Strategies in Conflict Resolution (1/2)
Title: Strategies in Conflict Resolution (1/2)
Summary: Alternate Ending to 2.10, Mixology Certification
Characters/Pairing: Ensemble; Jeff/Annie
Word Count: 4578
Spoilers: Up to Mixology Certification.
Rating: This chapter PG-13, will go to R/NC-17.
Disclaimer: Dan Harmon's kind of a raging dick, but he technically owns the characters.
"That woman is a hurricane."
"Yeeah...."
"... Hurricanes are bad, Troy."
"I know!"
Jeff smirked, and cast his eyes over the room, doing a quick headcount as Britta strolled to the bathroom. Pierce hadn't arrived yet, Shirley was flitting around strangely - Jeff thought briefly about thinking about why, decided he liked thinking about enjoying his scotch more - Abed was at the other end of the room chatting intensely with some guy about ... something, and Annie was creating a whole new life for herself at the bar. Her adorable Southern accent carried over to their table "... I just did it to see if I could do it! And guess what - I cooould!" His smirk melted into a full-on grin. That was their Annie, alright. Committing herself to the role, one hundred percent, never went halfway with anything - if her ID said she was Caroline Decker? She was going to be Caroline Decker.
Britta moseyed back from the bathroom, but stopped as she caught sight of something by the door. "Pierce?"
"Leave me alone, Brittles! Your emaciated frame would be of no use here anyway!"
"You stubborn, foolish manchild," Britta huffed, stomping over to him. "Is your own fragile male ego more important to you than missing the entire party?"
"Frankly, YES."
Troy jumped up to help Britta haul Pierce's giant wheelchair, but Jeff was distracted by what looked like Annie ordering a drink - a real, big-girl drink, with happy juice in it and everything - from her new friend, the bartender. He quirked an eyebrow - half of him was a bizarrely proud of Annie doing something so OMGWRONG (and downright normal) as taking advantage of the opportunity to drink underage. The other half - the half that was New Jeff, the protective New Jeff who actually cared about his friends' well being - wasn't sure he liked where that was going.
His eyes narrowed as some hipster with floppy hair and skinny jeans slid in next to Caroline Decker and smiled at her. Oh, no. He definitely didn't like where that was going.
***
Jeff lost track of his banter with Britta - something about the Hurt Locker? Whatever man, he was just operating on auto-bicker at this point - as he kept an silent eye on what was going on over at the bar. Just watching out for his good friend Annie. Just like a good friend is supposed to do. That's all. She was on screwdriver number two, but nursing them pretty slowly, actually, but he was still going to step in after three to save her from the hangover.
And if it cut off Hipster Douche's game, so be it.
Abed dropped down next to him and interrupted both his train of thought and his argument with Britta (over what, again?). "Hey, man. Who was that guy you were talking to over there? Old friend?"
"Just met him. We were talking about Farscape. Also, I think he wanted to have gay sex with me."
Troy was distracted from his conversation with Shirley (who had returned awhile ago, still a little squirrely and tense, but had quickly settled in to convincing Troy that a daiquiri or margarita is a perfectly-acceptable "first legal drink" choice - "They come with umbrellas! It's like toys come with your drink! Isn't that nice?") - "Wait, what?"
"But then he said that Stargate is better than Farscape. So I don't think we could even be friends, let alone gay lovers. Particularly since I'm not gay."
"That makes sense." Shirley took this in stride, though with a side-eye at Troy, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Oooh, speaking of new friends - looks like Annie's made one. He looks nice."
Shirley had lost her mind. The guy was clearly a douche. But her noticing the situation both amped his concern, and gave him license to discuss it, so he was grateful for her input.
Britta wheeled around to eyeball the situation. "Douche. But harmless douche."
Jeff took shelter behind the auto-bicker. "Harmless? That guy has 'Hey come back to my place to listen to my painfully obscure indie rock collection with our clothes off’ written all over him."
