Studies in A and B Storylines
Title: Studies in A and B Storylines
Fandom: Community
Summary: Britta tries to help Abed get over Troy. Some other stuff happens in the background.
Pairings: Britta/Abed (friendship), Jeff/Annie (friendship), Jeff/his hair (true love).
Rating: PG.
Annie looked at her watch. “Is it just me,” she said, “Or is Jeff later than usual?”
“Just you,” said Britta, without looking up from her bag. She had been unable to find her curler that morning, and the pocket mirror she normally carried with her also seemed to have gone missing.
“No, I think he actually is later,” said Abed. “He normally arrives around three witty repartees after Annie, and two after -” He stopped abruptly. Britta felt a twinge of sympathy, and abandoned her search for the mirror.
“I know it's hard, Abed,” she said gently. “And I know nothing can replace Troy, but -”
Jeff burst into the room. There were dark smudges around his eyes, and his normally immaculate hair was in disarray.
“Has anyone seen my comb?” he asked. Everyone gave him a questioning look. “It's medicated,” he added.
“What's a medicated comb?” asked Shirley.
“Did you check the pockets of the pants you wore yesterday?” asked Britta. “Once I misplaced some mari-” she crossed eyes with Shirley - “scripture, and it turned out I had left it there.”
“I do not keep my comb in my pocket, Britta, because I am not a schoolboy from the 1950s,” said Jeff acerbically. “I keep it in my safe, which I found unlocked this morning with the comb missing. Someone must have taken it.”
“Come on,” said Annie, standing up. “I'll help you find it. Did you check your car?”
As Annie and Jeff left the room, bickering about who had the better-organized toiletries, Britta turned to Abed.
“You seem depressed this morning, Abed,” she said. “I mean, it's hard to tell, but you only said 'Cool' twice when I told you that Lisa Kudrow was going to do an AMA on Reddit on the fifth. Is this about Troy?”
“I do have other aspects to my personality than pop culture and Troy, Britta,” said Abed.
“Then what is this about?”
“It's about Troy and pop culture. On this specific occasion. As soon as I saw that Jeff was late, I realized that the A storyline this week was going to be something to do with him, and normally, when that happens, Troy and I go off and have some wacky adventures of our own as the number two storyline.” He paused. There was silence. “I miss Pierce.”
“So do I?" said Britta, more as a question than as a statement. “And I know that none of us are Troy, Abed, but you have four friends -” She glanced out the glass door of the study room. Jeff and Annie were having what appeared to be a highly animated discussion with the Dean. “-Two friends who would be more than willing to participate in whatever shenanigans you have planned for this week. Right, Shirley?”
“I don't plan them,” said Abed. “Shenanigans have to happen organically. I learned that back in our first year, when Troy and I were doing those college pranks, remember?”
“Well, maybe you should unlearn it,” said Britta. “It's perfectly possible to have fun in a -” she glanced out the window at Annie, who was kneeing the Dean in the stomach - “More or less planned way. You know. Within reason.”
“Maybe you're right,” said Abed. “I have to go home. I have a cupboard of things I keep around for capers. Want to meet me there?”
“Of course!” said Britta, delighted.
“Cool,” said Abed, standing up. “Cool, cool, cool.” He smiled at her. Britta wondered if he had said the word four times because he was genuinely enthusiastic, or because he now knew that she was counting.
Britta remained in the study room for a few minutes, searching for her mirror. As she left, she stumbled into another student walking down the corridor.
“Sorry,” she said, half-turning. She took in the other student's tall frame and athletic build. “I mean … sorry,” she added, in her most alluring voice.
“My fault,” said Mr. Athlete. “I was a little disoriented. Does this ever strike you as an odd place?”
“Tell me about it,” said Britta, following him down the corridor. “No, seriously, tell me about it. I'm a therapist.”
“Cool,” said Mr. Athlete, sounding a little surprised. He glanced again at Britta, who briefly wished that the odor of pot smoke lingered less. “I mean, I was just passing the Intro to Law classroom and one of the students was - she was waterboarding a guy. And the professor just stood there! That can't be legal.”
“It is in our fascist nanny state,” said Britta. Mr. Athlete gave her another odd look. “I mean, they're looking for a comb. I heard. Not that I know them.”
