(A/N: I'd suggest a reread of the previous chapter since it's been nearly a millennium since I last updated. Sorry!)


Jess

It was me, Jess. I wrote you in.

He's everywhere. His voice. His words. His scent rising from the coat she's wrapped in. His soul bared before her. The memory of his hand; long thick fingers gripping hers so tightly. His eyes with the city lights reflected in their deep brown depths. Like he's got a whole universe in them and she's the only soul occupying it.

It's overwhelming. Suffocating in the most beautiful way. The moment he says those words she knows. And maybe even before that. She's totally and completely falling for Nick Miller.

Crap.

It's too much and not enough. So he wrote her in. So he says nothing's been the same since he met her…does that mean…what she thinks it means? What she hopes it means. But is it wrong she hopes it?

The silence stretches on. Jess would speak but her heart is lodged in her throat.

It's a confession and the only proper thing to do is to confess in kind. Right?

Or is she overthinking all of it, she does have a bad habit of doing that. Maybe his original disdain for her has transformed into a begrudging respect, based on her work performance? Maybe it has nothing to do with her personally? But he did mention her smile…her Nick Miller smile….and that's personal.

Crap in a cradle, she's so disoriented. She 100% knows what the complication is. Sam. But the solution? The solution is actually quite simple. But Sam's not here, so that problem can't be solved until later and if she were to do anything or say anything now it wouldn't be fair to Nick! What a mess.

Amid the maelstrom of thoughts, she realizes she hasn't said a word to Nick in a solid three minutes. He's abandoned the water and has returned to his glass of whiskey, staring moodily at the amber liquid.

Not a good sign.

Come on, Jessica Day, be brave!

Steeling herself, she reaches across the table and pries his fingers from the glass, gripping his large warm hand in hers. He stares at her hand, as her fingers clutch at his ring, middle, and pointer finger (that's all she can fit in her hand!) and finally his thumb comes down to brush across her knuckles.

"Is that three question rule still in play?" She asks softly.

He smirks. "You smashed that rule, Day."

She smiles and takes a deep breathe. "Ni-"

"-CK MILLER!" A high pitch squeal comes from behind her. She quickly releases Nick's hand and spins to see what female body that noise came out of.

There is no female. Instead an impressively tall black man, in an Adidas warm up jacket comes running up to Nick and swallows him in a bear hug.

Jess stands and can't help the baffled smile that comes across her face as the two grown men start to jump up and down clutching the other's arm in excitement once Nick recognizes the exuberant intruder.

"Coach! I can't believe this! What are the chances?!"

"May's best friend's brother owns the bar. Got that dope connection. How the hell did you get in here?"

"I got connections, bro."

Jess giggles at the deadpan look Coach gives Nick which brings his attention to her.

"You're the connection, aren't you," he holds out his hand in greeting.

"A friend of mine was the connection. Jessica Day," she says..

"Ernie, but errybody calls me Coach."

"Makes sense," she replies, taking in his track suit jacket with amusement. "How do you know each other?"

"I was roommates with this slob in LA once upon a time," Coach says, smacking Nick in the stomach. "Still a dumplinger," he says under his breath as Nick rubs his belly and shrugs.

"So what's the deal? What are you here for, man? Dressed pretty fancy." Coach looks back and forth from Jess to Nick, who shoves his hands in his suit pockets.

"Work event," Nick says quickly, looking at Jess and pleading with his eyes for her not to elaborate. "Flight's tomorrow morning."

"Nice, dude. That gives us..." Coach glances at his phone, "a solid four hours until the good bars close."

Jess pulls her own phone to check the time and is shocked to see the numbers read 1:30am. Good gravy, drinking until 5:30 in the morning is not something she's prepared to do.

"Lead on, my man," Nick says, patting Coach firmly on the back. He looks relieved. Like he's dodged a bullet or at the very least temporarily stopped a bomb from going off. A truth bomb that is.

"Um, I'll probably just head back to the hotel, let you two catch-up," Jess removes Nick's jacket from around her, missing it's comforting warmth and scent immediately.

"You sure?" Nick asks, accepting the jacket when she hands it to him. He doesn't sound at all disappointed that she doesn't want to stay.

"Yeah, yeah, you do your thang," she throws some finger guns at them, earning a perplexed look from Coach and a roll of the eyes from Nick. "Tired and drunk from all the festivities anyway."

"Alright! Boys night! Let's get you a cab, Jebecca." Coach says, leading the way towards the exit. Nick hangs back but Jess ignores him, moving quickly to follow Coach.

They make their way down from the roof and Jess's thoughts are going a mile a minute. On one hand she's thankful for Coach's interruption; it'll allow her to gather her feelings, give her time to take stock of her situation and what things need to happen in the very near future. On the other hand, it feels like she's running away and Nick seems all too glad for it, practically providing the running shoes to escape.

