It's been a while. Took some time to remember what I was doing with this one Hopefully, some of you remember.

Jess looked down on her powder blue ballet flats as they paced a short but steady path back and forth in front of the door to 4C. She'd tried reaching Nick via phone and text the day before, but was unable to get ahold of him. Which, in brief moments of honesty throughout the course of the day, she had to admit, she was somewhat grateful for. As she paced, her fingers pulled at the sleeves of her blue sweater repeatedly. She'd realize this, and drop her hands to her thighs to smooth out the front of her jeans to stop herself. Inevitably, her fingers would be back at work on the sleeves within seconds.

In the hours since Russell had asked her out again, she'd thought about how she was going to tell Nick. In fact, she'd though of little else. Despite the hours of contemplation, she still had no idea what she was going to say. There really wasn't much to tell. A guy asked if he could take her out. Not exactly an earth shattering revelation. Still, she agonized over what she was going to say. How she would tell him. How Nick would react. And, mostly, how she was going to feel about the way he reacted. Hours spent mulling it over, and she still didn't have a clue of how to start.

Suddenly, a wave of loud music came blaring from inside of 4C, knocking Jess back a half step. She shook the surprise from her head and squinted her eyes, the vague familiarity of the song tickling her brain. The low, constant reggae beats seemed to pulse the door, straining through its frame. For better or worse, Jess' hand shot up and gave the door a few sharp raps. Barely able to hear her own knocking over the music, Jess shook her head and went to push the door open. She paused, hesitant for just a moment, but the need to stop the sound assaulting her ears was just too great. She swung the door wide and stepped inside, covering her ears.

Jess looked around the apartment confused, trying to find the source of the music. She slid into the kitchen, as though physically being pushed to the edges of the apartment by the blaring noise coming from somewhere in the living room. As she peered inside, she spotted Winston, dancing around wildly.

Winston. Of course it was Winston.

He was decked out in his police garb, complete with helmet and sunglasses. In his right hand was his badge, and in his left hand his gun. Jess was still too confused by the scene to exhibit the proper concern, so she simply stood, mouth open, and watched as Winston began to sing.

"Yeah, uh-huh," he shouted, stepping dramatically from side to side, back to Jess. "Yeah... whatcha gunna do? Whatcha gunna do when they come for you? Bad boys, bad boys. Whatcha gunna do? Whatcha gunna do when Winnie come for you? Bad boys, bad boys…."

Jess dropped her hands to her side and tilted her head, mesmerized. Winston continued, waving his arms and zagging back and forth, side to side. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Furguson, belly up on the center of the coffee table, completely unfazed. Finally, the song came to an end. Winston briefly straightened up before crossing his wrists over the belt of his bike shorts and bowing his head, back still facing Jess. She fought the urge to break out in applause, but before she could act, the song started over. Winston sprang back into action, flailing around the living room.

"Whatcha want, whatcha want? Whatcha gunna do? Whatcha gunna do when Sherriff Bishop come for you? Bad boys, bad boys…"

Jess smiled and, despite the antics she was witnessing, felt a pang of pride for her friend. As silly as the scene before her was, Winston had done it. He was a cop, and he clearly loved being one. She made the decision to slip out of the apartment before Winston saw she was there. No reason to bust him on this. Jess started to move towards the door, but was stopped by a thought. The music was loud. So loud that there was no way Nick could've possibly been in the next room sleeping through it. She had missed him again. Jess bit her lip, slumped her shoulders, and turned to leave. Just then Winston' pirouetted Jess into his sightline and let out a loud, deep scream. Jess spun to face him, and matched him with a scream of her own.

"Dayum, woman," Winston yelled, snapping the music off with the remote hidden behind his badge. "Don't you knock?"

"I did! I did knock, Winston," Jess defended. "I could've taken a Louisville Slugger to the door and you wouldn't have heard me over that music."

Winston stood agitated for a moment and calmed himself. His eyes went straight up as if recognizing for the first time that he was wearing his helmet. His eyes then rolled over to the gun in his still raised left hand. He slowly calculated what Jess had just seen and smiled widely as he carefully holstered his firearm.

"OK, so… I was just, like…"

Jess froze in awkwardness, not knowing what to say.

"… drills, you know… calisthenics and whatnot… the force recommends…"

Jess felt the wince spread across her face despite her best efforts.

"Say there, Jessica," he started, smile widening. "What do you say we just forget this…"

"Way ahead of you," Jess interjected, returning the smile.

