Chapter Text
Ladders
It had gone too far.
Britta knew that. She’d probably known when they were hauling lumber into the basement of Greendale, and that was weeks ago. But she’d been indignant and stubborn when confronted with authority, which, to be fair, is pretty much her M.O.
Greendale General Hospital smells sterile, like rubbing alcohol and expensive floor cleaner, which Britta figures is better than everything smelling dirty, but it lingers in the air like an invisible fog and gives her a headache. Annie’s off getting more neck x-rays taken and the group has been exiled to the lobby, with no indication of what they’re looking for, if she’s okay, or when she’ll be done. At one point, Jeff did try to convince a nurse that Abed was her adopted brother; unfortunately the hospital staff didn’t go for it.
Craig is in the middle of reciting the dense and confusing contents of a WebMD article he pulled up on his phone, a gesture he thinks is helpful for some reason, when Britta abruptly shoots up out of her chair. The sudden urge to move or eat or do anything besides sit in a stale waiting room twiddling her thumbs overtakes her, so she announces to the group that she’s going to get some coffee, turns on her heel, and saunters off down the hallway.
After rounding a few corners, Britta realizes she doesn’t actually know where she’s going. It takes asking a few nurses for directions before she finally stumbles upon a vending machine that’s seen better days and a coffee machine, thank god, that claims to serve Cappuccinos, Lattes, + More!
Britta fishes through her pockets for change and quickly comes to the conclusion that she doesn’t have any, thereby rendering this whole adventure pointless. Awesome. Groaning, she leans back against the machine and closes her eyes, wishing she could fast forward to another day, another week, another moment. Anything but this.
She’s surprised to see Frankie walking towards her when she opens them again, a weak expression on her face.
“Need a dollar?”
Britta presses her lips into a flat line. “$1.50. How’d you know?”
“Just a hunch,” Frankie remarks, her tone free of judgment. She hands two crisp dollar bills over and waits as Britta punches in her order. “So… I don’t think we started off on the right foot.”
Britta sighs, taking the paper cup and turning to face her. “Yeah, I guess not.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
Britta quickly waves her off. “Don’t be, it wasn’t your fault. We’re all just…” She trails off for a moment, trying to find the words. “Things are weird right now. We’ve lost a lot of friends over the past couple of years and the group hasn’t historically done well with change.” Flashbacks of The-Floor-is-Lava game come to mind, along with about a thousand other fitting examples.
Frankie nods. “Right, Abed was telling me about that older man. Pierce?”
“Eh, Pierce is included, but there have been more significant goodbyes.” Britta shrugs, frowning slightly at the thought of Troy and Shirley.
The pair stands in awkward silence for a moment. “What can I do to bridge that gap?” Frankie asks. Britta stares at her boots instead of responding. “Look, Britta, now that I’m back, I’m here for good, and I really don’t want things to be uncomfortable.”
It’s not like Britta hadn’t assumed this would be the case. She didn’t know Frankie very well, but what she did know made it clear that Frankie wasn’t the kind of person to abandon ship once she’d decided to stay. This was the new normal, but the study group had been forced to adapt a lot over the past couple of years, so they were sort of getting used to it. It had been stupid of Britta to hope this year would stabilize, but she had hoped anyway, and look where that got her; visiting Annie in the hospital because she got crushed by a professor who was too liberal with practical teaching methods.
“You’ve gotta loosen the reins.” The statement has an air of finality to it.
Frankie gives her a look. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s my job, Britta.”
“Frankie, I’ve been at Greendale a lot longer than you have. We thrive on chaos.”
Frankie sighs, opening her mouth to say something and then clamping it shut, thinking better of it.
“We at least have to cut Ladders. Obviously.” She says after a moment, gesturing to the hospital they’re standing in that’s currently beaming Annie with radiation; unfortunately for Britta, this is a valid point.
“Fine… but the magic wand class stays.”
Frankie suppresses a smile and holds out a hand. “Shake on it?”
