Hi guys! Yay Community is back and yay, so is my muse to write! Haha I honestly haven't gotten any inspiration to write anything for Community in the longest time and then I was at rehearsal for dance and BOOM. Inspiration struck! I get inspired by the weirdest things, guys, I'm telling you. So anyway, I make a lot of references to a lot of things in this one, so if you get them, yay! If you don't, just roll with it haha. I don't own anything, obviously, and the song at the beginning is called "Try" by Asher Book. Yes, I named Britta's flame after the guy that sings this song. :)

Also, "Hide and Seek" really isn't about the Holocaust. I just read that somewhere. But Imogen Heap says it's about a relationship ending, so Britta (and I) for the win!

Applied Psychology and the Modern Relationship

x

If I walk, would you run?
If I stop, would you come?
If I say you're the one,
Would you believe me?

If I ask you to stay,
Would you show me the way?
Tell me what to say
So you don't leave me

x

It's probably not a good sign when your date opens conversation with the fact that he has the same name as a famous Canadian ice dancer, is it?

In retrospect, the date itself really wasn't all that good anyway, but it had been so long since she'd been out with someone- eighteen months of undisclosed sex with Jeff and that brief one-night stand with Subway notwithstanding- that Britta was willing to go out with her brother just to have a good time. She's not sure what had happened to her lately; maybe she had been off her game, maybe that year-and-a-half (because yeah, they kind of gave up their agreement when summer started…) of sex with the same person threw her off, but she's determined, now, to make up for it.

She just shouldn't have started with Asher Hill.

Britta met Asher in Whole Foods one balmy Sunday morning in the produce section, where she'd been stuck in the ultimate debate- kale versus spinach. As she juggled the two leafy greens, trying to decide which was healthier, Asher, adding spinach to his own basket, shot her a gleaming grin and said, "You're going to want to go with spinach. Kale's out of season right now."

Britta, always her skeptical self, had asked, "Are you sure? Or are you just trying to poison me with the real out-of-season spinach?"

"Oh, I never joke about my salad greens," Asher had winked and then proceeded to ask for her number.

Yeah. Relationships that don't start on eHarmony start in the produce aisles of a Whole Foods; you didn't know?

He had seemed nice enough, plus Britta was semi-desperate for contact with someone other than her family at Greendale, so she'd agreed to a dinner at their local Olive Garden and the following weekend, they were dining on eggplant parmesan and trading stories about their attempts to save Mother Earth from herself. It turns out, they actually have a lot in common; they were both vegetarians, both completely fed up with the government, and both involved actively with their communities. Asher had dropped out of college in his sophomore year to attend a rally against the killing of the whales in Japan and in turn had spent seven months in a Japanese prison for it. That story went hand-in-hand with Britta's tale of being tear-gassed at a World Trade rally.

But still, as Britta sits on one end of the table in the corner of the restaurant, she can't help but notice all of the weird little habits Asher has. She's sure they're just those first-date jitters and the awkwardness that follows, but Asher is wearing a collared, button-down shirt and a sweater vest. Asher talks incessantly about the one time he met Madonna outside of Carnegie Hall and the time he and his buddies from high school won a Lego building competition. He keeps mentioning his six-year-old border collie named Lucy like the dog was his daughter and cannot keep from bringing up his obsession with musical theater. A few moments ago, when his cell phone had announced his older sister was calling, it had burst out the theme from Fame. He's talking to his sister on the other side of the room, now, and Britta can hear a few snippets from the conversation. He keeps calling her "doll." Is it her or is Asher a little on the odd side?

"So sorry, Britta," He says, reclaiming his seat before her. "I didn't mean to interrupt our conversation, but whenever Bailey calls, it's usually something big."

"Oh, no problem," She smiles politely. "Is everything okay?"

"Well, we can't get the caterer we wanted for our family reunion next month because apparently they're out of business," Asher shakes his head, sipping from his glass that is mainly just ice, now. "We've always used them and now we have to go another way. See, it's the tenth anniversary of my father's death and we want to get the whole family together, you know? To celebrate his life."

