I know I said I would write about how I see S6 ending, but I actually don't see any of this happening (even though I really love food fights in general). I was just writing and then, I don't know, the fanfiction sort of developed by itself. I guess it has a life of its own! This, of course, also means that there are no spoilers involved this time. :)
That said, thanks for the feedback I have received until now. Some more would be appreciated, especially on stuff like language, style, pace (I feel like it's moving too slow sometimes?), or whatever you like. But well, I'm having fun like this already. Thanks to whoever got to this chapter!
III.
"Wait," she says, but he is already gone. She lets out a sigh and decides it is better to let it be, have a real talk with him once she's rested a little. But she has just closed the door of her room and sat on her bed when he comes back rushing in, making her startle."Woah, what the hell?"
"Are you mad at me or what?" he asks, clearly agitated, sensing something is up but having no idea what exactly that is.
With a really surprised look she says that she is really not, why would she be? And he tells her all of the possible reasons he can think of. Some make absolutely no sense, others a little. But in all that useless talk, he shows no sign of recognition of her feelings. Because, the truth is, he really has no idea. The thought of Jess suffering for him can't even cross his mind because he knows very well how she wants more, how she deserves more.
Standing up, Jess rolls her eyes at all his statements, half laughing because she really can't believe he thinks she would get mad at him for such things. "Nick, stop. Please." She interrupts him, and he's so frustrated because of that little smile she is wearing on her face, suggesting him that he really has no idea what he is talking about.
"I'm just really not in a good place at the moment. I am not happy with my life and I feel like I need to make a big change in order to start over."
He looks at her with a confused, questioning look. This can't be about the job, this is something broader and he knows, he can feel her misery on his own skin. They've always had this kind of connection. So he takes a few steps towards her, takes her hands in his, and takes a deep breath. His eyes fixed on her face, causing her pain in that precise spot in her throat.
She looks down for a moment, unable to stand his eyes, nor the presence of his body being so close to hers. Why does it have to be this hard? She wants this to be simple, but she knows it can't be. She knows as she raises her head again and looks up at him. She wants to kiss him so much right now it's crazy, and at the same time she really doesn't want to, because she fears that he wouldn't be there with her, on the same page, as he used to be.
"Look, why don't we get something to drink and talk later? I really need some rest now."
He purses his lips and nods. Their hands touch for a bit more, their fingers linger there just a second too long. Neither of them is sure who of the two is to be held responsible for how inappropriately too long this moment is. What is going on with them? They both feel something has shifted, but what he feels is confusion, and what she feels is hopelessness.
At some point, they just let go. He goes back to the other side of the hallway, and she goes back to breathing normally. After being unable to do so for a good five minutes.
"I bet you will not be able to stand up in less than one hour."
She looks at him through her glass of pink wine, while emptying it all at once. They are sitting at one of the booths of their favorite bar, because nothing's quite like it in the city. "What makes you say that? I'm perfectly fine, I can handle it." Getting drunk would pose a real problem, she knows that, and she really doesn't want it to happen. But she feels like this is one of the last nights she can hang out with him, and a bit of wine seems like the only way to release the tension she's constantly feeling lately.
"I bet you won't talk to me about your feelings after the break up," she retorts. And there, she's already heading into dangerous territory. She sees his surprised look and shakes her head. "Sorry, I don't know where that came from. Maybe you're right, I really can't handle alcohol at all."
"Well, I can tell you, if you want." It's both surprising and just perfectly normal, just how comfortable he is talking to her about anything. Things have certainly changed in the past years. "Actually, I want to," he adds. She raises her eyebrows, curious about what he has to say next, and secretly wishing the reasons for the break up somehow involved her. She knows, really, that it's a stupid wish, but she can't help it.
"I think, for once... I was the one who wanted more." The amount of beer he's been drinking is starting to have an effect on him too, as he is dying to share information he wouldn't normally share. "I mean I had this beautiful woman. Smart, successful... everything. It was convenient, fun! Sure. But it's like..." he doesn't know how to go on. He might be a better talker now than he used to be, but he still isn't an expert.
Jess stares at him, wide-eyed and waiting for an answer. What is it like? Is it like she's not me? Is it like you don't love her like you loved me?
"...I don't know, like nothing was at stake. Does that make sense?" And he is sure, after saying the words, that they both perfectly know it makes sense. That they are both thinking about the fear that was constantly present in their relationship, since the beginning. The fear of ruining their friendship first, the fear of loving too much then, the fear of losing each other forever at last. And yet, there they are years later, talking about other exes.
Jess shifts uncomfortably in her seat, wondering if she's the only one who made the connection. Wondering if their break up still affects him as much as it affects her, even after all this time. She looks down, unable to conceal the strand of disappointment for not hearing him say that he was in love with her all along.
"I think we never really loved each other," he says, and she's hopeful again. It's like her heart is begging to be let free so it can burst out of her chest. He's staring into the distance, unaware of Jess's inner turmoil, but after a few seconds he is there again, very present, and looking directly at her. She's fidgeting with her glass, lost in thoughts. He wants to ask her if she is okay, but he doesn't, because he doesn't feel okay himself. In fact, he sees her there, sitting in front of him despite all their history, listening to his ramblings... and he feels so weird about this. She is his pillar of strength, and she probably has no idea. And it is only then that he feels so stupid, for swallowing up his feelings for so long, for lying to himself so stubbornly. He just knows, it's just so clear. She is all he needs to be happy.
