[fic] The King of Rock and Roll
Title: The King of Rock and Roll
Rating: PG
Prompt: John Casey and Nick Miller have an old man grouch-off.
Fandom: New Girl and Chuck
Pairings: Nick/Jess
Warnings: There's some questionable taste in music happening, but other than that, no triggers. Implied violence might happen.
Summary: A grouch-off with a customer at his bar does not go the way Nick expects, but to be fair, he really hates That Song.
Word Count: 1264
Author’s Notes: I wrote New Girl fic, and it was a blast! Note: you don't need to know much (or anything at all) about Chuck to get this fic.
Nick doesn’t know why the bar even has a jukebox. Nobody uses it, and frankly, the music collection on there, if you ask him-and nobody does, but he’ll tell you anyway because he’s Nick Miller and he never met a displeasure he couldn’t announce to the world at large-well, it sucks. There are bands nobody’s ever heard of on there. Like Wings. Who the hell are Wings? Why would you name your group after a greasy food served in bars and pubs that’s more likely than not to choke you?
“Wings is a very popular band, Nick,” Jess tells him when he grumbles about it. “Paul McCartney-”
“Paul McCartney was a Beatle, Jess, not a Wing-and look how stupid that name sounds! If you’re a member of that band, you’re just a Wing, and you can’t fly. You need two wings for that. It’s stupid, Jess.”
She glances at the clock and he knows she’s got an early day tomorrow, so he’s not offended when instead of arguing-and he likes arguing with her-she just says, “Uh-huh, Nick.”
It doesn’t feel like a proper victory when she gives in. So Nick scowls and Jess shakes her head at him and orders another Sea Breeze, which she knows he hates making because the grapefruit juice is all the way in the back of the fridge and he has to bend over to get it. When he stands up and turns around, she looks at the ceiling far too quickly and he feels better about making her the fussy drink.
That is, until That Song starts playing.
“Oh, hell no,” Nick says, wheeling in place and nearly sending cranberry juice everywhere. “I broke that button on purpose.”
“He’s a paying customer,” Jess says.
Nick glares at the man by the jukebox. “I don’t care if he’s a paying customer or not, there will be no Neil Diamond. Not in this bar! Not on Nick Miller’s watch.”
“I really don’t understand what your problem with Neil is,” Jess says, and starts to sing along because of course Jessica Day knows all of the words to Sweet Caroline. Jessica Day knows all of the words to every song Nick hates, after all, and most of those songs are made up. At least, that’s what he tells her.
Sometimes it’s hard being the Grumpy Roommate when you’re faced with her, even if she’s supposed to be the Loft Troll, okay?
But it’s not hard to be grumpy in the face of Neil Diamond. Nick hates Neil Diamond, but he hates Sweet Caroline more. He hates the poppy chord progressions and the way Sweet Caroline builds and then everybody in the bar is shouting it by the end. It’s the worst Neil Diamond song, and he’s going to do something about it. So he lifts the bar top and strides across the bar, heading for the dark-haired stranger still standing in front of the jukebox. “That song’s restricted,” he says because he’s mad and Neil’s already singing about touching hands and it means the chorus will be happening any second now. “So I need to get around you to unplug the jukebox.”
“Excuse me?” Neil Diamond Fan-who is tall, oh, god, he’s really, really tall and he’s broader at the shoulders than all of Nick even if Nick were standing with his arms spread wide, and that looks like a lot of muscle rippling under his USMC T-shirt-asks.
But Nick’s never been one to back down from a fight, or so he tells himself (in truth maybe he runs from fights all the time and it’s Jess who never backs down), so he swallows, hard, and says, “That song isn’t allowed in this bar.”
Neil Diamond Fan’s got the squarest jaw Nick has ever seen. “It’s on the playlist.”
“Yeah, and I broke that button on purpose, so-”
Neil Diamond Fan cracks his knuckles, and Nick’s eyes fly open wide. He’s heard jet engines quieter than the rumbling of the bones in the knuckles briefly coming apart and releasing bubbles in the synovial fluid between them. Neil Diamond Fan, however, doesn’t react. Instead, he juts his chin at Nick. “You got a problem with the King, moron?”
“Hey,” Jess, who has apparently followed Nick across the bar, says indignantly. “That’s way harsh! And Neil Diamond isn’t the King, Elvis is.”
“He’s the King if I say he’s the King.”
“And what makes you the expert, Mr…big, Marine-y guy?” Jess asks, clearly losing her steam in the middle of what had probably been a really lame insult in the first place.
“Jess, maybe we should leave the big, ah, the big fella alone with the King,” Nick says.
Neil Diamond Fan sneers. He’s really good at it. Nick’s almost jealous.
