The Cave

Jeff saw the pamphlets first. They were sitting haphazardly on the study table when he came into the library earlier than his usual twenty-minutes-late. He was hoping (praying) to the gods of got-drunk-the-night-before-in-a-place-too-far-from-home-and-slept-in-your-car-in-a-drug-store-parking-lot that no one would notice that his clothes were the exact same as yesterday. And that he was wearing sunglasses on a cloudy day. In the indoors.

But no one was in there, not quite yet. Well, no one but Annie Edison's slew of academia: a backpack that looked so perfect he was pretty sure she ironed it, two brightly polka-dotted folders, and a Biology textbook. All of this meant, he knew, that she'd probably been there hours before. Hell, she had probably already outlined their study plans. Or her study plans that he would snag twenty minutes before their final in order to bullshit his way through another class.

Jeff sat down, making sure to shield his eyes from the fluorescent lights. "Whoever Captain Morgan is, I'm going to find that sonuvabitch and punch him in the balls," he grumbled, his head down and ready to assume the going-to-sleep position. However, that's when he noticed it: the glossy glare of that pamphlet.

Of course, it wasn't like he hadn't seen those same pamphlets before. They were everywhere, around every corner. They had seen them in these little pockets all the way to the ceiling in the registrar's office. He hadn't paid any attention to them, because honestly? Who actually studies abroad at a community college? The fact that Greendale got him out of his bed and into another building for classes was a miracle in itself. They would be asking entirely too much in attempting to get Jeffrey Winger to A) pack and B) fly to another country and take a class.

But there they were, a whole stack of those annoyingly-cherry pamphlets just sitting there next to her backpack. And, in typical Annie Edison fashion, all those pamphlets were neatly-organized and rubber-banded together. There was one brochure loose from the pack, though, sitting on top and catching his eye. He reached over, squinting against the bright glare that bounced off the glossy paper. On the front, there was a picture of a strip of ancient ruins and a pair of extra-Caucasian tourists smiling and waving. Above their heads, two little clipart dialogue bubbles exclaimed, "Shalom!" The top of the brochure, in gigantic Comic Sans, a gigantic headline screamed, "Study in Jerusalem!"

"Comic Sans? For real? What is this, a Sunday school teacher's yard sale flyer?" He said, flipping the brochure open and casually eying the inside. There was some sort of description of the classes they were offering and some stock photos of the sites to see, all of which he doubted anybody from Greendale could certify were actually things to see in Jerusalem. He flipped it over and then almost threw it back into Annie's stuff when it dawned on him: Annie Edison is thinking about studying abroad.

But then: "Good morning!" It was her voice, like straight sunshine. His brain literally cringed inside his skull, trying to scuttle away like a frightened animal from her chirpiness.

"Could you speak in your indoor voice, Annie?" He squinted his eyes against the light and the sound of her voice binging around inside his skull. How did she always manage to be this fucking happy so early in the morning every single morning?

"This is an indoor voice," she said, and he could immediately tell she was miffed. There was a second inside of him that felt like a douchebag for not only coming into school irritated and with bad hair but also... "You're drunk, Jeff Winger. And you smell like a hobo."

He opened his mouth to retort, but then quickly closed it. She was right. He smelled like he had tipped himself into a vat of shitty scotch and old man vomit... and that wasn't too far from what was actually on him.

"Alan wanted to make sure I wasn't really gay," he growled. He rubbed his head slowly with his knuckles. "So, he made me go to a strip club. It was... is there a word that describes something worse than awful?"

"Despicable?" She offered, quickly. Too quickly. "Jeff, gross! You went to a strip club? I knew the smell of strawberry body spray was awful strong."

He opened his eyes, blinked slowly, before looking at her.

"What the fuuuuuu..." he trailed off himself, stopping himself, but just barely. Seriously, though. What the everliving fuck? Did she really have to look that stupid perfect this early in the morning? What did she do, get up as the sun was barely peeking above the horizon to comb her hair an exact amount of times? She was wearing this short denim skirt number and a lacy pink... thing. Was it just him, or were her camisoles getting decidedly lower cut? The last thing he needed this morning – the morning after a night full of flashing lights and women with names like "Popsicle Joy" – was a boner. And the early morning cleavage (really great cleavage at that) was not helping with the whole boner situation.

