Hi hi!

You guys are great. I've really been enjoying reading through the other stories in the archives! So cute!

Obviously I'm kind of a sucker for Ness. Specifically, Nick. He's adorable.

Okay, this is something I got done in about three hours. It's set sometime after the S2 Halloween episode and Cooler. Not sure exactly when.

Again, let me know how I do! I'm still new around here and I'm working on getting their voices right. Thanks, guys!

Sad Songs and Reruns

December 28, 2014

There are a lot of things in life that Nick Miller hates. He hates shopping malls. He hates traffic. He hates the way Schmidt says 'white' (why do you have to put such an emphasis on the 'h?' It just doesn't make sense). He hates when people try to talk to him about their emotions. What, are they expecting him to give them advice? That is his nightmare.

But the one thing he hates more than anything else is when girls cry. And working as a bartender means he gets to see a lot of already emotional women get drunk and cry. And when women are drunk and crying, they like to talk about why they're crying. He's heard every reason under the sun (boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, girlfriends and ex-girlfriends, friends, parents, siblings, dead pets, and one girl who cried for two hours because "they" cancelled some TV show called Firefly) and every single time, he's had to fight the urge to duck down under the bar and hide until they left. Nick's never really been the comforting type. He chalks it up to his father's absence. Or whatever, not that it bothers him, because, hey, Nick doesn't talk about his feelings. What feelings? Pass the whiskey.

Yes, there are many things Nick Miller hates, but on Tuesday night he decides that crying women are his number-one most hated thing in the entire history of the universe. He repeats it over and over again in his mind as he wearily wrestles the key Schmidt got him after he lost the last one again last week into the lock on the front door. It was late, past two in the morning. He was so, so tired. Not only did he have to close the bar alone after Big Bob bailed on him ("Gotta follow that honey home, make sure she gets in alright…" with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows) but he had to chase not one, not two, but three crying girls out of the booths. Three crying girls. And they weren't even there together.

The front door finally unlocked and it was all Nick could do to not groan in happiness as the familiar scent of the loft washed over him. This is what he'd been looking forward to all night – coming home to a silent loft where he could get a few beers out of the fridge, crash on the couch, and watch recordings of The Walking Dead with the volume turned down low enough that it wouldn't wake anyone. Because, Lord knows if Jess ever caught him watching her recordings of The Walking Dead again, she'd kill him. And if there's one thing he hates, it's an angry Jess. Specifically, an angry Jess who's angry at him.

He paused for a moment, smirking at the image of an outraged, red-faced Jess clad in stupid pink bunny flannel pajamas lecturing him about proper DVR etiquette. A little bit of the tension he'd been holding in his shoulders since the bar left him. Maybe he didn't hate angry Jess that much.

He pulled three bottles of beer out of the fridge, paused, and pulled a fourth out. With a satisfied nod, he kicked the door shut and shuffled toward the couch. He organized his beers, careful to land each on a coaster to avoid a repeat of the coffee table ring debacle of 2008 (he'd been fairly certain at the time that it would officially end his and Schmidt's friendship) and turned to appraise his spot. The leather was wrinkled the way it always did when someone had just been sitting there. He furrowed his brow, before smirking again. Jess was the only one who dared to occupy his spot when he wasn't home. She knew she was exempt from his wrath concerning his spot (because it's common knowledge that he hates when people sit in his spot). She was exempt from a lot of things, lately, as far as Nick was concerned.

He was just about to face-plant into that spot when the strong stench of dried vodka assaulted his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose and bent down slightly, before the memory came back to him. One of the crying girls had thrown her drink at his crotch when he told her she needed to go. God, he hated people who abused bartenders. It wasn't his fault she got dumped. Though, if this is how she treated other people, he could understand why it happened. God knows he'd never date a girl who was needlessly rude to bartenders. Or waiters. Or retail employees. Basically, anyone who worked a low-wage job. Because hey, they're people, too. People with feelings.

He sighed and trudged to his room, mentally promising his beers that he would be right back. He kicked his shoes off near the door, careful to push them out of the way in case someone came sleepily stumbling down the hallway in the middle of the night (it had only taken one night of waking suddenly at the sound of Jess' shriek to learn that lesson. Also, they should really install some kind of alarm system in case someone did break in and try to murder his tiny female roommate who was probably only 110 pounds soaking wet). He lightened his footsteps out of habit as he slipped between his and Jess' room. Also out of habit, he glanced down at the floor, where the space between the floor and the bottom of her door usually told him whether or not she was awake. Her lights were, of course, off. He wasn't expecting anything different, which is why the small pang of disappointment in his chest confused the hell out of him.

