Chapter 2: Britta's faux pas

It feels like one of those TV Trope thingies, he thinks. Being dropped in the middle of the action; it probably has some Latin name. Abed would know. Trying to relax, he takes another drag. Troy still doesn't understand how they got here or why she brought glitter, but here they are. Spray painting 'capitalist pigs' on a construction sign on a Friday night.

(***)

Maybe he is too early. Troy checks his watch. No, he is right on time. His tie itches. He knocks on the door again. Jeff said that it was okay to call him whenever. Troy doesn't care that he probably didn't mean that. If he feels unsure about something, he is definitely going to call Jeff. In fact, he is going to call right now about the tie.

The itching is okay; he can deal with the itching. It's just that he suddenly feels like the tie is overkill. It might seem as if he is trying too hard, which is true. But it should not be so obvious. If he's fast he can still ditch it. He is in the middle of yanking at the knot when Britta opens the door.

'Hi. Come on in.'

She has already crossed into the living room by the time he has decided it might be best just to tell her about his tie-related doubts. His subsequent attempts to straighten the tie fail, because it adamantly refuses to cooperate. Too late to do anything about that now. Tugging at the tie, he follows her inside. Britta's place is the same as he remembers. Messier, but essentially the same.

'Wow, you look handsome,' she exclaims, winking at him.

'You too. Pretty, I mean. You are pretty. I got you flowers,' Troy rambles, thrusting the bouquet at her. Britta always looks pretty. It doesn't look as if she's put any extra effort into it tonight though. She's got on a familiar pair of faded jeans, a black t-shirt and sneakers.

The bouquet is small and comprised of the sort of flowers you would find at the side of the road. Not that he picked them from the side of the road. She is totally gonna think I picked them from the side of the road, Troy realises.

'I bought them,' he explains. He thinks about adding 'in a shop,' but wisely shuts his mouth.

'Thank you,' she slowly says. It seems as if she wants to add something, but instead she frowns and shakes her head. Troy helps her find a vase in the kitchen and wanders back into the living room while she arranges the flowers. There's a large handbag on the living room table. It is really huge. Before he can peek inside, Britta zips it shut and hoists it onto her shoulder.

'Let's go,' she beams.

Troy runs through the evening so far while they take the elevator down. He can't decide whether it is going well or not. To prepare, he had watched Firefly, but the charm of Captain Mal Reynolds didn't exactly translate to real life. Maybe he should have chosen to imitate Gunn or Tony Stark: they were much smoother.

As Britta enthusiastically tells him about her latest activist project – an animal shelter that is scheduled to be converted into luxury condos – on their way to the parking lot, her bag rattles ominously. Its size remains impressive. It's as if she's planning to spend a weekend with him. That would be awesome, but he doubts that is the reason why the bag is so enormous. What has she got in there?

It soon becomes clear that he shouldn't have gone through the trouble of cleaning his own car, because apparently they're taking hers to... wherever they're going. Britta seems to know exactly what their destination is.

The drive doesn't very take long. It is dark outside. When they get out of the car, he tries to ask where they are and what they are going to do, but he catches Britta stealthily looking around. Concerned about her behaviour, Troy surveys their surroundings. Behind a closed gate stands a big soon-to-be-coming luxury condos sign of doom.

'What are...' he asks, but she shushes him and pushes him towards the gate.

'Help me up,' she whispers. Without thinking about it, he holds out his hands. She begins to climb him. This should be hot hot hot, Troy thinks, but it's really not not not. Trying not to lose his balance, he steadies himself against the gate while Britta scales the top. Her weight is gone as suddenly as it was there. He glances around and waits for her to reach the ground on the other side.

'Britta, are you alright?'

'I'm fine. Hurry up,' she replies. He looks at the gate for a while, until he finally decides to use the padlock to get over it. His arms get a nice workout as he lowers himself to the other side, but it doesn't matter, since it's so dark that Britta most likely can't see it. Out of nowhere, the beam of a flashlight hits him in the face.

'I got one for you too,' Britta whispers. To his relief, she quickly aims the beam at the ground. After a few seconds, he manages to get his flashlight to work. Its light illuminates the contents of Britta's giant bag.

