OK, how good was that finale? It's going to be a very, very long summer.
Disclaimer: Don't own. If I did, I'd never take New Girl off the air for three freakin' months.
Uncalling It
BANG! The loft door shudders.
Bob starts up from his air-filled nest, tangling himself in the bedclothes; there is a slithering sound from behind the door.
"Jess?" he says, hesitantly…
-N-J-N-J-
After Nick had taken three rights, he found himself on the onramp to 405 South.
"What are you doing?" Jess asked.
Fueled by adrenaline and a near-total disbelief that Jess was still sitting next to him, Nick shouted, "Mexico, baby! The Latin Riviera! Let's do it!"
Jess was caught up in his enthusiasm. "Mexico! Woop!"
They drove on for a moment, and then looked at each other. Nick was the first to speak. "Y'know, maybe that's not—"
"…a white girl in a sari, and a guy dressed outta Pulp Fiction—" Jess chimed in.
"No passports…I'm seeing a Tijuana holding cell…some drunk teenager puking on my shoes…"
Jess nodded. "Yeah, I'm thinking keep it simple, kemo sabe."
They ended up on a grassy berm close to the Observatory in Griffith Park, the lights of Los Angeles splayed out beneath them. Nick grabbed the blanket and bottles of water out of the survival kit that Jess kept in the back of the car, a relic of their sojourn in the desert last year.
He spread the blanket out, spending far more time than necessary smoothing out the edges. He and Jess were finally on the same page, finally alone…why the attack of nerves now?
Too much thinking.
Patting the blanket next to her, Jess called, "Get over here, Miller." She opened a water bottle and handed it to him. "What are we drinking to?"
"Winston."
"What? After he caused all that trouble?"
"Hey, he tried to resist—Schmidt talked him into it. And…he gave me some pretty good advice."
She looked over curiously, but he wasn't spilling. "OK, then…to Winston."
They bumped bottles and each took a long sip. After the emotional turmoil of the day, it felt so good to just be there, together, in the quiet darkness. Nick thought he could do without any drama for the foreseeable future. (Probably a fruitless hope, but a guy could dream…)
He looked over at Jess, leaning back on her elbows, her ponytail spilling behind her, and thanked the gods of destiny or providence or whatever that he'd made it out to her car before she'd left. Damn, she was beautiful, the moonlight picking out her long lashes and the curve of her throat…
She caught his glance and grinned. "What're you thinking?"
"I'm trying not to," he said, low, and leaned over to kiss her.
Yes. Not thinking. Definitely the way to go.
It could've been hours later, or maybe only a few minutes…what the hell did the notion of time matter when he was tangled up in Jess, one hand cradling the back of her head, one trying to find a way into or under or through her damn sari. She let out a gasp as his lips teased along her collarbone, back up to the sensitive hollow of her neck.
And then, the rumble of a motor and a wooooOOOP! shattered the night air. Nick's line of vision was filled by a pair of tall black polished boots.
"'Scuse me, folks, but this here is federally protected property…"
Nick scrubbed a hand through his hair and groaned soundlessly as Jess sat up, pulling her sari top down and pushing the hair off her face.
"Yes, of course, Officer—" she started.
"Hey—you two look familiar," the cop said, flipping up his motorcycle visor. "Didn't I run into you a few weeks ago?"
It couldn't be…and yet, it was. "Don't tell me you can give us a ticket for making out on public property," Nick growled. "I'm still paying off your last quota-hunt."
Jess put a restraining hand on his arm. "Tiny fists! Tiny fists!" she urged in a whisper.
"Well, actually," the officer said, somewhat sheepishly, "There is a small charge…"
-N-J-N-J-
It's on the elevator ride up that things get a little awkward. Maybe it's the bright lights, maybe it's coming home, maybe it's the fatigue setting in after this ridiculous roller coaster of a day. Maybe it's the rustle of yet another ticket in his pocket, and the memory of how close he came to decking one of LA's finest.
Whatever it is, the spell that had enveloped them, the surging sense of rightness he'd felt up on the hill, has evaporated. He finds himself shuffling his feet, second-guessing, his gaze buried in the cheap industrial carpet.
This isn't—there's no way—
And suddenly, she's there, pressed against him, one hand forcing his head up to meet her eyes. "Nick Miller—do not, I repeat, NOT, put that turtle face on! We are doing this, OK? And I don't know what's going to happen—whether this is going to be amazing or a total disaster—but you are NOT going to give up on it before we've even started!"
She kisses him, almost angrily. The elevator opens, and they stumble their way down the hall, panting, hands everywhere. Bumping up against the loft door, he claims her mouth again, starving for her taste; she loosens his tie and pulls his shirt out of his pants.
"Jess? Did you forget your key?" Comes a familiar, and very paternal, voice from behind the door. Footsteps lumber their way, and Nick looks at her in a panic.
"Shit—what—" he whispers.
She clamps a hand over his mouth. "Roof! Quick! And don't make a sound!"
-N-J-N-J-
Thus it is that when Bob opens the door, the hallway is empty, the stairwell door fluttering shut. He looks around and mutters, "Damn kids and their damned pranks!" before turning back inside.
And up on the roof…
Well.
Suffice it to say that Nick and Jess are, very thoroughly and definitively, uncalling it. It might, in fact, be the best uncalling in the history of retracted calls.
Let's leave them to it, shall we?
-Finis-