Um, super sorry this took so long (*begs forgiveness*)

"About time, you two," Schmidt barked as they made their way into his office.

The rest of the newsroom was quiet - just a few reporters working overtime and a cleaning lady dragging a large metal bucket across the floor while she mopped. Gingerly, Jess sat on one of the overstuffed leather chairs across the desk from the editor, while Nick took a confident stance, one arm on the desk and the other hand in the pocket of his slacks.

"It's a Saturday Schmidt, play fair." Nick drawled. Jessica looked up and had to stifle a smile. As much as a jerk he was, he was never less than supremely confident around figures of authority.

"I'll rest when I'm dead Miller," Schmidt barked, picking up a smoking, pungent cigar from the ash tray on his desk and taking a slow puff. "So, what do you have? I've been given a tip off that the Tribune is working on the same story. We need this scoop!"

Nick reached up and stroked his smoothly shaven chin, placing his other hand on the desk as he leaned in towards his boss, "Don't worry. It's in hand. In fact - the broad and I made some great progress last night." He turned and gave Jess a wink and a half smile.

"Hey!" she protested, flicking her legs so they crossed away from him.

"And…?" Schmidt asked. She could feel his eyes upon her face, waiting. Clearly waiting for her to speak, her mouth dropped open and she began to babble.

"Um, yeah, I, well…"

She turned to Nick and gave him a pleading look. He watched her struggle for words and she swore she saw a hint of amusement in his eyes as he cocked out his chin.

"What Miss Day is trying to say is, she had a very interesting conversation with some of the kingpins at Clyde's, and the next step in our investigation is…"

He pivoted and turned a hand out to Jess. With wide eyes, she swallowed and blurted out, "Chicago. The key is Chicago."

"Chicago?" Nick echoed, wrinkling his brow in surprise.

"Yes," she nodded, "Remember, like we talked about?"

A flash of understanding crossed his face and he smiled at Schmidt, "Of course, Chicago."

Jessica breathed a small sigh of relief when she saw her boss lie back in his chair, the leather and wood squeaking angrily under his large frame. He placed his hands together, resting his crossed thumbs on his chin and pointing his index fingers. Since Jessica had been avoiding talking to Nick for the journey to the office there hadn't been much time to fill him on the pertinent details of the night before.

She heard the editors lips smack together as he swung his chair around again until they were face to face.

"Chicago?" he asked, brows raised and a dusting of sweat coating his forehead.

Jess nodded. "Yes. That's where the owner of Clyde's is based. I was led to believe the whole operation is run from there, apparently all the decisions are made in the Windy City."

Schmidt gave her a suspicious look, "And you got all this over a few drinks?"

Jessica shrugged her shoulder slightly and tilted her head, "I can be quite persuasive," she smiled. She felt a little thrill of pleasure - she did enjoy playing the part of the femme fatale, just a little.

"And you can back this up?" he asked looking at Nick who was now glazing down at Jessica, a peculiar look on his face.

"Hmm?" he asked, seemingly lost in thought before he regained his composure, "Absolutely," he nodded.

She could have been imagining it, but she swore he was still looking at her through the corner of his eye. Sleaze, she thought, leaning further to the other side of her chair.

"Okay. Get Nadia to give you a petty cash advance, you get your skinny butts up to Chicago and get the scoop. I need your report by Friday."

"Friday?" Jessica cried.

"Friday," he repeated.

Nick pushed himself back from the desk so he was standing almost next to Jessica's chair. That damned Nick Miller scent washed over her as he moved, her eyes flickered closed as she breathed it in. "And you will," Nick replied, his voice soft and gravelly and his smile wickedly smooth.

"Great. Now get out!" Schmidt cried, picking up his phone and beginning to dial furiously, pressing his fingers into the small circular holes as he tried to untangle the spiral cord.

A warm hand tugged her shoulder as Nick urged her out of the room, pulling her outside and closing the door firmly behind them, the glass rocking slightly in its wooden frame.

"Six days? Six days, Miller? Are you insane?"

Throwing her hands up in frustration, the strap of her purse began to fall down, scrambling for it she fidgeted on her feet. Leaning in close, Nick slipped his index finger under the thin strip of leather and tugged it higher up onto her shoulder.

"Thanks," she whispered, before blowing a frustrated breath of hair up into her bangs.

Placing a hand on her shoulder once more, he bent down a little to catch her eye. "Relax. I didn't become a top reporter by playing things safe."

