To Share & What not to Share
Title: To Share & What not to Share
Author: justine_88
Spoilers: Slam Fic Challenge; "sharing is Caring"
Pairing: Jeff/Annie
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Word Count: 2,377
Disclaimer: © NBC I do not own Community, or the characters. I'm just borrowing them.
Summary: Some things in life just aren't good to share ....
It’s always darkest before dawn. The orange glow of sun brings the promise of a new day. The shrill of the alarm clock breaks the beautiful silence of the early dawn and Jeff’s hand clumsily bangs against the end table hoping to shut the dam thing off. Ah! The sweet sound of success. Jeff pushes his head further under the pillows. A few more minutes of sleep is all he’s asking for. Just a few more moments under the warmth of blankets and sun. Stillness.
His stomach as other plans. The rumbling is felt first. Then, the loud garbling noise and then… that feeling. We all know it well. The one that incapacitates you, but you know you have to get out of bed or you’ll be throwing away your sheets. He makes it in time, but curses the whole way there. He needs a stomach virus like he needs a hole in the head; which is to say... this is not welcomed. His stomach grumbles at him, not caring what he feels is welcomed or unwelcomed. Once he feels it safe to exit the bathroom, he changes out of his briefs, throws on a pair of comfy flannel bottoms and pushes a hoodie over his t-shirt. He crawls back into bed, pulling his knees closer to his chest and moaning, hoping it will ease the pain. But to no avail. It’s going to be a long, shitty day. Pardon the pun.
His blankets act as a safe cocoon, shielding him from the harsh glare of the porcelain god, through the open bathroom. He covers his head; maybe if he isn’t reminded of the bathroom, he won’t have to go. Mind over matter. Well, in Jeff’s case it’s his Egyptian cotton sheets over the bathroom. He flings back the covers, whines to himself that he has to get up… again, and wobbles to the bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door. One his way back to bed, he checks his medicine cabinet; condoms, condoms, Advil, Q-tips, and bug bite cream (no doubt expired). “Dammit!” He slams the door closed. He even checks his fridge and all he has is past due milk (probably why he’s in this particular condition) and a half eaten meatball sandwich.
Jeff’s phone chimes from somewhere in the living room. He flips it open to see Annie’s face, her number flashing along with his ringtone. “Hi, Annie.”
“Good morning Jeff!” She’s too bright and cheery for how he’s feeling. He mumbles something that sounds like, “what’s up?”
“Jeff, are you ok?”
“Not really Annie. I think I have a stomach virus.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry Jeff. Do you need anything?” Her tone switches on a dime from cheery to somber.
“No, no I’m fine.” Liar! What you really want is someone to come take care of you.
“Ok. Well, I hope you feel better and I’ll try to stop by later.” Oh, please, oh please, oh please! You silently beg to yourself.
The line goes dead and you grumpily trudge back to your cave, pull the covers over your head and “harrumph” at your lone predicament. “No one loves me. No one wants to take care of me. No one-”
Jeff falls into an easy slumber, lightly snoring into his pillows. His stomach continues to growl and grumble, but so far he’s been able to stay safely in his sheet fort. He’s dreaming about Abed making out with Betty White, didn’t their previous Anthropology teacher strike an uncanny resemblance to the SNL host… when there’s a light rap against his door. He ignores it and the person knocks louder. He hears some rustling and the lock jiggling; obviously whoever has shown up knows where the spare key is.
“Hello?” The voice is mumbled and he can hear plastic bags rustling on the kitchen table. The person’s foot steps grow louder. He moans, he’s too sleepy to form coherent, logical speak. A hand rubs his blanket covered body and long fingers push the cover just enough to see his eyes.
You look expectantly at the woman in front of you. You want to cry. “Hi, Jeff.” Her voice is sweet like drizzled honey. Honey, food; and there goes your stomach. You bolt out of bed and race to the bathroom. Annie moves out of your way and you slam the door shut.
