Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A perfect way to start the day, Britta thinks, watching Josephine lick daintily at the splatter of oatmeal on her kitchen floor. That’s the slogan on the canister of store-brand oats she just emptied, cooked, and fumbled onto the linoleum. Staring at it, she can’t help but feel like it’s mocking her: A perfect way to start the day.

Britta plucks Josephine off the pile of would-be breakfast, ignoring her plaintive mews, and sets her on the kitchen counter so she can clean up the mess. She looks into her friendliest cat’s big green eyes for a moment, shrugs, and reverses her decision – if Josie wants to do most of the cleanup, well, food is food, and the organic kibble isn’t cheap. Britta had accepted being a few minutes late in exchange for having breakfast, and now she’s going to be even later and with nothing in her stomach. She picks a slice of banana off the top of the oatmeal pile and pops it in her mouth. Still good.

She pretends there are still some of those bland seed-and-date bars in her desk at work, even though she knows she ate the last one yesterday. Faking something to look forward to, that’s Britta’s little trick. Then again, winter break’s coming up. That’s tangible. A whole 16 days to sleep in, open mail, sit in the bathtub. It doesn’t quite inspire, for some reason. It’s been a while since she went on a trip, but that sounds like a hassle. Who would watch the cats? They need her, after all.

Helping middle-school kids deal with the pressures of math class, divorcing parents, and desperate crushes on boys named Aiden or Brayden isn’t exactly what she had in mind when she decided to pursue psychology, but she’s been at it for over a year now and she’s been surprised by how much she likes it. A lot of the kids are passionate and candid in a way Britta relates to, and while she doesn’t get to bust out much of the head-shrinky terminology she studied, it feels amazing when she’s able to actually help one of them.

The kids with more serious problems, of course, get sent to someone with more than an undergrad degree from Greendale. Britta’s job counts as work hours towards a certification, but she knows eventually she’ll go back and get a master’s degree or something. Probably. Maybe. For now, she’s comfortable with her workload. Most of the time, all it takes is talking, and she’s gotten pretty good at helping people talk. After all, she practices on her friends all the time, which lately seems to be paying off.

When Annie left Greendale for her summer internship, she and Britta were friends and roommates who had been through a lot together — sisters, really — but without much to discuss one-on-one. Annie’s internship, of course, evolved into a series of DC-area opportunities that had kept her in the nation’s capital for two and a half years now, and for much of that time they’d kept in touch mostly through group text messages and the occasional check-in. Since this past summer, though, Britta was pleased to discover that she and Annie had, casually and without fanfare, become the kinds of friends who talk for long stretches on a regular basis.

Having finished up her degree with three semesters at a “real” college in DC, Annie has spent the last year as a lab assistant on some FBI project that she can’t talk much about and that Britta doesn’t pretend to want to understand. That ended this month, and her stress about what to do next had been slowly taking up more and more of their conversations. The fact that Annie actually confides in her and wants her perspective is both delightful and confounding. And now Britta, who has always hated talking on the phone for more than thirty seconds, actually looks forward to laying on the couch and blabbing for long stretches with a machine to her face.

Maybe part of it is that Britta spends a lot more time alone than she used to. She lives by herself now (well, herself and three cats), and no longer works at a bar or attends a decrepit but colorful community college. Mostly if she socializes, it’s either a date (universally terrible), or a loose hangout with what’s left of her old Greendale pals (less and less of that as time goes on), or she’s kicking it with Jeff.

The summer after Abed and Annie took off, Jeff mostly held it together, but when Annie decided to stay in DC, Jeff kind of fell off the radar. Or at least as far off the radar as a teacher can get while keeping a job, which at Greendale is farther than you might think. From what she did see, and gathered after the fact, he spent a lot of that fall alternating between drunken despair and nearly manic efforts to “get his life together.” Thankfully, by the end of the year, these two modes had coalesced somewhere in a medium that, if not happy, per se, was more or less a stable version of the guy. He saw a therapist for a while, though he dropped that when Greendale messed up his health insurance for a few months, and he never picked it back up. This past summer, it looked like he was in danger of some serious backsliding, but he actually turned to Britta for help (a major personal coup, thank you very much), and managed to pull himself together again.

Jeff’s drinking is still a little worrisome, but much less so. It’s mostly confined to social engagements that already involve alcohol, at least as far as Britta can tell. She’s watched the same lonely, dusty bottle of scotch on top of his fridge slowly dwindle over a period of months, and Frankie’s promised to rat him out if he’s drinking on campus again. It’s possible that part of why he hangs out with Britta at the Vatican every week or so is to satisfy a loophole he’s made for himself in his own self-imposed rule, but she enjoys the company, and he usually doesn’t have any more than she does, so she refrains from judging him too often. About that, anyway.

He still makes a game of batting away Britta’s inquiries into his life, but he usually gives her something to work with, and he doesn’t needle her as harshly as he used to. Sure, they do their little routine: obvious, self-aggrandizing bullshit from Jeff, juvenile insults and finger-jabs from Britta, smug face, eye roll, rinse and repeat. There isn’t any venom in it now, it’s just how they’ve learned to talk to each other, a careful maneuvering that makes room for their respective frailties. It’s worked for a long time.

***

The Vatican has gotten pretty bourgeois over the last year or so, which is just another sign that her not-quite-adult, occasionally-homeless, kaleidoscopically-weird Greendale years are over. There are better reminders of that time than sticky tabletops and dollar domestics, and she can be thankful that Tummy Tuesdays are just an unfortunate memory. It’s just that it isn’t “Britta’s bar” anymore, even if that’s where she usually meets up with her friends.

“Enough about my thriving career,” she preens, slightly over the line into sarcastic. “How ‘bout you, Professor? Frankie says you’re totally crushing it this year.”

“She said ‘totally crushing it’? Were you sharing a bong?”

“No, dumbass. She said ‘Jeff is putting the appropriate amount of effort into his job. He’s improved considerably since I first made his acquaintance,’ or something like that.” She sits up straight and gently punctuates her words with one hand, in a perfect imitation of Frankie.

“Huh. Is that supposed to be Frankie? Keep workshopping it.” He squints, once again refusing to acknowledge Britta’s skills. “I decided I’m only teaching two classes next semester, gonna do some consulting for an old colleague’s firm in Denver. Actual consulting, not covering up Alan Conner’s messes like they had me do at Hamish. Who knows? In a few years I might actually be doing something that’s not a waste of everyone’s time. So if I’m ‘totally crushing it’ it’s probably because that takes a little steam out of the stuck-here-forever valve.”

“Steam? Valves? Could somebody tell Jeff what an analogy is? Boom!” She grins at her own callback, and, after a few seconds, Jeff half-heartedly returns her high-five.

He’s doing that thing where he hides self-deprecation inside of bragging, and then hides actually being proud of himself inside the self-deprecation. It’s a sort of distant cousin to the complisult, but Britta doesn’t have a name for it, because she doesn’t ever point it out. It’s one of the most legible ways Jeff communicates what he really cares about and wants, and explaining that to Jeff would just make him less likely to do it. What Jeff pretends he doesn’t know is that he could easily quit teaching, or at least quit teaching at Greendale, if he actually wanted to. Call it Stockholm syndrome, or fear of flying, or (horror of horrors) genuine affection for the place, but on some level he likes it there.

“That’s awesome, dude. Congrats.” She slaps him on the arm. “Man, everyone’s really getting their shit together lately. Sometimes it’s kind of cool getting old.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jeff says, but he’s fighting a little smile. Then his eyebrows tighten, and he looks at his drink. “Hey, you’re in touch with Annie, right?”

“Yeah, actually! We’re phone buddies now.”

Jeff seems to think about this, and nods. “How’s she doing?”

Britta frowns. “Why don’t you ask her?”

He gives a typical repressed-man grunt in response.

“Are you not talking again?” she offers, warily.

He doesn’t meet her eye. “Not for a while now.”

This is both a surprise and totally predictable. Neither of them had really mentioned the other lately, but she didn’t think much of it. Jeff only tends to bring up Annie when he’s drunk, and she hasn’t seen him all that drunk since the night he threw up outside his apartment, a few weeks before the semester started. Annie, on the other hand, only brings up Jeff when she’s worried about him, probably because she still thinks it’s a point of awkwardness between her and Britta. This is a little confusing to Britta, because Jeff is so far outside the realm of possible sexual partners by now that she often forgets they used to do that. Why that still weighs on Annie, the woman whose name Jeff burbles out when he’s had too much scotch, is a mystery.

