Chapter Text
Britta's reward for working her ass off to land an actual job—as a legitimate mental health services provider, no less!—during her final, six-credit semester comes due after she's officially graduated and roughly three months after she'd started working with the Greendale Public School District. In late July, actually. In the form of a phone call from Annie, while she, Jeff, Frankie, and Chang are having a little barbeque at Frankie's place one Saturday afternoon to catch up.
"Hey, you, what's going on?" Britta answers.
"I...where are you?"
"At Frankie's. Usual suspects are here for a little cookout, minus Craig." She mouths, "It's Annie," to the rest of them and she's about to tell her they say hi when she interrupts.
"Could we talk, like, just the two of us? I've got some news."
Britta frowns at her apprehensive tone. "Be right back," she calls to the rest of the group as she tilts her head toward Frankie's house before walking into her kitchen.
"Okay, it's just the two of us," Britta reassures her. "Is everything alright?"
"Yes. No. I—I'm not sure."
"First of all, no matter what, I've got you, okay?"
"Ye-yeah. Thanks." Annie's breathing on the other end comes out a touch steadier, and Britta feels better, but not entirely great, as she answers, "Of course. Now, second of all, could you start from the beginning of why you're calling?" She's handled enough of Annie's panic and anxiety attacks over the years to know the importance of establishing guardrails.
"So, you know my schedule here is kinda weird, right? How I can sort of be on call, even as an intern?"
"Yeah—and that still feels like labor exploitation," she's quick to argue, "but, given that you're working for the FBI…"
"It is what it is," Annie completes her sentence. "At least I get paid for the extra time. Anyway, I'm in today, and my supervisor just came by to talk with me since we—like, all the interns—are supposed to have performance reviews next week since we've only got a few weeks left."
"Alright," Britta answers slowly, her mind whirring, wondering if she'll need to give Annie a reminder to aim for progress, not perfection. "What did they say?"
"She said they've been impressed with me. Really impressed."
She strains to hear the usual pride in Annie's tone that comes through when she gets such glowing affirmation, but she can't quite pick up on it. "That's awesome, Annie!"
"I mean, yeah, it is," Annie acknowledges, and Britta catches her small, self-satisfied smile crop up for a second before it vanishes just as quickly. "It's just that…she's pretty sure they're gonna offer me a job. And when I asked what 'pretty sure' meant, she said to get in touch with HR if I have any issues with extending my lease and they could help me with finding a place."
"Oh my God, that's…"
The word amazing is hanging there for her to use, she's sure.
Suspended somewhere between the 1,689 miles that'll keep them separated for the foreseeable future.
"Britta? Are you still there?" The anxious edge is clawing its way back into Annie's voice.
"Yeah. Yeah, sorry, babe, my phone cut out for a sec," she lies. "That's amazing!"
She's not a good enough person to get her praise out without choking on it, and Annie softly murmurs, "I know," and it's obvious she's thought about the newly-formed complications already.
Britta goes for the one thing she can never lie about to Annie. "I'm so fucking proud of you."
"Thanks, hon. You know—you have to know—I never could've done this without your love and support. Without you encouraging me to take this leap. I'm still kinda stunned, to be honest," Annie admits. "Just knowing some of the experiences that other interns had and where they went to school—"
"Fuck that prestige bullshit," Britta interrupts. "You show up. You get shit done. You earned this. Go—go celebrate!"
She laughs. "I don't wanna until everything's actually official, but, I will." Britta gets a wave of a wistful sigh blown in her ear. "I just wish you were here to celebrate with me, Britta."
"Me too, Annie. Me too. Listen," she goes on, since she's not sure how much longer she can hold herself together, "I can hear Chang yelling about having to keep the grill on, so I'm gonna go eat and I'll catch up with you later?"
"Wait. If you're at Frankie's, why is Chang—you know what, never mind, I don't wanna know how he got to be in charge of the grill," Annie decides. "And yeah, that's fine. Would you mind not telling the others about my news til I have an actual offer?"
