A Hard Day's Night

When Abed gets home, Troy and Annie are sitting on the couch watching reruns of NCIS. They’re right at the part where Gibbs says something droll and sarcastic and then smacks Tony on the back of the head, and it’s meant to be affectionate and fatherly, but it’s really just a way of continuing on an inside joke long after it’s stopped being funny.

“Hey, Abed,” Troy says. He doesn’t look up from the TV, but that’s what Abed likes about Troy, that he knows how to focus on the important things in life.

“Abed, you’re back!” Annie says. She looks up. “Oh no, what happened to your face?”

Abed shrugs. He knows he has a few cuts and even more bruises, but he’d gotten checked out before leaving SHIELD headquarters. They said he’d be fine with a little bit of rest. He only has a bit part in this particular storyline, so he doesn’t think they’d lie to him about this to set up a surprise twist later on. “Terrorists,” he says.

Troy looks up at him, smiling as he laughs. “Hahaha,” he says. “Good one, man.” No one ever seems to laugh at Abed’s jokes the way Troy does, even when Abed isn’t trying to be funny.

Annie gives him her best motherly glare. In terms of motherly glares, Abed rates it as a 7.5. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” Annie says, “but you shouldn’t lie to us about something like that. Haven’t you seen the news today?”

Abed shakes his head. He was a little too busy today at work to see any of the news coverage. “Bus accident,” he says. “Dupont Circle.”

Troy’s brow furrows. “Are you okay?” He stands up. There’s a commercial for Snickers bars on the TV.

Abed says, “I’m alive and I’m here. I guess in most stories of life-and-death situations, that counts as a win.” He wasn’t wearing any red today. That was probably a good sign. That rule of thumb didn’t hold up in later Star Trek series, but sometimes it’s important to use cultural consciousness over continuity as a guide. As far as Abed’s concerned, Darth Vader did say ‘Luke, I am your father.’

Troy gives him a hug. They do this more since Troy came back from his trip around the world and acquired the right amount of off-screen character growth to make interpersonal demonstrations of affection less awkward. At first Abed thought that it was a little weird, but it’s like the handshake; all they needed was some practice.

Annie scoots over on the couch to make room between her and Troy. “I’m glad you’re not worse off,” she says. “I didn’t know what to expect when we all moved out to DC, but we were worried about you.” It had been a hard decision for the three of them, leaving Colorado and the rest of the study group behind, but they still keep in touch. Jeff writes longwinded rants about how terrible Greendale still is on Facebook, and every once in a while, Britta will try to convince them to contribute some money to her latest pet cause, and Shirley once sent them a tin of chocolate-chip cookies for Christmas.

“Yeah,” Troy says. “Seems weird that they’d move you across the country to be a shipping clerk, but hey, whatever works.”

Abed sits down. Annie leans her head on his shoulder, and Troy lets their arms and shoulders bump together as he hands over a bowl filled with apple slices. (Annie doesn’t let them have popcorn anymore after the time when they got it all over the floor and then crushed them a bit underneath their shoes, and she was still vacuuming the remnants of it out of the carpet weeks later.) Abed doesn’t tell them about how he met Captain America today, that he’s just as tall in real life as he looks on TV, that he is good at giving passionate, heartfelt speeches. Abed is pretty sure that in the movie version, they’d probably cut out his scene or just leave it implied. In the television version, they’d probably leave it in as a comedic moment to break all the dramatic tension. “We’ve seen this episode before,” Abed says. “It’s the one from a couple of seasons ago when--”

“Shh,” Annie says. “We’re just glad you’re alive.”

“Yeah,” Troy says. “Come on, man. You nearly died today. Who knew clerking could be so dangerous?”

Abed pulls an apple slice out of the bowl and takes a bite out of it. He doesn’t say anything about how HYDRA had apparently infiltrated SHIELD and how he’d gotten to see up-close-and-personal what it looks like when a hellicarrier crashes into the Potomac. He wishes for one brief moment that he’d had his camera with him, that he could have captured all the footage for later. Never know when he could use it for an action scene since he doesn’t exactly have much of a CGI budget. Abed says, “I think this could be the heartwarming denouement of a good movie. You know, where the hero comes home after a hard day at work to sit down with his friends and a cold drink.”

“If you want a Coke out of the fridge, you’re going to have get it yourself,” Troy says. He’s talking with his mouth ful and watching as Abby waves her hands and talks franticly about inaccurate science to Gibbs on screen.

“I got into an accident today,” Abed says.

Annie rolls her eyes. “I’ll get us all some drinks,” she says. Abed misses her warmth as soon as she stands up, but at least Troy is still pressed up against his other side.

Another commercial break. Troy turns to look at him. They’re much closer now, and Troy has a much better view of the white gauze covering one cheek, probably bleeding through, the dark purpling bruise on his forehead. Troy frowns. “Dude, that does look really rough. Are you sure you’re okay, man?”

Abed smiles. He tries not to do that too much because he knows it makes people uncomfortable for some reason, but Troy doesn’t ever seem to mind. “I’m fine,” he says. He always was a good liar. “I think I might need to get a new job, though.”

“Oh, really?” Annie says. She’s trying to hold three cans in two hands. One of them keeps threatening to escape from her fingers. “That’s terrible, Abed. They couldn’t have held the bus accident against you, could they?”

“The company’s not doing very well,” Abed says. “They shut down everything today, and they told us not to come in tomorrow.” He’s a little sad that he won’t get to see his cubicle again. One of the hellicarriers destroyed it when it took out an entire wing of the building. He takes one of the cans and pops the tab.

“Well, if you need any help with your resume, I’d be happy to take a look,” Annie says. She’s smiling the way she does when she’s thinking about organizing and formatting things.

Abed says, “It’s hard to tell what’s going to happen after a movie ends, but I think I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll definitely be okay,” Troy says. “You’ve got us.” He’s smiling again. Abed’s always liked the world just a little bit more when Troy’s smiling.

Annie settles back down on Abed’s other side, resting her head on Abed’s shoulder again. On screen, Gibbs is shouting at a perp during an interrogation, and this is why people like procedurals, after all, the predictability, the knowledge that at the end of the day, the good guys win and the bad guys lose.

Abed takes another slice of apple out of the bowl, and he thinks that may be true in real life as well. Good guys win. Bad guys lose. For today, anyway. And that’s enough.

FIN.