Chapter 2: I'm Nothing
When he gets home Jeff throws his books on the hall table and switches on his stereo system. He sheds his dress shirt and jeans and pulls himself up on his pull up bar. He swings his legs up and begins to twist upward on the upbeat. Crunches clear his mind, or at least make him tired enough he usually forgets what's bothering him. Over the blood rushing in his ears Jeff can hear Annie's words slide into his brain, "how much better off I'll be." Underneath the pop anthem that is pouring out of his stereo speakers her clipped refrain, "because of you and Britta." The universe must hate him because around that time a singer, who sounds a little gay to him, says something like "but I love you more than words could say" or some other lie that makes naïve people like Annie think there is something as amazing out there as true love. Which, for the record, there isn't.
He's on his fifth set when he's worked the conversation through his mind enough to be considered too much. He swings down and, kicking the rest of his clothing into a corner of the bedroom and sliding off his briefs, heads for his shower. His is a small bathroom. Its nothing like the one at his condo, well, except the faucets. The Italian ones he picked out in another life and Britta stole back for him in this one. They're out of place against the black and white wall tiles, shallow sink and too short tub but he likes them there all the same.
Britta.
He thinks about her laughing at his jokes, drinking with him, dancing with him, and the way she flinches whenever he touches her face. Everything with Britta is course and rough and if it isn't she almost doesn't know what to do. He remembers how she looked when she told him she loved him…he also remembers how she looked when she told him she never loved him. Oddly enough that had been the conversation that allowed them to pick up where they left off after the first paint ball war. It was her commitment to not loving him and his commitment to not loving her that allowed them to sleep with each other for an entire year without remorse. It was their dedication to not caring about each other that made them comfortable enough to get to where they are. It allowed him to be the only person she let into her apartment after her cat died and made it okay for him to give her a key when he needed her to take care of him because he had the flu. It let him see her with the sunlight shining through Abed's window and onto her hair, before they got up to get dressed and he walked in on them. Jeff knows the way her eyes light up when Radiohead songs come on the radio and how she sings 'Creep' off key in the shower and how she takes her eggs (she doesn't, she prefers fruit) and coffee (1 raw sugar, no cream) in the morning and what she orders on her pizza (black olives, mushroom, green pepper, no cheese).
Britta.
He didn't think he loved her. Now he doesn't know now. When Annie asked him at the Tranny dance, before he panicked and kissed the first female thing that gave him the opportunity, he told her Britta made him feel like himself. Who is he without Britta? Still himself or…less? He hasn't had to find out or even think about it until now. He doesn't want to be nothing without her but he's been validating himself by her opinion of him for so long he's not sure he can stop. When she did that happen? They pretend they don't spend every Friday night on his couch or hers or at 'L' Street/Red Door. She goes toe-to-toe with him whenever she feels like it and if anyone asks she says she'd rather see him dead than on her doorstep, but then she always smiles and lets him in.
Sure, he can admit it. Maybe there's something.
So, Annie and the others may have a small point. They trust each other. They challenge each other. They fight and snipe at each other. It's only because they care enough what the other thinks to do so. She's his friend and he's hers. She's the anti-Winger, how is he supposed to resist that, he's the Vincent Vega to her Mia Wallace. On a somewhat related note the sex after Abed's birthday had been absolutely mind blowing and totally worth the debacle and, even if she didn't admit it at the time, worth her job at the Greasy Fork which she hated anyway.
Jeff runs his hands shakily over his head again and tries not to remember. The water sluices off him with an audible splash.
He'd wanted her the minute she put on his shirt for the costume and later that night she'd even worn the wig in bed as a joke. It was hot.
Britta.
All curled up on the couch in one of his tee shirts, watching reruns of The Soup. She'd have one of her many leather jackets (some vegetarian she is) over the back because she never uses the coat rack. That sight belongs to him and he used to see it every Saturday morning. He'd listen to her joke about how he looks like the host and he might say the host looks like that douche from American Idol. She'd say she doesn't watch that show but she still knows who he is. And he'd say he hates that guy and she would agree.
The water is turning him prune-y and his hair is probably drying out so he adds more conditioner and listens as he hears the front door open.
"Hey, I bought the diet tonic, that is what you meant by Gin Slimline right?"
