Sunday

- the sound of pounding on Jeff's door, and two female voices conversing from behind it.

Very familiar female voices. Shirley and Britta's voices.

Annie scrambled off the couch, panicking, in no mood to discover the other women's reaction to the fact that she was staying at Jeff's, no matter how humanitarian her reasons. For a moment she considered ignoring their increasingly loud knocks and calling them later to inform them that Jeff was okay, but then the doorknob rattled and clicked, and she recalled that both of them were frighteningly adept at picking locks.

She got to the door right as it swung open, and just avoided having it hit her in the face.

When she saw Annie, Shirley almost dropped the foil-covered dishes she was carrying, and Britta definitely shrieked. Just a little, and the kind of throaty shriek that of course Britta would give, one that made Annie's breathy, little-girl scream sound even sillier by comparison.

It was noisy there for a minute.

"What are you doing here, Annie?" Shirley broke in first, cutting through the nonsense.

"Visiting, like you are," she said, wide-eyed. "Checking on Jeff. He's sick," she informed them unnecessarily.

"Wearing that?" Britta gave her the once-over.

Annie remembered what she was wearing: Jeff's t-shirt that she'd first requisitioned on Friday night, the one with a neck hole so big that it kept slipping over one shoulder, and with a hem so short that it brushed the tops of her bare thighs.

"Oh, this?" she began.

"Why are you wearing Jeff's clothes?" Britta pressed. Shirley nodded in agreement.

"It's mine! My shirt!" Annie lied desperately.

"Your Denver Broncos t-shirt." Britta repeated, a dangerous edge to her voice.

"Yes! I'm a big fan!"

"Your Denver Broncos t-shirt, with "Winger" written on the back of the neck?"

Annie almost gave herself whiplash jerking her neck around, but sure enough, where the neckline had slipped forward and low on her shoulder, she could read "Winger" written in Jeff's sloppy printing.

Just when she thought things couldn't get worse, the bedroom door opened and Jeff shuffled across the hall to the bathroom. At first, he seemed unaware of the additional visitors in his apartment, but Shirley's high-decibel gasp must have alerted him, because he froze halfway between the two rooms, and turned slowly to face them.

At least he was clothed.

Barely.

Jeff lifted a hand in greeting. "Hey, guys," he said, the pitch of his voice betraying his illness, but mostly (to Annie's ears, at least) sounding ridiculously deep and appealing.

He didn't wait for a response before he continued on to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Shirley's head was tilted to the side, Abed-like. "How many pairs of those tiny little striped underpants can one man own?" she asked with a thoughtful frown.

Britta, who hadn't been shy about getting an eyeful, still wasn't that easily sidetracked. She whirled back to Annie and demanded, "What exactly is going on?"

"Okay, you want to know what's going on? I'll tell you!" Anne flung out her arms and leaned forward. "Jeff is sick, and no one but me even cared! I've stayed here with him and taken care of him and fed him and taken him to the doctor" (she strategically avoided telling them that that had probably been pointless) "and made sure he didn't have to be sick and suffer alone! Sometimes I think I'm the only one in this group who's really willing to work, and not just stand around and make sympathetic clucking noises!"

Shirley's face fell at that, and Annie immediately felt bad.

"I'm sorry you guys, I didn't mean it like that." Tears were welling up in spite of herself.

"Oh, honey." Shirley looked around for the nearest flat surface to put down her dishes, settled on the table, and then folded Annie in her arms.

Britta looked a little tearful herself before she joined them. "I'm sorry too, Annie," she admitted. "I think I exploded at you because I've been feeling so guilty about the way I cut and ran. I've been trying not to do that, and just when my friends needed me, I abandoned them."

They sniffled together for a few moments, and then Shirley's voice hardened. "Just so long as there isn't any creepy Abishag stuff going on here."

Britta drew away. "Abishag?"

Shirley shook her head in mild exasperation, but explained. "In the Bible. She was a young girl who tended to old king David when he was sick, even slept in his bed to keep him warm. Weird and disturbing."

Annie had heard the story before at some point, and didn't care for the comparison.

"I'm not some lecherous old man from ancient times!" Jeff yelled from behind the bathroom door.

