"I'm done."
Vaughn glanced up from his phone to an irate Clarke, more than a bit perplexed by her declaration. "With the Hugh's wedding cake? Damn Danvers you work fast, we just got that order in five minutes ago."
Getting that order added to her plate had been exactly what pushed Clarke over the edge that morning. She was the only person working today: Stacy was out with mono, Jeremy called off because his cat was sick, Ellen took a week off to go realign her chakras, and Frankie went on a five-minute break two hours ago and hadn't come back. Clarke was already behind on baking and decorating when Vaughn walked by and slapped the ticket for that cake on her workstation. Her recent quest to get her life together post-breakup had her cleaning up every aspect of her life - including the hot mess of a bakery she hated working at. And Vaughn had delivered the final straw that cost him his only reliable employee.
"No, jackass - I'm done working for you. I quit." Undoing the strings to the Sweetums apron tied around her waist, Clarke tossed the uniform at the bakery's owner.
Vaughn instantly paled, "Woah, woah, let's talk about this Clarke. You can't quit. This place needs you."
The fed-up woman smirked at his statement, "You may need me, but I sure as hell don't need you." Flipping off her former boss, Clarke stormed out, passing several bewildered customers waiting at the counter. The rest of the day was wide open for Clarke - a feeling she was unaccustomed to. So, she decided to bother the only friend she knew would be available in the middle of a workday.
It was noon when Clarke walked into the bar - much to Nick's surprise. Of the two customers he had: one was passed out in a booth and the other was silently sobbing into a martini. No words were exchanged when his newest customer flipped down on a barstool and gestured for a drink. Silently, Nick slid a beer across the bar to Clarke, not pushing for an explanation but more than a bit curious about why she was drinking at noon instead of baking pastries and decorating cakes.
"I quit."
"You quit?"
"I motherfucking quit, Miller and it feels amazing." Clarke gave Nick a relaxed smile before downing half her beer. It had been ages since she felt this free, so needed to relish this moment before she started thinking about all of the things her paycheck paid for.
"Well, I'm proud of you Danvers - way to stick it to the man."
Clarke tapped her bottle against the one Nick had just grabbed, then downed the rest of the liquid. "God, I'm going to regret quitting, aren't I?"
Nick laughed, "You're going to regret it so much."
One day was all it took for regret to settle in. Job hunting sucked. Clarke glared at the resume she'd been editing, wondering what the point was when no one bothered to read it anyways. All afternoon, she'd been applying to an obscene number of jobs and only three would probably get back to her. What was the point of graduating from a fancy culinary school? She should've become a doctor like her stupid, perfect older brother - he never had a problem finding a job with his degree. Stuffing a few more pizza rolls in her mouth, Clarke begrudgingly submitted another application for a position she was overqualified for.
Why in the world did she quit before finding a new job?
"Hey Clarke?" Jess' voice called through the front door, "If I wanted to hire a stripper...where perchance would I do that?"
Now that was a question Clarke never expected Jessica Day to ask her. She peeled herself off the couch and tossed her laptop unceremoniously onto the cushion - it was already cracked (just like her phone), so she didn't bother to handle it with care. Undoing the deadbolt, Clarke held out her hand for Jess' phone.
"Schmidt uses this place all the time." Clarke informed her friend, handing over the phone with the website now pulled up.
Jess looked a bit grossed out, "All the time?"
"Don't ask - the less you know, the better." Heeding the advice, Jess busied herself with scrolling through the website. "Anything else you need help with? My schedule is wide open and I could use a distraction." Sure, she could keep mindlessly apply to jobs and stuffing pizza rolls in her mouth - or she could offer up her services to help plan a party for Schmidt.
"Do you know how to make edibles?"
Clarke scoffed, "Did you really just ask if I know how to make edibles?"
"Oh no, I'm sorry - I didn't mean to assume or anything it's just-" Jess stuttered out, before Clarke cut her off.
"Of course, I know how to make them. Who did you think you were talking to? My edibles are legendary."
Jess shouldn't have been surprised. Clarke Danvers was a woman of many talents: edibles extraordinaire, an adult film star, a former stripper, an accomplished baker, and an excellent margarita maker (only one of those looked good on a resume though). Pulling out her secret stash, Clarke cracked her neck and started gathering up the ingredients she was going to need in order to make her infamous Get Baked brownies. This recipe would have everyone on cloud nine after a bite or two, especially if Nick Miller's patented Bro Juice made an appearance.
