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The Save Greendale dance had died down. Everyone had gone…home or wherever. But Jeff Winger went back to what was, for him, a prison cell, but everyone else would’ve called it an office. He grabbed a glass, poured a double, downed it, and then reloaded. He slumped down in his chair and dropped his head to his desk.
He was an idiot. He was a fool. He was every other negative put down you could think of. But, most simply, he was an idiot. Oh yeah, Jeff Winger – loser at law – was the hero who saved Greendale, alright. “A blast of human passion,” Borchert said. Are you kidding me? How ridiculous is that? How absurd? And he thought Abed was out there with the sci-fi crap and timelines and all that.
But he jumped at the opportunity to put on that damned helmet, didn’t he? No hesitation, no doubt, no nothing. Just pure impulse. “A blast of human passion.” That’s all he needed to hear and he jumped at it. He knew. He knew he’d open the door. And he knew full well who would do it for him.
He was an idiot. “I discovered at a very early age that, if I talk long enough, I can make anything right or wrong.” And he sure made this wrong. How long, really, had he been trying to talk himself into thinking there wasn’t anything there, that she was the one reading into everything? How long had he actually been lying to himself? Somewhere, he supposes, between debate-winning gambits, post-dance declarations, and men’s room ambushes, certainly. Whenever it was, he’d realized he had to double down on his…talking…by Shirley’s wedding. “…just saying what’s really in your heart,” she said. “There’s something real in there. Maybe that’s what scares you.” Something real was there alright – her. And not only her, but the actual desire to selflessly give her everything she wanted and deserved…everything he thought he’d never have or want because of that asshole, William Winger. Damn right it scared him. It scared him then and it scares him even now.
And yet, he kept hearing Pierce’s voice echo in his mind: “At some point a man stops looking for a place to hang his underwear and starts looking for a place to hang his hat.” Did that crazy bastard know all the way back then? Usually it was Abed who was so observant. But Pierce, for all his…inappropriateness…could often be surprisingly insightful, even sweet. Thank God Stone never asked those kinds of questions during the interrogation. But whether Pierce realized it or not, she could be that. Hell, if given the chance, she’d probably want to be. His port in the storm. His certainty in the midst of uncertainty. She could be his Constant.
But that was then. Before today’s…bullshit. Part of trying to talk himself into the idea that it was all one-sided on her part, trying to talk himself out of what he actually felt, had been trying to find a…umm…uhh…“physical replacement.” And, for whatever reason, it always seemed to end up being Britta. Oh yeah, who’d he sleep with during the first paintball, even after the debate? Who’d he been hooking up with on the down low even after the dance and the bathroom ambush? And, ugh, Shirley’s wedding? When he realized who and what was in his heart, who was he drunkenly trying to marry to prove what a sham marriage was? Britta. The hell was wrong with him? But she always seemed to forgive him. She always seemed to move on and not think any less of him. She always seemed to give him another chance to fess up and prove himself. But not anymore she wouldn’t. Not after today. Evidently there was only so much she could take.
For as much as he’d tried to avoid her gaze, tried to avoid her completely, he saw that hurt look in her eyes. He’d heard her freak out. Heard all the snide comments she made before the Lab and while they were in that hidden lower level and while they were there with Borchert himself. He’d hurt her. Bad. And probably for the last time, if he was being honest. Hell, she’d been the one who found him a few weeks ago. It was her voice that called to him and started to break him out of that GI Joe-induced coma hell. And this was how he thanked her? This was how he showed her just how much she meant to him? Who in their right mind would or could blame her if she didn’t want anything more to do with him? He was an idiot.
Oh, but wait a minute. Wait just a minute! What the hell? How was this all his fault? OK, sure, he’d tried talking his way out of it, but there had been a few times where he’d been less guarded and sort of admitted how he felt. It’s not his fault she didn’t pick up on it. OK, so maybe after the dance didn’t count since he’d tried to talk her into thinking it was a mistake and then ghosted her. But how many times had he told her that she was very important to him, that he’d willingly break a light sweat for her? Hell, when she demanded an answer in the men’s room of what was going on, he’d told her: “I wish I could give you an answer, but relationships are complicated.” Relationships are complicated. This thing – between you and me – is complicated and I don’t know how to define it because I’m scared I’ll screw it up. It’s not his fault she didn’t hear him…and instead ran after that creepy Dr. Douche Bag. He’d told her during mock UN that how much she hated Annie Kim was conversely parallel to how much he cared for her. Wasn’t he the one that suggested the couple’s Halloween costume? Good Lord, he’d looked her right in those beautiful doe eyes and said, “If we were married, you wouldn’t find me flirting with another woman in a hotel bar.” How much clearer could he have been?
But he was an idiot. It’s wasn’t her fault. After all that, he still ran to Britta like she was the only thing he could cling to. But that’s because she’d be the only one left…here…with him. Everyone else was going. Leaving. And he couldn’t hold them back. He couldn’t hold her back. Sure, he could’ve ran to her, but that wouldn’t have been fair to her. He and Britta could’ve settled into a loveless routine, been miserable, and been fine. But he couldn’t do that to her. She couldn’t be his emergency freak out back up plan. She had to be the priority.
And she was. She always was. Come to think of it, ever since she’d gotten him to try and get Troy out of football, he’d been done for when it came to her. He didn’t realize it at the time, but he knew it now. He’d tried talking himself out of it for, what, 4 ½ to 5 years? But he knew. For all his bragging about what could happen if he talked enough, it was never enough. That’s why, in that instant, chips down, he had to be the one to go off book. He had to make a bold move. So he jumped at the chance to put on the helmet. That thing simply confirmed what he’d known for a very long time. Sure, he loved his friends, but here was the objective, irrefutable, incontrovertible proof in a shut and locked door now open.
