A/N: As always, thanks for reading along.
It's nearly noon on Saturday, and he's trying to decide whether he wants to go for a run at the park or hit the gym when Annie shows up on his doorstep unannounced.
Immediately, he can tell that she's worked up about something because she's jumpy and fidgety. She's wearing clothes that are a little out of the norm for her too – a crisp, white button-down blouse and slim black pencil skirt that hug her curves like she was poured into them and pointy toed black heels that probably give her an extra four or five inches of height easy – which add to the intrigue of sudden appearance.
"I'm a grown woman," she announces as she pushes past him into the apartment.
"Yeah," he agrees immediately, because there's no way to mistake her for anything else in that outfit.
"I am an adult," she continues, pacing in the narrow space between his sofa and coffee table. "A mature, responsible adult."
"Yes," he confirms again, but, from the way that she barely reacts, he's starting to get the distinct impression that she's not really talking to him – she's trying to convince herself instead.
"I've lived all on my own for four years now," she declares. "I don't need anyone's approval."
He approaches her a little tentatively because he's starting to think that she's so keyed up that sudden movements might scare her off.
"Annie," he says gently. "I'm trying really hard to follow along, but I'm lost. What's going on?"
She looks over at him, a little wide-eyed, and it's almost like it's the first time that she's realized that he's there, standing stupidly in the middle of his apartment. She blushes a little and shakes her head.
"I'm sorry, Jeff. I'm just …"
She waves her hands in aimless circles, like she's trying calm herself down or gather her thoughts. He tries to imagine what could have her this unraveled, and school is all he can come up with – but it's the weekend so she hasn't been to class, which leaves him at a total loss.
Fortunately, she isn't like him – she wants to share.
"I called my mother yesterday," she tells him. "I just… I've felt really good lately, happy even, and that made me think that maybe I was ready to talk to her. So we're meeting for coffee in…" She checks her watch. "Thirty-eight minutes. And I'm starting to get a little freaked out."
He nods, smiling softly.
"Yeah. I kind of got that."
"I can do this, right?" she asks, looking at him with desperate, frantic eyes. "I can handle it?"
"Annie, it's just—"
"I need a pep talk," she says, coming to stand directly in front of him. She curls her hands around his wrists and slides them down so their fingers tangle together. "Like I'm a boxer and I'm about to head into the ring. Tell me I can do it. Tell me to go the distance or give her the bum's rush or something."
He grins, giving her hands a squeeze – they did a 'Rocky' marathon with Abed the other day, so she's all full of boxing clichés.
"Annie, relax. She's not Ivan Drago. She's just your mother."
She bobs her head, but it doesn't seem like she takes much comfort from that fact.
"Exactly," she declares. "That's exactly why I'm so freaked out."
He looks down at their joined hands, trying to come up with the right thing to say. He is the king of meaningless speeches, but this is a time when something meaningful is actually called for and he's got nothing. Annie looks like she could be sick at any moment, even paler than usual, and that helps spur him into action.
"Okay, listen," he says. "How about I drive you? I'll stay in the car, but I can be there for moral support."
They may not be words of wisdom that magically relieve all of her anxiety, but he figures showing solidarity has to count for something. She must agree because she looks up at him with a mixture of disbelief, gratitude, and awe, like he's a damn hero or something.
"You wouldn't mind?"
He won't tell her that the warm, kind of tingly feeling in his chest right now is more than enough reason to do it, that anything that makes her feel better makes him feel better too – he likes to think some of this stuff goes without saying.
"I owe you," he tells her. "For the thousand and one times you saved me from failing one class or another."
She practically launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest.
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank—"
"I got it," he laughs. "You're full of thanks."