"Asher," Britta says, reaching over to claim one of his hands as she feels her heart swelling. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," He nods solemnly. "Mom's never dealt with it very well and she's not doing so well these days. He was a fireman, my Dad, and he always used to joke with my mother, saying his job would kill him. Well, one day, it did."

"That's awful," Britta inquires. "What happened?"

"He had gotten the family out- the parents, the little girl, and the newborn son," Asher explains. "The place was engulfed; a grease fire, from leaving the stove on. Just as he was leaving, the little girl started sobbing, begging my Dad to save their puppy, who was still trapped inside. That meant my Dad had to go back through the inferno, but he didn't want to disappoint that little girl. Just as he went inside- boom. House exploded."

Britta's eyes widen. "Holy shit."

Asher chuckles. "Yeah, it was really tough. I really loved my Dad; hell, we all do, right?"

At this, Britta hardens slightly, lips pursed. She says, "Yeah, sure," because it's still too early for him to know what a horrible human being her father is.

"So anyway, enough about me," Asher waves it off. "Dessert? Or should we call it night and get dessert elsewhere?"

The conversation has retreated to a place Britta feels familiar and at this, she smiles. "Your place or mine?"

"Well I hate to impose, but my apartment's being fumigated and I've been staying with my Mom," Asher laughs. "Bedbugs. Anyway, it'll have to be yours."

If anything, this turns Britta off just slightly. Living with his mother and bedbugs? Talk about the double whammy.

They drive back to her apartment, instead, with Britta continuing to be hyper aware of touching him, in case any of his clothes have remnants of bedbugs on them. Those things are a bitch to have and an even bigger bitch to get rid of, okay? Don't judge her. But still, as weird as Asher seems to be and as lame as their dinner had been- with equally lame conversation topics- Britta still, somehow feels attracted to him. He's a nice guy who's been through a rough past- what was that Abed said about her being attracted to damaged men?- and he was cute enough. Why didn't she like him, again?

Oh yeah. His odd habits.

"…People will see me and cry! Fame! I'm gonna make it to heaven," Asher sings along. They're listening to the Fame soundtrack now. Oh dear God. "Light up the sky like a flame! Fame! I'm gonna live forever! Baby, remember my name!"

Britta drums her fingers awkwardly on the insider of her arm and Asher finishes with gusto, shooting her a look. "You've never seen it?"

When she negates this, Asher almost looks appalled. "Well the 2009 remake isn't great, but it's still worth seeing. It's on Netflix!"

"I'll uh," Britta states slowly. "I'll have to check it out, then."

Newsflash- she doesn't.

Anyway, when they reach her apartment, Britta silently thanks… well, no one, since she doesn't believe in God, that she cleaned her apartment yesterday, because she was unaware that she was having company. She tells Asher to make himself at home as she slides off the dreadful heels she'd only worn once before- and hadn't been fond of them then either- and heads into the kitchen to fetch some wine. If she's going to get through this night, she's going to need some alcohol first. She hears Asher exclaim from the living room something about her collection of music and moments later, Imogen Heap is playing throughout the apartment.

Of course he would.

"I cannot believe I know someone else who has an Imogen Heap album," Asher grins at her when she returns and hands him a glass of red wine. "I heard her sing a few years ago and fell in love with her voice. It's just so raw and fresh, you know? It isn't bubblegum pop, like most of the artists today."

"Yeah, definitely," Britta nods, not really sure of what he's talking about. Honestly, the CD had been a grab bag Christmas gift from her short-lived job at the diner last year. She'd only listened to the CD twice.

Asher sighs and sits back against the couch. "So tell me about you, Britta. We've spent all this time talking about me. What's your family like?"

This is so not what she wants to talk about. She shrugs nonchalantly. "Family's family. I've got parents who drive me up a wall and two brothers who outshine me in everything they do."

At this, Asher looks concerned. "Outshine you? How could anyone do that?"

"Well I'm the youngest and I'm the only girl, so they've got that on me," Britta sighs. "My oldest brother owns this huge business that pretty much owns everything else in the state and my other brother is a doctor working with kids who have autism. And me? I'm in a community college in my thirties studying psychology from an alcoholic professor who only shows up to class every now and then."