He was in love with Annie Edison.
He felt like such a sap. Where’d Tango, the envy of every scumbag and dirtball at Hamish, Hamish, & Hamilin, who’d bed a different chick every night, where’d that guy go? Who was this left in his place? Who was this guy, thinking about true love, soul mates, and white picket fences? He was an idiot. But it was true. He wasn’t Tango any more. He was the guy hopelessly in love with Annie Edison, and he’d done practically nothing but screw it up every step of the way.
She deserved everything good in life. She’d been through so much. Sure, that age gap always freaked him out, but, if he was being honest, the maturity gap probably balanced in her favor. He wanted to give her every good thing in life. He wanted her to have it all. But he didn’t deserve her. He’d only screw it up. He was, after all, the son of William Winger. That shit was probably genetic.
Sure he said she’d never find him flirting with another woman. Sure he wanted to give her the house, the dog, the white picket fence, even…ch-ch-children…if that’s what she wanted. But, he’d said it himself, relationships are complicated. They’re hard. And he’s never been one for hard work. In what way, in what universe, in what timeline (thanks, Abed) does he not screw this up? Does he not become his father?
But he loved her. He could admit that now. He’d always loved her. And…*deep breath*…he loved her too much to saddle her with his crap.
He’d love her from a distance. He’d encourage her, support her, be proud of her. But he couldn’t be with her. Hell, he’d just had two completely different mid-life crises in as many weeks. She didn’t need that. She didn’t deserve that.
He’d cut back his time with her and limit contact. He’d come up with excuses. It’d be hard. It’d suck. But it’s right. He loves her too much to hold her back. And watching her, loving her, from a safe distance, celebrating her accomplishments, he could finally nut up and die alone in peace, knowing he did the right thing…for once.
He would let her go. Let her go to live the life she was meant to…without a neurotic 40-year old loser by her side, dragging her down. After all, doesn’t love mean sacrifice? He’d sacrifice what he wanted to make sure she got what she did. He was an idiot, an idiot in love, sure, but he couldn’t be her idiot. Couldn’t…wouldn’t…be her problem.
So Jeff downed his…whatever number refill, poured another, downed it, shut off the light, and left his office.
_____
A few days later, as the committee finished up their year-end wrap up meeting, he felt better about his chosen course of action. She seemed…better. More herself. Somewhere, deep down, he wondered if she had forgiven him (again), if she was giving him still another chance. But he dismissed it as her simply being happy they’d saved the school. He loved her, but he knew what he needed to do. And he’d need a lot more alcohol to get through it.
_____
About a year, many chinks in his armor (including a proposal and wedding that put many things into focus), and the bluntest admission he’d ever made yet, later…
“I think…you should kiss me goodbye, or you might regret it for the rest of your life.”
Suddenly he was transported back to standing outside the Tranny Dance with her. She looked at him the same way she had that night after she’d taken a leap. This time, the kiss was brief. It wasn’t in the heat of the moment like the debate, it wasn’t passionate and lusty like after the dance. It was soft. It was six years worth of apologies, but also six years of love.
In that moment he knew she was right. She always was. If he hadn’t been the one to take the risk, to put himself out there, in that moment, he would have regretted it for the rest of his life. Because the rest of his life would have been filled with, “What if…?” This was different. This was the start of something new.
And he wasn’t reading in to things, either. He saw how she looked at him as the others came in and as Chang blew up their spot. He saw how she looked at him as she talked about season 7 and too many variables. And it wasn’t lost on anyone else, either, that they were only looking at each other as he’d said, “You saved my life. And changed it forever. Thank you.”
Jeff had finally realized something. He couldn’t hold Annie back even if he tried. She was too driven and too stubborn. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’d get what she wanted…which, amazingly, included him. He was done fighting. He was done talking. He might be an idiot, but he was an idiot in love. And so was she.
Whitman had been wrong all those years ago: he didn’t know a life-changing kiss when he saw it. Because that’s not what that was outside the Library…it’d left him unimpressed, to say the least. The life-changing kiss came on the debate stage when a certain driven, stubborn 18-year old refused to lose a community college debate to Jeremy “Soulpatch” Simmons and went off book. He knew it even then, but now he could happily admit it.
Nor was the irony lost on him that he’d once asked her, “Do you try to evolve? Or do you try to know what you are?” The answer, that night and ever since, had been right in front of him. It was her. She loved him for who he was and that made him want to evolve and be a better man. It was simple as that. Maybe he wouldn’t turn out like his father, after all. He’d been such an idiot.
_____
A week later, he dropped Annie and Abed off at Denver International. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard when it came to her. He kissed her goodbye and then hugged Abed. Over the course of six seasons (again, thanks, Abed), he’d come to love that strange little man like a brother. He truly could see his value now. The look of love on Annie’s face was plain as day as Jeff hugged him – his growth over the years perfectly summarized by his relationships with the two of them.
After he let Abed go, she waved bye to him, saying she’d call when she landed. Ten weeks wasn’t that bad. They’d call. They’d text. They’d facetime. Jeff would probably even go out for a visit. But ten weeks wasn’t that long. It’d go quickly.
With that, Jeff drove back to Greendale to meet (what was left of) the crew at The Vatican, shooting her a quick text before he went in. For the first time in a very long time, Jeff Winger knew everything was going to be OK. He’d stopped obsessing over what could go wrong and began enjoying what was. “A blast of human passion,” Borchert said. And he’d been right. And thanks to that damned helmet, he wasn’t an idiot any more.