He left the bathroom door open just in case this happened. A year ago she would have stripped down and came into the shower to join him. Today he wishes she would because he's still picturing her in that dress shirt and even without the wig it makes him want her again. The strangest things do that to him. These last few months he's gotten unbelievably good at ignoring all the little things that turn him on about Britta because indulging like he did before has become somewhat passé these days. Especially after Abed called them out on it and they agreed to stop.
"In the shower, you know the key is for emergencies," he calls out over the music on in his living room. He hears nothing for a beat and then the air shifts and he knows she's at the doorway.
"I didn't want it to get cold." H can practically hear her smirk through the steam from his shower.
"Order a pizza, I'm buying."
"Oh, carbs, you must be having a bad day. Black olive, mushroom, green pepper, no cheese?"
"Whatever, sure." She doesn't have to ask and he doesn't have to answer but they do any way because that's what friends do. Maybe one of these days he'll feel adventurous and they'll get pineapple. Probably not.
When he gets out and wraps a towel around his waist he notices she's changed the radio station and something more 'alternative' is on. It's something with a lot of minor chords that remind him of the 90's and his mid-twenties. She's toed off her tennis shoes and there are two highball glasses on his coffee table along with a pitcher of a clear liquid he can only imagine is the Gin and Diet Tonic she promised. He ignores the fact that she's using the wrong glasses because she's already added ice and poured already. She is thumbing through his TV guide on his couch. Her socks are mismatched, one grey and one a faded black. She's got on a pair of jeans that he knows he likes on her and a threadbare blue top she only wears inside and when she isn't going anywhere important because parts are faded through to almost nothing. One of the only brown leathers she owns is hanging over the back of the couch.
"Welcome back forehead, Puree's best thin crust is on its way and the documentary starts in 20." She looks up and smiles. "It's just enough time for you to put on pants and finish a drink." He's thinking it'll be best if he does this like a band-aid.
"I'm gonna need that drink now, actually." He sits on the couch and doesn't bother with pants quite yet. He's got a towel and it's not like it's anything she hasn't seen before.
"Okay?" Her brow furrows that little bit when she's contemplating someone's motives and he ignores it.
"I talked to Annie today." He lets it hang between them like a pall. The first argument they had, real argument after they started sleeping together, was on the way off campus the day everyone accused them of putting themselves before the group and it was about Annie. Coincidently it was the last one because that's when they decided to call it quits. Still, they managed a little indiscretion after Halloween and those awful sanity tests and a guilt-free quickie after the Dean went all Apocalypse Now on the Greendale commercial. And maybe he was forgetting a small Glee Club Christmas fiasco themed romp in his backseat on their way from Shirley's non-denominational Christmas party. Still, they were technically 'off' and the Annie thing never did sit well with her. Britta thinks he should have treated Annie better and tried harder not to mislead her. Now she's quietly judging him.
"Ugh, you know thinking about you and Annie skeeves me out." Maybe not so quietly.
"As you've said. I told you, Annie and I are platonic. She was just, she's young and impressionable. Remember Vaughn?"
"Then what's up? Is everything okay?" She wanted to blame him. He can see it in her eyes. She assumes he's done something wrong like-how did she put it?-stick his tongue in a teenager.
"No Annie's fine. Apparently the study group decided she should be the one to tell me." She leans back, smirking. He can't wait to wipe that stupid smirk off her face.
"Tell you what and why wasn't I invited?"
He waits for it to sink in. Why wouldn't she be invited unless…there it is, the slow realization that it must have been about her too. Britta's mouth forms this little 'o' and her eyebrows sink down again as she thinks and then rise into her forehead as she gets it.
"Exactly. It was about us, you and me. Not me and Annie." She scowls and he nods in agreement as he lets his head flop back over the top of the couch. He can feel drips of water running down his torso but he ignores it.
"What do you mean about us? What about us?" She adjusts herself to give him more room and turns on the couch, tucking one foot up and under her other leg. He smirks because he knows she knows but doesn't want to admit it. He knows this because he felt the same way. It's always about them isn't it? They have a…something. It's not a relationship but it not-not a relationship. It's whatever you have when you're more then friends and less than lovers. They were lovers, for almost a year. Then they weren't. Somehow though, they never went quite all the way back to non-lover status.
"They think we should come out of the closet."
