Conflict, Discourse, and the Effects of Change

by AnthroQueen

This isn't who he used to be; old Winger never would've let a girl get to him this badly, and never would've even thought twice about some of the shit he'd said. But then again, he'd never felt this way about any other girl before. Everyone before this had merely been mile markers on a roadmap that led directly to her.

Hello! I have no idea what this one is, to be honest. I've been trying to move on with my life- and that should be easy, because the show's been over for like nine years- but then I keep getting ideas and then I sit down to write, thinking it's going to be short, and... I don't do short. Here we are, 24k later. I have a problem. But anyway! Did Taylor Swift inspire this one too? You bet!

The idea came from "right where you left me," which is my current obsession (already wild because evermore has never been my favorite album, but I've been really into her, lately). But Taylor, as we know, has a bad habit of leaving the best songs off of the OG album and making them bonus tracks, and in my humble little opinion, "right where you left me" is one of the strongest, if not the strongest, song off that album. So yeah. If we ignore the fact that it's from the perspective of a 23-year-old girl, I think it fits the first half of this story well, and influenced me greatly.

So typical disclaimer, legal jargon, etc. I own literally nothing except what I created here. Taylor Swift? Nah. evermore? Nah. "right where you left me"? Nah. Community? Yeah, you guessed it, still nah. Sorry for the deep bashing of Florida, but I've lived here for nine years and it's not for the faint of heart. I considered not even posting this at all, and then saw that Taylor performed "right where you left me" at the Eras Tour the other night and I went absolutely feral. Like I'm not even going to the Eras Tour (don't remind me) and I still felt betrayed LOL. Anyway! Thank you for reading, thank you extra if you review! Love you all!

---

Conflict, Discourse, and the Effects of Change

If he had known the way things were going to play out, he would've made the most out of these final weeks with her.

But that's the way it always is, isn't it? Hindsight is always fucking 20/20.

They've started sleeping together again, he and Britta. He's not even sure how it happened, truth be told; similar to the last time, four years ago, they kind of stumbled into it one night after one too many drinks. She'd gotten hysterical after, shoulders shaking with laughter, and he hadn't understood, eyeing her strangely; she'd told him he was bad at sex years ago, but this was an enormous bruise to his ego. It's not that, she'd said to his imploring look, always knowing exactly what he's thinking. I thought, oh god, the group'll be pissed. But what group? And she'd dissolved into drunken laughter once more. After a beat, he'd joined her.

What group, indeed.

It's been three months since the last of them, Abed and Annie, had left Greendale, and communication with them had been heavy and frequent at first, but has tapered off since. Jeff isn't surprised; production has picked up, Abed is deep into table reads and meetings with producers, and Annie's based out of D.C., but has been traveling all around the country, flying in and out at all hours of the day. He can count on one hand the amount of conversations he's had with Shirley over the past year, and they still haven't heard from Troy, still aren't sure if he's even alive out there, or if he's washed ashore on some remote island in the middle of the sea.

They're planning on meeting later this year, on the anniversary of Pierce's death. Jeff wonders if any of them will actually show.

It's deep into the summertime, sticky, humid July, and the night burns hot as a furnace. He's got the air conditioning on full blast in his Lexus, but his legs are sticking to the seat, and his shirt is crisp with heat, like he's just pulled it out of the oven. It's nearing one a.m.; he's sitting outside Greendale, waiting for Britta, and he thinks, depressingly, that there isn't an hour of the day he hasn't been at this damn campus. Her hunk of junk car had finally fallen apart- unsurprisingly, with the Velcro and duct tape holding it together- and it's not like he's about to let her get into some stranger's car at this time of night and end up on Unsolved Mysteries. They'd had words about it, but somehow Miss "No One Tells Me What to Do- Ever" had given in, and here he is.

God, he has no idea how she did this; he has no idea how he let her do this, weave her chaotic and messy little life with his. She'd just been a pretty face, just a hot blonde girl two rows up in his Spanish class, someone he thought he'd coerce into bed and never speak to again. How did they get here? Britta is the most frustrating, annoying, paradoxically obnoxious human being he's ever met, and he means this as fondly as possible, because he simply cannot get enough of her. Every time they part and he thinks he's better off without her, he's proven wrong; every time he sees her with someone else, it makes him physically ill. So they've fallen back into this pattern again- the casual sex, the sneaking around, the stolen, secretive glances, knowing smiles and for their eyes, only. He has no idea what they're doing, has no idea what she wants, but he's satisfied, and it's been a long fucking time since he's been this happy.

Years, light years, it seems. Back in the days of paper mâché, bunk beds and puppy parades.

If he squints, he can still make out the dim light of the study room at the back of the library, and begrudgingly, a pang of nostalgia claims him momentarily. They hadn't held a meeting there since Annie and Abed left. It hadn't felt right- just him and Britta and a group of faces he hadn't spent the last six years reluctantly letting into his heart- and they'd moved their meetings into Dean Pelton's office instead. The study room is sacred; it's a place of laughter and love and too many silly little memories to count. The last time he'd been in there, mere weeks ago, he and Britta had finally christened the new table, coming full circle. The Jeff from that first year, smarmy and looking to get lucky, and the Jeff he is now, holding on to a distinct moment with his best friend, merged into one, and he'd taken her to dinner afterwards, held the door, ordered a bottle of red he'd known she'd love. He was correct. And they hadn't gone near the study room since.

It's well after one when he finally sees her emerge from the doors of the school. She crosses the parking lot, yanks open the car door and nearly throws herself inside, pulling strands of hair off of her sweaty neck. "It should be illegal for it to be this hot at this time of night."

"Hello to you too." Jeff replies and puts the car into gear, rolling out of the parking lot. "Are you pissy because it's hot, or because you had a bad night?"

"I made four hundred dollars in tips tonight." She says. "Definitely not a bad night."

"Holy shit." Jeff balks. "You got that much traffic on a random Wednesday?"

"It's hot as balls and people like to drink." Britta shrugs. "Probably should drink some water, but what the hell. I'll take the money."

"Good. So will I." He tells her. "You're late on rent."

"Don't start charging me rent." She shoots back without hesitation. "I can't afford 303 and your monstrosity too."

Jeff smirks; he's not sure why she even bothers calling apartment 303 home anymore. She's at his place more nights out of the week than she isn't. "Time to get a better job."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Britta yawns. "I'm trying."

It's this joke that he remembers making in the weeks that follow, this joke that comes back to haunt him in the empty, hollow, depressing days without her. It isn't that he doesn't want her to succeed; he just hadn't expected her accomplishment would be his downfall.

Of course, he hadn't known this then.

"I think I'm going to get in the shower," Britta says as they pull into a parking space outside his complex. "I'm going to sit on the floor and just let the cold water run for at least twenty minutes."

"You're paying the water bill, then."

"God, you're so desperate to shake money out of me." She huffs out a sigh. "I'm sure I could figure out a more lucrative or enticing way to repay my debt."

He holds the door open for her and heads for the stairs, but she's already pressed the button for the elevator, and it dings open instantly at this hour. Jeff ducks in after her, eyeing her, knowing the look in her eyes all too well. "Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?"

"Well, stop sassing me, and I'll cut you in on my shower plan."

"You want me to sit on the floor of the shower with you?"

"Not really." She grins. "I had something a little different in mind."

They strip in the hallway once they're behind closed doors, sweaty but insatiable, and how could he say no, really? Getting involved with Britta is the only thing he's ever done without hesitation; he'd spent the entire first year of their friendship alternately hitting on her and suppressing his feelings for her, and when she'd finally reciprocated deep in the competition those last few days of classes, his brain had actually short-circuited for a moment. They've come pretty far since then; they've both had relationships and pitfalls in between, and he likes to think he's a different person, a better person, and she had a huge part in that. He'd never discredit the others- they all helped mold him into who he is now, and he only hopes he'd done the same for each of them- but truth be told, Britta had started it all.

Toweling dry, he pulls on a pair of underwear and nothing else, setting the ceiling fan on high. He peels back the duvet and crawls into bed, wishing he didn't have to wake up in four hours. He'd thought being a professor would reward him with the summer off, but he's been pulled into faculty meetings and breaking his head over creating a new curriculum that would fit Frankie's impossible education objectives. After a moment, Britta sinks into bed beside him, breath minty fresh, sleepy and sated. It's familiar, almost routine; normally, he'd probably be terrified, but he's comfortable. Moreover, he thinks he's happy; at least, happier than he's ever been. Perhaps everyone had been right after all; sharing his life with her is much more pleasurable than going to sleep and waking alone.

He turns out the light at his bedside and tells her, "Your debt is paid."

She laughs. "Excellent, see you next month."

He's drifting in the in-between, somewhere between consciousness and sweet sleep, and she's beside him, texting as if they've swapped personalities. After a moment, she says, "Shirley's coming up next weekend."

"Mmhmm." He murmurs noncommittally.

"She wants to get lunch." Britta continues. "She said you'd probably make up an excuse not to come and I'm supposed to drag you by your hair, if I have to."

"Okay."

"What do we tell her?"

Groaning, he rolls over to face her, kissing the promise of sleep goodbye. "About what?"

She rolls her eyes. "Well, we've been seeing a lot of each other lately…"

"Yeah." Jeff says. "What's wrong, you breaking up with me?"

Her eyebrows rise. "I don't know. Is there something to break up?"

"Can we not have the 'what is this' conversation at two-thirty in the morning?"

"You don't think Shirley will figure it out?"

"No. It's only been three months." Jeff says. "We did this shit for a year, and no one ever found out."

"Except Abed."

"Yeah, but he probably knew the whole time, to be fair."

"Yeah, I don't know how he did that." Britta says. "We were so careful."

"Well, I was so careful." Jeff says and Britta pulls a face. In his best iteration of her voice, he says, "Don't you usually wear the striped underwear?"

"I do not sound like that!" She exclaims. "And for the record, it was Beetlejuice underwear."

"Whatever." Jeff replies. "Whoever's fault it was that Abed knew- definitely yours, but agree to disagree-"

"Absolutely was not my fault."

"- the second they all knew, we stopped, and that was definitely your fault."

"Oh my god, it was mutual!" She nearly shrieks. "I think your memory is going in your old age."

"Wow."

She's quiet for a moment, almost long enough for him to fall asleep, but when he's once more on the precipice, she asks, "Do you think they're right? Do you think we're bad for each other?"

"I think you getting existential at almost three a.m. when I have to wake up at six is bad for me, yes." He replies and she shoves at him, irritated, heaving a sigh. "I don't know, Britta, when have they ever been right about anything?"

"I guess."

"And who gives a fuck? They left us."

"That's true."

"You're not done with this, are you?"

"I don't know!" She says. "Shirley visiting stresses me out. She's so religious; she'll probably take one look at us and smell the premarital sex."

"We don't have to say anything." Jeff says. "I won't even look at you."

"Oh yeah, that won't be suspicious."

"Out of everyone, Shirley will probably be on our side."

"Yeah, but that was a hundred years ago. Those were like… Slater and Vaughn times."

"Ugh, don't bring Tiny Nipples into this."

"They weren't that small."

"Shirley's kid had a hamster with bigger nips."

"I hate this conversation."

"You started it!" Jeff sighs. "I'm supposed to be asleep. Your pointless stress is keeping me awake."

"How about you help me figure out what we're going to tell Shirley," Britta proposes. "And in return, I will get up at the same time as you. You don't get to sleep in, I don't get to sleep in."

"Fine." Jeff says. "Why don't we tell her the truth?"

"That we're fucking?"

"Maybe not in those words."

"How do we do that?"

"Hey Shirley," Jeff mimics. "Britta and I are sleeping together again. We were bored and left alone for too long and shit happens. Neither of us are good at relationships, but we are good at sex, and we're having a lot of it. Where is it going? Who knows? But we're having a good time. Please don't judge us too harshly."

Britta frowns. "I'm not having sex with you because I'm bored."

Jeff sighs. "That's what you got out of that?"

"Your delivery needs a little work, but that's actually not bad." Britta says. "Why do I always forget you got paid to spew nonsense for a living?"

"It's my superpower, kitten." Jeff tells her. "Can I go to sleep now?"

"I'll allow it."

He closes his eyes for what feels like just a second before his alarm goes off and he blinks awake, sunlight peeking through the slats shading the window. Sitting, stretching, Jeff yawns, vision slightly blurry, desperate to get back to sleep. He's seriously considering how badly he wants this job, how badly he needs to pay for his apartment, his utilities, his groceries. He doesn't care about the curriculum, doesn't care about Greendale; if his future students want to become real lawyers, they'll go to real law school. The most they'll ever handle fresh out of this toilet is petty theft and parking tickets.

Britta groans beside him, burying herself further into the pillow, pulling the duvet over her head. "Turn that off. Please turn that off."

"No way." Jeff says, but obliges, silencing his phone. "Get up. Deal's a deal."

"Fuck off." She whines and he can't help it- he laughs.

"You better be awake by the time I get back from my run. This was your idea."

Britta yawns. "Hearsay."

"Did you just use legalese with me?" Jeff balks. "I don't know whether I'm pissed or proud."

Sleepily, she chuckles and asks, "Are we done? Can I go back to sleep?"

"I'll allow it." He echoes her sentiment from hours prior. "But you owe me."

He turns to go just as she murmurs, "I don't owe you shit, Winger."

That's more like the Britta he knows.

Maybe even loves.

---

Their visit with Shirley goes surprisingly well; they meet for lunch at a new café downtown, and Shirley waxes poetic about her businesses, her boys, and Andre, before asking how the two of them have been. Jeff glances at Britta, unsure if she'll say it or if he'll have to, but by the time he looks back at Shirley, she's already figured it out. They barely have to explain anything; that is, until she exclaims, "I always knew you two would find your way back to each other." Then they have to gently explain that this thing between them, whatever it is, is just casual, just history repeating, and she's less than thrilled.

