Saturday
Annie slept well, in spite of Jeff stumbling around and coughing hoarsely several times during the night. When she woke up at seven, he was fast asleep, and judging by the dwindling level of the cough syrup bottle and the reduced number of night-time decongestants, would now remain that way for a while.
Aside from feeling apprehensive about facing Jeff after her discovery of the previous night, she was starting to become uneasy about leaving her house empty and unattended for so long, and decided that she had to go check on things. She left a note on the refrigerator, hoping Jeff would notice it among the litter of takeout menus that were clipped there: "Running errands. Back before 11 am. Call me if there's an emergency."
On a whim, Annie plucked out one of the dozen guest passes to Jeff's gym that were stacked in a mail tray. She didn't think he would mind, since the oldest ones were coated in a few millimeters of dust. She knew from experience that a sedentary weekend wasn't conducive to the kind of studying she wanted to do.
At her house, she retrieved the wad of twenties and the note her mother had left her, which directed her to "Be good! Be careful!" Sleeping over at Jeff's would have scarcely been part of her mother's intentions, even if it did fit into Annie's personal definition of "being good."
After checking the house and flipping on a few lights, she filled a small overnight bag with toiletries and clothing, congratulating herself on her speed and efficiency.
Jeff's gym across town wasn't the kind of fluffy, feel-good, yoga-intensive retreat that Annie's mother favored during her annual self-improvement phases, but it was mostly deserted at eight on a Saturday morning. The front desk attendant, who bore no small resemblance to the repulsive Ben Stiller character in a sports movie Troy found hilarious and had quoted all September (Volleyball? Football? Dodgeball? she'd watched part of it with Troy and Abed, but still wasn't sure), was in a talkative mood.
"Winger, eh?" he flipped over the mailer to look at the address. "Guy comes in every day, but I've never seen anyone use one of his passes. You his girlfriend?"
"No!" Annie moved away a few steps. "We're friends."
"Oooooh." He didn't even try to hide the fact he was leaning over the counter in order to better assess her. "Well, you know where to find me," he finished off with a leer as he threw her a towel.
Disgruntled, Annie stewed over the encounter while she ran on a treadmill. The inane entertainment news coverage on the TV monitors did nothing to distract her – not even the host who looked like a miniaturized, smarmier version of Jeff, whose presence on the screen was usually enough to guarantee her attention. Maybe she should have said she was Jeff's girlfriend, especially if it would have garnered her enough respect not to be treated like a piece of meat. She wished she could talk to Britta or Shirley about it. Not that she could even if they were here, she realized, her frustration mounting.
She finished running, showered, and as she passed the desk on her way out, blurted, "By the way, Jeff Winger is my boyfriend. Just so you know."
The guy lifted his attention from his magazine. "Good for you?" he shrugged, uncaring. "Guy's a giant douche. Want my number for when you get fed up with him?"
Annie fled, feeling like she had betrayed both Britta's principles and Jeff's friendship.
She had just parked the Lexus in Jeff's spot when her phone buzzed with a text. Sliding it open, she saw it was from Jeff. "Where R U?"
Remembering that she'd instructed him to call in case of emergency, she sprinted up the steps and into his apartment, heart pounding with anxiety.
"Jeff?" she called. "Are you okay?" There was an answering groan from the bedroom, which she followed. "Jeff?"
He was tossing around on the bed like a beached whale, moaning. "I need to see a doctor."
"What's wrong? I mean, what's gotten worse? Should I call 911?"
"Everything hurts, I can't breathe without blowing my nose, I'm in fucking agony here! Don't call 911, though," he added. "It's not that bad."
"Muscle aches?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Sore throat and congestion?"
A white drift of used kleenex by the bed attested to that, so she didn't wait for his answer.
"Jeff, I'm sorry, but those are the symptoms of a cold. Unless you're dehydrated or something, they can't do anything for you."
"I'm really sick!"
Annie was fairly certain that she was right, but realized she wasn't the one who was suffering, and so relented. "Emergency room?"
"No. There's a neighborhood clinic that takes appointments on the weekends. The number's taped to the side of the fridge." He blew his nose again.
Annie placed a call, then came back to Jeff's bedside. "They'll see you if we can get there in half an hour," she informed him.
"Okay."
She waited. "Well? Are you coming?"
"I was going to put on some clothes first."
"Oh!" Face blazing, she spun on her heel and left the room at a trot.
