A/N A change in style for this one but I think it was needed. Also my first time in Jeff's head. Touches on Jeff/Britta, Jeff/Annie but mainly Britta/Annie.

Disclaimer: I own none of the following characters.

Edit: I've had a bit of confusion about where to put this story. I would usually put Jeff as the main character seeing as it's from his point of view but on this site it is tended to be sorted through the romantic pairing portrayed in the story. Sorry if there has been any mix up but this story is now in the Britta/Annie grouping because there are so few stories of that pairing and it will be easier for people to find it that way.

Jeff thinks it's the worst idea that would be turned into a spin-off ever but Abed's next to him and he's talking about something called The Brady Brides and Joey and he admits defeat.

"Besides," Abed continues, watching the other three occupants in the apartment stage a war with pillows, a broom and every fork they owned. "All of us moving into Pierce's mansion would be much more clichéd and unwitty." Jeff thinks about having to see Pierce every time he came to drag Britta to L Street and the slight completely creepy notion of two women and...well Troy and Abed living under Pierce's roof. His mind starts slipping into Big Brother territory before a fork hits his shin.

Troy is staring with wide eyes but he looks over to another face, this one with a mocking smirk and wet hair and eyes that he's learnt to read over three years. She pokes her tongue out and dives behind the couch in a flurry of blonde hair and water droplets. He knows that look. That look means they are not leaving the apartment to go to L Street and get drunk together and moan about work and Jeff's distinct lack of love life and make out in the dingy corner until the bartender who knew them both by name– if Pointy Face counts as a name— called out for them to just get a room. As a matter of fact, that look means he is probably going to be tied to a chair while they paint his toenails or be made to play Singstar. There was no use fighting it; it only ended with him yelling and feeling like a father of four unruly children, and not in the cool Greendale parent way but in the I've-slept-with-two-of-you-now way that just felt too creepy. Pierce levels of creepy.

He doesn't mind though because since Britta moved in there's always been good liquor around and he hasn't caught up with Annie in a while. The battle seemingly taking up three different rooms has started to die down and Britta's already next to him with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. A woman after his own heart.

Except she has one more glass and another bottle on the table behind her and Annie is blushing and smiling sweetly as she pours her a vodka and orange. He stumbles for a fraction of a second. He's usually the one on the receiving end of those looks and the fact that a, she's drinking now and b, she's looking up at Britta with Disney eyes makes him...sad? No. Just crestfallen that he missed how much she's grown. He clears his throat and Britta rolls her eyes while sliding his whiskey over. It's a bit of a letdown reaction after seeing her smile back at Annie but he's used to it. He and Britta work on a different level; they bicker and they insult and they peel back each other's layers with one harsh sentence and then spend the rest of the night covering them back up. Britta smiles at everyone (not true) and Annie isn't that special to her anyway (less true than he wants to admit).

He talks with Annie most of the night; the boys in front of the TV and Britta wandering between the bathroom, kitchen, TV and window to smoke. Annie's changed. Not a lot since he saw her last but enough to notice the flush in her cheeks, the way she doesn't go off on quite as many excited tangents as she once did. He vaguely wonders if she's seeing a guy before realising he's not even jealous if she is. It's a big step for him so he spends some time internally congratulating himself while taking an extra long sip.

Abed and Troy are asking for ice-cream soon after and he watches Annie roll her eyes but get up with a smile. Their voices are low and quiet when she brings two bowls in and he realises he's missed just being with them all. He's also totally grown up emotionally enough to admit that to himself which means he's totally a sensitive guy or whatever which deserves another pat on the back.

He doesn't really realise how much Britta moving in had affected their dynamic until he lazily trails his eyes over Annie as she walks to the window. She's in her usual cardigan and camisole but paired with pyjamas and pink socks and he watches them pad over to a pair of blue socks of the same type, watch them move like a nervous habit. When he looks back up at face level one of Britta's hands is close to Annie's hip but not touching; like she just needs her hand there in case something happens rather than to actually hold her. Her left hand holds a cigarette and rests against the window sill, smoke curling out into the night while the two women talk quietly.

With a faux-innocent smile, Annie has her hand resting on Britta's and the cigarette to her mouth a moment later. It's a practised movement but swift, like maybe the only time she does this is after a screwdriver and fluffy socks are put on. Jeff watches as Britta gasps, tells the younger woman off in almost a scripted way; watches as her eyes droop down to pink lips around the plain white object. When she takes it back Jeff swears he sees a ring of pink lip gloss that wasn't on it before and he wonders again how often this happens- for Annie's sake of course. Just because Britta is willing to risk her life and admittedly, look sexy while doing it, doesn't mean Annie has to as well. When Annie returns to her seat next to him he doesn't bring it up; it seems too much a private thing to really talk about: the two sock clad women sharing a cigarette in the half light.