She declines Britta's invitation to join her in the bathroom, and that's when Jeff knows he's going to get it. He's right; the minute Britta's out of earshot, Shirley asks, "Jeffrey, what are you doing?"

"Well, I was eating lunch, and catching up with you-"

"Don't get smart with me." Shirley warns. "You've got everything you've ever wanted in the palm of your hands and you're just going to ignore it?"

"It's not that serious." Jeff tells her and Shirley frowns.

"Why isn't anything ever serious with the two of you?" She asks. "Can't you just commit to something for once?"

"Look, you think that's what we should do because that's what you would do." Jeff points out. "What if it's not what we want?"

"Of course it's what you want. Why do you think you've gone back to each other?" Shirley implores. "You're just telling yourself it isn't what you want because that's easier than facing the facts."

That's not what we want, Jeff thinks instantly, automatically, in response, but then he remembers. Clear as day, the memory crisp around the edges; Christmas, their fourth at Greendale, the look on her face when Jeff had said, What we did was not dating! She'd looked so scandalized, so deeply offended, by his declaration, and he'd let it roll right off his back, back then. But now? It makes him think. Well is that what she wants? Is that what she'd been getting at last week when he'd been half asleep- is there something to break up? No, she can't want that… can she?

Fuck, does he?

Shirley shakes her head. "You two are damn fools."

"That's part of our charm." Jeff jokes, but half-heartedly, because now he's deep in thought, overanalyzing every conversation he'd had with Britta in the past three, four, five months. How deep does this go?

"She's not going to stick around forever, Jeffrey." Shirley says. "Do like Beyoncé says and put a ring on it."

It sticks with him the rest of the day, and he makes a deal with himself to test the waters, to really put an effort in. He's baiting her; he's waiting for her to call him out for being ridiculous, but maybe she doesn't notice, because she doesn't say a word. Jeff starts taking her out more frequently, looks up restaurants and galleries and exhibits she might enjoy, and she's confused, he can tell, but she goes along with it. In fact, she meets him stride for stride; she surprises him with coffee when he's draining in the middle of the day, stopping by Greendale to hang out with him so he doesn't die of boredom, cooks dinner without burning his place down- and it's actually edible. He brings her flowers. She sits through a horribly-acted action movie just because he'd wanted to see it. At this point, they're dating; they're full-on dating, like holding hands, kissing at stoplights, the whole nine.

And honestly? It's not terrible.

Aside from the nagging presence of his conscience- which, ironically, sounds a lot like Shirley- the piercing words Britta had said several years prior are another driving force for him making a genuine effort this time. What am I not good at, he'd asked, beaming, cocky, and she'd shut that shit down so quickly. Sex. Not one year later, in a desperate attempt to humble him, destroy his inflating ego, she'd accused, You were emotionally closed off in bed to the point where one time, I didn't come up because I couldn't find close enough parking. Well, fuck him for being detached; he's a textbook case for abandonment issues, and the last thing he wanted was to connect, to feel something for her, only for her to leave like it didn't matter. Like he didn't matter.

But it's different now. They're different now; surprise, surprise, therapy has actually been helping him work through his issues, and even though her words nag at him and tell him he isn't doing enough, at least he knows he's doing better than last time. He feels as though they've tiptoed into this, just barely scratched the surface of a "real" relationship, like there's a cage of delicately spun glass around the two of them, growing stronger each day they survive each other once more. And maybe that sounds negative, pessimistic, but what experience does he have, really? He goes to sleep each night and her sassy, sarcastic commentary is the last thing he hears. When he wakes, her grumpy, sleepy face is the first thing he sees. And it's truly the best cycle he could ever hope to be stuck in. It makes him sound like a lovesick idiot and he'd never say any of this out loud.

Maybe she knows anyway. He hopes she does.

Tonight, she's quiet. Weird. He'd made a dumb joke, something that likely would've gotten him a snappy comment in response, but she'd only smiled weakly, not fondly, like she was distracted, not really listening. They're downtown, seated on the patio of some restaurant he'd found online, because the humidity had finally broken and there's a gorgeous breeze, a nice view of the lights on the water and the mountains in the distance. They order drinks, entrees, and are nearly halfway through eating before he decides to bite the bullet and ask what is occupying her mind, because truly, he's dying with anticipation here.

"Are you going to make me play twenty questions, or are you going to spit it out?" Jeff asks. "You're acting really weird."

Britta eyes him. "Spit what out?"

"Why you've been so quiet." Jeff says. "Come on, you usually have some rousing stories about the winos at the bar, or some cause your rebel friends are trying to recruit you for. No endangered birds in the rainforest? Nothing?"

"I'm glad I can be such an endless form of entertainment for you." Britta frowns. "You just think I'm a huge joke, huh?"

"No." Jeff insists, backpedaling. "No, I was joking. I was just trying to lighten the mood."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" Britta shakes her head. "I'm just… I got a job offer today."

"That's why you're being weird?" Jeff wonders. "Britta, I know you like the bar, but this is a good thing."

"A friend of mine from my anarchist days is opening a charter school." Britta explains, her demeanor still demure. "He said he needs a school psychologist and he knows I got my degree in psych."

"Wait, that's great." Jeff grins. "It's an actual psych job? Not just listening to that one guy detail his messy divorce while he orders his fifth whisky sour?"

"It has educational benefits too." Britta continues. "He said he'll be able to pay for my classes so I can get my doctorate. Eventually I can probably become a real therapist, for someone other than first-graders."

"Britta, why are you so blasé about this?" Jeff remarks. "This is amazing. Congratulations."

"Don't congratulate me yet. I haven't taken it." She sighs. "I said I'd think about it."

"What is there to think about?"

In the moment that follows, Jeff can see her, at war with herself over whether to fabricate an elaborate story, or to destroy him with the truth. But as she always says, honesty is what she covets most.

"Well," She sighs. "The job's in Orlando."

Jeff blinks. Pauses. "Orlando, Florida?"

She bites her lip, nods. "Yeah."

Suddenly, he trips, or he bumps into her, or she nudges him just slightly; he's unsure of the exact circumstance, but the delicate glass bubble, soft like spun sugar, crashes down around them, shatters into thousands of pieces all over the table, all over the floor. Time freezes; it must, because Britta's staring at him, awaiting his reaction, but he can't formulate a sentence, can't think of what to say, can't even draw in a breath. Everyone goes on around him; forks clink against plates, champagne fizzes in flutes brought to lips, laughter emanates from deep within cheery bodies, and Jeff doesn't understand, can't quite grasp it, because how is life not crumbling, not falling apart, around this one single moment?

Shirley's voice is buzzing in his ear, over and over, like a fuzzy record, just out of reach.

She's not going to stick around forever, Jeffrey.

She's not going to stick around forever.

She's not going to stick around.

Not going to stick around.

"Yeah, I know." Britta finally says, because Jeff hasn't said anything- can't say anything. "It's a great job. I just… I don't know."

The waiter stops by, asks if they'd like anything else. Britta's quick to reply, "The check. Please."

Her meal's unfinished, his is cooling under the breeze, both of their glasses of wine are basically full. He finds his voice, but only briefly, when the waiter returns with the check, Britta ready with her card. "I can-"

"No, I've got it." She cuts him off. "Least I can do."

Somehow, they make it back to his car, weave through the streets and arrive home in one piece. He doesn't know how- he must've been operating purely on muscle memory. He doesn't remember leaving, doesn't remember any traffic or red lights or punching in the code outside his complex to enter the parking lot. Every bit of him feels trapped at that restaurant downtown and he's never despised Orlando, Florida more in his life. Britta unlocks the front door, they step over the threshold, but he can still hear the chatter and the background noise of the restaurant, can hear every last grating detail until the moment she'd done what he'd asked her to- she'd spit it out- and then it all became white noise.

"I'm going to get ready for bed." She says and maybe he nods or maybe he continues to stare blankly ahead as if she's not there at all, and soon enough, she won't be.

Everyone had gone.

Pierce had passed away; suddenly, unexpectedly, and no one had been there. Troy had embarked on a journey of self-discovery, but what did he know about sailing, anyway? Shirley had left to care for a sick relative, to continue her business, to raise her family, to kick ass, and she's doing so; she's succeeding. Abed had gone on to bigger, better, brighter things, walking the walk and talking the talk with likeminded people; those obsessed with media and behind the scenes action. Annie had dipped her toes into the pool of solving crimes and had come back with a hunger for it, had left behind the boring, monotonous life of healthcare management for a thrilling, rewarding day-to-day of putting America's most wanted behind bars.

Everyone had gone.

But he hadn't expected her to.

And maybe he should've; this is what Britta does. In fact, six going on seven years in one place is probably much longer than she ever planned on staying in Greendale; maybe she would've split sooner, or maybe she even wanted to. She's lived all over the country- all over the world- and this life of commuting to work until three a.m. at a community college bar is certainly not the life of adventure and service she'd planned for herself; she certainly isn't saving anyone, least of all herself, staying here. Florida is a goddamned mess; every day he reads a new headline that makes him glad the entire state will be underwater in a few years. Maybe she can do some good down there; maybe she can make it less of a garbage heap, really turn the state around.

He supposes she should probably go. He doesn't know why she's hesitating.

Jeff steps into the bathroom, follows suit in readying himself for bed, taking each step of his nighttime routine in painstaking clarity. When he enters the bedroom, Britta's already in bed, eyebrows furrowed as she reads through something on her phone, then hastily types out a response. He sits down beside her, feeling like he's underwater, like he's moving in slow motion, like everything around him is on fast-forward, while he's stuck in reverse. She glances up, meets his eyes, and there must be something there she doesn't like, because she glances away just as quickly. When she puts her phone back on the nightstand, he notices her hands are shaking.

"Now you're the one being weird." Britta observes, stating the obvious, maybe, but it's something to fill the empty silence between them. "Are you okay?"

There's really no adequate answer to that question, except the truth, and he'll be damned if he lets that out, right now. Instead he reaches for her and lets his body do the talking; he weaves a hand into her hair and pulls her mouth to his, and she kisses him back eagerly, almost out of relief. They undress hurriedly, like they're in public, in danger of being caught, instead of in the safety of their own home- and hell, it's his home, but she's essentially been living here too, rarely going back to apartment 303, and it won't feel the same without her here. Is the sex a little more desperate, a little more fervent, than usual? He doesn't know. But she's trembling when they finish, and he pretends not to notice.

She falls asleep curled up beside him not long after. When he's sure she's deep into dreamland, he pulls her closer to him in a way he maybe wouldn't have, otherwise.

And he doesn't sleep.

---

Agonizingly the hours pass, and Jeff lies there, motionless, listening to the even sounds of Britta's breathing and watching as the sky lightens outside; omniscient black gives way to a deep purple, then a soft pink, and finally a bright, luminescent orange as the sun peeks over the horizon. His alarm sounds the moment the clock strikes six, but he silences it after the first beat, probably could've left it off completely; no need for an alarm when he'd been counting down the minutes until he could get out of this bed. He's looking forward to lacing up his sneakers and getting outside for a run, desperate to get away from his problems and distract himself the best way he knows how. When he sits, stretches, bones aching with fatigue, Britta rolls away from him, murmuring something incoherent.

He's not sure his run is going to be so effective today.

It's a beautiful day; not too hot, the humidity's broken, and clouds stream across the wide expanse of sky, blocking the sun when his path takes him uphill. But there must be something wrong with him; he can't enjoy it. It's like a vicious, endless cycle of déjà vu; over and over he sees the look in her eyes, the war she fights with herself before telling him, the waiter intruding to ask if they need anything, time passing and everyone around them laughing and eating and drinking in the merriment of the moment, but he'd sat there, stared back her, must've looked like such a goddamned idiot while she waited for him to say something, say anything. But he hadn't. What would he have said?

What could he have said?

About a dozen things come to his mind, but he's not that kind of person, and he's not about to pull a Ross Gellar and chase her to the airport, confess dramatic half-truths to a slew of onlookers who are just trying to get from point A to point B. He's known her long enough to know she's going to do what she wants anyway, so what does his opinion even matter? She should go; she probably will go. That's her thing; she cuts and runs, Abed tells him, somewhere, in a past life, in a memory that feels like ages ago. But then again… maybe she won't. She's different now; he supposes they're all different now. That's the beauty of the friendship he'd accidentally fallen into with six loveable misfits; they'd grown and changed and maybe he wouldn't have reacted the way he did last night six years ago, but now he cares about these six people, loves them, and their departures had all hit him hard. And maybe Britta would've left without telling him, would've just dropped right off the face of the earth six years ago, but now she's put roots down here, she can't make a decision worth a damn, and maybe she won't go. She probably won't.

He's in a better mood when he gets back, and he's expecting Britta to still be fast asleep, as she is most days, but she's dressed, hair damp from a shower and eating a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table. It's fine; they're good. Maybe they can pretend last night never happened. She's dipping the spoon in and out of the bowl absentmindedly as he crosses the room, reaches for the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water. He probably should speak first, right? Break the ice? He hasn't spoken in over twelve hours. He doesn't get the chance; maybe she's just expecting he's going to continue his behavior from the night prior, but she abandons her breakfast and draws in a deep breath like she's about to jump off a cliff without a parachute. For a moment, he's terrified of what she's about to say.

He'd never admit that, though. He pastes on his signature 'cool guy' bravado, but knows she sees right though him.