But yeah, Jess and fights and backing down, not something that will ever happen, so she steps around Nick and in front of him, indignation propelling her. She’s scarily strong when she does that, not that Nick will ever tell her that (or maybe he will, he does a lot of stupid things when Jess is involved, and it’s usually her fault). “Elvis is way more popular, though Neil Diamond does have a certain flair and could probably be considered music royalty-”
“Traitor,” Nick hisses at her.
“-but c’mon, dude, it’s Elvis. The King. The King of Rock and Roll, twenty number one albums and-”
Neil Diamond Fan abruptly grimaces and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I went all the way across L.A. to sit and listen to Diamond, and instead, I find another couple just like them. It figures. It really figures.”
“What are you talking about, them?” Jess asks, curiosity winning out over her annoyance. “Who are them?”
She sounds a little too curious for Nick’s comfort. Despite his total terror of Neil Diamond Fan, he nearly starts the ‘let’s talk about boundaries and strangers’ lecture he’s given nine or twenty times now, but then he meets Neil Diamond Fan’s eyes, and he recognizes that resignation and anger. It’s…almost like looking in a mirror, if he were somehow like half a foot taller and a hell of a lot bulkier.
Suddenly, Neil Diamond’s not bad, though Nick still loathes the “touching hands” line and the fact that, you know, it’s about somebody named Caroline.
“You know,” he says, “that jukebox also has Cherry, Cherry on it.”
Neil Diamond Fan squints. “Is this a trick?”
“Nah, man, just having a bad night and taking it out on strangers and we’ll get out of your way.” Nick practically has to pick Jess up and carry her across the bar to get her away from the scary Marine, who’s a little less terrifying now that Nick understands the curmudgeon-y thing he’s got going on. It’s like meeting a brother in arms, and maybe Neil Diamond Fan seems to agree because he puts another few quarters in the jukebox and bellies up to the bar a few minutes later. He orders a scotch, which Nick can respect because real men-and Jess, Jess is really good at that, too-drink scotch. The guy even pretends not to hear all of Jess’s crazy theories about who the them the man was talking about could be.
Neil Diamond Fan leaves a tip. It’s not enough to cover for the fact that Nick has to listen to Sweet Caroline four times in a row, but Nick doesn’t mind.
He never sees Neil Diamond Fan again. He doesn’t mind that either. That guy is huge.
Rating: PG
Prompt: John Casey and Nick Miller have an old man grouch-off.
Fandom: New Girl and Chuck
Pairings: Nick/Jess
Warnings: There's some questionable taste in music happening, but other than that, no triggers. Implied violence might happen.
Summary: A grouch-off with a customer at his bar does not go the way Nick expects, but to be fair, he really hates That Song.
Word Count: 1264
Author’s Notes: I wrote New Girl fic, and it was a blast! Note: you don't need to know much (or anything at all) about Chuck to get this fic.
Nick doesn’t know why the bar even has a jukebox. Nobody uses it, and frankly, the music collection on there, if you ask him-and nobody does, but he’ll tell you anyway because he’s Nick Miller and he never met a displeasure he couldn’t announce to the world at large-well, it sucks. There are bands nobody’s ever heard of on there. Like Wings. Who the hell are Wings? Why would you name your group after a greasy food served in bars and pubs that’s more likely than not to choke you?
“Wings is a very popular band, Nick,” Jess tells him when he grumbles about it. “Paul McCartney-”
“Paul McCartney was a Beatle, Jess, not a Wing-and look how stupid that name sounds! If you’re a member of that band, you’re just a Wing, and you can’t fly. You need two wings for that. It’s stupid, Jess.”
She glances at the clock and he knows she’s got an early day tomorrow, so he’s not offended when instead of arguing-and he likes arguing with her-she just says, “Uh-huh, Nick.”
It doesn’t feel like a proper victory when she gives in. So Nick scowls and Jess shakes her head at him and orders another Sea Breeze, which she knows he hates making because the grapefruit juice is all the way in the back of the fridge and he has to bend over to get it. When he stands up and turns around, she looks at the ceiling far too quickly and he feels better about making her the fussy drink.
That is, until That Song starts playing.
“Oh, hell no,” Nick says, wheeling in place and nearly sending cranberry juice everywhere. “I broke that button on purpose.”
“He’s a paying customer,” Jess says.
Nick glares at the man by the jukebox. “I don’t care if he’s a paying customer or not, there will be no Neil Diamond. Not in this bar! Not on Nick Miller’s watch.”
“I really don’t understand what your problem with Neil is,” Jess says, and starts to sing along because of course Jessica Day knows all of the words to Sweet Caroline. Jessica Day knows all of the words to every song Nick hates, after all, and most of those songs are made up. At least, that’s what he tells her.
