She was supposed to go home after that dinner. The text from her mother had left Britta feeling exhausted. She hadn't even replied—why was she getting all worked up? She said her goodbyes, giving Willie Jr. her phone number in case he needed some private therapizing. She felt herself slipping out of her calm mood the more she thought about her mother's message. She said she'd expect to hear from Willie Jr. at some point and as she was spouting off some controversial psychology theories, she found herself being led out the door by Jeff.

He was smiling at her, clearly not listening, and he let her go as soon as they were far enough from the door.

They got into the car.

She was nervous, unsure as to what Jeff would say. Maybe he'll scream at you and know the real reason you did this.

As they adjusted themselves into the car, she turned to face him. She couldn't help but feel a shiver go down her spine; the anticipation was killing her.

"Look, you're probably feeling a very strong urge to sleep with me right now and that's normal." She heard Jeff say.

She couldn't help but scoff. She had missed this, their banter. Hearing Jeff thank her for helping gave her a sort of satisfaction she hadn't expected. It opened up a whole new side to their friendship she didn't know she was missing.

After a few minute of chatting, as well as being interrupted by Willie Jr. and mentally noting Jeff's mention of seeing him at Christmas (she knew he couldn't leave his brother alone), she realized something.

"Why am I in your car?" She wondered out loud. They hadn't come to William's house together, she had her own car-yet she had been led so easily by Jeff.

He didn't really have an answer.

"Want to go for a drink?"

And yes. Yes she did.

She hadn't meant to get so drunk. She had ordered one vodka tonic with four olives, then another, and before she knew it, she was drinking scotch along with Jeff and talking way too much.

She was telling him how proud she was, that despite all his walls he allowed himself to try and reconcile with the man who abandoned him. Jeff didn't say much, which Britta thought was weird but whatever—he probably had more emotional growth in that hour than the past 20 years.

So Britta drank and talked and then she wasn't caring anymore.

"So get this right—my dad" she hiccupped, "is way more toxic than your dad is, Winger." She knew what she opening up but she couldn't stop.

Just keep talking. He'll forget it in the morning. But Jeff wasn't half as drunk as Britta wanted him to be. He just looked at her, smirk ever present on his face.

"Yeah, right. He was around wasn't he? Although he sure didn't do a good job of keeping you in school." Jeff joked. She punched him in the arm and rolled her eyes at him.

"I wish he had left—does that sound bad? I think that sounds bad." More hiccups. "But I do. I couldn't face him after the restaurant, y'know? It's like how can you look at him as someone who has to take care of you after that?" Britta mused. She knew Jeff had no idea what she was talking about. She wasn't sure she wanted to explain any more.

It was too much, too fast. You're almost there, just get it out.

Jeff was somehow closer to her. They had been sitting at the bar, on stools, near each other already. The crowd occasionally pushing them closer together as people scrambled to get their drinks or the noise got too loud. But this was different. Britta figured Jeff could tell something big was coming, and that made her tense up even more.

C'mon, he just shared a story about slicing his stomach open for some greeting cards—you can get this out.

She just kind of looked at Jeff and found herself moving closer to him, attempting to rest her head on his shoulder. Unfortunately, this isn't a movie, and she was too drunk to really have any clue how close Jeff was; Britta ended up nearly falling over and spilling her drink on him.

She laughed way too hard at that.

Jeff took a deep breath. "Look, I'm about to sound extremely weird and I'll deny ever saying this but.. Britta, if you need to talk. I'm here." His eyes gave her that look, the one he gave to her when no one else was looking, the one that meant he was listening.

Britta ordered another drink before finishing the one she had in her hands. She couldn't look at Jeff anymore. Maybe it was the alcohol or the emotional wound she was about to open up, but she felt sick.

You need to do this.

"It was nothing at first. I.. didn't really know what was going on." Britta hesitated. She turned to face Jeff, careful to leave her drink on the bar but still unable to meet his worried glance. Jeff sat there, still and silent, yet still supportive. She almost laughed at how ridiculous this whole situation was; she was truly selfish for ruining such a huge moment for Jeff with her crap.

She fiddled with her napkin, wondering if she should just chug her drink right there. Seeing as how coordinating isn't her best right now, she decided against it.

"I went to the bathroom at a restaurant. We were having some party there for my dad's job—he got a promotion or whatever." She laughed nervously, remembering how excited her family had been. "This guy followed me in there. I think he was an executive for the company? Whatever. He uh. He. Shit happened." She realized she can't go into detail, not in a bar where she's drunk off her ass on Thanksgiving.

She doesn't know she's crying until Jeff takes her hand and leads her out of the bar. She's crying and it's getting worse, and Jeff isn't saying anything.

Britta, spit it out.

Maybe it's the cold wind hitting her face and the reality of what she just said, but she stops. She turns to look at Jeff for the first time since she started talking. She smiles.

"What you're thinking, it's probably true. The guy, my dad's kind of boss, he.. touched me when I didn't want to. I was too young to know what happened but it made me feel bad so I told my parents." She started crying harder and she finds herself leaning into Jeff, needing the support because it was too much to talk and stand at the same time.

"But that.. that I could heal. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't just that. I told my dad. I told my mom. But he didn't believe me and he sided with his boss. I don't know what kind of person would do that, why he would say I was lying. I don't know what kind of person doesn't bother to make sure their little girl wasn't psychologically traumatized and abused by their fucking boss on the day of his fucking promotion—" and then she can't talk. All she can do is cry and scream and she knows they're in a parking lot but it doesn't really matter anymore.

Jeff holds her, not speaking as always. He tried to hide his look of concern but he couldn't and Britta feels even worse for putting this burden on him. He holds her, as her screaming turns into whimpers inside the car they somehow managed to get to, he doesn't let go even when she whispers I shouldn't have told you.

Jeff takes Britta back to his apartment.