Cardiology, Sensation, and Perception

This year hasn't exactly been great for Jeff Winger, and it isn't even halfway through yet.

Ever since Pierce's hospitalization the year prior, with the whole "you may potentially see your dad again for the first time in twenty-five years" situation, he's felt much… softer. A little more vulnerable to outside influences and he's certainly been through enough with the study group and with himself to warrant this. It was the reason he faked an illness to get out of helping Annie move; he needed time away from the people he saw everyday- he needed Jeff time. The mall was his place of anonymity; a place for him to just exist for a while, alone, in a place where he didn't owe anyone anything.

His emotions are the things that have been played with the most. Jeff's been on a whirlwind of a rollercoaster with his feelings for Annie and they really led him nowhere. They kissed and felt super awkward about it afterward; Annie complained that he called her "kid" too often and Jeff had counteracted that, well, that's what she was. It had pretty much destroyed their relationship status, so they diffused into the "just friends" state they were in now, much to the rest of the group's joy.

And then of course, there was his "thing" with Britta. Jeff's still trying to define what this "thing" entails. They hadn't exactly stopped sleeping together (well, not until Brock came around, but that's a story for later), but it definitely wasn't as often as it was last year. Twice, maybe three times since the year started? He's glad he still gets this on the side, because let's face it- it worked out extremely well for him last year. He got all of the benefits of a relationship without any of the attachments and, well, that's exactly what they both wanted.

Or, so he thought.

Today, Jeff's walking through the halls of Greendale and it hasn't exactly been the best morning. He overslept and missed his morning class (okay, this isn't really his fault; classes scheduled at 8 a.m. should be illegal), slid on black ice on the way to his car and dropped his coffee on the pavement (granted, this was more of a sacrifice; it was either lose his coffee or break a limb), and his favorite parking space was taken and he was forced to park behind the school, in the alley (always the sketchiest thing in the entire world).

Oh yeah, and now that he's approaching the study room? He has to watch Britta make out with her boyfriend outside the door.

His scowl deepens as they continue to kiss goodbye. Jeff thinks a moment as he pauses in his commute; they've been dating about a month now, right? That was longer than Vaughn, she's proved her point, and they can break up now, correct? Well, apparently not. Jeff frowns, yanking open the door and not bothering to hold it for her as she greets him and follows, pulling a face at his attitude. Jeff ignores her; if she can make out with that douche and then turn around and greet him like everything is fine and dandy, well he can pretend everything's normal.

But he isn't going to.

A month earlier, the night Greendale let out for Thanksgiving break, Jeff heads out to L-Street to celebrate, throwing on a fancy button down and dark-washed jeans, wanting to look presentable. The bar isn't very busy tonight, he notices, stepping through the door and nodding toward the bartender, who grins back and begins mixing him a drink. He then scans the bar for hot women because, well, that's the kind of guy he used to be. Now it's just instinct. But seated a few feet away is Britta, who's downing a shot and motioning for another.

Sliding onto the barstool beside her, Jeff opens with, "Long day, huh?"

She turns to look at him and nods slowly. "Sure. What are you doing here?"

"Same thing you are," He replies. "Drowning my sorrows in alcohol like a normal person."

Britta half-smiles, but it's somehow different. She isn't looking at him like usually does- like he's kind of an asshole, but he's her best friend so she loves him for it anyway. Instead, she's looking at him with a distant, unfamiliar gaze. It's as if she's peering at him through a wall, trying to keep him away even though he's already been so close. There's an undisclosed barrier between them and, no matter how hard he tries in the next couple of minutes, Jeff can't break through.

He goes with a different approach, placing a gentle hand on her knee. "Want to hang out? See a movie or something? I heard Arthur Christmas was fantastic."

It was so obviously a joke, but he's never really been good with them and instead of it making her laugh, Britta shifts uncomfortably. "Get your hand off my knee."

Now it's Jeff's turn to shoot her an odd glance. "Britta, what-"

"Sorry about the wait; the line was longer than the women's room!" A blonde man, tall and bespectacled, says to Britta, grabbing her coat off the chair beside her. "Ready to go?"

