Disclaimer: Mmm, still don't own New Girl. Nope, didn't magically acquire it during the hiatus. Yeah, I'm upset about it, too...

Chapter Three:
List Item Number 37:
She's Good At Patching Him Up

Fic:

For some ungodly reason, Nick had allowed Schmidt and Winston to goad him into a foot race. He knew it was a terrible idea even as he allowed himself to agree to it. He was out of shape, not a very good runner, and he had more than a couple of beers in him. It was not a good idea by any means.

Yet he somehow allowed himself to be coaxed out of the loft on his Saturday afternoon off and out onto the block outside the loft.

He then allowed himself to line up with Schmidt and Winston in a line, allowed himself to agree to a race around the block, the first one to come back to the front of the loft won. Won what? Bragging rights. Somehow, he allowed himself to agree to it all.

And then he allowed himself to propel forward on his feet when he, Schmidt, and Winston all declared in unison, "On your mark… get set… GO!"

Schmidt, being in the best shape between the three, took his position at the front of the group, and Winston and Nick fought for second place, both winded and struggling to out-do the other. First place would go to Schmidt, but that still left second place. And damnit if they didn't both want it bad, so they struggled forward, their lungs burning and their arms pushing through the air, feeling the world zip by as they watched out of the corners of their eyes to see the progress of their competition.

Nick couldn't believe it, he might actually have a shot at second place! They were so close to the apartment building now, if he could just get ahead of Winston, he could win. Well, not win, but he could get second place at least. In the distance, Schmidt's smirking form was waiting for them, marking the finishing point. If Nick could only—

Shit.

With a groan, Nick found himself flung forward and onto the hot, hard cement in front of him. He lifted his head slowly and saw Winston race past Schmidt, celebrating his victory over Nick with Schmidt before either of them noticed Nick slowly pulling himself up. They rushed over to him, pulled him to his feet, asked him if he was okay, what he had tripped over, and things of the such. He brushed them off—he was fine. He had just tripped over his own two feet. He wasn't used to running like that, after all.

With shrugs, Winston and Schmidt led the way back up into the loft, laughing about something or another while Nick trailed behind them, his leg and arms throbbing with every step he took.

It wasn't until he came back into the loft behind his two idiot friends that he even thought to assess the damage. How bad could it have been if he was still able to walk, after all? Granted, every step hurt like hell, but still...

"What the hell happened to you?" Jess asked as he limped over to the couch. Schmidt and Winston plopped down on the couch on either side of the pair, both smirking triumphantly.

"He got served is what's wrong with him." Schmidt nodded, looking to Winston for support. Winston just shook his head, not about to be part of that train-wreck of a sentence, thank you very much.

"We... had a race. I lost, obviously." Nick grumbled, rubbing his stinging leg through his jeans.

Jess pursed her lips and flipped off the television set, she had walked in not even five minutes ago from a hard afternoon of shopping with Cece and all she wanted to do was watch some TV and relax... But this was certainly interesting. A race? Nick Miller? He was incredibly out of shape—why would he agree to a race?

"Why did you guys have a race?" she asked with a laugh, amused. Nick frowned and inspected his hands and arms, a little sore, but no blood, no broken bones, so all was good. But his leg...

"Because Nicholas is very weak willed. Once I convinced Winston to race me it was only a matter of time before Nick caved as well," Schmidt supplied.

"This is your fault?" Jess demanded, her hard eyes on him in a second.

"No... I... Winston made me do it!"

"What? No, uh-uh, this was your idea, Schmidt! You did it! You made us both race you because neither Cece nor Elizabeth are speaking or sleeping with you and you need to get your kicks— "

"My kicks, Winston? You think winning turns me on?"

"Yes. Yes I do."

"Well... all right, you're kind of right, I did get a little excited—"

"Ew! Both of you—stop talking!" Jess demanded, their argument dying out into grumbling targeted at one another under their breaths. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Nick and the way his frown conveyed more than his typical discomfort.

"Honeybear, are you all right?" she asked, her hand coming to cup his cheek. Schmidt and Winston resisted the urge to roll their eyes at the pet name, they were already on Jess' bad side for the moment, no need to add to their misery.

"I'm fine, dollface, I just... kind of... fell." Nick grumbled, reaching a hand down to rub his leg.

"You fell? Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself? Let me see," she insisted, reaching a hand down to tug up his pants leg when he proved to be going too slow for her taste. He relented, let her yank his jeans leg up as far as she could before she let out a gasp, sending a wave of fear up his spine. What if it was worse than he thought and he just hadn't noticed it because he was having some sort of adrenaline rush and—

"Take off your pants." she demanded without another word, getting up from the couch and bouncing towards the bathroom. Nick stared at Winston and Schmidt wide-eyed, unsure if he'd heard her right.