She knows the two of them were talking a lot earlier this year. She had even harbored a suspicion that the two of them had some kind of secret long-distance romance going on last year, but Jeff denied it, and it was impossible to read into anything because their relationship has always been so weird and undefined. Besides, he would never go in for dating without regular sex, even if he did have a thing for Annie. Personal growth or not, it just doesn’t fit his profile.

On the other hand, she knows they barely spoke at all for ages after Annie decided to stay in DC. There were a few months there where Britta was finally buckling down on school, and Jeff was off losing his mind somewhere, and Annie was all wrapped up in her new life. For a while, Britta was worried that this was just how things were now, that with everyone spread out, they basically weren’t friends anymore. It took a year or two for that to heal, and there’s still a lot of room for improvement. A falling-out between the two people from the group she talks to most frequently…well, it’s a bad sign.

This is the kind of situation that would benefit from a therapist. “Okay, we will be following up on that–”

“No,” he interrupts, voice flat.

“ –But she’s doing great, I think. I mean, she finished up that research assistant thingy, so she’ll probably be doing, like, skeleton analysis or whatever on the top floor of the FBI Headquarters by this time next year. That’s probably the best floor, right? Plus, you know. She’s…”

“Engaged.”

“Hey, he says it out loud! See, that’s a good sign. Is Sean the reason you’re not talking to Annie? Pretty immature. The whole jealousy thing is very old-Jeff.”

For the record, Britta thinks it’s insane that Annie is getting married. Who the hell is Sean, anyway? Annie never intimated that it was all that serious of a relationship until he proposed — on their first anniversary, which is way too early. When Britta gently and sensitively inquired as to what the hell Annie was thinking, Annie got defensive and a little pouty, so she decided to just back off and let the girl figure it out. Annie’s an incredibly smart person, if a little bit delusional about men, and if the whole thing crashes and burns, well, Britta will try her best not to feel superior about it. In any case, she’s not going to give Jeff the satisfaction of knowing she isn’t crazy about Annie’s engagement either.

“That’s not why. And I’m not jealous.” Jeff denies it, knowing perfectly well that Britta knows he’s lying. It’s more like a ritual incantation than an actual argument.

He stands up from the table. “I’ll get the next round. Then we are talking about literally anything else.” Okay, so kind of a whiff on the therapy. Britta downs her beverage, narrows her eyes, and starts planning her strategy.

Chapter Text

The morning after her night out with Jeff, she calls Annie.

“You’re done with your big research job, huh? Did you decide on your next move? Helping the FBI track down the…Full Moon Strangler, something like that?”

“Britta, that’s not what I…” She sighs. “I don’t think I want to go any further with the FBI.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Mmmm, lots of things, really. I have a criminal record, and a documented drug problem, which would constrain my career in certain respects if I ended up there. And I loved the lab experience, but the politics have gotten...uglier than you'd even guess. The executive branch is not a pleasant place to be right now. I can’t really stand by it.” She clears her throat, and in a confident voice, says, “I’ve decided I’m going to grad school.”

“Nice! Personally, I think it’s a good move. You love school! Besides — and I didn’t want to say anything until now — this way you won’t be working for the Man.” Britta has tried her best to hide a deeply-held distrust of intelligence agencies under her respect for her friend’s dreams, but it remains a struggle. This news is a relief, in that regard.

Annie laughs affectionately under her breath. “You’ve said it many times, actually. But your support is noted.”

“I’m sure wherever you end up, you’ll be awesome.”

“Well, thank you,” she says, and Britta can hear a little smile in her voice. “What’s new with you? How’s your job? How’s Colorado?”

They gab for a while about Britta’s work, and her disastrous dating experiences, and Chomsky’s medical needs, and whatever’s up with Leonard these days. On one recent occasion, Annie went on and on about wedding ideas, an experience Britta does not want to repeat. This time, Annie doesn’t seem all that eager to talk about her own life at all, so Britta doesn’t push it. But eventually there’s a lull, and, floundering for something to say, she blurts out: “I saw Jeff last night. He asked about you.”

“Oh yeah?” If this came out any squeakier, Britta thinks, it would only be audible to dogs. “What did you say?”

“Basically nothing. I told him he should ask you.”

“Then what did he say?”

“That you aren’t really talking, which I can tell from your reaction is true. Geez, maybe I should have recorded it. Hey, remember how you used to record Chang’s Spanish classes? And then, you got him, uh…fired, and then he…” Britta coughs. It’s always a minefield bringing up Greendale memories, doubly so when Chang is involved. “So. Jeff. What’s up with that?”

Annie chuckles nervously. “Yeah, we had a fight. It’s a whole thing. How is he?”

“He’s– I think he’s good. It’s kinda hard to tell with him, obviously, but he seems better than he has since, well, before summer, I guess.”

“Oh. Good.”

“He’s gonna take a couple less classes next semester, and consult for some law firm in Denver.”

“That’s great.”

“He was seeing someone for like a month.” Britta waits, curious if Annie will react, but there’s just silence. “He was the one who ended it, or he says he was, which is probably true. Clara. I never met her, but Chang did. Or he says he did, which I realize now is probably not true. Wow, we’re talking about Chang a lot.”

“Clara? That’s…huh. Clara. Clara. Clara. Clara. You know when you say a word a bunch of times and it starts to sound funny? Clara.”

Britta, alone in her apartment, scrunches up her face. It’s just as well Annie can’t see it. “When’s the last time you talked to him?”

“Oh, wow. Um, ages. A while.”

“Have you talked to him since you got engaged?”

“No.”

“What did he do?” This comes out a little more aggressive than she meant it to, but she’s not surprised to feel a twinge of anger at Jeff. He’s supposed to be done with sabotaging the important relationships in his life. They talked about this!

“He-- well, yeah. No. It wasn’t about that, not really. I mean, it was before Sean proposed. We were arguing about old stuff.”

“And by old stuff, you mean…?”

Annie sighs. “Oh, our whole, you know, our whole Greendale thing, him and me.” Britta kind of knows what she means, but Annie says it as if it explains everything. “He basically said he didn’t want to be my friend if I was with anyone else.”

“Dick.”

“Right? Honestly! And it just went downhill from there. Then I told Sean why I was so upset, and it turned into a whole thing with him, so I avoided it, and I didn’t want to be the first one to apologize. He never called, and here we are. You know how that goes.” There’s a falseness there, a casual tone that’s trying and failing to paper over some serious pain.

“Yeah,” says Britta, because she does know how that goes. Not the (barf) forthcoming nuptials, or the pining-lost-love-back-home stuff – that’s completely unrelatable – but the way you grow out of touch with people if you aren’t careful. Britta recalls Annie asking about Jeff back in August, and Britta mentioning how miserable he seemed. Now she wonders if that was the wrong thing to tell her. “He does seem like he’s really doing well now. I promise.”

“Okay. I guess that’s good,” Annie says, but there’s something odd in her voice. “I’m glad he was able to get over…Clara.” She clears her throat. “Listen, thanks for calling, but I have to go. My pipes froze last night and someone’s coming over to deal with it.”

“Ugh, that happened at my old place a few times. Good luck.”

“Love you, Britta. Call me any time.”

***

For all the effort they’ve put into their relationship of late, and all the years they’ve known each other, there’s still an awkwardness between Britta and Annie, especially over the phone. It’s like they’re such different people that they lack a common rhythm. It used to make Britta sad, or irritated, or something, but these days she’s thankful they’re able to have such a strong connection despite it. She’s put a lot of work into keeping up old friendships, now that everyone’s off doing their own things.

She talks to Troy kind of a lot, and if Abed’s around Troy will put him on the phone for a few minutes, and they both come to Greendale a few times a year – sometimes together, sometimes not – plus she gets a lot of Abed from his weird email newsletter. It’s not clear to Britta if Troy and Abed, who live together, are romantically involved with each other, or with anyone else, separately or in some kind of…well, there’s no other word but polycule, unfortunately. She should probably ask, but at this point it feels odd to admit she doesn’t know.

