fic: twilight for beginners (the mindy project)
twilight for beginners
He’s one bad cliché away from a cheesy musical overlay.
The Mindy Project | Dr Jeremy Reed & Betsy Putch (+ensemble)
1712. pg.
She makes him want to be a better person
That’s the first sign that things are not as they seem.
He can’t stop staring at her.
To the point that it becomes a problem when he’s trying to hit on the single mothers.
He takes in every detail (because that’s the type of man he is); from the hem of her skirt (tantalizing, smooth skin), to her crisp, bright cardigans (brass buttons, oh, how he adores brass buttons), to her wavy, brown hair (so soft, he can’t not imagine how it would feel to run his fingers through it).
“What are you doing?”
Danny is not subtle, standing beside him as he pretends to peruse a file while staring at reception. Jeremy, the picture of nonchalance, raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“Reading a file, clearly.”
“No your not,” Danny narrows his eyes, looking in the direction that he was looking moments ago. To his relief, Betsy has moved, replaced by Shauna, who has taken today to wear rather asset enhancing low cut top. Praise the Lord.
“You’re disgusting,” but Jeremy is in the clear and Shauna’s throwing them a smirk because despite his disapproval, Danny is staring and thus her goal has been achieved.
And no one is any the wiser.
His manicurist calls it the Twilight Syndrome.
“Oh sure,” she shrugs, like men like him come in everyday with the same dilemma, “lion and the lamb, ya know?”
And maybe it makes sense. She is so pure, like church camps and daisy chains, and last week he fucked a woman in an alleyway behind a nightclub. She is too good for him and he wants that. Wants her.
More than anything, he supposes.
“Stop it.”
Shauna not a morning person. 5AM is for going to bed, not waking up, and once upon a time, she would have been his type to a 'T'. But times change, people grow, and now Shauna, the same Shauna who can’t properly function until after 10am and four cups of coffee, is accosting him in the break room at nine on the dot.
“I’ve just arrived, I haven’t done anything,” he raises his hands as to surrender. Shauna merely glares.
“You’re thinking about going after Betsy,” Shauna’s on the money, “and if I noticed, it’s only a matter of time before Doctor L stops focusing on herself and notices the same. And then you’ll be screwed.”
“I’m not 'going after Betsy',” Jeremy uses air quotations and immediately resents himself, “I’m merely, expressing an interest.”
“Well don’t.” Shauna snaps, eyes narrowing, “she’s not going to fall for any of your romantic comedy clichés anyway.”
“Well I wasn’t.” He lies.
“Uh huh.” Shauna doesn’t believe him.
God damn it.
Jeremy buys a car.
It’s a bit redundant, considering he lives in the city, but he gets his own car space and for that he thinks, why not?
Rainy days in the city are a nightmare. Hailing a cab is near impossible. He’s never been more grateful for his new transportation than he has now, at 6pm, at the end of a gruelling day. Danny and Mindy are fighting, Shauna is glued to her cell phone, and Morgan claims he has to work late again. But that’s really none of his concern.
Betsy, busy shrugging on her raincoat, yet again catches his eye.
“Hey Betts,” he throws her a smile, “want a ride?”
He’s too busy awaiting her reluctant, yet eager acceptance to notice the weird look Danny gives him. Or the shocked one on Mindy’s face. But she takes off her raincoat while he holds the elevator door open and beams at him like he’s made her dreams come true.
“Thank you so much, Doctor Reed,” her tone is excited and he thinks for a moment how young she truly sounds and how much that makes him want her more and oh god, what type of man does that make him?
But her skirt rides up when she slides into the front seat of his car, all morality out the window, and fuck, it should be illegal to pair a skirt that short with a sweater with carousels on it.
He thanks god that it isn’t.
The car ride is quiet, but not awkward. He stares at her too much, but she’s distracted by all the commotion outside. Shauna’s words echo in his mind and he thinks maybe he should stop it. Before his better judgment can get interfere, he’s in front of her walk-up, smiling softly, and inviting him up for some cocoa.
Any other woman and he knows that would be an excuse for a sexual encounter. Here, he fully expects cocoa.
They sprint to the alcove of her building, her fumbling with her keys before finding the right one. It four flights of stairs and she practically skips up them, humming to herself a tune he doesn’t recognise.
More fumbling. He stills her hand with his, gives her a looks that he hopes conveys amusement. What are you afraid of, he wants to ask her. Wants to do a lot of things really. Like run his fingers through her hair and push her against that damn door she seems incapable of opening and just kiss her senseless…
“I’ve got to go.”