Moments later you return to your room, but all the pillows and blankets are gone. “Annie? Huh! It really was a thief!” You curse at your momentary, sleep induced haze. You go in search of other things gone missing. But once in the living room you see the couch has been made up (not with the same sheets that have mysteriously gone AWOL) and the TV (yup, still there) is on, buzzing quietly. You turn at the sound of bottles jingling and Annie’s face scares the crap out you. Well, not really, you were just expecting a blanket steeling, TV leavin’ burglar.
“I’m sorry Jeff. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You didn’t. I thought I had been robbed.”
“Of dirty bedding?”
“Well, I don’t know what is considered valuable to those who don’t have anything. Sheets could be a high priced bargaining chip out on the streets. Especially my Egyptian cotton ones. Where are they by the way?”
“In a laundry basket. I’m taking your dirty unmentionables to the dry cleaners.”
“Annie, you don’t-”
“I want too.” She ushers you into the living room and tucks you in. She even gives you a well placed kiss on the forehead. And no matter how sick you are, her kiss sends your blood boiling. You just wish you can give her a proper kiss. ‘She’s over you Winger. Snap out of it.’ The sulky part of your brain mentally kicks you, but the rational, non sulky side reasons, ‘she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t care’. That’s the side you like so, that’s the side you agree with. You snuggle down deeper into the cushions and finally relax, knowing someone likes you enough to come take care of you. Then something peeks your interest; she’s here but…
“Hey, don’t you have class all day?”
“Yeah.” She’s busy fishing around in your kitchen.
“So, shouldn’t you be…there?”
“Nope.” These one word, nonchalant answers are aggravating you.
“Annie!”
“Jeff.” She shows up in the doorway and you crane your neck to look behind you.
“Well?”
“You’re sick. School can wait ‘til tomorrow. You can’t. I won’t be missing anything, anyway.”
“Annie-”
“Don’t try reasoning with me Winger. It won’t do you any good. I’m staying; we’re going to watch movies and eat chicken soup and I’ll take excellent care of you.” She puts her foot down, literally stomping to prove her convictions. You grin up at her. You’ll let her take excellent care of you.
You nap for a little while longer and when you come to, there’s a steaming mug of chicken soup and Berry Blue Gatorade (you’re absolute favorite). “This is really good. Where did you get the soup?” She smile proudly and straightens in her seat at the foot of the couch.
“I made it. I had a whole pot left from last night and when I called you and you told me you were sick, I knew you could use some.” You just fell more in love with Annie.
“Sharing your recipe are you?”
“Nope, just the product.” She picks up her bowl as well, and spoons the hot soup into her mouth. ‘What else could she do well with those lips, those hands? Stop it Jeffrey!’ Geez, now you’re scolding yourself. ‘Well, at least sharing definitely tastes good!’
Your trips to the bathroom are less frequent and uh, rear end thanks God for that. Annie’s brought over a plethora of awesome movies, at least by your standards and she inches closer to you on the couch and by the start of Ice Age; Dawn of the Dinosaurs, she snuggles into your side, the comforter tucked under her chin and her hand over your heart. Your fingers comb through her hair, absentmindedly. ‘Sharing is definitely comforting.’
They’ve gone through the stack of movies and Annie’s eyes struggle to stay open. Her head’s dropped down into Jeff’s lap and she can’t deny how comfortable she feels around him. He gently rubs a thumb across her cheek and her wide eyes lazily stare up at him, “Mhmm?”
“Shouldn’t you be getting home?”
“Parents are visiting family in Florida. Won’t be back until Tuesday.” Her head drops heavily onto his lap again and Jeff reaches for the remote and flips through the channels; settling on TV Land. Marathons of “Bewitched” and “I Love Lucy” are scheduled well into tomorrow morning. He settles back under the blankets and Annie rubs her face against his sweatshirt and purrs contently in her sleep.
In between marathons, there’s a very old episode of “Captain Kangaroo” and although Jeff wasn’t born in the 1950’s, he remembers his grandfather singing his little catch phrase. “Sharing is caring.” He looks down at Annie and concurs. Sharing anything with Annie will no doubt bring a smile to his face and make him feel all giddy, like a ten year old with a crush on one of the Jonas Brothers, Nick… no, Tom; well, whatever his name is.