In the clinic's waiting room, among crying children and their sullen caretakers, Jeff sat with his head in his hands, and Annie had to admit that he seemed as miserable as she'd ever seen anyone look.
"I'll be out here waiting for you, okay?" Annie touched him on the shoulder, feeling the heat from his skin even through his jacket.
"Come in with me," he said.
"What? I don't think they let non-family - "
"Say we're married and they'll let you come in."
She was stunned. "Is that necessary? You'll be fine!"
"Annie, I think I'm going to puke, and I can't stand the thought of going in there alone, okay?" he hissed. "You can call me a pussy later."
Taken aback, she nodded wordlessly, then reacted to the first part of his sentence. "Puke?" she said, somewhat louder than she should have, causing several heads to turn their direction in alarm.
"Yes."
"Well, don't! Just don't!"
"Do you think I want to?"
Annie subsided, then started to worry about their ruse. No one would buy them as a married couple, right? Too absurd. Still, she twisted off the little birthstone ring she wore on her right hand, and replaced it on her left ring finger.
Jeff was watching her.
"It's for verisimilitude," she huffed, feeling ridiculous.
"Mr. Winger?" a nurse called. Annie helped him up, and walked with him into the warren of examination rooms.
"I'm, um, with him," Annie explained. "I mean, we're married," she finished lamely, holding up her be-ringed hand.
"Fine." The nurse left them into a sterile room, in which the thermostat must have been set for a balmier clime. Shivering, Jeff sat on the examination table, his feet dangling an inch off the floor.
"Are you still sick to your stomach?" Annie asked, hoping that his nausea had somehow magically vanished within the last five minutes.
"Yes."
She looked around for any sort of receptacle for vomit, not trusting her own stomach if it ended up on the floor. "You could stand over the sink." She gestured toward it, suddenly understanding Shirley's dire words of the previous day, and uttering a brief, silent apology for doubting her.
"Jeff Winger?" A man's round, white-bearded face appeared around the corner of the door.
Jeff didn't answer, so Annie said, "Yes, that's him."
The man entered, bestowing a jocular smile. "I'm Dr. Adair. You are?"
"I'm Annie, Jeff's -" she hesitated, "wife," which came out in an alarmingly high, squeaky register, so she laughed, attempting to cover her awkwardness. "We just got married, so it's still kind of strange." Digging herself in deeper and deeper.
Dr. Adair chucked. "Ah, newlyweds. Did he pick up a tropical stomach bug on your honeymoon?"
"Oh, no, we've been in Greendale. We're both students, you see."
"There's plenty of things going around this fall," he nodded. "Well, let's have a look at him."
Jeff had been following the conversation, and aside from his discomfort, looked bemused and not a little annoyed.
"He's very nauseated now," Annie explained. "That's new."
"Just let me know if there's anything incoming. I've been vomited on quite a bit in my day, and it's always worse when it's an adult."
Jeff groaned.
As Dr. Adair went about examining Jeff, he directed a few questions at Annie.
"His blood pressure's higher than it should be, but that's probably because he's ill. He hasn't had any unexplained shortness of breath lately, has he?"
She shook her head – she supposed not.
"No problems achieving or maintaining an erection? That can be a side effect of high blood pressure."
Annie felt physically incapable of answering, her embarrassment was so acute.
"No!" Jeff bellowed, speaking for the first time since Dr. Adair had entered.
"Well, that got a reaction," the doctor laughed, but he still looked at Annie. "Is that right?"
"No – I mean, yes!" she stammered. "Everything is satisfactory. Working order." She knew Jeff was glowering at her, but she couldn't look straight at him, so she focused her attention on the torn edge of the paper covering the exam table.
"Okay, then," Dr. Adair said. "Let me get these nasal swabs analyzed to make sure he doesn't have the flu, and then we'll talk over our options. If he feels like vomiting, aim him toward the sink, please." He trotted off.
Jeff slid into a recumbent position on the examination table, his head hanging off the side.
It was only a few minutes before the doctor returned, seeming still to be in a state of amusement. "Good news and bad, as things always seem to be," he sing-songed. "He doesn't have the flu; it's just a common cold. So, Mr. Winger, I can't do anything for you there. But I can give you a shot that will alleviate the nausea and keep it at bay for quite some time. Ready?"
Jeff had lifted his head in alarm at the word "shot", and said "Uh, well..."