"That's not really outshining, per se," Asher thinks. "Just different life choices, that's all. And psychology, huh? You want to be a doctor?"

"A therapist, yeah," Britta nods, the only decision she's made since entering Greendale, really. "That's the goal."

"That's very ambitious," Asher approves and there is a lull in conversation as the CD skips to the next song.

"Hide and Seek" floods through the room and Britta, to fill the silence, says, "I love this song. You know, a lot of people think she used auto tune to make her voice sound like this, but it's actually-"

"A vicoder!" Asher says way too enthusiastically. "Yeah, I heard that too! Also, I'm pretty sure this song is about the Holocaust."

Britta's eyes widen. "What? It's about a break up, isn't it?"

"Oh no. It's about the Holocaust. Listen to the words."

And at first, Britta's pretty sure he's gone insane, but the certain lines jump out at her and now it's all she can hear. The takeover, the sweeping insensitivity of this, trains and sewing machines, blood and tears, they were here first, this is just what we needed, you decided this, and of course, speak no feeling, no, I don't believe you, you don't care a bit. Great. This honestly was one of her favorite songs and now she can't unhear the Holocaust double-meanings. Thanks, Asher. Thanks a lot. She sips at wine bitterly as the song continues to drone on.

Asher turns to look at her then and sets his wine down upon the coffee table. "I really like you, Britta. Who would've thought? A relationship beginning all because of some spinach."

She chuckles, a bit nervously because, whoa, relationship? Let's not get ahead of ourselves. But as he leans in toward her, she follows suit, and soon, the two are kissing over their red wine and shared interest in Imogen Heap. This kiss feels different, somehow, Britta realizes, than any other before. It isn't guilty, ravaging, angry, or spiteful. It isn't loving, adoring, meaningful, or spectacular. It isn't, she realizes, anything at all. There is no spark, no chemistry, no feeling. Just lips on lips and as Britta comes to realize this, she suddenly feels even worse about herself and the situation with Asher. Because here's a perfectly nice guy, albeit a bit weird, who has a lot of the same interests as she does. And still, she feels absolutely nothing for him.

Suddenly, they jolt apart at the sound of a harsh pounding Britta's front door. This pounding goes on for another moment before it's accompanied by a half-grunting, half-whiny, "Britta!" The blonde in question frowns and apologizes to her date before standing and crossing to the door, peering through the peephole though she already knows who it is and scowling at the sight of her unwanted visitor. Asher clears his throat, takes a sip of wine, and asks, "Who is it?"

Britta unlocks the door and tells Asher yet another lie. "It's just my brother."

When she yanks the door open, Jeff stumbles across the threshold as if he had been using the door for support. He's wearing a black, three-piece suit with a skinny tie- his favorite and she's really not shocked- but the jacket's buttons are undone and a few of the buttons on his shirt are either missing or coming loose. His whole appearance is dishelved; he reeks of alcohol, his eyes are bloodshot, and he's completely trashed. Jeff greets her with that douchey smirk he's always giving her when he's drunk and she steps aside as he enters her apartment.

"Please tell me you didn't drive here," Britta admonishes. "You're belligerent; if you tell me you got behind the wheel of a car…"

"Took the bus," He slurs. "I was at St. Edwards down the street."

"You went to a church?" She asks astonished. "You? The agnostic?"

"Not to church," Jeff tells her, tripping over his own feet as he walks further into her home. "There's no service this late… Even atheists know that, right?"

Rolling her eyes, she pushes him towards the kitchen. "Go get some water."

But instead, Jeff manages to find the living room, where he notices the mood music, the dimmed lighting, the wine, and, of course, Asher. Britta has an actual face palm moment when Asher stands and offers Jeff his hand. "Hello! I'm Asher, Britta's-"

"Oh, this is a date?" Jeff chuckles drunkenly. "With this douche? I thought you had better taste than that…"

"Okay, Jeff, you've done enough damage," Britta grabs his arm, flushing crimson as she shuffles him out of the room, towards her bedroom.