Rolling her eyes to the side, she let out a small sigh of relief. "Okay. Fine. But we have to do this. I need this."

"I know," he replied, giving her a soft little smile, "And we will." He held onto her for just a fraction of a second more than was needed. The spot where he touched her became unbearably hot the longer he lingered. Finally he tugged his hand away - as if he were feeling the same heat and his hand was scorched.

Tilting her head to the side, she whispered, "I'm still mad at you."

With a chuckle, he turned on his heels, before calling back, "I wouldn't expect anything else."

Twenty four hours later they arrived at Chicago O'Hare having spent the seven hour flight at opposite ends of the aircraft. Meeting in the baggage hall, Jessica gave him a curt hello. As they waited for their luggage she watched him play with his fedora - pressing the hat between his fingers and curving the rim.

"Are you always such a fidget?" she asked, giving him a sideways look.

"Never really thought about it," he replied, placing the hat back on his head. A few more awkward minutes passed until the luggage porters began to arrive. Jessica reached out for her woven plaid case, struggling to pull it towards the doors.

"Let me help you," he asked, coming up behind and slipping a hand around the case's handle. She swung round and gave him a look.

"I can manage," she said with a determined huff, swallowing as she got caught up in his big brown eyes. Closer than they had ever been, she could see the flecks of gold that edged his irises. His lashes were long and dark, curving slightly at the edge, framing his eyes and making them oh so piercing.

"Okay." He released his hold and took a step back, swinging down to grab his own bag before leading her out into the cold Chicago afternoon.

She followed a few feet behind watching his trench-coated figure hail a taxi and wondering what on Earth she had got herself in for.

The sky was turning a pinkish amber as the cab finally stopped. She had fallen asleep on the drive - her head had been resting on the cold window and her temples ached with the chill as she woke.

"We're here?" she asked with a yawn.

"Sure are," Nick replied. The next thing she was aware of was her door being opened and a blast of frigid air blowing away her sleepiness. Stumbling out of the taxi, she blinked her eyes a few times. The street was quiet and empty.

"Where's the hotel?" she asked, turning to Nick as he paid the taxi driver.

"About that…" he began as he stuffed his wallet back in his pocket. "You see, Schmidt has us on a budget…"

Her eyes narrowed. She watched him roll his tongue over his lower lip, before reaching up the scratch behind his ear, "And well, to afford the airfare we needed to make some other cuts. So we are staying with my mother."

"Your mother?" she repeated, shoving her hands into her pockets as he watched her. He looked almost sheepish (well, as sheepish as Nick Miller could). "Why didn't you tell me? Urgh."

"Sorry," he shrugged, "Everything was just so rushed…"

"Fine," she muttered, picking up her case and struggling to move it, "Let's go."

Her bag was scraping along the asphalt sidewalk, making a rough crunching sound until he tugged it from her hand, "I'm helping you whether you like it or not."

She didn't speak as headed towards a nearby house, following him slowly as she pulled her purse close to her body. After a few quick knocks the door swung open. Immediately Nick was embraced by a middle aged woman in a dark floral house dress. "Nicky! My boy!" she cried as she pulled him into a hug and gave him a wet, sloppy kiss on his cheek.

"Hey Mom," he grimaced, shrinking back from her embrace a little. Jessica fidgeted awkwardly behind him, biting her lip as she waited for the reunion to be over.

"I've missed you so much," she smiled as she finally stepped back.

"Mother, this is my co-worker - Ms. Day."

"Mrs. Miller," Jessica nodded.

The other woman took a warm grip of her arms and reached in, kissing both cheeks, "Please, call me Bonnie."

"Okay, then you must call me Jessica."

Nick took their cases inside the house and they stepped inside the foyer, removing their coats before they were ushered into the living room. A table had been set up with pots of tea and coffee and a tiered plate piled high with small cakes and cookies.

"Mom, you didn't have to do this." Jessica swore she saw Nick blush as Bonnie poured her a cup of tea and offered her a slice of chocolate cake.

"Homemade!" Bonnie told her as she accepted the small plate. "Nonsense Nicky, I see you what - once, twice a year if I'm lucky?"

Nick grumbled slightly as he took a seat on the couch opposite Jessica. The seat was low and he stretched out his legs in front of them, crossing his ankles, the material of his pants tightening over his thighs and… She gulped, other parts.