By midnight, Jeff’s stomach had returned to normal. He carefully slips out from under Annie and showers before changing back into his ‘sick’ clothes. He returns to the couch and sees Annie has wrapped herself up in his sheets. ‘I suppose sharing isn’t for everyone.’ Not wanting to wake her, but knowing they’ll both be more comfortable in bed, he scoops Annie into his arm, blankets and all; and slowly makes his way to his bedroom. He lays her down and climbs in beside her.
All of his napping early on leaves him with an arbitrary case of insomnia. His eyes roam the ceiling, hands behind his head. All the previous talk of sharing brings him to an unsuspecting conclusion. His heart and soul want him to share every minute of his life with Annie Edison. He wants to feel her in his arms when dawn breaks outside their window. He wants to make her coffee and share breakfast in the morning; swap newspaper articles. Jeff wants to hold her hand and take walks in the park. Put out a picnic blanket and point out the odd shapes the clouds make. He wants to share his life with Annie, and all he wants in return is for Annie to share hers.
A tiny groan shakes Jeff from his respite. Annie shifts in bed and groans again. ‘Oh no, I know that sound!’ She holds her legs close to her body.
You give her new position 10 seconds before she goes sprinting towards the bathroom. 10…9…8…7…6…5 and she’s off. “Oh no!” You hear her grumble as she hastily untangles the cocoon she’s trapped in. “I’m going to kill you Jeff Winger!” And she groans as her stomach twists and garbles loudly at her. “Oh shut up!”
You can’t help but laugh at her predicament, although just a few hours ago you were yelling the same profanities at your own disobedient intestines. You pick out a t-shirt for her to wear and a pair of worn in pajama bottoms. She comes shuffling out of the bathroom, her skirt and tights held in one hand, her other clutching her grouchy stomach. Your body responds to the fact that she’s clad in a tank top and panties. But, you sit her on the bed, mindful of the firm slap you receive from her. “This is all your fault Jeff.”
“Mine? How do you figure?” He motions for her to put her arms up.
“If you didn’t sound like such a lost puppy, I wouldn’t have come over.” He’s drops her top to the floor.
“Yes, you would have.” You get the evil stare; you were really hopping for the wide doe eyes complete with innocence and forgiveness. ‘Maybe some other time.’
“Oh yeah, why’s that?”
“Because you lo-” But you stop yourself and pull the rest of the shirt down to meet the waistband of her panties.
“Because I what Jeff?” Her voice is low and questioning.
“Because you care about your friends Annie. If it were Troy or Britta, you would have done the same thing.”
“That’s not what you were going to say Jeff.” Her arms are crossed, she has that same determined, ‘I won’t take any shit from you today’ look as before.
“You’re right. I wasn’t going to say that. But can we not turn this into a soap opera. Just, here…” You motion for her to climb back in to bed, but she refuses. Shaking her head forcefully.
“No! Not until you tell me what you were going to say.” Annie’s brow arches and when she pulls the pouty face; you drops to your knees, hands rubbing her thighs. You lean in, testing the waters. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she drops her arms and places her warm, albeit clammy, hands on top of yours. You lean in further and she meets you halfway. “Just tell me Jeff. I might surprise you.” You decide right then and there to cross that thin, invisible line between friends and… “more than” and your lips are sweet and gentle against each other’s. With the stomach bug you’ve managed to pass on, you can’t go any further than this, you pull back, and push the hair from her face.
“I was going to say… because you love me.”
“Now you’re just quoting a Celine Dion song.” Her laugh is weak, but given the circumstances…
“Well that’s true but,”
“I do love you. Have for a while now.”
“I know.” ‘Sharing can have its perks, unless it’s a nasty stomach bug that keeps Annie up half the night. Then it’s probably not a perk, more like a nuisance, something you are more then welcome to keep to yourself next time.’ In between runs to the bathroom and getting her a glass of your leftover Gatorade; you’ve come to realize that the best part of sharing, is that you’re not alone anymore.
