you are some kind of weird."

-xoxoxoxoxo-

She's gorgeous. Lush red lips, high cheekbones and a banging body to boot. I can't remember her name. I think it begins with an 'M'. Or was it an 'S'? Well, I am definitely sure it wasn't an 'X' or a 'Z'. Her skin is like Caucasian velvet, if that doesn't sound racist. She's leaning up against me, forcing me onto the barstool as she wraps my arm around her shoulder. Her frosted brown hair flirtatiously chafes up against my neck, making me even more aware of the alcohol laced across my mouth. Another gulp of whiskey goes spinning down my throat in pleasurable burns. I had no intention of coming here to meet anyone, let alone get my crotch teased with Mystery Lady's thumping ass. She flirted, I flirted back. I got her two dirty martinis; she started showing me her PhD in grinding. It's not my fault if she can't handle her liquor.

"Ooh, no wedding ring" she giggles, studying my hand intently. I let out a soft laugh to appease her. "I don't believe in marriage."

"So you don't believe that two people should commit to each other out of love?"

"Put it this way babe – I'm the ultimate agnostic. Everything is inconsequential to me."

"So if I leave right you here right now, you wouldn't care?"

"Depends why you're leaving" I grin mischievously, relishing the light pressure of her fingertips against my torso. "If you're leaving to prove a point, I wouldn't care."

"And what would it take to get you to care?" she coos, running a well manicured finger across my parted lips as she turns to face me. My tongue quickly licks across the tip, much to her delight. I can guarantee this girl at least three orgasms if she comes home with me tonight. She's halfway to the first already, but I want to drag this out a little further. I'm tired of being careful. I want to see how far my luck will go before I end up alone.

As she leans in to my chest, my head twists to take in the full smoky panorama of the bar. The acrid haze invigorates me as I look for prey, and with it, my limits. I'm fucked up in the head right now, and neither the whiskey nor Mystery Lady is helping. Maybe it should be me locked up in that rehab. My mark is found – lonely guy, looks to be about mid thirties. He's wearing thick hipster-frame glasses without a hint of irony while his hand nurses a Peroni. His head hangs low, not making eye contact with anyone. I recognize that posture all too well; somebody I used to know wore that arrangement of body language like a coat. The bar is filled with the various motions of drunken human bodies, but he makes no attempt to widen the radius of personal space around his table – he's here alone. Target acquired, let the Hunger Games begin.

"Check out the sad bohemian over there?" I growl in her ear, outstretching my finger to point her in the right direction. Her back arches seductively against my abdomen. In between the opaque chatter, I hear her purr to rev me up. I push one more limit as I gently tug her earlobe between her teeth. She tastes like forgotten notes of honey. One more purr swings headily in my senses before I come back to my intentions. "Go over there and give him a lap dance."

"And what exactly will that prove?" she asks, laughing breathily. I'm a bit at a loss as to how to answer her. If its redemption I'm after, I can't hope bounce back up over rock bottom. Neither can I sit in my apartment praying that someone somewhere can somehow piece Abed back together again, that hope is long gone. Why not take the fun way to hell? "It won't prove anything."

"Then what's the point."

"I'll like it."

"Is that so?" Mystery Lady takes me by surprise as she prises my glass out of my grip, downing the last of my molten punishment. "I'll do one better Christian Grey. Don't take your eyes off me."

"Impossible baby girl" I retort, beaming fictitiously as I watch the first steps of her smoking saunter. Strangely enough, I'm actually kind of glad I have a bit of time to myself for the first time in a couple of hours. Don't get me wrong, Mystery Lady is fabulous company. She's smart, but she plays dumb on purpose; she can certainly hold her alcohol and her body is like Aphrodite reincarnated. Maybe if I weren't so miserable, I'd be more enthusiastic about my prospects than what my current state of affairs will allow me. She's reached his table already, wearing a Lilith-like smirk. The lonely flower child looks like he's trying to get a coherent sentence out of his throat, but English fails him. She's not waiting for an answer; she straddles herself beautifully across his legs. She looks in my direction with a dark grin before proceeding to swivel her body in the most shameful of twists. I'm distantly impressed. Beatnik Boy is frozen. He looks around, but no one seems to take notice of the softcore porn scene unfolding. Her mouth hangs open in that classic 'O' shape as she rides him. She's enjoying the voyeurism. Yet another brave soul with more courage than me to show the world who they really are – I'm so ashamed for myself.