Shirley’s been talking about moving back. She visits regularly when the kids are in Greendale with Andre, and she sends Christmas cards, and calls on Britta’s birthday or when something big happens. Last year Shirley called Britta on her own birthday, before Britta even got the chance to remember. One of those weaponized-guilt power plays that Britta mostly finds admirable at this point.

Elroy, to no surprise, barely keeps in touch, but he occasionally texts the group. These are almost always links to his little-watched YouTube videos about obsolete electronics he’s modifying, and that feels like mostly enough.

She’s proud of herself for getting over, or even coming to love, the things about her old friends that used to drive her insane. Even Frankie’s intimidating poise. Even Annie’s neurotic need to know everything, and to know how much of everything everybody else knows. Even Jeff’s push-and-pull desire to be both understood and completely inscrutable. Even the Dean’s clingy desperation. Even, to a certain extent, Chang.

And she’s glad that, as far as she knows, none of them use her name to mean anything shitty anymore.

***

It’s two days later, at work, when she realizes that Annie is hiding something.

The first kid she sees is stressed about his older brother, who is apparently more popular and a better student than him, going to college and leaving him to be the one his parents focus on all the time. Britta talks to him about pressure, about parental love, about expectations – and she asks a lot of questions, letting the kid work through as much of it himself as possible. She does this even though Britta basically went through the exact same thing and could really go on and on about George and Deb basically worshiping her brother Keith. But her job is to listen, and advise – she saves the commiseration for when she’s off the clock.

Middle school is a good age bracket where the stresses are almost recognizably adult, but the students still perceive Britta as something of an authority figure (Ms Perry, unbelievably) and feel compelled to actually participate. Not that Britta tries to convey more authority than “I’m good at this, and I’m here for you.” She’s not, like, a fascist. She’s cool.

The other appointment doesn’t go as well, but it’s not a total loss, and one out of two ain’t bad. Now she has an hour and a half for drop-in hours, which usually translates to free time. She buys two bags of chips from the vending machine and eats them thoughtlessly while staring out her office window. A few trees, employee parking, and the cafeteria loading zone. Most of the year it’s kind of a dull view, but right now Greendale’s suffering a freak cold snap. There’s fresh snow covering the ground, and the uglier details out there are smudged away in a sea of white. Of course, there’s also the alluring custodian with tattoos and big hair who takes her cigarette break around now.

After she spent New Year's Eve lamenting the breadth and depth of her dry spell, Britta resolved to go on at least ten dates in 2017. She went on the tenth a month ago. All of them were with men.

Maybe it seems odd that Britta, of all people, denied in herself an attraction to women for so long. Her parents, for all their countless faults, were not at all conservative about sexuality, and she wasn’t raised in a religious or political environment hostile to gay identity — at least, not more so than the ambient cruelty of this rotten country. She ran around with plenty of queer women when she was defacing billboards and chaining herself to biomedical research facilities in her 20s. Hell, she lived in New York.

The truth is that she has had to unlearn a lot of negative impulses about herself: that she deserves to be treated badly, that she doesn’t know what she wants, that her role in other people’s lives is meant to be caustic and temporary. The notion that queer identity was, in certain of her formative social circles, considered a mark of credibility, probably made things worse. She knows that sounds twisted, but if it had been something to feel more defiant about, she might have recognized it in herself sooner.

Instead, as with anything else regarding her own sexuality – including, notably, the right to be respected by the men she sleeps with – it was something she felt she didn’t deserve. Finally finishing school, accepting love from her friends, finding a calling that actually helps people, even her doomed but oddly affirming relationship with Troy: all of these things have spurred her to mold a sense of self out of the raw, messed-up clay of her life.

She’s not going to make a move on the hot janitor. She’s banged plenty of people from work over the years, but this job is important, and she’s a different Britta now than she was then. She may still be host to a little demon that tells her to tear her own life to shreds, but she prefers to divert that impulse into things like shoplifting fancy cheese (stealing doesn’t count as supporting the dairy industry, and cheese is hard to give up) and tagging revolutionary slogans in public bathroom stalls. Best to leave work out of it. Enjoying the view of this solitary woman in the parking lot, though, that’s allowed. Blue jumpsuit stark against white landscape. If Britta’s really lucky, she might get to watch her work a snow shovel later. God, she needs to get laid.

Snow. Cold. Jumpsuit. Plumber. Annie. Britta’s eyes go wide, and she drops her chip, frantically wiping her greasy hands on her jeans. She leans over her computer and hastily types in “weathr wasihntgon dc.” She slaps herself on the forehead. “Duh-doy,” she whispers.

Chapter Text

Britta hasn’t been on the Greendale campus since September, when she snuck into one of Jeff’s lectures to check up on him. He'd seemed to have pulled out of his summer funk, but he's adept at hiding his feelings, and she didn’t have much going on, and, really, wasn’t it her responsibility as a friend? Unfortunately, it turns out that Jeff’s class was pretty boring, and then he confronted her that night about “creeping around the back of the classroom in a wig.” He wasn’t all that mad, just weirded out, and they ended up drinking a bottle of wine on Britta’s fire escape and reminiscing. This was helpful to Britta, who had begun to suspect that the time she dressed up like a goth clown to rescue the Dean had been a peyote vision instead of a real memory.

The campus looks about the same – not the same as it was when Britta started going to Greendale, but about the same as it was when she graduated. There are still plenty of weirdos hanging around, and it’s not like the chaos can be entirely contained, but gone are the days of apocalyptic school-wide battles royale. The pool is free of leeches, the vents appear to be uninhabited, and it’s rare to even see a trash can on its side or a bathroom door missing. Some say that in dark corners, down long-forgotten hallways, where old men crouch to gamble and tell stories in secret, there are still splashes of paint from wars long–

“Britta! What a pleasant surprise.” Frankie smiles as she ushers Britta into her office. She’s wearing an outfit that could probably be called “stern,” but it’s definitely working. The words Mommy’s home echo in Britta's brain. She carefully avoids considering the implications, which, given her degree in psychology, is no easy feat.

“Hey, Frankie. Do you have a moment?”

“Actually, yes, though not much more than that. What brings you in? It's been a while.” A flicker of hurt passes across Frankie’s face. It has been two months since Britta saw Frankie last, at the Dean’s birthday. They’d all gone out to a very Craig Pelton evening, which is to say, drag night at a hibachi grill place. Chang immediately burned his forehead and left, and Jeff called it a night after some melted wig ended up in his beef. That left Craig, who went from ebullient to weepy to fast asleep over the course of an hour, and Frankie and Britta, who drank sake at Frankie’s slow pace and caught up for a while. Conversation flowed, and the bond they’d formed back when Frankie was helping Britta finish school seemed to transfer easily to the world outside of Greendale. Amongst all the chaos of the dinner – all the chaos of her life, really – it was an surprisingly comfortable oasis.

I’m a problem solver. Frankie has said it so many times in the few years since her arrival at Greendale that it’s practically a catchphrase. Sure, it’s no Pop pop! in terms of raw crowd appeal, but to Britta it’s an intriguing proposition. She likes to solve problems too, but, even now, her problem-solving begins to falter at the border of her own life. It occurs to her that she might like the feeling of this relentless task-orientation blasted at her naked body like a firehose. This image arrives suddenly, and without warning. Britta swallows a little too loudly.

“Yeah,” she says, sheepish. “I’ve been really busy!”

Frankie nods. “How are things at Riverside? When we last spoke you had some concerns about your position.”

“Oh! I think I’m getting the hang of it. Thanks! For asking, I mean. Not so nervous now. About work, that is. Uh, how are you?”

Frankie looks at her like she’s trying to solve a math problem. “I’m well. As I said, I am a little bit busy, but is there something…?”

Britta takes the hint. “Totally. Um, it’s Annie. You two are pretty close, right?”

This seems to please Frankie, something that Britta didn’t realize she wanted to do until now. People-pleasing isn’t something that comes naturally to her. “Our relationship has largely consisted of professional guidance of late, but we do make time for some personal conversation. I understand she recently completed a year-long contribution to a very prestigious research project. This is, for me, something of a triumph. For her, too, of course,” she quickly adds. “Her moreso, I should say.”