"Did she just— "

"Yep."

"Uh-huh."

"And why— "

"Don't know."

"Don't wanna know."

"How bad is it?" Nick asked then, looking down to his leg to get a better look. He saw a hint of blood, but he didn't get what she—

"I told you to take off your pants." Jess said, exasperated as she sat back down between him and Schmidt. She had a first-aid kit in her hands and had it opened in seconds, taking out some disinfectant wipes and some sort of ointments and liquids that he knew meant trouble for him.

"But... why?" Usually, he didn't need to be told twice by her to take off his pants, but in front of Winston and Schmidt? That might bother him once they were done...

"Because, you idiot, you hurt your leg, it's bleeding, and I need to clean it so it doesn't get infected and you lose that leg."

"Ooh, yeah, okay; that makes sense." he nodded, standing to his feet and unbuckling his belt.

"Why did you think I wanted you to strip?" she asked provocatively, wiggling her eyebrows as she ripped open a couple of wipes in preparation for his, er, treatment.

"Please, please, do not answer that," Winston begged, coming to his feet as Nick slowly and carefully pulled his pants down, revealing his red plaid boxers and angry, bleeding scrapes and scratches on his left leg. Ouch!

"Like they need to! We hear you two at night, you know—such animals!" Schmidt clucked disapprovingly, shaking his head as he walked to the kitchen with Winston, opting for food and more beer rather than the spectacle the newest couple in the loft were sure to make.

Nick rolled his eyes as Jess pushed him back to the couch, not bothering to mention all the noise they put up with that came from Schmidt's room, whether he was with a girl or not.

Jess pursed her lips as she instructed Nick to put his leg up on the table in front of them and quickly wiped the blood off his leg to assess the damage. More blood came out as soon as the old blood was wiped up, however, so she carefully folded up the wipe and pressed down on his leg, holding it in place to slow the bleeding.

Nick grimaced, Jess' delicate little fingers caressing his injury as carefully as she could. With the beer slowly working its way out of his system in liue of the pain eminating from the spot just beneath her fingers, he couldn't focus on much more other than that. It was slowly consuming his whole body—Was his arm scraped? Had he hit his head? Was the other leg just as bad?—his face holding a panicky sort of look that he was sure Jess didn't like. Still holding the wipe over his wound, Jess took her free hand and tilted Nick's face down towards her, smiling just before she leaned up and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"It's just a scrape—a really nasty one, but you're gonna be fine. Sit still and let me fix you up now," she told him, planting a kiss on the end of his nose before turning her attention back to his leg. He pursed his lips but let her do her work, watching intently as she wiped away the rest of the blood and ripped open a bandage. He flinched as she smoothed it onto the scrape, getting it off was going to hurt like a bitch, but he wasn't going to complain. Watching her fix him up, take care of him like that... It was hot.

Finally finished with his leg, she sealed up the first-aid kit and sat it on the table, giving the rest of him a quick look-over to make sure there was nothing else that needed her attention at the moment. Satisfied that she'd taken care of him, she sat back on the couch and smiled up at him as he wrapped an arm around her. His own personal nurse—he could think of plenty fun things to do with that thought...

"Are you in any pain?" she asked him suddenly, looking up at him under her lashes. The TV set was still off, the pair of them just sitting on the couch in silence, their thoughts and each other's company all there was at the moment—aside from Winston and Schmidt's conversation sailing in from the kitchen, of course.

"Pain?" he asked, wondering what might bring about the question before he remembered the throbbing emanating from his leg. Jess might have cleaned it up, but damn was it still hurting—now that she mentioned it, anyway...

"Yeah, pain. Do you need some Tylenol or something? Can't believe I forgot to give you something for the pain! I'm such an idiot!" Jess mumbled under her breath, untangling herself from Nick to reach for the first-aid kit again, surely there was some sort of pain-killer she could give him—

"Jess, it's fine," he told her, catching her arm and pulling her back to the couch. "I'm not in that much pain," he told her as he wrapped his arm around her again, pulled her closer to his side.

"You sure?" she asked, her brows creasing in concern.

"I'm sure. You're all the pain killer I need," he told her, trying to be flirty, seductive even as he leaned down to steal a kiss. Jess laughed against his mouth and shook her head when she pulled back, still giggling as he frowned slightly. She kissed him again then, trying to make up for it.

Of course, given his injured state, she was more prone that night to planting soft kisses to him, letting him steal even more kisses at sometimes inconvenient times—not that either of them minded it in the least.

Fin.