There's Only One Girl In the World For You (13/?)
Title: There’s only one girl in the world for you (13/?)
Author: lapacifidora
Spoilers: Season 1 and into an AU Season 2
Rating/ Warnings: PG-13, for the time being
Word Count: 2,951
Disclaimers: Not mine. Although I think Dan Harmon knows this friend of mine and based Troy on her… The title comes from a Wreckless Eric song.
Author’s note: This is for shan21non ’s Ficcy Friday prompt for Greendale’s inaugural study abroad program. Gold stars for everyone who has responded thus far. I know I keep saying how much I appreciate your feedback, but I honestly do; I never expected this sort of response and following, considering most of my other fics have been short one-shots.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 a/ b Chapter 11 Chapter 12
***
When Annie opened her eyes Saturday morning, it took her a moment to gather her bearings.
There were no cracks in her ceiling. (There were four in the ceiling of Jeff’s room: two faint ones by the door, one poorly patched one by the window and one over the desk that seemed to radiate from a central point.)
The light coming in around her blinds was clear and bright. (Jeff’s room, being closer to the house next door and a tree in the neighbor’s yard, took on a hazy quality in the early hours; it usually took hours to get anywhere near as bright as hers.)
The coverlet on her bed was in good shape. (Jeff’s coverlet was a little more threadbare, and Annie was pretty sure he’d switched them a couple of days after they’d arrived and she’d mentioned at breakfast her room being cold.)
The only occupant in her bed was herself.
Jeff’s bed had Jeff in it, and until last night, she’d been there as well. Annie lay still for several minutes, wondering if she’d overreacted the night before. Maybe Jeff hadn’t actually been telling her in not so many words to vacate his room when he’d stayed downstairs to play video games with Abed and Troy; maybe he’d just wanted to play the game, and Annie had spent several hours restlessly turning when she could’ve walked across the hall and been asleep in minutes.
But maybe Jeff just wanted to play the video game because he thought if he spent enough time downstairs, she would eventually get tired of waiting for him to come upstairs, and she’d fall asleep on her own.
Annie knew she wouldn’t have an answer unless she just asked him. And she would: She would get up now and cross the hall and walk into his room and wake him if she needed to and ask him if he was just really that obsessed with playing a video game about a psychotic Spartan demigod.
From beyond her own closed door, she heard the door to Jeff’s room open; Annie tensed where she lay.
Maybe Jeff would come in here, eyes blazing and that ‘cross examination’ face that he’d used on her back when she’d ratted out Senor Chang; maybe he’d cross to her bed, pull her from the covers and demand an explanation; maybe, when she’d finished sputtering and flapping her mouth uselessly, he’d crush her to him, sealing his lips over hers, and turn to carry her back to his own bed, where he’d do unspeakable (not even in the ladies room) things to her.
She heard a door close and a minute later, the shower came on.
Maybe Annie needed to stop reading so many historical romance novels.
After all, what good was the hero doing ‘unspeakable things’ to the heroine when the descriptions were vague and flowery enough to not actually explain what those things were.
She pulled her pillow from under her head, placed it squarely over her face and screamed.
***
“I think we should check out the Vancouver Fringe Festival.” Britta was spreading her vegan ‘margarine’ on a slice of toast. “I mean, I know experimental theatre isn’t for everyone. But I looked at the website this morning, and there’s vendors, and food and live music all day.” She took a bite, wrinkled her nose and reached for a jar of preserves. “Besides, it ends tomorrow.”
“The flier lists a play where one of the characters is a plant.” Troy paused, looking around the table significantly before he shook his head skeptically. “And my mom always said the apple trees in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ were people in costumes. I knew she was lying.”