"Sure, no problem."
"Thanks, Britta. Love you."
"Love you too."
She hangs up, stops pacing mindlessly, plops down on one of the tastefully designed bar stools around Frankie's kitchen island, and sighs.
"The one fucking time I establish roots in this area that aren't intertwined with Greendale Community College, and it's when my girlfriend lands a potential dream job on the other side of the country."
"Hey, how's Annie?" Jeff asks when she comes back out. She manages another lie, says, "She's fine, she got dragged into work today for some stupid reason and just wanted to chat since it's not busy," and promptly grabs a new beer from the cooler and cracks it open so she has an excuse to avoid talking for a bit.
She stops at the convenience store near her new-old place—surprise, surprise, she's living in another clap-trap rat box, since her public school system salary is shit—and buys a six pack of PBR for the first time in years.
Her excuse not to talk turns into an excuse not to think for the rest of the weekend.
**
Annie snacks on affirmations throughout the day now to go with her baby carrots, grapes, and cheese sticks.
"You're valued. You have important skills," she tells herself when her supervisor confirms, a couple of weeks after she'd spoken with Britta about it, that, yes, she's landed a job as a forensic data analyst with the motherfucking FBI.
It's with one of the Bureau's satellite offices a bit outside of D.C. proper, but still, she's splitting hairs that don't need to be separated.
"You're loved," she reminds herself when Britta shrieks in delight at the news and congratulatory texts roll in from Abed, Jeff, Frankie, Shirley, Craig, and even Hickey and Chang.
Her repetition of different affirmations isn't quite an addiction—more of a light compulsion, at most—and it might actually be healthy for Annie to participate in this kind of self-care, but she'd rather she didn't have to do it.
Because then she'd just be living carefree, or as carefree as she can manage, rather than trying to stave off the imposter syndrome that's praying to prey on her damaged, semi-repaired psyche.
She thought she'd buried it, but that particular ghost from her past keeps haunting her.
The annoying part is, she knows she deserves this job. She knows she outworked and outwitted and even made a not-totally-brown-nosed attempt to out-schmooze the D.C.-based interns with their connections and standard four-year degrees and 2015 Mercedes and Audis with remote car starters.
That's the bitch of her mind's particularly dangerous perfectionism/imposter syndrome cocktail, though: she's perpetually driven to climb higher and higher, and then her brain pipes up, "Hey, look how fucking far down you'll fall once everyone figures out you shouldn't be here!"
And that doesn't even cover the fact that she's struggling to adjust to her and Britta's long-distance relationship suddenly becoming more long-term. It hits her like a runaway train, just how much she took their constant physical proximity for granted.
"It's not even that we were all over each other constantly," she realizes. "But it just made things easier. Having that comfort, the knowledge that we'd be there for each other at the end of a shitty day."
Between that, missing her friends, missing the weird order and familiarity in Greendale's expected chaos, and work stress for both of them, she's not too surprised that things go south for them for a bit. There are ebbs and flows, peaks and valleys in all relationships and friendships.
Annie's larger concern stems from her natural status as a problem-solver, both in math classes and in real life. You need to use the quadratic formula? Call Annie. You need to expunge black mold from the ceiling of a possibly haunted stairwell? Call Annie.
But she can't magically invent a suitable job for Britta in D.C., nor does she want to drag her away from a stable, mostly fulfilling position in Greendale too soon, lest she be cast into the dreaded category of "job-hopper." So for now, Annie's left wanting and waiting, but she kinda feels stranded, as if she's chilling on a street corner for a cab that never comes.
She snaps like an overstretched rubber band during one of their regular FaceTime calls at Britta's third moody variation of "this sucks."
"I know it sucks, Britta, you don't need to keep saying that," Annie snipes.
