This wound up being a lot longer than I meant it to be. Anyway, this takes place during Christmas Party Sex Trap, after Peter goes off with Maria Menounos and the Cliff/Mindy makeout, so it doesn't contain any spoilers for more recent episodes. Several past episodes are referenced, though.

Anyway, the idea for this story kind of hit me after Danny Castellano Is My Personal Trainer, and it kind of wouldn't go away. I figured that Mindy wasn't the only one who was self-conscious about her body, and I thought it would be nice if Jeremy kind of had a similar moment. Especially since Jeremy is such a shallow character that he's kind of more dependent on his looks, plus no one really appreciates him. As much as I love Danny and Mindy, I feel like both Jeremy and Betsy are really neglected and underrated characters, both on the show and in fic, so I kind of wanted to get in their heads and flesh them out a bit more.

I don't own The Mindy Project, though that would be really cool. Hope you enjoy, and feel free to review if you like it/hate it/whatever.

Still flush with shame, Dr. Jeremy Reed made a beeline for his office. He'd put on a brave face for Peter because the younger doctor had needed it to go after what he wanted, but, frankly, Jeremy didn't feel any better. In fact, he felt a little nauseous. He shut the door behind him, not even bothering to turn on the lights, and flopped down onto the floor gracelessly. He started loosening his tie furiously before unbuttoning his jacket, which he soon cast off.

He closed his eyes, suddenly wishing he'd allowed alcohol at the party. After all, he'd already fallen off the wagon. He was a failure already, relapsing after barely one week away from the Center. The evening couldn't have gone much worse for him even if Peter had had sex with a Christmas tree. Jeremy might as well have a drink to cap the evening off, but office politics had denied him even that solace.

Jeremy missed the person he used to be before he became managing partner—or, at least, the person he'd managed to convince everyone in America he was. He liked that version of himself: charming, handsome, cultured, intelligent, polished. That Dr. Jeremy Reed was a Lothario, a Cary Grant type, rather than the neurotic, bullied loser he was at heart. But now, as always when he was under stress, his true colors had revealed themselves... and he was back to being not good enough, not handsome enough, vaguely ridiculous and incapable of being taken seriously. He's always been a disappointment, though, so he supposed he shouldn't even really be surprised.

Just then, as he was sinking deeper into his self-loathing, the door opened. For a moment the light blinded him, and he could only see the dim outline of a figure. She looked like an angel from a distance, but after blinking, he recognized Betsy. He grunted, turning away from the light like it burned him. He'd gotten used to the dark comfort of his office.

Obviously startled, Betsy let out a little gasp upon seeing him. She was wearing more or less the same expression as when she'd seen him skinny again. "Oh, Doctor Reed!" she exclaimed, flustered, pressing a hand to her chest and hastily hiding something behind her back, "I didn't think you'd be in here." Jeremy squinted, pushing himself up a little so that he could peer behind her back. She was poorly attempting to conceal a large red sparkly bag behind her skirt and petticoat. The bag undoubtedly contained a Christmas present.

She frowned at him, moving to better hide it from his sight. She turned around to set it down on the ground behind her and then turned back to face him. She bent down a little, moving closer to him. "What are you doing here..." She looked around at the dark room pointedly. "...In the dark?"

He was on his back on the hard, uncomfortable carpeting, close to his desk. "Hiding," Jeremy admitted, throwing an arm over his face. He really didn't want anyone to see him when he was like this. Betsy made a face at him, about to protest and probably drag him outside. He shifted uncomfortably on the floor, wishing he was at home in his sweatpants and t-shirt, eating copiously while watching a medical documentary.

"Danny and Mindy always make lying on the floor look so charming and cathartic..." He huffed out a sigh, rolling up onto one elbow, twisting so that he was on his side. He looked up at Betsy almost helplessly. She, like many other women, was powerless to resist that look. "...But I just feel miserable and uncomfortable." His belt and trousers were digging into his waist, and he wanted desperately to untuck his shirt. He did, however, feel as low to the ground as he was, which was only fitting.

Betsy looked on him with pity, and eventually Jeremy looked away from her, unable to take it. He moved again, sitting up, trying to get into a more comfortable position. Sensing he needed a moment, Betsy got up and felt around for one of his lamps, turning two of them on so that the room wasn't so dark and gloomy. If she banged herself up a little running into his furniture, it was still worth it. Jeremy hadn't decorated his office for the holidays to the extent Mindy had, but he'd always had the best mood lighting—bright enough to illuminate but soft enough to be romantic and flattering to everyone. That being done, Betsy went to shut the door so that they wouldn't be disturbed.

When she turned to look at him after doing this, her skirt whirled up a bit with the motion. Jeremy was curled up into a seated sort of fetal position with his knees pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. He'd been able to see up her skirt a little from his vantage point, but Jeremy knew how to look away before she could ever notice. It was both sad and embarrassing that that view and playing Peeping Tom had made his night just a little bit better. "What's wrong, Doctor Reed?" she asked softly, moving a bit closer to him.

Jeremy groaned. He just wanted this night to end already, so he could go home and be himself, as pathetic as that was. "I'm a monster, Betsy. I have no self-control," he moaned, covering his face with his hands.

Betsy's usually-smiling lips went down at the corners. She reached for him but then thought better of it. Instead, she dropped into a sitting position next to him, crossing her legs over each other like a schoolchild. Jeremy sometimes thought distractedly that she dressed like a child or, at least, an elementary school teacher. He often used this to justify not hitting on her whenever the urge cropped up. "I'm sure that's not true," she told him, accidentally knocking her shoulder against his. Some of the edges of her skirt brushed against his shoe, but that shoulder was the only part of her pressed into him. Betsy tried then to smile, but that didn't excuse any of it.