He flags down a cab for her while Coach texts his girlfriend. He opens the door and Jess feels a moment of panic grip her, as if she's ruined something precious tonight.

She turns to Nick as he holds the door, "Nick, I...there's things I need to tell you before...you need-"

"Jess, don't worry about it." He drops her gaze to glare at the cab honking behind her. "I'll see you back at the hotel."

Feeling dismissed and also slightly harassed by the cabs of New York City, Jess slumps into the car, Nick snapping the door closed behind her with finality.


Strange scratching noises and occasional thumps penetrate Jess's dreams. Is that a cat? She doesn't remembering getting a cat. It's not like she wouldn't mind a cat. She's a lover of all animals, so she should be excited about having a cat, right? There's just a feeling of wrongness overwhelming her at the moment regarding this particular cat.

A louder thump and muffled "Dammit," brings Jess back to reality and she shoots up out of bed.

Scrambling for the lamp switch and her glasses, she runs to the door, sliding the security chain off and unlocking the bolt she yanks it open to be met with the fully grown, incredibly intoxicated, dead weight of Nick Miller.

"Ooof." The breath whooshes out of her as she lands on her back in a mess of tangled limbs. The scent of whiskey, beer, pizza and beneath all of that the pleasant spice that she only associates with him seem to cloud around her.

"I'm so sorry, Jessica," is slurred from above as she tries to regain her bearings. Staring up at the fire alarm faucet directly overhead she becomes increasingly aware that Nick's weight has not moved off of her...and breathing is starting to become difficult.

"Nick? Nick. Nick! You better not pass out! This is a no pass out zone!"

She does her best to wriggle out from under him, the pressure of his warm weight on her pelvic region doing pleasant, extremely not allowed things.

"Come on, big guy, the bed is ten feet away!" She pleads with Nick who rolls to the right, calves knocking the door into the wall with a clang.

Free of his weight she scrambles backwards, accidentally dragging her pajama pants low on her waist. She feels cool air on her stomach and looks down to see that the lower buttons of her top have become undone from the collision.

Nick is staring at the small patch of skin with impressive concentration considering his inebriation level. He shakes his head and looks away, mumbling something under his breath she doesn't catch. He uses the door and wall to get up on his feet and stumbles into the bathroom, snapping the door closed behind him without a word.

Jess remains on the floor, trying to take stock of the last twenty seconds while mechanically re-buttoning her top. She adjusts her glasses and flattens some serious bed head before rising to her feet to begin pacing in front of the bathroom door.

The toilet flushes, followed by the sound of the sink running and Jess wonders what level of drunk Nick is. Is he blackout? Is he pukey? Is he capable of conversation and more importantly remembering it?

These were all very important questions to Jess seeing as right then she wanted nothing more than to return to the conversation they had been having at the rooftop bar. Probably not the best idea considering the state of one of the required participants. Although he did give that acceptance speech after drinking a considerable amount without stumbling

Maybe he's one of those talented drunks. Many a writer, past and present has 'functioning alcoholic' listed among their characteristics. Hemingway, Joyce, Capote. Perhaps Miller should be included in that list.

The irrational feeling that this is her last chance to explain everything to Nick is causing her mind to kick common sense to the curb. Her pacing stops when she hears the sink cut off. Nick opens the door, the bathroom light spills out into the pitch black room, lighting the small square of carpet Jess is standing on like a spotlight.

"Hi," she breathes out.

"Hey," he replies subdued.

She narrows her eyes at him, scanning up and down to try to get a sense of his capabilities at the moment.

Her hands clench into fists at her side. "I need to say something."

"Jess-"

"And all you have to do is listen."

He snaps the bathroom light off and shuffles passed her to flop onto the bed she had been sleeping in.

"That was my-nevermind. Listen, I really think we need to finish the conversation from before." She's wearing out the carpet at the foot of his (her) bed and wringing her hands. Nick kicks off his shoes, grunting as he struggles to get the left one off. Once he's successful he rolls onto his back, bringing one arm to rest across his eyes, the soft glow of the table lamp throwing severe shadows across his face. He releases a long-suffering sigh.

"M'listening."

Normally she'd demand to see his eyes for this kind of conversation but she feels braver with his face in shadow.

Ok. Here goes nothing…

"I like you, Nick. I like you a lot. I really do. I'm glad you let me be around you," she looks down at her hands, picking at some chipped nail polish and laughs to herself. "Because I know I can be…..a lot."

She hears what she thinks is a snort of laughter come from the bed but she doesn't look up to confirm and plows on. "Nick, I think you're brilliant and talented and grumpy and funny. And it's confusing because I had this life, this plan before you. And now it feels like the plan's been shot to hell."

She feels jittery and the knot in her stomach isn't loosening, it seems like it's tightening and she can feel the word vomit bubbling up her throat. There's just so many things to say.

