A huge yawn distorted Annie's features and she turned her face away, covering her mouth with a hasty gesture. Abed looked at her more closely, noting the smudges under her eyes and the excessive paleness of her face, "You're exhausted," He observed.

"No," she tried to deny it but another yawn washed over her and she slumped, "Okay, I'm a little tired." She glanced over at the cot, "It's just hard to sleep here. I miss the apartment."

He nodded briskly and stood, "We should go to bed. Do you want the cot or the couch?"

She looked at the short cot and then his tall frame, "The cot." She pushed to her feet, "I have some more blankets-" Hurrying to a cabinet in the corner, Annie pulled out a worn comforter and a set of sheets, "But I'm out of pillows."

"That's okay. I brought my own." Abed pulled his general's hat off and set it on the couch. He tilted his head to one side and then another. It felt good to be free of the weight of the hat, at least for a little while. Sliding past him in the narrow space, Annie began to make up his bed.

"What if your troops need you?" She asked, smoothing a sheet into place.

"They'll be okay for a few hours," Abed answered, "It will take Troy a while to regroup." He took a couple steps and reaching out, locked the door. The little click seemed loud in the small space.

When he turned back around, Annie was standing awkwardly next to her backpack. "I need to put on my pajamas," She explained, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Okay," Abed agreed blankly.

"I need you to-" She made a vague gesture.

He stared back.

"Turn around," Her hand flapping went from vague to impatient, "Turn around."

"Okay."

Abed faced the door again. He realized that while they slept in the same apartment, they had never been asleep in the same room. He had never even seen Annie in her pajamas. Three times he had caught her in her robe headed to the bathroom early in the morning but he had never seen so much as a dirty nightgown discarded on the floor of her room. Did Annie wear nightgowns, he wondered or oversized tee shirts like good girls in the movies? Something prim and old fashioned looking or-

He heard the zipper of her backpack and then a soft rustling. Abed reached out and let his fingers rest on the doorknob. It was as smooth as silver under his hand and the harsh fall of light from the fluorescents took on a softer quality.

Battle plans, he reminded himself. Imaging the layout of campus, he tried to locate the most likely location for Troy's next attack.

But he had taken his general's hat off and his mind, finely honed instrument that it was, didn't seem to want to focus.

The sounds behind him that should have been barely perceptible were deafening. The click of fingernails against sweater buttons, the rasp of fabric slipping over skin- Abed's adam's apple bobbed up and down. He should not be here, he realized. He was not prepared for this.

The thump of a skirt hitting the floor.

Abed's head jerked to the side as though from a blow. His mouth felt desert-dry. He could feel his heartbeat everywhere in his body- the shell of his ears, the pit of his stomach, the bend behind his knees. . .

The cot creaked and Annie said, "Okay."

Grateful for the cover of darkness, he flipped the light switch and made his careful way to the couch.

"Good night, Annie." His voice sounded surprisingly normal.

"Good night, Abed." She answered and the smile in her voice made his lips curve just a little as well.

The broken down cushions beneath him were not uncomfortable but his mind refused to quiet. It kept measuring the distance between his couch and Annie's cot. 2" 8' from the right handed corner of the sofa to the left handed corner of the cot. If he stood and walked to her it would take four small steps or two large ones. The angle created between their bodies-

Enough. He needed to sleep.

He would do what he always did when he needed to occupy his mind. He would watch Abed brain theater. Flipping through movie titles, he decided something light was in order and landed on 'Stripes', the 1981 Bill Murray vehicle about a rag tag army troop that uses their unique qualities to succeed in a situation stacked against them.

He was only three scenes in when a quiet voice interrupted, "Abed?"

Abed pushed pause on his brain movie, "Yes?"

"Do you. . . do you and Troy ever have bunk bed conversations?"

The young man froze, his finally relaxed body went from supple to taut, like a rubber band stretched tight. He didn't want to think about Troy. Troy was like. . . a plot hole in an otherwise great movie. A movie you'd watched dozens of times and enjoyed until someone pointed out the little bit that didn't make sense. And now every time you saw that movie, you couldn't get back to the same place of enjoyment. You couldn't unsee the flaw.

"No." He answered briefly, closing his eyes, trying to hear the exact tone of voice Bill Murray used as 'John'.

"Why not?"

Abed rolled onto his back and studied the ceiling, "I guess it's because we spent so much time talking and having adventures during the day, we didn't have anything to say by bedtime. Why do you ask?"

Her voice was small, "I just always wondered," A pause, "Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed at night, I imagine you guys in your blanket fort whispering secrets to each other. . . I was jealous. I never had a best friend."

Abed didn't have one anymore, either.

The thought was like a punch in the gut. No more Troy. No more best friend. Just a hole left behind by yet another person he had pushed away, somehow.

Listening, he heard Annie turn over, heard her breathing become softer and softer until it seemed like she had disappeared.

Desolation gripped him.

He couldn't lose Annie the same way he lost Troy. No matter what, Abed had to protect his secret.

He had to win this war.