“A comb? What kind of comb is worth that much trouble?”
“It's medicated?” offered Britta.
“What's a medicated comb?”
…
There was a diorama sitting on Annie and Abed's doormat. It appeared to have at some point depicted the Ascent of Man, but the Ascenders had been removed and replaced with a variety of dilapidated combs. Britta stepped over it and rang the doorbell.
“I was thinking,” said Abed, opening the door. “Troy found our handshake on the Internet. Maybe that means that sometimes you really do need to look for great things if you want them to happen to you.”
“Exactly, Abed,” said Britta warmly, following him inside. He led her to a desk by the window, where his laptop was standing open.
“So I found this series of videos,” continued Abed, “And I decided-”
There was a crashing noise from outside, and Britta glanced out the window. Jeff, wearing a long blonde wig, was gripping a man she didn't recognize by the lapels and pushing him up against a car.
“SO HELP ME,” screamed Jeff, “IF YOU DON'T TELL ME WHO KIDNAPPED ANNIE, I'LL-” Britta shut the window.
“Sorry about that,” she said, making a mental note to keep the windows in her office shut when she became a proper, practicing therapist. “You were saying?”
“I thought that, if you wanted to join me for some classic Troy and Abed-style shenanigans, then we could start by coming up with a secret handshake. Obviously we can't use the one that Troy and I used, but if you look at this video, perhaps we could learn to - OW!”
…
The waiting room at the hospital was full of old people, and rather smelly, but Britta had larger concerns.
“I'm so sorry!” she wailed for the hundredth time.
“It's all right, Britta,” said Abed, cradling his dislocated thumb with his good hand. “It was my fault. You can't plan shenanigans. They happen spontaneously when you have the right ambiance. And the right people.”
“I could have sworn I was only doing what the video said!” said Britta. “Look, I'll look it up on my phone, and -”
“Don't do that -”
“Huh, this is odd,” said Britta. “I found that motion the video was showing, but it wasn't a handshake. It was -” She looked up suddenly. “Did you do this on purpose?”
Abed looked away.
“Abed!” said Britta. “I know I can't replace Troy, and I shouldn't have tried. But -”
“It wasn't about that,” said Abed. “It was about -” He stopped abruptly, his jaw dropping open.
“Are you trying to distract me so you can run away?” asked Britta. “Because we really do need to talk this out, Abed. Also, your thumb really is dislocated. How could you have possibly thought that was a good idea? Tell me, Abed. Tell me about … your past.”
Abed didn't move. Britta sighed, and followed his gaze. Her jaw dropped open as well.
“OK, you can stop staring,” said the object of their gaze. “Any time now. Now would be good.”
“It's never lupus!” yelled Britta.
“Everybody lies!” yelled Abed.
“Shut up and boogie!” yelled Britta. Abed and the Dr. House lookalike both turned to look at her. “That was on the show, right? I never actually watched it.”
“That's enough,” said the Dr. House lookalike. “I get this every single day of my life and I'm not even a doctor, OK? I'm a nurse. I clean bedpans. I do not diagnose. I do not - What the hell was that?”
There was a distant crashing noise. Britta thought that she could hear someone shouting, a long way away, “WHAT'S A MEDICATED COMB?”
…
“Perhaps there's something to be said for planning,” said Abed, as they walked towards the cafeteria. “If you hadn't tried to force me into shenanigans, I would have never tried to teach you a lesson about spontaneity, we would never have gone to the hospital, and we would never have met Dr. House.”
“There's something to be said for spontaneity, too,” said Britta, pushing open the door to the cafeteria. “After all -”
She stopped abruptly. The cafeteria's tables had been removed, and bleachers lined the walls. In the middle of the room, Jeff, stark naked aside from the blonde wig tied into a loincloth around his waist, circled around Garrett, who bore an electric hair clipper with which he made periodic jabs at Jeff's head.
“Anyway,” said Britta, shutting the door and walking back down the corridor, “We both learned a valuable lesson. And really, isn't that what shenanigans are all about?”
…
“What's with the hats?” asked Britta the next morning, as the Save Greendale Committee arrived in the study room. Jeff and Annie looked at each other and burst into laughter.
“Whatever,” muttered Britta. “We don't need them, do we, Abed?” She extended a hand towards him, and then, as an afterthought, changed the gesture into a high-five.