He gave her a look. "I ate half of Danny's gingerbread house," he told her flatly. He was salivating just remembering how it had tasted, how perfect the frosting-to-cake ratio was. Jeremy shook his head. "It was so delicious." He'd moaned when he took that first bite. Sugar was more addictive than any drug he could imagine. Jeremy licked his lips thirstily, not noticing the way his companion's gaze dropped to his mouth and then back up to his eyes. "He made Monticello, and I destroyed it all." Knowing how much work Danny had put into it (and why), Jeremy felt a big pang of guilt. He should've apologized more.

Betsy pursed her lips, not quite knowing what to say. She wasn't used to seeing him like this. The Doctor Reed she knew always knew the right thing to say and the right thing to do in any situation. He was like a movie star in that way. After a while, the silence became too much for her. Ever the optimist, Betsy shrugged and said, "I'm sure you can make it up to Dr. C somehow."

Jeremy shook his head no, still feeling remorseful. He remembered the look on Danny's face too well (crushed, furious, disappointed, hurt, and something else) to believe her. She felt like she'd said the wrong thing somehow. "What are you doing here?" he asked, looking over at her and rubbing his face.

Maybe she could help him feel better. She straightened up a little and crawled across the carpeting, hooking her fingers around the handle of the obnoxiously glittery bag. The bag was much larger than he'd previously noticed. Betsy sat down opposite him, curling her legs underneath her. She adjusted her skirt a little, helping to situate herself better, and then she reached in the bag, pulling out a thermos, a small bag, and his coffee mug. Sensing his questioning look, she glanced up, briefly meeting his gaze. "I know you didn't want anyone "enabling" you, Doctor Reed, but I figured you could use a little pick-me-up," she explained, unscrewing the thermos and beginning to fill the mug. Then she opened the bag, dumping a few marshmallows into her hand.

He stared at the marshmallows hungrily for a minute, unable to believe he was still hungry, before he realized what he was doing and tore his gaze away. He shifted again, relaxing a little so that he was sitting cross-legged. "No marshmallows, please," he all but begged. Betsy frowned a little but put the marshmallows aside, passing the mug to him. For a moment, he just stared at the cup. Then he smelled the chocolate, and his mouth started watering.

"I was just going to leave it for you, but you're here now," she added, putting the marshmallows away. When he glanced back up at her, she looked guilty. Betsy was biting her lip like she thought she'd done something wrong. After noticing his stare, she attempted a smile. "Hot cocoa goes with gingerbread?"

He snorted at first. After a moment, though, Jeremy dutifully picked up the hot chocolate and started to drink. He closed his eyes with that first sip, trying to suppress a visceral reaction to the taste. It was amazing, rich and warm and comforting, of course, as was everything Betsy ever made. Jeremy tried to savor it rather than inhale it. Betsy's somewhat anxious voice interrupted his moment of peace. "D-do you like it?"

Jeremy opened his eyes, forcing himself to set the mug down. He didn't want to stop drinking it, but he did actually feel better. He gave her his best charming look, even though it was put on a bit. "You know I do, Betsy." She smiled faintly, pleased. Betsy looked away, adjusting her skirt over her legs self-consciously. Jeremy ran a hand over his mouth and leaned over, rummaging through his jacket pocket until his fingers found what he was looking for. He pulled out a piece of gingerbread he'd saved for later, offering it to her.

He looked down guiltily. "It's from Danny's gingerbread house. I was saving it for me for later, but... here. You should have it." He placed the piece of gingerbread in her hand. Jeremy offered her a weak smile, one that made Betsy's poor heart beat double-time. She tried to suppress the feeling, telling herself it was just because he was so charming, and she wasn't used to that. It made her feel even more unbalanced than remembering Dr. C's naked pictures and having to look at him afterwards. "Gingerbread's your favorite, right?"

Betsy nodded, surprised he remembered. Conscious of his eyes on her, she reluctantly took a bite of the gingerbread. It was clearly part of the dome on top, half-covered in frosting that was still soft in the middle. She'd known that building gingerbread was different than gingerbread cookies, but she hadn't expected it to be so... tasty and zesty, a little spicier and darker than she was used to. It shouldn't have been surprising, though, considering that Dr. Castellano never did anything half-assed. "This is really good. And not stale at all."

Jeremy nodded in understanding, trying not to watch her as she ate the rest of the gingerbread and then licked the crumbs off of her fingers. Betsy reached over and took a few long sips of the hot cocoa she'd made him. He swallowed hard and tried even harder not to think about how that made him feel. Betsy looked up at him through her lashes. He looked more boyish than usual with cocoa ringing his mouth, some powdered sugar high on his neck, and some frosting still smeared on his nose. She almost wanted to laugh, but she knew he would take it the wrong way.

Betsy looks as pretty as a Christmas card, all curls and polka dots and sparkles, but all Jeremy could think about is how everything he's eaten tonight is going straight to his hips. He hasn't gone out on a date in a while, as Betsy observed, both because he's been busy and because he's seen the way women looked at him with that stomach. How could he charm a woman into liking the way he looked when even he was unhappy with the way he looked? If he didn't have his looks, what did he have? "What's in the bag?" he asked in a transparent attempt to change the subject. The light might've been playing tricks on him, but it looked like she was blushing.

She looked at the bag like she wanted to hide it again. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a... a Christmas present," she said distractedly. Betsy looked up at him, her blue eyes going wide, smiling weakly. "I'm your Secret Santa." She said it with a little throwaway chuckle, like she didn't know how entirely endearing that sounded. He should've known it was her, really. The only reason he hadn't realized it was because he'd been so busy and distracted between the practice and getting his body back.

He'd only told a few people about his favorite sweets. It had come up on one of the long car rides to and from Betsy's house at Thanksgiving. Jeremy had known it couldn't be Morgan. He wasn't one to remember details. Besides, Morgan would've gone for something homemade and probably somewhat inappropriate and/or traumatizing. Jeremy had known Mindy had Peter because she'd come to his office to bitch about it, hoping to trade or get out of it. When that didn't work, she'd come to pump him for information on the newest doctor.