“Apparently, there’s also a show about a Shakespearean actor teaching a class on how to perform Shakespeare and doing so poorly.” Abed took a bite of his cereal and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “I expect it to be a meta-analysis on the fact that so many people learned the plays as prose stories rather than as spoken performances.” He swallowed and took a sip of coffee. “I also expect there to be a running gag about the class being deader than poor Yorick.” He held up his coffee cup in place of the famous skull, stared at it a moment, then shrugged and downed the rest of his drink, reaching for the carafe with his other hand.
“I don’t know about any of these plays, but a friend of mine mentioned that there’s an awfully good Indian food restaurant that’s going to have a booth at this festival. I’d like to try it out.” Shirley added, gesturing to Abed with her own empty coffee mug.
“What are we talking about doing?” Pierce looked up from his cell phone, which had been buzzing every few minutes.
“Britta suggested we go to the Fringe Festival,” Annie said, reaching for the last slice of toast at the same moment Jeff did. Their eyes met and both their hands hovered for a moment. Annie’s eyes widened fractionally; Jeff’s eyebrow quirked up. Her lower lip trembled a little; his eyes shot from her own to her mouth and back. Satisfied he had her attention, Jeff let a grin creep across his lips; Annie’s lips parted in a soundless gasp.
And Jeff took the toast.
Annie stared at him blankly for a moment before she rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat with a huff.
“NO! We shouldn’t go to the Fringeyfest.” Pierce’s words ran together a little and his voice was higher than normal.
Movement out of the corner of Annie’s eye drew her attention to her plate, on which sat half a slice of toast, neatly cut from one corner to the other.
“Why shouldn’t we go, Pierce?” Britta’s eyes were narrowed and her voice was too even: She sounded like she might know why Pierce was objecting.
“Well, things like this, there’s…uh, rampant drug use. And talk of sex. And, and…foreigners!” Pierce finished triumphantly, looking around the table for agreement.
“Pierce! That’s racist.”
“No, Brittles, if I called them Jerries or Frogs or Limeys, that would be racist.”
“No, Pierce, that would just be proof of how out of touch with contemporary culture you are.”
“Britta, that’s ageist!” Shirley interjected, looking a little confused as to why she was coming to Pierce’s defense. Britta sat there, gaping at Shirley for a moment.
“Dude. She’s got-” Troy leaned over to Abed, gesturing at Britta’s mouth with panicky movements and his voice high and breathy, “stuff. In her mouth.”
“Damn.” Britta closed her mouth and swallowed her food. “I’m,” she swallowed again, thickly this time, “sorry, Pierce. I didn’t mean to imply you were out of touch simply because you were old.”
“That’s alright, Brittles. You simply weren’t raised to respect men as your betters.” He turned from Britta to the group, who had each drawn anything sharp away from Britta. “Look. I’m sure there’s not anything wrong with this festival thing, but,” Pierce looked down, almost bashfully, “I was supposed to go to it with Miss Fairman.” He looked up again, meeting the group’s gaze defiantly. “And I don’t need any of you cramping my game.”
“Pierce, what if we all went and the rest of us offered not to go anywhere near you or your date?” Jeff said, wiping his hands on a napkin and picking up Annie’s empty plate, which he placed on top of his.
“I don’t - that just might work.” Pierce nodded. “But would the rest of you agree to that?”
“Pierce, there are no normal circumstances under which any of us want to run into you or the professor you insist on telling us about in intimate detail, so consider it a done deal.” Jeff stood, taking Shirley’s plate as she held it out to him. Abed gathered the other four plates and stood as well.
“Well, then Jeffrey, you’ve got yourself a deal. Shall we shake on it? Maybe one of those hip handshakes where we both do different things with our hands and talk some jive?”
“Actually, Pierce, those types of handshakes have gone out of fashion again. So, let’s try again in, oh, say, 15 years?”
Jeff and Abed carried the plates into the kitchen as Pierce started yelling at his phone to set a reminder.
The rest of the group carried in the other dishes and food, with Jeff and Abed rinsing things and putting them into the dishwasher. Soon, the others had returned to their rooms to gather their coats, and Abed turned to Jeff as he poured detergent into the divot in the dishwasher’s door.