THE END
Fandom: Community
Summary: Britta tries to help Abed get over Troy. Some other stuff happens in the background.
Pairings: Britta/Abed (friendship), Jeff/Annie (friendship), Jeff/his hair (true love).
Rating: PG.
Annie looked at her watch. “Is it just me,” she said, “Or is Jeff later than usual?”
“Just you,” said Britta, without looking up from her bag. She had been unable to find her curler that morning, and the pocket mirror she normally carried with her also seemed to have gone missing.
“No, I think he actually is later,” said Abed. “He normally arrives around three witty repartees after Annie, and two after -” He stopped abruptly. Britta felt a twinge of sympathy, and abandoned her search for the mirror.
“I know it's hard, Abed,” she said gently. “And I know nothing can replace Troy, but -”
Jeff burst into the room. There were dark smudges around his eyes, and his normally immaculate hair was in disarray.
“Has anyone seen my comb?” he asked. Everyone gave him a questioning look. “It's medicated,” he added.
“What's a medicated comb?” asked Shirley.
“Did you check the pockets of the pants you wore yesterday?” asked Britta. “Once I misplaced some mari-” she crossed eyes with Shirley - “scripture, and it turned out I had left it there.”
“I do not keep my comb in my pocket, Britta, because I am not a schoolboy from the 1950s,” said Jeff acerbically. “I keep it in my safe, which I found unlocked this morning with the comb missing. Someone must have taken it.”
“Come on,” said Annie, standing up. “I'll help you find it. Did you check your car?”
As Annie and Jeff left the room, bickering about who had the better-organized toiletries, Britta turned to Abed.
“You seem depressed this morning, Abed,” she said. “I mean, it's hard to tell, but you only said 'Cool' twice when I told you that Lisa Kudrow was going to do an AMA on Reddit on the fifth. Is this about Troy?”
“I do have other aspects to my personality than pop culture and Troy, Britta,” said Abed.
“Then what is this about?”
“It's about Troy and pop culture. On this specific occasion. As soon as I saw that Jeff was late, I realized that the A storyline this week was going to be something to do with him, and normally, when that happens, Troy and I go off and have some wacky adventures of our own as the number two storyline.” He paused. There was silence. “I miss Pierce.”
“So do I?" said Britta, more as a question than as a statement. “And I know that none of us are Troy, Abed, but you have four friends -” She glanced out the glass door of the study room. Jeff and Annie were having what appeared to be a highly animated discussion with the Dean. “-Two friends who would be more than willing to participate in whatever shenanigans you have planned for this week. Right, Shirley?”
“I don't plan them,” said Abed. “Shenanigans have to happen organically. I learned that back in our first year, when Troy and I were doing those college pranks, remember?”
“Well, maybe you should unlearn it,” said Britta. “It's perfectly possible to have fun in a -” she glanced out the window at Annie, who was kneeing the Dean in the stomach - “More or less planned way. You know. Within reason.”
“Maybe you're right,” said Abed. “I have to go home. I have a cupboard of things I keep around for capers. Want to meet me there?”
“Of course!” said Britta, delighted.
“Cool,” said Abed, standing up. “Cool, cool, cool.” He smiled at her. Britta wondered if he had said the word four times because he was genuinely enthusiastic, or because he now knew that she was counting.
Britta remained in the study room for a few minutes, searching for her mirror. As she left, she stumbled into another student walking down the corridor.
“Sorry,” she said, half-turning. She took in the other student's tall frame and athletic build. “I mean … sorry,” she added, in her most alluring voice.
“My fault,” said Mr. Athlete. “I was a little disoriented. Does this ever strike you as an odd place?”
“Tell me about it,” said Britta, following him down the corridor. “No, seriously, tell me about it. I'm a therapist.”
“Cool,” said Mr. Athlete, sounding a little surprised. He glanced again at Britta, who briefly wished that the odor of pot smoke lingered less. “I mean, I was just passing the Intro to Law classroom and one of the students was - she was waterboarding a guy. And the professor just stood there! That can't be legal.”
“It is in our fascist nanny state,” said Britta. Mr. Athlete gave her another odd look. “I mean, they're looking for a comb. I heard. Not that I know them.”
“A comb? What kind of comb is worth that much trouble?”