Seemed that was happening a lot, lately, where Jess was concerned. He mulled it over a little as he undressed. It wasn't as though anything had changed. They were still Nick and Jess, still awkward and weird and really, really good friends. Who sometimes hated each other. Also who were occasionally attracted to each other. Okay, maybe he was a bit more attracted to her than the other way around, but, still. She hadn't denied it when he said it. Just teased him a little. Predictable Jess move. And then, there was Sam. Ugh, Sam. Nick hated Sam. He thought he'd done a pretty good job hiding it though. At least, Jess wasn't asking questions. He caught Winston staring at him once when Sam was over, probably wondering why Nick was turtle-facing so hard, but he hadn't said anything afterwards. Nick hoped it meant he was just gonna let it go.

Even if he didn't, Nick had a pretty good reason prepared. How am I supposed to like the guy when he's the reason I ended up accidentally punching Jess in the face on Halloween? He'd say indignantly. He just dumped her. I don't care if he's a doctor, he hurt her really badly. I don't know if I can forgive a guy who can do that so easily. Mostly because he could never do that so easily, if at all. But Winston and Schmidt didn't necessarily need to know about that part.

He shimmied into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a different, less alcoholic-smelling undershirt, leaving his dirty clothes in a small pile by his bedroom door. To remember for laundry, later, he reasoned, though the actual reasonable part of him knew he'd end of tripping over it before he washed it. As he passed Jess' room, he could have sworn he saw the flash of a cell phone screen beneath the door, and he paused. He cocked his head toward his door, listening intently for any sounds that would alert him to something bad, but he heard nothing. He shrugged and continued toward the living room.

He'd made it through two beers and three-quarters of one episode of The Walking Dead when he heard Jess' door squeak open. He froze, beer half-way raised to his lips, eyes wide and trained on the entrance to the hallway. Jess shuffled into view, gaze glazed and fixated on the kitchen, but the moment the light of the television registered she stopped, too. And stared.

They stared at each other for a solid thirty seconds. "Uh," Nick said hoarsely, clearing his throat after having not used it for some time.

Jess glanced at the television, and then back to Nick. She pulled an earphone he did not notice from her ear. "Are you watching Walking Dead?" She asked. Her voice sounded weird. Probably from sleeping.

He sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry, Jess, I know you don't like it when I watch your show but I've been dying to know what happens next…" his voice trailed when he realized she wasn't getting mad. She was just kind of staring at him. "Jess?"

"It's fine. I don't really care. Just don't spoil anything." She turned away from him and shuffled to the kitchen. Nick sat very still, listening to her make herself tea. She sniffled. The realization hit him like a sack of bricks. She's crying.

Oh shit. Oh shit. She's crying. Jess is crying. Is it Sam? Did Sam hurt her again? No, probably not. Well, maybe. What do I do? What do I do? She was pouring her mug now, and he thought he heard a small sob. Shit. Shitshitshitshit. Think, Nick! What do I do?

He stood, replacing his beer on the coaster as he did. As he straightened, Jess was walking toward him. Her mug was steaming and she was holding it close to her chest, like a talisman to ward off demons. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Jess slowed down and stopped, her gaze curious beyond her red-rimmed, puffy eyes. Definitely crying.

"Something wrong, Nick?" She asked, and he realized her voice was thick with tears, not sleep. God. God. Four crying girls in one night. But he realized he only really hated three of them. What do I do?

No…what would Julius Pepperwood do?

"Jess…" he looked around him, like he was searching for something to give her. He came up empty. "Have you been crying?" He asked lamely.

She bit her lower lip and dropped her gaze to the back of the couch. "No," she said just as lamely. For some reason, it gave him a boost of confidence.

"Yeah, you have. What's wrong?"

She wouldn't look at him. She just kept biting her lower lip. "It's stupid," she said quietly.

"Jess. Talk to me." He planted his knee on the couch cushion and leaned toward her, so that he was in her line of vision. Fresh tears clung to her eyelashes and she was so heartbreakingly beautiful it took his breath away for a moment.

"I found this new song," she said, cheeks reddening. Nick nodded. "It's really sad." She shrugged. Her grip around her mug tightened.

"It's…you're crying…because of a song?" Nick asked, suddenly fighting the urge to laugh with relief. Jess pulled a face and he immediately sobered.

"Yeah. Told you it was stupid. Look, I'm just gonna go back to -"

"Are you still listening to it?" He asked, gesturing toward her phone where it was tucked into the elastic band of her pajama pants. Her headphones were plugged in to the top and her fingers brushed against it when he pointed it out. He glanced up and her jaw was clenched, eyes flashing defiantly. He raised an eyebrow and waited. She huffed and touched her neck with her right hand, right down near the base of her neck.

"No," she said, but he knew she was lying.

"Liar," he said softly.

"I'm not," she said, rubbing the base of her neck.

He pointed to her hand. "You're lying, that's your tell."

Jess froze. "My…what?"

"Your tell. Whenever you're lying, you always touch your neck. Just like that." Nick was still pointing at her hand, triumphant smile on his face. "You're lying. You're still listening to the song."

