Chapter Text
1. La Danza de Los Muertos
Britta must have nagged him endlessly. That’s why he finally showed.
She had her ways of getting Jeff to do what she wanted, too. But she didn’t want to cry like a little girl to get him to care. To get him to notice her.
He was the coolest guy she knew. But it was more than that. Twice now he’d singled her out. Made her feel special. Like a lady.
The third time had to mean something, even if it was Britta’s doing.
Whatever it was, she felt it in her fluttering heart, when he extended his hand, an invitation to dance.
The music was fast, like him. She wasn’t stupid.
Maybe slightly naïve. Inexperienced. Less experienced than Britta and Professor Slater.
Being around Jeff was simply different, not like the crush she had on Troy.
Jeff’s presence filled in empty spaces inside of her that she didn’t know existed. It was hard to understand what it was about him, exactly.
It was like he knew her. Saw her.
And when he did, something once frozen behind those ice-blue eyes, began to thaw.
She saw it now as he spun her away, before pulling her body flush against his again.
It didn’t skitter away like it had before. It lingered, a question unanswered that hung from his genuinely inviting smile.
2. The Puppet
She chloroformed a janitor for him. And that was after he left her alone with Alan.
He was the bad friend. The look of disappointment in her face stuck with him.
It infected him.
It weakened him.
It felt like a punch to the gut when Alan lied to him.
He thought they were friends. That was before the Study Group. He didn’t know true friendship until they adopted him.
Any emotion a normal person might relate to caring - generosity, selflessness, affection - was in a deep freeze. But he was melting.
He hung the Tom Ford jacket up on its hangar, exchanging it for the gold satin puffy one still in its plastic bag.
He deposited his freshly-polished Ferragamos on the back seat, lacing up his Nikes.
He might still make it.
He may have jogged a little through the parking lot to be sure. She was more than worth breaking a light sweat over.
Yup, she was.
And even though she got the group disqualified, he wouldn’t trade that unbelievable moment when she molded herself around him, stalling Abed’s puppet strings.
It was almost like they were dancing. Slowly.
It was only the two of them, in his mind, and no one else.
There was no contest between his old life and this one. This was the only one he cared about.
3. We’re Gonna Finally Be Fine
He was really glad she wore such a short dress today. As she twirled toward him, he was able to see a hint of what lie beneath.
Ahh. It was going to be a good year. No, a great year.
A dress like that had a great deal of potential. This was the year.
He wondered if he moved seats, if anyone would notice.
He’d be willing to bet, he could reach almost to the top of her thigh if he was in the next chair.
He wondered if she’d let him.
She might let out a tiny squeak before she pressed those glossy lips together, holding it in. Shirley would probably notice that.
“Jeff.” Her voice broke through. “Je-ff?” her tone grew more urgent.
Was that excitement? Frustration? A no?
She was young. Maybe he was moving this thing too fast.
“Jeffrey!” Shit.
Shirley did not sound pleased. Gone was the sweet melody she sang, bedazzled in sequins, encouraging them all to hold hands.
Granted, that wasn’t what he wanted to be holding onto at the moment.
He turned, and they were both staring at him.
Damn, he was doing it again. “Oh, sorry?”
The look on her face said it all. He was definitely going to stick with his original seat.
Besides, her cardigan was open enough that his view from where he sat was more than adequate.
4. Music To Live By
Her bags were packed.
She only needed to put the finishing touches on the playlist. She was trying to be inclusive with her choices, knowing the diversity of the Study Group’s beliefs.
But, she couldn’t help include songs that reminded her of him. It was only natural she justified.
Four years was a long time to know someone. Longer if she accounted for the hours spent thinking of him when they weren’t together.
Certain songs created pathways to him in her mind. It was inevitable that a playlist for their first “adult” Christmas party would conjure memories.
They were a “we” – in her mind anyway. The one that pushed her to buy all of the pops of color when he said go nuts.
He was busy on his phone when she asked him how she could help. So, she may have gone a tiny bit overboard. There was no way he would hang the curtains. They were lilac, frilly, and very Annie.
But he played along for some reason. And then, the song started.
“Is this …”
She remembered him talking about going to some secret concert.
She was open minded.
He wasn’t like anything she heard before. But she could see why Jeff would like this kind of music. There was one song that appealed to her. It was nice, sort of soulful.
Much different than the one he sang about Christmas and hookers.
“You like it?” she asked, unpacking the curtains, handing him one side.
He helped her put them up, seemingly into her aesthetic all of a sudden. Or, making fun of it less than he normally might.
It gave her a little lift, and she moved about, increasingly more comfortable, sprinkling more Annie around.
“I like Tom Waits. I didn’t realize you did.”
“Jeff, I am a grown-up. I appreciate a variety of music.”
“Did you plan this?”
“Of course I did. It’s a playlist for our Christmas party.”
“Do we need to talk about you wanting to play house with me?”
Her belly tied up in a thousand tiny knots.
“Being open to my curtains is the same as me acting on a musical recommendation from a friend.”
“Mmm kay,” he breathed, squinting one eye, like he did when he was deciding whether to challenge her or not. She’d unpacked the last of her things, when he found the wrapped box. “I didn’t get you anything.”