“Yeah…well, I talked to her a couple days ago on the phone, and she said something kind of weird. I couldn’t figure out what was bothering me about it until yesterday, but when she got off the phone, she mentioned her pipes freezing. I checked, and it hasn’t been that cold in DC lately. So…”

Frankie raises her eyebrows. “I see. That is curious. I suppose it’s possible she was lying to you in order to discreetly end your conversation.”

Britta can’t help the wounded look on her face. She hadn’t considered that. “Well, I hope not,” she mumbles.

“I’m sure that wasn’t it!” Frankie looks a little flustered, like she regrets even bringing up that idea. “There must be some logical explanation. In any case, I think it’s best if we don’t interfere with Annie at the moment. She’s certainly capable of handling her own life. More than most. And, unfortunately, it can't really be a high priority for me today.” She frowns, looking at her computer. “The semester is ending soon, and there are a number of matters that demand my attention. Today, I need to oversee the return of a large quantity of decorations that the Dean has purchased for a dance whose theme had to be changed in order to avoid offending certain ethnic groups. Also, there are more conventional tasks: exams to oversee, order forms for classroom materials, things of that nature.”

“Right, sorry. You do actual job stuff here. And Annie isn’t a student. And neither am I. My bad.” For a second, Britta forgot that they aren’t all members of a group whose business, personal or otherwise, is inextricably tangled together in one big blob.

Frankie shakes her head. “No, no, Britta, I appreciate you coming to me about this. Ms Edison is an alumna whose career I am personally and professionally invested in. She – Annie, I mean – is also important to me as a person. Feel free to come by anytime if you have any more information, but she – Annie, that is — she’s, well, I know she thinks the world of you.”

Frankie furrows her brow and worries her thumb into one of her fingers. Britta stares at the thumb, feeling what? Envy? “If you like,” Frankie says carefully, “I could reach out to her. But if Annie is hiding something, I’m confident that she has a good reason.”

Britta nods, determined. “I think we should tread lightly. I can handle that.” Once again, Frankie seems pleased by Britta’s answer, and, once again, Britta gets a rush of satisfaction.

“I think that would be best,” Frankie says. “I truly am sorry that I have a lot of work to do, and don’t have more time for catching up. It’s been a pleasure seeing you, Britta. I do hope you’ll be back soon.” She seems genuinely sorry to be sending her out, and it occurs to Britta that Frankie might actually be lonely.

“Good seeing you, Frankie,” Britta says. Then she thinks about the way Frankie said the word pleasure. When she’s out in the parking lot, she catches herself trying the word out on her lips.

***

“Hey, Annie, weird question.” It’s only been a couple days since their last phone call, which is more frequent than usual, but Annie picked up on the first ring and sounds eager to talk.

“Shoot.”

“Stop me if it’s too weird, but…you and Jeff used to do all kinds of, like, investigations together, right?”

Annie sighs wistfully. “Yeah.”

“Did you feel like that…kind of…turned up the heat with you guys? Like, got you–”

“I know what you mean,” she says, almost but not quite snapping. “Obviously it didn’t really go anywhere, because, you know, Jeff. But sure. Honestly, though, I’m going to stop you because it is a little 'too weird,' in the sense that I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Totally. Sorry. I’m done.”

“Why, Britta?” Annie teases. Britta’s love life, tattered as it may be, is endlessly fascinating to Annie these days, which she isn’t sure how to feel about. “Have you been playing detective with a special someone? Who’s the lucky guy?”

“No, just curious. It’s nothing! Just, um, I saw Frankie Dart today.”

“Okay.”

“And…” There’s a pause. “Well…”

“Oh my god. Britta!”

“What?”

“Is that who you’re solving mysteries with? Are you doing investigations at Greendale? Wow, I…I can’t believe I’m actually jealous right now. I don’t blame you, though. Seriously. Frankie’s hot.”

“No! I mean, that’s not – there’s no mystery, just…why are you jealous? You’ve literally helped solve actual crimes.”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s not the same.”

“Well, when you get married to your secret agent guy, you can solve crimes together. Or, I guess that’s probably not how it works? Is it?”

There’s another long pause, and when Annie speaks again, her voice sounds thin. “Probably not, no.”

Time away from Greendale evidently has not cured Annie of total emotional transparency. When it comes to playing it cool, she’s the worst liar Britta knows, even worse than Britta herself. Actually, maybe Troy’s even worse. Is it possible that the study group bonded, on some level, over being bad liars? No, Jeff’s a good liar, and so is Abed. Shirley’s somewhere in the middle. Pierce, she figures, mostly believed all of his own lies. Hmm. “Annie, I can’t help but notice you aren’t talking about Sean. Or your wedding, which, a month ago, you couldn’t shut up about. No offense.”

“Well, I don’t want to breeze right past this you-and-Frankie thing.”

“Well, I mean, y’know. It’s not a huge deal.”

“Is it not? Oh.” Annie sounds disappointed.

“I mean, maybe it is? It's something! And I’m telling you because I trust you. A lot. In fact, you can tell me anything.” Annie doesn’t respond. Maybe she’s laying it on a little thick. “I haven’t actually told anyone else, not even Jeff. Except for my therapist.”

“Well, it’s an honor, then. And I’m not going to say I never wondered if you were…”

“A 'friend of Ellen'?”

Annie laughs awkwardly. “Okay, Britta, I was a little sheltered when I was, like, twenty. A lot has happened since then. Like, plenty. Has happened. Hey, do you remember when you thought that girl at Greendale was gay, and she thought you were gay, but–”

“Oof. Do not remind me. And then you tried to kiss me!”

“Haha! Yeah.” Annie clears her throat. “Yup.”

“Okay, but when I mentioned you getting married–”

“You know what, actually let’s talk about something else. I don’t want to talk about me. Let’s talk about you. So you’re curious about being with women? Many people are, really, you’d be surprised. Still a lot of conversation meat left on that bone! You and Frankie would be good for each other! I’ll be sure and tell her you said hi!” There’s a desperate quality to Annie’s voice, which Britta assumes is not discomfort with the advanced concept of bisexuality.

“Aw, thanks, Annie." She pauses. "Wait, that doesn’t make sense! I just saw her. And you aren’t–”

Annie growls. “Yes! Fine! You got me! I broke up with Sean! Happy now?” Britta winces. Annie chokes out a sob.

“Annie, honey…”

“Britta, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, I really wanted to.”

“Hey, no! I’m sorry if I made you think you couldn’t talk to me about it.”

“No, it’s not– it’s nothing you did, it’s just…oh, it's so embarrassing. I didn’t tell you because I don't want Jeff to know. Not yet. And I’d rather lie to you for a little while than ask you to lie to him. I just don’t know how to start a conversation with him anymore.”

“Dude, it’s fine. Honestly, I get it. And I don’t mind lying to Jeff for a while longer, if you want. I promise not to tell him…though I feel like I should ask why?”

Annie sobs, much louder now, a wild, desperate sound that Britta hasn’t heard in years. There’s a kind of animal power to it.

Britta inhales sharply and starts saying whatever she can to make the crying stop. “No, hey! I know you had a fight, but trust me, you’re, y’know, you, there’s no way he’s going to think that you failed, or whatever. Because you didn’t! And you know Jeff, he’s not a big marriage guy anyway.”

Based on the volume and frequency of her sobbing, this line of thinking doesn’t appear to be making Annie feel any better. Britta could say that she actually suspects Jeff would be elated by this news, but that doesn’t seem helpful either, and it feels like a betrayal of Jeff, which apparently Britta cares about now. Plus, with that guy, you never know – on some perverse level, he probably enjoys moping about the one that got away, that it’s not up to him and his own choices anymore. He hates getting in trouble, or even admitting he did anything wrong, but deep down he has this sick thing where he thinks he deserves punishment from the universe. Instead, she says, “He’s not as crazy as he used to be. I’m, like, 70% sure he won’t hunt down Sean and make him apologize to you.”

Annie gives one, wet, gasping laugh. Britta can practically see the tears dripping through the phone, but then her friend clears her throat and gathers herself together again. “Sean really doesn’t have much to apologize for. I just need some time. Things are too complicated right now, and I need to go sit in the bath for about a week. I should get off the phone.”

“You do that. Love you. Call me anytime. Whenever you’re ready to talk about it. Really.”

“Thanks Britta. I love you too.”