"I mean seriously, a sweater vest?" Jeff cackles. "What are you, Mr. Rogers?"

"Nice meeting you too," Asher calls politely after them and Britta, if possible, blushes further.

When they reach her bedroom, Jeff grins at her, eyebrows twitching sloppily. "Well, this is a bit fast, but if you're up for it, I am too."

"Ew, God no." Britta scrunches her nose in disgust. "You lie down and sober up. And I swear to God if you throw up in here I will murder you."

With that, she shoves him, not so nicely, onto her bed and slams the bedroom door behind her, ignoring his retreating remarks. When she returns to the living room, Asher has finished both his wine and hers, unsurprisingly. She runs a hand through her hair as he stands and puts his coat on slowly. "Asher, I'm so sorry. I honestly wasn't expecting him tonight and I'm really sorry about the things he said. Believe me, that will not go unpunished."

Asher laughs. "It's alright. He's probably just stressed from work, right? I bet working with kids with autism can't be easy."

Britta deadpans, "What?"

"That on top being protective of his sister," Asher adds and to Britta's confused look, says, "You said he's your brother…?"

"Oh," This, kids, is why you don't lie. "Oh, right. Yeah, yeah he's always been that way. Super jealous and possessive. Not in a creepy way. Just, you know, brotherly."

"Right," Asher states uneasily. "Well, another time then. Perhaps when my apartment isn't being fumigated?"

"Sure," She nods and allows Asher to kiss her cheek as he exits the apartment.

"Goodnight, Britta," He bids farewell and then he is gone.

"Goodnight," She calls after him and shuts the door behind his retreating frame.

With all the anger in the world, Britta stalks down the hallway toward her bedroom and yanks the door open, prepared to go off on an unsuspecting, inebriated Jeff Winger.

But instead, she finds him curled up on her bed, fast asleep, and he looks too peaceful to bother. She retreats and shuts the door quietly instead.

When Jeff awakens two hours later, he feels slightly less drunk than he was before, but still a little uneasy. He rubs his eyes and sits up and the room spins for a while before he realizes he has no idea where he is. He shouldn't panic because this has definitely happened before, but he does, and glances at the glowing neon numbers on the clock beside him- 12:16 a.m. It's only midnight? Why had he been asleep? And why did that clock look so familiar? Suddenly, he recognizes the bed, with the duvet made from all-natural fibers, the hardwood floors, the oak door leading to the tiny bathroom. This is Britta's bedroom- what the hell was he doing here?

From the bathroom, Britta enters the bedroom and smirks upon seeing him sitting up, confused. She flips on the light and he squints harshly as watches her towel dry her hair, fresh from a shower. She's wearing a simple t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms that have definitely seen better days. He's still trying to piece together the earlier evening as she runs a comb through her still damp hair- did they hook up? How had he gotten this drunk? And why, did it seem, was she not the same way? When she makes eye contact with him through the mirror, she asks, "Feel a little better now?"

"I guess," He responds. "Um… Did we…?"

She chuckles and shakes her head. "Oh no. I don't take advantage of those under the influence."

"Then why I am here?" Jeff asks impatiently, a little harshly, and Britta frowns.

"You stumbled in here two hours ago drunk off your ass. You tell me," She answers. "But believe me, if you don't want to be here, the next bus leaves in twenty-seven minutes. If you run, you'll make it."

And then it all comes back to him. The ceremony, the bar, the bus, Britta's apartment. He runs a hand over his face and groans. "Oh shit. I ruined your date, didn't I?"

She shrugs and sits beside him on the bed. "Whatever."

"No, I keep ruining everything," Jeff sighs. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I wouldn't have… I just… Ugh."

Britta shoots him a glance and softens a bit. "It's alright. You clearly have your own issues to deal with tonight, so… What are best friends for, right? I'd like to think you'd do the same for me."

Jeff looks at her and slowly, a grateful smile grows on his face. "Thanks Britta. I've definitely taken advantage of you this year."