Mystery Lady flips her body off from her 'client', rubbing her chest in the poor boy's face. One more naughty wink flies my way before she's on her knees. The smile is back on my face, but its more out of a genuine depression than exhilaration. I watch from my ice fortress as she unzips her prize, with a tiny bit of certainty growing in me. The last thing I see before my view of the XXX Discovery Channel is obscured is her tongue sinfully take a lick of a very modestly sized treasure stick. I'm not upset, more relieved than anything else. Despite my efforts, I am taking the mature way out and going home alone tonight: and I'm totally OK with that. "Bill please."

-xoxoxoxoxo-

"They're waiting for us" I say, pointing towards the study room, vaguely acknowledging the Dean's overly enthusiastic fluttering of his hands with a wave of my own, thus acknowledging the start of my daily hell. The man had chosen a full length glittery black number, something straight out of a Miss USA Pageant. Clearly, Colorado's gown industry had nothing to fear financially as long as Craig Pelton drew breath. However, the Dean's choice of outfit held my attention for less than a second, with my head clicking back into the man in front of me. He's got that remote look glazed over him; he's looking at me with a muted awe, like I'm the inaccessible god-jock and he's the girl no one would ask to the prom, which has nothing to do with the fact that I really was a god-jock in high school and that I'm sure no one asked him to prom. He scares me a little; I don't know what goes through his head when he burns right through me like that.

"I'm not sure what the correct protocol is here, so I'm going on my gut feeling." His voice is soft as feathers, but each word does inebriating pirouettes on my head. He gives me a small grin. "It doesn't make any logical sense for you to kiss me yesterday, but thank you."

"Abed, look we need to talk about yesterday" I say quietly, standing closely to him so that none of my sentence lets slip to an unsuspecting ear. "There're a couple of things we need to-"

"I won't tell anyone Jeff. I know how much you value your masculinity and how something like this could damage it if word got out." He moves away but my hand grips his wrist in a single, fluid motion. The rest of the group could wait for us; classes only start in an hour's time. There's too many things I need to know before I can sit before my beloved misfits and pretend my life is going the way I want it to – which it totally will be, as soon as this little misunderstanding is cleared up. He's confused, the perfect gateway to honesty. "I thought they were waiting."

"They'll be fine so long as they don't get fed after midnight. Come on." I'm barely aware that my feet are leading him away from the indignant stares we're attracting. We sprint in silence, but the pulse on his wrist soars against my fingertips. There's a million questions just waiting to singe themselves to the air, most of which are directed at myself. That kiss wasn't my usual brand of empty. For the first time in years, I can't feel the vacuum anymore. The space is gone, displaced by something heavier, something more complicated. It's far more than I'm capable of containing. Jeff Winger was built solely for aesthetic purposes, not for intricate psychological complications. My brain is too pretty for hardship.

Five very breathy minutes later finds us stepping inside the same supply closet as yesterday, something I'd be more surprised at if I had enough emotional bandwith. My Middle Eastern biological computer stands against the closed door, miserly in his readings, generous in vacuity. It's not stubbornness, he's not proud enough for that. I nearly miss the gentle bob of his Adam's apple. He's scared too, probably more than I am. Our dance begins.

"Abed. Abed, look at me."

"I am looking at you."

"No, you're psyching yourself up to go into a coma any second."

"Please don't kill me" he blurts out flatly, turning his head to the side. There's a small earthquake passing through his body. I inhale the shattered air, though it does little to clear up my thoughts. The only way to get this over with is to go through it. "Yesterday, when you asked me to kiss you... was that some sort of act you were playing out-"

"No." The single word carries sincerity far beyond its simplicity. He allows himself one more look at me before returning his eyes to the greying walls. My work is more than cut out for me, but I'm persistent. "Then why?"

"I've been listening to Taylor Swift songs. It's actually like listening to one song over and over, but she's made me realize something."

"And what might that be?"

"You make me happy." My breath twists up painfully in my lungs. It's not a compliment this time, it's a war of candour, and he's winning. "Abed, I'm not gay."

"I know. That's why I was scared to ask you. Most people in my situation go through their entire lives without knowing what it feels like to have that special person reciprocate their feelings. So thank you Jeff, even though you were faking it." I'm slightly bitter about that last part. I don't know why I did kiss him, but it wasn't just for his sake. Still, that's not the main focus right now. My legs start to tremble slightly as I step towards him. He's inches away from me, his breath is nearly stagnant. "I can't be with you, I'm sorry" I whisper, wishing he'd fucking look at me. I want to turn his face to mine, but something tells me that it would be adding fuel to the flames. "Whatever you feel, I can't give it back to you."