He takes notice of Jeff, who is staring at him as if he's just fallen out of the sky, and asks, "Oh, who's your friend?"

"Brock, this is my friend Jeff, from school," Britta introduces. "Jeff, this is Brock… My boyfriend."

Yeah. Needless to say, Jeff had downed many more shots after they left.

Fast forward to the present, Jeff is staring down at the shiny cover of his Biology textbook as Shirley talks about their annual holiday party that would take place right there in the study room. Britta asks if she can bring Brock and they all make cooing noises at her. Troy makes cutesy faces and dons a high-pitched girly squeal while Pierce asks if 'Brock' is a common name for girls these days. Shirley okays this, saying the more the merrier, and turns to ask Annie if she would like to make latkes.

Britta turns to Jeff, who hasn't said anything. "I'm sure you already have a date right? Who did you go with, Tube Top R.E.M. concert or Juror number 6? Wait, don't tell me! Car-wash Redhead?"

Jeff glares at her. "None of the above, actually. I'm thinking about asking Quendra. Haven't talked to her in a while."

Britta snorts. "Quendra-with-a-Q-U? That girl doesn't even know how to spell party, let alone be invited to one."

"I'm sorry we can't all be dating dentists from Princeton," Jeff retorts and Britta pulls a face.

"Brock is a doctor from Yale." She corrects. "Cardiology is completely different from pulling bloody molars."

"Oh, is it? I had no idea," Jeff rolls his eyes. "How does he ever have time to give heart transplants if he's too busy wearing skinny ties and fixing his hair?"

Britta eyes him. "You've paid a lot of attention to him, haven't you?"

"No, it's a simple observation," He replies. "You always date guys that are into themselves?"

Looking him up and down, she says, "Yup. Must be my thing."

He notes that today, he is also in fact wearing a skinny tie. Well, fuck her.

Later on in the evening, Jeff's simultaneously Facebook chatting with Annie about the Biology assignment and gagging at the lovey-dovey posts on Britta's Wall Brock sent her. Like, really? Who the hell is this douche? Britta must be uncomfortable. She must be; relationships freak her out and boyfriend-girlfriend behavior, such as this nonsense, is the last thing she likes. Jeff knows; he called her babe once, partly to piss her off and partly because he wanted to see how she'd react. The look on her face isn't something he'll ever be able to replicate. He comes across a particularly disgusting comment and texts her immediately, asking Are you still alive?

A few moments later, she replies, … What would make you think otherwise?

Just making sure you didn't commit suicide from Brock's Facebook trolling, Jeff responds. Is this guy a poet in his spare time?

I'm not dead, Her next text reads. But I'm busy. Leave me alone.

So, obviously, Jeff doesn't. Busy doing what? Single-handedly saving the world? Performing cat eye surgery? Knitting kitty eye patches for multiple occasions?

Nearly five minutes later, she says, With Brock.

Now Jeff rolls his eyes. If you're with Brock, why are you texting me?

He doesn't get a reply.

It's after two a.m. when Jeff's phone rings uncontrollably. He jumps awake, startled, and glances around at his very dark, very limited surroundings before his vision comes into focus and he realizes his cell phone is glowing. He yawns and rubs his eyes blearily before yanking it off the table and sitting up against the headboard, his eyes doing a double take when he realizes it's Britta calling him. Another yawn escapes as he answers, "Hello?"

"Why are your things still at my apartment?"

"Britta," He frowns. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"There's all this stuff you left here. A tie, some CDs, your toothbrush, and a couple t-shirts. Please come get them before I donate them all to Goodwill."

"I'll swing by tomorrow. Can I sleep now?"

"No. Come get them now."

"Crazy woman, it's two in the morning," He emphasizes, afraid she might not know that because she does sound strangely awake. "Why can't this wait?"

"Because it just can't. There's a Goodwill down the street, you know. They're open twenty-four hours a day-"

"Fine," Jeff grumbles. "Ten minutes."

He's at her door in seven, actually, and lets himself in because, yeah, he can. Calling out for her, she replies from the bedroom, where he finds her with a box of things, seated on the bed in a sweater of his. He smirks. "Well this is counterproductive."

