Chapter Text
“Minerva really could’ve been a great Inspector,” Phil says, “And a trailblazer for future sci-fi heroines, like Buffy and Xena Warrior Princess. But it’s not a mistake that she wasn’t. The push for more female representation in the wake of the second-wave feminist movement really pissed off a lot of male sci-fi writers, Inspector Spacetime included. They purposely wrote her as an aggravating, unlikable caricature to help push their agenda that science fiction should stay a male-dominated genre. So in a way, when outsiders assume that her widespread unpopularity is rooted in misogyny, they’re not wrong. But it’s misogyny on the creators’ part, doing her so poorly because they resented having to write a female lead. It’s not exactly speculation, either. A lot of the original writers have said some pretty sexist things in past interviews, I’m sure you know.”
“I’ve been trying to tell that to my friend Britta for months,” Abed says, elbows resting on the picnic table as he leans forward to take another long sip of his Shirley Temple. “Troy, haven’t I been trying to tell Britta that for months?”
Troy’s a little surprised when his name comes into play, having been only half listening to the conversation at hand. He looks up from his phone screen, little course numbers and descriptions still flashing on the inside of his eyelids when he blinks to refocus.
He nods. “Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, you have. A lot.”
Abed slightly lifts one of his brows, a show of curiosity.
“What’re you looking at?” He asks, nodding at Troy’s phone in his hand. He doesn’t just lean over and look, which is nice. Still, he bites his lip and clicks the lock button.
“Oh, nothing,” he shrugs, setting his now black-screened phone down on the table in front of him. Abed’s other eyebrow joins its counterpart, raising questioningly.
“I mean… not nothing.” Troy clarifies. “Something. But nothing important.”
Now Abed just looks confused. Troy bites his lip and sighs softly.
“I was looking through the Greendale course catalog,” he admits. “Just… seeing what kind of classes they offer.”
He takes Abed’s hand in both of his when he sees his eyes light up. “Just looking,” he reiterates carefully. There’s no use getting Abed’s hopes up for something he’s not sure about. Even if he has been thinking more and more about Greendale over the last few weeks, with summer drawing to a close and all.
Abed schools his expression and nods understandingly, looking down at where their hands are joined. Troy gives his hand a squeeze and moves closer, resting his head on Abed’s shoulder in a little unspoken reassurance - whether he chooses Greendale or not, he’s not going anywhere. That’s the one thing that he does know about his future - every hypothetical scenario he’s tried imagining, Abed’s there. He knows what he wants with Abed. No doubt in his mind.
“I think she’d understand, if she would just watch the show,” Abed turns back to his conversation with Phil. “But she won’t. Troy’s the only person who’s ever watched it for me.”
“That’s how you know he’s a keeper,” Phil says.
Troy can’t see Abed’s head from his resting place on his shoulder, but he feels him nod.
“They’re doing chicken marsala in the clubhouse tonight,” their conversation is cut short by Troy’s mother joining them at their table by the pool, menu in hand. She passes it over to Phil, then looks at Troy and Abed. “Are you boys gonna be joining us for dinner?”
“No thanks, Mama,” Troy says around a yawn, a little drowsy after spending all day in the pool and out in the sun. “We should go soon. Annie’s hosting movie night and we promised her we’d help get the apartment ready.”
“We’re watching But I’m a Cheerleader,” Abed adds.
So they leave to do just that, even though helping Annie set up really just entails pushing all the living room furniture together in front of the TV, and popping a frankly ridiculous amount of popcorn. While they’re taking care of the grunt work, Annie commandeers the blender with a new frozen sangria recipe she’s been wanting to propose to Shirley.
She tests it out on them first, handing them each a clear plastic solo cup with a bendy straw.
“You’re not getting the full effect,” she says as they each take their first sip. “Just pretend they’re Hurricane glasses. With curly straws. And an orange wedge on the side.”
