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Annie clings to the navy fabric of Jeff's sweater for a moment, and she knows her thoughts are selfish. She knows she's not eighteen anymore, wishing―even though wishful thinking gets you nowhere (Frankie taught her that)―that she could stay the same forever, permanently suspending the idea of growing up, even though she so desperately wanted to be treated like an adult.
Abed would reference Peter Pan, she thinks.
Annie knows she cannot ask her friends to uproot their lives because a small―but really, large―part of her can't deal with the emotional consequences of broadcast television―Abed, again, was getting to her―and because that's impossible; and frankly, unfair.
So, with a heavy sigh, she releases her hold on Jeff's arm; taking a measured step back. “Milord.”
A soft smile creeps onto Jeff's lips, and Annie can picture him like the day she first met him, his favorite blazer with those stupid Adidas sweatpants that didn't complement his outfit at all. “Milady.”
That's enough to make the idea of abandoning her internship reside in her mind. She could settle down; she could find a way to be happy with him, as his wife. That's what he wants, right?
“Do you have any idea what I want?”
Annie runs the scenarios through her mind. Not only are they weird, but they feel wrong. Is that really what she wants? She needs to stop depending on Jeff to make things right.
“We're just in love with the idea of being loved, and if we can teach a guy like Jeff to do it, we'll never be unloved.”
The sound of the trunk of Jeff's Lexus closing pulls her from her abstraction, and her floral bag is pressed against her chest, followed by her suitcase being rolled to her side. “Thank you.” She nods, a ghost of a smile gracing her painted lips―no longer covered in bubblegum lipgloss. She watches as Jeff bids his goodbyes to Abed, noticing how he pulls him in once, then twice. It's bittersweet, and that revelation doesn't do anything to settle the anxious drumming of her heart.
If anyone else asked, she'd tell them she's excited to go to DC. Hell, this is the promise of her life beginning. But if Britta asked, she'd tell the psych major that no amount of Prozac could cease her nerves; and knowing Britta, she'd give her some halfwitted advice and a hug, and they'd turn on Gossip Girl, and that would be just fine.
Before she knows it, she's waving Jeff goodbye, Abed by her side, his firm hand pressed against her shoulder, which she finds isn't uncommon for the two.
A beat passes, and once Abed releases his grip on Annie's shoulder, she reaches down and captures his hand with her own, offering a gentle squeeze. “You ready?” She asks―herself more than Abed―tilting her chin upwards to him. He wordlessly nods, which isn't uncommon either. He's nervous, or maybe that's what Annie wants to think, so she's less alone. The pair walk hand-in-hand together, through the luggage check-in, through security, and all the way to Annie's gate.
“Abed? Promise you won't forget me?” The desperation in her voice almost sounds like one of a last breath, words catching in her throat, sudden tears pricking her eyes. Abed tells her that's she's impossible to forget, and that allows her muscles to untense, to which she then asks, “Are you going to see Troy?” And he gives Annie a curt nod, which isn't of any surprise to the brunette.
The two bid their final goodbyes after a minute of reminiscing, leaving Annie sniffling and her eyes bleary. She's grown these past six years―they all have―but change feels terrifying. She blinks away tears as she watches Abed walk into the distance.
It's not fair. Somehow, all of this makes her miss her mother. Maybe not her mother specifically or a mother at all; but her family, the family she found. Jeff, Troy, Abed, Britta, Shirley, and even Pierce.
It's not long before the boarding process for her flight starts, and she quickly gathers her things―and herself―smoothing out the wrinkles in her sweater, running a soft hand through her hair.
32E, that's her seat, and after awkwardly shuffling down the tight walkway, she's seated comfortably. Annie looks down at her phone, finger poised, scrolling through the various “Have a safe fight!” and “Send pictures once you land!” messages, making the tough decision not to obsessively check the Save Greendale Committee group text before she turns airplane mode on. Jeff's likely back at The Vatican―she thinks―hopefully toasting with the rest of the group. Toasting to what exactly? Annie doesn't even know.
“Excuse me, is it alright if I squeeze by?” A young woman―not far off from Annie's age―asks, pointing to the seat next to the brunette. 32F. Annie nods quickly, flattening herself against her seat to the best of her ability, apologies tumbling from her lips.
The two exchange quiet conversation―which quickly turns into loud conversation―and Annie can't help but take note of the way the other woman's nose scrunches when she smiles, the way her freckles dust her cheeks just so, the way her eyes have that small hint of gold that you could miss so easily, and by the grace of God, Annie thinks she's the most beautiful woman she's ever seen.
Halfway through the three hour flight, Annie finds herself purposely laughing a little harder at her jokes.