Britta shrugs. "I got cold."

"I don't understand," Jeff sighs, moving the box to the floor and sitting beside her on the bed. "Two in the morning I have to rush over here and you're in no hurry to give me my stuff and push me out."

She sighs too and stares down at her hands. "You and Brock are so different. I can't… It's hard."

Jeff smirks. "Obviously. One of us graduated from an Ivy and the other goes to a school with an anus on the flag."

"It's not like that," Britta shakes her head. "I really like Brock and I feel like it's real, you know? But he wants to take things slow and I just…"

He puts two and two together. "You haven't had sex with him yet, have you?"

Color rises on her cheeks, but she shakes her head. "I know you hate being 'one of the girls', but… I have needs, Jeff."

Jeff chuckles, loving this. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Actually," She looks up at him, determined. "Yeah. Could you maybe talk to him? I mean, you've been with me before. You could give him a heads-up."

His smile falls slightly. "That's not exactly what I had in mind."

"Oh really? What did you have in mind?"

"This," Jeff answers, closing the gap between the two of them, his lips meeting hers halfway. She protests at first, but as Jeff moves to kiss down her neck, as he finds the spot on her collarbone that makes her shiver, Britta gives in and goes with the flow. Jeff's moral compass doesn't exactly point north, so he's not the least bit concerned with the current situation. Sure, he's been in Brock's shoes before, but he's also currently having sex with Britta, and who is Brock, again?

"I…" Britta trails off once it's through, once they're breathing raggedly. "I actually have no problem with that."

"Neither do I," Jeff says, sitting and beginning to change. "I'll see you at Shirley's party tomorrow. Maybe I'll talk to Brock?"

"Oh… Oh, yeah, sure," Britta states, snapping back to reality. "I'll see you there."

But Brock both is and isn't their biggest concern.

Shirley's holiday party is as festive as everyone expects, with fancy appetizers, menorahs and Christmas trees, and blinking lights all over the room. They eat and chat, sharing winter break plans as they prepare to leave for the holiday and catch up with each other here and there. Jeff walks into the party with Quendra, who is dressed in a miniskirt and heels despite the freezing temperature outside. She curled her hair, perfected her makeup, and is talking Jeff's ear off the whole time about how excited she is to be there with him and his friends.

But honestly? Jeff couldn't tell you what she's saying. All of his attention is devoted to Britta.

Britta and Brock (how annoying is it that both of their names start with 'Br'? Ugh) show up a few minutes late, with the latter apologizing immensely and blaming it on some excessive canoodling, with Britta lightly scolding him. She catches Jeff's eye and nods curtly, before moving to the refreshments table to get a drink, Jeff watching the entire time. Abed is there, of course, to offer useless information of television/movie references about a "lead character wanting a girl he couldn't have," but again, Jeff's attention really isn't won by him either.

Jeff's watching, still, as she pours herself some punch and begins to drink. He takes in her appearance; she's wearing a deep red dress cut above the knee, over which she's layered a white cardigan, sheer tights glisten on her legs that end in strappy black heels. Her hair is partly pulled back, but curly- the way he likes it best- and the chunky ringlets bounce as she engages in an animated conversation with Annie by the menorah. And Brock? He's in the corner, checking his watch. For real?

As Jeff continues to stare at her, he realizes for the umpteenth time that Britta Perry is the most beautiful woman to ever walk the planet. She's super annoying, super obnoxious, and super confusing; all of which would be a huge turn-off if she wasn't so goddamned gorgeous. Every time he looks at her, he honestly feels his chest tighten, like there was something in there that just couldn't take that much attractiveness in one sitting. His heart slams wildly when he talks to her; he can feel all of the blood rushing to his head, the pounding in his ears, and the voices in his head screaming, "You've never felt like this before… What if you never feel like this again?"

He thinks he'll never feel like this again, and he's glad, because this physically hurts.

But then he sees Britta, and everything happens all over again.