She's quiet on the drive to the coffee house, her gaze fixed firmly out the window on the scenery that they pass. She doesn't scold him about how fast he's driving or bug him about letting her listen to the damn love songs channel on his satellite radio like she usually does. She doesn't even comment on the big black Lab hanging out the window in the car that's stopped next to them at a red light, a dog that even he'd begrudgingly admit is pretty cute, and dogs are a definitely weakness for her. But he's not going to force her to talk and he doesn't really do small talk himself, so he just lets silence reign. It's surprisingly comfortable, especially when she reaches over and slides her hand into his on the center console.
His usual parking luck holds up, and he finds a spot on the street in front of the FedEx store next to the coffee house. Annie's still sitting motionless in the passenger seat when he cuts the engine, and for a moment, he wonders if she's going to back out, just tell him to floor it and get her the hell out of here.
But then she's smoothing her skirt, picking imaginary lint off her shirt, and fluffing her hair.
"Do I look all right?" she asks him. "I bought these clothes for job interviews, but I figured they would work for this too. I want her to take me seriously and somehow, a cutesy little sundress didn't seem like such a great idea."
"You look great," he says, and it's true - though he's not about to tell her that she looks seriously hot, like something from a fantasy he's had once or twice.
"Okay." She reaches for the door handle. "Wish me luck."
She opens the door and steps out onto the curb.
"Hey," he calls after her. "Go the distance, Rocky."
Annie bends down to look at him through the open door and smiles. She nods her head once, firmly, and then slams the door and heads for the coffee shop, striding purposefully toward the entrance.
He's always thought that one of his best qualities is his ability to amuse himself, so he doesn't really mind having to waste time alone in the car. He plays around on his phone, playing Temple Run and responding to a text from Abed, and when he realizes that fifteen minutes have passed, he figures that things must be going well because she would have flown out in a huff of tears and anger by now if her mother was being cruel or unreasonable or unreceptive.
When they reach the half hour mark, though, he decides that it can't be anything but a success – and then he sees Annie headed toward the car with a faint smile. She's carrying a plastic coffee cup and a small paper bag in her hand, and maybe it's just his imagination but it looks like she's walking a little taller, a little straighter.
"Here," she says, handing the cup and bag to him once she's settled in the passenger seat again. "I thought you'd earned an iced coffee and a chocolate croissant for waiting so long. And don't even talk about the carbs, okay?"
He smiles and takes a sip of the coffee – it's black with two Splendas, just the way he likes it.
"So… how'd it go?" he asks.
She lets out a long, slow breath, staring straight ahead.
"It went…" She hesitates, and turns to meet his eyes. "I don't feel as bad anymore."
He nods, understanding completely. Because he's not Britta, he won't push for any more details, though. She doesn't have to tell him everything.
"And she said she'd like to get together for dinner in a couple of weeks," Annie continues. "So I guess that's some kind of progress."
"See?" he says. "Piece of cake."
She tilts her head, her eyes soft and hazy, and reaches for his hand.
"Thank you," she murmurs. "For sitting out here like some kind of safety blanket. It's silly that I needed you to do it, but I—"
"It's not silly."
She shrugs, like she doesn't quite believe him. Her body language is entirely different from when she showed up on his doorstep, as if she's just shrugged off the heavy weight that she's been dragging behind her for a long time, but there's still a little unease in her expression.
And he really wants to see her smile.
"I think that's enough of being a responsible adult for one day," he says, starting the car. "Let's do something fun."
She grins, just like he wanted, and angles her body toward him.
"Like what?"
"I don't know. What do you like to do for fun?"
She raises an eyebrow pointedly and he chuckles.
"Well, yeah, of course. But I was thinking more along the lines of something we could do in public without getting arrested."
They wind up at the laser tag place where they celebrated Abed's last birthday, surrounded by shrieking kids on sugar highs and nerdy teens who are dead serious about the game. Annie's giggling nearly non-stop as she ducks behind the half-walls and shoots blindly around her, so he thinks that are spirits are officially lifted. They wind up hiding in a dark, cramped corner while a pack of pretty aggressive frat boys storm past just on the other side of the wall. She bends down to slip off her shoes, presumably to make it easier to run around, but he curls a hand around her arm to stop her.