“So, a lesbian sangria, then?” Abed asks, lifting his cup a little to survey the color gradient inside.
“Exactly,” Annie grins, excitedly clasping her hands together. “The dark pink on the bottom is a red berry blend, the light pink is a strawberry lemonade, and the top layer is a white wine, lemon-peach mix. We’ll have it as a special on Sapphic Saturdays… which I’m also submitting for Shirley’s approval. But I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure it’ll pass. Only an idiot would say no to that.”
“Only an idiot would say no to this drink, too,” Troy says, eyes widening as he takes his first sip. “God, that’s good.”
“Careful,” Annie warns as he takes a second, longer sip. “It’s deceptively sweet for how strong it is. There’s a shit ton of brandy and—”
“Fuck!” Troy squeezes his eyes shut, passing his cup off to Abed and pressing his fingers to his temples. “Brainfreeze.”
“…yeah, that too.”
Although that doesn’t deter him from finishing his cup, and then finishing Abed’s for him after he’s obligatorily tasted all three flavors. They’re not even halfway done with the movie by the time he’s half asleep, curled up in Abed’s lap with his head tucked over his shoulder.
“I love you, baby,” he sighs, nuzzling into his neck. His skin still smells like chlorine and sunblock, all warm and soft where Troy kisses underneath his jaw. “I love you so, so, so, so much.”
“So Troy gets tired, and all he does is tell you how much he loves you?” Jeff asks. “When Britta’s tired, all she does is berate me about my carbon footprint.”
“You run your washing machine through a full cycle just for one shirt,” Britta mumbles next to him. “It’s a serious dick move.”
“You guys!” Annie hisses. “Save your foreplay bickering for later. Some of us are trying to pay attention.”
That effectively shuts Jeff and Britta up. Abed pulls their blanket up around them a little higher.
“I love you too,” he whispers against Troy’s cheek, “Now have some water. You slept through The Breakfast Club last time. I can’t have a boyfriend who doesn’t stay awake during movies.”
Troy blinks his eyes open, groggily accepting the glass of water Abed passes to him. He drinks about half of it before setting it back down.
“You wouldn’t actually break up with me for that, would you?” He whispers, eyelids heavy as he puts his head back on Abed’s shoulder.
Abed’s eyes soften as he shakes his head.
“No,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing over Troy’s cheek. “I wouldn’t. I don’t think I’d…”
He trails off, something like realization dawning in his eyes. He goes quiet, and spends a long moment looking contemplative before Troy brings him back, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.
“You don’t think you’d what?” He asks.
Abed blinks to refocus. “Oh, right,” he sinks down a little further in the recliner. “I just… I don’t think I’d break up with you for anything, actually.”
It takes a moment, but eventually the gravity of that statement does sink in.
The Old Troy would’ve been a cocky asshole about it. But the New Troy just feels it in the center of his chest, heavy and momentous. Abed looks into his eyes, and it’s a plea of sorts that makes Troy feel like crying.
No matter what you do, I’ll still love you, so please don’t hurt me.
There’s so much packed into it, too, so much fear and vulnerability and devotion in the dark depths of Abed’s gaze. Troy quickly pulls him in, brings Abed’s head to lay on his chest.
And Abed doesn’t do nonverbal communication so well, but he must understand this, because he immediately relaxes. He even flutters his eyes closed for a moment, and Troy feels one of those grand, sweeping sensations in his chest - the kind of feeling that really overwhelms him, in a grounding, clarifying type of way. Abed’s eyes flutter back open and flicker back to the TV, and Troy just watches him, face aglow with the light of the screen.
Troy wouldn’t dream of hurting him. He deserves only good things. Only love.
And Troy has plenty of that to give.