Sometimes it’s hard being the Grumpy Roommate when you’re faced with her, even if she’s supposed to be the Loft Troll, okay?
But it’s not hard to be grumpy in the face of Neil Diamond. Nick hates Neil Diamond, but he hates Sweet Caroline more. He hates the poppy chord progressions and the way Sweet Caroline builds and then everybody in the bar is shouting it by the end. It’s the worst Neil Diamond song, and he’s going to do something about it. So he lifts the bar top and strides across the bar, heading for the dark-haired stranger still standing in front of the jukebox. “That song’s restricted,” he says because he’s mad and Neil’s already singing about touching hands and it means the chorus will be happening any second now. “So I need to get around you to unplug the jukebox.”
“Excuse me?” Neil Diamond Fan-who is tall, oh, god, he’s really, really tall and he’s broader at the shoulders than all of Nick even if Nick were standing with his arms spread wide, and that looks like a lot of muscle rippling under his USMC T-shirt-asks.
But Nick’s never been one to back down from a fight, or so he tells himself (in truth maybe he runs from fights all the time and it’s Jess who never backs down), so he swallows, hard, and says, “That song isn’t allowed in this bar.”
Neil Diamond Fan’s got the squarest jaw Nick has ever seen. “It’s on the playlist.”
“Yeah, and I broke that button on purpose, so-”
Neil Diamond Fan cracks his knuckles, and Nick’s eyes fly open wide. He’s heard jet engines quieter than the rumbling of the bones in the knuckles briefly coming apart and releasing bubbles in the synovial fluid between them. Neil Diamond Fan, however, doesn’t react. Instead, he juts his chin at Nick. “You got a problem with the King, moron?”
“Hey,” Jess, who has apparently followed Nick across the bar, says indignantly. “That’s way harsh! And Neil Diamond isn’t the King, Elvis is.”
“He’s the King if I say he’s the King.”
“And what makes you the expert, Mr…big, Marine-y guy?” Jess asks, clearly losing her steam in the middle of what had probably been a really lame insult in the first place.
“Jess, maybe we should leave the big, ah, the big fella alone with the King,” Nick says.
Neil Diamond Fan sneers. He’s really good at it. Nick’s almost jealous.
But yeah, Jess and fights and backing down, not something that will ever happen, so she steps around Nick and in front of him, indignation propelling her. She’s scarily strong when she does that, not that Nick will ever tell her that (or maybe he will, he does a lot of stupid things when Jess is involved, and it’s usually her fault). “Elvis is way more popular, though Neil Diamond does have a certain flair and could probably be considered music royalty-”
“Traitor,” Nick hisses at her.
“-but c’mon, dude, it’s Elvis. The King. The King of Rock and Roll, twenty number one albums and-”
Neil Diamond Fan abruptly grimaces and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I went all the way across L.A. to sit and listen to Diamond, and instead, I find another couple just like them. It figures. It really figures.”
“What are you talking about, them?” Jess asks, curiosity winning out over her annoyance. “Who are them?”
She sounds a little too curious for Nick’s comfort. Despite his total terror of Neil Diamond Fan, he nearly starts the ‘let’s talk about boundaries and strangers’ lecture he’s given nine or twenty times now, but then he meets Neil Diamond Fan’s eyes, and he recognizes that resignation and anger. It’s…almost like looking in a mirror, if he were somehow like half a foot taller and a hell of a lot bulkier.
Suddenly, Neil Diamond’s not bad, though Nick still loathes the “touching hands” line and the fact that, you know, it’s about somebody named Caroline.
“You know,” he says, “that jukebox also has Cherry, Cherry on it.”
Neil Diamond Fan squints. “Is this a trick?”
“Nah, man, just having a bad night and taking it out on strangers and we’ll get out of your way.” Nick practically has to pick Jess up and carry her across the bar to get her away from the scary Marine, who’s a little less terrifying now that Nick understands the curmudgeon-y thing he’s got going on. It’s like meeting a brother in arms, and maybe Neil Diamond Fan seems to agree because he puts another few quarters in the jukebox and bellies up to the bar a few minutes later. He orders a scotch, which Nick can respect because real men-and Jess, Jess is really good at that, too-drink scotch. The guy even pretends not to hear all of Jess’s crazy theories about who the them the man was talking about could be.
Neil Diamond Fan leaves a tip. It’s not enough to cover for the fact that Nick has to listen to Sweet Caroline four times in a row, but Nick doesn’t mind.
He never sees Neil Diamond Fan again. He doesn’t mind that either. That guy is huge.