"Don't."
She looks up at him with a sexy, little smirk.
"I'd like to see you try sprinting around in the dark in a pair of 4-inch stilettos."
He shrugs unrepentantly.
"I like not having to stoop so far to kiss you," he says. "Sue me."
To prove his point, he bends and covers her mouth with his. In an instant, he finds himself wedged between Annie's hot, little body and the mirrored wall behind them as she tugs at his hair. She kisses him fiercely, like their lives are legitimately on the line if their laser vests get lit up by one of these kids.
When she pulls away, he runs a hand over her hip, the textured material of her skirt tickling against his palm.
"I really, really like this outfit," he whispers.
He can feel as much as see her grin in the faint neon blue light that falls over them.
"Yeah?"
He bobs his head and licks at her throat, her pulse thumping against his tongue.
"I kind of want to pretend that you're my secretary and I need you to take dictation."
She laughs, toying with the collar of his shirt.
"Britta would read you the riot act for that," she says. "Probably go on and on about men and their offensive, demeaning fantasies…"
He lifts his head from the curve of her neck and grins.
"Good thing she's not here then. Unless it offends you too."
Annie cocks her head, like she's thinking very carefully. Then she bats her eyelashes and offers him a sultry smile.
"Do you need any help with your briefs, Mr. Winger?" she says in a low, breathy voice.
"Oh, God, that's terrible," he laughs. "But yes. Yes, I do."
He kisses her again, their lasers vest thudding against one another as they press against one another. She giggles against his lips, but her laugh has a frustrated edge to it.
"Let's go back to your place," she says. "And do that other fun thing."
He's already clawing at his vest to get the damn thing off so they can get out of here as soon as possible when one of the frat boys comes around the corner and manages to light up the panel before Jeff even realizes what's going on.
"Got you, dude!" the douchebag crows.
But his jubilation doesn't last long – because he apparently doesn't see Annie further back in the corner and she whips her gun out and blows the dumbass away before he's even stopped laughing.
"And now you're dead," Annie says coolly.
The kid looks at her in utter confusion, not quite able to make sense of the fact that a hot chick has just ruined all his fun. They leave him sputtering there like an idiot, though Jeff kind of wants to wait and see how he explains what went down to his frat bros.
Annie is still smiling as they head to the counter to turn in their equipment.
"You're a real badass, you know that?" Jeff says.
She tilts her head coyly and shrugs.
"And a mature adult totally capable of standing up to her mother."
He bobs his head, grinning.
"That too."
As they head toward the parking lot, he stays a couple of steps behind her so he can get a good view of her ass in that skirt and her legs through the back slit, with those heels making them look even longer and more tempting. She seems to catch on at some point because she looks at him over her shoulder with the kind of knowing smile that always leaves him wondering how she hasn't left a long line of devastated men in her wake.
"What?" she asks.
He nods toward her feet.
"I'm just wondering how hard it's going to be to convince you to keep those shoes on when we get back to my place."
She turns to face him, gracefully walking backwards on those skyscraper heels like some kind of magic trick.
"Not hard at all," she tells him. "Not after you sat in a hot car for me today. I kind of owe you."
He shakes his head, grinning.
"I think I actually owe you. You did avenge my death back there, after all."
Her smile grows wider and warmer.
"Then maybe we're even." She stops walking abruptly, so he nearly bumps into her. She curls her hand around the back of his neck and tugs him down for a hard, fast kiss. "But I'll still keep the shoes on if you want," she says.
She slides her hand into his and leads him toward the car again.
"On one condition, though," she says, and he laughs because of course, there's a catch. "As much as I love the way these shoes look, they pinch like nobody's business. I'm going to need a foot rub later. That's non-negotiable."
He bobs his head.
"You drive a hard bargain. But I can accept those terms."
On the ride home, she yells at him twice about obeying the speed limit and blatantly ignores his protests when she fiddles with the radio station. He smiles for almost all of the trip.