Jess and Robby are arguing. It's very loud – apparently, Robby doesn't think she ever does anything wrong, which of course Jess takes issue with. Other women might have used this to their advantage, and exploited the millionaire by means of this revelation. Not Jess.
No, Jess is questioning the relationship instead.
Nick knows this, because he knows her – and also due to the fact that he's sitting not five feet away, drinking from a beer bottle, determinedly concentrating on the Newton's cradle in front of him. He's shielded from view however doesn't let his eyes wander anywhere near the shouting. They could be upside down for all he knows. The balls on the Newton's cradle swing, and so do the bats.
It's so noisy that his noise-cancelling headphones have simply become headphones. One could argue that they were not Nick's, rather stolen from Reagan to be gifted to Cece — and that most significantly, they had long been broken. He had told Reagan that nothing is ever truly broken. He was wrong. These headphones are definitely, definitely broken. They are as futile as a barely-tiled bathroom devoid of plumbing.
He can hear every word. He can hear the frustration in Jess' voice, and assurance in Robby's, and he can hear how she is actually trying for realism. Robby doesn't see flaws in people and he doesn't see flaws in Jess, the latter of which, frankly, Nick thinks is no mean feat. If anything, it's quite the remarkable achievement. He could list her faults straight away on request. One time, he counted, and there were at least twenty. The girl once tripped and tried to blame it on subsidence. A stranger asked if they could hold her purse and she voluntarily gave it to them. She sings about organising budgets. She's annoying and exasperating and drives him mad to no end – he can't imagine life any other way.
Sometimes Nick genuinely hates her a little. Sometimes he doesn't know what he feels.
Robby walks out, and then it's just Nick and Jess left. She's visibly distressed, and that's always hard to watch. There's a minor comfort in that Nick's not the reason, however he pushes that thought aside and focuses on Jess instead. He offers a hesitant smile; she sighs, and moves to take the chair beside him. They sit, content in the silent company.
"It's actually quite peaceful here," she says after a while. "Unless there's shouting, I know."
"Okay, I'm pretty sure we've been a lot louder before."
"That is true."
Jess chuckles, though he can tell she's troubled – if her doubts aren't going to fade, he may as well share his own so they can be balanced.
"Reagan fell asleep reading my book," he says in the most casual tone he can manage.
He needn't have bothered.
"I'm sorry, Nick." She sees right through him. "Wow, I didn't even know that is possible. Did she at least get to Schmidth?"
"I don't know."
"She's missing out."
Nick snorts but Jess places a hand on his shoulder, solemnly looking at him. It's a familiar gesture that prompts familiar feelings. He can't look away from her blue eyes and yet he doesn't know how to respond, though she seems to be defiantly waiting for some sort of affirmation from him; Nick nods, and Jess removes her hand with an air of satisfaction; he regrets doing so slightly. There's a missed sensation when she brings it back to sip at her drink.
"Look, Nick. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation. Maybe Reagan's just doing a mental warm up, you know, cleansing her mind, clearing the attic ready for insulation."
"She does close her eyes and sit really weirdly sometimes."
"...Meditate?"
"That would explain a lot."
FLASHBACK.
He walked into his room to find Reagan sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes shut, and elbows atop her knees with her hands in the air in a strange symmetry.
"Reagan?"
Noise-cancelling headphones encased her ears. There was a bizarrely vacant expression upon her face.
"Reagan?"
Her eyes fluttered open; she jolted. Nick emitted a high pitched, blood-curdling scream, stumbling back and bellowing at the pain. She let out a horrified yell. He shrieked like a little girl who had found a spider in the bathroom — or as some would say, Schmidt.
"See," Jess surmises, "it is important to get in touch with yourself."
"That's why I make sure to do it at least twice everyday."
"If you're talking about meditation, that's good. If you're not, that is way too—"
"It used to be 3-4 times a day."
Jess laughs, and he can't help doing so too. He appreciates what she's trying to do, he really does. She's trying to make him feel better. The thing is that she doesn't need to try.
"Jess, you don't need to do this."
"Do what?"
She looks perplexed, like she honestly thinks that Reagan sleeping in the name of inner cleansing is a more plausible scenario than his book being terrible.
