Disclaimer: I don't own Community.

Author's Note: Full author's note at the bottom. Just to reiterate - this story will not be Annie-bashing. The reason the characters act the way they do has to do with what they've seen and gone through in the past few weeks. Which you will be finding out about slowly and is sort of the point of the story. As for pairings - I will not be stating at any point what the end-game pairings are but it will not be the reason for liking or disliking any characters.

Having said all that, this is a Britta-centric story and pro-Britta at that.

Sweeter Than Water

'Every man dies, but not every man really lives.'

~ William Wallace ~

Now

In a perfect world, Britta would grit her teeth heroically and refuse to show any pain. Unfortunately, she was far from heroic and the world was far from ideal and the bullet wound wasn't only making her wince and grunt and occasionally let out a yell, it was making her eyes water enough for drops to fall down her cheeks.

Heroics be damned, the bullet hurt like a bitch. Or a son of a bitch, she thinks a moment later, because that urge to hold on to feminist ideals are far too embedded in her entire being to be defeated by The End of the World or Capture by the Enemies.

Regardless, it's relief she feels when they finally reach the armed trucks and she's dropped on to the floor. The ride has inevitable bumps but it's still considerably smoother than being manhandled and carried indelicately by a couple of douchebags with guns.

It's only the pain that keeps her awake; the soft lulling of the truck and the adrenaline draining away would have otherwise had her fast asleep. It's lucky, really, because she could use it to try and work out the location of their bases. The only problem is she doesn't have a watch, so she doesn't know how long they've been driving and after the first few turns, she lost track of the lefts and rights. She's fairly sure it was initially a right, then left, then left, but it could've been left, then right and right again… All in all, Britta's fairly sure she's Britta-ing this up.

It doesn't matter. Britta might stand for epic failure but it also stands for annoyingly persistent and she's going to use the latter to her full advantage.

As it turns out, the pain wasn't actually enough to keep her awake because when she's blinking her eyes open, she's acutely aware that nothing is shifting or moving, there're blankets over her and she is definitely not in a truck.

Okay, so her first plan failed like a dozen times over. It didn't mean that the rest of her nonexistent plans would.

She has to blink a few more times before her eyes become accustomed to the dark and she realises she's in a cell, with rods of iron barring her escape. In a different world, she would have described it as delightfully quintessential, reminiscent of the black and white movies she used to love in her younger days. Now, all she does is sigh. Her shoulders feel tense and her limbs feel heavy and she's pretty sure she's been drugged but the pain isn't excruciating, so maybe it's as much consideration as a ploy. It's not worth analysing further anyway, because it is what it is.

It takes a while before she hears shuffling sounds emanating from somewhere. By that time, she's checked the wound in her abdomen; it's been stitched up and looks clean and tidy, professional, and she doesn't know what to make of it. Why have they kept her alive? And comfortable? The shuffling sound is a much needed distraction, though her heart speeds up and she has to suppress her panic.

'You finally up?' A rich, southern, male drawl reaches her. Despite her protests of being free and non-judgmental, she can't help but think that it's typical she would be stuck next to a Southerner – probably pro-life and pro-gun (nobody ever seems to find it contradictory) and pro-anti-freedom.

'Are you okay?' He speaks again after a pause, concern soaked in his voice. It's karma for her recent uncharitable thoughts, Britta thinks guiltily.

'Yup, I'm up.'

The silence settles but it feels expectant. He lives up to it. 'Are you okay?'

She blinks in surprise at his perception. 'Yeah, I'm okay,' her voice sounds uncertain even in her ears.

'You sure about that?' He responds just as quickly and there might've been a smile in his voice. She says nothing, absorbs the grey that surrounds her. The bleak, weak yellow light from the distant light bulbs accentuates the darkness surrounding them and Britta thinks it's fitting, entirely so fitting that someone that's done her part to destroy the world shoulder suffer in this darkness, in silence.

She doesn't hear much from the guy next to her. The quiet is unsettling in that it feels sort of comfortable, companionable. She rests her back against the cold walls, draws the blanket around her and thinks.

It feels like all she's done for the past couple of weeks is think. Her head should hurt but it seems harder to speak, to interact and engage with people, with friends. Time passes – Britta has no idea how much – but the monotony is interrupted by the opening of a distant door. It's been long enough for her abdominal wound to start niggling persistently.

'Timmy, you awake?' The voice wafts down the long passage. When Britta squints really hard, she thinks she can distinguish the outlines of cells lining both sides of the corridor.

'Well, if I weren't before, I am now,' he replies drily, his southern lilt more pronounced than before. 'The blonde's up too.'

