It is something of a miracle, but for once, the table in the old study room is nearly full but quiet.
They are waiting for Shirley and Professor Hickey to arrive so they can start the committee meeting. As usual, Jeff is busy with his phone, but Britta is reading a psychology magazine and Abed has his ear buds in as he watches something on his laptop and Chang is consumed with –inexplicably – a Rubix Cube. Duncan is the only one who isn't actively doing anything, though he seems content to silently stare into space until the final members of the group show up.
Annie works on her to-do list for the evening – she has a paper to outline and flash cards to make, plus a load of laundry that needs washing, so she really needs to manage her time effectively.
She is penciling in a schedule for the night in her planner when her phone chimes with a new text. She sees that it's from Jason and scans the message quickly, which basically asks if she is free for a drink later tonight. It would probably be in her best interest to take him up on the offer, but there is just too much that she has to get done to really consider it.
"Who's Jason?"
She looks up in alarm, realizing too late that Professor Duncan has slid over and angled himself just enough to read her phone's display. Immediately, she snatches the phone away, stuffing it under her planner. She feels her cheeks get hot and hopes that they're not red.
"Do you even know the meaning of the word privacy?" she snaps.
"I thought it was a rather innocent question," he says, clearly amused, and she realizes that the rest of the table has abandoned their previous activities to look at her expectantly.
Even Jeff has put his phone down, giving her his undivided attention.
"He's just someone I used to work with," she says, figuring not answering will only make them push that much harder.
"That's not an entirely accurate description," Abed says, pulling the buds from his ears. He doesn't seem to notice her glare. "You dated him for a while."
Britta raises her eyebrows in interest.
"Oh, really? Do tell."
"We only went on two dates," Annie says. "But we didn't have anything in common, so that was it."
"But you still keep in touch with him?" Duncan prods.
She shrugs, trying to act casual.
"We get—"
"He still spends the night sometimes," Abed says.
She gasps, unable to stop herself, (she could kill Abed, seriously kill him – her criminology classes would probably help her hide the body and all the evidence so no one would be able to prove anything.) while Duncan and Chang laugh and Britta's expression turns from interest to confusion in a hurry. Annie can't bring herself to look at Jeff, but she can see in her peripheral vision that he still hasn't picked up his phone.
"Well, this meeting just got interesting," Duncan chuckles.
Britta scowls at him before turning back to Annie.
"I thought you said you're not dating him."
Of course, Britta gets stuck on that part because she probably can't imagine Annie doing anything as scandalous as sleeping with someone that she isn't technically dating. Annie takes a deep breath, sitting up as straight as possible in her chair. She will hold her head up high no matter how embarrassing this all is.
"I'm not," she sighs. "Can we please just drop it?"
"So it's a friends with benefits situation?" Chang asks. "I can dig it."
Abed shakes his head.
"I don't think they're really friends, though. They never really talk."
"So maybe it's an acquaintances with benefits situation then?" Duncan suggests.
"Would you all just shut up?" Annie grits out.
She is grateful that Shirley isn't here to hear all of this and wilt her with passive-aggressive judgments. The universe isn't completely cruel.
"I'm just trying to understand," Britta says kindly. "This guy is—"
"Look. He's just someone that I used to work with and still hang out with sometimes, okay? End of story. Let's just—"
"Hang out with naked," Chang snickers.
"Enough, Chang," Jeff says, and he uses his humorless, no-nonsense voice that is intimidating enough to make them all fall right in line.
She looks over at him for the first time since the conversation started, but he doesn't glance her way. And as is often the case, his expression is absolutely unreadable. Hickey comes strolling in then, followed almost instantaneously by Shirley, which allows Annie to quickly call the meeting to order so no one is tempted to say another word.
When they're leaving afterwards, Britta pulls her aside near the door. Jeff and Duncan are still at the table, making plans to have drinks or something, so she feels more than a little self-conscious.
"Don't let those jerks shame you into feeling bad," Britta says. "You're just as entitled to have your itch scratched as any guy, okay? But…" Her expression turns from fierce and determined to concerned in an instant. "I just want to make sure that you're really okay with the whole thing. I mean, you're not trying to recreate some romantic comedy scenario where you casually sleep with this guy, hoping he'll fall in love with you and –"
"I'm not a child, Britta," Annie practically growls. "I know what I'm doing."