Author: justine_88
Spoilers: Slam Fic Challenge; "sharing is Caring"
Pairing: Jeff/Annie
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Word Count: 2,377
Disclaimer: © NBC I do not own Community, or the characters. I'm just borrowing them.
Summary: Some things in life just aren't good to share ....
It’s always darkest before dawn. The orange glow of sun brings the promise of a new day. The shrill of the alarm clock breaks the beautiful silence of the early dawn and Jeff’s hand clumsily bangs against the end table hoping to shut the dam thing off. Ah! The sweet sound of success. Jeff pushes his head further under the pillows. A few more minutes of sleep is all he’s asking for. Just a few more moments under the warmth of blankets and sun. Stillness.
His stomach as other plans. The rumbling is felt first. Then, the loud garbling noise and then… that feeling. We all know it well. The one that incapacitates you, but you know you have to get out of bed or you’ll be throwing away your sheets. He makes it in time, but curses the whole way there. He needs a stomach virus like he needs a hole in the head; which is to say... this is not welcomed. His stomach grumbles at him, not caring what he feels is welcomed or unwelcomed. Once he feels it safe to exit the bathroom, he changes out of his briefs, throws on a pair of comfy flannel bottoms and pushes a hoodie over his t-shirt. He crawls back into bed, pulling his knees closer to his chest and moaning, hoping it will ease the pain. But to no avail. It’s going to be a long, shitty day. Pardon the pun.
His blankets act as a safe cocoon, shielding him from the harsh glare of the porcelain god, through the open bathroom. He covers his head; maybe if he isn’t reminded of the bathroom, he won’t have to go. Mind over matter. Well, in Jeff’s case it’s his Egyptian cotton sheets over the bathroom. He flings back the covers, whines to himself that he has to get up… again, and wobbles to the bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door. One his way back to bed, he checks his medicine cabinet; condoms, condoms, Advil, Q-tips, and bug bite cream (no doubt expired). “Dammit!” He slams the door closed. He even checks his fridge and all he has is past due milk (probably why he’s in this particular condition) and a half eaten meatball sandwich.
Jeff’s phone chimes from somewhere in the living room. He flips it open to see Annie’s face, her number flashing along with his ringtone. “Hi, Annie.”
“Good morning Jeff!” She’s too bright and cheery for how he’s feeling. He mumbles something that sounds like, “what’s up?”
“Jeff, are you ok?”
“Not really Annie. I think I have a stomach virus.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry Jeff. Do you need anything?” Her tone switches on a dime from cheery to somber.
“No, no I’m fine.” Liar! What you really want is someone to come take care of you.
“Ok. Well, I hope you feel better and I’ll try to stop by later.” Oh, please, oh please, oh please! You silently beg to yourself.
The line goes dead and you grumpily trudge back to your cave, pull the covers over your head and “harrumph” at your lone predicament. “No one loves me. No one wants to take care of me. No one-”
Jeff falls into an easy slumber, lightly snoring into his pillows. His stomach continues to growl and grumble, but so far he’s been able to stay safely in his sheet fort. He’s dreaming about Abed making out with Betty White, didn’t their previous Anthropology teacher strike an uncanny resemblance to the SNL host… when there’s a light rap against his door. He ignores it and the person knocks louder. He hears some rustling and the lock jiggling; obviously whoever has shown up knows where the spare key is.
“Hello?” The voice is mumbled and he can hear plastic bags rustling on the kitchen table. The person’s foot steps grow louder. He moans, he’s too sleepy to form coherent, logical speak. A hand rubs his blanket covered body and long fingers push the cover just enough to see his eyes.
You look expectantly at the woman in front of you. You want to cry. “Hi, Jeff.” Her voice is sweet like drizzled honey. Honey, food; and there goes your stomach. You bolt out of bed and race to the bathroom. Annie moves out of your way and you slam the door shut.