"Yeah, but that's kind of her type anyway, no? And she's not a child, Jeffrey. She's even drinking. She's old enough to empower her own life-choices, even if your patriarchal instincts are to put her on some virginal pedestal and lock her in her room with a chastity-belt -"
"Drinking?" Shirley suddenly got less excited. "I thought that was orange juice. Is that something OK for a recovering pill addict to do?"
Jeff seized on that, though he didn't actually know the particular rules about these things. "Yeah! And there's that!"
Troy shrugged. "I don't know how all that NA stuff works, but Annie Adderall was amped and intense and probably could have used a shot or two to chillax. She seems alright to me. Happy even."
Jeff was not going to hold a grudge about this betrayal. But only because it was Troy's birthday. So he simply scowled.
"Aw, let Big Boobs have some fun. Maybe she'll flash us!"
Jeff aimed his scowl at Pierce (as Britta immediately launched into a rant on the Girls Gone Wild industry and their exploitative and predatory business practices) and then checked in on the Girl Going Wild herself - just in time to see Hipster Douche flag down the bartender to order Annie another drink. "Hey!” he yelped. “He's getting her a drink! I told her not to accept drinks from anyone!"
Britta stopped herself mid-rant and took a glance. "Winger, the bartender gave it to her directly, it's fine."
But he wasn't listening, unfolding himself from behind the table and storming over to the bar area. "That's not the point." The point was, of course, that it was obvious that that goddamn dirty hipster had taken one look at her goddamn Disney Princess face and started thinking about corrupting her and peeling her out of that goddamn pink cardigan and was trying to get Annie drunk and vulnerable and this was not happening on his watch, goddamnit. "Annie!"
****
Annie had discovered that she really liked vodka. Not straight, mind you. She couldn't handle a four-olive martini. But with juice, she liked it just fine - she was all warm and fuzzy inside, and her face was just the teensiest bit numb, but most of all, she felt relaxed and smiley and she was having fun. She was Capricious Caroline Decker! She was raised on a trout farm! She'd followed Phish around the country - which she'd heard about and didn't quite understand and frankly it sounded really uncomfortable and didn't think she'd ever actually want to do something like that, but gosh if she didn't like pretending she'd done it. Caroline Decker was bold and unafraid and interesting because she'd went off the map and lived. At least Tad seemed to think she was interesting. Caroline Decker was also flirtatious and sassy, and was very much enjoying talking to Tad, who was very cute and very nice - if a little short.
She'd only hesitated a second when he'd offered to buy her next drink - "Annie - don't accept any drinks!" - but Hannah, the bartender, would be making the drink in front of her, just like the last two, and she felt the spirit of Caroline Decker tell her to seize the damn day, already. She was in a bar, underage, using a covert identity! She was having an adventure! She just wouldn't leave the drink unattended, is all. She rewarded Tad with a beam, and he fumbled his own beer a bit and got a little pink and had just begun to stutter about his LP collection and this awesome new band he'd just discovered, when she heard the angry, "Annie!"
She froze, quickly glancing down the bar - Hannah was preoccupied, thank God. She resisted the instinct to respond, smiling brightly and nodding at Tad enthusiastically as she gripped onto Caroline Decker with both hands. (Maybe New Annie will become an actress!)
A (large, very warm) hand fell on her shoulder. "Annie."
She blinked, wide eyed, and feigned innocence up at a very annoyed-looking Winger. "So sorry, mister, but I think y'all've got me confused with somebody else, my name is Caro-"
"Very funny, Annie, ha ha, now cut it out, and come back to the table. What did I say about accepting drinks from randoms?"
“’Annie’?” Tad looks confused. They both ignored him.
Annie's scrunched her mouth up and flared her nostrils at his patronizing tone. "I'm fine, Jeff. Everything`s fine. Go away."
"You're fine? We leave you alone for two seconds, and you’re already become a barfly and picking up hipster douchemonkey boyfriends, and that’s enough. Come back. To the table.`
“No!”
