Because Nick apparently can't catch a damn break, another AU. I.E: The One Where Bob Day Doesn't Cockblock

Enjoy, folks. :)

Been up all night staring at you;
wondering what's on your mind.

I've been this way with so many before;
but this feels like the first time. ❤

He's struck motionless at the sight of her, hair resting against shoulders and he lets his eyes flicker down to her lower back, just above the edge of where the blanket – his blanket – is still wrapped snugly around her.

"Oh man," he whispers, his head shaking slightly.

God, he is so far gone.

The last ten minutes have just been spent staring at her sleeping form, and he'd feel pretty creepy about the whole ogling thing, if only he could wrap his brain around the fact that this was all really happening.

How is this real?

But it is – it's real.

And she's still here.

As if needing to prove that, he maneuvers his body slightly, brushing his hand across her shoulder blade, and dammit – there is no way she should be allowed to be so soft, and he immediately decides his lips need to experience that softness (again, he reminds himself – because last night was not a dream) and it's leaving him with that dizzying sense of wonder all over again.

He beams and kisses his fingers, not able to pry his eyes away from this beautiful creature.

"Fantastico."

He leans over her again, still smiling over her, stunned, and...has she always been this heavy a sleeper?

(After two years of living with her, there's still so much he probably doesn't know about her. But he wants to know all of it; wants to know all of her.)

His smile falters, and scrunching his face he reaches out to place two fingers gently on her neck – he really, really hopes he didn't kill her.

Her face turns towards him suddenly, sleepy and yet still teasing, and it literally steals his breath.

"Are you checking my pulse?"

Yes. Yes he is.

"You were very still," he offers, running his hand down her shoulder, and he can't help joining in her laughter, and he's struck by the sudden thought that he wouldn't mind if that was the first sound he hears every morning.

It's all so absurd and surreal, in the best possible way, he thinks, exhaling, his hand coming to rest on the blanket, right over her stomach.

"Well," he starts, and she's looking up at him, eyes still shinning with laughter, "that was really fun."

It's lame he knows, and she knows – but she doesn't seem to care, because she's laughing again, and he never ever wants her to stop laughing with him like that.

(He's missed that far too much lately.)

"I don't know what to say here," he admits, on a puff of laughter.

It should be awkward and weird...one or the other of them should be running (or moon-walking) away by now, though the only weird thing about this moment, is how not weird it seems.

It seems right.

He smiles, pleasantly surprised as he feels her hand the grazing the back of his head, playing with the hair at the base of his neck. "I've got an idea," he tells her – and then insisting she stay put.

He's not ready to let this end.

"Okay," she agrees, smiling back at him. "Okay."

(Not sure he ever will be.)

Her eyes glued to the ceiling, she can't wipe the stupid grin off her face, and she's quite content with that, thank you very much.

Because if that first kiss had her seeing through space and time, then last night was like traveling through it, to a whole other galaxy, faster than light but then suddenly slow enough to see the stars pass.

Huh.

She's poetic in the morning.

(Or maybe just with him.)

And the whole pretzel underneath her back thing should be weirding her out, but she just doesn't care – because she was woken up to Nick, stroking her shoulder, planting a kiss above her back (she was only half–asleep, and languishing in the feel of his hand and lips across her skin, again) and he's asked her to stay.

She's quite content with that too.

He's making her breakfast.

He's making her breakfast after having had sex in his room (multiple times, the memories of her gasping his name, clawing at his shoulder, and pressed up against him still playing in his mind and will continue to be for...a very long time) and spending the night with her wrapped in his arms.

And now he's flat out humming to himself as he walks – nearly floats – around the kitchen, preparing eggs, and slicing up a grapefruit and pouring a glass of orange juice (without pulp, just how she likes it).

Then last minute cutting a slice of the pie they'd bought the other day...because why the hell not?

They deserved pie.

The sight of her, propped up against his headboard, wearing his freaking shirt is almost more than he can take right now, and he's pretty sure he almost drops the damn tray.

He lifts a hand to run across the back of his neck, still frozen by the door way.

She's paralyzed him – the little adorable, blue–eyed minx.

"You're, uh – you're in my shirt," he coughs out, his voice thick.

She beams with a quick nod before biting her lip. "That a problem, Nick?"

The problem being, he's torn between wanting to stare at her in it, and tearing it off of her.

Maybe she'll let him do both.

He clears his throat, then moves join her on the bed, careful not to spill the contents of the tray. "Definitely not a problem, Jessica."

"I can't believe you made breakfast," she says, warmly, darting her eyes down at the spread, and then back up at him.