Thankfully, she was spared thinking of what she could see by Bonnie's incessant need to gossip. She rattled off a dozen stories of relatives and neighbors. Jessica smiled and nodded politely as she talked, taking the time to run her eyes around the room. The walls were high and covered in dark, striped paper. Aside from the sofa, there was a small television set to one side of the room and a large, open fireplace on the other. On the mantle there were various family photographs - one that looked like Bonnie's wedding day, what she presumed was Nick and another boy as children and finally, at the end, a picture of a smiling Nick in a cap and gown holding a diploma certificate. High school, she figured. He looked so young. She found herself wondering what a teen Nick Miller would have been like.

Then she rolled her eyes as she realized, probably exactly the same. Leopards don't change their spots, do they?

"And guess who dropped by?" Jessica tuned back into the conversation as Bonnie topped up her cup of tea, dropping in a cube of sugar as she spoke.

"Who?" Nick asked, his lips curling in a smile as he looked at his mother with fondness. She could tell a mama's boy when she saw one.

"Winston!"

"The Bish man?" Nick exclaimed. Bonnie nodded. "Why I haven't seen him in years!"

Bonnie leaned closer, happy it seems to have touched a subject that interested her son, "Why yes! He's back from New York for a few weeks and I mentioned you would be home. He said he'd drop by later and maybe you two could catch up."

"I'd like that." He stifled a small yawn and stretched out his arms, before leaning back into the slightly worn, but comfortable chair. It was the most relaxed she had ever seen him. His face lacked his usual cocky expression and his body language was softer and relaxed - less bravado than she usually saw with him.

Interesting, she thought as she sipped her tea, very interesting.

A couple of hours later she was unpacking her case. Nick had insisted she stay in his old room. The guest room was chilly and the bed small he said, pushing her suitcase into his childhood room before she could protest. Placing her things into the large dresser under the window, she explored the various pictures and pennants on the walls, the basketball jersey hanging from the wardrobe door and the small, glass framed picture that sat beside the bed.

It was him - younger, probably around college age. His arms were wrapped around a glamorous looking blonde. Her hair was all bouncy curls and her lipstick was dark. They looked like they were dressed from some kind of dance. He was staring at her and smiling while she beamed at the photographer.

Another side to Nick, she guessed. Curious, she teased off the back of the frame, pulling out the picture. It had a light crease down the middle - like it had been folded and placed in a pocket. She turned it over. In a soft hand was written, "Caroline and Nick, Homecoming, 1948." Caroline. She stared at the other woman's face. So, Nick Miller had been in love once. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the man she was beginning to know dedicated to one woman.

A rapping at the door made her jump, she rushed to return the picture to frame, and clip the back into place before calling out, "Come in."

The door slowly opened and Nick's head appeared around the corner.

"Settling in alright?" he asked.

She nodded and smiled, "Yes, thank you."

"Great." He ran a hand over his hair, letting a moment pass by as he stood in the doorway. "Look, my buddy Winston and I are heading out, for old time's sake, would you like to join us?"

"Oh, I don't think so," she replied, shaking her head, "I'm pretty tired," she added, attempting a yawn for authenticity.

He tilted his head a little, and caught her gaze. She sucked in a breath, still amazed how he could make her feel strange just with a look. "You might enjoy it."

Ninety-five percent of Jessica said bad idea, you are mad at him, you need to sleep. The other five percent said why not? What harm could it do? First time in Chicago, after all.

And of course, you know which side won.

The bar was a little rougher than Jess expected. Buckets of peanuts were dotted around and their shells littered the floor. The oak tables were worn at the edges, the leather that covered the scattered booths was scratched and tattered and the moss colored walls had a brown, dingy taint to them.

She sat at the bar with Nick and his friend Winston, listening politely while they talked about high school and college. Sipping her glass of brandy, she allowed the warm embrace of alcohol to relax her muscles and lighten her mood.

Every now and again, Nick would turn her way and try and include her in the conversation. His manner and demeanor were softer she mused. Absent were the flippant comments and roaming eyes. His accent had become stronger too - maybe it was the liquor he was drinking or perhaps it was just what he did when he was 'home' - the same way you fall into any familiar habit.