"Greatly appreciated," Winston said, taking his helmet off, tossing it on the couch. "So anyway. Good morning," he continued with a quick bow. "To what do we owe the honor?"

"Oh, I was actually looking for Nick," Jess blurted out.

"Oh," Winston said, raising his eyebrows.

Now it was Jess' turn to panic. Her eyes shifted around the room as she agitatedly began pulling at the sleeves of her shirt again.

"Um, yeah. I, uh..," she stammered.

"You, uh?" Winston prodded, forcing a sly, smug look across his face. Jess didn't know what he was trying to imply, but she was sure she didn't like it.

"I, uh… I want to get really, really drunk tonight. Yeah, and I wanted Nick's advice since, you know, he's basically a professional at that sort of thing."

"Fair point," Winston nodded, seeming accepting of Jess' excuse. "He's not here, though."

"Another early day at the office?" Jess offered, disappointed but not surprised.

"Actually, he didn't come home last night," Winston said. He shut his eyes hard, immediately regretting his words.

"Oh…" Jess said, notably dismayed.

"Jess, I'm sure it's…"

"None of my business," Jess said, taking a deep breath. "None of my business is what it is."

"Jess, I didn't…"

"Besides, I don't need his help on this decision anyway. I know what to do."

"What to do?"

Jess stood a second before realizing Winston was talking to her.

"Right, what to do. To get really drunk," Jess covered. "Three glasses of Rose, that usually does the trick. Query resolved! Thanks, Winston."

"Jess, wait…"

But Jess was already halfway to the door. Within a second, she had it open, and was stepping through to the hallway.

"I like those moves, Officer Bishop. Just need to work on the song selection," Jess called before closing the door behind her.

Winston stood in the middle of the living room and sighed. He put his hands on his hips and looked over at Furguson, still belly up on the coffee table. The cat turned his head slowly to face his human.

"Come on, man," Winston said. "Why you let me say that?"

Nick stood behind the bar at Clyde's, hovering over large, red, 10 quart crock pot. He stirred the contents of the pot with a large wooden spoon before removing it to a neatly folded paper towel on the bar beside it.

"Needs more meat," he confirmed to himself with a nod.

He reached into the mini-fridge under the bar and produced a thick, six inch red tube. Pushing up the sleeves of his red flannel, he grabbed a knife off the bar and sawed into the top of the tube. He lifted the tube over the pot and started to squeeze out the contents.

"Is that tube meat?" a voice came from behind.

Nick turned as Mike approached from the darkened back of the bar.

"Indeed it is, Michael."

"What grade is that?" Mike asked as he stepped beside Nick. "Q?"

"It didn't go to school, Mike. Don't be silly."

Mike shook his head as Nick finished squeezing the meat. It landed in the pot with a squish that caused Mike to groan. He shuddered and rubbed the arms of his green flannel as though he'd caught a chill.

"So, Nick… Whatcha making?"

"What do you think I'm making?"

"Can't say. Has a vague scent of Worchester sauce, bacon, and cat food."

"That's the anchovies," Nick said, raising his index finger proudly.

"Of course it is," Mike answered, taking a step away from Nick. "Again, I ask. What are you making?"

"Chili, obviously."

"Oh, obviously. Sure. Pasty meat product, bacon, and tiny, disgusting fish. Just like Grandma's."

"It'll be fine. Just needs to boil for 3-4 hours and it will be just right."

"Ya think?"

"Yeah, you just gotta boil off the smell. Then it's delicious."

"Oh yeah? I can't wait to try some."

"Really."

"No, not at all. This is as close as that is getting to my body. No thank you."

"You're loss," Nick said, picking up the spoon and giving the chili another stir.

"I'll bet. Say, what's the occasion anyway?"

"The Bears are playing Raiders. Game's going to be on TV for a change. Thought I'd try something."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I had Schmidt advertise it on the Facespace. If it goes well, maybe we could think about becoming a Bears backer bar."

Mike started to say something, but stopped and frowned.

"That's actually not a terrible idea," Mike said.

"I know, right? Sundays are usually a bit slow. Couldn't hurt."

"Hmm," Mike answered, squinting at Nick. "Yeah, good thinking. Say, is that my shirt you're wearing?"

Nick let go of the spoon and looked down at his flannel. The spoon's momentum spun it nearly a full revolution around the pot as Nick gave the shirt a quick once over and shrugged.

"I dunno. Thought it was mine. I just threw it on when I woke up this morning."

"Did you sleep in the office again?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just worked late last night and had to work this morning, so I just crashed on the couch in the office. That a problem?"