"I know. But Jeff, no one's asking you to. I'm happy where I am, and that's at least one thing I have that Taylor Swift doesn't." I laugh softly. I'm not relieved, just temporarily placated. The poor guy doesn't know what a treacherous journey he's on. I want so badly to stop him before its too late, but I can't save him if he doesn't want me to. "Boy, you are some kind of weird."

"And that's just the way I like you."

-xoxoxoxoxo-

It's nearly midnight, and I wish I was full on drunk instead of just lightly buzzed. My eyes have been running up and down the same crack in my apartment's ceiling, but I'm too tired to get bored with myself. Some people say that it's at times like these human beings truly find their meaning in life, as if the grand revelations we're privy to are anthrophobic. There's nothing in this hollowness but its sweet lullaby. There's no pieces to pick up, no parabola to spin around; there's me, and only me. I can't exactly blame anyone for this, but these are the resources I have to make do with for now. Maybe someday I can look back on this and not feel so overwhelmingly flawed, someday far in the future when I'm the victim of an extremely violent crime and have to move around on that witness protection program.

Mystery Lady must be giving her unfortunate/lucky son of a bitch victim the ride of his life right about now. Good for them. What fundamentally rocks me to the core is how OK I am with all of this. Somehow, somewhere, I expected this to happen at some arbitrary point – maybe not with Abed of all people, but I didn't really think I'd go through my entire life without scarring at least a few people along the highway to hell. Whether it's intentional or not, the plain and simple truth of the matter is that I hurt people in ways that I'm incapable of comprehending. No matter how many times I try to restart my life, I can't cut away at the parts of me I don't like. If I even have an ounce of courage to look in the mirror now, I'd hate the man staring back at me from the other side. For me to be even remotely likeable, I have to sit and analyze every possible angle my existence could potentially harm someone else. "I hate you so fucking much Jeff Winger" I mumble to myself drunkenly, snorting as I hear how damn ridiculous I sound. "Why do you even bother living?"

The sudden thud of my door looms sharply across the twilight atmosphere. I swing my head to its direction, barely seeing past the swirl of colours blurring my vision. Three more polite, but urgent, knocks have me fumbling to my feet, silently cursing whoever it is on the other side of the door. Whatever happened to the times when a guy could feel nothing on his own? My hands slip and slide, but I finally manage to get a good grip on the key and wildly swing the door open. The stranger on the other side is indifferent as ever, pursing his lips together thoughtfully. I'm too drunk to notice the irony, but neither one of us is in a right state of mind, if anything like that ever exists. It's about a full minute before I slur out something coherent. "You shouldn't be here."

"You're drunk" he notes, not waiting for me to invite him in. One agile step and he's past me, taking interest in the stylish minimalism of my humble abode. There's no way this could get any worse. I manage to shut the door and turn around, feeling the heat of my alcohol ocean swoon inside me. "Abed, after everything that's happened, do you really think that-" I snigger as my sentence hangs incomplete. "No of course not. That rehab has done nothing for you, not if you're here of all places."

"I have a check up appointment next week, so we'll find out. How come you're drunk?"

"Wow, you don't mess around, do you?" I groan, flopping my body onto the sofa. "I am not drunk, just very out of my senses due to alcohol." I grin weakly up at him. "I tried to go back to the way I was before I met the group."

"Oh. How did that work out for you?"

"Not very well." My voice suddenly swoops into this hoarse whisper I don't recognise. I don't know what to do anymore. My once flawless plan, so carefully calculated with all its intricate details, starts to crumble around me. I've become a complete stranger to myself because I can't deal with this. "I've discovered that I can't go back to what I was. You made me too human." Somehow the numbing of it all is what hurts the most. It might be the alcohol's fault, but I have this heightened urge to break myself down into the smallest of shards in the faint hope I'll find some form of solace. I can't hide away from the truth anymore – I'm affected.

My guest bestows me with yet another faraway look. I must be a fascinating case study for him as how NOT to function. "It's not my fault you're like this" he utters softly. It's not a question, not even a judgment to my exemplary condition. It's the truth, served with a compassion we're both not ready to understand yet. My eyes close painfully. "Abed, what are you doing here?"

"I ran away from home."

"That is... fucked up. I'm going to be very concerned about that tomorrow morning" I mutter, feeling my head swirl thrillingly in tides of consciousness. "Still doesn't explain what you're doing here."

"You're the only person I can go to. I'd have gone to Shirley, but she's not home, plus I'm not in the mood to accept Christ as my personal saviour."