"I found out a few days ago. I didn't know how to tell you." Britta says. "I'm sorry, Jeff, I-"

"No, don't apologize." Jeff shakes his head. "I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn't have gone all radio silent on you."

She bites her lip. "I didn't mean to catch you so off guard."

"No, it's fine. Really." He shakes his head. "We're cool."

"Okay good." She says, relieved, and it kind of breaks him a little. "It was killing me because I didn't tell anyone, and it was just eating at me every single day, and I just… I wanted to tell you."

He smiles. "Mission accomplished. Wish I responded better."

"No, it's fine, I…" Britta sighs. "I'm just not sure I can do it."

"The job?" He asks stupidly and she nods. "Why, you think you're the only one who can't succeed?"

"No, it's just… I don't know. It's new. It's different." Britta says. "I mean, I have lots of experience with kids, but my nieces and nephews don't have real problems, you know? Well, I mean, except being my brothers' kids, but nothing I can do about that, sadly."

Jeff smirks. "So you're not going to take it?"

"Well there's a few more cons," Britta says, almost nervously, and Jeff's not sure why; his day just turned right around. "I mean, what do I know about Florida, right?"

"It's gross." Jeff shakes his head. "Hurricanes, tourists, alligators… 'Florida Man.' Seems like hell on earth."

"Yeah, but-"

"I'm sure you'd enjoy righting all the political wrongs down there, but it just seems like a nightmare."

"I guess… but-"

"You can't drink in Disney World, you know." Jeff says. "It's a dry park. The other three? Alcohol left, right, and center. But the main one, with the crying toddlers and the incessant strollers, and the one place you'd want a drink? Nope. Can't do it. Isn't that a buzzkill?"

"Wait," Britta replies. "Then how'd you get in a drunken fight with fake Ben Franklin?"

He grins, weirdly touched that she'd remembered. "I got creative. Vodka looks like water and they don't sniff your Dasani."

"Wow." She laughs. "Sounds like you had a problem."

"I was a grown man in a park for children." Jeff responds, laughing too. "That was my problem."

"Okay, well, Disney World isn't in my priorities." She says. "So I don't think that's going to be a problem."

"Besides, traffic is a nightmare on that interstate, and- wait, what?" Jeff balks, registering what she'd said, his heart picking up speed. "What did you say?"

"I don't have plans to visit Disney World." Britta repeats, the look on her face cautious, like a puppy who'd peed on the rug. "When I'm down there."

In an instant, he's back in the restaurant, the wine sloshing in his stomach, Britta chewing on her bottom lip, the city lights dancing on the water off the restaurant's patio, Shirley's voice ringing in his ear. She's not going to stick around forever. Like an echo, he repeats, "When you're down there."

"Ten called this morning. While you were out." She runs a hand through her hair, exhaling like it's as hard for her to say it as it is for him to hear it. "He offered me a sign-on bonus. I couldn't say no."

"His name is Ten?" Jeff pulls a face, trying to focus on anything else. "Your friends have the weirdest fucking names."

"It's short for Tennyson, like the poet. Tennyson Rhoades." She explains. "That's his name, not… not the poet."

"Yes, I'm aware. I took English in high school just like everyone else." Jeff says. "So you're going."

"I'm going." Britta says. "Next week."

His eyes widen. "Next week?"

"Yeah, I have to get settled. Get a place to live, get through onboarding…" Britta says. "School starts the third week of August. They start early there, but they're out in May."

He shakes his head. "What about your apartment?"

"I'm going to break the lease, I think." She says. "I don't think I'll find anyone to sublet until it ends, and my signing bonus is enough to cover the charge."

"Jesus Christ, Britta, you're really doing this."

"Yeah." She nods. "I'm really doing this."

"Well, that's… that's good." Jeff finds himself saying, betraying himself. "You should. You should absolutely go."

Britta's eyebrows rise. "I should?"

"Yeah. You should." He encourages. "You'll do great."

"Right." She says warily. "Well I should… I should go home. I have a lot to do. I've got to start packing and looking for an apartment…"

"Yeah, you're going to be busy." Jeff says, hyper-aware of the sweat cooling on his skin, the weight of the water bottle, half-empty, in his hand, the nausea pooling in the pit of his stomach. "I'm going to hit the shower."

"I didn't fuck this up, did I? Like we're still cool?" Britta asks once more, and Jeff knows this is his chance. He doesn't take it. "We're not going to stop being friends when I move to the land of gators and tourists, are we?"

"We're good, Britta." He tells her instead and she nods. "I mean… it's not a Jane Austen novel. We have cell phones."

A sad sort of smile passes over her then, nostalgic perhaps for a simpler time, and she turns to go. "Okay. Yeah. Well… I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah. Sure." He says and waits until the front door clicks behind her before heading for the bathroom.

The steady stream of the shower isn't enough to drown out his thoughts though, loud and persistent in the silence that follows her departure. He steps under the flow of water and closes his eyes, just merely existing, as he tries to process what had just transpired in his kitchen. He feels like a moron, to be honest; like that dumbass from the first year at Greendale who'd gotten his hopes up that the hot blonde girl from Spanish class was only pretending not to like him, only to find her making out with a shirtless hippie on the quad. And how is he any different now, really? He'd slumped dejectedly against a vending machine then just as he's dissociating miserably in the shower now. Maybe he'd grown, maybe he'd changed, but he still hurts the same.

And truthfully, Jeff's not sure what makes this time so different. It's not the first time he's been left behind; it's not the first time he's been disappointed. Annie had departed after one final kiss in the study room, after imagining a perfect season seven that hadn't matched up with his. Abed had left with an announcement of his dreams coming true, not unlike the season finale of his favorite television show, keeping up appearances. Shirley hadn't shown up to a meeting of the "Save Greendale" committee one day, and only afterwards had she sent a mass text, unable to tell them in person. Troy had decided, on a whim, to set sail on the open waters, a final gift from Pierce that no one had seen coming. Pierce had left them unexpectedly, with bad blood between them they would never wash clean. And before that, long, long before that, Jeff had been ten years old, had watched his father walk out the front door of his childhood home, had heard his mother screaming her cries and cursing his name the whole way, and hadn't seen him again.

He's not sure what makes this time so different.

After all, he should be used to people leaving him by now.

---

The week in between the moment time freezes and the eve of Britta's departure is a complete blur, passing by him as he watches, helpless, in a fog. They spend an almost unhealthy amount of time together, but it doesn't really matter anyway; he should be soaking in these last moments with her, making the best of every conversation, but he can't. He can't stop replaying that night, wishing he would've done something differently, wishing he could've fought for her or at least said something, but that's not in his nature- he has no experience. Instead, he helps her pack up apartment 303, sell a bunch of furniture, donate a bunch of clothes. He sits beside her as she pores over apartments, condos overlooking lakes and others advertising just minutes from local attractions! She books a flight, breaks her lease, cannot stop talking, but maybe it's because he's been so silent, maybe it's because he can't start.

Britta tells the remaining members of the Greendale committee in the final meeting where things make sense, the last one where he can glance over at her any time Frankie gets boring or pull a face whenever Duncan says something inappropriate- he's the new Pierce, Jeff realizes, several meetings ago, too little, too late, but when he tells Britta, she laughs. He wonders if he'll even attend the next one, if anyone will call him out on it, and realizes he doesn't really care. The group is congratulatory; the Dean's perhaps a bit too eager to have her gone, Duncan says they should drink to celebrate, and Frankie insists on throwing Britta a goodbye party, inviting the whole school. This time, it's Britta who glances at him, gauging his reaction, but Jeff is motionless, powerless, and merely smirks in response.

It's the last night. It doesn't stick with him in quite the same way as that night in the restaurant, but it's still not one he'd like to relive, and it's not one he'll ever forget. Britta's still talking on the drive to Greendale, maybe she's never stopped, and he's only half-listening, weaving through traffic seamlessly. Things are set up in the study room, music and streamers and a congratulatory banner, and whatever Britta's saying dies on her lips the moment they step through the door. They hadn't set foot in the study room since they'd slept together in it, weeks prior, and maybe this is too much, maybe this takes it too far. When Jeff glances at Britta, there's the tiniest bit of fear in her eyes, and for a moment he foolishly thinks this will end it all, that she'll change her mind and realize how ridiculous this all is.

But some girl he's never seen before pushes a drink into her hands, embraces Britta in a hug, and shoots Jeff a dirty look, dragging Britta away into a group of women who gush over everything Britta's accomplished.

It comes back to him in an instant- it's Britta's fan club, still rallying around their leader, even four years later.

God damn it, he needs a drink too.

As if Duncan's read his mind, he hands Jeff a beer as the two settle in the corner of the room. He's sulking and he knows it; Duncan probably knows it too, but he's wise enough not to comment on it. He merely engages Jeff in a one-sided conversation, not really noticing or truly even caring that Jeff does not offer his commentary- no snappy one-liners, nothing at all. He must bore his dear British friend after a while, because the next time Jeff tears his gaze away from Britta, he notices Duncan is gone, he's been standing here, antisocial in the corner, for much longer than he'd realized, and people are beginning to avoid him; he's sucking the life out of the party, a dark cloud over a bright summer's day.

Dean Pelton slinks over and inwardly Jeff groans. He's holding a glass of wine, swirling it almost sensually and Jeff wants to slip away, but he's already been made. "Well hi there, Jeffrey. You look wonderful this evening."

"Dean."

"Craig."

"Right."

"Isn't it great, the news about Britta?" Craig beams. "I didn't think she'd be the last to leave… perhaps it was just wishful thinking."

Jeff shakes his head. "I'm never going to understand your weird relationship with her, am I?"

"No more than I'll understand yours with her." Craig says. "How are you holding up?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well for reasons unbeknownst to me, you two have always been very close." Craig replies. "She's moving across the country. She's the last of your study group. And as much as I look forward to getting you all to myself Jeffrey, I know that you've got to be taking this pretty hard."

"No, I'm fine." Jeff says simply. "She deserves to get the hell out of here. They all do."

Craig's still baiting him, searching for a reaction. "I suppose you'll miss her."

"Sure." Jeff shrugs. "I miss all of them."

"But with Britta-"

"Is there something specific you're looking for me to say? Something you want me to confess?" Jeff cuts him off. "Your interrogation tactics are embarrassing."

"Alright, I'm not known for my detective work." Craig admits. "I'm just saying, I know this is going to be hard for you- not having her around- so if you're looking for a shoulder to cry on-"

"Pass." Jeff says and steps away.

It's instantly a mistake; Frankie calls the room's attention, saying, "Thank you all for coming tonight as we celebrate Britta's new job and her next adventure. I thought maybe we could say a few words on her behalf, and who better to do so than the person who's known her the longest? Jeff, would you mind sending Britta off with words of wisdom?"

All eyes in the room shift towards him and Jeff balks. Well, fuck. If ever there was a time for a Winger speech, it would be now, but he has no idea what to say. "I, uh… I'm sorry, I wasn't really prepared for this. Not that there isn't a lot we could say about Britta; she's definitely given us a lot of material over the years."

A few people chuckle, but he focuses his attention on her for a moment. There's emotion, clear as day, in her eyes, and the smile on her face is fond, tragic, heartbreaking. It's too much; he looks away, finds a point on the back wall and stares hard. "Britta's… She's wild. She's fun, she's cool, she's willing to do anything. She's probably the most selfless person I've ever known; she'll do anything for those she cares about, and I mean anything. She's a great friend; probably the best any of us have ever had. And… she's going to do great things in Florida. So congratulations Britta, best of luck… I'm proud of you. And we're all going to miss you."

There's a pause when he finishes, as if the room is expecting him to continue, and he can't blame them; it's the most half-assed Winger speech he's ever given, which is horrible when he thinks about it, actually, because she's been around since the very beginning and out of everyone, she's the one who deserves his best work, she deserves to hear everything he's ever thought, every messy, confusing, debilitating feeling he's had in the six years of knowing her. But Duncan's right- he's falling apart at the seams, and this is the best he can manage, and he wishes he could pull out all the stops, but he's stuck with the spur of the moment, spotlight's-on-him bullshit that he just spewed. Eventually, the party moves on, and Britta steps forward, engulfs him in a hug anyway, and he's helpless to deny her; his arms encircle her too. He ignores the knowing look from Craig and waits until she pulls away first.

He's silent on the drive home, but what else is new. Britta fills the silence with chatter, but he can't stop seeing the waiter at the restaurant, can't stop hearing Shirley's voice in the forefront of his mind, can't stop replaying Craig prodding him unsuccessfully for his feelings and Frankie insisting he speak on Britta's behalf and that utter load of crap he'd vomited onto the carpet of the study room. And every word of it is true; she is the most selfless person he's ever known, she will go to literal ruins for those she loves and cares about, and she is the best friend he's ever had, probably the best friend he'll ever have, but it's not enough. It's not enough to convey who she is or what their relationship means to him or how grateful he is, how much he owes her, for putting up with his bullshit, for everything she's done for him, for these last six years of his life.

Every departure the members of his study group had made had thrown him off of the cliff, but this time, he's not sure he'll be able to get back up.

He's angry; angry at her for leaving and angry at himself for not seeing it coming, not preventing it from happening, not doing enough to make her want to stay. "Britta, shut up. Just shut the fuck up for five fucking minutes."

She does, but only for a moment. "Jeez. What the hell is your problem?"

"Right now, you are my problem." He says honestly, white-knuckling the steering wheel at a red light. "You haven't stopped talking in two weeks."

"You haven't spoken in two weeks!" She replies. "You're making me nervous with your silent treatment. I mean, are we in grade school? When have you ever had a problem saying what you need to say?"

He sets his jaw, tight and furious. "I don't have a problem saying what's necessary."

