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For the third day in a row, Jeff shows up to the library study room early. Well over an hour early, at that. Partly, it's because he has nothing better to do and nowhere else to be, so why the Hell not just go where he's going to eventually end up anyway. Mostly, though, it's because of Shirley.
She's here already, waiting for Jeff in her usual seat, accompanied by a huge plate of brownies and a baking pan full of cupcakes. Jeff grimaces at them, wrinkling his nose and setting his bag down in his chair, wriggling out of his jacket and eventually sitting down in Annie's spot. They don't say anything, but then, they haven't said much during these 'sessions' yet.
More than anything else, Jeff's here because of how Shirley doesn't want anybody else here with her. She doesn't want to open up to anybody else. While Jeff doesn't blame her for that, considering who their friends are and how most people tend to be, in a word, awful? He also doesn't see why Shirley would want to open up to him.
Sexually, sure, Jeff can understand that desire. And if they kept it casual, Jeff would be absolutely game for it. He's attractive, she's attractive, they like each other—and since he and Britta are strictly non-romantic with each other, she couldn't complain. Besides that, Shirley probably has it in her to do all kinds of things that Britta can't. Like, actually dominate Jeff, for instance. If his beat off her is right, Shirley could probably fuck him into the mattress, make him cry for his mother and love every single minute of it.
But opening up to Jeff in the way this kind of clandestine meeting would lead up to with anybody else? Makes no sense. There are plenty of adjectives for Jeff Winger—tall, handsome, clever, emotionally dishonest. Notably absent from the list, though? Is, "any kind of helpful in serious situations."
Which has worked out well enough so far, even considering the situation. They've kept things limited to pleasantries, and half-hearted gossip, and silence. Sitting with each other quietly, appreciating the silence because they—unlike the people they hang out with—can actually manage such a thing. And this would work out well enough for them right now, if not for those goddamned baked goods.
Maybe Shirley's trying to prove something with those stupid, brightly-colored, sugar-laden heaps of crap. Maybe she's playing mind-games with him in some intense, mothering reaction to Pierce still being in rehab. Maybe she's actually listening to Troy and Abed, the latter of whom Jeff could punch in the teeth for completely failing to respect the sanctity of being told, this never happened, okay—not least because Shirley would understand what it all meant, even though Abed clearly didn't.
(Which Jeff concludes because Troy and Abed seem to think their whole, I'm Jeff Winger—does this egg make me look fat?, bullshit is about the funniest thing ever. Instead of what it actually is—which Jeff won't admit to because those overgrown children don't have the right to hurt him or to know that they've done so.)
But he wants to believe that Shirley wouldn't do something like this. He wants to believe that she wouldn't stick him in the position of staring down temptation and wanting so badly to go puke up his lunch. Jeff chooses to believe that Shirley wouldn't do anything like that to him—that she's just heading to a bake sale after study group and he's stuck dealing with the side-effects. No malicious intent to her actions whatsoever—at least, none that Jeff isn't unfairly imagining because he's a terrible person and projects his issues onto his friends.
And he's right—though not entirely, and not for the reasons that he thinks. But Shirley groans as she picks up one of the cupcakes, glaring at it, and she asks if he knows what the hardest thing about this pregnancy is.
Jeff supposes that he doesn't, mostly because he's not Shirley, and he's got no idea what's going on in her head, and even if he did, he's never been pregnant in the first place.
The worst part about this pregnancy, she explains, isn't worrying about Andre, or worrying about Chang, or worrying about being a good mother to her other kids while still taking care of herself. No, the worst part about this one is the worrying about food.
"You know, it wasn't nearly this bad with Jordan and Elijah," Shirley says and sighs at the cupcake. Twirls it around in front of her face. "But I was a lot younger when I had them, I had bigger things to worry about and I didn't put on that much pregnancy weight anyway… But this one? I don't even know what's going on with this one. I mean, maybe I'm not that big yet, but… Thinking about it still keeps me up at night. And it seems like the worst thing that could happen? Even worse than Chang being my baby's father… And then there's how the baby's still so dependent on me, and what if I make something go wrong with it… You know what I mean, Jeff?"
Jeff huffs and reaches for a cupcake of his own. Glares at it—stupid, delicious, disgusting, tempting, revolting, awful thing that it is. Only sets it down to nudge Annie's chair closer to Shirley's—close enough for him to take her hand and lace their fingers up together. And he gives her a squeeze as he says, "Well, I'm not gonna lie to you and pretend that I know exactly what you mean. Or that everything's really going to be fine if we hug and sing, 'All You Need Is Love.'"
They both chuckle at that, even manage to smile. Even though the joke really isn't all that funny. Especially not when considering the situation.
"But for what it's worth?" Jeff says. "I'm not okay, either. So… if you ever need someone to keep being not-okay with—or at least, someone who's never going to judge you for being not-okay? If you wanted to keep meeting up like this… that'd be okay with me."