Britta eyes her carefully, trying to figure out what the catch is; if she’s learned anything at Greendale over the years, it’s that there almost always is one. But Frankie isn’t like the others, that much is clear, and she seems sincere enough, so Britta grabs her hand and shakes.
The two nod at each other and a beat passes before Britta adds, “...What about When To Shake A Baby?”
Frankie sighs, places a hand kindly on Britta’s shoulder, and promptly walks off in the other direction.
Worth a shot.
- - -
Lawnmower Maintenance & Postnatal Care
“What can I do to help you tonight, Britta?”
It’s a loaded question, and one Britta doesn’t quite know how to answer. How does a person recover from finding out their closest friends have been lying to them for 5+ years? What she really wants is to scream and throw a massive immature tantrum and then change her name and move to Alaska or Rhode Island, anywhere random and far away, and then make new friends who won’t know anything about her parents or where they live or how to contact them.
“How many quarters were in this cup holder?” Frankie asks, before Britta has a chance to fully process the first question.
“...The same amount.”
She glances at her suspiciously in the rearview mirror and Britta groans, fishing the coins out of her jean pocket and dumping them back into the center console.
“Thank you.”
She swears there's a hint of a smirk on Frankie’s face as she says it.
“Don’t mention it.” She grumbles back.
“Listen,” Frankie shifts in her seat to face where Britta sits in the back. “Whatever you need, I’m here. Outside of anything illegal,” She adds this condition quickly, cutting Britta off before she can even start. “If you want to go to confront everyone, I’ll come with you. If you want to forget about it and go home we can do that too. If you… need somewhere to stay, I have options for you that don’t include my car.”
Britta smiles weakly back at her. “What do we do if I don’t know what I need?”
Frankie considers this. “I guess… we just keep talking until you figure it out.”
The car is quiet for a minute or so before Britta speaks up again. “I’m sorry I broke into your backseat. And stole your quarters.”
“That’s alright.”
“I would say I’m not normally like this… but that would be a lie.” She sighs, brushing her hair out of her face. It had been a hard week. Losing her apartment was one thing, she could deal with that. It wasn’t the first time and if she’s honest with herself, it won’t be the last. No… the lying and manipulating and scheming from her friends was worse. Way worse.
Britta never talks about her parents, but the group knows her situation. The longer she goes being self-sufficient, the more they try to contact her. The same problems from her childhood extended into her adulthood and time and time again affirmed that cutting them out had been the right decision. Not all of them knew the full extent of it, but the ones who did, or more accurately the one who did, has been lying to her face for a very long time, and the thought of it makes Britta feel sick.
“You never really told me what happened.” Frankie points out, breaking through the silence.
Britta leans back against the leather seat and crosses her arms over her chest. “Annie, Abed, and Jeff have been meeting up with my parents and taking money from them for basically the entire time we’ve been friends… And apparently also giving them information about me behind my back. The parents I went no-contact with very intentionally when I was 18 years old,” She huffs, staring hard at the back of the seat. “And then when I confronted them about it, they doubled down and acted like I was being dramatic for getting upset.”
Frankie pauses before responding, and Britta prepares for the worst. She’s so pragmatic and logical, which goes against pretty much any descriptor Britta’s been assigned in her life; odds are they’ll never truly agree on anything. Britta swallows her pride down and grits her teeth.
“Well, first of all, you’re not being dramatic. Did they know you were no contact with your parents when this started?”
This level of understanding takes Britta by surprise. “I know some of them did.” It comes out bitterly and with a scowl, but she doesn’t elaborate. Frankie doesn’t press the subject.
“If that’s a boundary you set, they should’ve respected that. And even if it wasn’t, they shouldn’t be blaming you for feeling blindsided.”
Britta doesn’t know what to say at first. She hadn’t expected so much support and now that she was getting it, especially from Frankie, who she still barely knew, it was difficult to process.