"I'm not doing anything," she says, a confused smile on her face. "Nick, it's a good book. And I say that as an ex-English teacher."
"Ex-English teacher."
Jess gives his chest a playful slap.
"Hey, it's not my fault I moved up in the world."
"Yes it is."
"Shut up," she chortles.
Maybe he's reading too much into things. He always does in these situations. Jess looks up at him, and he can't help holding her gaze. She leans a little towards him, facing him directly, the proximity skirting familiar territory. His breath hitches.
"Nick, do you trust me?"
"Yeah," he says, no hesitation.
"Then trust me when I say it's a good book. Seriously," she says, and Nick can discern the resoluteness in her tone, "I would be proud to have written it."
For some reason, it is this, out of all the praise his book has earned from the roommates, that pierces him the most.
"Really?"
"Yeah. You always undermine yourself, Nick."
The corners of his mouth curl upwards.
"'The Pepperwood Chronicles', by Jessica Day. I mean, it's got a nice ring to it."
"Coming to a bookstore near to you," Jess chirps in, in a 1920's radio voice.
"Available on continuous long form paper."
"Critics say it's the best since Agatha Christie. Six stars."
"Six stars?"
"Yeah, six out of five."
Nick shakes his head, grinning.
"Actually, I think my penname wouldn't be 'Jessica Day'. It'd be like 'J.C. Day' — more of a mystery novel vibe."
"J.C. Day. I like it. I prefer Jessica though."
"Yeah, weren't you going to get a turtle and name it after me?"
"It isn't— I picked the name before you even moved in."
"It would have been an honour."
"I told you, I didn't—"
Jess laughs and all Nick's resistance fades to materialise in the form of a chuckle.
It had been four years before when the documentary on Galapagos tortoises blew his mind; such majestic creatures, free to laze around their entire life without complaint. He could get a turtle. The 'plan', though, was discontinued when he realised he already had Schmidt. A few months later he kissed Jess for the first time.
He glances up to find her considering him earnestly.
"I'm proud of you, Nick."
And he really believes she is.
"I miss this."
"...Me too."
"We need to talk more, Jess. I know things have still been kind of weird since everything—"
"Yeah."
"But we're both in committed relationships now. You and Robby, me and Reagan. Since when has that happened?"
He can sense a hesitancy; if he didn't know better, Nick would assume that she wants to limit their interactions because she has feelings for him, which frankly, is laughable in its impossibility. He just doesn't understand her behaviour lately, and he normally always does. She is squirrelly — more than usual. Previously, he suspected a dislike of Reagan, however their friendship negated that. Perhaps Nick is imagining things. He is a writer, after all.
"We did use to hang out all the time." She stares at him, exhaling. "Okay."
"Okay?"
He raises his hand; she high-fives it.
"Yes! Wait, is that a tiny rake?"
"Why would Cece have a tiny rake?"
"Why does she have a Newton's Cradle?"
Adjacent to him, is a metal construction from which metal spheres swing, courtesy of Schmidt. In the little time Nick has spent with Cece, she has seldom expressed an interest in anything physics-related, save for demonstrating an uncanny ability to set soda-water on fire.
"Fair point."
The Newton's cradle is actually quite captivating. The dim loft lighting reflects off the metals, of which one sphere swings and strikes the other stationary ones, propelling the last sphere upwards in a never-ending cycle. The theory behind it seems so tremendously complicated and yet it's that simple. They push each other in equal force.
In his peripheral vision, Jess gently drags the tiny rake across the sand on the miniature zen garden set; according to Schmidt, it's a Japanese garden. Why such a conception requires a miniscule rake is baffling.
"God, why are tiny rakes so soothing?" Jess wonders aloud.
"I think I finally understand momentum."
Author's note
This is my first ever completed fanfiction. If you didn't hate this, please favourite or leave a review so you can feel like a good person for once. If you don't have an account and can't be bothered to sign up/sign in (been there) then you can find this on A03 and leave guest kudos, or like/reblog this at fangirlingwithjen on Tumblr.
...But only if you want to. You'll make a random stranger's year. It'll increase your karma.
I just want you to feel like a good person. -Jen