Moments later you return to your room, but all the pillows and blankets are gone. “Annie? Huh! It really was a thief!” You curse at your momentary, sleep induced haze. You go in search of other things gone missing. But once in the living room you see the couch has been made up (not with the same sheets that have mysteriously gone AWOL) and the TV (yup, still there) is on, buzzing quietly. You turn at the sound of bottles jingling and Annie’s face scares the crap out you. Well, not really, you were just expecting a blanket steeling, TV leavin’ burglar.
“I’m sorry Jeff. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You didn’t. I thought I had been robbed.”
“Of dirty bedding?”
“Well, I don’t know what is considered valuable to those who don’t have anything. Sheets could be a high priced bargaining chip out on the streets. Especially my Egyptian cotton ones. Where are they by the way?”
“In a laundry basket. I’m taking your dirty unmentionables to the dry cleaners.”
“Annie, you don’t-”
“I want too.” She ushers you into the living room and tucks you in. She even gives you a well placed kiss on the forehead. And no matter how sick you are, her kiss sends your blood boiling. You just wish you can give her a proper kiss. ‘She’s over you Winger. Snap out of it.’ The sulky part of your brain mentally kicks you, but the rational, non sulky side reasons, ‘she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t care’. That’s the side you like so, that’s the side you agree with. You snuggle down deeper into the cushions and finally relax, knowing someone likes you enough to come take care of you. Then something peeks your interest; she’s here but…
“Hey, don’t you have class all day?”
“Yeah.” She’s busy fishing around in your kitchen.
“So, shouldn’t you be…there?”
“Nope.” These one word, nonchalant answers are aggravating you.
“Annie!”
“Jeff.” She shows up in the doorway and you crane your neck to look behind you.
“Well?”
“You’re sick. School can wait ‘til tomorrow. You can’t. I won’t be missing anything, anyway.”
“Annie-”
“Don’t try reasoning with me Winger. It won’t do you any good. I’m staying; we’re going to watch movies and eat chicken soup and I’ll take excellent care of you.” She puts her foot down, literally stomping to prove her convictions. You grin up at her. You’ll let her take excellent care of you.
You nap for a little while longer and when you come to, there’s a steaming mug of chicken soup and Berry Blue Gatorade (you’re absolute favorite). “This is really good. Where did you get the soup?” She smile proudly and straightens in her seat at the foot of the couch.
“I made it. I had a whole pot left from last night and when I called you and you told me you were sick, I knew you could use some.” You just fell more in love with Annie.
“Sharing your recipe are you?”
“Nope, just the product.” She picks up her bowl as well, and spoons the hot soup into her mouth. ‘What else could she do well with those lips, those hands? Stop it Jeffrey!’ Geez, now you’re scolding yourself. ‘Well, at least sharing definitely tastes good!’
Your trips to the bathroom are less frequent and uh, rear end thanks God for that. Annie’s brought over a plethora of awesome movies, at least by your standards and she inches closer to you on the couch and by the start of Ice Age; Dawn of the Dinosaurs, she snuggles into your side, the comforter tucked under her chin and her hand over your heart. Your fingers comb through her hair, absentmindedly. ‘Sharing is definitely comforting.’
They’ve gone through the stack of movies and Annie’s eyes struggle to stay open. Her head’s dropped down into Jeff’s lap and she can’t deny how comfortable she feels around him. He gently rubs a thumb across her cheek and her wide eyes lazily stare up at him, “Mhmm?”
“Shouldn’t you be getting home?”
“Parents are visiting family in Florida. Won’t be back until Tuesday.” Her head drops heavily onto his lap again and Jeff reaches for the remote and flips through the channels; settling on TV Land. Marathons of “Bewitched” and “I Love Lucy” are scheduled well into tomorrow morning. He settles back under the blankets and Annie rubs her face against his sweatshirt and purrs contently in her sleep.
In between marathons, there’s a very old episode of “Captain Kangaroo” and although Jeff wasn’t born in the 1950’s, he remembers his grandfather singing his little catch phrase. “Sharing is caring.” He looks down at Annie and concurs. Sharing anything with Annie will no doubt bring a smile to his face and make him feel all giddy, like a ten year old with a crush on one of the Jonas Brothers, Nick… no, Tom; well, whatever his name is.
