Annie insisted Britta take her to Jeff's before her own apartment.

"I'm telling you, he's not there."

"I believe you," she said absently, staring out the passenger-side window at the scenery of Greendale, Colorado. When she'd first gone to DC she'd nearly gotten lost so many times, because for the first time in her life there wasn't a giant mountain range on the western horizon orienting her. The mountains were familiar, and their absence exciting, but she'd missed them when they were gone and she was glad to see they, at least, had stayed there waiting for her.

"We can't even get in, I don't have a key…"

"I have a key." On her keyring Annie currently had four keys, none of which were relevant to her impending future: one to the apartment that had once been Troy and Abed's, one to the Greendale Community College library building, one to Jeff's apartment, and one to the two-bedroom she'd sublet half of, back in DC.

Britta did a double take. "When did you get a key to Jeff Winger's apartment?"

"Years ago." Annie tried to remember. "When we were retaking biology and Troy was moved out. Jeff went away for a weekend and I had to water his plants," she added, a little defensively.

"For one weekend away? He had plants?"

"It was years ago," Annie repeated. "You remember how we were." Right up until he decided to marry you, she didn't add.

Britta said something in reply that Annie didn't catch, distracted as she was by the memories. For years she and Jeff had danced around one another. There were no other men for her, and she could count on one hand with all the fingers left over the number of other women Jeff had expressed any interest in, after sophomore year or so. They'd never quite been a couple but they'd shared something. Something that had ended, quietly, when Jeff had dealt with the threatened shuttering of Greendale by reaching out not to her, but to Britta. 'Reaching out' was an understatement – he'd gotten engaged to her.

That had been the final straw; after it happened Annie and Jeff really were just friends, as he'd so often claimed. She moved on. There was only so much waiting around you could do before it stopped feeling romantic and started feeling like you were being an idiot.

They'd never talked about it; why start then? He'd felt the change, though, she was sure. He'd spent their sixth year at Greendale moping and flagrantly teaching poorly as if to draw her out… and then, the night she'd announced her internship, he'd expressed so much regret, and then they'd kissed…

Annie had meant for that kiss to be the closing of a book. She'd moved on from Jeff; she'd accepted and internalized the fact that they were never going to happen. It was supposed to have been a kiss goodbye, a way to for both of them to acknowledge the what-might-have-been and let it go. And really, that's all the kiss had been.

It was the look in his eyes in the instant after the kiss that had melted her. As their friends had barged in she'd been suddenly and against her will catapulted back to freshman year — it felt like a lifetime ago — and the handsome, charming man who'd looked at her like she was worth looking at. She'd remembered all the other times they'd almost kissed, times they'd cuddled, times they'd exchanged looks and smiles and… and in a rush all those old feelings had returned. For him, too, she could tell…

It had been a terrible time to start anything, of course. She was about to go, Abed was leaving, she'd spent a full year being completely over him, and neither of them knew what the hell they were doing. For the week between that kiss and her flight out, though, it was like old times. The Halloween they'd done sort-of couples costumes, and all their friends knew better than to comment on it. The time they'd basically co-hosted a holiday party at his apartment. All the times that they'd teamed up for paintball or lava world or the Greendale-wide games of freeze tag and capture the flag…

It was like old times, too, in that they didn't talk about it. As though looking directly at the thing would make the illusion melt away, as though it were too flimsy and delicate to stand up to scrutiny. The week before she boarded the plane out, when she was busy packing and planning, they'd managed to spend an awful lot of time lightly flirting, a lot of time on low-key almost-kisses. Nothing new, really. Just a return to form, really. And then they'd kissed goodbye again at the airport in a way that had felt like they'd done it a thousand times before and would do it ten thousand times again.

And yes, they'd been texting all summer. She'd exchanged a few texts with Abed and Britta. Troy, too, a couple of times. But the conversation with Jeff had been that mix of intimate and casual, the way they'd used to communicate, back in the days of pillows and blankets.

But as much as part of her wanted to live in Jeff Winger's arms forever, another part of her resented it. They'd texted so much because they both liked just interacting with one another, but they couldn't stay in that bubble forever. Things had changed between them and would continue to change, inevitably. Maybe that was why they'd avoided talking about the changed energy between them. They'd both always known that she was going to leave Greendale eventually, Jeff's fantasy about her becoming a forensics professor notwithstanding. Over the course of the summer, though, whenever Annie started to get too condemnatory about him and her and them, she'd remember the look in his eyes after that kiss, and the way she'd felt when they'd kissed goodbye: loved.