“I was thinking we should have some sort of codename for our plan of getting even with Luc. Maybe something like ‘Operation: Going Dutch’ or ‘Mission: Taconnet-sible.’”
“Abed, I think living with Troy is melting your brain cells. Neither of those even remotely make sense.
“Well, maybe we should have codenames for each of us and for Luc, so no one will know who we’re talking about if we’re overheard. I was thinking I could be ‘Blair,’ you could be ‘Serena,’ and we’ll call Luc ‘Mrs. van der Woodsen.’”
“Abed! No. We are not using codenames.” Jeff slammed the door to the dishwasher shut and wiped his hands on a towel sitting on the counter. “Besides, I think if we were going to use codenames, I’d prefer to be called ‘Jenny.’ She’s more fun than Serena, anyways.”
“Ooh! If we’re going to do the whole code name thing, can I be ‘Dorota’?” Troy asked, as he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.
***
Annie was pretty sure she and Jeff had decided to just ignore the whole ‘waking up in each other’s arms every morning for the last week’ thing. At least, they hadn’t talked about it - the sleeping together part (her cheeks flushed a little at the thought), the waking up part or the part where she had spent last night in her own bed. By herself. And things still seemed to be fine between them: They had argued over who got to use the sink first while they were brushing their teeth after breakfast, Jeff had shared the last piece of toast with her and when she’d reached out a hand to grasp the side of the van and pull herself in, it had been Jeff who reached out a hand for her arm and steadied her while she half-jumped, half-fell in.
Also, if previous experiences were to be taken as a model, not talking about things - like the fact that she missed the feeling of his breath on the back of her neck while she slept, or the fact that his eyes had lingered a little longer than they did between friends when they’d dropped to her mouth during breakfast - seemed to be the way adults dealt with their problems.
And as sure as she had been that their actions so far hadn’t meant any thing, or at least nothing more than one friend watching over another, she was sure that she could act like an adult about this, and not bring it up in conversation with Jeff.
***
Once they’d arrived at the main theatre where the majority of the plays were being staged, Pierce had slipped away and met an older woman with silvery blonde hair and an angular face that would’ve been unnaturally harsh if not for the huge smile that spread across it when Pierce leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
“Aww. Pierce and his professor aren’t totally creepy.” A wistful smile was on Britta’s face as she clutched as Shirley’s arm.
“That’s nice,” Shirley responded, her tone genuinely polite for once where Pierce was concerned.
“Yes, yes, old people love is sweet, it reminds us that we won’t die alone, can we go find the bar?” Jeff was bouncing impatiently on his toes, looking around the lobby.
“Jeff. It’s not old people love.” Britta frowned at him, her brow furrowed. “OK, well maybe with Pierce it’s old people love, but his professor’s probably in her, I don’t know, mid-50s? There’s got to be at least ten, maybe as much as fifteen years difference in their ages.”
Abed nodded emphatically. “And it’s not really old people love if both of them aren’t old. In the way of so many movie May-to-December romances, Professor Fairman not only makes Pierce feel younger, she also makes him appear younger to the rest of us. She’s Helen Hunt to his Jack Nicholson. Or Calista Flockhart to his Harrison Ford.” Abed paused. “Or, in terms you might better understand, Jeff, Stacey Sheridan to Shatner’s T.J. Hooker.”
“Who?” Annie glanced confusedly between them as Jeff glared at Abed.
“Thanks, buddy. I actually understood the first two references just fine. Can we please find the bar?”
As Britta, Annie, Shirley and Troy linked arms and headed across the lobby to the information desk, Abed and Jeff fell into step behind them.
“Dude. What did I do to you to deserve a T.J. Hooker reference?”
“I’m sorry, Jeff. I didn’t think you’d find it offensive. Is it the age of the show, how old knowing about it makes you or just William Shatner that bothers you?”