Betsy was always doing nice things for everyone, but he'd noticed recently that she went out of her way to make his job easier, as if she sensed what the added stress was doing to him. She stayed a bit later, partly because she had to clean up after Beverly and partly because he did, so that he wouldn't be so lonely. She'd given him a present every day since the Secret Santa exchange started, little things here and there that she knew he'd appreciate. He ought to give her a raise. She tucked a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear, shaking her head. "It's stupid, really. You probably won't even like it." Betsy attempted to snatch the bag back, but Jeremy leaned across, pulling the bag back towards him before she could.

He peered into the bag and pulled out another bag and a wrapped present. Whatever was in the bag was heavy, but the lumpy, wrapped present was pliable. He set both in his lap and started unwrapping the present, revealing soft red fabric. Betsy was doing her best to resist the urge to cover her face. Jeremy unfolded the fabric, revealing a burgundy cable-knit sweater. Before he could say a word about it, Betsy started babbling. "If you hate it, I can get you something else. I mean, I know you own really expensive cashmere sweaters, and I... think I screwed up the knitting a few times, and I know you don't really wear red much-"

Jeremy was scrutinizing the pattern, but he didn't see a single mistake. The longer he went without saying anything, the more nervous she got. "I'm sorry. It's probably too big." He was already starting to remove his tie. She watched the way his shirt pulled tight over his chest and arms as he brought his arms up, pulling the sweater over his head without comment. Her throat went a little dry, so she swallowed hard and kept talking. "I made it when you were..." He was pulling the sweater down, smoothing it over his stomach. Her gaze darted down to his midsection. The sweater was a bit too big on him, just as she suspected. "Bigger," she said, finishing the sentence. She bit the corner of her lip and looked up at him apologetically.

A sudden thought occurred to him. "Is this why you asked to pick up my dry-cleaning?" Betsy nodded reluctantly. "And why you insisted on taking my measurements for that suit I wanted?" She flushed, looking down, but nodded anyway. Jeremy felt a little flushed himself when he thought about that particular afternoon. It had been a while since he'd been so close to a woman who wasn't a patient that he was going a little mad. He remembered the heat of her hands through the thin fabric of his shirt, remembered her arms wrapping around his waist, remembered the fluttering feeling of her fingers and the measuring tape. He'd had to push her away before she measured the inside of his leg for his sanity. She been so warm and so close to him, close enough to smell her perfume—light and sweet, sparkling even, if that were possible.

More often than not, no doubt as a form of karmic retribution beyond his weight gain, Betsy smelled like some sort of delectable baked good she'd been making, like vanilla or flour or cinnamon or apples. And then he was hungry and thinking about two things he shouldn't even be considering having.

He looked down at himself in the sweater. He reminded himself that pullovers were supposed to be bulky, to have a little extra room. It was warm and comfortable, and he could almost feel the love she'd knit into it. Jeremy reached over, gently tipping her chin up with his finger so that she would look at him. "It's perfect. I love it," he said, smiling. This smile, unlike many of his others, was sincere. He realized then that his finger was still under her chin and took his finger away hastily.

"I-" He faltered for a minute, not used to this. No one he'd ever known had actually taken the time to do something like this for him. He thought for a moment about all the nice, unselfish things she'd done for him. She'd welcomed him into her family for two Thanksgivings, despite how much it embarrassed her, and for three days he'd felt like he was part of a real family for once. Spending time with her family reminded him of everything he loved about America: how warm and accepting everyone was, the easy familiarity and affection, how they offered you so much food you could never be hungry. Some of his happiest times in recent memory had been there, with Betsy and her "lame" family. "I'll treasure it always," he said a moment later. Strangely enough, he meant it. She smiled brightly back at him, and he felt something inside of his chest tighten a little bit.

He looked away from her abruptly, not wanting to unpack those particular feelings. To distract himself from these errant thoughts (he'd been thinking about Betsy a lot more recently), he reached into the gift bag, pulling the present out. It was a very familiar box that read Walter's West Wittering Toffee Co, and he honestly felt himself sort of start to tear up a little. He looked up at Betsy, and she shrugged shyly.

Her sweater fell off one shoulder, exposing the bare skin of her upper arm. "I went and got them from the trash. I hope you don't mind. I figured you might want them later." She tugged her sweater back up her shoulder. "I know they're really unhealthy because of the, uh, fat and sugar, but you could maybe just eat one a day when you're having a bad moment?" she suggested, biting her bottom lip.

She wasn't wrong about any of that, but it was still something he couldn't handle. Jeremy could handle anything but temptation, as this night proved, so he found himself irrationally angry. He thrust the box towards her once again, trying not to look at it. "Betsy, what are you doing to me?" he demanded, all but throwing the box back at her. It came out a little lower and huskier and less mad than he'd intended. He gestured down to his stomach, adding accusingly, "I just got my body back."

Betsy pressed her lips together, looking antsy. Her wide Bambi eyes were filled with apologies. "I know, Doctor Reed," she began, "but I just couldn't throw them away. I just kept thinking about how your grandmother always used to give them to you and how much you must miss her." She sounded a little choked up as she said it, and Jeremy remembered how freely she'd cried when he'd told her about his grandmother. She was the only person he'd never disappointed, maybe the only person in his life who had ever really loved him or cared about him. Betsy wasn't the only one who got choked up thinking about her. He swallowed hard, setting the box down on the ground between them and staring at it.

Betsy edged towards him, her petticoat rustling as she moved. She put her hand on top of the box of toffees, and Jeremy stared at her neat, pastel nails. Her hands were so small, so delicate. "What was wrong with you the way you were before?" she asked in a soft voice. Her other hand was only a few inches from his ankle, close enough to touch him if she could muster up the nerve. He didn't want to look at her, but he had to, and there she was with that sweet, naïve look on her face.