Britta tenses, face drawing taut over her furrowed brow. Energy is suddenly thrumming through her body and she's ready for this, ready for a fight. It never comes.

'Are you talking about yourself in third person again, Goldilocks?' Her jailor responded lightly, stepping closer and closer.

'If you were as awesome as I am, you'd talk about yourself in third person too,' his warm voice returned with a hint of attractive arrogance in it, words as light-hearted as his tone. 'But this time, I actually meant the lady next to me.'

Lady? Despite the anticipation, Britta found something akin to a smile mixing with a smirk spreading across her face. It took a surprising amount of self-control to not snort at that. Her captor had no such problem, snorting loudly. 'Lady? Playing up the Southern Gentleman act, aren't you?'

'Only you think it's an act,' 'Timmy' replies, and this banter, this casual to and fro is dizzying, confusing, and Britta doesn't know what to make of it but she knows enough to not let her guard down. Not now, not again, never again. She straightens her back, eyes narrowing to slits as she tries to pierce the shadows and discern details, anything that could give her an edge. 'But I'm serious, she's awake.'

The shift is noticeable immediately. The casual steps become brisk with purpose, his face tilts more to his left, Britta's right (guess that meant the southerner was in the cell to her left) and it feels too real now, too imminent.

'Are you okay? Are you in any pain?' All she sees is a silhouette but his concern sounds sincere. It's very disconcerting. 'Ms Britta Perry?' He hesitates over the syllables of her name, questioning and uncertain. She thinks she's forgotten how to speak; she's pretty convinced she's forgotten how to breathe if the burning pressure on her chest is indicative. 'Do you need help?' His words are tentative and she doesn't understand, she just doesn't understand. Why would he be concerned? Why would he care? She shakes her head to rid it of these notions; he interprets it as an answer.

Heaving an audible sigh of obvious relief, he continues, 'Well, okay then. But if you're in any pain, let me know. We've got painkillers. Are you hungry? You must be hungry – you've been out of it for the better part of two days. I'll get you some bread and butter,' he nods without waiting for any answers and starts walking away with the same purpose that had brought him to her cell.

'Hope you like bread and butter,' the voice to her left is entirely too amused and Britta has to literally bite down on her lips to stop from snapping back. She alienates potential allies readily and she's going against her very nature to not do that here.

'I think he's got a crush on you,' he teases her, his voice melting like butter. It's the straw that breaks her back; she can't stop herself from an unladylike derisive snort. There goes another ally.

'Oh I don't know,' he carries on cheerfully. 'I was quite taken with you too.'

The only thing more shocking than his comment is the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks.

The door opens and her guard is back, plate in hand. Britta seizes on the excuse to avoid a reply. The plate is passed to her and she takes it, examines it closely despite the dimness. The first bite decides it; she determines to stay silent for the entire stay.

She settles back in the cot she has for a bed, eyes drifting shut in spite of her best intentions.

She thinks it says a hell of a lot more about Greendale and its attenders that this situation feels far less precarious and dangerous than the numerous Paintball Wars that were waged at her community college.

42 Days Ago

This world almost overwhelms you. The variety, the sheer diversity of the crazies that chose to attend a community college that was infamous for their paintball battles taken to excess rather than any academic excellence…

You never understood why people chose to come here. Correction. You knew why Britta and the six people she befriended chose this college. The rest of the masses now spilling from its barely standing structure… You think they're all bat-shit crazy but then, you're more than willing to acknowledge that you are too.

Annie and Shirley notice you first, leaning against a shiny black Impala that has zero chance of blending in. Ah well, you're here for personal reasons, not professional, so there's minimal necessity to assimilate.

'That's a nice car,' Shirley's made a beeline towards you, her eyes wide with admiration. Annie's are wider than hers could ever hope to be, a bashful, alluring smile wide across her face. 'Are you new?'

You barely succeed in trapping a scoff before it escapes. 'Nah, I'm just waiting for someone,' you say instead, throwing them your most 'fuck-me-mindless' smile that you can manage. It's never failed before and it doesn't now; Shirley's smile is wider and there's an adorable flush working Annie's cheeks.

'Oh really? Who are you waiting for?' Annie flutters her eyelashes. She doesn't realise she's even doing it and there's something so innocent about that, something you used to have but could never hope to reclaim.

'Annie, Shirley,' Jeff's approaches you, eyes narrowed with distrust and undoubtedly jealousy, even if he denied it. You smirk, if only to rub a little salt in wounds that can't compare to the ones he's inflicted. 'What's going on? Who're you?'