After a moment, she finally replies, “Why did I have to be born with parents? Couldn’t I have just been one of those self-sufficient babies? You know, fill my own bottle, change my own diaper, raise myself?”
“I don’t think that’s a reference I understand.”
“Oh, it’s not a reference, I’m just spitballing ideas here.”
Frankie chuckles, shaking her head. “Trust me, I get it. I have my own issues with my parents. I mean, my dad is–”
She cuts herself off abruptly, never finishing the thought. Britta’s face scrunches up in curious confusion; it’s obviously only been a couple of weeks, but she’d sort of assumed that she had Frankie pegged. After all, she seems simple enough on the surface, spending so much of her time insisting that she’s boring. But every so often, Frankie will say something that shows Britta a hint of something more lying below the surface and it hooks her. Hard.
“My point is,” Frankie says, recovering quickly. “I would be frustrated if I was in your position.”
Britta nods and picks at her thumb, trying to avoid eye contact; Frankie’s gaze is making her feel unexpectedly exposed.
“But I do stand by what I said before. One of the most unfair lessons we learn in life is that our parents are human beings. I’m not saying you need to forgive anyone, but maybe having the conversation would give you some clarity.”
Britta sighs. “Frankie?”
“What?”
“I think I know what I need.”
“Okay. Say the word.”
- - -
Basic Crisis Room Decorum
The Vatican is almost empty when Frankie walks in, which makes sense considering it’s 2:30 in the morning on a Thursday, so not exactly peak hours. Britta’s shift has an excruciating 45 minutes left, which she’s struggling to keep track of because, when the clock hit midnight, she’d started drinking. Somewhere around her fifth martini, she gave up on trying to do her job well and resigned to the bare minimum; making drinks and coming up with names for hypothetical bands on cocktail napkins. By the time Frankie takes a seat at the bar top, Britta is sloshed.
“So this is why you’ve been ignoring the Dean’s texts.” Frankie observes.
Britta jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “Phone’s in the back. What is up, Francesca! Wouldn’t have expected you to stay up so late, but I like it.” She’s trying hard to stay composed and not slur her words, but she’s not sure it’s working as well as it seems it is in her head.
“Oh, I only ever rest half my brain at a time.” Frankie says nonchalantly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. It takes Britta’s completely awake brain a full minute to process what she means, and even then it still barely makes sense.
“You want something from the bar? I’ll comp it for you!” She lowers her voice, leaning in towards Frankie, like she’s going to tell her a secret. “I’m not supposed to, but I do it for Jeff all the time.”
“I’m fine, but thank you for the offer,” Frankie watches her scribble down another band name (One Girl, One Thousand Drums), before speaking up again. “Britta, we’ve gotta go.”
Britta stares, confused. “You and me? Where?”
“Greendale. Annie called an emergency meeting. When does your shift end?”
Britta glances at the clock on the wall. “We close at 3am… but what the hell, let’s go.”
Before Frankie can protest, Britta shouts across the bar to the 2 random men drinking alone that they’re closing early and kicks them out. There are about five different tasks she’s supposed to do before locking up, but decides she’ll let the asshole who’s opening take care of it instead. They’re in Frankie’s car and on the road by 2:45.
“What do you think the emergency is?” Britta asks, trying to picture what they’re going to be walking into. Frankie shrugs, focused on the road.
“Hopefully something that’s easily resolved… like a conflict with our insurance or an IT issue.”
Britta looks at her like she’s insane. “If Annie called us on campus at 3am for anything less than Chang living in the vents again, I’m going home.”
“I’m sorry,” Frankie does a double take. “Ben Chang was living in the vents? Of the school?!”
“Oh, Frankie… there’s so much you don’t know. Wait until you find out about the year-long gas leak.”
Her face contorts into an expression of disbelief and horror. “It’s amazing Greendale’s never burned to the ground.”
“It almost did. A couple times. Does that count?”
“Maybe I should have taken that drink…” Frankie mutters, causing a drunken, toothy grin to spread across Britta’s face.