"No you haven't," She shakes her head. "But while you're here, you might as well tell me what's going on. You don't get that drunk for no apparent reason."

Heaving a sigh, he leans against her headboard and says, "Remember Alan? From the law firm?"

"You mean that dickwad who sold you out?" Britta scoffs. "How could I forget?"

"Yeah, him," Jeff smirks. "Well anyway, as much as you guys may hate him and as annoying as all hell I find him, we still hang out every now and then. So-"

"You hang out with him? Jeff, he stabbed you in the back! He-"

"Britta."

"Sorry. Listening."

"Anyway," He shakes his head. "We've known each other practically forever- since we were taking the LSATs and hoping for passes on the bar exam-"

"But you cheated your way through those."

"Britta!"

"Sorry! I swear, I'm listening."

"He asked me the other day if I would come with him… to his father's funeral," Jeff says shakily. "His father had been in perfect condition and just died. He had a stroke and just died one day. Alan isn't married and no one should have to go to that alone, right? So I told him I'd go. But he fucking hated his Dad, Britta, so it really wasn't the position for me to be in. I didn't know what to say to him!"

"A lawyer with daddy issues," Britta smirks. "That's original."

This time he just shoots her a look before continuing, not waiting for her apology. "He hated his Dad, Britta, but when he got there, all of that hatred just disappeared. He lost his mother a few years ago and now he lost his father. He has no one. And he was just sitting there, sobbing, staring at his dead father because of course it was open casket and he just looked so… broken."

"It's so cliché," Jeff continues after a moment. "The whole hatred of a parent who suddenly dies and now the son will never be able to reconcile their differences shtick. But it just happened, right in front of me. I left; I didn't even stay for the reception. I went to L-Street, had a little scotch… Okay a lot of scotch… And I came here, because I couldn't go home."

He looks pleadingly at her and says, "I don't want what happened to Alan to happen to me. Please help me. Please fix me."

Jeff must still be drunk if these words are coming out of his mouth. If he is honestly asking for help, let alone asking Britta for help, he is either drunk, insane, or both. But when he looked over at her, really looked at her, she didn't look like she was judging him. She wasn't pitying him or mocking him or admonishing him for feeling this way. The only look on Britta's face is one of concern, because Jeff knows her pretty well by now and he knows how much it kills her to see one of her friends hurt. He hates how much he's been relying on her lately, but at this pit in his life, he's not sure what else to do. He honestly doesn't have anyone else to turn to.

She's quiet for awhile before saying, "Well, I don't have a degree in psychology yet so I don't know how to fix you…"

"Yeah, but you're closer than Annie or Shirley," Jeff states and there's a double meaning to the word 'closer,' but they both let that slide. "And I think the other three would be more of a hindrance than a help."

She neither confirms nor denies this. "Well, you have been having a tough year. But I'm not sure what else to say other than the truth- I know you don't want anything to do with your father, but unless you contact him, what happened to Alan could very well likely happen to you. It's a crazy world out there, Jeff, and most things that happen don't make any sense. Who knows what'll happen? You could die tomorrow and the situation would be reversed; it would be your father living a lifetime of regret."

"He probably wouldn't even notice," Jeff frowns. "I might as well go ahead and die. Who cares, right?"

"Don't you dare," Britta states. "If you leave me to raise our kids alone, I'll never forgive you. You're one half of the Greendale parents, remember?"

Jeff smiles slightly at this. "I forgot. We really haven't been much of a family this year, have we?"

"No," Britta admits. "Everyone's been stuck with their own problems. Shirley's busy with her family, Pierce is lashing out again, and Troy and Abed aren't speaking right now."

"What?" Jeff looks panicked. "How could we let it get this way?"

Britta eyes him in concern. "Jeff, relax. Every relationship has its bumps and bruises. I'm sure they'll be fine. Annie will settle it. She's good with that stuff."

They're silent for just a minute before Jeff asks, "What if it's me? What if I'm bringing the group down?"

Britta shakes her head. "You're what keeps the group together."