She lowered her eyebrows suspiciously before sort of half-shaking her head. Good, he doubted that she had heard him. Then, sighing, she said, "I have Excedrin if you need it. And a bottle of water." She strode quickly to her backpack, unzipped and rummaged through it. Then, with an exasperated look on her face, she took out what looked like a first-aid kit. She removed a green bottle of pills and a small half-pint bottle of water. "Take two pills, drink the whole bottle. At least it will get the vomit out of your mouth."

He wanted to remark about her tartness and how little he appreciated it, and how he didn't like cute smart-ass women judging him this early in the morning (that's why they had Shirley goddammit), but the fact was that she was right: he probably needed the whole bottle of pills, and he was thirsty as hell (and he didn't really remember throwing up but it must have happened at some point). So, begrudgingly, he took a couple pills and chugged the entire bottle of water in pretty much one gulp.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," she mumbled. When he looked up at her, she had that saucer-wide-eye look on her face. Those huge eyes fluttered for a second before she looked intently into her backpack.

"I know that you think strip clubs are gross. I get it, Annie. Can we suspend the judgment until after this hangover from the very pits of hell has subsided?"

"No. I mean, it's not the strip club. I don't care about you going to a strip club. That's... that's fine." She was talking quicker now, and he could perhaps see some kind of fluster rising in her cheeks. She fumbled with her backpack's zipper. "I meant, I wish you wouldn't go out with Alan. He's awful. He's the most selfish person that I've ever. And he ruined your life! And you still work for him even after everything he's ever done and ever said. I just. You deserve better, Jeff. That's all."

He blinked slowly. His head was about to slice open, he was sure, but all he could see was her stupid, clean face and the flushed apples of her cheeks. And he was definitely not expecting that, not at all, especially at this early of an hour. He wasn't really sure that anyone actually gave a damn that his work life was a living hell. He imagined that the study group had all assumed was the case, just a normal part of Jeff Winger's life. Never mind the bags under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. Just another day as an underling at a law office with Satan as Boss and a position that was so demoted from where he used to be that it was just fucking depressing, end of story. Here she was though, noting that she had noticed, noticed his weary sighs and she thought it wasn't fair, not fair at all. And it felt surprisingly reassuring to know that she just knew, understood maybe.

Shaking his head, Jeff said, "Alan's. Alan's all right, I guess." The lie pretty much hissed between his teeth, but the sad look in her face was just too much. "I mean, he's a sonuvabitch, and you have to chaperone him at strip clubs because he'll get himself arrested and then not pay you – all of that theoretical for legal reasons – but deep, deep, deep, deep, deep down.. he might be a good guy?" It was the worst lie of all time, and he knew it, Annie knew it, but he couldn't figure what else to say other than, "I'm never drinking again."

Annie huffed. "If I had a dollar for every time either you or Britta said that, I'd be able to move out of Troy and Abed's place."

He chuckled, even though it sort of hurt his head; his whole brain felt like it was rattling inside his skull. "True enough. Although it's not like you actually want to move out of that wonderland, right? It's always an adventure with Troy and Abed."

"And Britta," she mumbled, quietly. Too quietly. Quietly in a way where she-didn't-want-to-him-to-hear-her quietly.

"What was that?" He asked, looking at her, pointedly. "What about Britta?"

"Oh... nothing! Nothing at all. Who said anything about Britta?" She bounced into her study chair anxiously, busying herself quite intently again with zipping up her backpack. She had done her hair back in a ponytail and her face was surprisingly non-madeup today. She looked really nice, really... all right. She looked all right. He caught himself just in time, just in time to keep his imagination in check, the same imagination that sometimes would run away from him and have him in a field of daisies playing with a golden retriever and Annie jumping up and down in this skimpy sundress number. He sent his mind somewhere else, quickly, trying to remind himself of something that made him want to retch. Like Alan getting a lap dance. Yep, that would do it. Upchuck reflex was engaged.

