FIC: There goes the fear again
Title: There goes the fear again (Annie-centric, small Jeff/Annie)
Author: fangirl_101
Word Count: 550
Rating: PG
Spoilers: General Season 2, vague references for Celebrity Pharmacology, Critical Film Studies and Competitive Wine Tasting.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Community.
A/N: Title comes from a Doves song. So this little scene kind of played itself out in my head last night. I thought about working it into a larger fic I’m writing for a friend’s b-day, but it didn’t really fit into that story. So, I decided to just leave it as is and post this drabble. This is, by far, the angstiest thing I’ve ever written.
She’s brushing her teeth more forcefully than she should. She knows. But she’s taking all the day’s disappointments and frustrations out on her pearly whites. She spits toothpaste tinged with red into her rust-stained sink. She looks at her reflection in the mirror and winces; runs her tongue along her teeth and gums, searching for that telltale taste of salt and rust. She finds the bleed at her back left molars and wonders if it’s a sign that she’ll need her wisdom teeth pulled.
Damn, she thinks. That surgery will no doubt be expensive, and her without insurance. She fleetingly considers asking Pierce for a loan, knows he would give it to her. Hell, he’d gladly give her the money outright. But she dismisses this thought with a shake of her head. She told herself the day she checked out of rehab that she wouldn’t depend on anyone ever again. And she wasn’t going to feed Pierce’s addiction anymore than she would let someone feed hers. It wasn’t right. Besides-she looks at her reflection again, her skin looks sickly pale in the unflattering light of her tiny, dingy bathroom and no matter how hard she scrubs and how many cleaning products she uses, she can never get it clean enough-she asked for this. This independence. She wanted this. Wants this. This is what she wants.
Is this what she wants?
One of the light bulbs above the vanity briefly flickers, and then goes out. Doesn’t even put up a fight. She mentally adds the cost of a pack of bulbs to her ever growing list of provisions. She’s spent the last two weeks living on Ramen and Wonder bread so she wouldn’t run out of multicolored post-it notes and purple pens. She could get a second part-time job, to save up for the yet-to-be-determined-necessary oral surgery. She thinks about seeing if the diner that fired Britta’s hiring. She shoots that down quickly, though. She can’t stomach the thought of Britta claiming that she’s yet again going after something that was hers. Little Annie Adderall becomes Little Annie Copycat. She frowns sadly at the mirror, remembering that conversation she had with Jeff not too long ago.
That’s why they call me Irony-Free Annie.
Hmm. Trust me. That’s not what they call you.
She could start charging the group for her one-on-one tutoring and the typed-up notes and review materials she gives them. … She knows she won’t. Doing that would prove she’s in trouble. She doesn’t want them to worry. Doesn’t want them-him-looking at her with pity and awkwardness. Embarrassed for her and her situation.
He’d tell her to ask her parents for help. He doesn’t understand why that’s not an option. Why that can’t be an option.
With the light bulb burned out, her reflection now looks ghostly. She laughs without humor, one single huff escaping her dry throat, thinks ruefully how her image matches her situation-dark, ominous, undetermined.
There’s nothing she can do about it tonight. Nothing she can do about any of it tonight. There’s nothing left but to crawl into bed and push all of her worries and fears out of her mind as she prepares for another restless night’s sleep-she tries, but her thoughts don’t stray far.
She’s Annie. She won’t let them.
Author: fangirl_101
Word Count: 550
Rating: PG
Spoilers: General Season 2, vague references for Celebrity Pharmacology, Critical Film Studies and Competitive Wine Tasting.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Community.
A/N: Title comes from a Doves song. So this little scene kind of played itself out in my head last night. I thought about working it into a larger fic I’m writing for a friend’s b-day, but it didn’t really fit into that story. So, I decided to just leave it as is and post this drabble. This is, by far, the angstiest thing I’ve ever written.
She’s brushing her teeth more forcefully than she should. She knows. But she’s taking all the day’s disappointments and frustrations out on her pearly whites. She spits toothpaste tinged with red into her rust-stained sink. She looks at her reflection in the mirror and winces; runs her tongue along her teeth and gums, searching for that telltale taste of salt and rust. She finds the bleed at her back left molars and wonders if it’s a sign that she’ll need her wisdom teeth pulled.
Damn, she thinks. That surgery will no doubt be expensive, and her without insurance. She fleetingly considers asking Pierce for a loan, knows he would give it to her. Hell, he’d gladly give her the money outright. But she dismisses this thought with a shake of her head. She told herself the day she checked out of rehab that she wouldn’t depend on anyone ever again. And she wasn’t going to feed Pierce’s addiction anymore than she would let someone feed hers. It wasn’t right. Besides-she looks at her reflection again, her skin looks sickly pale in the unflattering light of her tiny, dingy bathroom and no matter how hard she scrubs and how many cleaning products she uses, she can never get it clean enough-she asked for this. This independence. She wanted this. Wants this. This is what she wants.
Is this what she wants?
One of the light bulbs above the vanity briefly flickers, and then goes out. Doesn’t even put up a fight. She mentally adds the cost of a pack of bulbs to her ever growing list of provisions. She’s spent the last two weeks living on Ramen and Wonder bread so she wouldn’t run out of multicolored post-it notes and purple pens. She could get a second part-time job, to save up for the yet-to-be-determined-necessary oral surgery. She thinks about seeing if the diner that fired Britta’s hiring. She shoots that down quickly, though. She can’t stomach the thought of Britta claiming that she’s yet again going after something that was hers. Little Annie Adderall becomes Little Annie Copycat. She frowns sadly at the mirror, remembering that conversation she had with Jeff not too long ago.
That’s why they call me Irony-Free Annie.
Hmm. Trust me. That’s not what they call you.
She could start charging the group for her one-on-one tutoring and the typed-up notes and review materials she gives them. … She knows she won’t. Doing that would prove she’s in trouble. She doesn’t want them to worry. Doesn’t want them-him-looking at her with pity and awkwardness. Embarrassed for her and her situation.
He’d tell her to ask her parents for help. He doesn’t understand why that’s not an option. Why that can’t be an option.
With the light bulb burned out, her reflection now looks ghostly. She laughs without humor, one single huff escaping her dry throat, thinks ruefully how her image matches her situation-dark, ominous, undetermined.
There’s nothing she can do about it tonight. Nothing she can do about any of it tonight. There’s nothing left but to crawl into bed and push all of her worries and fears out of her mind as she prepares for another restless night’s sleep-she tries, but her thoughts don’t stray far.
She’s Annie. She won’t let them.