Is this bonding? It sure feels like bonding, or at least as close as she’s been able to get to it with Frankie, who is chronically professional and impossible to read; but not the kind of hard-to-read that Britta’s used to, not Jeff Winger hard-to-read. Frankie isn’t guarded because she’s playing games or secretly hates herself. Her confidence isn’t falsified and contrived, and she certainly doesn’t feign indifference when she cares about something. But, despite this, she is guarded and intimidatingly self-assured, and Britta finds it difficult to navigate. Every time they’re alone together there’s an awkwardness, like neither of them are sure of how to exist casually in the other’s presence. She’d figured this would end eventually, that it was just the adjustment period of Frankie being a new addition to the group, but Annie and the others seem to be moving at a faster pace. Britta feels a bit like she’s been left behind in the process.
“I’m sure there’s booze somewhere on campus, I can make you a drink when we get there.” Britta slurs, before remembering who she’s talking to.
“I’m gonna let that one slide… for now.” Frankie says, shooting her a look.
The conversation is thankfully interrupted by Frankie’s phone ringing and she’s quick to answer, putting it on speakerphone for Britta to hear.
“Hey, I’m here, are you on your way or what?” Jeff’s voice crackles over the receiver.
“Hang tight, we're pulling into the parking lot right now.” Frankie replies evenly, turning down an aisle of faculty spots.
“Well, some urgency would be appreciated considering it’s 3am and we all have to be back here in a few hours.”
“Wow, somebody’s cranky. You have to remove your fancy night cream?” Britta mocks with a smirk.
“...Britta?”
“As you live and breathe!” She exclaims, tossing her hands in the air even though he can’t see her.
“Were you guys– I’m confused.”
Frankie jumps in quickly. “Britta wasn’t answering Craig’s texts so I went to The Vatican to pick her up on my way here.”
There’s an awkward beat of nothing and then Jeff finally says, “Fine, whatever, doesn’t matter. Just hurry up, I’d like to be home by 4.”
“Way to dream big, Winger,” Britta slurs. He hangs up. “Jeez, and he thinks I’m a buzzkill…”
Frankie sighs and smiles weakly at her before unbuckling her seatbelt. “Yeah. Right.”
- - -
Queer Studies & Advanced Waxing
“Are you sure that’s what she meant?”
“What else would she mean?” Jeff asks, leaning up against the lockers and watching in amusement as Britta struggles with her own.
“I don’t know, maybe she was just saying she doesn’t want to divulge any personal information about herself, even if that means confirming she’s straight,” Britta says, finally yanking the door open and nearly hitting Jeff in the face with it. “Heterosexual isn’t the default, you know.”
He swerves out of the way and rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to lecture me on sexuality, Britta, I have plenty of experience dabbling. I’m just saying, it’s how the whole conversation went, you weren’t there. I really think she’s gay.”
Britta turns to face him, juggling a couple psych textbooks in her arms. “What… type of gay?”
“What the hell kind of a question is that?” Jeff asks, giving her a look.
“I mean, do you think she’s bisexual? Asexual? A lesbian? It’s a nuanced topic.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Why are you so interested?”
“I’m not!” Britta exclaims defensively, nearly dropping Psych 301 in the process. “I just think you’re getting ahead of yourself by starting a rumor when we don’t even know any details.”
Jeff considers this for a moment, clearly combing through a backlog of memories, before saying. “Chapstick Lesbian.”
Britta furrows her brow at him. “What?”
“That’s my guess. Chapstick Lesbian.”
“Jeff…”
“What? You asked me to guess, so I guessed!”
It feels wrong having this conversation, especially so out in the open. If Frankie wants to keep her sexuality private then they should respect that… And Britta definitely shouldn’t keep thinking about it for the rest of the week and agonizing over the possibilities and details of what was relayed to her through Jeff. That would be crazy! It’s stupid and pointless for Britta to care so much, anyway. In fact, she doesn’t care. So that solves that problem! She doesn’t care and she’s going to stop thinking about it.