"I mean there's Sam, and I'm pretty sure he's itching to propose. God, can you imagine? Me? Engaged? Engaged to be married? The image used to be so clear and perfect. Now it feels like you've come along and scribbled a big fat editor's line in thick red marker through it. Why did you do that Miller? Why do you make everything harder?"

A louder snort startles her out of the verbal dumping session and she spins to the bed, realizing Nick looks a lot looser than when this had started.

"Are you-" Her question is cut off by a gentle snore.

"Of-freakin' course," she rolls her eyes and pads up the aisle between the two beds.

"Goodnight, Miller," she whispers before turning to the empty bed and climbing in.

"Goodnight, Day." She thinks hears him rasp as sleep overtakes her.


The morning is quiet save for the sounds of packing and Nick's groans at his pounding headache. Her anxiety builds with each passing minute as she wonders if the silence is a result of just the hangover or the combination of her confession and the hangover. She does her best to sneak glances at him but subtlety was never her strong suit and ends up just staring at him as he shoves his clothes into the beat up duffle bag he brought, a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.

Should she tell him again? Should she ask if he remembers? Does he remember what he said last night? On the roof?

Her staring does not provide any clues as to what is going on Nick Miller's mind as he leans his elbow on his knee, resting his head in his hand. It seems as though he falls asleep for a second, toothbrush dangling precariously from his mouth.

"Nick?" She says cautiously.

He jerks awake, causing her to jump as well. Biting down hard on his toothbrush, he closes his eyes tightly then rises and heads to the bathroom without a word.

Now is probably not the ideal time to bring up anything from last night, let alone re-confess. Jess pushes it all to the back of her mind, focusing on the now and does several sweeps of the room, looking for any random items (she finds the Edgar Award halfway under the bed with a sharpie-enhanced mustache overtaking half his face).

When Nick finishes all bathroom activities, he shoves some sunglasses on his face, says one word ("Coffee") and then they're on their way to the airport.


They're settled in their seats, both along the aisle, right across from each other when Nick hits her with it.

"Hey Jess."

"Hm?" Please remember. Say you remember.

"What happened last night?" He's resting his elbow on the armrest, leaning across the aisle with droopy hungover eyes but his tone is earnest.

"Nothing," she says dismissively as her heart drops.

He holds her stare, eyebrows furrowing as if he doesn't believe her.

"Really?"

"Excuse me," she's saved from having to answer him by the man sitting next to her.

"My wife, she travel with me but her seat far. Would you mind switch?" He says in what might be a German accent.

Jess looks blankly from him to his wife, who she just noticed is standing in the aisle in front of their seats with a pleading expression on her face.

The burn of Nick's eyes cause her to flush with a feeling she's becoming oh-so familiar with.

"Yes! Yes, of course. No problemo."

She takes the bail out. Her stomach knotting more and more as she gathers up her belongings from under the seat.

"Thank you. Thank you." She smiles at their enthusiastic appreciation, avoiding Nick's gaze as she rises from the seat and checks the woman's ticket for her new seat assignment.

It's still an aisle seat about eight rows up, which means she's going to feel the weight of Nick's stare the entire plane ride.

She gets settled, ear buds in, trying to let the smooth sounds of Joni Mitchell wash over her, and turns to the window, watching the hustle and bustle of airport workers checking the plane, loading baggage, doing the airplane directional dance with the orange flashlights. Whoever does the choreography for that did a stellar job. Sighing, she leans her head back and closes her eyes. It's going to be a long flight.


They reunite just inside the automatic doors leading to the parking lot, standing together in uncomfortable silence. Nick pulls out his keys and fiddles with them.

"So...um...you need a ride?"

Jess can feel the words bubbling up inside her throat. All the things she should have said. All of the confessions she should have made from the moment they woke that morning. She closes her eyes tight, gathering her courage and turns to him but stops at the look on his face.

He's stopped fiddling with his keys, in fact he's stopped all movement in general. His brow is furrowed over glazed eyes, as if he's just remembered something. Whatever it is, it's obviously vague and far away, and he looks as though he's trying to figure out if it's real and then suddenly his eyes go wide.

"Holy shit." he says softly then turns to her with wide eyes. "Are you engaged?"

Jess used to pride herself on her impression of Bambi. Not anymore.

This moment, standing in front of Nick, she'd give anything to wipe the deer in the headlights' look from her face but she's frozen. The gun shot has gone off. Bambi's mom is dead.

She watches Nick's face transform from incredulity to anger quite fast.

Explain, Jessica Day. Tell him. Tell him everything. Now. Do it!

What is wrong with her? She's so good at talking. And especially about feelings! She's Queen Feeling of Emotion Island living in Castle Talk-Too-Much! And now she can't even force a sound past her lips. And the damn deer in the headlights look is still plastered on her face.

