Alice turned a page in her copy of A Christmas Carol. She stared at it, blinking; after attempting to read the same sentence four times, she let the book fall closed in her lap and slumped back against her pillow.

"Bah humbug, indeed, Mr. Scrooge." She didn't know why she couldn't shake this persistent melancholy. Alice usually enjoyed Christmas. No, she loved Christmas. But this year she felt anything but jolly.

Maybe I just shouldn't force it, she decided, rolling over and swinging her feet to the floor. She placed the Dickens novel on top of her bookshelf and knelt to peruse her library; a change of genre might distract her from her failed merriment.

"Let's see...Poe? Too depressing. Wordsworth...maybe." Alice shuffled through the books on the shelf, pushing aside a small stack to see what might have been shoved behind it and forgotten. Finding nothing to spark her interest, she began to stand up, but something caught her eye and made her freeze. There, at the back of the bookshelf, was Journey Through Bookland. She had stashed it there the day Andrew tried to kiss her; the day she freaked out and left him sitting on her couch. The sight of his thoughtful gift had made both her heart leap into her throat and her stomach drop. The wistful and anxious combination of feelings it triggered was unpleasant, so as soon as Nathan turned off the camera, she had tucked it in the back to keep it from fogging up her brain.

It had remained there, safely out of sight, until this moment. Alice hesitated then reached for it, handling it carefully, though not with white gloves as she once did.

She turned the book over in her hands, inspecting the well-worn cover. I still can't believe he found this, she thought. As she gently flipped through the pages, a small piece of paper fluttered out from somewhere in the middle. It was folded neatly in half, and the message inside was in Andrew's small and precise handwriting.

Just something for your own journey through "bookland."

I'm glad I'm on it with you.

- A

Alice read the note, then reread it, then folded it up, opened it, and read it again.

She gingerly replaced the slip of paper between the pages and returned the book to the shelf, this time not in the dark corner. Her laptop sat open on the desk; she planted herself in front of it, resolute, and navigated to the most recent episode of the project. She wanted to replay the conversation she had with Cara about her "close encounter" with Andrew. Reading that note had made her feel uncertain about...everything. Maybe if she watched herself talking about it, about him, her body language or a look on her face would give away something, anything, about what was going on inside her own head. She pressed play.

It was surreal, seeing herself talking into the camera, but not as uncomfortable as when they filmed the first episode. Alice remembered telling Andrew how weird she felt "talking to people without actually talking to people."

"Talk to me."

The corner of her mouth twitched up in a faint smile at the memory, but it faded quickly when she remembered that things weren't that way between them anymore. He had always made her feel comfortable even in the most awkward circumstance, but now they were the awkward circumstance. She let out a sigh and focused her attention on the video.

"...because if TV has taught me anything, it's that sad people have something totally wonderful happen to them at Christmas, so…"

"Here's hoping," Alice mumbled. She watched as Cara came in with her "normal sprinkled" cookies and draped tinsel around her shoulders. As usual, Cara gave good advice, but Alice saw nothing in her own words or actions to give her any perspective on her situation. Cara was right; she really did need to open up.

"Open up...bah humbug."

Alice watched herself flop down on her bed, and sensing the end of the video, she stood up. That experiment had failed, but she'd had enough reflection for one evening. Finals were approaching and she needed to study.

She was halfway to her bedroom door when she heard his voice.

"So Nathan told me that she's still doing these…"

Tripping over the "Hanukkah squares" that still littered her floor, Alice scrambled into her desk chair, eyes glued to the screen.

What?! He filmed something? Alice mentally chided Nathan for this small betrayal, before reminding herself that Nathan is technically Andrew's intern anyway, and betrayal of what, exactly? She had nothing to be angry about. Her unfounded annoyance quickly dissipated, replaced with a moment of panic. Was he watching these now?

As if in answer to her question, Andrew's voice met her ears.

"...even though I'm not watching anything she's recorded, because she didn't ask me to record it, so that's fine…"

Relief washed over her, followed by something that felt like guilt. She knew that her reaction to his kiss attempt was not exactly graceful, and that whatever awkward feelings were burdening her, he was dealing with them, too. But despite that, here he was, not interfering, giving her the space she asked for, and she's imagining him on the other side of some battle, and putting Nathan in between.

Ugh, why is this so weird? Alice sighed, but Andrew's voice drew her out of her reflections.

"...I just thought that she wanted me to...well, you know, you saw. I...I just misread."

Misread? Misread what? At the time, Alice had chalked it up to the painkillers, or Andrew acting on his own one-sided feelings, or even (she felt a pang of guilt again for even thinking this) trying to persuade her, again, to not give up on the project. She knew it wasn't the latter; she could give him more credit than that. But what about her? Was she sending him signals without even realizing it? The question weighed on her, and she felt more out of touch with her feelings than before.

She pulled her thoughts back to reality in time to catch the last bit of Andrew's recording.

"...we're just friends. And...she wants to do this on her own, and...that's fine. I get it...message received."

