TITLE: She Let Her Hair Down
FANDOM: "Community"
PAIRING: Jeff/Annie
RATING: T for a couple of bad words
SUMMARY: Jeff is alone with his thoughts after leaving Annie in the study room when they have a moment of sexual tension. Take place during "Debate 109." Maybe continued. I don't know.


Really, Winger? Really?

It had to be Annie. Annie.

Oh, no no no no no no no. It was supposed to be Britta. That's why you formed the study group in the first place. To work the Winger magic with the hot blonde. You're all about the hot blonde in the motorcycle jacket. She knows the score. She's been around the block once or twice. I bet she could do things to you that would have you calling out the deities of at least six world religions.

So…why aren't you more into her? She's the one you're supposed to be into, not Annie. Jeff Winger and Annie Edison? A couple? That makes about much sense Gigli: The Sequel. Hell, you and Pierce make more sense as a couple.

Then why have you wasted the last two valuable hours of sleep lying here thinking about Annie?

It'll pass. It's just because you've been working closely together. That's it. Spending long hours on the debate. Side by side. Late at night. Alone.


Why why why did she have to do that? Why did she have to let her hair down like that? And then untie her sweater. And then she came over and stood next to you and read that Hobbes quote and you could smell her perfume. And what was it? Love's Baby Soft. It had to be the Love's Baby Soft.

Like Pamela Haynes in 8th grade who wore the Love's Baby Soft. She'd come wafting by you in study hall with the Love's Baby Soft and you'd have a boner for a week. Of course, when you're 13, a stiff breeze gives you a boner for a week. The word "stiff" gives you a boner for a week.

Snap out of it. You cannot – repeat cannot – be interested in Annie. Okay, she's sweet and pretty and maybe a little bit hot even. She's an adult. You're allowed to look. How could you not? But that's it. There's nothing else going on. It's not like you have romantic feelings for her. She's not your type at all. Annie. In her sensible shoes and her sweater sets and her little plaid skirts. Her short little skirts. Like a schoolgirl. A naughty, naughty schoolgirl.

Okay. Snap out of it, Winger. This is not going to happen. Whatever weird thing is happening now has got to stop. Because even if by some remote possibility anything ever happened between you and Annie – and it won't – you'd just screw it up like every other relationship you've ever had. And you can't do that to her. Not to Annie. She believes in people. She still thinks the world is a safe place. She's too good. She makes Mother Theresa look like a pole dancer.

If you have any kind of feelings for her – and I'm not saying you do – they end now. They die a quick death. Like John Edwards' political career.

It doesn't matter that maybe you get that feeling when she looks at you with those big brown eyes. You know the feeling. The one you haven't felt in a long, long time. I don't know. Maybe you never really have.

It doesn't matter that maybe she's the only person in the world that doesn't think of you as that guy. The snarky guy with the attitude. The one with all the answers. The one who is secretly just as fucked up and lost as everybody else. You did not just say that.

It doesn't matter that when she looks at you, you don't feel like that guy. Maybe you feel like you could be as good as she thinks you could be.

And it doesn't matter that maybe you're the only person in the world that doesn't treat her like some cat lady-in-training. She's not some – what did she call herself? – spinster librarian. She's not the neurotic high school kid everyone thinks she is. She's sweet and smart and funny. She's a woman.

You did not just say that either.

It's not going to happen. Not now. Not ever. Go the hell to sleep.

Shit. She still has my cell phone.

Please tell me I took that picture off. The one with the redhead with the Double D's wearing the nurses' outfit. Nurses' outfit…Annie…Annie in a nurses' outfit…

Shit. Good night, Winger.