"Well, what the fuck else do you want me to say, Annie? That I'm thrilled that you're on the other side of the country and I don't know when the hell I'm gonna see you next?"
Annie gives a disbelieving laugh. "I'm sorry, am I supposed to apologize for busting my ass to get here?"
"No, of course not," Britta groans. "It's just—I didn't know this would be so difficult, or that it would make us feel—"
She clams up and Annie swears her blood freezes for a second before she speaks up. "Go on."
Britta blows out a breath and nods reluctantly. "It's making me feel like we're...kinda at odds, and a little broken. How is it making you feel?"
"Sort of the same," Annie admits, her voice shaking. "It's like we're not us right now. And that scares me. Admitting it scares me."
"I know. I didn't want to say anything, but we can't solve this if we don't talk. And if we don't talk, then we'll end up like season 9 Jim and Pam when they're forever pissed off at each other."
"They kinda both suck, anyway, til the writers intervened at the end," Annie answers, with a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. "So let's not be like that. Let's—let's figure this out."
"Yes. Thanks, Annie, for moving us toward...something better, hopefully." She gives a small smile of her own. "Will you mind if I say this sucks one more time before I tell you some sappy heartfelt shit that I hope will make you feel better?"
"Not at all. And can I join you in saying it sucks? Cause it really does."
"Duh-doy, babe."
"Thanks. On three, then." Annie counts them off. "One, two, three…"
"This sucks," they chorus, and it feels like the weirdest cleanser ever, but it might be a start.
"You remember when we first said I love you to each other?" Britta asks.
Annie laughs despite their current situation. "In the shower at our old place, after I had a nervous breakdown over not wanting to go into hospital administration and being unsure of what my future would look like? So, kinda like now, minus being in a shower?"
Britta nods, laughing a little herself at Annie's recollection and joke. "And I promised I'd date the fuck out of you. Or said I wanted to. Whatever," she flaps her hands at the camera, "close enough. Either way, I'm gonna recommit to doing that, okay? Starting tomorrow," she decides. "What can I do for you tomorrow, love?"
"Umm…" Annie pauses before commenting softly, "First, just...thanks for that offer, Britts. And, this might sound a little weird, but would you be my workout buddy tomorrow night?"
Britta frowns. "How can I do that?"
"I've been working out at home since I don't really like taking public transportation to and from the gyms around here. I started recently to try to shut my brain off from all the stress."
"I haven't worked out properly in ages, so I'll probably regret saying yes to this. But, sure, I can do that. Send me whatever you're doing. If it's body weight stuff, I can at least try to keep up. And would you wanna FaceTime or Skype each other while we're doing that?"
"Yes, please. That would be nice," Annie comments, cheering up a bit. "And to turn your question around, what can I do for you that would make you feel like I'm dating you harder than anyone ever has before?"
"Ooh, gettin' a little frisky, are we?" Britta answers, throwing a wink her way, and Annie can feel her anxiety dissipating bit by bit; she's shedding it like a snakeskin, or at least trying to, rather than cloaking herself in it, and she feels a touch more certain that she and Britta can do this. "Maybe, after we work out, we could watch some mindless television together?" Britta suggests. "Work up a sweat and then have a laugh? Depending on what time you wanna work out."
"Lemme think…" Annie mentally turns her clock back two hours to account for the time difference. "Would you rather have dinner and then work out, or vice versa?"
"Definitely work out first, or I'm definitely not gonna be motivated to do it."
"Okay, and you get home by, what, four or so most days?"
"Yeah, so I could do 4:15, which would be 6:15 for you. Or we could schedule it for a bit later, depending on what you wanna do for dinner," Britta suggests.
"I think I'd rather work out and then eat, too, so let's shoot for 4:15 your time, 6:15 here," Annie agrees, and her heart soars the tiniest bit at the recognition of their past coming into play, a reprisal of how she and Britta adeptly navigated challenges together at Greendale and found solutions. It wasn't the easiest thing when they were both often too stubborn for their own good.