"Yeah, okay." She frowns. "Where is this coming from? Twenty minutes ago you're singing my praises and now you're acting like my mere existence is wreaking havoc on your life."

"Britta, you've done nothing but wreak havoc on my life for the last six years." Jeff replies. "Why would today be any different?"

She stares at him a moment, trying to gauge if he's playing, as they do, or just being an asshole, before shaking her head. "I'm not doing this with you."

"Doing what with me?"

"This fake bullshit fight you're trying to pick with me so you feel better about me leaving tomorrow." She crosses her arms over her chest, focusing out the windshield. "You want a reaction, I'm not going to give you one."

"You don't know the first thing about what I want."

She scoffs. "Well that has always been true. I don't even think you know what you want, Jeff."

For a moment, he almost leaves it there. They park at his complex, ride the elevator in silence, and step into his apartment, but he's always been a glutton for punishment, has always wanted to pick at the scab to see if the wound would still bleed, and he pushes further. "You think I don't know what I want?"

"I know you don't know what you want." Britta calls from the bathroom, squeezing toothpaste onto her toothbrush, talking around it. "Do you want to bang the hot blonde from Spanish class or do you want to make it with your statistics professor? Oh, they actually both just told you they loved you, so you better go outside and kiss a teenager instead."

"Jesus Christ, this again." He sighs. "Neither of you loved me."

"That's not the point at all." Britta laughs, spitting into the sink. "You can't handle the pressure, and you find an excuse to leave. Make fun of me all you want for cutting and running, or whatever the fuck Abed said I do. But at least have the decency to admit that you do the exact same fucking thing."

"Are you diagnosing me with commitment issues? Is that your official prognosis?" Jeff asks sarcastically. "Jeez, leave some therapizing for the kiddos, Dr. Perry."

"Fuck off, Jeff, I'm not doing this with you. I told you." Britta repeats, stepping into the bedroom to change into sleepwear. "If you're upset I'm leaving, then just say it. Why does everything have to be an argument? Like, I'm leaving in the morning. Can we have one normal last night together? Would that be so hard?"

"I am well fucking aware that you're leaving in the morning." He tells her. "You've made that abundantly clear in the last two weeks where you never stopped talking about it."

"I'm sorry that I'm looking forward to the next chapter of my life!" She exclaims. "You're like the last person I have left that I care about, so obviously I want to talk about it with you. I thought you would care too!"

"Well I don't! I don't fucking care!" Jeff shouts back and Britta's face falls. "Of course you're leaving; everyone fucking left. What difference does it make?"

"Jeff… if you were this upset-"

"I'm not upset."

"Obviously you're upset, or we wouldn't be having this conversation." Britta disagrees. "We wouldn't be screaming at each other like this."

"I'm not upset." He repeats. "It would not even matter if I was; you took the fucking job."

"You told me I should take the job!" Britta shrieks back. "You said I should absolutely go!"

"You took the job before I said that." Jeff shakes his head. "You didn't even give me time to form an opinion."

"Form an opinion? I told you I was offered the job at dinner!" She says. "You didn't say a goddamn word!"

"And you took that to mean I was fine with it?"

"How the hell else was I supposed to take that?"

"Fucking hell." Jeff groans. "It's not about that. I'm not upset you're leaving-"

"The hell you aren't." Britta says. "And where was all of this that night when I first told you? Why did I get radio silence and blank stares instead of all this drama? Why didn't you tell me then that you were pissed at me?"

Jeff frowns. "Would it have stopped you?"

"No!"

"Then who gives a fuck?"

"No, it wouldn't have stopped me because no one tells me what to do! No one tells me what I can and cannot do with my own fucking life!" She shouts. "But I give a fuck, dumbass, because I care about you and I want to know how you feel!"

"You want to know how I feel? You care about how I feel?" Jeff mocks. "You didn't think that someone you've been friends with for over six years, someone you've been sleeping with for the better part of this year, deserved to weigh in a little? Jesus, I'm not trying to tell you what you can and can't do with your life, but don't just make decisions like I'm not a part of it."

"Well then you should've said something! You should've said anything!"

"Please, what the hell was I going to say?"

"That you don't want me to leave!" Britta states. "If you didn't want me to go, you should've just said it!"

His blood is boiling, he can't see straight. He knows he'll regret it the moment it comes out of his mouth, but that doesn't stop him from saying it.

"I do want you to go." He says. "I can't wait for you to leave."

It stops her in her tracks, deflates her, douses the flame with ice cold water, steam simmers between them. She stares at him, waiting for something- waiting for anything- that will fix this; a truce, perhaps, a ceasefire, but nothing comes, and the damage is already done. His heart's pounding in his ears, but he's not sure it's from the anger, this time. What the fuck have I done, he thinks instantly as Britta continues to stand there, continues to stare at him, breathing heavily. What the fuck did I just say? The thing is, his relationship with Britta has always been sarcastic and biting and teasing; they mutually give one another shit and it's something he's coveted for years, something that's amused and sustained him even on his darkest days. But they're never mean; that's just cruel, that's nasty, that's unnecessary. Even when he teases her, she knows it's out of love, and vice versa. This? This right here? This is too far.

He can't take it back. He doesn't know what to say.

Britta's looking at him like she doesn't even know who he is and his heart clenches in his chest as her eyes fill with tears, one rolls down her cheek. She swipes it away so quickly, blink and you'll miss it, but Jeff hadn't; he'd seen. She turns away from him and begins to gather her things. "Well, let me expedite it for you."

"Britta-"

"No, don't fucking talk to me." She says, throwing her last minute belongings into a bag, reaching for the handle of her suitcase. "I don't even want to look at you right now."

She drags her luggage to the front door and Jeff, two steps behind, follows desperately, but even now, is unequipped with what to say. "Where are you going? You don't have an apartment. It's almost midnight."

"What do you care?" Britta asks, pulling open the door. "You can't wait for me to be gone."

It slams shut behind her and bathes him in silence.

He can't get the image of her face out of his mind, can't stop seeing those baby blues swimming in tears, her hand flocking to her cheek to catch the one that had betrayed her, had spilled over.

He can count on one hand the amount of times he's seen Britta cry; she doesn't typically get vulnerable in that way, or at least doesn't let him see it.

The apartment's empty and hollow without her. He pulls back the duvet, climbs into bed, and lies awake.

He texts her to let him know whenever she gets in safely, wherever it is she's going.

She doesn't reply and he doesn't expect her to.

His sleepless nights continue; it isn't the first, and it certainly won't be the last.

He must drift off at some point, though, because he awakens with a start just after five a.m. He's supposed to drive Britta to the airport- which, of course, will be difficult, not knowing where she is- and he's afraid he's overslept, but it isn't his alarm that's pulled him out of sleep. It's a text from Britta, and dread pools in his stomach when he reads her message.

I'll take an Uber. Don't come pick me up.

"Fuck." Jeff sighs, scrubbing an exhausted hand over his face. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The night's events come screaming back to him as he hastily types a reply. Please let me come get you. Let me say goodbye.

He lies back, awaiting her response, watching the ceiling fan oscillate and a bird land in a nest on the tree outside his window, anything to distract himself from the nausea threatening to spill over. She'll let him see her one last time… won't she? She wouldn't leave things like this, certainly; they'd had a bad argument, a really bad argument, but they've argued before. They've always come out the other side. He'd said some really, really awful shit, and he needs to apologize, but it's not like she was blameless, either. He can't let her think that he wants her gone, can't let her think that the absence of her in his life won't leave a giant, gaping hole in his chest. He has to fix this. He can still fix this.

His phone chimes. He reads her message over and over, even though Britta's response is terse. You already did.

Jeff sinks back into the pillows, tossing his phone carelessly off the side of the bed. It hits the wall, slides under the bed, forgotten.

He's lost her for good.

---

It doesn't take long for the news to spread to the others.

Jeff receives a scathing voicemail from Shirley, falling short of cussing him out- which he's sure she would have if she wasn't so devout in her faith. Annie texts him a string of paragraphs he doesn't read, but the last one is sharp, cutting, and sticks with him like a thorn in his side: That's low Jeff. Even for you. Abed's response is typical, par for the course, but nonetheless degrading; I've seen so many series finales that have really crapped the bed over my years of television, but this has got to be one of the worst. Jeff doesn't need this; he turns his phone off, shuts out the world. It's just been days of this; days of lying in bed, half-dressed, alternately obsessively checking his phone to see if she's messaged, and throwing his phone across the room when he gets attacked by the remaining members of the group.

He knows he's deluding himself. He knows she's not going to message him.

That doesn't stop him from texting her, though.

Did your flight get in okay?

Britta, just text me back so I know you're not dead.

You're really never going to speak to me again?

He wouldn't blame her if she didn't, to be honest.

Time freezes around the moment he'd destroyed everything, so he's unsure of how a week passes, and then two. His life post-Britta has been absolute hell; classes start at Greendale and he's not vying for teacher-of-the-year, that's for sure. Students ask questions, try to engage him in the lecture he's created, but he stares straight ahead, reads passages straight from the textbook in a monotonous tone, and offers no personal experience. He gives a pop quiz the second week and then doesn't grade it; gives them all As. One particular morning, he's hungover- hasn't been in years- and he shows a movie in class; he's not sure which one, but it's something animated and it has nothing to do with criminal law. He leaves midway through the class, just walks out of the room, out of the school, and drives him. He doesn't give a fuck; the Dean would never fire him, but even if he did, he would be doing Jeff a favor.

He'd once thought that Greendale was the worst place he could ever hope to be. But this was before he'd experienced the two eras of his apartment- life with Britta, and life without her.

The hook by the front door where she'd hung her purse and a sweater because the woman was always cold is empty, attracting dust. Her shoes are missing from the shelf he kept in the closet; the crowd of clutter on his coffee table he'd always pestered her about was gone, wiped clean. He beelines for the refrigerator, reaching for a beer and studiously ignoring "her shelf;" the oat milk is gone- she'd convinced him to try it once and he'd made a big deal about it, but it truly wasn't that bad- and it had left a sticky residue behind he can't bring himself to clean. Tossing the bottle cap in the trash, Jeff takes a long sip of beer, fueling that hangover back into drunkenness, and passes the bathroom- her toothbrush is gone, her curling iron, her toiletries- on his way to the unmade bed. The entire apartment is echoing with her absence, and it's strange really; it's his place, his home, and he'd lived here for years without her.

But this is awful. This is something he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.

And it's so much worse because he'd been such an asshole.

Drunk is the only way he's going to get through this, he decides, and downs the rest of his beer, crawling out of bed briefly to get a second. In the kitchen, there's a deep knocking sound and he wonders if he's already got that alcohol-induced headache; it takes him longer than he'd care to admit to realize that it's someone at his front door. He glances down at his clothing- a dirty t-shirt, spots of beer where he'd splattered himself trying to drink lying in his bed, a pair of sweats he'd never let the general public see him in, normally. Fuck it, he decides and crosses the room towards the front door. If it's the Dean- Craig- he's going to tell him to fuck off, because he's certainly not in the mood for his prying bullshit today. He just wants to wallow in his own self-pity in peace.

It's not Craig; it's Duncan, and when Jeff whips the door open, his British friend gives him the once-over and says, "Oh, this has not been an inspiring journey for you."

Jeff turns, ignoring this jab, and collapses on the couch, taking a fresh sip from his beer bottle. Duncan closes the door behind himself and sits across from Jeff in an armchair. Sighing, Jeff asks, "What are you doing here?"

"We share some students and there's been some talk." Duncan explains. "I thought I would come see how you're doing, but message received."

Jeff insists, "I'm fine."

"This is fine?" Duncan asks. "Well, I'd hate to see you in a bad way, mate."

Jeff frowns. "What do you want me to say?"

"Don't have to say anything." Duncan says. "What the hell happened? How'd you go from that speech at her party to falling apart at the seams?"

"I am not falling apart at the seams." Jeff says and then realizes that may not be entirely true. "You want a beer?"

"You know I won't say no to that." Duncan agrees and Jeff heads back for the fridge. "If you have any left."

"Funny." Jeff drones sarcastically, returning to the living room and handing his friend a drink. He lifts his in toast. "To Britta's new job."

"To me never getting her in the sack." Duncan jokes and Jeff merely blinks at him. "What, not ready to make light of that?"

"No, consider yourself lucky." Jeff tells him. "She's a disaster."

"Yeah? Better or worse than you right now?" Duncan asks and Jeff has to give him that one. "I knew you'd be buggered out with Britta gone, but this is another level."

"I told her I wanted her to go." Jeff admits, and it's awful hearing it out loud a second time. "That I couldn't wait for her to leave."

Duncan blinks at him. "Why the hell would you say that?"

"If I tell you, are you going to charge me for your psychiatric services?"

"Depends on the answer."

Jeff heaves a sigh. "Because I couldn't tell her the truth."

Duncan waits expectantly. "And that would be?"

"That I'm in love with her." Jeff says and it relieves some of the tension in his chest to finally say it out loud, just a tad. "That I didn't want her to leave me. I meant what I said- she's selfless- but I'm selfish, and I wanted her to stay."

Duncan's face is nonjudgmental and not surprised. He'd predicted this years ago, after all; you don't have a drinking problem, you have feelings for Britta, you disgusting monster! "Why didn't you tell her?"

Jeff shakes his head, downing the rest of his beer. "Wouldn't have made a difference."

"You think?"

"She said she cared how I felt, but my opinion wouldn't have stopped her." Jeff reiterates. "She's a giant fucking contradiction. She always has been."

"Your opinion on her leaving wouldn't have stopped her, you mean." Duncan clarifies and Jeff shrugs. "But she cares how you feel about her."

