A short little one-shot fic that came to me while watching Parks and Recreation tonight. Thank you Ann Perkins and Chris Traeger for being adorable. Enjoy!
Nights spent alone in each other's arms in a dimly lit living room with bad chick-flicks or rom-coms and alcohol usually end up in strange places. Often with Nick and Jess, it somehow always comes to the topic of the future, or robots. Nick's profound love for robots had slowly been seeping its way into their conversations for quite a while now, and only recently has he been exploring the philosophy behind them. Not that Jess ever listens, or cares for that matter.
However, tonight had a strange contrast. While, yes, it does technically fit into the category of the future, it somehow manages to excel in complete and utter weirdness in that the conversation had been highly improbable and a little worrying to those not close with the pair. They seem to have that effect on outsiders.
"You are not naming our child after a fast food franchise."
"Most fast food franchises are named after real people, Jess. Have you never read the biography of Richard and Maurice McDonald?"
"I don't think that exists." She mumbles, cradling her wine glass and tilting it slightly.
"It does if you look hard enough."
He plays with a strand of hair coming loose from her up-do and focuses his attention on the beer bottles in front of them. They'd managed to down a six-pack and counting, and along with that, a half bottle of wine. Somehow this path of tipsiness had led them to a conversation about naming their future children. Hypothetically speaking, if Jess had been pregnant, and the two of them stone sober, Nick still probably would have tried to convince her to name the kid Kentucky. And even then she'd be open to hearing his arguments.
"Why not alcohol?" She says tiredly.
"I like where your head is at. Please continue." He nods.
"Some alcohol brands have really nice names." She begins, staring ahead of her as her thoughts become a tad clouded. Hallelujah for rosé and amazingly relaxing couches. Nothing like a little tangy pink alcohol to make her forget about all the papers she's set out to grade tomorrow morning.
"For a small part of my life I wanted to be named Chardonnay. Charlie for short." She takes a sip from her glass and relaxes back into the couch.
He pauses for a moment to consider it, and shakes his head. "I prefer Jess."
"Good, I'm glad you like my name." She says dryly, finishing off the last of her rosé. Her glass clinks off the side of the bottle, smudged fingerprints dotting the bowl become evident once placed in the path of light coming from the lamp on the other side of the room. The light bulb has begun to flicker, but they're both too tired to care.
She pats her mouth dry and pulls her legs up onto the couch, curling up closer to him and letting her arm fall across his waist with her head on his chest. This is the part of the night things get to be too draining for her, even sitting upright, and it's also the time Nick's cookie pooch comes in handy as a pillow. She eyes the litter of glasses and bottles around them as Nick takes another swig of his beer and pats his hand down gently on her back.
"I guess rosé works." He says then, his voice scratchy and little husky.
"I suppose, but it's not very creative."
He traces circles on the skin of her forearm, clamping down gently on his bottom lip. A reflex action that he'd been unable to control ever since Jess pointed out to him three days ago that he does it whenever he appears to be relaxed. She'd also affirmed that it was a cute trait of his and one that she makes damn sure she's not gonna let him let go of. The small, simple things seem to be the ones she admires the most. Which is also a benefit on his part since those small, simple things require minimal effort. Heck, he hasn't booked a reservation to a fancy restaurant since they'd began dating. Their relationship is a simple one, but filled with inexplicable passion, and one in which he finds himself to be truly happy. And not in an ephemeral way like all of his others, where the spark just seems to dwindle. Plus he's thirty-two now, it's about damn time the universe came to with his soul mate. Otherwise all those stupid movies he'd watched growing up about how love works will have been lying to him.
"Yeah but if you think about it, it has significance."
She smiles, not expecting him to have actually thought his suggestion through. "You have me intrigued, Miller. How does it have significance?"
"Well for starters." He sighs, the corners of his lips turning upwards a little as he begins. "It was the very first drink I sold you. And I gave you a discount on it even though I only knew you a week. Usually people have to know me at least three months before I go giving them any sort of Nick Miller privileges."
He downs the last of his Heisler and discards the bottle on the arm of the couch, making a note to clean up before Schmidt gets home from work. Or at least clear out of the living room and lock his door so that Schmidt doesn't pester him and Jess during the night.
"I'm honoured." She grins, sitting up so she balances on her knees, and kisses him softly. The faint aroma of strawberries from the wine lingers on his lips as she pulls away and nuzzles his neck, resting back against him.
"You're welcome." He smiles.
"I guess it could work." She coheres. "We could call her Rose but only we would know of the implied French É at the end."
"It could be our little secret."
"It wouldn't be the first, Miller." She giggles, tapping him on the nose and pulling his arm back around her, taking in the light scent of Old Spice from his shirt and letting her eyelids flutter shut. "But we're not calling our child Heisler. I need you to understand that right now before I fall asleep on your way-too-comfortable shirt."
He chuckles softly and rests his chin atop her head. "I can't make that promise."