She enjoyed his company, it was as simple as that. They were a stunningly effective team, or could be, but it wasn't just about effectiveness. All the things they'd done together had been more fun because they'd done them together. Things that wouldn't have been at all pleasant without him beside her had become cherished memories. He was clever and drove her to be more clever. He was generous and sweet, but only when he thought no one was looking. He'd always listened to her and made it clear he valued her opinion, that he valued her. His texts were little presents that made her smile.

Talk to Jeff was the first item on the list she'd made on the plane, of the stuff she needed to do before she left again. Figure it out. It didn't make sense that he'd run away like this, except it was absolutely was the kind of stupid thing he'd pull. Now she was going to have to spend time tracking him down, time she didn't have.

"Earth to Annie! Hell-o!"

"Hmm?" Annie roused from her reverie as though from a dream, blinking and puzzled. Britta had her hands cupped over her mouth and was calling to her from the driver's seat of her small car.

"We're here," Britta informed her. "Although I don't know what you expect to see."

Annie nodded tightly as she climbed out of the car. "I don't know either. You're sure he's not here?"

"He drove off with a bunch of bags in his car…" Britta shrugged. "I guess he could have come back. Oh, did I tell you he stole back that stupid framed clipping you wanted?"

Annie whirled around. "He did?"

Britta nodded. "He came over just to get it."

Well, Annie thought, that surely kills any chance that this isn't about him and me. Not that she'd had any other working hypotheses.

Just in case, she knocked three times on Jeff's apartment door. No response, so she let herself in.

"Jeff?" she called, as she figured there was a nonzero chance he was hiding. "It's me…" She flicked a light on, and recoiled at the mess. Jeff's apartment had never been homey, but it had at least been tidy. At the moment, though, it looked like it had been tossed by burglars: drawers hanging open, clothes in a big pile on the couch…

Annie took a quick inventory of what was gone. At least three of his suits were missing, plus an unknown quantity of his other clothes. All three of his phone chargers were taken, too, as was the little leather shaving kit he took with him when he traveled. His lecture notes and course materials were still here where she'd last seen them, in a cardboard box in his closet, but his laptop and its case weren't there. Bare nails poked from the wall where his diploma and his bar certification should have been.

"He took everything for a trip, and everything he couldn't easily replace," Annie announced.

"I guess." Britta followed her through the apartment, watching her examine everything and saying nothing. She raised an eyebrow when Annie dove under Jeff's bed. "What are you looking for, porn?"

"He used to have a box of keepsakes and… things," Annie said from her position on her hands and knees. Valentines and get-well cards from grade school, panties from one night stands during Jeff's one-night-stand period (she didn't like to dwell on that)… Annie waved her phone, in flashlight mode, peering into the dark space. "I don't see… ah!" With a triumphant yawp, she reached under the bed and pulled out a small envelope. ANNIE was the only thing written on it.

Annie sat crosslegged on the floor next to Jeff's bed and tore the envelope open. Within was a short letter, a note really:

Annie —

Forgive the lack of my usual eloquence but I'm in a hurry. I realized when you told me you'd gotten a job in DC that I've spent the last year, at least, either wallowing in self-pity or hanging on to an impossible fantasy. I know you need to move on and so do I. Seeing each other again at this point could only be painful. I've left and I'm pretty sure I didn't leave you any way to contact me. If I'm wrong and you can find me, which let's face it you probably can because you're my superhero, please don't. We both know you deserve better. Take whatever energy you would have expended on me, and find a decent guy and goad him into being the best he can. Maybe someday we can meet again when we've both changed enough it wouldn't be awkward.

All my love, Jeff

PS If you're not Annie, you were probably hired by my former landlord to clean out the apartment. Feel free to steal anything. The TV is a couple of generations old but there is or was a PS3 in the sideboard cabinet in the dining room.

She sat and stared at the note for a minute or two, saying nothing.

"What is it?" asked Britta.

Wordlessly Annie handed Britta the note. Then she took out her phone and texted Jeff.

ANNIE to JEFF, 1946:

You could have just texted me, you know

[ERROR MESSAGE DELIVERY FAILED]

Oh that's right you've changed your phone like a baby

[ERROR MESSAGE DELIVERY FAILED]

"Whoa," Britta said, reading the note.

"You want his Playstation?" Annie asked her drily. Without waiting for a response she took the note back, folded it and stuffed it into her purse. "Former coworkers at his law firm," she said. "At least some of them liked him, and they scattered when the firm closed, so lots to work with there. Start with the ones he used to work most closely with. Mark Cash? That sounds wrong. Mark something…"

Britta looked at her quizzically.

"Greendale alumni," she continued, her voice thick. "Maybe not anyone from when he was a student, but some of the people who took his class last year probably remember him fondly. Former clients, from back when he was doing legal work. Doreen? He never tells Doreen anything — God, do I need to call her and tell her about this?" She sighed heavily.