"Alright," he shakes his head with a small laugh, "don't look so surprised, Jess. I'm not that useless in the kitchen," he pauses, shrugs a shoulder – "okay, so maybe I –

"No," she breathes, resting her hand over his, smiling softly. "Not how I meant it."

Oh.

Oh.

"Well, I, uh – is that a problem?" he asks only half teasing –– he doesn't want to start thinking again, doesn't want to ruin this by getting lost inside his head.

As if reading his mind, she leans forwards slightly and shakes her head, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"Definitely not a problem," she assures him.

He makes mighty fine eggs, she notes, taking the first few bites, meeting his eyes, and it's a good thing they're in bed, because she's reduced to putty at the look she's graced with; he's so damn proud of himself.

The gesture is so sweet, she's still a little breathless, and yeah – she's proud of him too.

(Yes, a part of her, was in fact expecting the inevitable freak-out moment. She's extremely thrilled to be wrong.)

"You made me breakfast," she muses again, leaving him laughing.

She takes a slice of the grapefruit and he shakes his head at her.

"Us," he corrects. "I made us breakfast."

With a lick of her lips, she makes a joke of tilting the plate in her direction. "Oh?"

"You're good, Jessica Day," he continues, "but not 'the entire slice of pie' good."

"Ugh, Miller!" She makes a mock insulted gasp, hitting his shoulder, and he laughs again, stealing the fork, and she tries to swat at his hand before he manages to take the bite.

"Okay, okay," he says, on another breath of laughter as she hits him again for good measure while he swallows.

"You are that good," he whispers.

She's blushing about three shades of red and inhales sharply at his words, body shuddering, and inches closer to kiss the crumbs off his mouth softly.

It tastes oh so sweet (and the pie too).

"Back at you, partner," she murmurs against his lips.

So, it's only fitting that they share.

The tray is placed on his side table, and when he turns back towards her, she's smiling shyly.

"Thanks, Nick," she tells him, quietly. "That was really sweet of you."

And the way she says it, so full of affection and awe, makes him wonder if none of the other clowns she's ever been with have ever treated her the way she really deserves.

He chalks back the thought, because he does not want to to think about her and other guys (especially after how close he came to losing her to one last night) –– she's here with him now.

He just hums with a smirk. "I can't say my motives were completely pure, Jess."

She raises an eyebrow, tilting her head.

"I needed the nourishment," he continues. "Ya wore me out woman."

The laugh that bubbles out of her vibrates between them and makes him feel light, her hand then suddenly on his chest as she's shooting him her best sexy grin.

And damn if it isn't working for him.

"Did I now?" she questions. "That mean you wouldn't be up for round three?" Biting her lip, she slips her hand under his t-shirt.

He coughs. "Well, technically – it would be round four. If you count the –"

"Shut up, Nick."

He complies, happily, and starts to trail his hands up her thigh, pleased when her breath hitches.

Inching higher and higher, he stops dead in his tracks when he finds nothing else there.

She's wearing just his shirt.

"God, Jess, are you trying to kill me?" he growls over her ear.

"Mmm," she shakes her head, tugging at his back to pull him even closer. "Not yet, Miller, " she declares.

"We still have a lot of not thinking to do."

He angles himself over with a smile to capture her lips in a kiss which she returns with so much fervor, it makes his head spin, and then taking a sharp inhale of breath, starts with the buttons on his shirt she's wearing.

He'd be happy to never think again.

...

She reaches out to brush her hand across his cheek, stroke her thumb across his jaw gently as he lays sleeping.

She's spent and satisfied (like really satisfied), giddy and about three hundred other things all at once.

But mainly, she's just...happy.

(Her cheeks are flushed, and almost hurt from all the giggling and smiling, and she just can't stop.)

This last time had been slow, God, almost painfully slow with the urgency and longing of the last few months giving way to this new sense of calm as he explored every inch of her he could, soaking her in.

She did the same, savoring every kiss and murmur against her skin, conveying everything they hadn't been able to say to each other with looks and touches.

No words or declarations needed––

they were always more show than tell anyway.

And they'd finally felt like them again, with the laughing and teasing – with nothing hanging over them anymore.

It feels like them, but better (stronger).

Them 2.0 – like the start of something amazing, and promising.

He sighs and reaches out blindly to her in his sleep, snaking a hand around her waist to pull her in, his breath tickling her face.

She settles into his embrace, shifting so she can still face him, content to stare just a little bit longer as his chest rises and falls against her with his breathing.

No thinking, just feeling.

(And this feels pretty much perfect.)

You made it back to sleep again;

...wonder what you're dreaming. ❤