Jeff thinks it's mere semantics, but he nods. "Sure."

Duncan repeats, "You didn't tell her how you feel."

"No," Jeff frowns and he feels like Duncan's trying to make a point, a point he's just not grasping, and he wishes he hadn't said anything at all. "No, I didn't tell her."

Grinning like he's just solved the biggest mystery, Duncan tells him, matter-of-factly, "Then you don't know what she would've done."

He doesn't need this; he doesn't need a second Shirley telling him what he could've done, should've done, to make Britta stay. Why does everyone think they know Britta better than he does? Why does anyone think he could've said or done anything to make her stay? But there is that tiny part of him, that nagging sense in the deepest pit of his stomach, that wonders if maybe, just maybe, he'd bucked up the courage to say something- anything- maybe she would've reconsidered, or maybe they would've at least talked about it, or hell, maybe he could've even gone with her, resigned from Greendale and moved to the land of gators and Mickey Mouse and humidity. It's the last thing he wants, but being with Britta may have made it alright; he doesn't know.

He'll never know. So what's the point of speculating?

"Thanks, Dr. Freud." Jeff says instead. "You done psychoanalyzing me?"

"You need to move on." Duncan tells him. "Drinking your sorrows away is not a way to live."

"Oh, you're one to talk." Jeff says. "You're going to accuse me of having a problem?"

"My alcoholism is not on trial, here." Duncan tells him and Jeff rolls his eyes. "Get your shit together. You decide if what you feel for Britta is worth fixing what you broke."

Jeff shakes his head. "It's not that simple."

"It is that simple." Duncan disagrees. "You want her back? Get her back."

"And what do you propose I do?"

"Do what you do best," Duncan grins. "Talk."

He sees himself out, tossing the empty beer bottle in the bin by the door, and Jeff's mind runs wild in the gaping silence that follows his departure. No way it's this simple; no way he can get her to speak to him again just by spewing some bullshit she probably wouldn't even believe is genuine in the first place. Duncan doesn't get it; no one does. His relationship with Britta is much more complicated than that; they don't talk, is the thing. All the way back to their first time in the study room, paintballs and Chang and diving over couches, they'd decided they'd keep it a secret, they wouldn't tell a soul, and when it had come out, when the group had discovered their encounter and their "love" was all just a game, they'd ignored it, chalked it up to competition. They'd slept together a full year, ended things abruptly, never mentioned it again. She'd dated Troy and he'd danced around Annie, but they kept coming back to each other and they'd never mentioned their muddy waters with the other members of their study group, and they'd gotten engaged and called off the wedding in the matter of a single afternoon, and she'd left for a job in Florida and he hadn't told her he'd loved her all along.

Because they don't talk. They just do.

Jeff sits now, in the middle of his empty apartment, feeling sorry for himself, and realizes this had been the problem, right from the start.

He can't fix it on his own, even though he'd destroyed it alone; in the days that follow, he keeps replaying their argument over and over, stuck on a song he hates, the record skipping and repeating. You're the last person I have left that I care about, she'd said, so open, so honest, I thought you would care too. This should've filled him with pride, should've cleared up any worries that she hadn't felt the same way, but his anger had clouded his judgment and he'd spit back, Well I don't. I don't fucking care. And it's the furthest thing from the truth; he cares. He cares way too fucking much. He cares so much about what she thinks and how she feels and what she does; it's plagued him for years. And now she's out there, somewhere deep in the furnace of Florida, thinking he doesn't give a shit about her, when in reality everything he's done the last six years has been because of her, everything he has and everything he wants is a long, winding road with her at the end of it.

He can't stop seeing it, can't stop hearing it; he tries to sleep and he sees the look on her face, the shock in her voice, that one single tear rolling down her cheek. He walks through the hallways of Greendale and teaches aimless, seemingly endless lectures with no joy, wishing she'd pop in with a surprise coffee in the middle of the day or spend his lunches with him as he complains and grades papers, but she's not there, and he sits in silence instead. On nights when his body does grant him the serenity of sleep, it's fitful, restless, and he dreams of her; she's kissing him in the quad for Professor Whitman to see, she's dressed like Michael Jackson, keeping him humble, she's agreeing to marry him, locking the doors of the study room to christen the new table. When he awakens, it's without her, and he glances to his right, wishing she was there, grumbling about his alarm, burrowing further into the duvet, rejecting his offer to join his run because I don't hate myself that much, Jeff, fuck off and let me sleep.

Goddamn it, he misses her so fucking much, it's excruciating.

Before he knows it, it's been an entire month. Somehow it's mid-September and he's survived this long, but just barely. The weather is starting to turn, cool air tousling the trees and scattering leaves about the ground, already beginning to turn a bright golden and deepen into the reds and oranges of autumn. It's hurricane season, at least in the southeast, and the irony is not lost on Jeff that he'd once likened Britta to one and now she's living in the land of them, flocking home to the mothership. Duncan's still shooting him knowing glances in the hallways and in faculty meetings and it's beginning to get on Jeff's nerves; he knows he's a fucking wreck. He doesn't need the constant reminder that others know it too.

He decides to text her.

He's not sure what to say, not at first, but he can't move on, as Duncan suggested, so the alternative is getting her back. And maybe she doesn't want him, maybe she's moved on- found the love of her life or slept with the guy with the weird name who'd gotten her the job- but that reality is better than the alternative of not trying, not knowing anything at all. He opens his conversation with her in his phone and completely blanks. He knows what he should probably say, knows what he'd like to say, but these are both things he cannot say, not sober on a Tuesday afternoon, sitting in the Greendale parking lot. Ideally, he'd apologize for being the douche bag she'd always likened him to, run his mouth about his bad behavior and the reasons for saying the completely false things he'd said on their last night, and ask for her forgiveness, because I do care, Britta, I care so fucking much, and if you think we could maybe move past this, I would like to do so, and if you can forgive me and give me a second chance, I'm still here, I'm right where you left me.

He doesn't say any of this, of course.

Jeff draws in a deep breath and keeps it simple. He types out, Hey, debates adding an emoji, decides against it, and hits send.

She doesn't respond. At least, not at first.

It's three days later and he's listening, uninterested, as his students debate crimes of passion versus cold-blooded murder. His phone buzzes on the desk and his eyes flick toward it, doing a double take at the name. Britta.

He fumbles for it, illuminating the screen, and her reply is just as pithy.

Hi.

His fingers fly over the keys. How are you?

Fine. You?

I'm fine too.

Good.

Jeff stares at this sad little conversation and he can't help it; he smiles, his first in weeks, and the ice begins to melt.

It's not much- it's barely anything at all- but it's a start.

---

In his dreams, they're still together, and that's when he knows he's got it bad.

Sleep is still something Jeff's struggling with as another week passes without her, and then another, and soon it's October and she's been in Florida two months. Usually, he gets a couple hours here, a couple hours there, but on those rare nights when his body gives in to the exhaustion and allows him a full night of fitful, restless sleep, he dreams and they're all full of her. Britta's there, rolling her eyes at something he says, laughing at her own silly little jokes, matching his sarcasm with her own until Jeff can't take it, forces himself awake, tosses and turns for hours before falling back into the same trap; his dreams start right where he left off and he cannot escape this cycle.

It's a delusion, these dreams; this much he knows. She's haunting him, and even though it's too much for him to handle, part of him wants to stay there, to relish in the sight of her, continue living in this fantasy his subconscious had created because he hadn't fucked anything up there.

But then he wakes, and she isn't lying beside him, and she hasn't been for months now.

He thinks he's gotten slightly better; he's started taking care of himself again, started doing laundry, making the bed, forcing himself to get up when the alarm sounds and hit the pavement in a run. Drinking had been a way of numbing his conscience into submission, but lately, he'd noticed that the more he drank, the more he was transported back to that restaurant, that night in early August, and he couldn't escape until he was sober. If he gets too far gone, he sits helplessly in a cloud of scotch or beer or whatever his chosen poison is for the evening, and he has to watch the delicate glass around his relationship with Britta shatter, has to see the uneasy look in her eyes and the wavering of her voice, has to feel his meal, undigested, churning in his stomach and hear the waiter- anything else I can get you tonight? It's a paradox; time freezes, he knows it does, because he simply cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot speak, but everyone around him goes on as if this has meant nothing at all.

Needless to say, he's taking a break from alcohol for a while.

Following their short little pathetic text conversation, he and Britta had actually had a few more- just as short, just as pathetic. A couple days after the first, Jeff had texted to ask, So, how's the job? He'd kind of hated himself for it, to be honest; he hated how it sounded like meaningless small talk, like this is what his conversations with her had come to. This isn't them, Jeff knows this, but then his conscience- loud and clear now that it's not being drowned out with whisky- had screamed back, you've thrown that all away. But Britta had responded- It's great. Really like it. How're things at home? And he'd been so shocked that he'd gotten more than a one-word answer, he hadn't known what to say.

Same shit, different day.

He'd typed it and sent it and then wished he hadn't. After all, it's not exactly the truth; he's been living the same day for the past two months.

Still, this seems to bridge the gap between them, and their texting becomes a bit more frequent. It's still bullshit small talk- he hasn't mentioned their last night, and he's wondering why she hasn't either. Maybe she's just humoring him; maybe she's just pitying him. There is no reason she should even entertain speaking to him; he's not sure he would, if he were in her shoes. Jeff knows Britta hates herself, but damn, this is another level. For a while, he stops texting her again, slips back into his hole of grief and regret, and lets her move on, convinced he's nothing but a burden. This isn't who he used to be; old Winger never would've let a girl get to him this badly, and never would've even thought twice about some of the shit he'd said.

But then again, he'd never felt this way about any other girl before. Everyone before this had merely been mile markers on a roadmap that led directly to her.

Instead, he focuses on trying to reconnect with the other members of their study group. Pierce and Troy are, obviously, out of the question; he starts with Abed. Abed's tone is tough to read in text- and, if Jeff's being honest, in person- so Jeff pulls up his contact information and hits 'call', expecting to be regaled with tales of media and divas on set and the gluttonous meals from craft services. He's actually dying to think about anything else at this point other than his own shit, so he thinks of several questions he can ask Abed the moment his friend picks up. But instead his call goes straight to voicemail, doesn't even ring. Hello, this is Abed Nadir, founder and CEO of Cool Abed Productions. Leave a message with your name, number, and favorite film and I'll call you back if your answer is worthy.

Jeff frowns, but leaves a message anyway. "Hey buddy, it's Jeff. I was just calling to catch up, see how you were doing. Give me a call back when you have a minute. I know you're busy becoming the next Spielberg. I don't watch a lot of movies, but I guess Taken was pretty good, or The Grey. Yeah. Call me back."

He tries Annie next, and it's nearing six p.m. on the east coast, so he assumes she's off work and can chat. Annie's pretty hit-or-miss too; he never knows what mood he's going to catch her in. She's headstrong and she's driven, but she's also emotional, and this guides her decisions and her words more often than it doesn't. Still, he's anxious to hear how she's doing in D.C., how she's enjoying putting the nation's criminals behind bars, and he waits patiently as the phone rings once and then twice. Jeff starts to lose hope when it rings a third time, and by the fourth, he knows she isn't going to pick up. Hi, you've reached Annie Edison! I'm so sorry to have missed you, but please leave me a message and I'll call you back as soon as I can, okay? Have a great day!

Sighing, Jeff hangs up and tries Shirley instead. He's left Shirley for last on purpose; she is not going to be happy to speak to him, and he's not in the mood for a lecture. On top of whatever tirade he's going to get for saying what he did to Britta, he also knows that what he'd said three years prior still rings true- Shirley knows him best, Shirley understands him best, and the moment he says a single word, she's going to be able to read him like her favorite novel. There will be no hiding his feelings from her; it must be her killer mother's intuition, even though they're similar in age. Unlike Abed and Annie, he actually prays she won't pick up, but she clicks in after the second ring.

"Jeffrey," She opens, sighing. "What on God's green earth were you thinking?"

Jeff sighs. "You heard about my transgression, huh?"

"I was wondering if you were ever going to return my calls." Shirley says. "I figured you wouldn't. Heck, if you could be a jerk to Britta, where does that leave the rest of us?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

He does. Frowning, Jeff says, "We're talking again. It's something."

"You know she's given you more chances than you deserve?" Shirley asks and without waiting for an answer, adds, "I know this group has the tendency to ignore my sage and fitting advice, which is insulting considering I have the life experience to back it up, but if you had just-"

"I know." Jeff cuts her off. "I know what you're going to say. And trust me, I deserve it, but I also don't need to hear it. I've been a douche. We know this."

"Jeff," Shirley groans and, in the distance, a separate phone rings. Despite the way he feels, it makes Jeff smirk; who still has a landline? "Sugar Boots, will you grab that please?"

"I actually didn't even call about that, believe it or not." Jeff says, hoping to change the subject. "We just haven't spoken in a while, and I was checking in."

"You're looking for a distraction, you mean?" Shirley asks and once again, away from the phone, shouts, "Andre! The phone! Will you answer, please?"

The ringing continues and, disgruntled, Shirley says, "I have to do everything myself."

"Have you been busy?" Jeff implores. "Business is booming?"

"Yeah, extremely busy, will you hold on one second?" She says, distracted, and on the other line, answers, "Shirley's Sandwiches, this is Shirley speaking, how may I assist you?"

She converses with the client a moment while Jeff sits with his thoughts and feelings- his least favorite pastime as of late. When Shirley comes back, she's apologetic. "I'm catering a family reunion this weekend; we were finalizing the menu. What were we talking about?"

