Just some quick backstory on the flashback from Clean Break.

"Dayumm," Jess murmured before shoving a glass of pink wine into her face.

She gulped a little faster than she should have, suddenly aware that the catalyst for her uncharacteristic profanity was well within earshot. Her eyebrows arched, the left catching briefly on her parted bangs, as she assessed the predicament. He had not heard her. Or was he just pretending? Another gulp bought her enough time to conclude that, no, he had not. He held the fan close to his face, and Jess knew that Nick was unable to resist trying to mimic Darth Vader while in such proximity to a whirring fan. As if checking long division, her eyes went to his mouth. Sure enough, she read the phrase 'Luke, I am your Father' move across his lips before dying inaudibly into the fan. Jess noted that not only was the fan not on a high enough speed to produce the desired effect, but Nick had, like most, gotten the quote itself wrong.

'Why do I know that?" she questioned before realizing she had emptied her glass of Rose. Looking at his lips had been a mistake. Staring at the glass, eyes wide, she was startled when Nick spoke.

"What are you and Winston up to?"

"Huh?" Jess answered, buying time.

"You and Winston? Watching a movie?"

"Oh, yeah," Jess said, absent mindedly setting her glass down on the table to refill. She uncrossed her legs, dropped her book, and went to pour some more wine into her glass. "We were just watching the 'Real Housewives of Saskatchewan' or something."

"Winston let you watch that?" Nick asked, making a face.

"What do you mean? It was his choice. I'm reading," Jess said, gesturing to the paperback she'd set on the couch beside her.

"Ah," Nick said with a smirk. "Reading up on one of your lady books, eh? Say no more."

"Don't know that I'd qualify 'The Red Badge of Courage' as a 'lady book', but I can't speak for everybody."

"Right on."

Nick looked around the room a moment as though searching for something. He gave his head a shake before looking back at Jess.

"Welp, got an early day tomorrow," he finally said, clicking the fan off in his hand. "Our yearly supply of honey roasted nuts shows up bright and early at 10:30, so I'd better get some shut eye."

"Oh?" Jess asked, feigning nonchalance. She finished pouring her wine and sat back on the couch, re-crossing her legs.

"Yeah, gonna hit the showers and then hit they hay," Nick said. He looked at Jess a moment before giving an affirmative nod.

"Okay, goodnight," Jess said, bringing the glass of wine to her mouth again.

"Yeah… goodnight, Jess," Nick answered, turning towards his room. He did a full 180, looking at the floor as though he'd dropped something, and then disappeared around the corner. Jess' eyes followed him until he was out of sight, and she was alarmed to again realize she had all but drained yet another glass of Rose.

She shook her head and glanced over at the clock above the TV. It was just past midnight, and she would be getting up in 6 hours. Thanks to the perfect combination of boredom, pink wine, and Nick Miller, she was almost certain to wake with a slight headache. All the same, she slugged back the last gulp of wine and stood up. Gathering the more than half empty bottle of wine, her glass, and her book, she glanced over at Winston before shuffling off towards the kitchen. Her gait was less steady than she had intended, but then downing 2 glasses of wine in under 3 minutes wasn't part of her plan that night.

She made her way to the sink, dropping the uncorked bottle of wine off on the kitchen island. She placed the glass carefully in the sink before filling it with lukewarm water. She shut of the faucet and set the glass at the edge of the sink to soak. She turned to grab a towel on the counter to wipe her hands, and that's she saw it, resting upside down on the drying rack: Schmidt's Associated Strategies Mug.

Well, it was 'technically' his mug, she thought, biting down on her lip. She and Nick had put it to more significant use than Schmidt had ever/would ever realize, but it was technically his mug. Jess caught herself smiling and straightened up. Suppressing the smile, she lowered her eyes and marched out of the kitchen. She got about four steps before stopping in her tracks. She let her head fall almost parallel with her right shoulder before slowly turning on her heels. Swallowing hard, her less than fully functioning mind weighed the pros and the cons. Well, mostly just the pros.

Before rational thinking returned, she skipped back into the kitchen, plucked the mug from the drying rack, and all but sprinted back to her room, dropping the mug 'Ass' out on the table by the door. She slipped through her door, closing it quietly behind her, and let herself crash face down on her bed.

What was she doing? What good could possibly come of this? Well, she knew what good could come of it, but what long term good? She flipped to her back and stared up at the ceiling. Nick was still in the shower, right? She could go back out and put the mug back, no harm, no foul. She gritted her teeth and lifted her right elbow to cover her eyes. Why tonight? She'd seen that mug hundreds of times since they'd broken up. The summer following, before Ryan, after Ryan… during Ryan. Every single time she saw that stupid mug, a temptation. Why was tonight the perfect recipe of unremarkable events that caused her to place the mug in its once well inhabited spot upon the front door end table? She thought of the wine, she thought of the 'Red Badge of Courage', she thought of Winston's candelabra, and she thought of Nick Millers sweaty, manly, unkempt body moving uneasily in the aftermath of unfamiliar physical activity. Jessica Day's mind tried to make sense of the elaborate equation that led her to where she was at that moment… and she fell asleep.

Nick meandered down the hall, fresh off his scorching hot shower. He'd stolen some of Schmidt's fancy Guatemalan body wash, and he actually didn't mind the vaguely fruity scent that was left behind. Normally he wouldn't have dared, but Schmidt was in Sacramento with Fawn for a few days, so he knew he had the room to himself. Schmidt's olfactory glands would be none the wiser. Clutching his blue towel tightly around his waist, he glanced over at Jess' door, disappointed to find that it was shut tight, its resident clearly closed away behind it. He leaned his ear to the door and gave a listen. Why had he tempted fate like that? He could have just stayed in his room and logged ideas in his Schmick Industries Journal, but no. He had to get cute. He'd seen her in her glasses, with her parted hair, and her jeans, and her oversized, gray sweater…

"Knock it off, creep," he whispered to himself. None of that mattered. Jess could've shaved her head, worn a snowsuit, and taken a month off of showering, and he'd still have been taken by her.

No. It's not what she wants. And so it's not what he can want. He shook his head and hurried to his room before he could change his mind, closing the door behind him.

Bummer of a day, huh? Here's to the first of 35 Tuesdays that are just going to be missing a little something.