My first New Girl fic. Nick and Jess are just all kinds of deliciousness-can't get them out of my head! So here's my contribution to the "Winston's Birthday" codas...hope you enjoy.
Roof
"Let's all raise a class to our good friend Winston: my partner in low-level sabotage, the man who saved (most of) the hairs on my legs, my supporter in extremis, even if he couldn't pee on my face—"
Ping!
Schmidt put his plastic cup down with a slosh. A trickle of warm champagne, a bottle of which had been secreted under Schmidt's voluminous "Froggeddaboudit" sweatshirt, ran down the side. "Really, people? Who doesn't silence their phone before a toast—"
"Damn!" Winston shouted, looking at his screen. "I gotta go!"
"We're not done here—" Schmidt insisted.
Winston held up his hands in a placating gesture and spoke in a breathless rush. "I know—this was amazing—you guys really had me going with the whole 'Birthday? What birthday?' thing—Schmidt, that sweatshirt is subtle genius—but Daisy's gonna Skype me in five minutes and I gotta have my birthday suit on, if you know what I mean!" He grinned, teeth flashing in the candlelight, and disappeared down the stairs, muttering something about massage oil.
The remaining four just looked at each other. Elizabeth broke the silence, slapping Schmidt on the shoulder. "OK, Big Guy." She gestured to the telescope. "Let's get crackin'. Your sex-crazed neighbors aren't just going to expose themselves, are they?"
Schmidt bundled up the golden scope and cherrywood stand, and they headed off to the corner of the roof.
Nick raised his champagne. "Happy hunting!" Taking a sip, he immediately spit it back into the cup. "This stuff is disgusting!"
"Can't argue with that," Jess replied, setting her own cup down. "How about some O.J. instead?" She picked up the flutes and led the way over to the edge of the low wall, where the lights of downtown sparkled invitingly.
Jess leaned on the concrete parapet and sighed. So close. She'd come home that day determined not to let her father's words stand in the way of…whatever…might happen between her and Nick. And when she'd come up here to find Breakfast: Part Deux on the table, she was pretty sure he'd felt the same way.
But now…
For every good moment they had, there was another, pretty-close-to-awful (or just-plain-awful) one waiting. She throws herself at him, he burns his hand; they kiss passionately and break a fish tank; they spend an amazing (amazing) night together and her dad shows up. Their "date-not-a-date" was the perfect summation: every time they took a chance, stepped out into that relationshippy street, they got slapped in the face with a big fat fine.
She was pretty sick of it, actually. It shouldn't be this hard, especially not with your best friend.
"So—" Coming out of the silence, Nick's voice made her jump; her heart beat a hopeful tattoo. "I never asked you how the interview went."
Never mind.
"It wasn't so much an interview as a globe-dodging trial by fire."
"That good, huh?"
"On the bright side, I could've gotten a date out of the deal"—Nick's eyes darkened—"He was cute, but he smoked. Also, he's twelve."
Nick laughed, a sound with more relief in it than humor, and Jess' stomach tightened. She put one tiny toe out into that street again—"Wow! For a minute there it seemed like you were jealous, Nick. Never seen that before."
"Then you haven't been looking."
She looked now, and what she saw there made her just a bit braver. "How long?" she asked quietly.
In typical Nick Miller fashion, he prevaricated. "Well…it didn't just—I mean, it wasn't like one thing…at first, it was, y'know, big eyes and long legs and skirts…but then, later, it was just…you."
"Why didn't you ever say anything?"
"Right—you mean after Perfect Paul? Before Ruggedly Handsome Russell? Or Saintly Sam? I was your emotional fluffer, Jess. And that was that." He shrugged, and Jess saw a little further into why he couldn't tell her how he felt. "OK, now it's your turn. What did you write on that valet ticket?"
Jess took a breath. "I wish," she replied.
"You wish what? You wish I hadn't asked?"
"No—that's what I wrote. 'I wish.' As in, I wish I knew what we were—I wish I could be sure it wouldn't blow up—I wish I had more edge—"
"More what?"
"More edge…more spice, more zing! Like Bar-banging Shane or Absinthe Girl or Julia-who-gave-you-a-cactus—"
"Jess…why would you want to be one of those girls? None of those relationships lasted more than, like, five minutes!"
"I thought you might get bored of all the quirky—and the skirts—and the funny phone—"
"The skirts? Are you kidding? Now, you might have a point about the phone…"
"And the singing…"
"Meeeeeh…maybe you're right," Nick pretended to consider, until Jess slapped him on the arm. "OW! For a little bit of a girl, you hit hard."
Jess turned to face the lights again. OK, fine. Maybe they couldn't even do this—couldn't have a grown-up conversation about their feelings…
But then Nick took a healthy swig of juice, as if for courage, and there was that optimistic little drumbeat in her chest again. "Jessica—" She turned back toward him; this time, he pinned her gaze with his. "All those things…they make you you. And you're the person I—I…want to be with. There. Cards on the table. Let's see what you've got," he challenged.
"Right back atcha. I'll see your feelings…and raise you one 'Ignore my stupid dad's comments.'"
Nick's uncertain smile twisted into a self-deprecating smirk. "That's different."
"What? Why?"
"Because your dad's right. I am confused and I don't have a plan…and you do deserve better than that."
She rolled her eyes. "Nick, sometimes, you're such an idiot."
"I know! That was exactly his point!"
Progress. At least she knew where he stood now—at least he was standing, rather than panic-moonwalking away—even if his self-esteem needed a serious overhaul. That was something they could work on. Perhaps a change in tactics would help.
Jess stared hard at Nick's mouth, then very deliberately loosened the tie of her terrycloth robe, shrugging it off one shoulder. "So…you're saying, you would give up all this—" she ran her fingertips down the placket of her flannel pajamas—"because of one typically irrational outburst by my overprotective father?" She finished with a vampy pout, walking her hands up his jacket.
He caught one hand, kissing her palm and sending a bright shock of desire right to her belly. "I don't know how you make grandma fabric so hot, Jess, but damn—I'm trying to be the better man, here!"
Grabbing his lapels, she brought her face level with his. "The better man would forget all this extraneous garbage and just kiss me!"
That was all it took…once again, she was wrapped tightly in his arms; once again, she saw through space and time for a minute.
He might not have a plan…she might not have enough "edge"…the whole thing might be a disaster. But right here, right now, with the stars spinning around them and Nick's hands tangled in her hair, she was willing to take that chance.
It might not work.
Then again, it might.