Chapter Text

When she next sees Jeff, he’s in his office at Greendale. He’s leaning from his chair onto his desk at an awkward, lazy angle, going through a stack of exams with a red marker, and he doesn’t look up when she comes in.

“No, you cannot retake this exam. Yes, I used to let students do that, but it’s against the rules now.” He finally looks up, and sheepishly takes a pair of reading glasses off, tossing them off to the side of his desk. “Britta, what a surprise. Psychology not working out? We have an excellent typewriter repair program.”

“Hilarious. I’m here to see Frankie, actually, and I thought I’d come see if the rumors are true. Everyone’s talking about how you need glasses now. Because you’re old, I mean.”

He actually looks flustered for a second, but gets it together pretty quickly. “Nice try. If anyone’s talking about my glasses, it’s because of how well I’m pulling off the sexy professor look. What are you seeing Frankie for?”

Now it’s Britta’s turn to be flustered. “Well, we’re friends! Can’t friends go see other friends at their friend jobs?” He smirks suspiciously at her, and she tries not to blush. “Anyway, she had to go to some school board thing, so I thought I’d see if you wanna get a drink when you’re done with grading those.”

He lifts the pile of ungraded exams, smacks them against the desk to roughly align them into a stack, and sets it off to the side. “Nah, let’s get a drink now.”

***

The drink turns into three drinks, and, for Britta, some fries. The food at the Vatican is better than it used to be, but it's also twice as expensive. As a salaried, professional woman with discriminating taste in fries, this is an improvement; as a lifelong advocate of cheap bar food, it's a travesty.

“I’m considering calling Annie soon.” Jeff is spinning his glass on the table, pushing a little puddle of condensation around.

“Yes! You should do that.”

“I just - it’s weird to say this, because I can’t imagine what it would be like to actually go, but..." He exhales sharply through his nose. "I can’t stand the idea of not even being invited to her wedding.”

Britta’s arm jerks, and she knocks her drink over. “Fuck!”

“Augh! What the hell!” Jeff shakes his wet hand off at Britta, looking stricken.

“Oh, relax! It’s just vodka. Basically hand sanitizer. It’s fine.”

“Hand sanitizer doesn’t have olives in it! Or your spit! And why are you acting so weird?”

Britta calls over another drink. “I am not! And, and, and speaking of acting weird, why didn’t you tell me you and Annie had a big fight and aren’t speaking at all? That’s not the same thing as ‘uh, buh, we don’t talk so much these days.’”

“Very smooth deflection. Nice.”

“Thanks.” She smiles smugly, then scowls and points in Jeff’s face. “Hey! That was a deflection, too!”

Jeff shrugs. “Okay, fine. We had a big argument, and I decided it would be better if I backed off for a while. It sucks, but she has her own thing going on.”

His nonchalance is very obviously a cover. Britta tenderly picks up Jeff’s hand, then quickly drops it. “Ew! Your hand’s all vodka-y.” She wipes her hand on her jeans. “So what was the fight about?”

“Britta, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, she says you didn’t want to be her friend if she had a boyfriend. So it sounds like you were being an asshole.”

Jeff looks stung. “That’s not quite how it happened.”

“Then you better tell me your version.”

He sighs, and finishes his drink. “Basically…last winter she and I were talking all the time. Like, texting, emails back and forth, calling each other a few times a week.”

“Right, I remember that.”

“And it was the first time we really got back to…something like how close we were before she left. Then it kind of slowed down. She said she was really busy with her research project, which, fine, but even then we’d talk a lot. There was this real connection again.”

“Would you say it was a romantic thing?”

“I mean, we never said it was, and there wasn’t any…”

“Sexting?”

He frowns. For someone so cavalier about sex, he always gets really weird about it when Annie’s involved. Probably struggles to reconcile it with the idea of her as a virginal figure. After all, his mother– Wait, he’s answering. “Right. Any of that. But it didn’t feel like just a friend thing, either, exactly.”

“Oh, so a totally new dynamic for you two.”

“Shut up. We just…we were there for each other, a lot. So then when she told me that her project would be done in December, I asked if she was coming back to Colorado—we hadn’t talked about anything to do with that in so long. It was so disappointing when she never came back the first time, and, well, she said she wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t planning on it. And then…” He grimaces.

“What?”

“Ughhhh…”

“Spill it!”

“Well…it’s just…it was going to just be an internship, right? And then she was finishing her undergrad there, and then she was in Scotland all summer, and then when she was done with school, she got snapped up for that research project. It all just felt like the same unfinished business, stretching out for years. And I could handle it–” Britta coughs back a laugh, and Jeff glowers. “I could handle it, give her space, because I wanted her to be able to go out and fulfill her potential. Her immense, unbelievable potential. She deserves it. But I was still waiting for her, on some level. And I thought, well, maybe the timing would never be perfect, maybe this is the moment. So, I suggested that if she didn’t want to come back here, I…could go there.” He pauses, and Britta isn’t quite sure what he means. “Like, move to DC.”

“Oh! Oh, Jeff.”

“Look, I know, okay? I was going out on a limb!”

“Hmm.” She squints at him. “You really got it bad still, huh?”

Jeff looks exasperated. “I mean, yeah. Have I not made that clear?”

“Not to me! Probably not to her, either, if you think this counts as making it clear. I just never took you for the kind of guy to move across the country for a girl. You totally love her!”

“I’m telling this story. Shut up.” Jeff takes a big sip of scotch, and runs his palm over his face. “I guess so, yeah.”

Britta silently cheers, not because she particularly cares that Jeff thinks he loves Annie – it’s juicy, sure, but not exactly a bombshell – but because she got Jeff to open up about a pretty major emotion, the existence of which he has denied on multiple occasions. She really was born to do this. “Okay, Jeff, but have you told her that? Or did you just blurt out a crazy idea with no explanation of what it meant? We both know she likes a big romantic gesture, there’s no denying that, but she’s an adult, with her own adult life. And you are very hard to understand for someone with the emotional depth of a–a, uh…” Nothing’s coming to her. “Of this empty vodka glass!” Perfect landing.

“Rude, and your analogies are getting worse,” Jeff replies. “And…yeah, so maybe I didn’t say everything I could have. But I think I made it very clear that she’s the most important person in my life. We were really leaning on each other that whole time, and our relationship was basically the only thing we didn’t talk about. I didn’t want to burst the bubble, so I just waited. It felt like we were building up to something.”

“And this was that something?”

He’s bouncing his leg now, and starts to speak faster, words coming out as if he’s been holding this inside for a while. It’s really a good thing he has a friend like Britta. “I thought so. But then I tell her I want to move out there, and she blurts out that she’s got a serious boyfriend! I knew she was going on dates now and then, which I wasn’t thrilled about, but I didn’t make a big deal about it, because I didn’t want it to be a big deal, and I didn’t want her to miss out on normal life because of me. But – surprise – some guy was about to move in with her! There was this whole relationship she never bothered to tell me about. And also Abed hadn’t told me about him, and of course you hadn’t told me, by the way–”

“Hey, it’s not my place to inform you of her, her…comings and goings!” Although, she probably would have, had she known – partially to keep Jeff in the loop, but also because it’s usually funny to see him get all riled up. Britta feels kind of guilty for thinking this now that she knows he’s actually sorta heartbroken, but old habits die hard. “And, Jeff, honestly, I had no idea they were serious at all! It happened fast. We weren’t talking much until kind of recently, and almost never about that stuff. She mentioned him, like, three times, and then suddenly they were going to get married. Are going to.” He doesn’t seem to notice the slip-up.

Jeff flaps his hand at her. “Fine. Well, nobody told me, is the point. But, again, we were talking constantly, and she was hiding this big thing from me! So I was upset, and embarrassed, and she said she was confused, and I said that if she wanted to talk to me, she could call me once she wasn’t seeing him anymore.”

“Damn.”

“She told me off about how I treated her at Greendale, and I felt like shit for a while. I was mad, and she was mad, and I was mad at her for being mad, and I assume she was mad at me for being mad about that. I figured I’d let us both cool off. But it’s been a while, and I really, really miss her.” Jeff looks agitated, rolling his empty glass between both hands. “What’s new with you?”

“Jeff, I really think you should talk to her. Apologize! She should apologize to you, too, I guess. But, still.”

“I mean, sure, we are owed apologies. From each other. The question is, will it do her, or me, any good?”