"You always do," Jeff says breezily, as he brushes past her on his way out the door.
When she gets to he car, she spends nearly five minutes just sitting there, keys in hand, trying to interpret the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes – and she hates herself for it.
Like he has hundreds of other occasions, he leaves her spinning her wheels in the sand.
She gets in a fight with Abed one night and storms out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her with a flourish.
Maybe she is still angry about him blurting out personal details of her life to their friends without a second thought or maybe she is still hurt about him manipulating her in a fake online relationship. Or maybe she's just fed up that he always leaves his dirty dishes in the sink, is camped out in front of the TV every damn night of the week, or eats all her granola bars and pretzels without ever replacing them.
Whatever the reason, she reaches a breaking point and it is either yell her head off at him or lose her damn mind. She walks to the bar down the street from their apartment and orders a vodka tonic because that's a serious, grown-up drink and she is experiencing serious, grown-up angst.
When she texts Jeff and asks him if he's free, though, she isn't really drunk.
Tipsy may be an accurate description, but she is confident that she could walk a straight line to the bathroom and her index finger could easily find the tip of her nose if necessary.
She could have asked Britta, who is much happier to play the role of sounding board or sympathetic shoulder than Jeff has ever been, but she knows that he will be straight with her, with no psycho-babble mumbo jumbo about her feelings or subconscious desires, and right now, she needs someone to speak to her plainly.
Of course, it may also come down to the simple fact that she wants to see him. Since the other afternoon before the committee meeting, things have felt weird between them, strained almost. It is definitely ridiculous because neither of them has done anything to other, so there is no reason that they should feel uncomfortable around one another. There is a part of her, however small, that wonders if he is in the midst of one of jealousy spells – though, of course, he has never owned up to being jealous over her at all and has always done his best to convince her that it's all in her head anyway.
That may be what she hates most about him – the way that he can make her doubt her own head, heart.
By the time that he shows up, she has downed two and a half vodka tonics, and either the bartender has seriously started watering down the drinks or she is drunk enough that she can't even taste the alcohol anymore because each sip is just full of lime-y goodness.
"Don't tell me," Jeff says, as he settles himself on the stool beside her. "Hickey gave you another A-. When will that man learn not to mess with Annie Edison?"
He signals to the bartender, who comes over and takes his order for a beer.
"This doesn't have anything to do with school," she tells him, once he's had a chance to sip from his bottle.
"No? Why else would you look like the world's about to end then?"
She sighs, a low, ragged sound that is nearly lost among the barroom chatter and piped in classic rock. Jeff must hear it, though, because he leans in a little closer. His jaw is clenched – actually every muscle in his body seems tightly coiled, like he is ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
"Did some guy—"
"No," she answers automatically, not even sure what he is about to ask. "It's nothing like that either."
He relaxes, scratching at the corner of the label on his beer with his thumb.
"What is it then?"
"I don't know if I can live with Abed anymore," she practically whispers.
It is the first time that she's said the words out loud, despite the fact that the thought has been rattling around in her head for weeks now. She has felt terrible just feeling that way; now she feels worse for admitting it.
"What?" Jeff says, clearly confused. "Why?"
"I know I'm probably not the easiest person to live with," she admits. "I'm kind of rigid and inflexible and –"
"Oh, but only in the best possible way," he teases.
When she looks over at him, he is shooting her one of those sweet, genuine smiles that always warms her blood and puts dangerous ideas in her head. She tilts her glass, staring at the wilted lime at the bottom like maybe it has answers for her.
"Abed is the same way. Worse even. Don't get me wrong. I love him to death, but he has to have everything his way, all the time, and he can be seriously manipulative when he wants to be. It's a little scary actually."
Jeff bobs his head slowly.
"I can believe that."
"It was okay when we had Troy to act as a buffer, but without him… I don't know. It's starting to drive me crazy. To the point where I'm seriously worried that there's going to be permanent damage done to our friendship. Irrevocable damage."