Jeremy runs.
They don’t write songs about silent restraint.
They do write novels.
And they all suck.
“Are you in love with her?”
Mindy doesn’t sugar coat things. She’s blunt to the point that could cause actual head trauma and right now she’s glaring daggers to boot.
“That’s preposterous,” he scoffs.
“Okay, so is it a bet?”
“A bet?”
“Yeah, like She’s All That, when Freddie Prinze Jr. bets he can make Rachel Leigh Cook the most popular girl in school-”
“You Americans have the worst romantic comedies.”
“Hey man, you think you’re soooo superior because you have Hugh Grant. We’re just making do with what we have.”
“I’m not going to get into an argument about romance films. Again.” He scowls, shrugging on his coat.”
“Fine, whatever,” Mindy says, suspiciously nonchalant, “it’s the pretty/ugly girl thing, right? Except in Betsy’s instance, rather than glasses and paint splattered shoes, it’s her grating do-gooderness and overwhelming naivety.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a good-”
“Oh. My. God.” Mindy gapes at him “You actually like her. Like, like like her. Like want to date her and be her boyfriend and keep her toothbrush at your place and yours at hers and-”
“There’s nothing going on,” Jeremy interrupts, “so let’s drop it.”
Her eyes narrow, like she’s putting two and two together
Wait. She is.
“Are you scared?”
He feels as shocked and horrified as she looks and, running a hand over his face, he starts to accept that she won’t leave the subject alone until she’s incredibly well versed.
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
He expects a dramatic outburst. Expects her to be indignant, to bring up their “relationship” and how he was incredibly cruel and thoughtless and how he certainly wasn’t thinking about her feelings.
She goes the opposite direction. He’s not quite sure if he would have preferred the former.
“Well, that’s love,” she shrugs, wistful and melancholic, “it’s kind of inevitable.”
Morgan sidles up to him while he’s not so discretely looking at her.
“Taxidermy. Women love taxidermy. And recyclable grocery bags.”
Jeremy sort of wants to die.
He reaches breaking point when he finds himself watching her sleep.
(In the break room; her neighbours have been fighting/having really loud sex/both.)
Jeremy is many things (suave, narcissistic, debonair, smarmy), but creepy he is most definitely not.
He drives around her block five times (really not helping his case) before he finds his nerve. Slipping into the building while another tenant leaves, he sprints the four flights of stairs to her door.
He freezes. He has definitely not thought about this at all.
His hand poised to knock, he considers everything he could possibly say and everything that could possibly happen. It’s insane, really. He’s one bad cliché away from a cheesy musical overlay.
He knocks, immediately regretting it when he realises how late it actually is. She opens the door before he can walk away, bleary eyed and wearing cotton shorts and a high school athletics shirt and she has never looked more perfect.
“Doctor Reed?”
“Betsy. Hello.”
If he was going for eloquent, he’s failed. Terribly.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m at your door at this hour…”
“A little,” she murmurs, but she looks surprisingly unphased.
“Well, you see, I’ve found myself in the position where I want something more from life,” he dances around the point, “something real and wholesome and tangible and lasting. Not one night stands or meaningless flings. I want toothbrushes at someone else’s place and organic milk in their fridge and my hair products taking up space on their sink. I want love, in it’s purest and most domestic form.
I want you.”
He watches her micro expressions carefully, fully prepared to make a run for it at the slightest hint of rejection.
“Me?” she squeaks.
“Yes, Betsy, you.” He steps further into her apartment, nudging the door shut with his foot. She takes a step back, he takes a step forward and it continues until she’s backed up against the kitchen table and he takes cautious measures not to crowd her.
“But I’m not…” She trails off, gesturing wildly.
He steps forward, cupping her face.
“Oh yes you are.”
“Doctor Reed-”
“None of that,” he murmurs, leaning in closer, “not anymore.”
And he kisses her.
And it’s everything he thought it would be.
“What are you doing?”
Forever the one to ask the obvious, Danny stands beside him, glancing up from his file to reception, which has clearly captured Jeremy’s attention.
“Just looking at my beautiful girlfriend,” he shrugs, grinning when he spots the blush appear on her cheeks, “not a crime, is it Danny?”
Danny saunters off, muttering something about this not being Grey’s Anatomy. He grins again, knowing that later they’ll be a home cooked meal and Downton Abbey and her, in his shirt.
This is his life now. She’s his life now.
He’s a better person for it.
end.