“You know, I bet Abed would have an idea, we should ask him.” Jeff adds.
Britta opens her mouth to say something convincingly aloof and brush him off, but different words tumble out before she can stop them. “I think she’s too femme to be classified as a Chapstick Lesbian. It doesn’t fit. And besides, what makes you think she isn’t into men?”
An evil grin spreads across Jeff’s face. “Well, well, well, look who’s suddenly contributing. And she hasn’t hit on me, of course she isn’t into men. You wanna bet?”
“Are you asking me to put money on our friend’s sexuality? And more importantly, what makes you think every woman who’s into men is into you?”
“Obviously, and it’s a theory yet to be disproven,” He smirks. “So, you in? I mean, unless you’re too moral all of a sudden–”
“$300 bucks says you’re wrong,” Britta jumps in, cutting him off. “I’ll send you my guess later today. Let me think about it.”
“You know, we could get the whole committee in on this. Make it a betting pool?”
Britta has a horrible, twisting feeling when he suggests it; the words “impending doom” cycle around in her brain as she presses her lips together, trying to fight the nearly uncontrollable urge to enable Jeff. The morbid curiosity wins, as it usually does, and she nods. “Ah, what the hell, let’s do it.”
This conversation is inevitably what leads Britta to the door of Frankie’s office, mustering up the courage to knock. She’s lost every betting pool the group has ever held; the yearly one about the Dean’s first day of class costume, the one about Annie’s Boobs (the monkey, not the body part), even the one about that smell coming from the East Stairwell. She refuses to lose again. Especially about something she could so easily find out for herself.
It takes Frankie a second to open the door after she knocks, but when she does, it’s clear Britta’s presence comes as a shock.
“Is everything okay?” Frankie asks, an edge of panic in her voice.
“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” She replies quickly, trying not to arouse suspicion.
“I don’t think you’ve ever come to my office unannounced before, so I’m assuming the worst,” She lets her inside. “What can I do for you, Britta?”
“Just dropping in,” Britta says, glancing around the office for a moment before perching on the edge of a chair. “So… pretty crazy about the Dean, huh?
“You mean that he was offered a position on the school board?” Frankie asks, shuffles through some papers.
“Well, yeah, that . And… the gay thing…”
This catches Frankie’s attention. Her head snaps up almost immediately, eyes wide, and Britta makes a very big mental note of the reaction. “Did he tell you about it?”
“Jeff did, after the fact,” She says evenly, trying to stay neutral. “I mean it’s not like we didn’t assume, he’s constantly hitting on Jeff. But a confirmation? Good for him. More people should be gay.”
Frankie processes this for a moment, and then her demeanor shifts slightly. “I agree. And I think if someone wants to come out they should be able to.”
“Exactly, I agree!” Britta exclaims.
“You know, Britta…” She says it carefully, like she doesn’t want to misstep. “If you ever need someone to talk to about anything, I’m here.”
Jackpot. “That’s really nice, Frankie, thank you,” She smiles. “I’ve actually been wondering, how has your adjustment to Greendale been?”
The shift in topic is admittedly clunky and abrupt; Britta’s never exactly been known for being graceful with these things. Frankie hesitates slightly before answering.
“It’s been fine, good even. I just finished unpacking and getting things ready at my new place, I’m caught up with work, it’s all been good.”
It’s the blandest answer Britta could have hoped for and she groans inwardly, already starting to lose steam. Manipulation is Jeff’s forte, not hers. Not to mention, she came here with no plan or course of action, just the blind confidence that she could “figure it out”. So really, she had nothing.
“Why Colorado? You have family living around here?” It’s the only thing she can think to ask to keep the conversation going.
“Actually, yes. I moved to the Riverside area to take care of one of them, but most of my family lives closer to Denver or in Utah.”