She turns sharply when she hears Jeff chuckle.
"You're three sheets to the wind and still using SAT words. You're one of a kind, Annie."
She might be pouting, but her face feels almost numb at the moment so she can't be sure.
"I'm serious, Jeff."
He takes another sip of his beer and shrugs.
"Why don't you guys just get another roommate? Someone to take Troy's place as the apartment buffer?"
She lifts her shoulders helplessly.
"I really don't want to live with a stranger."
He goes back to picking at the corner of his beer's label, nodding thoughtfully.
"Well, it sounds like you've got your mind made up then."
"Not really," she confesses. "I can't really afford a decent place on my own… and I worry about how Abed will react if I tell him I'm moving out. He just went through that whole lava-clone thing when Troy left. I don't want to send him off on another psychotic break."
Jeff laughs humorlessly and nudges her arm with his elbow.
"Look, I love Abed as much as anybody. But you have to do what's right for you. You can't always put someone else's feelings ahead of your own."
She shakes her head, though she knows that he is probably right. At a certain point, it isn't even about being selfish. It is about self-preservation. Jeff understands that better than most people – and she almost admires his ability to hurdle the obstacles in his path without being bogged down by feelings like guilt, responsibility or even shame.
She certainly isn't capable of that.
"It's not that simple."
"Why?" he asks gently.
She can feel his eyes on her, soft and heavy at the same time, but she can't bring herself to look his way.
"Because if I was the one having such a hard time with Troy leaving," she says. "I wouldn't want Abed to abandon me. So I can't do it to him."
Jeff huffs out a sound that is a cross between a sigh and a laugh.
"Annie," he whispers. "You're something else, you know that?"
His voice is tinged with something that sounds a lot like awe, and she knows that no man has ever spoken to her in quite that way before – not her father, who thinks checks on her birthday and at the holidays fulfill his obligations to her; not her high school boyfriend, who was always recommending mud masks and toners that might help with her breakouts; not Vaughn, who specialized in sweet musical interludes, not actual conversations; not Troy or Abed, who spent more than two years trying to make her tastes in movies, TV, music and food mirror their own exactly; not the handful of guys that she's gone on dates with over the past year, who all opened their mouths to spew what sounded like generic white noise; and not Jason, who hardly speaks to her at all.
Without really knowing why she is doing it, she reaches out and curls her hand around Jeff's wrist, her thumb pressing against the soft skin on the inside where his pulse thumps strongly. When she glances up at him, his expression is almost pained, like he can't bear the weight of her finger against his arm.
"Annie," he mutters, almost warningly.
That's all it takes for the moment to break, falling apart like a flimsy soap bubble. She feels scolded, chastised, so she lessens the pressure of her thumb against his skin.
She doesn't move her hand away, though.
"Every time I want to hang out with you, it's not because I'm in love with you or want to have sex with you, you know," she says. "I just … I like you, Jeff. I like being with you."
He practically slumps on his bar stool, lowering his head to study the sticky bar top.
"I know that. I don't … Fuck, Annie. I'm sorry."
She doesn't know what exactly he is apologizing for and feels foolish for even broaching the subject that always sends them careening off into awkwardness and distance. Her hand falls away from his wrist, and she clears her throat, trying to steady herself.
"I need you to be my friend right now," she says. "I need you tell me what I should do."
He blows out a slow breath and taps his hand against the bar, like he is trying desperately to come up with the right answer.
"Tell Abed how you feel. Just be honest and maybe you guys can work something out."
She laughs, and on a whim, signals the bartender for another drink.
"That sounds so simple."
"It probably won't be," Jeff says. "Friendship isn't easy. It's difficult and messy and a pain in your ass most of the time."
She turns on her stool to face him directly and rests her elbow on the bar so she can support her suddenly heavy head with her hand.
"But it's worth it?"
He shrugs and throws back the rest of his beer in one deep gulp.
"Sometimes. With you and Abed, sure."
She watches as he wipes at his mouth with his hand.
"And with us?"
His head practically jerks in her direction, and he looks confused, caught off-guard and a little annoyed.
"Yeah," he says. "Of course."