Bringing his knees back up to his chest as if to put a wall between them, Jeremy gave her a sharp look as if the answer should be obvious. To him, it was; he was a fat, stress-eating, lonely nervous wreck whose employees and partners didn't even respect him. There was nothing remotely attractive about that, nothing worth respecting about someone who so clearly lacked discipline. He was on Peter's level but without his ability to take rejection. "I was a bloody joke," he scoffed.

Betsy shook her head stubbornly, sending dark waves of hair flying. She swallowed hard, arching her back a little. Now was the time to be brave. She held a hand out in front of her bracingly. "I like the way you look now, but I thought you were fine the way you were too," she told him, staring at his stomach. He straightened, unintentionally flexing his abdominal muscles again, even though she couldn't see through his sweater. As if she realized this, she reached out, pulling the sweater in a little to better define his waist. He sucked in a breath quietly. "It's not like you were any less handsome." She said it so casually, as if it were nothing.

He opened his mouth to protest, to point out how she'd said he was young and handsome again when she'd walked in on him in his office. He'd timed that reveal deliberately, knowing she would come in to give him his mail at that precise time every morning. And he'd enjoyed the look on her face, the surprise, the compliments, more than anything anyone else had said about it, even Mindy grabbing his ass in the breakroom. "No, I mean it," she insisted, pursing her lips in thought. Jeremy wondered if she noticed that her hand was still on his stomach, not moving, just sort of resting there, burning a hole through his sweater. Her bottom lip wavered just a bit. "You were just less... confident, and it was sad to see you like that. It wasn't you." She shrugged again, averting her eyes.

She startled a little, as if she'd just realized that her hand was resting on his sweater. Betsy pulled her hand away as if she'd been scalded, but she couldn't quite forget the solid feeling of his muscles underneath the sweater. She tried to laugh it off, but it came out a little too high and nervous. Not quite knowing what to do with her hands, Betsy picked up his now-lukewarm mug of hot chocolate and took a few sips, hoping the sugar would steady her. She'd melted the chocolate special and then added the milk, sugar, and a few spices. There wasn't much she wouldn't do for this practice... and despite her best-friend-status with Dr. L, Doctor Reed was her favorite doctor at the practice.

She did her best to hide it, but Beverly had noticed. The older woman had turned to Betsy one day and asked all-too-knowingly, "You're a little sweet on Candy-Ass over there, aren't you?" Betsy had sputtered out a flustered denial and avoided him as best as she could for the rest of the day, but Beverly still gave her looks and whispered all kinds of obscene things she ought to do.

Betsy made a vague, helpless gesture with her hands. "I mean, you're like..." She struggled for a moment to think of an appropriate way to finish the sentence with all she thought he was. He was so cultured and smart and polished and charming, like a prince right out of a fairytale, that she'd felt out of her depth around him from her very first day on the job. He was like one of those guys in Mindy's movies. "Like... Cary Grant or Hugh Grant or Colin Firth or something." She laughed nervously, again, and cringed at the way it sounded.

She rubbed the back of her neck, deciding it would be best if she moved so she didn't have to look at him. Betsy set the mug off to the side and slid around so that she was sitting next to Jeremy. She crossed her legs primly at the ankles. Jeremy almost immediately began staring at her legs, at the bare expanse of pale, lightly freckled skin. "Everyone says so. Everything comes naturally to you," she added in an attempt to make it sound less like she had a crush on him. "It was weird." She crossed her hands over her waist uncomfortably.

He looked over at her and laughed wryly, pushing himself back up against his desk. He'd been gradually slipping down the side of it. "Almost like I was an ordinary person?" he asked, leaning towards her enough so that his shoulder knocked into hers. This time he didn't move it away, and she leaned into him a little. She pressed her lips together and looked up at him, thinking, before nodding. Her gaze dropped back down to her lap. "Fancy that," he murmured, almost to himself. For a moment they just sat there in silence, their hands almost touching, and it was just nice.

Then Betsy broke the spell by smoothing her skirt and clearing her throat. She looked up at him hesitantly, like she wasn't sure if she should say anything, but he motioned for her to go on. She licked her dry lips, and Jeremy tried not to wonder what her mouth would taste like. "Doctor Reed..." she began, "I know you like to date supermodels and all kinds of flawlessly beautiful women, but..." Here she trailed off, uncrossing her arms, clenching her hands into nervous fists at her sides. He leaned a little closer to her, brown eyes meeting hers and silently urging her to finish what she was saying. Her nose wrinkled a little as she said it, and damn if he didn't find that positively adorable. "Maybe you shouldn't."

Jeremy stared, disbelieving, and Betsy realized how that had come out. "If they're going to be so shallow, I mean," she all but stammered, picking at her skirt.

He raised a brow, but she continued talking, her words picking up speed. "Shouldn't they want to be with you because of who you are as a person and not... the way you look or..." She coughed, averting her gaze awkwardly, a sure sign of an upcoming allusion to sex. She got all self-conscious and red in the face whenever anyone brought that particular topic up. She'd asked him for sex advice precisely one time, asking him whether or not it was normal for a guy to cry after sex he could barely finish and then break up with you, and he'd had the misfortune of explaining to her that her first boyfriend was gay. "Other reasons?" she managed after a minute, her voice a little strained.

He watched her, doing his best to suppress a laugh. He felt like himself again for the first time in months. Sweet, naïve Betsy. Apparently some things would never change, small wonders. He couldn't deny that she had a point, at least in theory. The thing was, Jeremy had spent most of his life avoiding those sorts of relationships, knowing that any sane person would run from him once they really got to know him and all his neuroses. He was a lot to put up with, and people didn't want the mess and complications... They wanted charming, friendly, perfect Jeremy who fixed everyone else's problems and never talked about his feelings like a true British gentleman.