“What? What kind of dumbass lawyer gibberish is that?” Britta can’t just come out and say that Annie is both single and quietly devastated about Jeff. It’s not her place. But she can nudge things in a better direction. “Jeff, you’ve been friends with her for almost a decade! During which, by the way, the two of you have never actually dated. At any point! What’s so different now? Tell her how you feel. Hell, maybe she’ll want you to move to DC and be her love-slave, what do I know?” She startles, and grabs Jeff’s wrist. “Wait, don’t suggest that.”

Jeff looks at her like she’s crazy, for probably the fifth time tonight. “I won’t!”

“Just call her, and be honest! And soon. You have to act.”

“I did, which caused the problem in the first place!”

“No, you did something impulsive and easily misunderstood, like you always do. It sucks that she kept her relationship a secret, and she strung you along all this time, and you got rejected. It isn’t like you haven’t done the same thing to her!” Jeff winces, and Britta sort of wishes she didn’t bring that up. “Jeff, you are a very confusing person, and so is she. Life is long and painful. Be a good friend.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll do something about it. Soon. Now can we please talk about something else? Your cats. Your rashes. Your bad dates.”

Britta grunts. “I don’t have a rash, jackass. At the moment. But, yeah, sure. Oh! There was something else about Annie I meant to ask you about.”

“No, Britta, I’m done.”

“No, but she said her pipes–”

He shakes his head, frowning. “No, not tonight. If you bring her up again, I will leave.”

“Agh! Fine.” Britta drums her fingers on the table. “Any reflections on your breakup with Clara?”

“She was nice. I couldn’t get very invested, though. No big lesson there.” He shrugs. “Next topic.”

“I think I have the hots for Frankie.”

Jeff raises his eyebrows and grins. He leans forward and folds his hands together in a capable impression of a psychiatrist. “Let’s explore that.”

Chapter Text

The latest coffee counter in the Greendale cafeteria is called, for some reason, Gutsy Gil’s – and by all accounts it sucks (Shirley’s Sandwiches is long-gone, just another change that makes Britta’s college experience feel more and more like a half-remembered fever dream). The cafe by Britta’s apartment, on the other hand, is called Flora, and makes a perfectly serviceable oat-milk cappuccino.

This in mind, Britta brings one to Frankie at her office. Britta is pretty sure Frankie drinks milk, but better to err on the side of plant-based ingredients. She suppresses an urge to bring it up.

“Thank you, Britta. It’s nice not to have to go down to the air-conditioning repair annex. Their espresso machine is extraordinary, and well-maintained, but there’s something…I shouldn’t say this, but there’s something off-putting about the people down there.”

“Hey, anytime. For sho’.” She gives Frankie some half-hearted finger-guns. “Uh, how are you?”

Frankie smiles, apparently charmed by Britta’s moves, and who could blame her? “Great, thank you for asking. There are a number of preparations I like to take for the new year. Organizational matters, mostly, but also some personal reflection. I always look forward to it, and this year is no exception.” She sips at the still-somewhat-warm beverage. “This is quite good. How are you, Britta?”

“Oh, I’m good, you know me. Pursuing my goals, accomplishing stuff, all that.” That comes off as a little desperate. “But also keeping it real.” Way better. Britta leans in, conspiratorially. “I found out what’s going on with Annie. She told me everything. Case closed.”

Frankie nods and takes a deep breath. “Well, then perhaps you know my role in keeping you in the dark. I am sorry that I had to hide that information from you. I don’t like to lie to friends, as a rule. Honesty is a value I take seriously, but Annie told me the information in confidence, and I gave her my word. Given that you know now, I hope the three of us can get together. She and I have dinner plans this weekend, and–”

“This weekend? Wait, is she coming back to visit? She didn't mention that.”

Frankie, normally so poised, is bewildered. She slowly lowers her cardboard cup. “Well, she…she’s…hmm.” It’s a cute look. It makes Britta want to bewilder Frankie more often. “What exactly did Annie tell you?”

“That she broke up with her fiance!”

“Oh!” Frankie makes a pained expression. “Oh, no, that’s a hard thing to go through. I hope she’s okay. Did this just happen?”

“A few weeks ago, apparently. What did you think I found out about?”

“I really shouldn’t tell you. I’m sorry. I would like to, but as I said, I was told something in confidence and intend to honor that. I really have said too much already.”

Britta scowls. “Well, I already told you the thing I was told in confidence! We should even the score.”

Frankie shakes her head, undeterred. “Since both things concern Annie, we would be evening the score with each other, at her expense. I don’t think it’s a good idea. In any case, I suspect you will know soon, anyway. I hope this isn’t disruptive to your relationship with me.”

Britta lets out a breath. It would be a huge bummer to get into an argument with Frankie, and she doesn’t think she can win anyway. Most of the time, Britta is eager to defy authority. She’s done it all her life: teachers, cops, that pet store employee with the awful mustache. But when it’s her friend, when it’s Frankie, this tall, statuesque, sharply dressed, emotionally reserved, highly competent, stirringly self-possessed goddess who—

“Britta?”

Britta’s face flushes. “Sorry, you’re right. Um, I should go – sorry – bye!”

***

Britta watches her laundry through the little porthole, a miasma of light sweaters and jeans, underwears date-friendly and period-stained made equals in a sea of suds. This is the first building she’s lived in with laundry machines since she lived in New York, which means at least 15 years. A unit of time whose size she’d rather not think about.

Last year, the creepy landlord at the place she used to share with Annie and Abed, which by then she shared with a couple of Craigslist randos, died in some kind of erotic self-smothering accident. The guy’s brother flipped it into higher-end apartments for nearly twice the rent, to take advantage of the changing neighborhood. On principle, Britta wouldn’t have rented from the gouging bastard, but it’s not like she could have afforded it anyway. For a while, she sublet from Ian Duncan, of all people, who was in England again, and by the time he came back Britta had an actual salary (slight as it may be) and could afford to live by herself. Well, herself plus three cats. Her apartment isn’t what anyone would call luxurious, but it has one big bedroom (Britta’s) and one small one that she’s definitely going to turn into an office (yoga mat, several cat towers, boxes of old crap), and, as noted, washer-dryers on the ground floor.

Britta hasn’t called Annie yet to ask about what Frankie said. From the sound of it, Annie is actually somewhere nearby, which explains the frozen pipes, and Annie’s agitation, and her sudden interest in asking Britta about Jeff. Britta tries, and fails, not to take it personally that her friend, who she has not seen face-to-face in over a year, did not want her to know that she’s within having-dinner-with-Frankie distance. Presumably this has something to do with Jeff again, but with everyone being so cryptic about everything, it’s hard to think about. Whatever, she’ll just give Annie a call. Time to sort this out.

She tries to keep the conversation light at first, feeling out whether Frankie has reported back to Annie about her slip-up. Annie doesn’t seem more nervous than she did last time, but now that Britta knows there’s a secret, she can’t help but read way too far into every detail of their discussion of the news, quinoa salad, and Abed’s latest email newsletter. It’s putting her on edge to pretend that everything’s okay, so she decides to dig into something big; rigorous excavations of the human psyche always make everyone feel better.

“I hate to, once again, make you rehash a fight you had with a man, but…do you want to talk about what happened with Sean?”

“Not really, no.”

“Huh,” Britta deadpans.

“Huh what?” Annie sneers.

“Just that I guess we’re not as close as I thought.”

Annie makes her little scoffing sound. “You don’t get to be mad just because I don’t want you to do your therapy stuff at me.”

“My ‘therapy stuff’? That’s kind of condescending, Annie.” Not that Annie would know anything about being totally condescending about basically everything all the time. “And I’m not mad that you won’t let me employ my professional talents, which are, I should mention, excellent! I’m mad because you’ve apparently been hiding out nearby without telling me!”

Annie gasps. “Did Frankie tell you?!”

“Don’t blame her! For your information, you kinda gave it away yourself.”

“Aaaaaargh. The frozen pipes, right? I really hoped you hadn’t noticed that. As soon as I hung up, I – yeah, fine. I’m in Boulder. Starting at CU next month. Chemistry.”

“And why did you feel like you couldn’t tell me that? Why can’t you tell me these huge things that are going on with you? I really felt like we were confiding in each other.” Over the years, Britta, Annie, and the rest of the study group have kept plenty of secrets from one another, and it’s always caused a big commotion when they come out – group callouts, polygraph tests, email leaks, you name it – but Britta had been sure that, with Greendale in the rear-view mirror, those days were over.