Tad, foolishly, took this as a good sign, even though he was still confused, and tried to interject. “Hey, bro , I don’t know what’s going on, but-“
Jeff bared his teeth and gave an aggressive little push to the guy’s chest. “Don’t ‘bro’ me dude. She`s underage, and you’re backing off, now.”
“JEFF!” Annie sprang up, scandalized, as Tad’s eyes got wide and looked at her like she was a wide-eyed, curvy trap. “I’m not underage. Well, I am-“ Tad’s eyes got wider, and began to inch away -“but I’m not, not the way you’re making it sound . What is wrong with you?”
Jeff scowled at her outrage. “Nothing is ‘wrong’ with me, Annie. I’m looking out for you since you’re clearly showing poor judgment. Did the booze-goggles disfigure the fact that you were picking up a walking talking cliche? Who doesn’t even own a comb? And, skinny jeans, Annie. SKINNY JEANS. Has Britta taught you nothing about the ways of the world? You never date a guy who wears skinny jeans! That’s Self-Preservation 101!”
Annie bristled visibly. “No, she hasn’t, she’s obviously spending all her free time teaching you to be a buzzkill. I was having fun, Jeff, where do you get off -”
“Where do I get off cutting off my underage friend before she makes a raging fool of herself?” Annie was flushed, eyes bright, breathing heavily, and Jeff was just running at the mouth now, trying not to focus on the bright-eyed heavy breathing and instead on his righteous indignation, and he may have gotten a little louder than he meant to be: “Are you even supposed to be drinking, Annie? I could give two craps about the legality of it, but how does Narcotics Anonymous feel about such things?”
Annie stopped cold and flushed bright red, and Jeff knew he’d gone too far, but he stayed stock still and glared right back at her until someone cleared their throat behind them - Hannah, apologetic. “Sorry, hon, you’ve been a real treat, but you’re going to have to leave now.”
Annie nodded stiffly, keeping her furious eyes on Jeff, and marched to where the group was uncharacteristically quiet. She grabbed her purse and stormed out the door. With a distressed noise, Shirley began to gather her things and follow, but Jeff impatiently waved her off. “No, I got this. I broke it, I’ll fix it.”
***
Part 2
.
Summary: Alternate Ending to 2.10, Mixology Certification
Characters/Pairing: Ensemble; Jeff/Annie
Word Count: 4578
Spoilers: Up to Mixology Certification.
Rating: This chapter PG-13, will go to R/NC-17.
Disclaimer: Dan Harmon's kind of a raging dick, but he technically owns the characters.
"That woman is a hurricane."
"Yeeah...."
"... Hurricanes are bad, Troy."
"I know!"
Jeff smirked, and cast his eyes over the room, doing a quick headcount as Britta strolled to the bathroom. Pierce hadn't arrived yet, Shirley was flitting around strangely - Jeff thought briefly about thinking about why, decided he liked thinking about enjoying his scotch more - Abed was at the other end of the room chatting intensely with some guy about ... something, and Annie was creating a whole new life for herself at the bar. Her adorable Southern accent carried over to their table "... I just did it to see if I could do it! And guess what - I cooould!" His smirk melted into a full-on grin. That was their Annie, alright. Committing herself to the role, one hundred percent, never went halfway with anything - if her ID said she was Caroline Decker? She was going to be Caroline Decker.
Britta moseyed back from the bathroom, but stopped as she caught sight of something by the door. "Pierce?"
"Leave me alone, Brittles! Your emaciated frame would be of no use here anyway!"
"You stubborn, foolish manchild," Britta huffed, stomping over to him. "Is your own fragile male ego more important to you than missing the entire party?"
"Frankly, YES."
Troy jumped up to help Britta haul Pierce's giant wheelchair, but Jeff was distracted by what looked like Annie ordering a drink - a real, big-girl drink, with happy juice in it and everything - from her new friend, the bartender. He quirked an eyebrow - half of him was a bizarrely proud of Annie doing something so OMGWRONG (and downright normal) as taking advantage of the opportunity to drink underage. The other half - the half that was New Jeff, the protective New Jeff who actually cared about his friends' well being - wasn't sure he liked where that was going.