"Then come out and face us like a man!" Britta yelled back.

"Sick, remember? Getting in the shower now." They heard the rush of water from the bathroom.

All reconciled, Britta helped Annie put away the sheets from her makeshift couch bed while Shirley stocked the refrigerator with the tidbits she'd brought to tempt an invalid's appetite.

When Jeff still hadn't emerged from the bathroom, Shirley announced that she had to get back home. "Want us to drop you off at your house, Annie?"

"No, I'll stay here for a while longer, and call Abed this afternoon."

Shirley aimed her voice for the bathroom door. "We're leaving, Jeff, but you need to be thankful you've got a friend like Annie. Not many young women would give up their weekend to take care of someone as difficult as you. And you'd better bring my dishes back to me. I'm expecting a thank-you note when you get better," she finished darkly.

Jeff stuck his head around the bathroom door jam, face covered in shaving foam. "I know, Shirley," he said, earnest for once. "Thank you."

As she and Shirley left, Britta hung back for a moment to speak to Annie. "Sometimes I think you're the most adult one out of all of us." She gave a rueful smile.

"Thank you, Britta." They shared a side-hug that was only somewhat awkward.

"Make sure Jeff knows he owes you," Britta called back over her shoulder. "Big time."

Alone again, and her clothes still in the bathroom where Jeff seemed to have taken up permanent residence, Annie was left to huddle on the couch under the tent-like protection of the t-shirt. Bored, she started flipping through one of Jeff's Men's Health magazines, and just as she was attempting not to unfavorably compare the fitness models with Jeff –

"See something in there you like?" he smirked, standing over her shoulder.

Annie slapped the glossy covers together and dropped the magazine back on the coffee table. "You don't have a very diverse selection of reading material in here," she dodged.

At least Jeff had put his excessive time in the bathroom to good use: his grooming, Annie decided, was back up to its usual standard. "Are you feeling better?" she asked.

"Yeah." He walked around and sprawled on the couch next to her. "Slept through the night without waking up choking for the first time in a few days."

Annie drew her knees together primly. "Well, it was certainly nice of you to leave me to deal with Shirley and Britta."

"Sounded like you were doing fine to me. Congratulations on that, by the way. You worked them around masterfully. Couldn't have done it any better myself."

"Unlike you, I wasn't trying to manipulate people. They're my friends, and we had a misunderstanding, and we figured it out." She was indignant.

Jeff just looked at her. "You may think our motivations are different, but the end results are the same: we get what we want."

She squirmed, uncomfortable as always when Jeff said something that she didn't want to hear but kind of had to believe was true anyway. "Their being upset was silly, anyway. I mean, can you imagine anything, well, untoward happening while you were so sick? We can't even kiss!" Annie laughed lightly (nervously) as if to emphasize the absurdity of the situation, then wondered what had possessed her to embark on such a dangerous subject.

"Hmmm, I don't know," Jeff said, raising an eyebrow. "There's plenty of things that can be done at – what was it the doctor said? Arm's reach?" He brushed a finger over her ankle. "This, for example."

Annie was suddenly breathless and dry-mouthed.

His hand continued upward to her knee. "This." Where the t-shirt ended on her thighs. "This." Higher still.

Annie was well aware of what fingering was, and had been for years, thank-you-very-much. "That slut got fingered in her parent's bedroom during a kegger," the rumor-mongers had whispered about one girl in high school. Or, as per an old acquaintance, "Of course I didn't let him! We've only gone out once!" It wasn't something that happened to Annie Edison, but anyway, she had strictly determined that it was an activity only suitable for established relationships.

None of that explained why, when Jeff began touching her through her panties, she parted her thighs instead of protesting, and when he slid one of his long fingers inside her she moaned. If she had been at all capable in that moment of analyzing her reasoning, it probably would have been as simple as this: it felt amazing, and for once in her life, she didn't care about anything else.

"See? Still arm's length," Jeff said quietly, slicking in another finger and rubbing her with his thumb in a way that she was sure was making her lose her mind. He curled his fingers forward inside her, stroking in a way she hadn't known was possible. It was almost too much, and her hands scrabbled helplessly for purchase against the leather sofa cushions even as she canted her hips forward to give him better access.