Jess huffed again and dropped her hand determinedly to her side. "It's a really good song." She said defiantly, though her voice was smaller now.

"Jess, why are you listening to a song that makes you cry?" She bit her lip again and shrugged. "I will never understand women. You guys do the stupidest stuff."

Hurt crossed her face and Nick immediately regretted ever being born. "Wait, Jess, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" She was already turning away, shaking her head, heading back toward her bedroom. "Jess," he scrambled off of the couch and caught her arm, just above her elbow. She stopped in her tracks. "I'm sorry, Jess."

He pulled her toward him, his breath hitching when he realized she'd started crying again. Without much of a thought, he pulled her toward him. One of her arms wound loosely around his waist as he enveloped her into a hug, trying the best he could to convey how sorry he was to her. Her arm tightened around him after a moment and he grinned into her hair.

"D'you wanna watch The Walking Dead with me?" He asked when she pulled away. He held her at arm's length, smiling warmly when she nodded sheepishly.

He fell back into his spot, lifting his arm when Jess settled beside him. She balanced her mug on the corner of the coffee table and pulled her phone out of her waistband to pause the offending song. Her screen locked before he could see the name of the song, but the album cover said The Civil Wars across it in swirly white letters. He'd have to remember to do a little research on them in the morning. For now, he sighed in contentment at the feeling of Jess curling herself around him. Even if she did bump his chin every time she jumped (not really her fault, he's the one that let her tuck her head into his chest, right under his chin).

She made him start the episode over again, so Nick had the opportunity to enjoy watching her watch the show. Every little sound she made, every time her toes curled in anticipation or her hand fluttered over his chest during a particularly tense scene, it was better than any movie he'd ever seen. The only thing he couldn't see was her face, which is probably why it was such a shock to him when he heard her sniffling again. Her phone was still on the coffee table, so what on earth was making her cry now?

"Jess?" He pulled back and was met with the sight of tear tracks glittering on Jess' face. "What is it?"

"Daryl…he…he just…" she gestured weakly toward the television. "He loves Beth, look at him!" Her hand gravitated toward her mouth, where she gently clawed at her lips. "Oh God…"

"Jess, Jess, sh," he pried her hand away from her mouth and brought her close again. "It's okay, it's just a TV show," he chuckled, unable to keep his amusement hidden any longer, and this time Jess laughed with him, though it was more watery than he was used to. "It's just a TV show, and it's just a song."

"That doesn't mean it doesn't mean anything," she mumbled. He was holding her so close her lips brushed against the base of his neck when she spoke. He swallowed hard.

"You're right." He murmured. He could feel the wetness of her tears soaking through his shirt, but for some reason it didn't bother him. Which is weird, considering he hates the feeling of a wet shirt against his skin. He chalks that one up to his sweating-while-lying problem. Thanks, Dad.

Nick managed to finish his beers, but not before Jess was asleep. He didn't have the heart to wake her; instead, he just sighed in a resigned sort of way, and tried to adjust into a more sleep-friendly position without jostling Jess. This is why I hate it when girls fall asleep on me, he thought. No room to move. Or breathe.

Jess sighed in her sleep. Her right arm snaked across his middle and draped over his other side. Nick's heart skipped a beat. She hummed and mumbled in her sleep and burrowed down closer to him, and suddenly all he could smell was her shampoo. A weird but definitely not unpleasant mixture of strawberries and lilies. He inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut. The only thought he had before drifting into dreamland was that maybe, just maybe, crying girls weren't all bad.

That's how Schmidt found them the next morning, all tangled up together on the couch before four empty beer bottles and a half-full mug of cold tea. Nick woke to Schmidt positively screeching about loft hygiene and filthy slobs and Outside Dave has more manners than the two of you! And Jesus Christ Nick absolutely hates it when Schmidt wakes him up screaming over nothing and –

Jess hummed, voice thick and hoarse with sleep, and Schmidt's voice suddenly faded into nothing. She rolled away from him slightly, hand sliding up from his side to rest against his stomach, and she blinked up at him in confusion. He smiled at her and shrugged. She smiled back.

"Schmidt. Schmidty," Nick called. Schmidt quieted, though he was still pacing, glaring at them both murderously. "Listen, I'm sorry. We fell asleep watching Walking Dead -"

"Another atrocity I've been far too lenient about -!"

"- and it's my fault. Relax, okay? I'll get it cleaned up."

"Yeah. Yeah, you better. I've had just about enough of you and your disgusting personal hygiene habits spilling out all over the common areas like…like this is some sort of…medieval sweat lodge…" Schmidt lumbered off, muttering under his breath, leaving Jess and Nick alone in the living room where they were awkwardly untangling themselves from each other. Nick waited until Schmidt's bedroom door slammed shut before speaking.