“Don’t be silly,” she turned away, her face burned under the light of his scrutiny. “You are not obliged to give gifts. It’s a choice.”
She slowed herself down, taking in a few breaths, wishing the rest of the group would get there. And soon.
When she’d finished hanging up her coat, she turned to find him silently watching her.
“On second thought, I have something I could give you. So long as you believe in the concept of - it’s the thought that counts.” Before she had a chance to answer, he closed the gap between them in a few Jeff-length strides. “May I have this dance?”
5. Anything But Basic
She was glad to be out of the basement. Relieved was more like it.
Whatever he did to open that door didn’t matter. Kind of like what Jeff felt.
No, kind of like what she felt.
Everyone merrily danced like ants, marching along, following Jeff’s lead. So, she did, too.
Annie had a way to smile, through her confusion and pain. At least she wasn’t locked in Borchert’s Lab with them forever.
Still, she was prepared to support her friends. If they wanted each other, then she wouldn’t stand in their way.
So as she danced in the group, doing her best to let go, he looked her way.
Maybe he was wondering what she was thinking. But she’d already told him, a hundred different ways over the course of 5 years. There was nothing more to say.
Duncan hobbled his way through the crowd on crutches, singing along to Dave.
“I know my brain is irrevocably fried, but I thought I heard the happy news that you two were getting married.”
That was a sign that it was time for her to leave. She spun away into the crowd, bobbing along to the music until she found Abed.
She opened with her standard Annie optimism. “We live to fight another day.”
“Thanks for that.”
“Don’t thank me.”
“Who do you think was the subject of Jeff’s blast of human passion?”
The Dean jiggled by them, with pep in his step and a dreamy smile plastered across his face.
Abed lifted his brow, twisting his mouth into an upside down question.
“No,” she scoffed. After what she’d seen in the basement, she supposed anything was possible. “It was Britta.” It had to be, didn’t it?
“Or moi?” he pointed at himself. “Jeff and I do have a special bond,” he gazed past her, like he was talking to someone else.
“Abed, who are you talking to?”
“No one,” he answered robotically.
“That’s your answer,” she mumbled, watching Jeff high-five Britta, grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“What’s my answer?”
“No one is responsible for opening the door.”
“Then how did he do it?”
“I don’t know Abed. Maybe it was all a hoax. Russel Borchert flipped Raquel’s switch while we had our backs turned.”
“Or, someone turned Jeff’s on,” he winked at an invisible someone, tossing a thumb in her direction.
“Stop that,” she slapped his hand down. “It wasn’t me.”
“Ok,” he conceded instantly. “If that’s the canon you want, but consider this,” he paused, pivoting his body in the direction of Jeff and Britta. Jeff was watching them. “It took at least 20 seconds for the door to open. Borchert and the Dean were at either end of the line. Which way was Jeff facing when you turned around?”
“Abed, I see what you’re doing.”
“Applying logic to the illogical?”
The Dean glided by them. “Come on, you two, we saved Greendale. Let’s dance!”
He was right. Greendale was saved. The answer to the questions of who and how would remain unanswered. For now and maybe forever.
That was reason enough to place them in a box, until a quieter time.
6. Mazel Tov
She was drunk. They all were. They had been drinking all day.
He found her, making a list of names. He peeked over her shoulder, seeing his included on a list of greatness. Nice, he’d earned it. God, it was great to be him.
“I’m flattered by the caliber of company I keep.”
“Jeff!” she snapped her little book closed. “This is private.”
“Is that why I saw Abed filming you reading from it?”
“You know how it is.”
“I do?”
“He has his way.”
He did. The angle Abed’s camera took after Garrett proposed to Stacy said a lot without saying a word.
“But you looked much happier when you were doing your talking head.”
She picked at the corner of her book. “I’m an actress.”
“You don’t need to act for us.”
“I don’t do it for anyone but Abed. And you.”
“I see.”
She tilted her head. “What do you see?”
“You.”
“Your little helper is what you mean.”
“What did Frankie say to you?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled, twisting her hair around her finger. He doubted that.
“Annie, she doesn’t understand us.”
“Neither do I.”
He downed the last of his scotch in one gulp. Damnit. The small ice cubes watered it down too fast.
He watched the happy couple take to the floor.
Was their group any less incestuous than the marriage of these two?
In the wise words of a man who married his cousin, he could stay and eat cake or go to hell. There were far too many calories and carbs in cake.
But, he could stay … and dance.
At last …
The song started, people paired off, two by two, filling in the bare space around a couple made up of cousins.
He put his hand out. “May I?”
My love has come along.
She stood, smoothing her dress flat, taking his hand.
My lonely days are over…
“Your tie is almost the same shade of purple as my dress.”
She’d shown him her dress weeks ago.
And life is like a song.
He slipped his hand around the small of her back, bending down to press his cheek to hers.
“Like I told Frankie. We have synergy.”
Her hands wrapped around his neck, holding on.
You smiled, you smiled…
“I don’t want to slay my Jeff Winger dragon. He makes me happy.”
And here we are in Heaven…
“You could cast a spell on him instead.”
“Maybe I already have.”
For you are mine at last.
She was so close that he could feel the beat of her heart against his chest, keeping pace with his own.
Synergy. Yes, that’s what this was.