Britta exhales in amused disbelief. “God, you’re better than I am. If one of my parents asked me to move states to take care of them I might move further away… I know that’s bad, but in all fairness my family is crazy. Probably really different from your situation.” She adds quickly, not wanting to come off like a total asshole.
Frankie smiles faintly. “It’s my sister, actually. And in all honesty, my family is insane. But I choose to view it as a positive; their insanity gave me space to be the boring one, and now I’m an expert at turning quirks into results, so it was ultimately to my betterment. And Greendale’s.”
“You’re sort of a fixer, aren’t you?” Britta points out.
“That’s the cross I bear.” Frankie chuckles.
“You must love Jeff then,” Britta says, pushing and prodding a little more. “He needs to be fixed more than anyone. And trust me, many women have tried.”
Frankie raises an eyebrow at her. “Do you mean that you—”
Britta cuts her off. “I just mean that if you, a fixer, were going to go for anyone in the study group, Jeff would probably make the most sense. Right?”
Britta watches as the corners of Frankie’s mouth turn up slightly, like she’s putting in a lot of effort to conceal her reaction. “You know, Jeff just isn’t really my type. None of the men here are really my type.”
“Ha, yeah… me neither…” She lies awkwardly, making mental notes like mad.
That night when Britta leaves Frankie’s office, she punches “I-Can-Fix-Her Lesbian” into her phone, emails it to Jeff, and heads off towards the parking lot.
- - -
Law of Robotics & Party Rights
Britta might be a genius.
Convincing Abed to throw a party at 303 under the pretense that it’s part of a short film about throwing a party? That’s, like, advanced level manipulation. And sure, she may be in way over her head, but isn’t that part of the fun? Either way, it doesn’t really matter, because she got her party.
Jeff is predictably in a pissy mood, still claiming that Willy, one of the students attending Greendale through an iPad on wheels, tried to “murder” him. Britta makes a point to avoid him after his first rant of the night, mainly because the mental image of the whole thing makes her laugh every time it pops into her head.
Instead, at the request of Abed, she mingles and ends up flirting with the prisoner who’s propped up on the shelf of Abed’s director’s cut DVDs. It’s going particularly well when Frankie sidles up behind her and places a careful hand on her shoulder.
“Britta, mind if we…?”
Britta excuses herself and follows Frankie into the kitchen. “What’s up, Franks?”
“Well, first of all, great party, second of all, am I correct in assuming you were just… fraternizing with one of the prisoners?”
“Fraternizing?” Britta snorts. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
“Right, well, here’s the thing… it’s not allowed.”
Britta shoots her a look. “Are you serious? What do you mean not allowed?”
“I mean, we have a contract with the correctional facility and there’s a no-fraternization clause.”
“Oh come on, Frankie. You know that just makes me want to do it more!”
Frankie pinches the bridge of her nose. “Britta, what is your plan here?”
“What do you mean?” She asks, frowning.
“I mean, what, are you going to get drunk and make out with the screen?” Her tone is exasperated and incredulous, and it makes Britta defensive.
“I don’t know! Why do you care?”
“It’s my job to make sure we don’t violate our contract so Greendale can keep the three hundred grand we’ve been promised for green-lighting the program!” Frankie exclaims.
Britta groans. “Frankie, there’s no fun in that. Rules are made to be broken.”
“I’m not the right target audience for that sentiment, Britta.”
“Come on, don’t you ever get the urge to do something you’re not supposed to do? It’s a thousand times better than doing what you’re supposed to do.”
Frankie sighs, shaking her head. “You’re on thin ice.” She points at her, clearly meaning for it to come off stern, but instead it feels uncharacteristically playful.
“See, your words strike fear but your tone… not so much,” Britta remarks, grinning at her. Frankie chuckles slightly in concession and turns towards the living room, but an idea sparks in Britta’s mind before she can disappear into the crowd. “Hey, Franks, you know how you said none of the Greendale guys are your type? What about the prisoners?”
Frankie laughs, actually fully laughs, at this question before answering. “Still no, Britta.”