'Nice manners,' you retort just as swiftly, practice allowing you to insert just the right amount of arrogance to grate the guy. You shrug in a feigned attempt to dissipate the tension. 'I'm waiting to pick someone up and these lovely ladies,' your eyes linger on both of them a fraction longer than necessary, 'complimented my car.'

Jeff's lips become ever thinner, eyes sharp and flashing and oh, you're enjoying riling this guy up way too much. You should probably stop but you let a smarmy smile spread across your face instead, taunting him, tempting him to do something rash.

A second later, it doesn't matter because you've caught sight of gold that has you nervous like nothing else does anymore. It's a golden you're altogether too familiar with, and not seen enough of.

She's wearing the frown when she doesn't quite understand something, squinting at whatever trashy textbook they recommend in a dump like this, and she's walking staring down at the book. You let out a sigh of resignation without realising because how does she do that without bumping into anyone? If it's a gift, it's a bloody useless one. There're plenty of other gifts she would have benefited from more but she's a sight for sore eyes that you're more than happy to bask in and you never realise when the smarmy smile became a sincere one.

'Guys,' her voice reaches you through the fog you've surrounded yourself in. She sounds as preoccupied as you feel right now. 'Hey, have you read chapter two yet?'

You know exactly when she sees you. The colour in her face all but disappears before making a vengeful (and colourful) return. Her eyes widen in shock and there's a reminiscent mixture of pain and pleasure that you can see. Her mouth falls open and you can hear her words, though she doesn't speak.

Hey Britta.

I've missed you.

How are you?

Did you miss me?

Instead of any of those perfectly innocuous comments, what falls out of your lips instead is, 'We need to talk.'

Her face scrunches into an expression that's been scorched into your memories, the one that says she's ready for battle and it makes you feel absurdly proud that she hasn't lost that spitfire instinct of hers.

'I missed you,' you hasten to add, to dispel the war cries written on the wall. You give her a shit-eating grin to go with it too. She just huffs and rolls her eyes but you most definitely did notice her lips twitching upwards. You draw her to you, arms tight and probably a little painful but god, you've missed her. Over her shoulder, Jeff looks even more suspicious than before. It's probably the only time you've been tempted to give him any sort of credit.

Now

'You okay?' He sighed, sitting next to Annie when she didn't reply. 'Abed told me what they all said. It's not right, it wasn't fair on you.'

She scoffed. 'You're honestly telling me you think I don't want Britta dead?' Her words dripped venom as they never used to do and Troy blinked, wondering who it was aimed at really.

'I'm pretty sure you're the last person who'd want her dead. You did spend ages and ages trying to talk her out of the plan,' Troy replied instead, words coming easily to him now that he was staring at the wall instead of an unfamiliar Annie.

'How do you know that?' Something must've gotten through to her because that look of anger she wore as a shield was gone, curious eyes turning to face him instead.

'She told me, said it drove her up the wall,' he shrugged. 'She told me to look after you, if… If something happened to her.'

'She's an idiot.'

'She can be,' Troy agreed ambivalently. 'But she did have moments of insight. She used to tell me that the opposite of love wasn't hate, it was indifference.'

The silence felt less stifling now, less fragile but still not comforting. 'I hate her, sometimes,' the words burst from Annie like a small explosion in the tiny room. 'I hate her so much, sometimes.'

'I know,' Troy said, unruffled. 'I do too, sometimes, and that's okay. Because we only hate her because we care so much about her.' He continued, after a short pause. 'I wish she hadn't gone, either, but I sort of get why she did.'

'Do you? Because I sure as heck don't,' Annie's bitter laugh died before it had truly started.

'She wouldn't be Britta if she hadn't gone,' he answered simply. The silence grew by the seconds and he stood up to leave when Annie spoke again, refusing to look at him.

'I miss her.'

'I do too,' Troy's whisper lingered as he left the room.

Opening the door of his own room, Troy smelt the familiar stench of old man, mustiness, and Abed's currently preferred cologne. 'You okay, Pierce?' His eyes, as always, sought out the older man's first. Everyone had mourned his death and moved on swiftly, everyone except him. Maybe it was living with him or noticing the very infrequent instances of kindness meted out to him as well as by him, but Troy had reluctantly developed a soft spot. And when the world around them had crashed and burned, oftentimes literally, the majority of the group hadn't been furious about him faking his death. They had been grateful instead

'All things considered,' Pierce scoffed. 'Are you okay?'

Troy could do little more than shrug his shoulders but he didn't fight it when Pierce patted the bed beside him. 'What's eating your mind?'