So he tries to get through the party with Quendra on his arm, tries to ignore Shirley's pitied looks and Abed's annoying references, and tries to completely leave Britta unacknowledged. He wants this to stop; all of it. The feelings, mostly, but Brock can go away and Britta needs to know what she's doing to him, because he shouldn't have to suffer alone. He knows he'll never feel like this with Quendra, who thinks "prima donna" is the time period before the eighties. He knows, despite the goodnight kiss he gives Quendra as he drops her off at home that evening, there's nothing there but lips on lips. No spark, no energy, no chemistry, no feeling.

He sleeps with Britta that night, after Brock is called into an emergency surgery. He knows he'll always end up here, no matter how many boyfriends Britta has and no matter what type of guy he is.

Which is why it shocks him so much, the next morning, when she breaks it off again.

"Jeff, we have to stop doing this," Britta sighs, getting out of bed and putting on her own clothes instead of his. "Brock's getting suspicious and I really want things to work out."

"That's what you say now," He says, sliding into his own clothes. "What about next week, when he breaks off a date for a patient or leaves you at three in the morning? Who are you going to call then?"

"No one," Britta states adamantly. "Look, we're mature adults now. We need to start acting like it."

"Mature adults?" Jeff quotes back sarcastically. "Really? So you've disposed of the Hello Kitty underwear then?"

She frowns at him. "I'm serious. This has to stop."

For a moment, he's affronted. But he lets out a small laugh sardonically and says, "Fine. Enjoy your life in your little farmhouse with your perfect blonde kids, your rabies-free dog, and your loving husband that's never home."

Britta glares at him. "Maybe I will."

As he's leaving, he says, "It's not going to work out, Britta. Trust me."

The door slams behind him before she can reply.

It's Saturday night, now, about a week since their last confrontation and Jeff has… well, he hasn't really taken it well. He's not the moping, sulking type; it reminds him too much of the Jeff who had slumped against a cheap vending machine because Britta had kissed Vaughn right in front of him. Ugh, who is he? This is so not him. He wants his old life back, the one where he didn't care- he didn't even care enough to pretend to care- because this one, this life right here? With the feelings? So not worth it.

Anyway, it's pouring; like real, torrential downpour. Thunder rumbles every few minutes, with lightning every second lighting up his very dark apartment as it nears eleven p.m. Jeff's absentmindedly flipping through the channels on the television, but he's too bored to watch TV and not bored enough to find something more useful to do. A moment later, the lights flicker, dim, and then restore and Jeff swears audibly. Great. Now he's going to lose power. Fantastic.

Switching off the television, he goes to the coat closet to retrieve his emergency flashlights, just in case, when there's a knock at his door. He unlocks it and yanks it open harshly, coming face to face with a soaked-from-head-to-toe Britta Perry. She's wearing boots, jeans, a leather jacket over a simple t-shirt and a look of angry aggression Jeff has never seen before. Her blue eyes turn to slits the moment they make eye contact, her jaw set and Jeff, though already dampened by her sour mood, still finds his intense attraction to her completely undeniable.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She shouts, pushing past him as he shuts the door behind her. "It won't work out? Why won't it work out? What's so wrong with me that I can't have a successful relationship?"

"Oh come on, you don't even want a relationship," Jeff tells her. "And this guy is all wrong for you. I mean the guy writes sappy romantic shit on your Wall! You hate that!"

"So? That's your best argument?" She argues. "That's all you've got? That I hate romantic shit? Well let me tell you something. I liked it! It was nice to come online and see something meaningful for once! I'm not used to feelings!"

"You hate feelings!" Jeff shouts back. "That was the whole reason we never actually went on a real date! You said relationships were for love struck teenagers. And for God's sake, Britta, Vaughn! Do you remember how freaked out you were when Vaughn wrote you poetry?"

"Brock is not Vaughn!" Britta yells. "Brock did not go to school without a shirt on! Brock did not pick me up for a date completely stoned! Brock was not intimidated by you or the group because he's different!"

"He's a complete douche," Jeff shrugs. "Admit it."

"No, you admit it, Jeff." Britta says strongly. "You're so jealous of him you might as well be turning green."