"You. Just looking to catch up." Jeff reiterates, omitting the other topics of conversation Shirley is much more interested in. Let's not talk about me. Or how I've been doing. Or Britta.

"Well, yes, things have been great here, actually." Shirley responds, but she seems distracted now, and Jeff knows the conversation won't last long. "Elijah, what are you doing? Put him down! What have I told you about wrestling in the house?"

As if on cue, there's a loud crash and then the unmistakable sound of a child crying. Jeff comments, "You sound like you've got your hands full, so-"

"Is he bleeding? Elijah, what did you do? Benny, come here, baby." Shirley says and the crying gets louder as she takes the child into her arms. "Jeff, I've got to go. Can we talk later?"

"Yeah. No, later's fine." He says and before he can say goodbye, Shirley's disconnected.

They're busy- he gets it. He wishes he was. It's been tough to keep track of and keep in touch with his friends; scattered across the country, they all have real lives now, and they've all kind of moved on. Jeff wouldn't call himself lonely, per se, but he is alone, and it's hard to ignore that sometimes, especially when he's reminded of the rich lives of his peers. And there was a time when he craved this solo time; he had no interest in connecting with others or sharing his life- he loved his bachelorhood. But now? Now he's getting older- older than he'd care to admit, truthfully- and he's gotten a taste of what it's like to come home to someone, to wake up next to someone, to have someone there to talk to, no matter his mood. Of course, he'd fucked this up just like he'd fucked everything else up in his life.

Damn, he can't believe himself sometimes.

It's been a few days since he's last texted Britta, maybe even a week, and he's resigned himself to leave her alone, but when he gets off the phone with Shirley, he notices she's actually texted him. Hey. Just realized we've spent a lot of time talking about me and my job. How've you been? How's Greendale?

He stares at the message, blinks expecting the façade to fade, but it's real. They've definitely gotten a bit more friendly since the first time he'd texted her, but this is almost like nothing had happened between them. This is almost like before. He replies, Everything's the same here. If something drastic happened, I would've kept you updated.

He doesn't realize how cold he sounds until after he's sent it, but that doesn't deter her from responding. Have you thought about what you want to do next? I know you're miserable there.

Oh, he's had plenty of these thoughts- dreams and schemes and plans for the future- and every one of them has included her.

Nah. Not really.

Think about it. You deserve a fresh start.

Jeff wonders why she's being so nice to him, and suddenly, he has the courage to do what's needed. You busy right now? Can we talk?

… aren't we already talking?

I meant on the phone.

Oh. Yeah. Okay, sure.

He draws in a deep breath and clicks 'call.' It rings three times before she answers and Jeff wonders if maybe she's second-guessing her decision, maybe she's using this time to think of things to say. There's music playing in the background, something he doesn't recognize, and it's the first thing he hears before she says, "Hi."

"Hi," He echoes. "I don't want to take up your afternoon. Just didn't want to do this over text."

Her voice is grave, cautious, uneasy when she asks, "Do what?"

"I want to apologize. I need to apologize." Jeff says. "I'm sorry for what I said. It was all bullshit; every last word."

Britta asks the million-dollar question next. "Then why'd you say it?"

Well. He's not quite ready to go there just yet. "I don't know. You were right about me being upset and I guess… I guess I wanted you to feel the same way."

She muses quietly, "That's not very mature."

"No, it's not." Jeff agrees. "A bit of the old me came out, there. And I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. There's no excuse for what I said; I know I was a huge douche. But just know that I really regret it and I wish I could take it back and none of it was true. I should've apologized weeks ago; I mean, I shouldn't have said any of it in the first place, but that ship has sailed. I just… I'm sorry, Britta. And I know I absolutely do not deserve another chance- I've lost track of how many times you've forgiven me for the bullshit I've said or done over the years- but I would still appreciate one, because I still want to be your friend. That is, if you still want to be mine."

"Thank you. I mean, thanks for apologizing. I accept your apology." Britta says. "I suppose you don't really deserve another chance, do you?"

Jeff frowns. "I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out why you're still talking to me."

"Because even though you were really mean to me, you're still my best friend, and I still care about you a lot. Friends fight and they say shit they don't mean." Britta tells him. "Plus, I have it on good authority that you've been having a rough time the past couple of months, and so I kind of gathered that you didn't mean what you said."

Jeff balks. "Who told you that?"

"Sources."

"What sources?"

"Does it matter?" She asks and call him crazy, but is there a hint of teasing in her voice? Is nature healing? "Maybe you don't deserve another chance, but here you are, getting one."

"Thank you." He tells her. "I won't fuck it up this time."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." She replies and yes, she is definitely teasing him now. It feels natural.

I miss you, he thinks, but can't bring himself to say it.

"Well the first quarterly earnings report is in for the first semester." Frankie addresses the group. "And we still have a few weeks to go, but we're doing well. Making more than we're spending, which is always a good business strategy."

"I remember when this school was more than just a business." Craig says sadly. "I know we need to make more money, but I just wonder if it's at the cost of the students."

"Craig, enrollment's up." Frankie explains gently. "And when enrollment is up, it means more students taking classes. And when more students take classes, they have to pay for these classes. Then when they pay for them-"

"More money in your pocket, more money for your next frilly dance." Duncan says. "Not to mention, more money for your professors, who are working tirelessly to uphold the moral dignities of this school."

"Not exactly how the distribution of profit works." Frankie amends. "But essentially, yes."

"Alright, alright." Craig says. "I just never want to become one of those boring deans in charge of a boring school that takes itself too seriously."

"Believe me," Duncan chuckles. "No one is accusing you of being too serious."

Frankie smiles, silent in her agreement, before looking to her right. "Jeff? Anything to contribute?"

"No. That about covers it." Jeff glances up from his phone, making a motion to leave. "We done here?"

"Actually, there's one more thing I wanted to discuss." Frankie says. "If you wouldn't mind hanging out a little longer."

Jeff sinks back into his chair and Duncan, from his other side, gives him a look reading, good luck buddy. He says, "Well I have office hours in ten minutes, so am I free to go?"

Craig nods and Duncan stands, making his way out of the dean's office. Jeff sighs, bored out of his mind, and tucks his phone back into his pocket. Whatever it is, it can't be good. "What have I done this time?"

"Jeffrey," Craig grins, as if Jeff could do no wrong, but Frankie shakes her head.

"I just want to discuss your poor work performance." She states. "It's no secret you've been slacking lately, and some of your students have filed some complaints."

His eyebrows knit together. "Which ones?"

"That's not important." Frankie shakes her head. "I need you to start caring about their education. I don't want this to lead to suspension. You're good at what you do, normally; I just need you to find your way back there."

She glances at Craig pointedly, and he crumbles just a tad. "Jeffrey… it may be helpful if you find a way to keep your personal life out of your classroom. Work-life balance, right?"

Jeff smirks. "My personal life?"

"Yes." Frankie affirms. "When you're at work, anything that's going on or affecting you outside of work shouldn't come into play. I know it's easier said than done, but-"

"Yeah, thanks mom." Jeff sighs. "Everyone thinks they know everything about my life?"

"Well," Craig considers this. "You're not as great at hiding it as you think."

Frankie's a bit more direct. "We all know you're in love with Britta. Everyone knows it but her. And you, maybe; we knew you'd take it hard when she left. But it's been almost three months. You need to find a way to deal with it. Taking it out on your students and colleagues isn't the way."

Jeff's eyes narrow accusatorily. "Are you the one that told her I'm having a hard time?"

"What?" Frankie asks, confused, and shakes her head. "Look, I know it's hard. She's the person you were closest to. Have you talked to her about any of this? About how you've been doing?"

"No." He says as though it's obvious. "She shouldn't have left."

"Word on the street is that you encouraged her to go. You told her she should." Craig says coyly, like he's in on some big secret. "Maybe it was a Freudian slip; maybe you wanted her to go. And who am I to complain about that?"

Ignoring him, Jeff says, "I messed up. It's my fault. But I guess everyone knows I ruined everything too, right?"

"So fix it." Frankie says simply. "Do something big. Get her back."

It echoes his previous conversation with Duncan, and Jeff says sarcastically, "It's just that easy?"

"No. It's not easy." Frankie chuckles. "Love is never easy. And you wouldn't be moping around and letting it affect your work performance if you didn't already know that. But you have to do something, Jeff, because this is not sustainable."

"Yeah." Jeff replies. "Can I go now?"

Frankie sighs. "Sure."

As he stands, makes his way to the door of Craig's office, Frankie says, "So with the leftover money in the budget, I thought maybe we could arrange for a team-building outing for the faculty. Something fun, not too big, that kind of boosts morale, you know?"

Craig nods. "Like a weekend trip?"

"Yeah, I think we could do that." Frankie nods. "Maybe a weekend trip to one of our casinos, or we might even be able to swing some airfare and we could go to the west coast, get a hotel near the beach or something? Any ideas?"

Jeff pauses at the door, turns back. "How about Orlando?"

Craig rolls his eyes, uninterested, but Frankie shoots Jeff a knowing grin.

---

It's the week before Thanksgiving break when Abed finally calls him back. Jeff tries not to take it personally; he knows his friend's been busy. He's been contemplating what to do with his life ever since his "come to Jesus" faculty meeting with Craig and Frankie, and truly he's been putting in an insane amount of effort into each of his classes, waiting until he's home safely to crumble inwardly. He'd thought this time away from Britta might make him feel differently, might lessen his feelings for her until he was able to resume his normal life again, but he's thinking it's actually made things much worse. As much as he hates to admit it, Frankie's right; he has to do something, because he cannot go on much longer like this.

So when Abed calls, just as Jeff's getting home from work, it's a welcome distraction. "Hey buddy. Long time, no talk."

"What did I tell you about Liam Neeson movies?" Abed asks disapprovingly and for a moment, Jeff has no idea what he's talking about. Then he recalls the end of the message he'd left Abed weeks earlier, and it clicks into place.

"Well you asked what my favorite movie was!"

"Your choices were terrible." Abed says. "You're lucky I called you back at all."

It makes him grin; it may seem strange, but he's missed being berated by his friend. "How've you been?"

"Busy." Abed states simply. "We're in post-production. Lots of meetings, lots of hours in the editing bay."

"When does the movie premiere?"

"They're still settling on a date." Abed explains. "I can get tickets for you if you want to come out for the premiere."

"That would be cool." Jeff agrees. "I'd love to see what you've been working on."

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool." Abed says. "How's Greendale?"

"Oh, it's the same." Jeff shrugs, grabbing a beer and settling on his couch, mindless television playing in the background. "Making a little more money these days than we used to, but otherwise, same old, same old."

Abed asks, "Did you figure out what you're going to do about Britta?"

"What? What does Britta have to do with anything?"

"Well that's why you called, isn't it?" Abed asks and Jeff doesn't know how he does this, doesn't know how Abed always knows about Jeff's ulterior motives. "Because you don't know what to do? Or at least, you think you don't."

"No, Abed, I did not call to talk about Britta." Jeff sighs. "I called to talk about you. You're my friend; I like to know what's going on with you."

Abed's not buying it. "You could stand outside her window with a boombox over your head, like in Say Anything. You could wait until Valentine's Day and then meet her at the top of the Empire State Building, like in Sleepless in Seattle. You could throw a New Year's Eve party and confess your love in a dramatic Winger speech like the ending of When Harry Met Sally."

"Okay, I get it." Jeff cuts him off. "Hard pass, by the way."

"Are sitcoms more your speed?" Abed asks. "Because I have plenty of options with those, too."

"No, no, I'm good." Jeff says. "I'm not a 'big romantic gesture' kind of guy."

"I know. And you don't usually ask me for advice either." Abed observes. "Because you don't need it. You already know exactly what to do."

Jeff frowns. "I do?"

"Yeah." Abed says. "You're smart, Jeff, and this problem is not that hard."

Jeff, in realization, says, "I think I need to see her."

"Yeah." Abed repeats. "You probably do."

"This isn't a movie though, Abed, this is real life." Jeff reminds him. "If I go all the way over there, tell her how I've been feeling, and she doesn't feel the same way? That is going to suck."

Would he confess this under normal circumstances, be this vulnerable with anyone else? Of course not; it's not who he is. But he and Abed have a rapport- it isn't the first time they'd gotten this candid with one another, and he knows Abed will not judge him, will not treat him like he's a sad little man with abandonment issues experiencing love and heartbreak for the first time. And it hurts him to admit this- the real reason he hasn't told Britta how he feels- because it does truly trace back to his attachment and commitment issues; how original, right? Any therapist worth their salt could point this out. He hasn't done anything, has been sitting in his own pain and grief, because he's afraid if he addresses it, if he faces the problem head on, if he goes to Britta, tells her how much he misses her, how desperately in love with her he is, she'll reject him, and all of this agony will have been for nothing.

But this is why he tells Abed over anyone else. He knows Abed knows, and he knows Abed won't comment on it, won't call him pathetic, won't poke fun at him for things out of his control.

"That's why they call it a leap of faith, Jeff." Abed says, adding, "But I don't think you have anything to worry about there."

"You don't?" Jeff asks in surprise, his heart beginning to race just a tad, adrenaline swimming deliciously through his veins. "Why? What do you know?"

"Nothing. I don't know anything, Jeff." Abed replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm Abed, I never notice how my friends are feeling."

When their conversation ends, Jeff reaches for his laptop, deciding to take the leap.

He books a flight to Orlando.

Jeff struggles with what to do next; should he go and call her when he lands, leave it a surprise? No, that seems like an ambush, and Britta is definitely not one for surprises. He finds himself calling her the next day, but it's late, and he forgets the time difference; she's groggy when she answers, half-asleep. "I have to work tomorrow. This better be good."