“Oh come on, not even the guy by the bookshelf? He’s the hottest one!”
“Nope, not even him,” She raises an eyebrow before adding, “He kinda looks like Jeff, though.”
Britta watches as she walks away, her face burning bright red.
- - -
Basic Email Security
“A betting pool?!”
It’s the first thing that comes out of Frankie’s mouth when she opens the door to Britta standing on the steps of her townhouse, the coffee cups in her hands meant to serve as a peace offering. She quickly realizes coffee isn’t going to hack it.
“I know, I know, I’m so sorry Frankie.” She winces slightly as she says it.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Britta. I mean, seriously, I expect things like this from Jeff and Chang but you?”
“Does it change anything if I tell you it was Jeff’s idea?”
Frankie scoffs, leaning against the door frame. “No. No it doesn’t.”
“Seriously, Frankie, please just let me come in and I can explain."
She eyes Britta carefully, a look of aggressive uncertainty painted across her face, before grabbing one of the coffees out of her hands and stepping aside so she can enter.
It’s the first time Britta’s ever been to Frankie’s house, and she curses herself that it’s under such shitty circumstances. The living room is exactly what she would’ve expected; modest but nice furniture, lots and lots of books, a gallery wall where a TV should be. It’s a far cry from Britta’s living situation, which is currently a pull out couch and boxes of things stacked up against the wall in Annie and Abed’s apartment. It’s even a far cry from Britta’s old studio apartment, which mainly consisted of furniture she’d foraged for on the street and faded Pixies posters with no frames.
Now that she’s inside she’s not really sure what to do next. The truth is she doesn’t really have a plan or excuses to make, the only things up her sleeve is a copious amount of “I’m sorry’s” and a lifetime of experience begging for forgiveness.
“Is it okay if I…” Britta gestures to the couch. Frankie sighs, nodding, and sits in a chair that’s off to the side. “So… you read the emails, huh?”
Frankie shoots her a look that could give daggers a run for their money. “Yeah, I think that’s been established.”
“Did you see Jeff’s letters to astronauts? So embarrassing, right?” She says, trying desperately to lighten the mood. Frankie just stares back at her.
“Why are you here, Britta.” It comes out like a statement, not a question.
Britta sighs, slumping slightly into the sofa. “I feel like garbage. And the thought of waiting until tomorrow to apologize made me want to throw up. So I got in the car and– I don’t know. Did I mention I feel like garbage?”
Frankie processes this for a moment before responding. “Maybe next time, feel like garbage before you do it and then don’t do it.”
Ouch. Britta sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “That’s fair. I deserve that.”
“I mean, seriously, I thought we had a pretty productive conversation about sexuality in my office a few weeks ago and–” She cuts herself off with a realization. “Oh my god, was that about the betting pool?”
Britta buries her face in her hands and groans. “Frankie, I am so so sorry.”
Frankie stares at her, eyes wide with hurt. “This is what I get for talking about my personal affairs with workplace acquaintances.”
“Oh, come on, I think we rank a little higher on the friendship meter than ‘workplace acquaintances’!” Britta exclaims, suddenly feeling unjustifiably indignant.
“You’re really not in a position to argue with me, Britta.”
“Well– what about you! You emailed Elroy and asked him to ‘distract me’ for a couple of hours the day that the Dean made his school board announcement to the press because you thought I would get too ‘riled up on performative activism’ and cause a scene on campus.” Britta huffs, crossing her arms.
Frankie rolls her eyes. “Yes, I did, and I stand by it. You’re trigger happy with your protests, Britta. It’s disruptive to school events.”
“You wanna go there? Fine! Maybe you’re homophobic and that’s why you’re upset about the betting pool, because you’re mad that we think you’re gay!”
Britta’s never seen a look of rage so withering. “My sexuality is of ZERO concern to my job or to anyone at Greendale, so I’m really not sure why it keeps coming up! And I think you know me better than to think I’m homophobic, Britta. I mean, seriously, that’s ridiculous, even coming from you.”
