Chapter Text
It was only a matter of time before this happened, Jeff admitted to himself as he left what could only be described as the most emotionally draining meeting of his life. Several reasons had made the meeting particularly taxing, the first of which being that he had spent the better part of 45 minutes attempting to soothe the Dean into a state where he could string a sentence together without succumbing to tears on the office floor. The second reason, the one he was currently pretending didn't bother him in the slightest, was that Greendale was in trouble. And not just 'the rival school's dean orchestrates a paintball scam against them' kind of trouble.
No, this was the kind of trouble that had the potential to tear apart the place that had provided him with everything: a job, a family, a future; an unreliable but well-meaning conscience. Which is how Jeff Winger found himself fixated on a newspaper clipping from 12 years ago, clutching a glass of scotch he reserved for extra special moments of self-loathing, like birthdays, and engagement parties for by small brunettes who happened to have his heart in a chokehold.
Interrupting his thoughts, Britta barged into his office with her characteristic lack of grace. "What's up, nimrod? I got your text," she announced.
"We have a problem," he sighed.
"This better not involve you forgetting your data deadline because I am not helping you grade your midterms again," she retorted, plopping down in the chair opposite his desk.
"Worse," he grimaced, handing her the same file the Dean had given him an hour ago. She snatched it from his hand, and he observed in silence as she quickly skimmed through the document.
"Jeff..." she began, flipping back through the pages, her brow furrowing. "What the hell is this?"
"That," he sighed, "was delivered to the Dean by an anonymous Dalmatian this morning. The school is facing a lawsuit for gross negligence."
"That's insane," Britta replied, still scanning the pages as if the words might magically change.
"I know. I've told him countless times never to accept mail from men in sexy dog costumes."
"No, Jeff!"
"Oh, right, yeah, the school being sued," he said, glancing at Britta, realising the same sense of complete and utter dread he felt was reflected in her own expression.
"I mean, do they have a legitimate case? Can they actually sue us?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
"I haven't had a proper chance to review the files yet," he responded, transparently attempting to evade her question.
"What will happen if..." she started, but he cut her off, snatching the file back from her, determined to avoid the conversation she was trying to initiate.
"I told the Dean that if we find the right approach, we can try to spin it and divert some of the blame away from us—"
"But—" she interjected.
"—prove that their lives were already ruined before they arrived here and that Greendale had no role in it—"
"Jeff," she pressed on.
"—If we can uncover the transcripts, we might be able to see—"
"Jeff!" she suddenly snapped, her tone softening when she saw the desperation in his eyes. "Are they..." She paused, unsure of how to ask the question she likely already knew the answer to. "Are we at fault here?"
Jeff sighed, running his hands over his face. For so long, the one shining light guiding him away from Greendale was the prospect of becoming a lawyer again, commanding a courtroom in a way only he could. Yet now, when the opportunity finally presented itself, all he felt was dread.
"Britta, we gave a degree to a dog," he finally admitted, uncertain and unwilling to confess the truth aloud. They were fucked.
"Oh, God," she whispered. He said nothing more, instead reaching into his desk and pouring her a glass. If they could do one thing right, it was drink.
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Despite their several tumultuous and failed attempts at a romantic relationship, Britta still loved Jeff deeply. He was not only her best friend but also someone who understood her in ways others couldn’t; they were similar to a fault. Unfortunately for them, those faults usually involved getting excessively drunk and engaging in weird competitions of marriage. However, when she discovered Jeff the next morning, passed out on her apartment floor amidst a sea of empty bottles and cats, she knew it was time to call in reinforcements before either of them got any ideas about proposing. As much as she contemplated telling Jeff about her plan, she understood that a situation like this required the entire group's involvement. Knowing that Jeff would likely reject the idea, she weighed her options and decided to text the one person she knew could rally the whole group on short notice.
Britta:
SOS. Group needed ASAP. Greendale in trouble. Don't tell Winger.
She pressed send and waited, balancing herself against the counter in 303’s bathroom as last night’s decisions threatened to show themselves down her sink. She steadied herself as she took a deep breath from the window, memories of toilet olives and over-zealous hosts reminding her of her first time in this place. Despite Jeff's best efforts to deny it, having the group together again wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Her phone buzzed, and a smile crept across her face as she read the message illuminating the screen.
Abed:
Thunderbirds are go.
Jeff would simply have to suck it up.