Jeff stared at the back of Annie’s head. “Can I pick all of the above?”
Abed followed Jeff’s gaze and nodded sagely. “Message received, Bandit. I’ll keep the early eighties references to a minimum around Frog.”
“Abed.” Jeff paused as though unsure what to say. “You and I both know I could never pull off a mustache like that.”
***
As it happened, the bar was the last thing the five of them found. First they found a roving improve group that had broken the fourth wall and involved bystanders in their skits. (“Look, I don’t know where the pellet with the poison is, so why don’t you back off before I slam your head through one of those memorabilia cases!”)
Then they’d found a student theatre group doing five- and 10-minute long plays. (“Are they all supposed to be part of one story?” “No, Troy.” “Then why are they all together?”)
Next, Abed had found an open dress-rehearsal of the Shakespeare play; the other’s had wavered until Britta had loudly declared they should watch it. (No one missed that she spoke up after Dean Wentworth had walked past and waved to them in greeting. Or that she found them seats near enough to his that she could talk to him but not so close that she looked like a crazy stalker.)
Finally, three hours later, the group wandered into the bar, where Wild Horse Canyon wineries was sponsoring a live-music stage. It was still early in the afternoon, so the marquee performers hadn’t started yet; the act onstage was a folksy ensemble that was presumably made of locals, maybe even college kids.
Troy and the girls found a table while Jeff and Abed placed their drink orders. As they turned to find the table with two trays of drinks between them, Pierce and his date entered the bar. Jeff and Abed did their best to studiously ignore Pierce, per the earlier agreement, but Dr. Fairman was already dragging him over the table the others had found. Pierce seemed to be resisting her, but when she shot him a slightly wounded look, his shoulders slumped even as he started walking with her over to his friends.
“Study group, I’d like you to meet Dr. Christina Fairman, professor of business, international business law and ethics.” A little of Pierce’s pride seemed to return as he listed off his date’s impressive resume. “Chrissy, I’d like you to meet Jeff Winger, aspiring law student; Britta Perry, humanitarian; Annie Edison, genius; Troy Barnes, star athlete; Shirley Bennet, entrepreneur; and Abed Nadir, unemployable.”
“Pierce!” For once, Britta was joined in her reprimand by nearly the entire group. Christina laughed, the corners of her eyes wrinkling and her cheeks turning pink.
“It’s alright, really. Pierce has mentioned that you’re a walking cultural encyclopedia, Mr. Nadir.” She wiped at a tear that had leaked from the corner of one eye. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet all of you. Pierce talks about you so much, it’s like you’re his family.” The group, pleased by this, asked Pierce and his date to join them.
“So, tell me, Mr. Nadir, have you heard of the play about a Shakespearean actor who can’t teach the subject? I’m expecting some sort of running ‘alas, poor Yorick’ gag, myself.”
Pierce left to get drinks for himself and Christina while the group included her in their earlier conversation.
Annie leaned over to Jeff. “I’m a genius.” Her smile was a little embarrassed but still pleased.
Jeff nodded. “And apparently I’m an aspiring law student.” He sipped his beer. “I suppose that’s better than being introduced as ‘former lawyer, current loser.’”
“Jeff.” Annie laid a hand on his arm where it rested on the table. “You’re not a loser.”
Up on stage, the band brought its song to a rousing, if noisy, finish. The bass guitarist stepped forward and spoke into a microphone over a smattering of applause.
“Thank you, thank you. That was ‘The Bay is a Body of Water,’ and we’re Awesome Sauce. We’re gonna take a short break, but we’ll be back with the first single off our demo, ‘Dogs are people, too.’”
The group’s attention had snapped to the stage as the guitarist spoke, but it was Pierce, returning to the table with drinks, that voiced their surprise.
“Good grief. Isn’t that that hackey sack-playing hippie? What is it about being unwashed that makes people think they have musical talent?”
***