"But stubbornness can sometimes be an asset," she notes in her head as Britta asks her what might be for dinner tomorrow. "Because I'm always going to fight for this, for Britta, for keeps."
That conviction propels her through most of the next day, and while she kind of wishes she would've asked Britta to do something besides exercise, since she's feeling a bit ragged by the time 6:00 rolls around, she tells herself, "At least Britta will be with you, in a manner of speaking." So she changes into her workout gear, loads up her workout playlist on Spotify, and launches Skype for her call with Britta.
"Hey, Annie," Britta answers, waving at her cheerily. "Nice outfit." She grins, gesturing at their matching workout attire, AKA an old Greendale t-shirt and black athletic shorts.
"Thanks! You ready to do this?" she asks.
"Not exactly, but I'd do anything for you."
Annie's heart swells at her girlfriend's generous affection just before she remembers something she'd wanted to do. "You want me to share my playlist with you? I'll usually do a rotation of workouts for song lengths, take a break, repeat."
Britta rolls her neck and stretches as she considers the question. "Sure, I'll take a look at it."
"Alright, just a sec," Annie mutters as she sends the link to Britta's account.
"Paramore, Fall Out Boy, All Time Low...overall, pretty heavy on the mid-2000s emo jams. Good shit, Annie. I can rock with this," Britta nods in approval.
"Great." Annie presses play on the first track for a second. "Can you hear that on your end, babe?"
"Turn it up a bit," Britta requests, then nods as Annie adjusts the volume. "That's good."
"Awesome. Time for crunches!" Annie declares with all the fake enthusiasm she can summon.
"I blame you for my body's future suffering," Britta remarks dryly, but she lays down on the floor, just the same.
Annie's struggled to find motivation to workout aside from getting her brain to shut the hell up for a bit between exercise and exhaustion, and it might be stupid, but having Britta there helps, and she can't help but identify a touch with Hayley Williams singing, "You've hit your one wall, now find a way around." Because they're trying.
Annie closes her eyes, wills her body to work, and loses herself in the chugging guitars, the pounding drums, and Hayley's powerhouse vocals until she hears a strange, half-strangled puff from Britta.
She opens her eyes, stays sitting up at the top of her crunch, and looks at her laptop screen. "Britta? You okay?" she asks as she turns the music down.
"Daniel thinks I'm here to play with him," she mumbles, and, yes, the "little ball of terror," as she so fondly calls him, is perched atop her.
"Move, buddy," she cajoles, but he only settles himself in more comfortably on top of her, and Britta shrugs. "Well then, mister I fits, I sits, guess you're coming up with me," she grunts as she continues her workout.
Annie flops backward, but can't move for a good minute since she's laughing too hard, because who the fuck else besides Britta Perry would do crunches with a cat sitting on her chest?
Daniel eventually leaps off to go play with one of his toys, and Annie fondly murmurs, "I fuckin' love you, babe," as "For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic" draws to an end.
"I love you too, Annie," Britta answers back once she's done chugging her water. "Despite the whole feeling like I might die thing."
The rest of their workout is largely cat-free, and Annie wheezes at the end of it, "I gotta take a shower before dinner."
"Yeah, that's gonna be in order for me, too. Catch up with you later to watch some trash?"
"For sure," Annie agrees before an impish thought comes to mind. "Hey, Britts?"
"Hmm?"
Annie winks before she can tell herself some other FBI agent is probably tracking their video chat. "Think of me while you're in the shower?"
Britta blows her a kiss and answers, just as coquettishly, "I will if you will, darlin."
She does, with an ease she's missed, pulling from what feels like an endless string of nights together, of lazy mornings and the occasional afternoon, and the rare class or three Britta talked her into skipping without using a single word.
She sees a text from Britta when she gets out of the shower—dinner together?—and the anxiety that's been swirling in the background noise of her mind quiets for what feels like the first time in months.