"Then why did we barely see each other last year? Why did we barely talk?"
She can't tell if his face softens or hardens at her question – maybe she is really drunk now and her sense of judgment, perspective is all off. Or maybe his eyes are soft and his frown is hard; she can't be sure.
"It was a really crappy year," he tells her, as if that is the only explanation necessary.
He is right, of course. It was a terrible year, and maybe that is reason enough for the distance that seemed to grow between all of them. She isn't entirely satisfied with that, though. But she recognizes that she is too drunk to have a serious conversation about it, so she focuses on her fresh vodka tonic instead. Jeff orders another beer and they finish their drinks in silence, which isn't as uncomfortable as she might have imagined.
He insists on walking her home afterward because it's nearly midnight and the streets are mostly quiet. She isn't so drunk that she's stumbling, but she slips her arm through his and uses him for balance anyway.
It's hardly a surprise that she and Shirley get stuck decorating the cafeteria for Greendale's open house.
No one would want the responsibility under the best of circumstances, but the fact that it has to be done on a Friday evening because the open house starts bright and early Saturday morning makes it an even less appealing task. Abed immediately excuses himself because he has plans with Rachel and Britta has to work a shift at the bar so she's in the clear. Jeff has a date that he claims he can't break because he's already rescheduled on the poor woman (his words) once, and Professor Hickey cryptically mentions a project that demands his attention. Duncan doesn't bother with an excuse, and Chang actually offers to help but Annie manages to convince him that he more than did his part last week when he got rid of the hornet's nest outside the cafeteria's main entrance.
She has no real plans herself besides doing a little reading for school and catching up on "Castle." She is half expecting to be stuck working all alone, actually, so when Shirley says she'll help out, Annie is grateful.
It isn't until they're halfway done moving the tables and chairs out of the center of the cafeteria that it occurs to her why Shirley is free.
Her kids aren't living with her at the moment.
Annie feels awful that she didn't realize earlier, hasn't thought of it for most of the semester, and wonders if she should say something about it. Probably not, she thinks. It's likely not Shirley's favorite topic and she has no interest in making her friends talk about things that they upset them. She doubles her focus on lugging a particularly heavy table to the side of the room, grunting with the effort.
"Relax, sweetie," Shirley chuckles. "We don't get extra credit for speed."
Annie smiles, pushing the hair out of her eyes.
"I guess I just want to get it over it."
Shirley bobs her head and lifts two chairs under her arms to carry them to where Annie stands.
"You know, we've been so busy with all this committee stuff that we haven't really had much time to just talk, have we? How are all your CSI/Law-and-Order classes going?"
"Good," Annie says. "It's good to feel a real sense of purpose when you're studying something, you know? I just wish I hadn't been too afraid to stick with it a year ago. I could be in graduate school now… or working in the field. It's like I've taken a million steps backward. For no good reason."
"Oh, honey, that's silly," Shirley declares. "Better late than never. I mean, look at me. I'm old enough to be your … wiser, older sister … and I'm trying to get my life together for what feels like the hundredth time. I think it doesn't really matter how long it takes. It just matters that you get it done."
Annie sinks into one of the chairs that Shirley's brought over and shakes her head.
"I'm just so far off the schedule that I had for myself in high school. Actually, it's not even the same schedule anymore. I feel like I screwed up once, a long time ago, and I'm never going to be able to get back on track."
Shirley clucks disapprovingly and pulls a chair up beside her, patting her hand.
"You're so young, Annie. You've got all the time in the world to figure things out."
It is no surprise that Shirley still sees her as a child – it's likely the motherly instinct in her and isn't meant to be insulting. But every time that someone views her that way, it just makes her angry - as if the time that she's wasted doesn't matter as much because she might have a few more years ahead of her.
But she knows that it isn't worth starting a fight over.
"It doesn't always feel that way," she says.
Shirley bumps her shoulder against Annie's and smiles gamely – for a moment, Annie isn't sure who she is trying to convince with this false cheer.