"I don't mean to be a tool, but maybe it's karma." Jeff teases and she laughs. "All those times you kept me up with your existential crises."

She asks, "What do you want, Winger?"

He's unsure of how to bring it up; he can't tell the truth, can't tell her he's coming down to see her, because he knows her- it'll probably scare her off. But he's still a lawyer at heart, and he once made bank thinking on his feet, so instead he comes up with, "Well there's this conference next week the Dean's making us go to and it's actually in Orlando. So I'm actually going to be in town and I… wondered if maybe you wanted to hang out."

It's a weak excuse; Craig and Frankie had decided on a bus trip to some hotel with a casino in its lobby for the faculty trip, and Jeff couldn't get his refusal out fast enough. But Britta doesn't know this; incredulous, she implores, "They're holding a conference the week of Thanksgiving?"

Fuck. He plays it cool. "I know, right? Some break I get. Typical of 'No-Fun Frankie,' though. She's really turning Craig into a robot."

"Huh. I wonder if it's in OCCC; that's not far from me." She says. "But yeah, we can hang out, if you have time."

"Yeah, I think I can make some time." Jeff smirks. "You can show me around the swamp."

"Normally, I'd resent you bad-mouthing my new home." Britta sighs. "But a swamp is essentially all Orlando is."

"I don't doubt it." He says. "When's your break?"

"Oh, they only get Thanksgiving and the day after off." She replies. "Kind of miss the college life where we get a week."

"Well why don't you tell Seven or Nine or whatever his name is to extend the break?"

"It's Ten."

"Oh, how dare I."

She chuckles and after a beat, tells him, "I'm glad you're coming down. It'll be nice to see you."

"Yeah." Jeff agrees. "I'm looking forward to seeing you too."

For the first time in months, Jeff has a full night of dreamless, restful sleep.

---

The moment he steps out of the airport, the heat and humidity greet him aggressively; welcome to Florida, bitch. It's like being smacked in the face with a hot, damp towel; for a moment, he legitimately can't breathe, the air is physically heavy, and he's wearing jeans and a sweater because it had been forty degrees when he'd left his apartment this morning, back home. He hasn't been to Florida in years, and now he remembers why; God, if it's this bad in November, he can only imagine what it had been like a few months earlier, in the dead of summer, when Britta had moved here. Eventually, his disorientation passes, and he's able to find his way towards the rental car shuttle; he locates the vehicle he'd rented, tosses his luggage in the backseat, and hits the road.

He's been on the interstate less than five minutes and he's been cut off twice. People around here drive like assholes, but perhaps he shouldn't be shocked; he'd be pissed off all the time, too, if he lived here. Palm trees line the sides of the highway, swaying in the morning breeze, and there are billboards every two feet advertising different tourist attractions; No height requirement boasts a photo of a giraffe, promoting Disney's Animal Kingdom, and Courage is Universal another cheekily presents, Harry Potter coaxing him to visit Universal Orlando. Ironically, his hotel is situated near the Orange County Convention Center- the very same locale Britta had suspected would host his fake conference- so at least he could continue this part of the charade. His room is clean and comfortable, and he's high enough in the tower that he can see Hogwarts, the Jurassic Park arch, and some death-defying rollercoaster at the nearby Universal theme park.

Jeff sits on the edge of the bed, sending out a quick text to Britta. I've arrived in Tourist Trap, USA.

She's quick to respond, even though she's still on the clock. Should I warn Ben Franklin you're back for round 2?

It makes him laugh and his entire body thrums in anticipation of seeing her. When do you want to hang?

I'm out at 4. I can come pick you up and show you around, if you want.

He agrees and sends her the address of the hotel, and now he's got time to kill. Technically he's supposed to be occupied with this fabricated conference he'd invented, but instead, he finds himself wandering aimlessly through the hotel, spending too much time looking at overpriced, tacky souvenirs in the gift shop, and comparing drinks on the bar menu. The pool is packed- understandably so, in this heat- and there isn't a lounge chair to be found that hasn't already been claimed, so Jeff eventually makes his way back to his room and does exactly what he's been dreading- he begins grading some midterms. He takes his time- he's got to stretch this over the next few days, after all- and perhaps he takes too long, for the next thing he knows, she's texting him that she's in the lobby, and he scrambles to make himself presentable before going down to meet her.

He's not prepared; he's wanted to see her for months now, has missed her terribly, but when the elevator dings open and he steps into the lobby, glances up to find her there, waiting for him, he isn't ready. She's so professional-looking in a grey pencil skirt and a button down, sleeves pushed to the elbows, heels very unlike her typical boots; she's beautiful. And she's grinning at him as he approaches her, so unlike their last night together; it's a welcome change. If he never sees her cry again- if he never makes her cry again- it'll be too soon. She opens her arms to him when he's close enough and he doesn't hesitate; he collects her in a hug, pulling her close, relishing in this feeling after so long apart.

She grins when they part. "Hi."

"Hey." He smiles too. "Good to see you. You look great."

"Thank you. You do, too." She nods towards the door. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah. Ready to have my mind blown." Jeff says as they leave the hotel. "Show me parts of this city that make it slightly redeemable."

She laughs as they climb into her car. "It's not that bad. I mean, it's not great, but still."

Most of her tour is done from the comforts of her vehicle, but Jeff isn't complaining; she's got the air conditioning on full blast and it's very comfortable. As she drives, she begins pointing out the pieces of her new life; the shopping complex where she does most of her grocery shopping, the park where she does Sunday morning yoga, the massive IKEA where she'd gotten the all the furnishings for her new apartment. They pass by her school, a brick and mortar little building with a hand-painted sign and a pristine playground, and Britta launches into a story about her kids; she seems genuinely happy, genuinely fulfilled with the work she's doing. They stop in a storybook-looking town called Celebration and there's a food festival going on, booths from all around the world, and so they get dinner, peruse through the little mom and pop shops selling trinkets, and stop to listen to the live music for a few moments as the sun dips below the horizon into the lake.

Britta tells him she's got one last locale to show him, mischief in her eyes, and for a brief moment, he fears she really is going to take him to a theme park. Thankfully, he's wrong; they stop at a hole-in-the-wall whisky bar, a genuine brewery, and he's seriously impressed. She's awaiting his reaction as he sips at his drink. "Well?"

"This is pretty awesome." He has to admit. "How'd you find this place?"

She glances away, almost self-conscious, and admits, "Well… I was looking for somewhere to take you, some place you might like, and a friend mentioned this bar, and I know how you are with your whisky, so I checked it out last week. I'm still not much for whisky, but I thought you might enjoy it."

It tugs at his heart; he grins. "I do. This is great. It's one of the best I've ever had."

"It's local, Mr. I Hate Florida." Britta teases. "Does this meet your standards of redeeming qualities?"

"It does. There's a place with good whisky. One perk of being here." He says and, boldly, adds, "And you're here."

Smiling, she says, "I missed you, Jeff. I'm glad you're here."

He smirks. "Don't get sappy on me, kitten."

Rolling her eyes, she asks, "So have you thought about what you might want to do next?"

He has; it's all he can think about. But instead, he says, "Not really. I'd love to be a lawyer again, obviously, but I'm not sure."

"Can you?" Britta asks and then backtracks. "I'm sorry; I know that's such a stupid question, but are you able to be a lawyer again after being disbarred?"

"Technically, yes." Jeff says. "But it's not an easy process. I actually might have slightly better luck if I tried in a different state."

"You mean taking the bar in, like, Kansas, or wherever?"

"Yeah." Jeff nods. "Not Kansas, though. Maybe somewhere more relevant."

She eyes him as if she's putting two and two together, and then she asks, "Why are you here?"

Jeff blinks at her. "I told you, the Dean's making us go to that conference. You were right about it being in that convention center. Right outside my hotel; super convenient."

"Oh, you mean the Southern Women's Show?" Britta asks and Jeff hesitates.

"The what?"

"The Southern Women's Show." Britta says and Jeff realizes he's been made. "Because that's the convention that's at OCCC this week. 'Shopping, health, food, beauty, fashion & fun' is what the website told me; now I realize a lot of those things actually do interest you, but it is certainly not a convention for college professors."

Jeff sighs. "Well, crap."

"So why are you lying to me?" Britta implores. "And what are you really doing here?"

He sips at his drink and this is neither the time nor the place to make a sweeping declaration of love. He deflects. "So do I get to see your place?"

Britta purses her lips. "Fine."

The drive back to her apartment is silent and perhaps he'd made things awkward, uncomfortable, but he can't do it, he's chickening out. Her complex is pretty picturesque from what he can see- it is dark, after all- and when they climb the stairs, reach her unit, she unlocks the door and allows him to enter first. It's actually quite nice; much larger, much cleaner, than her old place in Colorado, and he can tell she hasn't quite settled in just yet. She asks if he wants a glass of wine, because that's all she's got, and he accepts, sinking onto the new IKEA couch, still store-stiff. When she joins him, hands him a glass of red, he comments on how nice everything is, how new, and she thanks him, watching the wine swirl in her glass.

God, he can't tell her. Can he?

No, he has to; it's the whole reason he's here.

He opens his mouth to say it, but what comes out instead is another apology. "I'm really sorry for telling you I couldn't wait for you to leave."

Britta, startled, points out, "Yeah, I know. You already apologized. We're good."

He shakes his head. "I still feel really horrible about it. I don't want you to think that I ever wanted you to leave. I know I encouraged you to go, but that was more for you than it was for me."

"So that's not really how you felt?" Britta asks. "You encouraged me to go, but you were actually hoping I wouldn't?"

"What can I say?" He replies. "I'm selfish like that."

Britta eyes him. "Why didn't you tell me this before I left?"

"There's a lot of things I should've said before you left." Jeff says. "But what does it matter now?"

She insists, "It's not too late."

"I think maybe it might be." He tells her. "I mean, look, you have a whole life here. You have a job that you love and you're doing really well, you have a nice apartment, you have things to do, friends, I'm assuming. You've put down roots here."

"First of all, if you know anything about me, you know I don't put roots down anywhere." Britta says. "And besides, all of that shit is trivial. None of it really matters. What matters is the people I care about and the way that they feel. And for some inexplicable reason, that includes you."

"Yeah, well…" He trails off, fighting the smile on his face. "Maybe I don't like talking about feelings."

"Ew, who does?" Britta agrees. "But life is short, and you never know what might happen, so if there's something you need to say, you should probably say it."

"I missed you." Jeff tells her sincerely and she beams.

"You did?"

"I do." He corrects her. "But you knew that, because your minions have already told you how miserable I am."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Britta plays coy and Jeff smirks. "I hate that you're miserable. I'm sorry, Jeff, I shouldn't have… I didn't know it would affect you this much."

"Yes you did." He disagrees and shrugs. "It is what it is. I'm fine."

She frowns, shaking her head. "No, you're not."

Jeff holds her gaze for one uncomfortable moment before announcing, "I should probably go. I'll get an Uber or something; you don't have to drive me back."

"I don't mind." She says. "Really."

"No, we've both been drinking, and I know you have to work tomorrow." Jeff says. "It's fine."

He types away on his phone for a moment, and when Luis, his Uber driver, is ten minutes away, he glances up just in time to catch Britta swipe beneath her right eye. Fuck, did he make her cry again? She doesn't deserve this; he needs to get out of here. Why is he such a coward? Why can't he say what he wants to, needs to, say? Every sign, every signal she's sending him points to the fact that she very obviously feels the same way, and yet… nothing. He can't make the words come out. He finishes off his glass of wine instead, offers to wash it, but she shakes her head, taking it from him and placing it with hers in the sink. His phone dings and Luis is outside, and Jeff heads for the door, Britta following suit. As a last ditch effort, he collects her in another hug.

"I missed you." He repeats and it's not quite where he wants to go, but it's all he can say. "I really fucking missed you."

"Me too." She tells him, pulling away. "I missed you too."

It's not what wants, maybe it's not what she expects either, but he decides it's enough for now.

---

They're driving down the interstate when Jeff decides it's no longer enough. It's been maybe three minutes since he's left Britta, but if he doesn't go back right this second, he thinks he'll lose her forever.

"I'm sorry, Luis?" Jeff says, leaning forward, catching his driver's attention. "Would you mind turning around? I need to go back."

Luis glances at him through the rearview mirror, puzzled. "You don't want to continue the ride?"

"No. And it's nothing against you; your driving is excellent, you picked me up very promptly, and your car is very clean." Jeff explains. "But I need to go back to where I started. I need you to drop me off back where you picked me up."

Still confused, Luis asks, "Did you forget something?"

"Yeah." Jeff says simply. "I need to go back. I need to tell my best friend that I'm in love with her."

"Oh," Luis grins. This he understands. "You're Ross Gellar!"

Jeff resents the implication, but finds himself agreeing anyway. "Yeah, sure, I'm Ross Gellar. I didn't follow her to the airport, but here I am in Paris, anyway."

Luis gets off at the next exit, circles around, and rejoins the interstate heading in the opposite direction, back towards Britta's apartment. Jeff is trying to think of what to say- or, perhaps more realistically, how to say it. Racing through the streets of Orlando, on his way to finally profess his love for the girl who's driven him crazy for the last six years… he hopes Abed would approve. Luis pulls up to Britta's complex about ten or so minutes later, and Jeff throws money in his direction, double the tip he'd normally dish out, and promises to rate Luis five stars.

Luis calls out, "Good luck, Ross!"

He's about to get everything he's ever wanted; he needs all the luck he can get. "Thank you. You're the best, Luis."