"Do you like this?" Jeff smiled a little, his eyes intent.

She wished he would stop talking, but he stilled his hand until she panted out, "Yes!" and he relented, pushing his thumb against her in firm circles until her whole body stiffened, caught up in a bright, hot wave. He kept his fingers inside her, working her through it, intensifying it, until she finally came down, slumped backward, her damp cheek clinging stickily to the leather upholstery.

Annie realized then that Jeff was still watching her with a look of smug satisfaction. He pulled his hand away from her and matter-of-factly wiped off his wet fingers with a tissue, making Annie shift her gaze, embarrassed.

When she thought she could speak without her voice trembling, she sat up and asked, "Why did you do that?"

"It probably be the wrong to say that it was my way of thanking you for taking care of me this weekend, wouldn't it?"

Annie pulled away, hurt at his flippancy, but before she could escape, Jeff caught her wrist in his hand. "Annie, wait. I'm sorry." He shook his head. "See, I'm an asshole."

She was blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of what was going on, and telling herself viciously not to cry, not to get emotional, as Jeff wrapped an arm around her and drew her close beside him.

"You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I like you a lot, Annie, and besides that? You're gorgeous. I can't keep my hands off of you. Shirley was right, I am a filthy old man."

"Not an old man," she protested.

"But maybe filthy?"

"Possibly." The corners of her lips had quirked into a smile.

"Yeah, about that." Looking down at her, Jeff pulled a sheepish face. "I think I was pretty out of it last night. Did I say anything...well, anything?"

"You did mention liking my breasts."

"They are a very likable attribute," he agreed solemnly.

On the coffee table, Annie's phone vibrated, and she leaned forward for it. "It's Abed," she said. "He wants to know when he should come pick me up."

Jeff pulled her back against him and leaned his chin on the top of her head. "Sometime soon. Or else you'll get infected in spite of our best efforts."

"It would be a bad idea to miss any classes," she nodded, her face pressed against his chest.

Tuesday/Epilogue

"Here's how I see it," Pierce explained to all of them. "Troy didn't get the short end of the stick, because he actually got to make out with – what's her name?"

"Margaret," Annie supplied.

"Is she okay now? Has anyone heard?" Shirley inquired.

"I saw her in the cafeteria this morning, making googly eyes at one of the other football players," Annie answered. "Troy, were you aware of that?"

"If you think I'm getting back with that again, you're thinking wrong."

"Back on topic, people!" Pierce slapped his hand on the tabletop. "As I was saying, Troy got the benefit of making out – possibly more than making out, was there more than making out?"

"Gross, dude."

"Anyway, with a hot cheerleader. Jeff just got second-hand germs (in a very homosexual way, I might add), and therefore spent all weekend sick without having derived any benefit from it."

"Annie acted as his unpaid servant all weekend, doesn't that count for anything?" Britta scoffed.

While Pierce was considering, Annie interjected, "Yeah, but Abed did practically the same thing for Troy when he was sick."

Everyone looked at Abed for affirmation. "This is true," he nodded.

"That settles it," Pierce said happily. "For once, Winger got good and shafted. Sick all weekend, no action to show for it, and admittedly, while Annie's a lot nicer to look at than Abed here, I doubt he was able to appreciate it. This weekend at least, Jeff, you were the loser. May I also inform you all that I had a terrific time with my mother, and that she's setting me up with one of her friend's granddaughters?"

"No, you may not," Jeff cringed. "Now I feel sick again."

"Are you gonna just let that go unchallenged, though?" Britta asked him. "Pierce thinks you're a loser."

"This time?" Jeff smiled graciously around the table, gaze lingering for a moment on Annie. "I'm okay with it."

"You need to get sick more often. It improves your attitude," Shirley said.

"Yeaaaah," Britta drawled, looking suspicious.

"He was in a very good mood when I picked Annie up on Sunday," Abed contributed. "Euphoric, one might even say."

"Are you on drugs, man?" Troy asked. "Happy pills?"

Britta shook her head. "It's too weird."

Annie coughed.