A strangled yell comes from the lounge.

"Geneva!" Abed calls followed by gibberish in which 'blorgon' is the only word Jeff can decipher. It means something to Annie though because she leaping towards the noises in an instant, voice commanding and English as she answers back, 'Can you hold them off Inspector?'

Jeff's left alone at the table and just so he doesn't feel too uncool, he picks up his own whiskey, then Britta's and makes his way over to the window. She smiles at him which is always a good sign and she looks tired which, while not good for her, means he will probably get less talk about patriarchy, animal rights and why weed should be legal. He's a lawyer yet she can still come up with more ways to say, 'because I want to get high' than he can think of.

He's thinking of that as he walks over, hand tightening against glass as he thinks of the cigarette sharing but in other setting. He's actually angry at Britta and ready to lecture her by the time he's over there to make sure that doesn't happen but instead he stops, he looks down, remembers how small she is, how tired she looks. She is disarmingly Britta; the way she stands, how she's wearing jeans even though everyone else is in pyjamas, how her look is a mix of mocking, coy and thanks. Jeff wants to hug her, to lean down that extra amount to compensate for her bare feet and to feel her hair which is so thin and soft in his hands. It's been too long since he's really touched her.

She doesn't think that though because she's teasing him and looking through to see what the other three are playing and finishing off her cigarette with a final swirl of smoke, grey against the black sky out the window. He wants to talk to her; about what it's like living with three adult sized children, about her studies or internship or whatever she's up to now. He wants to ask her about Annie and make sure she's looking out for her but Britta's yawning, big and loud with a stretch that makes her look eerily like some sort of Disney character. She's always been an early sleeper and it used to be one if his favourite things to watch her stumble around before finally committing to just falling into bed. He's more grown up and mature and stuff like that now though, so he just puts out her cigarette and pushes her, still yawning towards her room.

Jeff finally takes another drink of is whiskey and half watches as Annie intercepts her. He watches pale fingers reach up to run through blonde hair the way he had just wanted to, watches as Annie's pink lips he will forever associate with bubblegum smile and ask a question.

They had both gone into Annie's room, the door clicking shut loudly through the lounge. Jeff had downed the last of his whiskey before moving to sit behind Troy and Abed; trying in vain to figure out if the movie they were watching even had a plot. If it does, he's too tired and not sober enough to figure it out and after the third time he jolts awake because of a robot spaceship crash he decides it's time to just head home. He says goodbye to the guys and gets sleepy mumbles in reply and a promise to catch up to watch movies.

He knocks on Annie's door quietly; the sound seeming to reverberate around the whole flat and making him wake up a bit more. Jeff hears her say come in from the other side of the door and he pushes it open without another thought.

He expects...he doesn't know what he expects actually; maybe Annie in full flannelette pyjamas and Britta stubbornly having her hair braided. Instead, Annie is smiling at him over the top of a book, her hair down and face scrubbed clean of make-up. Britta is nestled in close to her, blonde hair spilling over her lap and Annie's camisole fisted in one hand. Britta is pantless, which Jeff can tell because the blankets are tossed around knee level, and she's in a loose grey t-shirt with some band name on the front. She's fast asleep which Jeff is honestly not surprised about but his breath does stall as he catches sight of Annie's fingers threading through the blonde mess of curls, over and over. He watches for longer than is normal because the gesture seems so normal yet intimate and he can almost feel the soft texture against his fingertips. Pale fingers escape a knot and trail down Britta's neck and it's enough to pull him back to Annie.

"I'm off," he says, suddenly not exactly knowing why he had wanted to come in. He had felt so sure that the two women would be waiting in some form for him, waiting to say goodbye or have a last drink. They're definitely not though and his mind flicks back to the easy way Annie had stolen the cigarette, their shared looks through the smoke. He wonders what exactly he's missed as Annie smiles and waves at him, choosing to put her book down, to lose her page rather than pause drawing patterns against Britta's skin.

When Jeff clears his throat, Britta makes a noise and settles in closer to Annie which Jeff takes as his queue to leave. He wants to know more, he wants to wake Britta up and demand she tell him everything, even if it means receiving a slap for 'assuming' and 'fantasizing'. He wants to know about other nights that end like this, about soft hands linking together and if Britta's fingers trailed through Annie's hair in the same way. He wants to know how often Britta sleeps in there instead of her own room and so much more but he just drives home. He climbs the stairs up to his place, opens the door to darkness, undresses in coldness and goes to sleep with loneliness.