On any other day, Annie's terrible avoidance of a subject would instantly peek his curiosity. But today, there was a hangover growing in his head like a alien pregnancy, and it was about Britta, so eh. And, also, also, she was staring at his hand, the one that was still clutching that glossy pamphlet.

"So, um, did you suddenly take an interest in bad fonts or something?" He asked, following her gaze to where the paper was a little crumpled in his grasp. Her face was, for a second, unreadable. But then, suddenly, she frowned, her eyes looking into her own thoughts. "You're not actually... going on a study-abroad trip with – and if it's possible to put more emphasis on the next thing I'm about to say, I would like to do that – Greendale Community College?"

She bit her lip for a brief second, and looked at him, really looked at him. He had been too groggy to really actually look her in the eye all morning, half for shame and half because she was often standing too close to a light source. But now she was looking him right in the eye, and she was trying to find something there. And her gaze caught him off-guard, something inside of him literally flipping over. And although he instantly said to his fluttering heart, Woah there, partner... that's the cheap scotch, nothing more, he knew that it wasn't the scotch and it wasn't being hungover and it wasn't because it was six-thirty in the fucking AM. It was, unfortunately, something bigger than that. Whatever that was, damned if he knew. Jeff Winger didn't deal with this sort of thing, wasn't a fan of letting his heart do strange things in his chest, things he had never felt it do before.

And all of that – the heart beating and the sudden clammy palms – made him say the next totally dipshit thing: "Annie, you've got to be kidding me. You're actually going to go on this batshit crazy extravaganza?"

And that's where he lost her, instantly. She folded her lips into a very solid frown and crossed her arms across her chest. "Well," she huffed, "why not? I just talked to my advisor and he said that I would be able to take on a smaller class load next semester if I did some of my studying in the summer. And I want to volunteer next year at the children's hospital, and so..."

He waved his hands in the air for her to stop, shaking his head. "Okay, kid, first of all, slow down. Second off, this is a terrible idea. Thirdly, isn't your advisor Professor Duncan? Pretty sure he'd tell you that you could be queen of England if he got to stare at your boobs for a couple seconds." He shut his mouth quickly there, because the last thing he needed right now was to be reminded of boobs around Annie Edison.

"Well, you'd know a lot about that," she huffed in his direction. He blinked, quickly looked up at her. Her face, instantly, grew the slightest shade of pink. "I mean, because you went to a... nightclub" and here she made some extraordinary exaggerated air-quotes, "with Alan. Where, I'm sure, there were plenty of... those things."

"Boobs?" He asked, quietly.

"Yes! Boobs! I said it. There, you happy?" Her face was turning this sort of adorable shade of scarlet and Jeff was slightly pissed that it was endearing rather than awkward.

He frowned before shaking his head. "Okay, circumventing the boobs issue, you do realize that this study-abroad program is two months long, right? As in, it's going to take your entire summer. As in, you're not going to get to do anything cool. All summer."

The heat was slowly draining from her face, but she still looked pretty irritated. "Other than be in Israel, in one of the oldest cities on the planet? Yeah, sounds like a real drag, Jeff." She grabbed the brochure out of his hand, missing at first but then finally rather awkwardly pulling it away with some sort of cute indignation. She flipped through it, not really reading it, before mumbling, "Besides, what am I going to do all summer anyway? Be ignored by all of you?"

"Wha... what?" He said, regretting how the pitch of his voice made his brain hurt. Those pills could start working pronto. "What are you talking about, Annie? We don't ignore you."

She rolled her eyes half-heartedly, as if he was rehashing an old subject. "Please. Shirley has three kids, Pierce naps most of the time, Abed has his constant love affair with pop culture, and Troy and Britta... well," and there she stopped, looking guiltily at him.

He sighed before shaking his head, "Yes, Annie, I know... they're fucking. Good for them. Although I'm sure living with that is like having a cat lie on your face: Cute at first, but really annoying after awhile."