"I...you...is that the only thing you remember?" Great, take the accusatory route Jessica Day. Blame him for the absolute circus of a situation you've put yourselves in.

Nick's brow lowers in confused anger. "What else matters?"

"I told you-"

"Jess!" Speak of the devil. Jess spins in the direction her shouted name is coming from to see Sam headed straight for her and her stomach sinks.

"You gotta be kidding me," she hears Nick say behind her and she looks back at him helplessly.

"Hey babe, I've been calling you!" Suddenly arms are around her and a pair of lips are pressing into her cheek with an obnoxious smacking sound. Her eyes don't leave Nick's as he continues to stare at her, a self-deprecating smile growing on his lips.

"Cece couldn't make it, asked me to get ya."

Sam, sweet, handsome, oblivious Sam. He jostles his arm around her, pulling her closer into his side, completely unaware of the incredible tension surrounding their small gathering.

Jess, still unable to speak, unable to blink, unable to do anything a normal human being would do in this situation, simply continues to stare at Nick helplessly and watch the emotions play across his face.

He shakes his head, looking to the ground, lips pulled into his mouth as he gathers himself and looks up.

"You must be Sam," he extends a hand and Sam's arm releases her to grip it firmly.

"Yeah, great to finally meet you, man. Jess talks about you constantly."

"Constantly, huh?" Nick's mouth pulls down at the corners as he nods.

If a deep dark hole suddenly opened up in the linoleum of the Los Angeles airport, Jess would gladly swan dive in to it right about now.

Sam laughs, oblivious. "Yeah, but I'm sure when she's with you she won't shut-up about me, am I right?"

Where oh where was that hole?

"She might have said something but it's a bit fuzzy. Lot of booze at these events."

Jess winces and drops her eyes to the floor

"Nice! How'd the award thing go?" Sam asks enthusiastically, looking from Nick to Jess.

Nick stares at her. "They were.."

"Enlightening." Jess says loudly, causing a few folks passing by to jump and give the threesome a look.

Both men are looking at her now. One with a 'so completely done with this moment' expression and the other with an un-surprised 'there she goes being a bit weird' look.

If she could stop putting herself in situations where two men give her strange looks that would be great.

An awkward silence follows her outburst and the three shift from foot to foot, Jess and Nick determinedly avoiding the other's eye.

"So, I guess congratulations are in order?" Nick says and Jess vigorously shakes her head no.

"Uh..." Sam has a perplexed look on his face before uncertain realization takes its place. "Yeah. Congrats on the award, guys." Nick looks a little startled but then amused, eyes darting to Jess.

"Yeah...thanks."

Cue awkward silence number two.

"Well, babe, we should get going. Parked in the short term lot." Sam says, bending to take the handle of Jess's roller bag from her sweaty grip.

"Yeah, um...yeah...thanks," she says absentmindedly.

She's pretty sure her brain is broken. The unbelievable amount of intervening moments has baffled her. It's like the universe is striving to keep her from speaking to Nick about the things she so desperately needs to share.

"I'll, um, see ya at work."

Nick gives her a completely sarcastic smile, lips closed and strained as he lifts his eyebrows halfway up his forehead.

She wants to say something, anything, everything. But Sam has already turned away so she grips her tote and does what she's been doing for the past 24 hours...she 'runs' away.

Don't look back. Don't look back.

Heart pounding in her chest, her body starts to turn, clearly without her permission but she's saved from herself once again by outside intervention as Sam's arm comes up around her shoulders, tucking her into his side once again.

All she can do is hope for that abyss she's been looking for to swallow her up.

It's ok, Jessica Day, you'll talk with Sam, you'll regroup and then you'll park it in Mr. I'm-the-author-of-the-Pepperwood-series-and-I-wrote-you-in-for-reasons Nick Miller's office until he hears every last word you have to say.

Unfortunately only one of those things occur because Nick Miller does not show up at the office the next day, nor the day after that. At the one week absent mark, Jess fears the universe has had its final word and that she's missed her shot with him indefinitely.


AN: I have no idea what the LA terminal looks like or what the atmosphere is like or where the parking is so please forgive me those inaccuracies. Also forgive the flippin 2342 YEARs LONG gap between chapters. That is just a hot plate of unacceptable right there. It's been hard. I was really really disappointed with Season 4 of New Girl. It just broke my heart. Episode after episode and it just seemed to get worse and worse. Jake clearly had no love for the story anymore, the same with Zooey. Lamorne and Damon were the saving grace of that season. Of course this is all just my opinion and in the grand scheme of things shouldn't mean much to anyone. But anyways, that's my excuse for having zero motivation to write this thing for the past few months. (Plus I got really into other tv fandom OTPs). But the mojo is coming back since embracing the fact that if I can't have the things I want on the show then I'll just have to write what I want in a fic. So take that Liz Meriwhether.

THANK YOU FOR READING!