"So…uh…" he laughed, suddenly feeling very nervous. Jess smiled at him. His heart stuttered in his chest. "Still sad?"

"Oh, man, that was embarrassing. Sorry about that," Jess laughed. Her phone pinged. They both looked at it, but Jess did not move to grab it. "Thanks for, uh…listening, I guess?"

"Wasn't a lot to listen to, but, sure," Nick laughed. The awkwardness was getting a little unbearable. "Don't listen to that song anymore." He said, his tone light, but he felt the seriousness he meant flashing in his eyes.

She smiled, a little crooked smile, and he was done for. "Maybe I'll just wait until you're here to listen to it," she said softly, and oh wait, now he was done for. "Thanks again, Nick."

"Jess…" his voice trailed, every unvoiced thought and emotion ready to tumble out of his lips. But thankfully before he could make an idiot of himself, Jess' phone began to ring.

"It's Sam," she muttered, as if he'd asked. She looked back up at him, indecision swirling in her crazy blue eyes. Like, seriously, crazy blue. There's no way that color was a natural thing, they're just so…intoxicating. Intoxicating?

"You should answer it," he said, and his voice was low and husky and damn it he really didn't want her to answer it. She caught her lower lip between his teeth and chewed so hard he wanted to stand and tug it free with the pads of his fingers before she made herself bleed but she was already turning away and bringing the phone up to her face.

"Sam? Hey," she reached back for her mug and trotted into the kitchen to pour the rest of her tea down the drain. Nick remained seated, elbows planted on his knees, counting every reason why he was the world's biggest chump. "I'd love to. Hold on, I just need to…hey, Sam, can you wait a minute?"

Nick glanced over his shoulder and saw her, suddenly just a foot away, her phone muffled against her stomach. "What were you gonna say, Nick?" She asked softly.

He felt himself panic. Jesus, Jess, what… "I was just gonna say…it wasn't a big deal, last night." Her brow furrowed. "Not that, not that it didn't, y'know, mean anything. It was more like, 'hey, I don't mind.' D'you know what I mean? Like, it wasn't a big deal in that I didn't mind it and ever if you needed someone to sit with if you wanna listen to that sad song again I don't mind sitting with you -"

Her hand on his shoulder stopped him from making a bigger ass of himself. She was smiling, chuckling, and he couldn't stop the smile that broke across his surly features if he wanted to. "Thanks, Nick," she whispered.

And then she was gone, in her room, talking to Sam and laughing lightly. He could still feel the ghost of her fingertips against his shoulder; he subconsciously brought his hand up to cover the spot.

"You are really getting pathetic," Schmidt's lofty voice informed him from the kitchen. Nick closed his eyes and sighed heavily, suddenly feeling like Jess must feel at the end of a rough day at school. "Seriously, the stench of your desperation is starting to set into my fine Egyptian cotton sheets."

"Shut up, Schmidt," he grunted, standing and gathering the beer bottles he'd left on the table. He brushed past Schmidt, answering his gloating stare with a characteristic 'harrumph' while depositing the bottles in the trash.

Jess emerged from her room just as Nick was going into his. They both paused; Jess was already dressed to go out, tucking her phone into her purse as she regarded Nick through the thick frames of her glasses (already half-way down the bridge of her nose, does she ever straighten those things?). "I was just gonna go get brunch with Sam," she said, gesturing toward the front door.

"Alright," he said. Even though it was most decidedly not alright, but whatever. He had a sudden desire to write. Maybe that would keep his mind off of stupid Sam. He turned to go into the shadowy confines of his room, but a hand wrapping around his arm, just above his elbow, stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Nick?" Jess asked, and suddenly she was very close to him. He turned slowly, keeping his eyes closed until he was sure he was facing her. She was looking up at him, all blue eyes and dark curls and pale skin and dark lips. Without warning, she launched herself up, wrapping her arms around his neck and dragging him down into a slightly stooped position. He hugged her back automatically, fingers splayed across her back and her ribcage and his nose buried in those curls. "Thank you," she mumbled against his shoulder.

Fearing his voice would betray him, he merely nodded against her, took one last moment to savor the feeling of her in his arms, and released her. She stepped back and smiled. And then she was gone, singing goodbye to Schmidt, apparently oblivious to the look on his face as she twirled right out the front door. Nick hovered there for a moment, ignoring Schmidt, before sighing and closing himself off in his room. He locked the door for good measure, since he hated being interrupted while he was writing, but he left his phone right next to his laptop in case Jess needed him.

Hours later, when the front door opened to the sound of Jess singing, he had six solid pages written about just how intoxicatingly...um...green Julius Pepperwood's gal Friday, Jessica Night's eyes were.

Because who doesn't love Julius Pepperwood? Haha!

Okay, thank you guys for reading! Again, if you spot any glaring issues, please let me know!

- Maddy