She was getting a bit worked up about it; it was very hard to imagine a woman not thinking that Doctor Reed was a catch, even with some extra weight around the middle. "You're a smart, handsome, and wealthy British doctor who manages a very successful medical practice. A few pounds don't change all that," she said proudly. Jeremy preened a little at all the compliments, even when she absently reached over to pat his stomach as if to punctuate her point. He knew Betsy didn't really mean them that way, not really, but it still gratified his ego to hear it.

She looked up at him, offering him a timid smile and putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's like I always hear Dr. C telling Dr. L... You deserve someone who wants you just the way you are." Her voice was full of warmth and sincerity as she patted his shoulder. He held her stare for a moment before making himself look just beyond Betsy. Of course she'd heard Danny telling Mindy that, no doubt after one of her many failed relationships.

The man could hardly be more obvious about his feelings if he tried, what with doing literally anything Mindy asked him to, checking her out all the time when he thought no one was looking, writing her letters, not to mention the banter, jealousy issues, and always having to sit or stand next to her. Oddly enough, Jeremy was the only person at the practice to really notice any of this, perhaps because he'd known them the longest or, more likely, because he and Danny had had several veiled chats about that very topic, albeit without Danny naming any names.

He didn't need to, though. It was that unmistakable.

Jeremy snapped out of his thoughts when he felt Betsy's slightly damp thumb on the sensitive skin between his nose and upper lip. He started a little at the touch, jumping back instinctively. "What are you doing?" He focused back on her. Her eyes, so big and bluer (almost violet, really) than he remembered, were looming large in his vision. She'd moved a lot closer, resting some of her weight on his shoulder more heavily, stretching up on her knees.

Her brow wrinkled a little in confusion. "Um, what do you think I'm doing?" she asked, letting out a little giggle. Before he could say a word, she pointed to his face. "You just have a little frosting right... there..." She said, reaching out to touch the crease of his nose, her finger getting a bit too close to his nostril for comfort. He felt suddenly very embarrassed and hoped to God that his face wasn't as hot and bright red as it felt. Then again, this was Betsy he was talking about... she probably wouldn't notice, same as she probably had no idea what she was doing to him. Still, he knew what he'd been thinking, and it was wrong... probably a little bit wishful.

"Just let me get it." She wore a look of intense concentration. Her tongue was between her teeth, poking out of her lips slightly. Then he watched as she licked her thumb again and started to scrub the area underneath his nose, then the curve of his nostril and, a moment later, the very tip of his nose. He thought he'd gotten it all in the bathroom, when he'd cleaned himself up so he wouldn't be licking frosting off of his face like a dog, but apparently he'd been mistaken. He almost flinched when she brushed her other hand down the side of his neck, but somehow he managed to stay still.

She gave him a lopsided, apologetic smile that made him glad he hadn't flinched. Her touch was so gentle it tickled a little. "You just had some powdered sugar on your neck." If she brushed at his skin a little longer than she had to because she thought she saw some tiny specks of something, well, she just didn't tell him that. "It's all gone now," she said a moment later, her voice a bit breathy. Jeremy was focusing on his breathing the way he often coached pregnant women to, inhaling calming breaths the same way they'd taught him to do at the Center so that he wouldn't get overwhelmed and do something incredibly stupid.

Betsy dropped her gaze to his lips and frowned slightly, making Jeremy very bewildered and a little bit more bothered. He couldn't know that she was scrutinizing his beard and attempting to figure out the best way to get the chocolate off from around his lips. She wished briefly that she hadn't locked her purse up in her desk so that she could get out some wet wipes and have him as good as new. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity of staring at his mouth, Betsy looked away and drew back, taking her hand off of his shoulder. She motioned to her own mouth. "You have a little chocolate all around your mouth."

Mortified and annoyed at himself for once again thinking the wrong thing, Jeremy almost immediately licked his lips and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand just for good measure. Betsy tried and failed not to think about the other ways she could've removed the chocolate. He was even more untouchable than Dr. C. Jeremy wiped his hand on the carpet and turned back to Betsy. "All gone?" he asked, raising his head up slightly so that she could inspect his face. Betsy nodded hastily, not exactly trusting herself with words, and Jeremy pouted a little. After a minute or so when he was no longer looking at her, she muttered an apology.

Having decided that sugar was the lesser of the two evils he was close to pursuing in the moment, Jeremy reached across Betsy to grab the hot chocolate. She froze and stared at him with wide eyes, but he pretended to be unaffected. If he didn't acknowledge the strangeness between them, then perhaps it would go away. He drank it numbly, but it didn't taste quite as good when it had cooled so much. After a while longer of sitting in silence, sipping his cocoa, Betsy offered to refresh his mug. She didn't exactly want to leave him to his own devices the way Peter had, but she wasn't sure he wanted her around anymore. She was planning on leaving after making sure he had all the cocoa he needed.

He watched as she crawled across the carpet, the skirt of her dress swaying dangerously on the backs of her thighs. He let her take the mug and fill it with new hot chocolate. This time he even motioned for her to put marshmallows in because it really did taste much better with them. When he took the mug from her, he made sure their fingers brushed. He didn't have any right to do it, but he clearly had problems beyond his addiction to food. Jeremy took a long, grateful sip of the cocoa. "I know I act like I have all the answers, like I have my life together, but... I'm kind of a mess," he said just as Betsy was beginning to get up. In some ways he was even more of a mess than Mindy, Danny, and Peter, possibly even put together.