Jeff takes the stairs two at a time, his heart racing, and draws in a deep breath, pounds on her front door. A moment passes before she answers, clad in pajama shorts and a T-shirt that looks familiar- may have been his at one point, but who can tell- and the surprise is evident on her face. "Jeff, what's going on?"

"I love you." He blurts out, maybe less profound than he had intended, but it's been brimming at the surface for months now, and he can no longer hold it in. "I'm in love with you. And yeah, I'm miserable without you, and it's definitely because I miss you, but it's also because I fucking love you. Everyone knows it; everyone can see it. Everyone's been on my ass about telling you, and they're absolutely right; I should've told you a long time ago. I definitely should've said it before you left. Maybe that's why I picked that whole fight with you to begin with, because I am so in love with you that I cannot even function and the thought of you leaving forever absolutely destroyed me. I don't know what took me so long. I don't know why I had to race back here dramatically. But I need you to know. I need you to know that I love you."

He exhales heavily, the weight finally removed from his chest, and awaits her reaction. She stares back a moment, perhaps in shock, perhaps in utter disbelief, before she rolls her eyes, grinning.

"Yeah, I know." Britta finally says and his first feeling is one of relief. "I love you too, you fucking asshole."

He steps into her apartment, letting the door swing shut behind him, and she reaches for him, tugging on the back of his neck to bring his mouth to hers. And suddenly he's back in the restaurant, back in August, the night she'd told him she was moving here, and he can hear the silverware clink against plates and the soft laughter of the couples around him and can see the waiter, his mouth moving around the words can I get you anything else? But time unfreezes; he can see the moments that come after, now, and he isn't stuck, isn't motionless, and the record stops skipping, continues to the next song, and the world is set back on its axis. Time moves on and this time, everything is just right.

"Wait," Jeff pulls back, breathing heavily. "I had more to say."

Britta meets his eyes, teases, "Don't you always?"

"I've been thinking a lot about the night before you left." Jeff tells her honestly. "It's something that's never left the forefront of my mind. I gave you a shitty Winger speech that left much to the imagination and then we went home and I screamed at you about how I didn't care about you or your new job or the fact that you were leaving. And it was all bullshit."

"Yeah, I know." Britta shifts uncomfortably. "I was there."

"I know. But you are the most important person in my life." Jeff tells her and her gaze softens just a bit. "And you deserve to hear what I would've said if I'd been in the right mind to say it."

She nods. "Okay."

"Okay." He repeats and draws in a deep breath. "Britta, you and I have been through a hell of a lot together. When I first met you, I thought you were the coolest person that I had ever encountered; I'm not going to sugarcoat it, because you know the truth- I thought you were hot, I wanted to nail you, and I thought that would be it. Little did I know how big of an impact you would have on me and how much of an important part of my life you would become. Now, don't be fooled; I still think you're hot. I still want to nail you. But you are also such a pinnacle of my life at Greendale and you are largely responsible for the changes I've made and the person I've become while going there. I am beyond grateful for everything you've done for me, everything you've taught me along the way, and I am so lucky I ended up such great friends with the hot blonde from Spanish class."

She grins and he continues. "Now, everything I said in my original going away speech is still true. You are wild. You are cool. You are fun, even if you think you're not. You are without a doubt the most selfless person I've ever met; I'm not even sure how it's possible for someone to put literally every other person they know before themselves, but you do it every day. And you are without a doubt the best friend I've ever had; you've been with me in the best times of my life, and in the worst. You've stuck with me even though I've proven on many occasions that I definitely don't deserve it. You've listened to me struggle with my shortcomings and you've helped me celebrate my triumphs. The thought of not having you in my everyday life, not being able to glance over at you at the study table or show up at your door unannounced, is too much for me to handle, and that is why I fell apart when you first told me you'd taken the job."

"Of course I care about your new job; I care about everything you say, everything you tell me, and I never should've said that I didn't." Jeff says. "You deserve to have a career you succeed in and if this is the stepping stone towards that, then I obviously want you to pursue it. I struggled with the idea of you leaving because I'd grown so accustomed to having you with me all the time; you were the last thing I saw before I fell asleep and the first thing I saw when I woke up every single day, and I didn't want to lose that. But it isn't about me, it was never about me, and I'm sorry that I made it about me. You are going to do amazing things in Florida- and thank god, because this state definitely needs it. I believe in you. I am so insanely proud of you. So, congratulations on getting the job, Britta, because you absolutely deserve it."

"Fuck," She laughs but there are tears in her eyes. "Why are you still so fucking good at that?"

Jeff smirks, sweeping her back into his arms and kissing her once more. God, why hadn't he done this ages ago? He'd been so foolish, so cowardly, and no, Frankie's right, love isn't easy, but so far, this has been so incredibly worth it. He doesn't know what the future has in store for them; after all, he very much still has a job and an apartment in Colorado, thousands of miles away from her, but right now, it doesn't matter. He just wants to stay here, just wants to keep her in his arms as long as he can, and never let her go.

Then he remembers her words from a moment prior and pulls away again.

"Wait," He pauses. "What do you mean 'you know'?"

Britta's disoriented, her lips kiss-bruised. "What?"

"I told you I loved you. I went on this long tangent speech about it." Jeff explains. "And you said 'I know'."

"Yeah." She shrugs. "What's your question?"

"What do you mean you know?" He emphasizes. "Who says that?"

"I said that because I know." She rolls her eyes. "Like fuck, Jeff, you're not cool about it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you not tell me that everyone else knows you're in love with me? And you don't know why that is?" Britta implores. "It's because you are extremely obvious about it."

Jeff blinks at her. "I am not."

"Jeff." She sighs. "I told you I got the job and didn't know what to do about it. Instead of having a conversation about it with me, you shut down and didn't speak for, like, two weeks, as if I'd told you I was dying. Then you sulked in the corner at my going away party, spoke to no one, and gave a speech like I was some random person off the street. Then we went home, had our fight, and even though you were the asshole the entire time, that didn't stop you from continuing to text me about getting to the airport, my flight getting into Florida, my job, my apartment… it's like you couldn't stop yourself. All the while, you're moping at home, you're completely neglecting your students, you're drunk more often than you're sober, and you still continued to text me. I think it's safe to say you felt something for me, even if you didn't want to admit it to yourself."

"Who told you all of shit that was happening the last few months?" Jeff exclaims. "Jesus Christ, why does everyone talk to everyone else?"

Britta laughs. "It doesn't matter who told me this. It was actually really helpful because I had a feeling like maybe you felt something, but then when you blew up at me, I… I didn't know what to think. I was so confused. I thought maybe you'd say something before I left, but then… then you didn't."

"Wait, is this why you told me you cared about my feelings?" Jeff asks and instantly thinks, fuck, Duncan was right.

"Yes." Britta affirms. "I thought that was clear."

"It was not!" Jeff says. "You told me my opinion wouldn't have changed your mind!"

"Yeah, your opinion on my job, not your opinion on me!" Britta rolls her eyes. "I couldn't tell if you were being an asshole because you just didn't like the thought of the job, or if you were doing it because you felt something for me you were too afraid to admit. I mean, god, Jeff, if you had told me you loved me then-"

"Please don't finish that sentence. I don't even want to entertain any what-ifs." Jeff sighs. "So what do we do now?"

"I don't know." Britta says. "I can't leave; I'm in a twelve-month lease and the school year basically just started."

"I know. I wouldn't ask you to leave." Jeff tells her. "But I can't either, at least not yet."

"I know." She says and after a beat, she asks, "Do you want to stay? Here, I mean, with me tonight?"

He nods, grinning. "Yeah."

They find her bedroom in the dark and Britta peels back the duvet and sheets while Jeff strips to his underwear, joining her in bed. In the quiet, Jeff tells her, "I didn't mean to make things heavy. We can figure this out later."

"Yeah, I know. It's okay." She tells him. After a moment's consideration, she asks, "Do you want to have sex?"

"Yeah." He answers without hesitation. "I really do."

She laughs and rolls over her side, clambering on top of him, and it's the best night of his life.

---

When Jeff awakens the next morning, he has a brief moment of confusion, of momentary panic, because this room is unfamiliar, and he has no idea what's going on or where he is. Groggy, disoriented, he yawns and rolls over… and remembers. Britta's sound asleep beside him, quiet and peaceful, and he can't help the smile that tugs at his lips at the sight of her. Yeah, he did it; he finally fucking did it. He pushes some hair out of her face, feeling so warm, so content, so absolutely in love with her, it's ridiculous. Maybe they don't have a plan, maybe they don't know what's coming next, but maybe that's okay. Maybe he can bask in the moment for as long as he's here. Maybe he can allow himself to be happy for the first time in his life.

She slumbers beside him tranquilly for a while longer before stirring awake, eyes fluttering open, smiling involuntarily at the sight of him in her bed. "Good morning."

"Good morning." He returns and slinks toward her, unable to help himself.

They kiss languidly for a few moments before she pulls back, groaning, "Ugh, I have to get ready for work. It's the last day before break."

"Call in. Stay in bed with me." Jeff coerces. "We have to make up for lost time."

She shakes her head, sitting and slipping out of bed. "Don't tempt me."

As she bustles around her bedroom, dressing and putting herself together, Jeff comments, "Well I have no toiletries or clothing, so this was an oversight."

"You can use whatever you want in the bathroom; I actually probably have a spare toothbrush, somewhere in one of the drawers." Britta tells him. "As for the clothing… I guess it's your turn for a walk of shame. A little turning of the tables."

"Whatever," Jeff chuckles. "I'll take one for the team."

She disappears into the bathroom to brush her teeth and Jeff thumbs through his phone for a moment until she returns. Once she does, her entire demeanor has changed, and she's suddenly very serious when she asks, "Jeff, what are we going to do? Long distance fucking sucks. How are we going to do this?"

He looks at her, smitten, and only one thought comes to his mind. "Marry me."

"Not this again." Britta shakes her head, smiling despite herself. "That won't solve anything."

"Maybe it won't." Jeff shrugs. "But seriously, Britta, marry me. I love you and I want to be with you and I think we should get married."

She eyes him, unsure. "You're not serious."

"We can do it today." Jeff says. "There's got to be a courthouse somewhere downtown, right?"

"Oh my god, you are serious." Britta says, sinking onto the bed beside him. "I… I have to go to work."

"We can do it after that."

"You really want to get married?" She asks, still in disbelief, and when he nods, adds, "Like, you're serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Jeff asks. "Look, we've talked about it for years; we've almost gotten married how many times now? Let's take the leap. Let's fucking do it."

Britta grins. "Oh my god, fuck it. Okay, let's do it!"

He grins, too, and reaches for her, kissing her feverishly for a few moments before they get down to brass tacks. They plan the afternoon and then part, her for work, him for an Uber that will take him back to his hotel and subsequent rental car. By mere circumstance, Jeff ends up in the back of Luis's car again and he's beginning to think this man is his fairy godmother, or something; they end up swapping numbers when they reach Jeff's hotel, and he sincerely hopes Luis gets all the green lights and everything good in life from here on out. He gets back, showers, gathers his things and checks out early; he'll be staying with Britta the rest of the week, as if he'd want to be anywhere else.

Jeff spends the day looking for rings, and picks out simple wedding bands that don't break the bank, and an engagement ring that is ethically sourced- something he knows will make her happy. Britta texts him on her lunch break that she's gotten the marriage license secured and she's asked her friend with the ridiculous name, Ten, to be her witness. For a moment, she frets over who will be his, and says she can ask around and see if any of her colleagues would like to attend their wedding, but Jeff already knows who his witness will be. I'll ask Luis, he texts her, already crafting a message to his new friend. Luis accepts in a heartbeat, just as Britta responds, Who the fuck is Luis? It makes Jeff laugh, even as he replies, My Florida best friend. We go way back.

He meets her at her apartment when she gets off work and they drive to the courthouse together, Ten and Luis meeting them there. On the way, they discuss how they'll arrange visits ("I can come up for Christmas?" Britta suggests, but Jeff shakes his head, says, "I'll come down; my break's longer than yours. Why don't you come up for spring break?" Britta adds, "We have spring break in March, and we're out in May, just like you.") and what they'll do when their respective school years end. Maybe Britta will get a new job, or maybe he will; maybe Jeff will take the bar exam in Florida and they can live out their days running in zigzags from gators and throwing hurricane parties. They still need to iron it out, but they can, and they will, and they have time.

They marry, with a man with a number for a name and an Uber driver he'd met last night as their witnesses. Jeff's never been happier in his life.

Once back at Britta's apartment, he scoops her up bridal style, carries her over the threshold. They collapse onto her couch and argue over how to tell their friends back home; Jeff just wants to send a picture of their rings in a group text, Britta wants to send a text-only message, no picture, to keep them guessing. They compromise and send both; they take a selfie, Britta showing off her ring, Jeff kissing her cheek, and caption it: We got hitched, motherfuckers! Jeff adds the photo to a group text, carefully selecting each of the members he'd like to receive it. Abed, Annie, Craig, Duncan, Frankie. And send. Annie, on the same coast as them, sees it first, and they can almost hear her squeal, but Jeff has one last member to share it with.

In a separate, private text to Shirley, Jeff adds the photo and captions it, I took your advice. I did like Beyoncé said- I put a ring on it.

"That's awful," Britta pulls a face, but Jeff smirks.

"Shirley will love it, trust me."

And he's right; Shirley calls him not ten seconds later, and Jeff answers, putting her on speaker. Shirley is screaming, so excited she can barely get words out at a normal decibel. Her voice is so shrill, Jeff can't make out what she's saying, but Britta's laughing, and Jeff is so mind-numbingly happy.

He thinks he could get used to this. No matter what happens next, he and Britta- he and his wife- will get through it all together.