By midnight, Jeff’s stomach had returned to normal. He carefully slips out from under Annie and showers before changing back into his ‘sick’ clothes. He returns to the couch and sees Annie has wrapped herself up in his sheets. ‘I suppose sharing isn’t for everyone.’ Not wanting to wake her, but knowing they’ll both be more comfortable in bed, he scoops Annie into his arm, blankets and all; and slowly makes his way to his bedroom. He lays her down and climbs in beside her.
All of his napping early on leaves him with an arbitrary case of insomnia. His eyes roam the ceiling, hands behind his head. All the previous talk of sharing brings him to an unsuspecting conclusion. His heart and soul want him to share every minute of his life with Annie Edison. He wants to feel her in his arms when dawn breaks outside their window. He wants to make her coffee and share breakfast in the morning; swap newspaper articles. Jeff wants to hold her hand and take walks in the park. Put out a picnic blanket and point out the odd shapes the clouds make. He wants to share his life with Annie, and all he wants in return is for Annie to share hers.
A tiny groan shakes Jeff from his respite. Annie shifts in bed and groans again. ‘Oh no, I know that sound!’ She holds her legs close to her body.
You give her new position 10 seconds before she goes sprinting towards the bathroom. 10…9…8…7…6…5 and she’s off. “Oh no!” You hear her grumble as she hastily untangles the cocoon she’s trapped in. “I’m going to kill you Jeff Winger!” And she groans as her stomach twists and garbles loudly at her. “Oh shut up!”
You can’t help but laugh at her predicament, although just a few hours ago you were yelling the same profanities at your own disobedient intestines. You pick out a t-shirt for her to wear and a pair of worn in pajama bottoms. She comes shuffling out of the bathroom, her skirt and tights held in one hand, her other clutching her grouchy stomach. Your body responds to the fact that she’s clad in a tank top and panties. But, you sit her on the bed, mindful of the firm slap you receive from her. “This is all your fault Jeff.”
“Mine? How do you figure?” He motions for her to put her arms up.
“If you didn’t sound like such a lost puppy, I wouldn’t have come over.” He’s drops her top to the floor.
“Yes, you would have.” You get the evil stare; you were really hopping for the wide doe eyes complete with innocence and forgiveness. ‘Maybe some other time.’
“Oh yeah, why’s that?”
“Because you lo-” But you stop yourself and pull the rest of the shirt down to meet the waistband of her panties.
“Because I what Jeff?” Her voice is low and questioning.
“Because you care about your friends Annie. If it were Troy or Britta, you would have done the same thing.”
“That’s not what you were going to say Jeff.” Her arms are crossed, she has that same determined, ‘I won’t take any shit from you today’ look as before.
“You’re right. I wasn’t going to say that. But can we not turn this into a soap opera. Just, here…” You motion for her to climb back in to bed, but she refuses. Shaking her head forcefully.
“No! Not until you tell me what you were going to say.” Annie’s brow arches and when she pulls the pouty face; you drops to your knees, hands rubbing her thighs. You lean in, testing the waters. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she drops her arms and places her warm, albeit clammy, hands on top of yours. You lean in further and she meets you halfway. “Just tell me Jeff. I might surprise you.” You decide right then and there to cross that thin, invisible line between friends and… “more than” and your lips are sweet and gentle against each other’s. With the stomach bug you’ve managed to pass on, you can’t go any further than this, you pull back, and push the hair from her face.
“I was going to say… because you love me.”
“Now you’re just quoting a Celine Dion song.” Her laugh is weak, but given the circumstances…
“Well that’s true but,”
“I do love you. Have for a while now.”
“I know.” ‘Sharing can have its perks, unless it’s a nasty stomach bug that keeps Annie up half the night. Then it’s probably not a perk, more like a nuisance, something you are more then welcome to keep to yourself next time.’ In between runs to the bathroom and getting her a glass of your leftover Gatorade; you’ve come to realize that the best part of sharing, is that you’re not alone anymore.