She flopped back down immediately, riveted. Doctor Reed rarely confided in anyone, preferring instead to randomly throw out bits of his past when relevant, so she couldn't help but be fascinated. He ran a hand through his hair agitatedly, moving his knees back up to his chest. "I'm just a pathetic food addict with no self-discipline." As he said it, Jeremy wondered if eating half of Danny's gingerbread house counted as rock-bottom. It sure felt like it. He took another big swig of the hot chocolate. "See, Betsy! I can't stop, not even when I'm full!" he exclaimed, brandishing the hot chocolate enough so that it sloshed menacingly against the sides of the mug. "Please, just take the mug from me! I can't relapse any more tonight. I have a very serious problem."

Betsy reluctantly took the mug from his hands. She got up to set it on his desk, even though he would've preferred that she poured it out. She would take the hot cocoa home with her. "And hide the toffees," Jeremy instructed her, hiding his face in his hands. "I can't be trusted with them!" She rolled her eyes a bit at his theatrics but bent down to pick up the box nonetheless. Jeremy may have been peeking through his fingers and caught sight of her pale ivory calves and thighs for a moment. She then walked around his desk, dropping the box of toffees into one of his bottom drawers.

When all that was done, she sat down at Jeremy's side. Betsy frowned, scooting towards him after a few seconds. She reached up and carefully pried his hands away from his face. The expression on her face was so solemn, so genuinely concerned that he almost couldn't bear to look at her. "Doctor Reed, your problem isn't with food." He turned to argue with her, but then she put her small hand on his forearm. The words died in his throat. "It's with you," she said, pressing her hand into his arm. It was a testament to her sweetness that it didn't sound like an insult.

She motioned to his stomach. "You're eating to fill something empty inside of you... and before that it was with all your lady friends..." Were her cheeks a little redder, or was he imagining that? Betsy swallowed hard, letting go of his arm. "So why don't you fill it with something else, with something real?" As if it were really that easy, apparently.

He blinked, stunned at how perceptive she was. Betsy didn't always seem like much, but she was cheerful and sweet and a hard worker. She seemed oblivious and kind of... naïve to the way adult life worked, but in a cute way. He'd never been that innocent, never had the chance. And he can see why her family all treats her like a child, because they want to protect that side of her, the same way everyone at the practice except Peter wants to. Yet, in one evening, she pointed out things that Jeremy wouldn't even admit in intensive therapy. He still felt the immediate truth of her words, though, like a punch to the stomach. More than anything, he didn't want to tell her that he didn't have many real things in his life.

Intrigued, Jeremy turned towards her, letting his legs slide down until they were flat on the floor. "Like what, Betsy?" he asked, feeling suddenly very tired. He was almost a bit short with her because it wasn't like he hadn't tried that, hadn't spent so much time trying to find something to feel the void. He'd dug as deep as he could underneath all the facades and superficiality, but, honestly, sometimes he wasn't even sure there was anything there. People only seemed to like him when he was being superficial. No one cared what was underneath, and he couldn't make them.

Betsy rocked her weight forward on her hands a little. She only had to think for a moment or two, bless her. A moment or two for an answer that had been eluding him for nearly all of his life. "I don't know... something like family?" she offered.

Jeremy pinched the bridge of his nose and snorted. Family. What a laughable concept. The obnoxious, mean older brothers he rarely speaks to and his drunk, sadistic father, the parents who never found him interesting enough? Seeing them was like being slowly pricked by a thousand stinging needles. He was always expecting an insult or a sharp jab at the way he was living, a shove rather than affection. He avoided returning to his country of birth solely so he didn't have to see them. Sometimes he thinks an entire ocean still isn't enough distance. "You mean the people I avoid at all costs because they make me feel bad about myself?"

Betsy frowned a little, like any person would who had a perfectly nice family and didn't understand how he felt. Jeremy gave her a nonplussed look. "You've met my dad. He was more interested in Peter and prosti-" Realizing whom he was talking to, Jeremy bit his lip and trailed off. Betsy's innocence was something he wanted to protect. Her frown had already deepened; he'd picked up on the fact that she didn't exactly care for his father. Why would she, when he'd said so many vulgar things in front of her?

In addition to shamelessly sexually harassing Betsy and Tamra in a way that made even Peter and Beverly uncomfortable, Alfred had actually asked Jeremy in front of the almost entire office, including Betsy, if he was "at least getting laid by the mousy church-girl secretary." Upon receiving an incredulous lack of an answer for a response, the elder Reed had proceeded to berate his son ("She's not that attractive, but she's about as close to a sure thing as you can get! Jesus, are you doing it wrong?! Sometimes I wonder if you're even my son!") and then insult Betsy's intelligence ("I know he's not much, but he's probably the best a girl like you can do. I mean, really, do you want to be spinster secretary all your life? Are you daft, woman? He has money and less sense than a goldfish... He's ripe for the picking!").

Jeremy amended his statement, "-Ladies of the night... than spending time with me." He still couldn't say that without it physically paining him, but it was hardly new behavior. If Danny had been around, he was sure his father would've liked him better too, thought him more of a man, maybe even respected him. Jeremy cleared his throat awkwardly, looking down. He crossed his legs, bringing them closer to his body.

Betsy gave him a pitying look, which was almost worse than thinking about his family. She leaned in a little, almost whispering, as if confessing a secret. "For what it's worth, Doctor Reed, I think just about everyone here likes you more than Doctor Prentice." He looked at her askance, clearly not quite believing it. "No, it's true," she informed him, looking around as if she thought someone would overhear. "He always says the wrong thing to Doctor Lahiri, and Doctor Castellano kind of wants to punch him all the time. And Morgan thinks of you as his big brother." He couldn't help but smile a little bit at that.

