It was late that night when Nick knocked on Jess's door, quietly, but insistently.

"Who is it?"

He grimaced and rolled his eyes at Cece playing the role of guard dog, pulling a hand down his face before grunting, " 's Nick."

"Go away, Nick."

He didn't. Instead, he opened the door and leaned against the doorframe, not completely at ease, but determined. "Cece, I need to talk to Jess for a minute."

"Maybe you didn't hear me, Nick. She doesn't want to talk to your drunk ass."

"Shut up Cece." Nick and Jess spoke in absolute tandem. And the uncharacteristic tone of quiet assertion, from both of them at once, was enough to make Cece throw up her hands in huffy surrender and reluctantly leave the room.

But when her best friend was gone, Jess did a perfectly adequate job keeping her guard up all on her own, merely raising an eyebrow at Nick in arch question.

He shuffled his feet and asked, "Hey...is it ok if I come in?"

"As long as you'll leave whenever I tell you to."

He sniffed his acknowledgement that he deserved this treatment, but approached her bed saying, "I've got a little speech ready, here, so...do you mind?...or I'll never be able to focus on it..." -and he suppressed a groan as he knelt, bent at the waist, and lowered his upper body across the foot of her bed until he was laying on his stomach in the way that seemed to hurt the least. "Sorry..." he mumbled through compressed lips, gritting a breath out through his nose.

He could see Jess struggling not to care, but of course, she was unsuccessful. "Aren't the pain pills working anymore?"

He smiled humorlessly. "I cut myself off. I didn't want to go to bed without talking to you tonight, and I wanted you to know that it was ME talking to you. Not...you know...any of the...other stuff..." He drifted off sheepishly.

Jess was sitting cross-legged at the head of her bed...pjs, glasses, long braids, and red nose...looking like a little girl like she did sometimes, which was one of his favorite ways for her to look. It was simultaneously endearing, while rendering her absolutely sexless and safe. Which was perfect right now, because he was struggling increasingly with returning "memories" of what might actually have or have not happened the night before. He'd accepted the fact that no one was going to tell him the truth about it, but until he could render those images less staggering (a desensitization process which would take hours of solitary contemplation, he imagined), it was altogether best that he didn't think about them while actually in Jess's presence.

"Well?"

Jess's prompt woke him up to the fact that he was still just half-laying across her bed trying to will the pain away, while staring vacantly at the way the end of one of her braids curled just so, while the other one was a ragged mess. Her voice and the stiff way she was holding her entire being away from him made it obvious that she was not yet convinced that he was entirely sober.

But he had to be...he'd worked very hard to become so, with all the coffee and cold showers he could stand, while repeatedly mentally reviewing all the things he needed to tell her he was sorry for.

So, he supposed, it was time to get started.

"Jess," he began wearily, without raising a cheek from her comforter, "I owe you some apologies."

She looked down, and started worrying at the end of the mussy braid. He realized that she must have been performing this nervous action half the evening, and knowing that he was the reason that that one poor little pigtail looked so wretched made him feel ridiculously bad, even more determined to continue, and added an even softer sincerity to his voice as he did so.

"I know I said some really stupid things, Jess. I hope you know I didn't mean them. I...I for sure didn't mean it when I said...whatever...about being sorry you lived here...or...whatever. That was just..." That was just referring to the fact that for months now she'd been making his life miserable by showing up in his day dreams, and his night dreams, and in tons of really inconvenient moments in between. But if inappropriate ideas and imaginings about his annoyingly irresistible roommate had tended to set up camp in his head far more often than he was comfortable with of late, it wasn't her fault. But he certainly couldn't explain all of that to her, so he finally just ended, weakly: "That was just...dumb."

He visibly winced at the lameness of that "apology", and indeed, she didn't seem too moved by it. It made him even more nervous about his next mental bullet point, but he grimly forged ahead with it. "And I don't know what else I might have done or said last night that might have...hurt you...but I hope you'll forgive me. I don't want anything to come between us, Jess. You're really important to me, and I really...I really do need you around. I don't want anything to change that, you know? I...I just want us to be able to keep being friends."

He wasn't used to "sharing his feelings" so openly, and by the end of this horrible speech he'd buried his face in her bed. And when silence was still her only reply, he didn't have the nerve to look up again to see why. So he laid there in his own silence for a minute or so, breathing deeply in and out in attempt to control the pain. Except that suddenly he wasn't sure which pain it was, inner or outer, that was plaguing him the most.

When he finally rotated his face in her direction again, he saw that her head was still down, and she'd gone stone still, hugging her arms as if cold. Dammit. He'd wanted to make things better, and so far it didn't seem to be working out that way.

But he wasn't done yet, so he had to continue. "Winston told me that last night, at the bar, I said something else dumb to you...something about you not being able to be real. Jess...I want you to know that I don't care how many Daffy Duck voices you use, or how many goofy songs you make up, you are the bravest and realest person I know."

Her eyes finally faltered a bit, and almost looked up at him, inspiring him to struggle to elaborate past the boundaries of his prepared apology. "I wish I could be more like you. I really do. You let yourself completely feel everything that happens to you in life, good and bad. When it's good, no one is happier than you. And when it's bad, no one is sadder than you. But you jump into life with both feet, and you let yourself FEEL it...and...and LIVE it...and...I think we both know I'm not that brave." He paused for a second to contemplate his own utter cowardice, before continuing. "And at the end of the day, you're the only person I know who's completely unafraid to say exactly how she feels, no matter what the consequences might be..."