His eyes narrowed as some hipster with floppy hair and skinny jeans slid in next to Caroline Decker and smiled at her. Oh, no. He definitely didn't like where that was going.
***
Jeff lost track of his banter with Britta - something about the Hurt Locker? Whatever man, he was just operating on auto-bicker at this point - as he kept an silent eye on what was going on over at the bar. Just watching out for his good friend Annie. Just like a good friend is supposed to do. That's all. She was on screwdriver number two, but nursing them pretty slowly, actually, but he was still going to step in after three to save her from the hangover.
And if it cut off Hipster Douche's game, so be it.
Abed dropped down next to him and interrupted both his train of thought and his argument with Britta (over what, again?). "Hey, man. Who was that guy you were talking to over there? Old friend?"
"Just met him. We were talking about Farscape. Also, I think he wanted to have gay sex with me."
Troy was distracted from his conversation with Shirley (who had returned awhile ago, still a little squirrely and tense, but had quickly settled in to convincing Troy that a daiquiri or margarita is a perfectly-acceptable "first legal drink" choice - "They come with umbrellas! It's like toys come with your drink! Isn't that nice?") - "Wait, what?"
"But then he said that Stargate is better than Farscape. So I don't think we could even be friends, let alone gay lovers. Particularly since I'm not gay."
"That makes sense." Shirley took this in stride, though with a side-eye at Troy, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Oooh, speaking of new friends - looks like Annie's made one. He looks nice."
Shirley had lost her mind. The guy was clearly a douche. But her noticing the situation both amped his concern, and gave him license to discuss it, so he was grateful for her input.
Britta wheeled around to eyeball the situation. "Douche. But harmless douche."
Jeff took shelter behind the auto-bicker. "Harmless? That guy has 'Hey come back to my place to listen to my painfully obscure indie rock collection with our clothes off’ written all over him."
"Yeah, but that's kind of her type anyway, no? And she's not a child, Jeffrey. She's even drinking. She's old enough to empower her own life-choices, even if your patriarchal instincts are to put her on some virginal pedestal and lock her in her room with a chastity-belt -"
"Drinking?" Shirley suddenly got less excited. "I thought that was orange juice. Is that something OK for a recovering pill addict to do?"
Jeff seized on that, though he didn't actually know the particular rules about these things. "Yeah! And there's that!"
Troy shrugged. "I don't know how all that NA stuff works, but Annie Adderall was amped and intense and probably could have used a shot or two to chillax. She seems alright to me. Happy even."
Jeff was not going to hold a grudge about this betrayal. But only because it was Troy's birthday. So he simply scowled.
"Aw, let Big Boobs have some fun. Maybe she'll flash us!"
Jeff aimed his scowl at Pierce (as Britta immediately launched into a rant on the Girls Gone Wild industry and their exploitative and predatory business practices) and then checked in on the Girl Going Wild herself - just in time to see Hipster Douche flag down the bartender to order Annie another drink. "Hey!” he yelped. “He's getting her a drink! I told her not to accept drinks from anyone!"
Britta stopped herself mid-rant and took a glance. "Winger, the bartender gave it to her directly, it's fine."
But he wasn't listening, unfolding himself from behind the table and storming over to the bar area. "That's not the point." The point was, of course, that it was obvious that that goddamn dirty hipster had taken one look at her goddamn Disney Princess face and started thinking about corrupting her and peeling her out of that goddamn pink cardigan and was trying to get Annie drunk and vulnerable and this was not happening on his watch, goddamnit. "Annie!"
****
Annie had discovered that she really liked vodka. Not straight, mind you. She couldn't handle a four-olive martini. But with juice, she liked it just fine - she was all warm and fuzzy inside, and her face was just the teensiest bit numb, but most of all, she felt relaxed and smiley and she was having fun. She was Capricious Caroline Decker! She was raised on a trout farm! She'd followed Phish around the country - which she'd heard about and didn't quite understand and frankly it sounded really uncomfortable and didn't think she'd ever actually want to do something like that, but gosh if she didn't like pretending she'd done it. Caroline Decker was bold and unafraid and interesting because she'd went off the map and lived. At least Tad seemed to think she was interesting. Caroline Decker was also flirtatious and sassy, and was very much enjoying talking to Tad, who was very cute and very nice - if a little short.