Draining her third glass, she began to feel lightheaded. Excusing herself she made her way to the ladies room - splashing some water over her face and powdering her nose. She looked at herself in the mirror as she tucked a few loose strands of hair into her chignon - what are you doing here, Day? She shrugged at her reflection. Running a tube a soft red lipstick over her mouth she decided it was time to get a cab and go home. Hanging around a guy you had decided to hate while drinking brandy seemed like a poor choice. Plus, she had work to do tomorrow and needed a clear head.

Her heels clacked against the sticky floor as she walked back to the bar, rehearsing her excuse as she moved. Halfway there, she noticed Nick and his friend were no longer alone. A blonde woman in a tight, green pencil skirt stood between them, her hand on Nick's shoulder and the toe of her right shoe kicked back and hooked behind her left foot.

"Hello," Jessica announced as she reached the group. The blonde turned around at the sound of her voice - slowly she looked her up and down as she clutched her purse in her manicured hand. She felt instantly self conscious about her wrinkled petrol-blue suit and shirked back on her heels.

"Well, well Nick, who is this?" Ms. Blonde turned and smiled at Nick. Jessica felt her stomach twist a little. This woman seemed familiar, her brain ticked over - slowed as it was by the brandy - until it clicked. The picture in Nick's room. This was her: Caroline.

"Jessica this is Caroline, Caroline this," Nick said, rising from his seat, "Is Miss Jessica Day, my colleague from Los Angeles."

"Well," smiled Caroline, "Aren't you precious?" She reached forward and gave her two air kisses, one on either side of her face. Jessica felt so small under the other woman's gaze. She reminded her of a dozen girls from high school - the one who cooed and smiled to your face but rolled their eyes and mocked your shoes as soon as your back was turned.

"Jessica is a promising reporter," Nick continued. He looked over Caroline's shoulder and gave Jessica a small smile, but she could see the usual luster lacking in his eyes.

"How sweet! I've always admired a career girl. My husband, Frank - well he doesn't believe in married women working. Says it's not proper."

"How old fashioned," Jessica muttered under her breath.

"What?" asked the other woman, her brow crinkling slightly.

Jessica shifted her purse under her arm and sunk her hip to one side, "I said how lovely," she lied.

On the bar she noticed another glass of brandy waiting for her. Sighing she decided one more won't hurt as she slid onto her stool. Winston moved across the bar to sit beside her and began to chat - asking her about life in LA, explaining how he worked in sports broadcasting and was constantly travelling, telling her how he and Nick had known each other since they were in middle school. She listened intently, surprised by how open and polite Winston was. She was amazed, in fact, that Nick Miller had any friends at all. She had never seen him interact with another man on that level. Part of her began to wonder who he really was.

To her left she could just see Nick and Caroline. She watched as she ran a pointed, red nail up the sleeve of his light grey jacket, smarting slightly as she saw him freeze. "How long are you in town?" Caroline drawled, learning into his ear. She could swear she saw him swallow and a bead of sweat appear on his upper lip.

"A few days," he replied. As Winston continued to talk she nodded, watching as Nick's hand clenched tightly around his glass of whisky and his feet began to shuffle slightly against the wooden floor.

"We should, you know," she gave him a wink. "Catch up, for old time's sake."

Nick let out a low stream of breath. He was whispering now, so Jess had to strain to hear, his voice was a little hoarse. "You are a married woman, Caroline."

"Never stopped you before," she quipped, reaching over and taking a sip from his glass. Jessica took a drink of her own, nodding at Winston as he told a story about some high school prank he and Nick had tried.

"Well," Nick muttered, "That was then, this is now."

She heard Caroline laugh, before reaching up and padding her hair. "What - her?" Jessica started as she looked in her direction, "You screwing around with your secretary now?"

"No," Nick scoffed. "I've just changed is all." Jessica didn't know whether to be confused of insulted by his tone.

"Hmm," she hummed, "I'll believe it when I see it." She turned and tapped Jessica on the shoulder, "Nice to meet you Jennifer-"

"Jessica," she corrected.

"Whatever," Caroline smiled, "You too, Bishop." Winston nodded as she turned away, "And you-" she gave a pointed look to Nick, leaning over and taking hold of his tie, rubbing the silk between her finger and thumb, getting far too close to be decent, "You know where to reach me."

And with that she left, slowly swaying her hips as she headed to the door, turning to give one last seductive wink before she disappeared.

"Here," Nick said as he placed a glass of water and two aspirin in front of her, "We need you in good shape tomorrow."