Annie, however, still not happy about the potential of having to clean up vomit, seized on the idea. "That sounds good. Without the nausea, he should be able to function better."
"Excellent. This one goes in the backside, so you might need to help your husband with his pants. He looks like he's pretty miserable there."
If he hadn't been so sick, the vengeful gleam in Jeff's eyes would have looked positively demonic.
Annie had to admit to herself she'd walked straight into this, so, gritting her teeth, she moved to Jeff's side, and said sweetly, "Roll over, please."
Jeff complied, settling himself on his stomach. Annie reached out to grasp the elastic waistband of his trackpants, telling herself sternly, You can do this. It's nothing you haven't seen before. But she couldn't do it. A few haphazard attempts at living in the moment were no match for a decade of repression, and she froze, her hands in midair on either side of Jeff's hips.
He peered back over his shoulder at her, and must have taken pity when he saw the wide-eyed look of panic she wore, because he hooked his thumbs in his waistband and gave a wiggle, exposing the tops of his buttocks, pale beneath a summer tanline.
Dr. Adair walked over to stand beside Annie, syringe in hand. "Here we go," he said, and administered the injection. Jeff winced, but held his tongue, an "I-will-suffer-in-manly-silence" expression on his face.
"Should work within fifteen minutes," the doctor nodded, satisfied. "Aside from that, keep him hydrated, give him over-the-counter decongestants as needed, and if his fever rises, put him in a cool bath. Oh, and make him stay out of your face for a few days." He wagged a finger at Annie. "He'll still be contagious. We don't want you getting sick, too. Keep whatever you do at arm's length. Or behind the back," he added cheerfully.
In a shell-shocked state that was beyond embarrassment, Annie agreed.
"It was nice meeting you two." Dr. Adair shook Annie's hand. "I always like seeing young couples making a go of it, and you seem well-matched."
Annie got Jeff out of the office and back into the car without him vomiting, and by the time they were on their way back to his apartment, his demeanor had brightened and he was taking a renewed interest in life.
"You're feeling better, aren't you?" Annie asked.
"I have enough control over my body that I know I'm not going to vomit in my car," Jeff replied grudgingly.
"You don't want to admit that I was right and the shot worked."
"You wanted a chance to inspect the goods again. And I still have a cold." He coughed for emphasis.
"That is completely untrue!" Annie spat.
"Calm down. You've sufficiently proven you have only friendly interest in my person, I get it."
That wasn't true either, but she couldn't argue after having repeatedly ignored his post-Transfer-dance overtures.
They drove past a burger-oriented drive-through, and Jeff cast it a longing glance. "I could go for something to eat."
"Fifteen minutes ago you threatened to spew all over the floor. Would a burger really be a wise choice at this point?"
"Don't get too used to bossing me. I won't be sick forever."
As much as she didn't want to, Annie felt that she had to confess to what she'd done that morning. It didn't mesh with the code of friendship she'd established for herself, and she knew it would torture her until she admitted to it. "I used one of your guest passes to your gym this morning. I hope you weren't saving them up for something else, but I'm not used to sitting around for so long. I needed to get out."
"No problem. I was going to throw them out anyway."
"The guy who's at the front desk in the mornings? Dark hair, mustache?"
"Bruce? Has "douchebag" practically tattooed on his forehead?"
"Funny, that's what he said about you."
Jeff harrumphed. "What about him?"
"He - " she thought through the accepted slang terminology, rejecting anything that sounded like something Pierce would say. "He hit on me."
Jeff scowled, but said nothing.
"I hated it, so I told him I was your girlfriend. He did ask! I felt safer saying that, and I'm sorry, I know it wasn't the right thing to do, and if he asks, you can say you dumped me. I'm so sorry, Jeff." She got through it quickly, wondering if this was how Catholics felt at confession.
"Why are you apologizing to me?"
"Because, well, because I used your name and your reputation for my own benefit. Without your permission."
"First of all, you did it to get that asshole to shut up. Pretty sure that falls under the 'obligatory friendship favors' category. Second, no guy in his right mind would complain about you claiming to be his girlfriend."
Annie was flattered and confused and relieved, all at once. Then she remembered the DVD she'd found the night before, and confusion became predominant. Mind wandering, she took a turn too fast, squealing the tires a bit, and Jeff protested.
"Whoa, what the hell are you doing? Just when I thought I could trust you to drive my car."
"Are you patting the dashboard?"
"No." He yanked his hand back. "Ten and two," he said, scrutinizing her hands on the wheel.