Surprise: it is full of cans of various colours of spray paint. It also contains stencils of letters and, curiously, a cigar box stuffed with glitter.

While Troy is busy staring at the bag, Britta sparks up a cigarette. It smells strange in the dark. He has a craving for a cigarette too, but he remembers one of his nana's rules. No chocolates before dinner.

'Here, hold this.'

Britta hands him her cigarette, which he only now realises is not a normal cigarette. Since he is kind of anxious about the upcoming vandalism, he takes a drag. That leads to about two minutes of solid coughing, during which he can't possibly look cool. What's worse is that he is starting to suspect that Britta doesn't know that they're on a date.

(***)

'Wanna go do something this weekend? Just you and me?'

'Sure. Friday?'

(***)

Still coughing, Troy takes another drag. He isn't sure if he really said 'just you and me' out loud. Without that part, it doesn't sound like someone asking someone else out on a date at all. It sounds like two friends hanging out. Honestly, even with that part, it isn't obvious that he means for it to be a date. He should have used the word 'date' right there in the question. He should have been clearer.

'How about Jeff's surprise, huh?' Troy says. He immediately regrets it. Shit. Does Britta know? Is he allowed to tell her?

'What surprise?'

'Never mind,' he mumbles. He kneels next to the bag and selects a few colours he likes. Britta has meanwhile arranged the stencils in order. They spell 'capitls g' because she's only got one stencil for every letter. Troy hands the cigarette back, but feels Britta's gaze linger on him.

'The proposal? Don't worry, he told me,' Britta reassures him. She sighs. 'Jeff and Annie getting married... seems weird, right?'

'Yeah,' he admits. He wishes he could see her face right now. She offers him the cigarette again; he declines. They get to work. He holds the stencils and lights the spot and she sprays. Britta explains that the stencils are part of why her former activist friends think she is not enough of an anarchist. Troy argues that spray painting slogans isn't very useful when no one can read them. He thinks she smiles at that.

Britta provides the finishing touch by sprinkling glitter on the wet paint while she tells him a about all the times she has gotten arrested. These are not comforting stories, because 1) they're doing something illegal and 2) hello: black, but that is not what is distracting him from keeping a lookout. It is inappropriate considering they're not on a date – or at least Britta doesn't know that they are – but he can't resist the opportunity to check out her ass.

'Hey! What are you two doing?'

Startled, Troy drops his flashlight. Britta, on the other hand, swivels and shines hers right in the police officer's eyes.

'Run,' she urges and they're off. The guy didn't look fit, Troy reasons. He is scared, but somehow it also feels wonderful. It is difficult to see where they're going, but they manage to get to the gate. It's open and they dash into the street. Behind them, heavy footsteps fall and they continue to run, forgetting about the car. Britta pulls him into an alley.

'Is he gone?' she asks, breathlessly. It sounds sexy. Carefully, Troy ducks his head out and back into the alley. Unable to speak just yet, he leans against the wall, panting. After a few seconds, he answers.

'I think so.'

Trying to catch their breath, they start to laugh. The moon has broken through the clouds for the first time that evening. Aware of how close they are, he stares at her. Every sound they make is magnified in the empty alley. Troy moves a little closer and suddenly they lunge at each other. It's a lot like their first kiss, except it doesn't stop after that initial contact. Also, he hasn't accidentally tricked her into it by making up creepy stories about his uncle.

Something about their kiss kind of confuses him. Shoving tongues down each other's throats: it's clumsy. That doesn't make sense, because Troy has kissed many girls. And he's pretty sure that Britta has too. Not girls, but guys. Anyway, it feels as if neither of them has any experience whatsoever,

Fingers get tangled in hair and have to be removed. Limbs bump into other limbs. One time, Troy grazes her boob and while that's nice, it's also not what he meant to do. Finally, after a couple of minutes of frantic groping and clutching, they break apart.

There's glitter in Britta's hair and paint on her shirt. She is perfect. Troy smiles at her and she awkwardly returns the smile.

'You wanna go see Avengers 3?' she suggests. He wants to say 'hell yeah' and tell her about how awesome it is going to be because Joss Whedon is directing it again and how the second movie was almost as great as the first tone, thanks to Joss Whedon, but he can only nod, because right then and there, Troy realises that he is in love with Britta.