"That's not true. On the first day of class, you were all perfectly fine with having Pierce and not me. At Abed and Troy's housewarming party, you all had a great time dancing ridiculously to 'Roxanne' without me," Jeff sighs. "You don't even need me."

If sober Jeff could hear half-drunk Jeff right now, he'd be beating himself in the face.

But he's too deep in his self-deprecation and insecurities to care right now.

All of a sudden, he feels a rush of air and then he's being engulfed in a hug, which only later does he realize how much he actually needs one. He wraps his arms around her torso as she does the same, unable to think of anything else to say to make him feel better. Jeff buries his face into her neck; the damp, cherry blossom smell of her hair wafting through his nostrils reminds him of comfort, of home. He's not sure why- it's probably the alcohol, it is a depressant, you know- but he's feeling absolutely miserable and thankfully, Britta always knows what to say. She also knows when words are unnecessary.

When they pull away, Britta has tears in her eyes and at this, Jeff smirks. "Are you crying?"

"Yes," She wipes at her eyes quickly, half-chuckling at her own vulnerability. "It upsets me that you'd really think we wouldn't need you. You spent your entire first two years at Greendale trying to prove how much you didn't need us, but you did. You do. You need us as much as we need you, Jeff. Face it!"

"I have faced it," Jeff defends. "I just feel like you guys are un-facing it."

"We're not. We're just all having a rough year. But we're going to get through it and we're still always going to need each other to do that. We'll always need you too," Britta tells him, completely sincere. "I'll always need you. You're my best friend."

Jeff smiles, sentimental for a moment, before grinning wryly at her. "Ooh, best friends? I don't know if we're quite ready for that. That's moving a bit too fast, don't you think?"

"Okay, normal Winger's back?" Britta asks with an eye roll. "Fantastic. Then we can go to bed, now? It's been a long day and I'm exhausted."

"You looked bored out of your mind on your little date earlier," Jeff chuckles. "But seriously, what was with that sweater vest? And was he singing show tunes? Is he even straight?"

"Yeah," Britta groans, shutting off the light. "Normal Winger's definitely back."

The following morning, Britta's making pancakes because she's in a super good mood despite last night's heart-to-heart. Or maybe because of it? Either way, as an up-and-coming therapist-to-be, last night had really tested her wits and her limits to Jeff as a friend. She'd never experienced him in that state before and, honestly, it scared her that those thoughts had actually entered his mind. She knew Jeff was insecure and always got super honest when he was drunk, but she never imagined she'd hit the goldmine of Jeff's inner thoughts and feelings all in one night. He had been so vulnerable, so desperate for security, and so anxious for reassurance that he'd always have them, that he'd always have her, that it, needless to say, gave her one hell of a fright.

But Jeff, despite the romantic feelings she may or may not have for him, honestly is her best friend, the one she is closest to at Greendale, and no matter what happens to him in the future, no matter what he decides to do with his life upon graduating, no matter who he decides to romantically link himself with- even if this person is, ahem, a certain young brunette- Britta's going to stand by him, one hundred percent. She thought he knew that, but honestly, given the depth to the conversation they had, it probably wasn't inherent. No matter what, he'd never be alone, like Alan. He'd always have her.

She flips a pancake onto one of her fancier plates and uses whipped cream and freshly cut strawberries to make a happy face just as he trudges into the kitchen. With the glass of milk, she's added a few tablets of aspirin, because with the amount he drank last night, his head has got to be pounding. The first thing he does is down the aspirin and the entire glass of milk- she's right. The second thing he does is sit down at her kitchen table, complain about her uncomfortable dining chairs, poke at the breakfast and ask, "Am I five? What the fuck is this?"

But Britta grins and inwardly lets out a sigh of relief, because that's how she knows Jeff is Jeff again.

There's no telling what the future holds for Jeff and Britta, together or apart.

Britta may graduate and go on to be a psychologist, a therapist, like she wants. She may not.

Jeff may find his father and reconcile their differences; say all those things he's always wanted to but never gotten the chance. He may not.

The two may romantically entangle again. They may not.

But if they do, Britta will get a call from a seriously concerned Asher Hill, wondering why she's dating her own brother.