"When it comes to damaging your precious car, I think you have more to fear from ex Spanish teachers with keytars than you do from me."
"As I recall, that was your fault too. Indirectly." Jeff was smiling.
That made Annie think of the rest of the group, and how they might react to the knowledge that she'd spent most of the weekend at Jeff's. She decided that there was no good reason for them to know, and that she'd discuss it with Jeff. Later.
After lunch, Jeff camped out in front of the TV with a box of kleenex and a bottle of cough syrup, and Annie settled down to some serious studying. After she finished all of her work, she started on Jeff's Comparative Religions assignment, determining that it was ethically sound to help him out (or really, do it all) just this once. She got so absorbed in the material that she scarcely noticed that Jeff had stopped contributing intermittent comments to the process, or that he'd gone back in his room. By the time she'd done enough additional research to determine that there was crossover potential for her own upcoming Anthropology research paper, it was late afternoon, and she hadn't heard from Jeff for at least an hour.
Annie clicked her laptop shut and went to peek around the corner of the open bedroom door. Jeff had kicked all the covers off the bed, and although asleep, was twitching and muttering. His hair was dark with sweat, and she didn't need a thermometer to realize he was running a fever.
"Jeff!" she poked at him with a fingertip. When that yielded no results, she tried again, harder this time.
"What?" he croaked, still managing to sound offended.
"Fever," she said. "You should probably get in a cool bath."
"No." He rolled over, his back toward her.
Annie sighed and knelt on the bed to shake his shoulder. "Get up. You need to bring your fever down, and your t-shirt's soaked through with sweat. It's gross."
Jeff flopped onto his back. "Okay, if you'll leave me alone then," he mumbled, out of it.
"I promise, I will. I'll go start the bath."
Bending over the tub, Annie heard footsteps behind her and a rustle of fabric. Behind her, Jeff had arrived in, as her grandmother would have delicately put it, in a state of nature, and was squinting into the light, clearly somewhat disoriented.
Annie's first instinct was to fling her arm over her eyes and melodramatically ask the universe about the source of the karmic retribution that had placed her in so many embarrassing situations. But a smaller, but still emphatic, part of her brain (the part responsible for the fact that when she had previously been in a very similar circumstance, she had taken a good, long look) was telling her that real karmic retribution would have been to be in this room with someone like Pierce, and that she should enjoy what the universe was being so generous as to throw her way.
So she took the middle route, and standing up, focused her gaze somewhere over Jeff's left shoulder. "Jeff, you're naked," she informed him.
"I'm going to take a bath," he responded reasonably.
"I'm in here still."
"You could leave."
Annie did, seeing no point in arguing, but she had to return in ten minutes to fish him out again, racked with chills and his teeth chattering.
"You're kind of a lot of trouble when you're sick," she grumbled, tucking him back in bed.
"Sorry, Annie," he said contritely.
She wasn't sure whether she found a pliant, docile Jeff alarming or appealing, but tended toward the former. She missed his acerbic, sarcastic manner, and decided that him being willing to do her bidding wasn't worth it.
Jeff was still mumbling something, most of it incomprehensible. Annie doubted it was entirely due to fever delirium, given the dent he'd put that afternoon in an economy-sized bottle of cough syrup with a high alcohol content.
Whatever it was, it was loosening Jeff's tongue in alarming ways. "You're so nice, Annie," he said with a sigh that turned into a cough. "So pretty."
Annie melted a little at that, even if he did look ridiculous just then, with a fleece blanket wrapped entirely around his head and held under his chin like a particularly unfashionable monk.
He turned so that most of his face was buried in a pillow, and carried on with his train of thought. "Such amaaaaaazing boobs. Just...really...great..."
Jeff was snoring.
After a day like the one she'd had, Annie felt desperately in need of distraction, so she sorted through Jeff's DVDs again (this time steering clear of any in the back) and watched the lightest, most feel-good films she could find one after the other: The Princess Bride, Mean Girls, Rushmore, and Harold and Maude (the last two were Abed's, and weren't nearly as feel-good as she might have liked).
By the time she'd watched herself into a state of mindless exhaustion, it was two am – far later than she usually stayed up, unless it was finals week, a paper was due, she had an important presentation to give – okay, so she often stayed up that late, but not watching movies.
The result of her night of cinematic debauchery was that she slept through, uninterrupted, until past ten the following morning, and was only awakened by –