"Pfft, what?" Her eyes are incredulous but he doesn't miss the lie. He can see it in her face, in the way she turns to him. She expects him to lie to her, with her, about whatever they're doing. Not this time. No more lies.
"What's so hard to believe?" He genuinely wants to know because the more he thinks about it the angrier he gets. He's a catch. Sure, damaged and kind of an asshole but she's kind of a bitch and he likes that about her. He should do this at the very least for Annie because she believes in true love and because she believes he and Britta are the real deal and that's why he doesn't want her and maybe she's right.
"We're not sleeping together anymore." She crosses her arms in a huff and Jeff wants to take the wind out of her sails. It's a need.
"Much."
"Right." She's moved back but she's not looking him in the eye anymore. Her gaze is fixed on his chest and she's frowning.
"Then what are we doing because, it feels like we are only without the sex, which is the best part, and I don't know anymore."
"Why can't we be friends? Why do women always have to be sex objects? Can't a man and a woman be friends?"
He stands up now because he's irritated and restless. He paces on the other side if the coffee table before turning to her. "Don't make this about that feminism bullshit you know it's not. Yes men and women can be friends and no, we can't. It's not because you're a woman, it's because you're you. You're Britta."
"And you're Jeff."
"Right, and Jeff and Britta are more than friends, aren't they?" Jeff rounds on Britta and she looks confused and just as upset as he is. "Admit it!"
"I don't know!" He sighs at her admission and takes a swig of his Gin and Slimline. He wishes for a moment that he'd asked her to bring real tonic because diet isn't the same but the gin is what counts and she added extra lime just the way he likes, so it does the trick. He sits back down beside her with an exhale.
"Britta this is fucking stupid." He sinks into the couch further and closes his eyes. He can't look at her right now.
"You think I don't know that? I haven't slept with anyone since we started Anthropology! I admitted I loved you and you walked away from me and then we started the secret sex thing and I haven't even dated, I'm a leper! I'm Jeff Winger's, whatever. I'm like some love struck teenager, I feel like I'm eighteen. And for what may I ask?"
He smiles a little. It's his smug lawyer smile that he knows she hates, but he can't help it.
"For some jag of an ex-lawyer with a huge forehead, a bigger ego, a thing for teenage girls and a nipple kink."
"Hey, that's not fair. You're no spectacular catch either, you know. You're an ex-anarchist vegetarian who wears leather and can't say bagel right. You dress your cats up because you have no idea how to be funny and your name has become a second meaning for screwing something up. You dated Vaughn!"
"Hey, so did Annie!"
"I haven't slept with anyone either, thank you, including Annie. I spent a year pretending to have dates with exotic women named Gwynifer and Isabel, looking like an ass, so I could leave early to hook up with you!" It sounds so ridiculous when it's said out loud. He'd been sneaking around to hook up with a chick that has a song about how much of a bitch she is…or, a 'B.'
"Yeah, Gwynifer was stupid," Britta giggles. Jeff's concentration breaks and when he looks over she's smirking into her glass. "Not as bad as Quendra with a 'Q' though." The burst of laughter shakes the couch and then he's laughing too. Quendra with 'Q' was incredibly stupid.
"She had a professor thing." He gets out weakly, in between chuckles, and Britta folds over and sets her glass on the table in front of them. "Because I had a Lexus and-"
"And you're old!" Britta is breathing deeply through her nose, her hair is a tangle of curls, her face is flushed and even though she just insulted him Jeff thinks she's never looked more beautiful.
"Pot, kettle." He snorts and downs the rest of his Gin and Slimline before setting it down next to her abandoned glass. The ice clinks, the Ikea clock on the end table ticks and for a moment the laughter has stopped.
"We have rights," she says, "We're not captive Pandas. They can't just 'mate' us because they feel like it." She's looking like serious Britta Perry again and Jeff finds himself wishing she wouldn't. He prefers laughing, fighting, bitter Britta to sullen and serious.
He smirks again and lays his arm across the back of the sofa. Jeff thanks a god he doesn't believe in that his couch is short and his arm is long because from this angle he can move his fingers across her shoulder and he brushes the tips against her chin.
"They don't have to, because we 'mate' plenty already." There, he said it. His deadpan response and contradictory fingers derail Britta long enough for him to catch her off guard.