The silence grew. It festered, prickling uncomfortably at his skin but Troy stubbornly refused to open his mouth to break the silence.

'You know it's better to talk through things than to bottle it up. You don't have to be a half-assed psychologist like Britta to know that,' Pierce commented drily at last. It was the trigger that broke Troy's resolve.

'Don't describe Britta like that. She was worth a lot more than you ever realised or appreciated.' He wasn't sure how or when it happened but he found himself on his feet and pacing the room, anger flowing through his veins that he couldn't pinpoint the source of. All he sees is red, all he feels is a pent up fire rushing through him so he never notices Pierce's sad, if resigned, face or his surprisingly knowing eyes.

'And you know what? Even though everyone judges Britta, she was the only one who tried to not judge people,' he pauses to take a breath that does nothing to ease his burning chest.

'And you know what else? She's the only one who saves her anger for them,' he waves his arm in a general direction, Pierce correctly assuming 'them' meant the cowardly bastards out there. War in his days meant something entirely different.

'Who're you saving your anger for?'

The fight leaves Troy as suddenly as it had come and in the place of an angry young man is a sad, lost boy. He lies down on the bed, giving his back pointedly to the old man and waits for Abed to return. They don't speak to each other for the rest of the night.

Full Author's Note: Okay, just to reiterate because this kicked up such a storm, it was a bit ridiculous. Guys, this is fiction, as in even the premise of what we are writing is fiction. As in Community and Annie and Jeff and Britta and co? All fictional. So firstly, chill out guys.

Secondly, if you don't like Britta, this is not the story for you.

Thirdly, this is not bashing any characters, Annie included. I had her the way I did for a reason, and she behaved like that for a reason and this chapter should show you that things aren't black and white or clearcut. But if you have a problem with my portrayal of Annie, feel free to not read it or say exactly why you disagree. A lot of defense will be 'but you don't know what's happened in the past 42 days yet'. Emphasis on 'yet'. This story is a story about showing us how to group we left at the end of season 5 became this, including a Pierce that is newly alive again!

Lastly, if you dislike my story and still feel the need to either write a flame or negative review, please leave a name at least, so I can address my replies to it.

Review Replies - thanks to everyone that did review, negative or positive. They were actually almost all of them relatively constructive, some definitely more than others.

Guest 1: Don't like my portrayal of Annie, don't read it. Having said that, you should probably give chapter 2 a go, as it makes things a lot more grey and less 'Britta=good, Annie=bad'. Well, Britta still = good - it is a Britta-centric story after all but anyway, Annie isn't evil in my story. Sorry you didn't like the first chapter.

Lisa: Thank you for being more constructive regarding the story. Part of the reason for making all of the characters so extreme in the first chapter was to show the discord between the group members. Ie Annie isn't been so sweet or optimistic, much the opposite. Shirley doesn't feel like she is really following what her faith dictates or as she should be. Jeff normally rallies the group together but, if anything, he's isolating people. Abed is far more interactive with real life that he normally would be whereas conversely, Troy is sort of shying away from reality, more so than usual. And Pierce is alive. So yeah, my portrayal of Annie was harsh and intentionally so, but so was my portrayal of the other characters. Abed, you can sort of accept the autistic-spectrum sort of approach, but how has no-one called Shirley and Jeff out for being so harsh?! Anyway, I am hopeful that this chapter will be more to your liking.

Guest 2: Well done on picking that bit of the author's note up. And I'm sorry it's put you off this story. In my defence, I edited the stuff after a 12 hour night shift at the hospital, so if there aren't spelling errors or words that don't exist, I'm impressed with the editing. Either way, it's a shame you won't read the second chapter. I think you would actually approve of it.

Imissjeffbritta: I'm glad you enjoyed it but can I just remind everyone that this story isn't about ships? It's about the individuals and the group as a whole? And also...I seriously want to emphasise that I make no promises on the end-game pairings. Just so nobody is disappointed. But if you like Britta, you will hopefully love this story so I do hope you'll stick around.

AmyGilli: I'm glad you read the story and better late than never, I always say. Sorry it has taken so long to update this but the updates should be faster from now on. Tell me what you think of this, if you get the chance.

Thank you to AmyGilli, Gary Fedorco and Imissjeffbritta for favouriting and following this story.

Thank you to 1996garfield, TheOncomingWarlock and .AC for following this story.

I wasn't expecting such negative reviews but nor was I expecting so many favourites and follows afterwards, so thank you for all your feedback, negative and positive.

I hope you enjoy reading it!