***
Days get shorter, blazing sunsets stretching out across the sky earlier and earlier. Troy still has plenty of summer work he can pick up around the neighborhood - mowing lawns, painting fences, washing cars. People pay good money if it means not having to work under the hot sun, and Troy, well… he likes working with his hands. It’s tiring, sometimes tedious, but he likes it, having a tangible accomplishment he can point to after a hard day’s work. It’s just satisfying, uncomplicated, the way he thinks life should be.
Same goes for fixing things. It’s not just air conditioners he’s good at - it’s also garbage disposals and washing machines and refrigerators and… well, anything, really. He has yet for someone to present him with a piece of equipment he can’t make his way around, and that makes him feel good too. He likes being able to help people, make their lives just a little easier if he can. It feels right.
He keeps that in the back of his mind as he scrolls through the Greendale course catalog on his phone again, seated at the bar with his elbows on the countertop. As he reads through, he sips idly at the glass of ice water Shirley had insisted he drink before she served him any booze - something about dehydration after working outside all day. Reminds him of something his own mother would do, which makes him feel warm inside. It’s nice to be cared about.
GEN100: GREENDALE
GEN101: INTRO TO INTERNET CITATION GENERATORS
GEN110: LOCKERS
GEN111: ADVANCED GREENDALE
Troy’s crunching down on a piece of ice, wondering exactly what Advanced Greendale even entails, when the next course listed makes him pause.
GEN112: CAREER EXPLORATION
He thinks about that for a minute. Half the courses in the Greendale catalog seem like jokes, or they’re just wildly outdated - Troy’s pretty sure he saw one the other day called Pagers: Not Just For Drug Deals - but this… well. Doesn’t seem half bad for someone as fucking confused as he is.
“Checking out the catalog again?” A familiar voice interrupts his thinking. He looks up from his phone screen, a little startled to see Jeff refilling his glass of water. He glances at Troy once he sets the pitcher back behind the bar.
Troy clicks the lock button, biting his lip as he sets his phone down.
“Don’t tell Abed?” He requests softly. “I still don’t really know what I’m doing. I don’t want him to get excited about me going in case I change my mind.”
“You know, Abed’s had worse disappointments than his boyfriend not enrolling in community college,” Jeff mentions with an amused sort of half-smirk. “But sure. I’ll keep quiet.”
Troy nods.
“Well, I know you’re just looking right now,” Jeff adds. “But if you do decide to go for it, make sure you register for History 101 with Professor Cornwallis. Wednesdays and Thursdays at 10:30.”
“Okay…” Troy furrows his brow. “Why, though?”
Jeff looks at him like he’s stupid. He waits for a moment, like he’s waiting for Troy to catch on, but he doesn’t.
“So you can join the study group,” Jeff says. “Obviously.”
He’s not really sure how to identify the feeling that gives him - something like surprise, but with a wash of contentment behind it. He takes a second to let himself absorb it.
“Oh,” he says quietly. “I… really? You guys want me to?”
“Well, not if you don’t want to,” Jeff shrugs. “But you are one of us now, so it’d be a little weird if you didn’t.”
Troy bites his lip again, this time to hold back a bashful smile. “I didn’t know I was one of you. I figured you guys just thought of me as… you know, Abed’s boyfriend.”
Jeff tilts his head consideringly. “Sure, you started out that way. But that was a while ago. I guess we… I dunno, like you now. Or whatever.”
Coming from Jeff, for some reason, that means a lot. Maybe because he’d been skeptical of Troy in the beginning - well, he supposes they all were, but Jeff was the only one who’d said it to his face. Jeff is also just one of those guys, one whose approval feels like passing a test you didn’t know you were taking. Whatever the reason, it makes Troy stop holding his smile back.
“Abed was right,” he says, sitting up straighter and giving Jeff a once-over. “You are kinda soft on the inside.”
The affronted look on Jeff’s face in response is nothing short of hilarious.