........................
Everyone was gathered in front of a sketchy looking school bus that had a birthday banner hung from its windows. Clarke was already munching on a brownie. If she was going to spend time with Schmidt's other friends, then she wasn't going to be sober for it. Nick was keeping his distance from the rest of them in an effort to keep his new girlfriend from thinking he's lame, so Clarke occupied herself by chatting with the blonde principal that Jess had added to the mix.
"So, you make these yourself?"
"I'm pretty talented."
Tonya took a bite and eyed up Clarke, "I bet you are."
Clarke smirked, "I'd be happy to give you a demonstration sometime..."
Winston looked between the two women baffled, "What is happening right now?"
"Hush Winnie, we're having a moment." Clarke handed him a brownie to keep him occupied, before turning back to Tonya.
A chorus of happy birthdays drew the brunette's attention to where Schmidt and Jess were walking out of the building. Soon, everyone was piling inside the 'party' bus to get the night started. With a cup of Bro Juice in hand, Clarke got comfortable in the seat next to Nick and his new girlfriend. Clarke was in the middle of trying to talk over Nick (who was doing his best to keep Julia and Clarke from talking about him), when Jess scrambled over.
"We have a problem with the stripper."
"Is she lacking a heart of gold?" Clarke teased her, having heard from Winston about the phone call he sat in on.
"He is very nice."
Clarke snorted, "Oh shit, they sent a guy - that's hilarious."
"Can you please do Schmidt a teeny tiny favor?"
"No."
Jess frowned, "You don't even know what he wants."
"Trust me I know and I'm not doing it."
"Please, Clarke - it's his birthday."
"Fine - but only the bare minimum. Nothing fancy." She relented, sucking down the last drops of her drink.
"Deal!" Jess threw her arms excitedly around Clarke, "You're the best."
The things you do for friends, Clarke thought as she took off her jacket. It was a simple routine from her early days in the club. Back when she was timid to show off too much skin, but in desperate need of money to cover tuition. Now it wasn't about not having the confidence to show off; it was about knowing that three of her closest male friends were watching and Clarke knew they'd be weird about it. Nick would spend weeks avoiding eye contact, Schmidt would make sexual comments for days, and Winston would make way too much eye contact with her boobs. Her strip tease got them from point A to point B. Nick threw Clarke's clothes at her when the bus came to a stop in the woods. She slipped back into the many layers, noticing that a new one had been included - Nick's coat. It made her laugh, but she pulled it on anyways, knowing that she'd probably get cold. The night quickly turned into a blur of alcohol and dancing after Clarke got off the bus. This was the most fun she'd had in a while - Jess knew how to throw together a last-minute party.
Sometime after the dancing and drinking, Clarke was back onto the bus so that they could go to some posh bar downtown. The mood took a sour turn when Schmidt's douchey friend, Benjamin, started harassing Jess. The guys were quick to come to the rescue, but it took Clarke a minute to carefully move out from under Tonya, who had been passed out on her shoulder for the past five minutes.
"Take your small penis and go bother someone else, douchebag."
If Benjamin stopped mouthing off, he might have avoided taking an elbow to the face. Surprisingly, it wasn't Clarke that got physical - no one would have thought that it would be Nick's new girlfriend that ended up starting a fight. Everyone watched in shock as Julia launched herself at him, causing Benjamin to fall backwards into the bus driver and jerking steering wheel. Everyone onboard lurched forward when the bus collided with construction equipment that was on the side of the road.
"Who are you?" Nick's eyes were wide as he stared at his girlfriend.
Winston nudged him, "She's like Clarke 2.0"
"If you don't have sex with her tonight...I will." Clarke whispered to Nick.
The night went downhill from there. With the bus out of commission, cabs came to pick up the partygoers and take them home. No one was really in the mood to go to a bar after what had just happened. Jess and Schmidt offered to wait for the tow truck and Nick was busy making out with Julia, so that left Clarke and Winston to split the cab fare.
They all thought their crazy night ended there - however, it only got wilder once the cab pulled away.
......................
All of the roommates had gathered for a deliberation in the morning. Clarke may not have lived in the loft, but she had been invited to weigh in on the matter.