"That's not true."

He was so into his litany of her virtues at that point, and so used to her lack of response, that her abrupt interruption took him by surprise. "What?"

She was fully looking at him now, completely solemn and serious, as she repeated, "There's feelings I'm afraid of. And there's things I'm scared to say, and things I'm scared to do, because I don't know what will happen. I should apologize to you Nick, because I'm a hypocrite. I shouldn't have said any of that stuff to you last night. If you want to know the truth, I'm right there on the shore with you, holding the wallets."

He half-smiled at her analogy, but had to argue its application to her. "I don't know Jess, from where I'm standing, it looks like you always reach out and grab exactly what you want from life, no matter what anyone thinks. You're totally a wave-jumper, not a wallet-holder like me."

But she was shaking her head, sad and resigned. "I'm not, Nick. Not when it really counts." And she took a deep breath, as she continued with slightly teary resolve:

"And here's the thing, anyway. I have to stop all that. I'm a grown-up now, and I have to stop being so impulsive. I have to stop wearing my heart on my sleeve. And I have to stop caring so much. It's childish, really, and it's a stupid way to live your life. It's just setting yourself up for disappointment, and...and heartbreak... and I've had enough of all that. It's time for me to be strong, and to learn to guard my heart, and filter my emotions, and watch what I let myself say..."

For once, she was making perfect sense. He really couldn't have said it any better himself.

So...why did it feel like little pieces of his heart were crumbling and falling away with every word she spoke?

"Jess, this isn't you talking. This is Cece." Damn Cece. "I know she doesn't like to see you hurt, and she has her own way of handling her emotions." Her own ice bitch way. "But you're not Cece." Thank God. "You're Jess. And there's nothing wrong with Jess. When the rest of us try to tell you that there is, don't listen to us. We're the stupid ones."

But Jess was resolutely shaking her head again, "No Nick, she's right. And Winston's right, too. I care too much. I always have. I have to stop. For instance, this thing..." she faltered for a second, vaguely waving an embarrassed hand between the two of them, "...this thing with me and you. I have to stop caring so much, because it's not doing either one of us any good."

He wanted to protest that her caring about him was the best thing that had happened to him in years, maybe EVER, but she was continuing, more softly, more shyly, but determinedly. "You're not my dad, Nick. I can't make you my project. I can't fix you...just like I couldn't ever fix him. I'm sorry that I've made it my business to try, because it's NOT my business. I apologize, and I hope you understand that it was just because I do like you so much, and I think you're one of the most amazing people I've ever met, and I just want...I just want what's best for you. But you know what? It's not up to me to decide what that is. It's up to you. Winston was right...I can't MAKE you be who I think you should be. As your friend, it's just my job to love and accept who you ARE, and to support whatever decisions you make, and..." she finally paused, taking a deep breath, and wrapping things up a little shakily, "...and I promise that that's what I'll do, from now on."

It seemed he wasn't the only one who'd had a speech prepared, he reflected wryly. Because that's exactly what it sounded like...rote words that she was repeating, trying to convince herself that they were true. "I'll believe it when I see it," he rasped dryly. After all, it was very hard to imagine that after all this time, maybe she WOULD finally stop nagging and pestering him...that she might actually start minding her own damn business for once.

After all, that was what he'd been asking her to do, practically since the day they met.

Funny, then, that now that it looked like he might actually be getting it, all he could think about was desperately wanting things to stay the way they'd always been. Because a world in which Jess cared any less about him than she currently did suddenly seemed like a world not much worth living in.

The pain was just getting worse, a constant ache that seemed to pulse out from his heart to radiate though his back, and Nick was remembering why he preferred to keep himself obliterated during such times. Nothing in him was equipped to handle emotions this complicated, and it was way, way easier to just numb himself. Even if it meant that he sometimes said hurtful things that he didn't mean to people who were better than he deserved.

So he decided to go back to that, because this whole "experiencing things sober" thing didn't seem to be turning out to be so hot, after all. He awkwardly levered himself up from her bed, and said, "Ok, well, my back has had about all it can take. I'm going to take another pill or three, and go to bed. Thanks for talking to me, Jess." Except why was he thanking her for a conversation that had left him feeling like something very sweet in his life had just died?

He started shuffling to her door, but heard a tiny, "Nick?" And when he turned, he smiled to see his old Jess sitting there again...with her big heart peaking out from behind those silly glasses...and she was smiling shyly and allowing herself to say, "In case I didn't tell you before...I'm really, really glad you don't have cancer."

He smiled back, "I really, really am too. But for the record..." he stopped long enough to watch her head cock in curiosity, and it made him feel a little smug to think that maybe she wasn't going to be able to stop caring about him quite as quickly as she'd planned, "...for the record, if and/or when I die, you're exactly who I'd want to have speak at my funeral. As long as you promise to show up and be the Jess who loves with her whole heart, and isn't afraid to talk in funny voices while she's telling people how they ought to be living their lives. Because that's the Jess I really like. I'm glad she's around."

He didn't completely understand the funny look or the secret smile that crossed her face with his final words, but he was just glad to see her looking happy again. Maybe this "talking things out while he was sober" thing wasn't such a bad idea after all. It had suddenly taken a turn for the better. He was almost tempted to sit back down for another go at it, but she was blinking suspiciously and saying, "Thank you Nick. Now go take your pain pills."