Jeff's eyes widen and he sputters, "Me? Jealous? Of some blonde doctor douche bag who likes to write the world's greatest poetry in his free time? Yeah! That's so true! Britta, you're a damn genius!"

"It's not his profession you want, dumbass," Britta counters. "You want me."

Jeff's heart takes a giant leap in his chest, but he ignores this. "Don't flatter yourself."

"No, you don't flatter yourself," Britta argues back. "You just can't stand seeing me happy with anyone else, can you?"

"Give me a break! You are not happy with this dick!" Jeff yells. "Need I remind you that it was you who called me at two a.m. when this guy wouldn't sleep with you? And why do you think that is?"

"I wanted you to talk to him! Not sleep with me!"

"Yeah, because you really protested!" Jeff snorts ungracefully. "What the fuck is going on with us? One minute you're shooting me down, the next we're having sex during paintball. Then we're sleeping together pretty much all year and once we call it off, we still have sex every now and then, just because we feel like it. Then we're seeing other people? What gives?"

"Well we weren't seeing each other," Britta points out angrily. "Why the fuck not?"

"What are we, Britta?" Jeff shouts. "What the fuck do you want from me?"

"You're jealous of Brock, Jeff! And do you know why?"

"Enlighten me!"

"Because you love me!" She screams and then they're both silent. There's a pause before she says, "And I just want you to admit it."

Jeff stares at her, his heart pounding so loud he's sure she can hear it from where she's standing. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. But what does that mean for me? It's not like you feel the same way."

She shuffles her feet a little. "I didn't say that."

He smiles slightly. "You love me too?"

"I didn't say that either," Britta glares, but there's really no malice in it. "It makes so much sense to me, now. That's why you hate Brock, even though you know he's a perfectly decent person. That's why you've been texting me nonstop, especially when I'm with him, because you want him to be suspicious so he'll break up with me. That's why we slept together all those times, because you didn't care about his feelings… You didn't want to let me go."

"I didn't want to let you go?" Jeff spits back, getting angry all over again. "You texted back, you're the one who called me, and you never put up much of a fight! Maybe I didn't want to let you go, but you weren't all that willing either! What we had was fucking awesome! Excuse me for trying to replicate that!"

"Do you hear yourself? 'Was'?" Britta shouts back, turning and heading for the door. "What we had was amazing, but it's in the past, where it should be. We need to move on!"

"You don't mean that," He calls after her and she scoffs.

"Like hell I don't!" Her response is heated and wild, but the sincerity is gone and Jeff picks up on this instantly. "I can't take this anymore. I have to get out of here."

"Britta!"

"What?"

She spins around to face him but her anger diminishes completely at the desperate, vulnerable look on Jeff's face. Britta's entire manner softens as she says, "You don't want to be in love with me."

Jeff crosses the room so he's standing directly in front of her. "Like hell I don't."

Their mouths meet halfway, lips fused together as they have many times before. But this time, it's different; it's softer, but still passionate, warmer, but still aggressive. Jeff's done pretending he hasn't wanted this moment for weeks and weeks and by the way Britta's clutching at him, he can only guess she's done too, finished, completely over this Brock person (his name was Brock, right? Who knows; he's already become irrelevant). Jeff runs a hand through her sodden hair to reach her neck, which he uses to pull them closer, closer, because he can't get enough of this, can't get enough of her.

They pull away for a moment and there are tears in her eyes, but they're not out of sadness. They're different, really, and Jeff can't seem to place it- whether she's feeling sentimental, or scared, or embarrassed. He runs a hand down her cheek and her expression changes, like she's given in, or made up her mind about whatever they're doing. And Jeff can see this change in demeanor; can see everything she's feeling because to say Britta wears her heart on her sleeve would be an understatement. He lets the feelings swirl around in the air surrounding them before easing the tension, diminishing the awkwardness and ending this "thing" all in one.

"Besides, it's too late," Jeff concludes, referring back to her previous statement. "I already am."

Song recommendation? "Heartbeat" by Childish Gambino. Love that song and that's what inspired me to write this story. It reminds me so much of Jeff and Britta, it's not even funny...