She paused for a moment, biting her lip and smoothing her skirt. She didn't look at him. "And Dr. P kind of... makes me feel uncomfortable. He's always asking me to pick things up for him and saying things about my skirts and how they should get shorter," she admitted somewhat hesitantly, tugging her skirt down and making a face. Dr. Lahiri and Shauna had gotten her started wearing shorter skirts, saying that she needed to be younger and hipper, that it would catch the eye of the men in the office. The skirts were cute, and her mentors had been right, so Betsy kept her hemlines high but not indecent. Jeremy found himself clenching his jaw slightly. He would have to have a little talk with Peter about how to properly treat their staff.

Sensing the waves of tension rolling off of him, Betsy moved a bit closer, more or less nestling into his side. She reached over to put her hand on his knee delicately, almost like she was afraid he would fracture at her touch. Instead, he relaxed, even as that vaguely nauseous and jumpy feeling returned. "So, see, Doctor Reed, you do have a family," she told him brightly, like they were characters in some godawful Christmas special. She might actually think they were, come to think of it. Her lightly tapping his knee silenced every last snarky thought, though. When she beamed up at him a few seconds later, all he could see was her smile and the warmth she was radiating. "It's all of us here at the practice. We all care about you." She punctuated the statement by squeezing his knee.

He didn't want to dampen her optimism, but the thought wasn't as comforting as she undoubtedly thought it was. Betsy's ideas of such things were oftentimes a bit skewed. Still, she has good intentions and actually cares, and he shouldn't really judge his coworkers when his own father frequented cheap Monday night casino hookers. Plus she was sort of right, at any rate; his coworkers felt more like a family than his had ever been.

She started to take her hand away, but his hand covered hers before she could. Betsy blinked, dropping her gaze to their hands, watching in disbelief as he entwined their fingers. Her hand was softer than he'd imagined. She stared at their conjoined hands for a moment before her eyes darted back up to his face. His expression was inscrutable to her, but it was also kind of soft, even though he wasn't looking at her directly.

Then there was just the sound of their breathing and the party winding down outside. Neither of them were looking at each other, both staring awkwardly ahead and sneaking fleeting sidelong glances at each other. It was so tense that Betsy was afraid to even breathe. Jeremy was the one to break the silence by speaking so quietly she had to lean in to hear him. He offered her a smile that was by no means as self-assured as he wanted it to be. "Thanks. For making me feel better." Even those words didn't seem like enough. All his life, people like her—people who actually cared—had been rare. He inhaled shakily, trying not to think about what it felt like to hold her hand, lest he get caught up in it. "...I needed to hear that," he said, running his free hand down the front of his thigh idly, like that would make his palm less sweaty.

Betsy just shrugged modestly, as if it were something anyone would've done. She probably even thought that in her sweet little brain. He didn't take his eyes off her face. "You just needed someone to listen, Jeremy. I'm glad I could help," she said sincerely, her free hand rubbing the inside of her elbow. His eyes widened upon hearing her call him by his first name (she hadn't done that since Thanksgiving!), as did hers a moment later when she realized what she'd said by mistake. Betsy opened her mouth, ready to apologize, but he interrupted her by squeezing her hand.

Jeremy found himself turning more fully towards her, placing his other arm around her in a kind of half-embrace that neither of them were expecting. Her hair tickled his nose. Betsy remained frozen for a moment but eventually wrapped her free arm around him, hugging him back. Her hand splayed out across his shoulder blade, feeling the tension he kept there. The scent of his cologne—citrusy yet musky—kind of enveloped her. Eventually, after a few seconds (Jeremy didn't want to linger), he pulled away, but he didn't quite let go so much as relax his hold on Betsy. Her lips were still parted, her breathing coming a little faster than usual.

Then their eyes locked, and it was like they were frozen in time. As if guided by something beyond his control, Jeremy leaned in a little, his grip tightening a bit around her shoulder. He moved in a little more still, until he could feel her breath on his face. Betsy didn't dare move, not that she particularly wanted to. His hand slid slowly down her back. His gaze dropped to her pretty pink lips. For a moment, he debated the merits of kissing her.

He leaned in a little more, and Betsy closed her eyes. She smelled like an intoxicating mixture of frosting and gingerbread. He almost did kiss her, wanted it bad enough, but he knew it was a bad idea and... he would be doing it for the wrong reasons, because he could, when he wasn't really prepared to deal with the consequences. She deserved better than that. So Jeremy turned his head to the side and kissed her cheek instead. He regretted not kissing her for real the moment his lips made contact with her skin. His lips, though, lingered a little too long on her skin for the kiss to be considered purely friendly.

If Betsy was at all miffed about him kissing her cheek instead of her mouth, she didn't show it. She did, however, lean into the kiss. Jeremy eventually pulled away, taking his arm off of her. He leaned back a little, needing some distance but not wanting to move. He didn't see it, but Betsy's face fell. He let go of her hand, and Betsy looked down, wondering if she'd just imagined whatever that moment was. It had seemed like so much at the time and then it was just... over. But then Jeremy was draping his arm around her, and she leaned into his warmth, enjoying it more than she should.

He exhaled deeply, trying not to go straight into crisis freak-out mode. The psychiatrists at the Center had said that his tendency to freak out when things didn't go according to plan was one of the triggers for his addictive behavior, which was a fancy way of saying that he was a stress eater. Nonetheless, he listened to their advice, taking deep breaths and counting in his head. His fingers were absently playing with some of the sequins on her sweater.

After a while, when he judged that his behavior was under control, Jeremy opened his eyes and breathed out. He turned to Betsy. "You won't tell anyone about this, will you?" he asked, lowering his voice a little. He hardly wanted to think of what everyone else would say if they knew about all of this. Everyone at the practice already tried to walk all over him, and it didn't help that Danny and Mindy were both like steamrollers, used to managing together. If the staff didn't outright mock him, they undermined or circumvented his policies. He didn't need anyone using his vulnerability against him.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. Betsy kind of liked the idea of sharing a secret with Doctor Reed. It made her feel sort of... special... that he'd chosen to confide in her and that she'd actually made him feel better. Her eyes sparkled, and Jeremy had to look away for a moment, lest he do something stupid like kiss her anyway. She nodded, curls bouncing with the movement. "Of course I won't tell anyone, Doctor Reed. I promise," she said earnestly. She held her pinkie finger out to him. For a moment he just stared, uncomprehending, as she gave him a look and wiggled her finger. "Pinkie-swear," she prompted.