The heat went back to her face. "I... I wasn't going to say it like... like that."

He blinked, trying to decide whether the naivety was grating or endearing at this moment. "Say fucking? That's what they're doing, right?"

She looked at him, this time with that look again. He swallowed, forcing his breathing to not do something weird. "It's not. Well, yes. They're doing that." She opened, closed, re-opened the brochure. "The point, though, is that it's not just that." She smiled. "They really, really, really like each other. It's. It's nice."

Her smile was infectious, he could feel something growing on his lips, too. But, he fought the urge to grin, buckled himself down. He needed to make sure that he was grounded, that he wasn't so affected but a sentimental, caring, smart girl. Nope. He wasn't going to do that, wasn't going down that road.

"Yeah, well. That's great." Annie raised an eyebrow, and he chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. "No, seriously. I'm seriously glad for them. Took them long enough, Jesus. Didn't Troy have a crush on her since the first year we were here?"

"You mean when I had a crush on him and you had a crush on Britta?" She asked, solidly. She didn't even blink, her voice even, cool.

He coughed. "Okay, well... yes. I guess so. But that's not the point!" He snatched the brochure back, and waved it in the air. "You're trying to skirt around the issue that you are – and let me repeat myself that I want added emphasis to this – going on a study-abroad trip with a community college. With Greendale Community College."

She frowned intensely before squinting her eyes. "I heard you the first time, Jeffrey. But I've already put down my travel deposit, gotten my passport, made an extensive and thorough packing list, made an emergency contact list for Abed, invested in several excellent sturdy sports br-"

"Okay, okay!" He says, holding up his hands in surrender. "I get it. Your preparedness is thoroughly Annie-esque. But the fact is that this isn't like you, Annie Edison. You don't just go... off and travel and not send us each hundred-point questionnaires about anything we might need from you this summer."

"Hey!" She interjected, crossing her arms across her chest. Her lower-lip turned into this absurd pouty-thing before she lowered herself in her seat. "Last summer's was only fifty questions."

Rolling his eyes, Jeff flipped quickly through the flyer before adding, "Plus, who's even going on this thing? You, Garrett, and his asthma inhaler?"

She made a grab for the flyer, but he pulled it back just in time. "I'll have you know that not only is Rich, Quendra-with-a-Q-U going, and Vicky, but Professor Duncan has promised to be my personal mentor throughout the entire trip."

His brain stopped. Actually stopped. Then his heart. Then his breathing. The grin that had been on his face by her pathetic (and sorta kinda adorable) attempts at grabbing the flyer dissolved instantly.

"Jeff?" She asked, her face suddenly concerned and in nurse-mode. "Jeff, are you all right?"

Was he all right? Was she fucking kidding? Did she think that the list she just spouted out would comfort him in the least?

"Jeff-?"

He held up a hand, looking blankly ahead. "We will ignore Rich – the closet serial-killer – for now in favor of addressing the horrible thing that just came out of your mouth. Duncan has promised to be your... what?"

Her face was firmly folded in a frown, even to her crinkled forehead. "My personal mentor? What's so bad about that?"

"What's so?" His eyes snapped right to her face, which resembled a deer-in-the-headlights. "Is there anything not bad about that, Annie? Professor Duncan used to refer to you as 'Boobs.' Just boobs."

"Well, so did you!" she said quickly before snapping her mouth shut. They both stared at each other awkwardly, the silence between them terse and ringing with this strange tension.

He blinked, lowering his hands as if trying to pat down that last statement. "Okay, maybe, yes, I might have called you... that when I was crazy because I was high on freaking monkey gas. But I was also not your professor when I called you that. And from the text messages that he's sent me before, I know his feelings about your..." he paused, felt something warm spread across his face. He gestures to her chest. "Whatever. That's not important. What is important is that you are not allowed to go on a trip with Professor Duncan. Period. End of..."

But then she exploded, all one hundred pounds of her, jumping out of her seat, her eyes aflame. She pointed a slender finger expressively in his direction. "No. No, Jeffrey Winger. You are not allowed to do this anymore. You are not allowed to dictate what I'm permitted to do. You're not allowed to judge what I do."