Begrudgingly she accepted, popping the two white pills in her mouth and washing them down with a long sip of cool water. "Thanks." She watched as he poured himself another glass. He'd removed his jacket and tie when they had walked in the door. Now he was stood opposite her in his grey slacks with his white shirt rolled up to the elbow. His cheeks had a shadow of stubble and he slight dark circles under his eyes that spoke of tiredness - not quite the groomed gentleman she was used to.

"Nick, can I just ask about-"

"Caroline?" he finished.

"Yeah," she nodded, folding her arms across her chest, "She's, uh, interesting."

He smirked, "You can say that." Sighing, he rolled his head back, raising his shoulders a few times as he did so. "She's my ex. We dated for a while - a long while actually - all through high school and college."

Jessica bit her lip, trying to imagine Nick with that woman. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened?" Instantly she regretted asking such and intimate question. They really didn't know each other well enough.

But, he didn't flinch, just reached up a scratched at his stubble before replying. "Well, we were engaged. I got a job at a local paper, was going to buy a house - the whole nine yards. Then one day she left me. Said she needed someone who could take care of her," His eyes dropped to the floor and he leaned back against the kitchen countertop. His mouth fell into a straight line as he seemed lost in thought.

"Oh, that's awful…"

He looked up and caught her, "Yeah, I've had better times. He was this lawyer, almost twice her age with some big house in the city." Shrugging he continued, "But if that's what makes her happy…"

"She doesn't strike me as someone who is in a happy marriage," Jessica suggested, taking another sip of water.

"I think the phrase 'marriage of convenience' springs to mind," he replied with a grimace. "Anyway, after that I moved out to LA, we lost touch really. But whenever I come home she seems to crawl out of the woodwork." She watched a pained expression cross his face. She could see the conflict; how much he had loved this woman - hell, he had wanted to marry her. But at the same time Jessica saw how much she had hurt him and how her games tormented him still.

"She shouldn't treat you like that," she told him softly, placing her glass lightly back on the table.

"You think?" he asked, a surprised tone in his voice. He tilted his head as he looked at her, a curious expression on his face.

"Of course not. It's not classy. You don't deserve that."

"I suppose not."

Their interlude was broken by the chiming of the mantle clock that sat on the kitchen windowsill - it was late, already midnight.

"Well, I guess it's time to hit the hay," Jessica smiled, drinking the rest of her water and placing her glass in the sink.

He copied her and moved towards the door, "Yeah…" pausing, he stopped and turned to Jessica. "Hey, can I tell you something?" She nodded, perplexed. "About yesterday."

"Yesterday?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion. He moved a little closer to her, his face half in shadow in the dimly lit kitchen. She felt her heart begin to thud slightly in anticipation.

"Remember Monica - from my apartment?" She felt the color drain from her face, why was he bringing that up?

Flushing hotly, she was thankful for the semi darkness. "Uhuh," she nodded, swallowing, feeling her skin crawl a little as she thought about his gall to bring a woman back to the apartment when she was sleeping (well, passed out - but that's just semantics she thought).

"She's my cleaning lady."

"Your cleaning lady?" she echoed, a strange mixture of relief and disbelief swirling inside. "But- you…"

He nodded and smiled. "I don't know why I didn't just say that yesterday."

"Oh," she muttered, looking up and giving him a twisted smile, "Well, thanks for letting me know. That was a little awkward."

"Yeah." For a second she found herself just staring into his soft, brown eyes. For a second she imagined that they had just met - this Nick Miller, the guy with the Chicago accent and no bravado, who was straight and clear and honest.

Then he took a step towards the door, giving her a soft nod and a warm smile, "Goodnight Jessica."

"Goodnight Nick," she echoed, instantly feeling a mild loss as he slipped out into the hallway and walked away.

Steeping into her room she listened to his footsteps as he walked down the hallway. Her head felt sloppy and full - brandy, exhaustion, strange revelations about her work colleague. And strange admissions.

Why had he told her that - why now? And why did he lie before? It seemed so strange…

Maybe he was trying to make you jealous, a small, soft voice said.

She scoffed at herself, why on Earth would he do that? Nick Miller! Ha!

Unless, the little voice continued, unless he's not what you thought. Maybe, just maybe…

She pushed the thought away as she pulled on her pajamas and slipped under the thick bedcovers.

Don't be so dumb, Day.

A review would be super appreciated as always - you guys are the best!