She'd only hesitated a second when he'd offered to buy her next drink - "Annie - don't accept any drinks!" - but Hannah, the bartender, would be making the drink in front of her, just like the last two, and she felt the spirit of Caroline Decker tell her to seize the damn day, already. She was in a bar, underage, using a covert identity! She was having an adventure! She just wouldn't leave the drink unattended, is all. She rewarded Tad with a beam, and he fumbled his own beer a bit and got a little pink and had just begun to stutter about his LP collection and this awesome new band he'd just discovered, when she heard the angry, "Annie!"
She froze, quickly glancing down the bar - Hannah was preoccupied, thank God. She resisted the instinct to respond, smiling brightly and nodding at Tad enthusiastically as she gripped onto Caroline Decker with both hands. (Maybe New Annie will become an actress!)
A (large, very warm) hand fell on her shoulder. "Annie."
She blinked, wide eyed, and feigned innocence up at a very annoyed-looking Winger. "So sorry, mister, but I think y'all've got me confused with somebody else, my name is Caro-"
"Very funny, Annie, ha ha, now cut it out, and come back to the table. What did I say about accepting drinks from randoms?"
“’Annie’?” Tad looks confused. They both ignored him.
Annie's scrunched her mouth up and flared her nostrils at his patronizing tone. "I'm fine, Jeff. Everything`s fine. Go away."
"You're fine? We leave you alone for two seconds, and you’re already become a barfly and picking up hipster douchemonkey boyfriends, and that’s enough. Come back. To the table.`
“No!”
Tad, foolishly, took this as a good sign, even though he was still confused, and tried to interject. “Hey, bro , I don’t know what’s going on, but-“
Jeff bared his teeth and gave an aggressive little push to the guy’s chest. “Don’t ‘bro’ me dude. She`s underage, and you’re backing off, now.”
“JEFF!” Annie sprang up, scandalized, as Tad’s eyes got wide and looked at her like she was a wide-eyed, curvy trap. “I’m not underage. Well, I am-“ Tad’s eyes got wider, and began to inch away -“but I’m not, not the way you’re making it sound . What is wrong with you?”
Jeff scowled at her outrage. “Nothing is ‘wrong’ with me, Annie. I’m looking out for you since you’re clearly showing poor judgment. Did the booze-goggles disfigure the fact that you were picking up a walking talking cliche? Who doesn’t even own a comb? And, skinny jeans, Annie. SKINNY JEANS. Has Britta taught you nothing about the ways of the world? You never date a guy who wears skinny jeans! That’s Self-Preservation 101!”
Annie bristled visibly. “No, she hasn’t, she’s obviously spending all her free time teaching you to be a buzzkill. I was having fun, Jeff, where do you get off -”
“Where do I get off cutting off my underage friend before she makes a raging fool of herself?” Annie was flushed, eyes bright, breathing heavily, and Jeff was just running at the mouth now, trying not to focus on the bright-eyed heavy breathing and instead on his righteous indignation, and he may have gotten a little louder than he meant to be: “Are you even supposed to be drinking, Annie? I could give two craps about the legality of it, but how does Narcotics Anonymous feel about such things?”
Annie stopped cold and flushed bright red, and Jeff knew he’d gone too far, but he stayed stock still and glared right back at her until someone cleared their throat behind them - Hannah, apologetic. “Sorry, hon, you’ve been a real treat, but you’re going to have to leave now.”
Annie nodded stiffly, keeping her furious eyes on Jeff, and marched to where the group was uncharacteristically quiet. She grabbed her purse and stormed out the door. With a distressed noise, Shirley began to gather her things and follow, but Jeff impatiently waved her off. “No, I got this. I broke it, I’ll fix it.”
***
Part 2
.