"I missed you."
Those three words bring her back to life. She looks up at him, and she is shocked even though she has really no reason to be. And then the look of shock is slowly replaced by a warm smile, until it turns into a fake laugh. "Haha.. why so serious?" She successfully tries to ease the tension, and he is now smiling too, just enjoying the moment.
"So, um... I bet you don't have the courage to drink some more shots with me," he challenges her with stupid stuff, he definitely can't stand the tension either. She thinks about it for a moment. Again, this is probably not a good idea, but what the hell.
"You really shouldn't bet on it," she says mischievously.
And who knows if it is a good idea or not, that is open to interpretation. But for sure, this is going to make a difference tonight.
Sometime between dancing on one of the bar's tables and trying to get naked in the middle of the street, she is pretty sure she is drunk. And that is just great, 'cause it's not like she runs the risk of blurting out an embarrassing "I love you" to her best friend. Who, by the way, doesn't seem to reciprocate.
They get home very late. He's helping her get through the front door, pushing her back lightly, and they both just can't stop giggling. They have no idea if they are being too loud, and they actually don't really care, Winston is probably not even home. And even if it is really time to go to sleep at this point, neither of them wants to. They both know their time together might end soon, and they want to make the most of this drunk night, too.
Not even bothering turning the lights on, they start dancing to an inexistent music in the living room. And it lasts a minute, until Jess abruptly stops and rushes to the bathroom. He is sure she is about to throw up, so he runs after her to help as soon as his brain registers the message. However, when he gets to the bathroom, she is nowhere to be seen.
"Jess?"
The next thing he knows is that he is being covered in some kind of oil that he is sure belongs to Schmidt. Because yes, he still takes showers there sometimes. Standing behind him, Jess squeezes the bottle until its entire content lands on his head, spreading it with her hands a little. She clearly doesn't care about what will happen when Schmidt finds out, and she clearly doesn't care about what kind of reaction this will elicit from Nick, either. She's laughing like crazy the entire time, while he just stands there, defenseless.
He then slowly turns around, not amused and with eyes closed. "Are you happy now?" he says. And she's still laughing from her prank, she had no idea she had it in her. "I'm very happy with the result, to be honest."
He wipes away the oil that threatens to creep inside his eyelids, and finally looks at her. Then he slowly walks past her, to the hallway, completely ignoring her. The confusion caused by the alcohol makes her wonder if that was really enough to get him angry and make all the fun end. But she doesn't want it to! She has to chase after him!
"Nick? Come on, I was just playing!"
He keeps ignoring her and goes straight to the kitchen. Or well, as straight as he can, considering his drunken state. He starts rummaging through the fridge, until he seems satisfied. She is behind him, wondering what is going on. "Nick? Are you really mad?" She is actually sorry at this point, but that only lasts a few seconds, just until he turns around and pours some milk on her beautiful hair, too.
She gasps in surprise and shuts her eyes closed. She cannot believe she fell for it so easily, and now it is his turn to laugh. "In all fairness, at least that's not sticky." He has such a smug face and he naively thinks they are even now, that it's over. But of course it's not. She spins around, instinctively gets the flour from the counter and drops it quickly on top of his head. She hates wasting any kind of food, but she is sure that if there was ever a good situation to do it, this would be one. The flour sticks to the oil on Nick's head, making a total mess and leaving the rest of his face white, together with his shoulders. She then runs away, knowing she might have gone too far, bumping into a few objects in the process.
"You are SO dead!" He is shouting now but, again, none of them really cares about the mess they are making and how loud they are being. He finally catches her when she's near her bedroom door, pushing her against the wall and trying to get the mess on his face on her face. Or, well, whatever parts of her upper body he can reach with his head without being too inappropriate.
They are both laughing, they are almost hugging. But as he is practically feeling her with his face and head, they both realize that this is already very inappropriate, at least for two people who claim to be just friends. When they realize that, they both stop laughing, leaving their heavy breathing as the only audible sound in the dark room.
Their faces are only inches apart now, and it is exactly then that she pushes him a little, so he steps back. She is still smiling, she doesn't want to make things too awkward, but all she can think about at the moment is that she really cannot be his rebound. Another time, maybe yes, she would have had sex with him just for the sake of having sex with him, with no expectations. But she could not bear the thought of being the second choice right now. She would never recover from the heartbreak.
"Um... we should probably get cleaned up now." She snorts after saying that, and so does he. They are so ridiculous. They both head to the bathroom, a bit more sober now but not quite, until they ask themselves what they are doing. Like seriously, right now, in front of the bathroom door.
"I guess we cannot take a shower together," he says with a funny look, and she definitely agrees. But as they are both covered in oil, milk and flour, neither one of them really wants to wait for the other to shower, they have to do something about it now.
The most democratic thing, they decide, is to at least start washing their heads and faces in the sink and then actually shower later. And so they do. Still white and sticky, they both approach the sinks. She goes to the right one and puts some soap in her hand, and then a bit of it in his. The gesture reminds them both of all the times they brushed their teeth together and shared toothpaste. When they were still falling in love and would steal shy glances at each other. When they were together and would go to sleep in the same bed afterwards. And when they had to get used to being friends again, trying not to jump each other right there and then.
They both realize this might be the last time they are here together, and as they wipe away the dirt from their faces and heads, they get serious and pensive. For a moment there, they have no clue, but they really are on the same page for the first time in years.