Annie sighs. “It’s like I said before. It’s not you I’m worried about, it’s Jeff. He…well, this summer he offered to move out here.” Britta knows this, but she lets Annie finish. “I think, I mean, I really do think that he meant he wanted to be with me. But I couldn’t let him do that, because I hadn’t exactly been 100% honest with him about Sean.”

“You didn’t tell him at all, you mean?”

“Did he say that? Oh, god. Yeah, I mean, it’s true. It’s not like I meant to lie! At first, I didn’t say anything because the first few times I mentioned a date, Jeff would shut down and get all moody, and for a while Sean was just some guy I’d go on dates with. But he was so attentive, and completely transparent about his interest in me, which was flattering. At a certain point, I knew I should tell Jeff, but I didn’t want to give up the closeness we had – I already missed having you all around, especially that first year. I was really struggling with not being able to even talk to Jeff. And then he was there again, but he was so far away, and it felt so fragile.

“But then Sean and I were getting kind of serious, and I didn’t want to give that up, either. It felt so good to have this guy who was stable, and affectionate, and uncomplicated, and safe, who would just tell me how he felt. I figured I’d eventually love him if I had to, and I mostly needed to focus on school and work anyway. He just kind of…solved the problem of being alone. I’ve always been alone.

“So when Jeff asked me if he could come out to DC, it was out of nowhere, and— I mean, it’s Jeff, he’s pulled the rug out from under me so many times. If he had offered two years earlier…but by that point I couldn’t convince myself it was a good idea. Why now, you know? Did he just forget how difficult I am? Did he build up this idea of me that isn’t demanding, and riddled with anxiety, and constantly melting down? Besides, he didn’t even know about Sean! So I had to tell him right then. I told him he shouldn’t come, and said that maybe all this talking was a bad idea, because I was in a committed relationship.”

Britta sighs. “That’s rough. I get it. But that still doesn’t explain–”

“I’m getting there! Geez, Britta, let a girl get a word in. So last month, I learned something about the work I was doing. Something big. Obviously, I can’t tell you about it, but it made me completely second-guess the project I was helping with. I’d already been having second thoughts about the FBI, but this was…I knew I didn’t want to do it anymore. I tried to talk to Sean about it, but he completely dismissed me, said I was being naive and irresponsible, and it turned into a huge argument.

“We had been fighting all the time at the end, mostly my fault. Everything about him started to grate on me, and I kept comparing him to Jeff in my mind. Well, not to Jeff – not, like, ‘oh, Jeff would be a much better boyfriend, he’d be so loving and he’d want to watch Notting Hill with me,’ because Sean was perfectly fine in that way – just that I wished Jeff was around instead. But this time things got really heated, and Sean accused me of being in love with Jeff, and – I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to hurt him, or I already felt so unmoored from where things were supposed to be going. I knew I couldn’t work for the FBI anymore, I didn’t know what I was going to do with my life, it was all falling apart, and I couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping next to this man again. So I told him the truth.”

“Which is…”

“That I think I do love Jeff. Or did. I don’t know. Whatever's going on there, I haven't moved on. So I gave Sean his ring back, and he left, and I stayed up all night on the couch, applying to grad school. The only reason I told Frankie is because I needed her help getting my application for the spring semester in after the deadline. Whatever magic she has, it worked.”

“Yeah, Frankie’s pretty amazing.” If she lets herself get sidetracked, she’ll never know what the hell’s going on. “So, wait…if you want to be with Jeff, why don’t you just tell him you’re single and living two towns over?”

“I’m furious with him! Even more furious than I am with myself! Jeff doesn’t have a monopoly on pushing people away, you know. It was a mistake lying to him, and it was a mistake telling him not to come. I know that now, but what am I supposed to say? That Sean was obviously just my mother’s idea of a good husband? That I’m still so haunted by her that I picked seeming perfect over being happy? That I thought I could be happy with Sean, until Jeff offered to move across the country to be with me, and that I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and that it completely poisoned my relationship? That my fiance accused me of not loving him or even wanting to get married, and I could never quite convince him otherwise, because he was right? That, as heartbroken as I was for my relationship to implode, it had more to do with the idea of failing than any feelings I actually had for the man I said I would marry? That more than anything I was relieved because, before the marriage even started, I was already tired of lying? I’m supposed to say, ‘oh, I made a mistake, I should have jumped for joy when you wanted me to drop everything and suddenly be with you after years and years of denying that anything could ever happen between us and then freaking out when I left and barely speaking to me for a year and then apologizing and being my best friend and my favorite person in the world who I can’t help but think about every time I close my eyes at night’? I’m supposed to say that? I have my pride, Britta!”

“Well, you could say some of that stuff, actually, but-”

Annie goes on as if Britta said nothing. She’s spitting her words now, and the image comes to Britta, all these years later, of Annie in her bright purple sweater, yowling about a missing pen. “I can memorize facts and figures so easily, analyze data and see patterns and construct arguments without ever getting tired of it – learning has always been this thing that comes so naturally to me. Lessons and me, we just work! But I can’t learn my lesson, because just like when I ran screaming through that glass door in high school, just like in that damn Model UN…pissing contest, just like with every infuriating year I spent waiting around for Jeff Winger, I go crazy when I don’t get what I want. And this time, what I wanted wasn’t even to marry Sean, it was just to put an end to the entire confusing question of who would ever love me! Never mind that he wasn’t smart or complicated enough to be a challenge, and didn’t understand my sense of humor, or discover things about me that nobody else notices, or touch me in a way that’s even a fraction as exciting as a kiss I had when I was nineteen freaking years old!

“So even though I knew deep down that it was a mistake, that I was acting out of spite instead of love, I refused to adapt, refused to compromise, and I said no, Jeff, I won’t give you one last chance, and yes, Sean, I’d be happy to marry you even though you moved in with me a month ago, and I love you less now than I did then, which was already not very much! All it would take was total self-control for the rest of my life and everything would be great. But it’s not great – I’m still on the same tube of toothpaste I had when Sean moved in, that’s how long I could maintain it. I’m a mess! Maybe the biggest mess out of all of us – I might have friends now and a better haircut and nine years worth of NA meetings but, deep down, I’m still sad little Annie Adderall because if I’m not Most Likely to Succeed, I’d rather be nothing.”

Britta is a little taken aback by this tidal wave of furious self-hatred, but she has to say something. This is her calling, after all. “Take it from me, Annie, everyone feels like they’re the worst sometimes. But we’re all pretty fucked up. All of us. You know that, right? You think you’re too much of a mess to face Jeff, of all people? He’s the most emotionally scrambled-up person I’ve ever known, and I talk to troubled middle-schoolers five days a week. Compared to him, you’re like the…well, something that’s famous for having a lot of dignity and self-awareness. I can’t think of a good one.” Focus, Britta. Therapize. “You say you can’t learn your lesson, but it sounds like you already have. Right? I mean, you can identify it, and talk about it, which is huge. The rest is just applying what you know to get results, and nobody’s better at that than you are. And, hey, you aren’t stumbling into a loveless marriage! So…that’s good.”

“Of course it’s good! But now I have no one!”

Britta pinches her nose. “Okay, see, that hurts. Because you have me. You have your friends! And I’m pretty sure you can have Jeff Winger if, for whatever reason, you still want him. Annie, you’re not like you were in high school. You’re not even like you were at Greendale. You’ve come such a long way.”

Annie breathes heavily into the phone for a few moments. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m going through a thing right now.”

“I know.”

“You’re really important to me. You have no idea.”

Britta grins. “I think I have some idea.”

“And you’re a big part of why I’m back here. Greendale, everyone, and yeah, Jeff, but also you specifically. I’m sorry I kept so much from you. And I’m sorry I got so angry, it was just so I wouldn’t cry, which only kind of worked. This wasn’t a conversation I was prepared to have, you just…pulled it out of me.”

“Well, I am a pretty great therapist.”

Annie laughs. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Thanks for telling me all this. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Thanks for listening. A lot of that actually felt good to say out loud.” There’s a comfortable silence, and Britta thinks about bringing up Frankie again, but then Annie squeaks. “Jeff’s calling me! What should I do?”