Britta’s face burns bright red and a thick, heavy silence coats the pair of them. They sit there, refusing to look at each other, for a full minute before she finally breaks. “I’m sorry. That was out of line and I didn’t even believe what I was saying, I just got upset.”
Frankie purses her lips and looks over at her. “It’s okay.”
“Really??”
“No. But I appreciate the apology.”
A beat passes before Britta glances up and says, “Did you see the 3D models?”
Frankie’s demeanor shifts at this question. “The ones Elroy’s making?”
“Yes! What the hell is up with that!”
“He’s going to have to come up with a really good excuse to justify it to us, I’ll say that much.” Frankie says, cracking a slight smirk.
“We should’ve known he was going to do something weird when he asked for full body shots of you, me, and Annie,” Britta snorts. “I’ve never not regretted sending photos to a man, clothed or otherwise.”
Frankie raises an eyebrow. “Well, thank god these weren’t in the otherwise category, or they would have leaked too.”
“Oh my god, you’re right… I should check on some things…” Britta says, an air of nervous uncertainty to her voice.
“Britta, tell me you haven’t been sending photos of yourself to men over your school account.”
Britta scrolls through her phone, her face scrunching up slightly. “Not that I remember, but you never know,” She pauses before looking up, a faint twinkle in her eye. “And I send photos to women too. Don’t put me in a box, Francesca."
If this admission catches Frankie off-guard, she does a good job of hiding it. It’s actually a little disappointing, Britta thinks, that it doesn’t garner more of a reaction. She knows this is stupid of her because, after all, it doesn’t really matter if Frankie knows she’s not straight. In fact, Frankie probably already knew, especially if she’s gay herself (which Britta secretly still believes she is). Regardless, she can’t shake the dissatisfaction.
Frankie scrolls through her own phone, pausing on an email and then looking up. “Annie is going to lose it when she finds out you guys tested her blood for amphetamines.”
Britta groans, but inwardly she’s just glad they’re moving into lighthearted conversation. “Hey, she gave it to us, that sort of counts as consent.” She keeps scrolling and then something causes her to curse loudly.
“What? What’s wrong?"
“Jeff and Chang have a daily email chain ranking me and Annie 1 and 2!” She exclaims, suddenly filled with the urge to go on a destructive rampage.
Frankie shakes her head in disbelief. “Men are disgusting.”
“You’re telling me… God, I’m going to kill him.” She mutters under her breath. Frankie examines her for a moment before chiming in again.
“It looks like Jeff only replied once. February 7th, 2013.”
Britta finds the email and immediately hates herself all over again, because something about it is flattering and that in itself goes against everything she has ever believed in.
Frankie breaks through her train of thought. “It’s still bad, Britta.”
Britta nods profusely in agreement. “Oh definitely. Don’t worry, tomorrow he’s dead.”
It’s definitely an exaggeration, mainly because Britta’s come to expect this kind of stupid crap from the study group, especially Jeff. Hell, he’s probably already seen her emails to her life coach about him, and it’s not like she was ranking his attractiveness against Troy or something, but she definitely divulged some personal information that was told to her in confidence.
“Hey, I don’t mean to bring it up again if you don’t want to talk about it, but I really am sorry, Franks.”
Frankie considers this apology for a moment before responding. “Thank you.”
“Do you… hate me?” Britta asks, bracing herself for the worst. Instead, Frankie gives her a look of sympathy and a weak smile.
“I don’t hate you, Britta. I might hate Jeff a little bit, but not you,” Britta tries to keep her relief concealed. “Just… give me a couple of days, okay?”
“Okay. I can do that.”
Frankie pauses and then adds, “So, who won the betting pool?”
“No one yet. Jury’s still out.” Britta replies, eyeing her carefully.
“Huh. Okay.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I kind of thought you’d have figured it out by now.” She says, gesturing to Britta.
“Me? Why me?”
Frankie shrugs. “No reason."