Britta's puzzlement grew. "Who's Doreen?"

"His mother."

"You know his mother?" Britta's tone was incredulous.

"Not really. I met her once. Twice. Years ago." Annie rubbed her eyes. "Just to be on the safe side I need to call Abed — if he told anyone it would be Abed…" Her voice cracked, and Britta put an arm around her in support. Annie took a breath and blinked back tears. "He probably thought he wasn't ever going to make me cry again, the jerk."

The problem with solo cross-country driving was that you had plenty of time to yourself, to think. Thinking led to recrimination and regret. Jeff turned the radio up, but it wasn't enough to drown out the steadily increasing drumbeat of anxiety. He'd crashed in some side of the road motel in Nebraska Thursday night. On Friday he'd called Mark from Peoria, but he'd kept going and slept in Gary, Indiana. Saturday was one long blur. He'd hoped to make it all the way to Mark's that night but he gave up somewhere east of Pittsburgh.

Lying in a motel room and staring at the ceiling, willing himself to sleep, he couldn't help imagining what she'd say if she were there.

Go on and quit, quitter. 'I can't take a stab at actual emotions, I've got to run away, bluh bluh bluh,' that's you. That's what you sound like.

"It's not that," he insisted. "I don't want to hurt you any more."

Hurt me? When have you ever hurt me? Oh, yeah, by refusing to face facts. By denying and retreating, and gaslighting me and lying to me and running away from your feelings.

"Some of that wasn't a mistake. You were eighteen when we met. I was thirty-four. There's no possible equality there. I couldn't not take advantage of you."

That's so wrong I don't know where to begin. That's not true, actually, I made a list. First, calendar age isn't everything, and I was a hell of a lot more mature than you ever gave me credit for. Second, even if that was true when I was eighteen, which it wasn't, it would follow that it would be less true when I was a year older, even less true when I was a year older than that… I turn twenty-five in three months. Eventually I get to be an adult.

"I'm aging too, you know, much as I would like to be a Peter Pan figure who enjoys an eternal mid-to-late-twenties-ness…"

Third, and this is setting aside the first two points, there's always been equality in our relationship. If anything it's tilted the other way.

Jeff scoffed. "I don't think that's true."

When's the last time I wanted you to do something and you didn't do it? Because I'm pretty sure you've done every single thing I've asked of you, sometimes complaining and sometimes reluctantly but always doing it, for at least the last four years. The last time you wouldn't do what I wanted was when you refused to acknowledge what was happening between us, the day I found out you'd been sleeping with Britta. Which you immediately stopped doing. Since then, what? Have you even hit on another woman once since then?

"Once," he said weakly. "We were having a fight at the time."

You from 2005 would look at your total lack of a sex life and say that if you were who he'd be in ten years, kill him. Not that you should commit self-harm! I'm just saying, it's a change. You can't deny it's a change.

"I don't."

Look at what you're doing. You've run from me because you know if we saw each other again, I would ask you to do something. Kiss me, stay with me, sleep with me, date me, love me, and you wouldn't be able to say no.

"You'll be happier this way. This way I don't make you cry. You should be able to go off to DC and the FBI and the real world with a clear conscience. I don't want to hold you back and I don't have anything I can offer you. It's too late! I've jerked you around too long —"

Years too long, yes. I was over you, you know that? I was over you and we were done and I was okay with it, I'd moved on, and you dragged me back with your stupid nervous breakdown and fantasies about us married and happy together —

"I didn't tell you about that!"

I'm just a voice in your head, you goof, come on. I was over and done and ready to move on. I moved on! And then you kiss me like a jerk and make me want to—

"No. No," Jeff sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. "I didn't make you, her, do anything. Real Annie wouldn't say that."

She wouldn't? Oh, hey, everybody gather around, the world's greatest living expert on Annie Edison is making pronouncements!

"Annie would never blame me for her feelings or actions. She'd say she told me to kiss her, or she'd just say we kissed, and she definitely wouldn't be… isn't… mad at me for it. Not for that. I'm sure she's mad at me for this, but…"

Oh, no. You know I love it when people make decisions about me without talking to me first, that's like my favorite thing. But you do blame yourself, don't you? That's why you're punishing yourself like this. Yourself and Annie. And Annie, at least, deserves better.

"This is better for her. That's the whole point of this!"

Neither of those statements are true.

"They are!"

Are not.

Jeff grunted. "I left her a note."

That note was terrible and a mistake and she won't even find it. You should call her. Or if you can't face her voice-to-voice, get Britta or Frankie to act as a go-between. Really you should turn around and go home.