He nodded, understanding, and linked his pinkie with hers. Jeremy tried to ignore whatever it was he was feeling. It felt kind of like paresthesia, and he didn't want to think about what that meant. He shook her finger firmly, as intended, and then released it. After a moment, he smiled at her. "You know," he began conversationally, "you can call me Jeremy when it's just the two of us." Betsy tilted her head to look up at him, her jaw dropping a little. "After all, we are... friends, Betsy." He had to avoid grimacing as he said that word; "friend" sounded somehow wrong on his tongue.

She smiled at him a little hesitantly, not quite sure what was happening. "Oh... okay." He gave her an expectant look, nudging her a little. "Oh," she said, realizing, "you wanted me to... now?" He nodded patiently, and then she held her head high, trying her best to look him in the eye as she said it. "Jeremy." He gave her a satisfied smile. It was harder than it should be to resist the urge to pull her in and press a kiss to her forehead. Urges like that were coming out of nowhere lately and getting progressively harder to ignore. He'd already been a bit too touchy-feely with her for his health tonight.

The way he was staring at her made Betsy feel self-conscious, so she tugged on her sweater, wrapping it around herself more tightly. Then she cleared her throat. "Um, it's getting late. I should probably get going before my train stops running." Jeremy stopped staring at her, swallowing hard, and let his arm drop off of her shoulder. He got up with a little difficulty and held out a hand to Betsy, helping her up. He did his best to maintain the distance between them rather than pulling her closer or letting her crash into him.

Betsy turned to grab the thermos off of his desk. Jeremy frowned to himself. Betsy didn't live in the greatest neighborhood, and he worried about her sometimes on her own. She was so trusting. Peter had gotten her to put her hand in his pocket to dig around for quarters like four times. "How about we call you a cab instead?" Jeremy asked, bending down to pick up the tie and jacket he'd discarded so carelessly. He slung both over on his coat rack. Betsy argued that it was unnecessary as Jeremy grabbed their coats and scarves from the coat rack. "Nonsense," he said, handing her her coat and scarf, "A taxi is the safest and fastest way to get there, and you wouldn't want any of us to worry about your safety, now would you?"

She bit her lip, feeling a little guilty. She didn't want any of her New York family to worry about her, but taxis were just so expensive, though. As if he read her mind, Jeremy pulled his wallet out of his coat pocket, pulled out forty dollars, and handed it to her nonchalantly. "You can keep the change." She protested immediately that she couldn't accept the money, but Jeremy shook his head. "I have plenty of money, Betsy," he countered. "You don't, and I'm giving out Christmas bonuses next week. Seriously, don't worry about it."

They walked out into the lobby, shrugging into their coats and saying the requisite goodbyes. Danny, who was quieter and moodier than usual (possibly due to the Monticello fiasco but also probably Mindy kissing that divorce lawyer from down the hall under the mistletoe), gave Jeremy a pointed look, which Jeremy proceeded to ignore. Betsy went to the desk, unlocking it to retrieve her purse. Since it was the gentlemanly thing to do, Jeremy insisted on escorting her downstairs and helping her flag down a cab. He opened the door for her with an unnecessary flourish, hating himself a little bit more for wanting to prolong the moment.

"Goodnight, Doctor Reed," Betsy said, moving past him to get into the car. Something in him sort of sank as she reverted back to that professional name. However, Betsy hesitated and ultimately stopped short of putting her foot in the cab. She froze like that for a moment before whirling around, clutching the edge of the door. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" she asked, looking very anxious all of a sudden. Her fingers drummed nervously on the car door.

It had occurred to Betsy that leaving him alone after a night like this might not have been a good idea. He'd also been acting sort of weird all night. Jeremy did his best to give her a reassuring smile, but it took more effort than he thought not to lean in closer or cover her fingers on the car door. She frowned at him, not quite as convinced by the smile as he wanted her to be. "Do you need someone to stay with you and make sure you don't eat your weight in cheese or something?" Betsy prayed he didn't hear the tell-tale hopefulness in her voice.

Jeremy chuckled weakly. Earlier that statement might've been true. He'd certainly wanted to carry queso to the bathroom at several points in the evening. But it was best if he didn't use the excuse to spend more time with Betsy. She'd done far too much, and he'd asked enough of her for one night. "You would've made a better sober buddy than Peter." She smiled faintly, silently agreeing with him. For a moment Jeremy just stared at her, noticing how radiant and unassuming her face was, memorizing the way the moonlight fell on her skin, the faint flush of her cheeks. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. Now he was beginning to think he had a more terrifying and urgent addiction than food. "I'll be fine," he assured her, lying a little and motioning for her to go in the car.

Betsy hesitated, though, uncertain whether or not she could really believe him. Jeremy looked away from her surprisingly piercing stare. She looked at him like he was more, like he had depth, and that made him feel like another sort of person entirely. "Goodnight, Betsy," he said with finality, hoping that would make her leave. It was hard enough as it was to say goodbye to her, harder than it should be.

Just then, the cab driver pressed down on the horn, causing both of them to jump away from each other. Betsy sank dutifully into the worn leather of the car seat, rattling off her address, and Jeremy closed the car door for her, intending to head back to the building. But then she looked up, and their eyes met. Jeremy snapped the rubber band on his wrist against his skin again and again, reminding himself quietly that addiction just led to pain. But he couldn't look away.

The image of Betsy looking at him, smiling and waving frantically as the cab drove off, haunted him for the rest of the night.