“It's medicated?” offered Britta.
“What's a medicated comb?”
…
There was a diorama sitting on Annie and Abed's doormat. It appeared to have at some point depicted the Ascent of Man, but the Ascenders had been removed and replaced with a variety of dilapidated combs. Britta stepped over it and rang the doorbell.
“I was thinking,” said Abed, opening the door. “Troy found our handshake on the Internet. Maybe that means that sometimes you really do need to look for great things if you want them to happen to you.”
“Exactly, Abed,” said Britta warmly, following him inside. He led her to a desk by the window, where his laptop was standing open.
“So I found this series of videos,” continued Abed, “And I decided-”
There was a crashing noise from outside, and Britta glanced out the window. Jeff, wearing a long blonde wig, was gripping a man she didn't recognize by the lapels and pushing him up against a car.
“SO HELP ME,” screamed Jeff, “IF YOU DON'T TELL ME WHO KIDNAPPED ANNIE, I'LL-” Britta shut the window.
“Sorry about that,” she said, making a mental note to keep the windows in her office shut when she became a proper, practicing therapist. “You were saying?”
“I thought that, if you wanted to join me for some classic Troy and Abed-style shenanigans, then we could start by coming up with a secret handshake. Obviously we can't use the one that Troy and I used, but if you look at this video, perhaps we could learn to - OW!”
…
The waiting room at the hospital was full of old people, and rather smelly, but Britta had larger concerns.
“I'm so sorry!” she wailed for the hundredth time.
“It's all right, Britta,” said Abed, cradling his dislocated thumb with his good hand. “It was my fault. You can't plan shenanigans. They happen spontaneously when you have the right ambiance. And the right people.”
“I could have sworn I was only doing what the video said!” said Britta. “Look, I'll look it up on my phone, and -”
“Don't do that -”
“Huh, this is odd,” said Britta. “I found that motion the video was showing, but it wasn't a handshake. It was -” She looked up suddenly. “Did you do this on purpose?”
Abed looked away.
“Abed!” said Britta. “I know I can't replace Troy, and I shouldn't have tried. But -”
“It wasn't about that,” said Abed. “It was about -” He stopped abruptly, his jaw dropping open.
“Are you trying to distract me so you can run away?” asked Britta. “Because we really do need to talk this out, Abed. Also, your thumb really is dislocated. How could you have possibly thought that was a good idea? Tell me, Abed. Tell me about … your past.”
Abed didn't move. Britta sighed, and followed his gaze. Her jaw dropped open as well.
“OK, you can stop staring,” said the object of their gaze. “Any time now. Now would be good.”
“It's never lupus!” yelled Britta.
“Everybody lies!” yelled Abed.
“Shut up and boogie!” yelled Britta. Abed and the Dr. House lookalike both turned to look at her. “That was on the show, right? I never actually watched it.”
“That's enough,” said the Dr. House lookalike. “I get this every single day of my life and I'm not even a doctor, OK? I'm a nurse. I clean bedpans. I do not diagnose. I do not - What the hell was that?”
There was a distant crashing noise. Britta thought that she could hear someone shouting, a long way away, “WHAT'S A MEDICATED COMB?”
…
“Perhaps there's something to be said for planning,” said Abed, as they walked towards the cafeteria. “If you hadn't tried to force me into shenanigans, I would have never tried to teach you a lesson about spontaneity, we would never have gone to the hospital, and we would never have met Dr. House.”
“There's something to be said for spontaneity, too,” said Britta, pushing open the door to the cafeteria. “After all -”
She stopped abruptly. The cafeteria's tables had been removed, and bleachers lined the walls. In the middle of the room, Jeff, stark naked aside from the blonde wig tied into a loincloth around his waist, circled around Garrett, who bore an electric hair clipper with which he made periodic jabs at Jeff's head.
“Anyway,” said Britta, shutting the door and walking back down the corridor, “We both learned a valuable lesson. And really, isn't that what shenanigans are all about?”
…
“What's with the hats?” asked Britta the next morning, as the Save Greendale Committee arrived in the study room. Jeff and Annie looked at each other and burst into laughter.
“Whatever,” muttered Britta. “We don't need them, do we, Abed?” She extended a hand towards him, and then, as an afterthought, changed the gesture into a high-five.
THE END