Alice's heart sank as she watched Andrew flop face first into his mattress. She didn't realize he was this upset. When he and Heather broke up, he certainly wasn't thrilled about it, but he didn't exactly take it hard (at least not that she could tell, anyway). She had always viewed Andrew as a serial dater; he wasn't a player, not at all, but he was well-liked and didn't avoid socializing. So the idea that he might actually really like her caught her by surprise. It made her slightly nervous, and some other feeling she couldn't quite identify.

There it was again: that feeling of not knowing her feelings. It was starting to become irritating. Alice sat up, determined to come to terms with even a sliver of her feelings for Andrew. I just thought of my feelings as being "for Andrew," so... I guess that's a start, she realized, a tiny flutter forming in her stomach.

She needed to see what he saw. She clicked to the previous episode, the one where the thing almost-happened.

She fast forwarded through her conversation with Reagan. One thing at a time. She saw herself voicing the doubts that had been plaguing her for weeks. She saw Andrew's face this time, his look of caring exasperation when she wondered out loud if she was just wasting time. And she saw her own face when he was trying and failing to get his words out. Her gaze flicking from his eyes to his mouth, the weight of her body leaning slightly towards him…

"Oh my god."

Cara is sitting on the sofa with her feet up, mug in hand, when Alice marches into the room.

"Hey, roomfriend. Feeling any better today?"

"A little. Maybe. Is that...just only egg nog?" she asks, gesturing to Cara's mug.

"Well, it's...it's delicious, is what it is," Cara snickers, flashing a mischievous smile. Alice grabs the mug out of Cara's hands and gulps it down.

"Here, help yourself to my egg nog," she quips. "What's going on?"

Alice tips her head back to empty the contents, then exhales heavily. She stares into the bottom of the mug for a moment, then shoves it back into Cara's hand. "Liquid courage."

A quizzical look colors Cara's face for a moment before the realization dawns, as Alice turns on her heels and heads for the door.

"You go, girl!" Cara calls after her.

Sounds like Cara's figured it out, Alice thinks, with a sly smile. She always did seem to be one step ahead.

She stands outside the apartment, holding her breath. Exhaling slowly, she raps her knuckles on the door.

No answer.

Great...what now? Do I knock again? Alice takes a step back, hesitating to leave. Her face hardens with determination and she steps up to the door, knocking louder this time. For a moment she thinks he's just not home, but then she hears faint scuffling on the other side of the door. It swings open suddenly.

Andrew stands in the doorway, staring at her. "Uh...hey. Sorry, hi," he finally manages.

"You didn't misread," Alice blurts out.

"What?" He wrinkles his forehead in a guarded but confused expression.

"I watched it...the episode, after the accident, when Reagan stormed out. And with...us. And I saw what you said at the end of the Dickens episode...I didn't mean to, I mean...I didn't know you would be…"

She catches herself rambling, takes a breath and starts over. "I watched it, and...you were right."

The look of confusion on Andrew's face turns to concern, and he stares at her intently. She meets his eyes for a moment then drops her gaze to the floor. "I mean...I think I knew it even then, but seeing it...I don't think I can blame the painkillers anymore."

Andrew remains silent at his post in the doorway, and Alice is afraid to look up again, keeping her eyes fixed on the toe of her shoe. She's dancing around it, and she knows it. Open up, dammit! Just say it. Don't be a coward.

She forces her attention away from her shoe and looks him boldly in the eye, "You didn't misread. I...wanted you to kiss me."

Andrew doesn't say anything. He doesn't even move. The only change is an almost imperceptible shift in his eyes; the concern that showed there before is now tinged with hurt. She would never have noticed such a small difference were they not still staring at one another. After a long moment, he drops his head.

"But you left..."

She can hear the hurt in his voice the way she could see it in his eyes. It's subtle, but it tightens her chest.

"Yeah...I'm sorry, I...I panicked. But what I'm trying to say is…" she hesitates, and he meets her eyes again.

She takes a deep breath. "...I still want you to." As the words spill out she exhales, turning her confession into a sigh.

Alice examines his gaze. Nothing seems to have changed; he's still standing there with that pained expression. Oh god...what did I expect him to do? Sweep me off my feet? Suddenly mortified at her blunt admission, she backs away. "But, I get it...I blew it. I ran, and I blew it, and you're upset, so I'm just gonna go…" She turns to leave, attempting to stay calm until she's at least around the corner.

"Alice, wait…"

She turns reflexively at the sound of his voice. She barely has time to think before he's in front of her. Their lips connect, and for the briefest moment it's just contact, but then his arms are around her waist and her fingers are in his hair, and it feels like every easy conversation and every warm laugh and all the silly gags they've ever done. It's perfect, and happy, and comfortable, and Alice thinks she wouldn't mind if it went on forever.

She feels his hand rest gently on her cheek as they pull apart. Her face is flushed; she can feel it. Flustered from the kiss and the feeling of having him so close to her, she whispers, "So...yeah, sorry for the confusion." He breathes a little laugh, both of them grinning, then he pulls her face to his and kisses her again, softly.

"It's totally fine...message received."