He frowned, holding his hands up in surrender. He could see the boldness in her face burn brighter than usual, but it was still crumbling under its own weight. "Woah there! I never tell you what to do."

"Oh, really? You never tell me what to do, never tell me that I can't hang out with certain people, never can have a crush on whoever I want? Never, huh?" She snapped, and instantly Jeff realized in that moment that he had made a very big mistake, because suddenly he was having flashbacks of shirtless hippie douchebags and ultimatums in men's bathrooms.

He knitted his eyebrows, trying to reel back from these thoughts. He didn't need that, not now, not when his best friend's life (and semi-innocent sexuality) was on the line. Best not to dwell on feelings and other bullshittery in times like these.

"Listen, Annie" he said slowly, calculated, as if he was trying to talk her down from a ledge. "I only did those things because you were thinking of asking out a serial killer. May I repeat that: A. Serial. Killer. I was only trying to protect you."

She huffed. "Oh get over it, Jeff. You just didn't want me hanging out with a guy that had better hair than you."

He narrowed his eyes. "You're treading dangerous waters there, Edison."

Annie gathered her things up quickly, flustered in her typical Annie-way (too much, too quickly, and with too much endearing gusto). She pointed one last finger at him, and although he knew she was going for intimidating, it ended up kind of looking hilarious. "You, Jeff Winger, are not going to stop me from going to Israel just so you can ignore me like usual this summer. I'm going to Jerusalem and I'm going to become a more enlightened individual and if I want Professor Duncan to call me boobs or whatever he wants to call me, than I'm allowed to do that. Nobody wanted to protect me before I got these... things anyway!" And here she motioned quite generously to Professor Duncan's nickname. He could tell that she was so angry that nothing could embarrass her now, not even her own sexuality.

She started stalking away, right out of the study room, her tiny hands fisted and her face set in a very solid scowl. As she marched out the back door, Pierce slide around her, both of them awkwardly bumping shoulders. She ignored him, but Pierce stared at her wide-eyed.

He turned to Jeff, raised his eyebrows. "I heard something about her allowing Duncan to call her boobs."

"Shut-up, Pierce," Jeff mumbled, watching the space where she was sitting just a few seconds ago. Her words, so you can ignore me like usual rang inside his head like a bell. And this time it wasn't the hangover

Either Pierce didn't hear him or he just choose to ignore him, because he said, "But that's good news right? If she's giving Duncan a chance, that means that you and me are still in the game." He extended his fist, looking at Jeff expectedly.

He stared blankly at Pierce's outstretched gesture before saying, "You can't honestly expect me to fist bump you in honor of our good friend, Annie, getting exploited by a perverted Anglophile?"

Pierce looked miffed. "Well, I didn't know that he was Anglican. I'm not a religious bigot." He shook his head and sat down in his chair before saying, "And when a man wants to fist-bump you, Jeff, don't leave him hanging. Don't be such a dick."

Sighing, Jeff shut his eyes tight. He couldn't be doing this right now, not today, not when the alcohol from last night was still poisoning every ounce of his being. He couldn't be having Pierce's ridiculousness, and Annie's adorable indignation, and the image of Duncan playfully slapping her backside all summer, he couldn't have any of those things in his mind. But the more he clenched his eyes closed, the more her face came to him. And what was more, what was stirring more than seven rounds of boilermakers in his stomach, was the nauseating idea that for two and half months, he wouldn't see her, couldn't see Annie Edison because she would be half a world away having new experiences and meeting new people, all without him in her life. That thought, more than anything, made him want to scream.

He stood up too quickly, hitting his knee on the table. Cursing under his breathe, he stared at the pamphlet still crumpled in his fist before shaking his head. "I'm a fucking masochist," he said before striding out the room, storming out the library doors and down the hallways of Greendale.

"All right, Professor Perverted-Harry-Potter, here I come. Booyah," he said, crumpling the pamphlet in his fist.