"Sweetheart, listen. It's easy to look at life not turning out the way you want or expect as a failure. But really, it's an opportunity to chart a new course for yourself. To really prove what you're capable of." She shrugs. "And you know, God never gives us more than we can handle so…"
For a moment, they just sit there in silence, her words practically echoing in the empty cafeteria. Then Shirley claps her hand and insists they get back to work. It takes another hour before they really get the place in shape, but it's not even nine yet so the entire evening isn't lost. They reward themselves with greasy pub food at a sports bar down the street from campus where everyone is caught up in a hockey or basketball game, maybe both.
Before they head home, Shirley takes out her phone and shows Annie photos of the boys at their most recent karate tournament. She is happy and bright-eyed as she explains each photo, and Annie thinks that maybe she is right.
It doesn't matter how long it takes, as long as things come together eventually.
The Dean's assistant is at lunch and he claims that he is expecting a very important call, so he insists that Annie man the phone instead of taking care of her usual filing duties in the storeroom.
She actually doesn't mind, because despite the Dean's expectations, the phone hasn't rung once, which gives her more than enough time to read ahead in her criminology text book and outline as she goes.
When Jeff breezes in, she's already finished an entire chapter and is feeling pretty accomplished - that's probably why she isn't rattled by his unexpected appearance. He, on the other hand, does a double take when he sees her behind the desk instead of the usual white-haired secretary.
It is probably her imagination – she knows that is what he would tell her if she dared bring it up – but the tension between them only seems to have deepened since their night at the bar a couple of weeks ago. She hasn't even told him that she took his advice and was honest with Abed about how she felt and that things have gotten – at least a little – better. She isn't sure if Jeff's been avoiding her or she's been avoiding him. All she knows is that something is off.
"Hey," he says, offering her one of his fake smiles. "Wasn't expecting to see you here."
"Rhonda's at lunch, so I'm filling in."
He bobs his head and his smile deepens a bit, so she knows that he is about to charm her.
Or try to anyway.
"Well, then, maybe you'll do me a favor. Can you post a note outside my two o'clock class that it's cancelled?"
She eyes him warily.
"Why are you cancelling your class?"
He laughs, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Why do you sound so suspicious?" he counters.
Her 'Because I know you' expression must translate exactly because he looks a little defensive.
"For your information," he says haughtily. "I have a doctor's appointment."
She knows immediately that he is telling the truth, so she segues from suspicion to concern in less than a second.
"Are you sick?"
She studies his face, which is tan and actually kind of glowing - he certainly looks healthy enough, she thinks.
"No. I'm fine. It's just …" He leans over the desk, lowering his voice. "It's an appointment with my dermatologist. He gets booked up faster than a Kardashian marriage and they had a last minute cancellation so if I don't want to wait until Christmas…"
"So you're blowing off class so you can get microdermabrasion or a chemical peel?"
He smiles again, but this time, it is the real deal, making it all the way up to his eyes.
"How do you know I'm not getting a skin cancer screening?"
She narrows her eyes dubiously, and he drops his hands to his hips.
"Not all of us have pristine porcelain skin that looks as if it hasn't seen a ray of sun a day in its life, Annie."
She touches her cheek self-consciously, where she knows that the skin is blindingly pale.
"I tried self-tanner once," she finds herself saying for no reason. "I looked like a carrot."
"Hey, I didn't mean it as an insult," he says. "You pull off the whole Snow White thing pretty spectacularly."
She smiles and he smiles back and time seems to do that slow, meandering thing it does when he looks at her in just the right way. But then she remembers that they're in the middle of the Dean's office and she lowers her head, tucking her hair behind her ear just for something to do.
"I'll put up a note for you," she says begrudgingly.
"You're a lifesaver, Annie. I guess I owe you now."
He doesn't seem to realize how dangerous it is to make that declaration to her – she is either going to make him help with the Earth Day Dance or cleaning out parking field D - but he breezes out just like he came in, entirely carefree.
Later that night, she is indulging in a bubble bath, the tiara from Pierce perched ridiculously on her head to make the whole thing even more special, when her phone buzzes with a text message. When she sees that it's from Jeff, she figures that it's just another thank you.
But he surprises her.
You can stop worrying, it says. It was just a mole.
She finds herself smiling, as the bubbles cool and wither around her.