"Fifty dollars in the douchebag jar?"
A chorus of agreements range out. Originally, Winston had suggested a much higher amount, but they all agreed to a discounted rate given that it was Schmidt's birthday. The majority rule in the loft had declared that the number was reasonable in spite of Schmidt's many protests.
"Think about what you did Schmidt."
Schmidt let out a sigh, "Fifty dollars - I've never put fifty dollars in the douche bag jar." Which was impressive considering the long list of infractions leading up to now. Countless fashion choices, personalize condoms, and douchey phrases - yet none of them topped the most recent incident. Not even pulling the birthday card could excuse trying to kiss Jess.
It took a bit of prodding from Jess, Nick, and Winston before Schmidt finally stuffed a fifty dollar bill inside the overflowing jar. The friends cheered for him, but Clarke couldn't bring herself to join in on the merriment - it would have been more than a fifty if anyone else knew what happened last night.
12:34 am. No good decision is made after midnight. You'll thank yourself if you reconsider your decisions once you wake up from a long night of sleep and have a clear head. Clarke had learned that lesson a long time ago after a string of mistakes that got her kicked out of a sorority.
Staring at the phone, wishing it would ring was pathetic. Those were the kind of girls Clarke always made fun of; the girls who were either desperate for attention or too chicken to make a move. Yet, here she was, buzzed from a night of partying and hoping that her ex-boyfriend was thinking about her at 12:34am. When did she get so lame? Wasn't this supposed to be a new chapter for Clarke Danvers? A point in her life where she cleaned up her act and started getting her shit together.
"You're better than this." Clarke chastised herself. "No man is worth losing sleep over - especially not one that dumped you."
Everything would be better after some sleep. The woman stood up from the couch and let her gaze wander to the closed bedroom door. Would things really be better in the morning? It would just be another day of frustrating job hunts and scrolling through self-improvement posts on Instagram.
A knock at the door paused the negative thoughts. "Can I come in?"
She wasn't the only person down in the dumps tonight. Schmidt had the same expression that her nephew did when she backed over his bike on accident. Even though she'd originally planned to go to bed, it was obvious that her friend needed someone to talk to. Clarke fell into her usual spot beside Schmidt on the couch as she waited for him to get whatever was bothering him off his chest.
"I messed up, Clarke."
"It can't be that bad."
He gave her a look, "It's pretty bad."
Clarke raised an eyebrow, "Worse than me contemplating a late night text to my ex?"
"I tried to kiss Jess."
Clarke pulled out the throw pillow that had been wedged behind her back and whacked him with it, "Idiot. What were you thinking?"
"She was just being so nice to me - I'm not used to that."
He was silenced by another whack of the pillow. "If a friend does something nice for you, you say thank you - not try to shove your tongue down their throat."
"Very aware of the fact that I messed up - thank you." Schmidt crossed his arms, "I'm the dumbest boy around. Not all of us can be as confident and self-assured as you - some of us used to be insecure fat kids trying desperately to get people to like them."
His words softened up Clarke, "I didn't know you back then, but if I had, I would've punched whoever made you feel like that."
Schmidt stared at her fondly, "I know you would have." He took a second to clear his throat, "Want to talk about why you almost booty called your ex?"
"My 'confident and self-assured' ass has been feeling precarious lately. I'm twenty-nine, I'm single, and I just quit my job. This is a bit of a low point for me." She laughed, but it was a bitter one.
Schmidt patted her leg absentmindedly, "I've known you long enough to know that you'll bounce back. You're stubborn as hell, Clarke - too stubborn to let a few bumps in the road stop you from kicking ass."
Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in her system or maybe it was the fact that, that had been exactly what she needed to hear after having such a shitty week. Either way, Clarke thanked him in a way that she had specifically stated is not how you thank a friend. Neither of them pulled away for a minute, coexisting as a mess of hands and lips pressing against each other.
Eventually they both had to come up for air. After a moment of hesitation, Clarke stood up and held out a hand, "This is platonic, okay? Just two friends helping each other turn around a bad night."
Good decisions aren't made after midnight. They both knew this, but Schmidt took her hand regardless. A one-night stand with a friend surely couldn't go wrong. As long as it stayed between them, everything would be fine.