“My advice? Answer the phone, but make him talk first.”

Chapter Text

Britta hangs up, and brings her laundry back up to her apartment. It’s quiet in there, and a little dark, but her cats are happy to see her (well, Josephine and Harpo are – Chomsky is probably hiding again behind the big flea-market painting of Nina Simone that’s leaning up against her bedroom wall). She puts the laundry basket on the kitchen table, and stares at the flecks of oatmeal that are stuck to the floor-level cabinets. “I never did clean that up,” she says to the empty room.

It occurs to her suddenly that she and Annie didn’t talk at all about seeing each other in person. Are they going to have to meet in secret for a while? If Annie doesn’t tell Jeff the truth, things are going to get complicated and potentially hurtful pretty fast. Britta wonders how much more unofficial relationship counseling she’ll have to do. Not that she’s not qualified for it, or anything.

Walking out of the kitchen, she snaps her fingers. “You know who would have a lot to say about all this?” she asks the cats. “Frankie.” She’s not sure if that’s true, but it feels like the right move for some reason.

***

“...so I think I got through to her, more or less. She seemed happy to be getting it all off her chest. I’ll let her tell you the details, if she wants, but she definitely has a lot to work through. So does he, obviously.”

“On that we certainly agree,” Frankie says with a faint smile, and sips her cappuccino. When Britta asked her if she’d want to meet at Flora for some coffee, she sounded surprised, but accepted without hesitation.

“Then as we were kind of wrapping it up, Jeff called her. Almost too narratively convenient, but that always seems to happen with these things, doesn’t it?”

Frankie looks like she’s considering whether to say something, then like she’s deciding not to. Instead, she offers, “You’re a good friend, Britta. I can’t comment on your abilities as a therapist, but if this is any indication, I have to imagine you have a fruitful career ahead of you.”

Britta blushes. “Thanks. I try. You know, it’s funny – I spent so much of the last week going back and forth with those two, having all these conversations with them, and now they’re having a conversation with each other – maybe the most important one – and I don’t get to be there. It’s like I’m just tangentially related to their…well, Abed would say ‘story,’ but I’m not sure that’s exactly it. I guess it’s just part of being a therapist.”

Frankie frowns. “Well, you’re not their therapist. Not really. You’re their friend, so you’ll get to see what happens eventually.” She taps her pen thoughtfully against the table. “You know, Britta, I’ve spent a lot of my life focusing on other people’s problems. I’m good at solving them, and it’s important to me. But over the years, I’ve missed out on a lot by falling into this role too easily and too often, and I’d hate to see you make the same mistake. Being a therapist doesn’t mean being a supporting character – so to speak – whose life only has meaning insofar as it reflects on people like Annie and,” her eyes tighten just a little, “Jeff.”

“Pfff. I know that,” Britta says, but she can’t keep the insecurity out of her voice.

“Eventually you have to ask, what’s your story? What is it that you want? These are important questions.”

Britta thinks. “Frankie, would you say that you’re a lonely person?”

She blinks, then sighs. “Interesting question. I spent years renouncing hope. It’s actually Annie who talked me back into it. When I didn’t hope, I didn’t feel lonely. There was no use for it. Now that I can so easily imagine an alternative…I suppose I do feel lonely sometimes. I’ve never had many friends. It just wasn't an important part of my life. I didn’t expect to get close to all of you at Greendale, but I did. I think it was when we all went to that awful wedding - when you and Annie invited me over beforehand, actually - that I realized what I had in all of you. And then, shortly thereafter, people began to leave, you finished school–”

“Thanks to you, I should say.”

“Yes, well. We all started seeing each other less and less. I would say I do get lonely.”

“I’m glad I’m seeing you more now.”

Frankie smiles back at her. “I am too. But, like I said, you need to decide what you want.” She says this with a quiet force that makes the back of Britta’s neck tingle.

“It’s strange. You’ve probably noticed that I have a problem with authority. I don’t like people telling me what to do.”

Frankie stares patiently at her. “But…?”

“I like it when you do it. I hope that’s okay to say.” Britta forces herself to look back. “As far as what I want, well, for one thing, I want to spend a lot more time with you. I mean…if that’s…?”

Frankie smooths the front of her blouse. “I would like that. I have found myself looking forward to your visits. I find you compelling, and, of course, very attractive.” She sounds matter-of-fact, oddly serious, as if she’s giving a performance review. Still, there’s a warmth buried there. As she thinks, she chews on her lip, sending a little thrill through Britta. “You may have gathered that I’m comfortable being in charge. This extends to certain aspects of my personal life, as well. The…well, intimate aspects. I hope my saying so now isn’t too forward, but I find it’s better to address it early on. Please don’t hesitate to correct me if I’ve misread this. But I have a suspicion we might be compatible. In that way.”

Britta fiddles with her hands in her lap, but doesn’t break eye contact. She thinks about the many unappealing ways that rough, clumsy men have tried to dominate her, sexually and otherwise. She wonders if there’s something she can say that would result in Frankie putting her fingers in Britta’s mouth immediately. “Yeah, you might be right about that.”

***

That Saturday, Britta makes the thirty-five-minute drive from her apartment in Greendale to Annie’s little house in Boulder. It’s an A-frame cottage tucked away near where the city gives way to the mountains, and it’s so much more “Colorado” than anywhere Britta has ever lived. From the outside, it’s pretty, storybookish, and just the slightest bit sinister, as if concealing a secret darkness. It’s perfect, Britta thinks, for its current resident.

When she barges in, too eager to wait for Annie to answer the door, she is struck by two things. One, that Annie is older than she was the last time they saw each other. This is true every time you see anyone after any length of time, technically, but, come on, that’s not what she means. Annie’s hair is shorter, cut in a style Britta’s never seen on her before, except in a few recent photographs, and her face is a little different. It’s the kind of change that arrives in your late twenties; subtle, but different all the same.

Troy, when he came back from his heroic odyssey, had a big beard and weathered skin and an indefinable depth to his gaze that wasn’t there before (of those three, only the eyes stuck around). This isn’t nearly as dramatic, but it still serves to remind Britta that time passes and people change and all that.

The second thing is that Annie looks like she had sex sometime very recently. She’s wearing leggings and a too-large pullover, and there are fresh little bites on one side of her neck. Her face is flushed, and, most suspicious of all, there’s a bra on the floor. Annie is a lot of things, but she is not, under normal circumstances, someone who leaves a bra on the floor.

Britta smirks. “You know, if you have company, I can come back. But you could've warned me before I drove all the way out here.”

Annie attempts a laid-back shrug, but she oversells it. It sort of looks like she’s trying to dance on muscle relaxants. “No. No company. What do you mean?”

“I mean it looks like you got seriously porked about thirty seconds before I showed up. There’s a bra on your floor.”

“Eww, don’t say ‘porked.’ And…that’s where I keep it,” she says, with as much dignity as she can conjure. Then she scrunches her eyes shut at her own implausible lie.

“Hickey. Hickey. Hickey.” Britta points at Annie’s neck three times, in turn. “Plus I passed Jeff’s car when I turned onto your street.”

“Okay, fine! Jeff was here, and we…made love.”

“Yuck. Don’t say ‘made love.’ Also, ha! I didn’t even see his car! But you totally admitted it!” Annie gasps at that. “Wow, you have no idea how good it feels to get one over on you. And don’t be offended — it’s a testament to your intelligence that this is so satisfying.”

Annie blushes like she does everything else: about 20% more than you thought anyone possibly could. “I told him you were coming, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. I finally shoved him out the door a few minutes ago. We were going to tell you! Soon, anyway.”

“Well, it's fine with me. Mediation can only get you so far, and this way I don’t have to break an elevator, or handcuff you together, or force-feed you both tequila until you figure it out. I was very close to consulting Abed.” Britta shrugs. “Besides, now we can throw you a birthday-slash-welcome-home party without it turning into some kind of soap opera fiasco. Well, without it definitely turning into one.”

Annie nods a little, and grins a little more than that. “Now that you know, I guess I can tell you, I can’t believe it, he-”

Britta puts her hands on Annie’s bouncing shoulders and looks into her big, wide eyes. “Annie, I’m sincerely happy for you. I am. But let’s talk about literally anything else.”

So, they do.