***
“Love, my dear Reggie, is but a human construct,” the Inspector breathes. “I always thought you were such a confusing race. Intelligent enough to know that our mere existence is simply one big cosmic mistake, yet so intent on assigning its meaning. Even knowing that the universe’s ongoing expansion will ultimately be its undoing. Does it truly make sense for this thing you call ‘love’ to exist, when spacetime itself will one day be torn to shreds?”
“Inspector…” Reggie’s voice is hoarse, the light in his eyes growing duller by the second.
The Inspector shakes his head. In his lap, Reggie’s head rolls weakly to the side.
“I should say no,” he continues quietly. “It was always quite hard for me to comprehend the point in feeling anything at all, considering the universe’s ultimate fate. But as you lay here, facing yours, I can’t think my way out of the feeling that… with you gone, I simply don’t want to continue this journey. Alone, or with another Constable. And if that doesn’t speak to the depth of my affection for you, well, I’m not sure what does.”
The first chords to the Beatles’ Across the Universe play out as the Inspector gazes into Reggie’s eyes - still open, but lifeless now. As the camera pans back to him, a single tear rolls down his cheek.
“I suppose what I’m trying to say, in other words,” he manages, “Is that… Yes, Reggie. I do love you, too.”
Ever so gently, with a shaking hand, the Inspector closes Reggie’s eyes, and the screen fades to black. Across the Universe continues to play.
“Nothing’s gonna change my world, nothing’s gonna change my world.”
Troy can barely see the laptop screen as the credits flash, his vision all blurred from the tears in his eyes. Once upon a time, he would’ve been humiliated to be seen like this, sniffling and sobbing like a baby, dampening the pillow under his cheek. Now, he lets it happen. He lets Abed spoon his shaking body, lets him kiss his temple and brush some of the tears away.
“Please tell me Reggie comes back to life,” Troy begs once he catches his breath enough to speak, rolling over onto his back to shoot Abed his most pleading gaze. “Please. That can’t be the end for him, for them. It just can’t. Please.”
Abed’s expression is pained as he looks down at him, eventually blowing out a sigh and letting his eyes fall shut.
“I hate spoilers,” he groans. Troy rolls onto his side at the same time Abed does so they’re facing each other, noses brushing. Abed still looks hesitant when he opens his eyes. He sighs as he wraps his arm around Troy again, pulling him in even closer. “This goes against everything I believe in, but I can’t stand seeing you like this. Yes, Reggie comes back to life, eventually. There’s gonna be a pretty long, sad stretch beforehand, though.”
If Troy were standing, he would collapse in relief right now. As he is, he just breathes out a huge sigh of relief and drops his head forward, burying himself into Abed’s chest.
“Fuck, thank God,” he breathes, his voice a little muffled now. “That’s okay. I can handle the sad, as long as I know they’ll be okay in the end.”
Abed hums indistinctly and rubs his back, gentle circles between his shoulder blades that make him relax even more. He reaches out, draping his arm around Abed’s waist to hug him in return.
Then, in a moment, something clicks in his mind.
“Hey, Abed?” He asks, and lifts his head, pulling back just far enough that he can look into Abed’s eyes. His soft, open expression indicates he’s listening. “When you told me about the Inspector for the first time, and how Reggie makes it so he can’t keep his feelings locked in… you were talking about us, right?”
Abed breathes out a short, soft laugh, and nods. “Yeah. I don’t think I knew yet that I was gonna fall in love with you, but I did know you weren’t like anyone else I’ve ever met. And I knew that was gonna change me, somehow.” His gaze flickers down to Troy’s mouth for a second, then back up. “Pretty cool that I did fall in love with you, though. I’d say that’s a change for the better.”
Troy surges forward, in the tiny space between them, and kisses him. If what he’s done is change Abed for the better, he doesn’t even know how to describe what Abed’s done for him. It’s almost incomprehensible.
“Speaking of change,” he says quietly, “I’ve been thinking.”
He lets his eyes flutter open, gaze meeting Abed’s once again.
“...About the future. I wanna run something by you.”