"I don't know," Mike said, thinking. "Right now I'm just reconciling the fact that you and I basically have the same wardrobe."

"It's good, right?" Nick smiled, pulling out the front of his shirt.

Mike brought his hand to his face and rubbed at his temples.

"You okay buddy?" Nick asked.

"God, I'm just… a terrible gay," Mike said, turning to leave.

"What's that?"

"Never mind. Try not work too late," Mike said as he walked toward the back of the bar. "And let me know how it goes today."

"You got it," Nick called. He watched as Mike moved down the long hallway and exited out the back of the bar.

Nick shrugged and smirked as he gave the spoon one last trip around the pot before removing it once again to the paper towel. He reached under the bar and produced the top to the crock pot and slid it in place. He stepped back and produced his cell phone from his jeans pocket, taking a look at the screen.

"Ten o'clock," he said to himself. "Three hours 'til kickoff."

He continued to look at the phone, unable to fight the urge to thumb through his texts and missed calls. He had a few of each from Jess. He placed his elbows on the bar before him and leaned forward, holding the phone carefully between both hands. He bit his lip and let his mind run over the situation once more.

He started typed a text into his phone as Cece stepped through the front door of the bar, spilling the bright sunlight from outside into the dark room.

"Nick?" she questioned as she made her way to the bar. She wore a lavender blouse, and strapped to her back was a large black backpack.

"I've been known to go by that 'el nombre'," he answered with a small bow.

"Cute. What are you doing here so soon? Bar doesn't open for another two hours."

"I know. I've had an idea."

"That sounds… dangerous," Cece said with a too wide smile. She slid her thumbs under the straps of the backpack and slipped out, setting on the stool next to her.

"Ye of little faith. I have created man chili," Nick said. He set his phone on the bar and then removed the lid of the crock pot.

"I see that," Cece said, still smiling. "And I can most assuredly smell it."

"Yeah, it's just got to burn off," Nick nodded matter of factly, replacing the lid.

"Makes sense."

"Now we both know why I'm here. Why are you here?"

"Just wanted to study up a little bit more. It's a bit hectic around the apartment now with Nadia's little… spawn."

"Oh, that's sweet."

"Kid cries 24 hours a day."

"Ouch."

"Tough to blame her, though. Nadia feeds her plenty, but she's just bound to be hungry, regardless."

"Why's that?"

"I've been living with Nadia for half a decade now. She lives on nicotine, vodka, beet juice, and the occasional Krispy Kreme binge. That baby can't possibly be getting proper nourishment."

"That's actually kind of sad."

"Oh, don't worry. She'll be switching to baby food soon enough. And once that happens, that kid will be in heaven."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, baby food is all half of my roommates will eat. We've got cases of the stuff lying around. Dozens of different flavors."

"Well, that's… more than I ever really wanted to know about your living situation. Say. Would you like some help studying."

"Yes!" Cece said, lifting her backpack onto the bar and taking a seat. "Got another exam coming up, and I've got to top that dirt bag Andy Derryberry this time."

"Dirt bag? Why so personal all of a sudden?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? He's a cheater. He's bagging the TA, and he's got all the answers already."

"That's…"

"Disgusting!"

"…genius… gusting…" Nick shut his eyes apologetically.

"Moving on."

"Thank you for that. Let me help you out. This chili's going to take about 4 more hours, so I gots nothing but time on my hands."

"Oh, and a little raw meat," Cece grimaced, pointing to Nick's left hand.

"Ew. Let me run to the little boy's room and wash up. You get situated, and I'll be right back."

"Thanks, Nick. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," he answered, jogging thru the bar and out towards the men's room. "Andy Derryberry going down!"

Cece smiled and started spreading her books and papers out around the bar. She heard a buzz and noticed Nick's cell phone vibrating on the bar. She picked it up.

"Nick, you're phone's going off," she called. She instinctively looked down and saw it wasn't a call, but a text. As Nick hadn't closed out his text window completely, Cece could see the last few messages in the thread.

Nick: Hey Jess, sorry it took so long. Busy night at the bar. Can we meet up tomorrow? Same place/time as always? You pick the movie.

Jess: Sounds great. I'll see you tomorrow at your place at 7.

Cece set the phone back on the bar and bit her lip. She wondered what they had meant by 'same place/time as always'? As Nick made his way back from the bathroom, she started to put two and two together. The easiest answer was usually the best, but the bigger question remained. Why was it that her best friend had failed to mention she had a standing movie night with her ex-boyfriend?

Thanks for reading. Hopefully it won't be so long between chapters.