"I will destroy you Abed, just like the last time" I whisper, feeling a blast of pain coerce its way through my chest. "Aren't you afraid?"

"I love you Jeff. I don't have time to be afraid."

-xoxoxoxoxo-

The barely-there sputtering of hot oil tenderly caresses my ears to herald the end of my slumber, betraying me to the harsh rays of the morning Colorado sunshine streaming in through the blinds. My head throbs dully, but I'll manage to survive – I've lived through worse hangovers, albeit with a lot of pathetic moaning and cursing God for having designed such a poor alcohol response system in humans. The small greys and beiges of the front end of my apartment finally align themselves into focus. My head follows the vague pops of heat coming from the kitchen area. He's there, flurrying around the stove like a deranged Jamie Oliver, which in his head, he probably is. Through the nagging of my headache, I feel the heavy drop of disappointment in my stomach at his presence here. He says he loves me; clearly the guy is two stars short of a sitcom. I really do hope that his father considers getting a refund on that rehab.

"Ah, you're awake" he exclaims, breaking my misty line of thought. I nod slowly, feeling an invisible baseball bat take yet another swing at my cranium. "You spent the night?"

"Yeah, I slept in your bed. I hope that's OK."

"It's not not fine" I groan, rolling my head around my neck's axis. My limbs spark to life, though they're a bit unwilling to respond to my commands. My attention turns to his culinary efforts. "What are you doing there?"

"Making scrambled eggs and toast for us. I'd have put in a couple of slices of bacon, but I'm Muslim and you don't have any bacon." He pauses thoughtfully. "You have a very nice stove."

"I've never used it before" I mutter, forcing myself to stand upright. The room does a mini-earthquake, but I soon remember how to walk again. As I draw nearer to the counter, two plates with golden squares of toast are awaiting their dollop of messy yellow with knives and forks to boot. We have become what I've always imagined grandparents to be, that is if grandparents were filled to the brim with sexual angst and guilt – kinky. "Abed, we need to talk."

"I thought we talked last night."

"Rephrase: we need to talk about last night. You really shouldn't be here, and..."

"I really shouldn't be in love with you" he says softly, flicking the knob. "That's what they said too back at the rehab." He turns around to face me, placing a frying pan I never knew I had to a colder plate with a movement that can only be described as deliberately restrained. "Do you love me?" he asks, and my suspicion over his poised mannerisms is confirmed. I'm drowning, and there's no one who can save me. And he's... he's just standing there, watching. Waiting for something.

"Please don't do this to yourself, not again" I moan, hiding my face away behind a careless rub of my palms. "I'm not gay!"

"That's not what I asked you."

"What exactly do you want from me? You come here in the middle of the night after a stint in a goddamn crazy hospital, make breakfast for the two of us and ask if I love you?"

"Yes."

"I can give you any answer you want Abed!" I can feel the red rising in my face. He's unflinching. Perfect. "I can say that I love you more than I've loved anyone else in my entire life, or if you'd like I can say that I hate your fucking guts for crushing on me, but at the end of the day it doesn't fucking matter BECAUSE ALL YOU WANT IS A TRUTH I DON'T HAVE TO GIVE TO YOU!" I'm reminded of my headache on the last couple of words, but all I can feel is my inside disintegrating into the nothingness I call my lover. "I don't know what to feel when it comes to you" I say hoarsely, feeling a peculiar lump in the middle of my throat. "I've put myself through so much guilt ever since you left; I don't know what it's like to feel anything else."

"Jeff, no one asked you to." I feel his hand gingerly reach out to my body and lightly, but securely, latch itself to my back. I'm shuddering; I feel his touch go far deeper than my skin. "I'm not normal" he whispers, though I feel like he's tracing every word onto me. He's pulling our bodies together, and I don't want to do anything to stop it. The solid grip he exerts around my waist holds me in place, not that I'd go anywhere else if I had the choice. My forehead slips down to press against the smooth runs of ebony hair on his head. My heart will not be silenced this time. "Why me?"

"I don't know. I wish I knew, maybe then I could be normal the way you want." He pulls away from my chest. "Have you seen that Inspector Spacetime episode where the Inspector gets caught in an illusion that his entire life has been in a mental institution?"

"No."

"Yeah, me neither, the reviews weren't that positive. The point is Jeff; I can either love you or be normal. I chose the one that made me happy."

Well guys, that was part 1 – click that arrow for part 2: Free Samples Unavailable. Will Jeff be able to accept his own feelings towards Abed? Will Abed ever move on from Jeff? All shall be revealed...