"I don't have a home."

You can't lie to me, I'm a voice in your head, remember? Home is wherever she is.

Annie and Britta sat at their dining room table, one last time. Annie had a legal pad in front of her, with action items she ticked off, one by one.

"Everything I'm taking is packed and boxed, ready to be shipped. I've said good-bye to Chang, Frankie, and the dean. I talked to Abed and to Jeff's mother." She paused, to gather herself for a moment. "We're on last month's rent now, and we're allegedly getting our security deposit back, unless you stay on. There's no chance you're going to end up homeless…"

"I'm going to be fine," said Britta. "I lived in New York; I can handle being alone in Greendale."

"Before you moved in here you were living in a tent," Annie reminded Britta. "And that was with secret money from your parents."

"Mistakes were made," Britta allowed. "But I'll be fine!"

Annie gave her a searching look, then turned back to her notes. "Well, I've asked Frankie to keep an eye on you, so if you have any problems you can count on her. And you have my brother's contact info —"

"Annie, I'm a grown woman!" Britta insisted.

"Of course you are." Annie patted Britta's hand. "Do you have a place lined up?"

Britta folded her arms and scowled. "I got some listings off of Craigslist. I'll be fine."

"Okay, okay."

They fell silent. Annie drummed her fingers absently on the table. "Do you happen to have maybe heard from Jeff?" she asked with exaggerated casualness.

Britta glared at Annie, then softened. "I haven't. Your investigation didn't pan out?"

Annie wouldn't meet Britta's gaze. "I decided against looking for him. If he's going to be a big super baby mister mature guy about it…"

"Well, that's Jeff Winger: always impressing. Just when you think he's bottomed out, he hits a new low." Britta snickered. She felt oddly vindicated when Annie snorted with laughter, too. If they couldn't get along on anything else, she thought with resignation, at least they could badmouth Jeff together.

"Oh, I know! You should have heard the lesson plan he was going to put together for this fall," Annie said. "You'd think the Commerce Clause was Santa's more profit-driven brother… That was a joke about constitutional law," she added, off Britta's apparent puzzlement.

"I knew that," Britta lied. "When were you and Jeff talking about his lesson plans?"

Annie shrugged. "We were talking or texting or something almost every day I was at the internship. I texted you, too," she said, a little defensively.

Britta scoffed. "You texted me maybe four times. Maybe. And since when was Jeff spending time working on a lesson plan? This past year his syllabus for all his courses was 'the class brings in DVDs and votes on which one to watch.'"

"Yeah, I know," Annie said. She stared at the tabletop in front of her. "I may have goaded him a little. You know."

Britta tried to think of something helpful to say. "You guys are weird."

"We were weird. Now we're nothing, because…" Annie grimaced. "Because first he was going to marry you, and now he can't even say goodbye to my face."

"Marry me…?" Britta looked puzzled, then surprised as she remembered. "Wow, I completely forgot about that. That was a really crazy day."

"Crazy. Yeah." Annie peered down at her notes, avoiding Britta's gaze. She picked up her pen and set it down again, twice. "It's not like we were together," she said suddenly. "But it's like… we weren't… and you go and…"

"I don't remember what I was thinking," Britta said apologetically. "I mean, I knew you two were, like, lava joust buddies…"

Annie looked up at her.

"Okay. Dumb way to say that." Britta drummed her fingers on the tabletop and bit her lip. "It was a stupid thing and a crazy day and we never talked about it. And I guess it really messed up our relationship, and I'm sorry for that."

"I know, and it's stupid, I just… thanks." Annie shook her head in disgust. "It's not like he and I ever talked about it, either," she said tightly. "So now I guess I'll just go and never see him again because apparently that's what he wants even though we didn't talk about that, either, why break a streak, and hey, my flight leaves in under two hours so there's a real narrow window for him to turn this around and between you and me and the wall I don't think he's going to pull it off." She rested her head heavily against the tabletop.

Britta patted the back of Annie's head awkwardly. "I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from, about Jeff Winger…"

"Mmm-hmm," Annie whimpered, without moving.

"But you know, if he's going to treat you like this, fuck him, right? You've wasted a lot of energy on —"

"I know!"

"And there's plenty of guys who —"

"I know!"

"And he is, frankly, not the —"

"I know!" Annie lifted her head and sat up in her seat. "But I do appreciate hearing someone else say it. We haven't always gotten along, but… thanks."

"Girls?" Britta offered hopefully.

"Girls," agreed Annie. They embraced, awkwardly.

"I love you, but this feels weird," said Britta.

"Yeah, it does," Annie said with a sigh. They pulled apart. "Okay, that was sweet and all, but we really need to go to the airport now."