"I LOOK LIKE AN EYESORE, DON'T I?"

Sam looked up from where he was playing Solitaire to see Jen wearing a green dress underneath a black blazer, her hair pulled into a respectable bun and glasses perched on her nose. She hadn't worn those clothes coming into work, so he assumed she had gotten changed in her office.

"You look nice," he replied, carefully moving back to his computer, pretending like he hadn't been shirking his duties, "Big day today. Gonna win the case?"

She sighed, looking down at herself. "Not looking like this I'm not."

He shifted around in his seat, folding his hands together and smiling at the younger woman. "You're gonna be fine. Look, they're not gonna care about the dress you wear, they're gonna care about how you do in court, what you say, how you say it. You're gonna do great. Now go on, keep your head up, you got this."

She sighed, smoothing down the folds of the dress. "I had worn this to be confident. I tend to feel a lot more powerful when I'm green."

Sam didn't know quite what to make of that, so he just smiled encouragingly and watched as she nodded towards him and made her way to the door, opening it before pausing, taking a deep breath, and heading out, her head held high.

Nodding to himself, Sam glanced over at the paperwork he had to do, then over to his game of Solitaire.

No one ever said he had the greatest work ethic.

As he went back to his game, happy to just be sitting in the quiet, playing a game that is solely meant for one person, his phone buzzed, interrupting the flow he had been getting himself into.

He sighed and slid over towards it, raising an eyebrow when he saw that he was getting a call from Rhett. Strange as Steve had made it very clear he didn't want his boyfriend anywhere near the alluring presence of his much more superior best friend. Steve's words, not Sam's, obviously.

"Hey, man," Sam greeted, because he was a true friend, and true friends don't try to steal their friend's partners, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Hey," Rhett greeted, much too happy to be genuine, "Listen, Steve punched a Nazi and I'm gonna need to take him to his apartment to calm down, but Nicky's going through a really rough time right now and he can't be alone, I'm really sorry to ask, but you can just stay with him, remind him that he isn't alone?"

Sam was already grabbing his jacket and his keys, rushing out of the building and locking the door behind him, reminding himself to text Jen to explain why he ran out with the computer still on and cards on his desk.

"Yeah, I'll be there," he promised, listening to the sounds of Steve cursing in the background, yelling in the way he gets when he's truly upset, words failing and starts of sentences coming out but with no endings, "Good luck with him. I wanna say take him to a gym, let him punch out his feelings."

"Good plan, I'll find a place. Good luck with Nicky, he won't really be a handful since I'm sure you've dealt with worse," Rhett said, and it was in such a casual tone that Sam had to wonder just how much he'd dealt with.

"Talk to you later," Sam finished, hanging up and shoving his phone into his jacket pocket.

Looks like he was headed to Brooklyn.

º º º

"Knock-knock, princess, you awake?"

It could never be said that Sam always knew what to say, he tended to default into lightly poking fun before fully immersing himself into being the nurturing soul that he had become over time, something he was proud of, though refused to be exploited by.

There was no response, and that made him suspicious. He locked the door behind him and made his way to the couch, checking to make sure Nicky wasn't lying down. His second stop was the bathroom, calming down when it opened easily and revealed the empty room.

So all that was left was the man's room.

He paused before reaching for the doorknob. Nicky hadn't knocked when he took care of him, but he wasn't sure if the circumstances were the same. So, after much debating, he knocked lightly on the door.

"Hey," he called out, much kinder this time, "It's Sam. Can I come in?"

There wasn't an answer.

Pressing his ear against the door, Sam strained to listen, but there was nothing, not even white noise or the sound of anything at all. Just nothing. It was unnerving, to say the least.

Figuring that, if Nicky really wanted him away, he would have called out, Sam opened the door, surprised to find it unlocked, and stepped inside, looking around.

He first caught sight of the computers, which were all turned off and dark, papers strewn about on the desk, but he refrained from looking at those, figuring that it would be illegal for him to be prying on what he assumed were patient documents. Turning to the right, he found Nicky curled up in a ball on top of his sheets, shivering against the cold of his room but doing nothing to help himself, his eyes screwed shut.

With a small sigh, Sam reached out to tug the blankets over Nicky, but the man pulled away from them, shaking his head, still closing his eyes. "No."

"It's freezing in here," Sam argued, tugging at the comforter, and Nicky practically whined, glaring at him as he opened his eyes, and Sam could only stare.

The man looked like he had been crying all night, his eyes puffy and red, rubbed raw. It looked almost painful for him to be opening his eyes and they were trained at Sam with an almost pure hatred, and it sent him backing away, guilt blooming in his chest, despite him not having done a single thing wrong.

"I just wanna feel something," Nicky spat, and his words were slurred, like he was still on the verge of tears, even after he had spent all his energy.

Sam was caught off guard by his outburst, immediately thinking back to how he had heard those exact words coming from Steve, begging Sam, or really anyone, to make him feel something beyond everything in his head. They had been words he had heard multiple times, so to hear them coming from Nicky was like pulling the rug from under his feet.

The younger man laughed bitterly, catching his expression. "I know, right? Right, I have to steal a line from a guy to figure out what the hell is wrong with me, can you believe that? I figure out people for a living, but I don't even know what the hell I'm feeling until someone has to spell it out for themselves. I'm not even a person, am I? I'm just a copy and paste of everyone around me. Right down to my name."

Sam shook his head, sitting down on the bed. "So you couldn't put it into words, it doesn't mean you're making up how you're feeling. You wouldn't be this upset if you were."

Nicky scoffed, and it was one of the harshest sounds Sam had ever heard come out of his mouth. "Of course I'm not making it up, I'm not a hypochondriac, or whatever the mental equivalent of that is, I dunno, I'm not a genius," he sniffed, "But I don't know anything about myself, it's gotten to the point where Rhett knows more about me than I do."

Sam shook his head. "No one knows you better than yourself."

"I don't know myself at all," he said, speaking slowly, his voice filling the room, "I don't."

Sam pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. "Is that why you're torturing yourself? Freeze to death, you don't have to think about this?"

Nicky shifted around in his bed the same way Johnny had, scrunching up his blankets and digging his heels into the sheets, looking like he wanted to crawl out of his skin.

Sam didn't think it was fair of him to compare the man's movements to Johnny's, but Nicky had gotten it into his head that he based everything he did on others, so he couldn't help but see the connection.

"What's gotten into you?" Sam sighed, moving to sit down, forcing Nicky into a sitting position, glaring at him.

"Doesn't matter," the younger man spat.

Sam scoffed, pointing towards Nicky's eyes. "The hell that doesn't matter, were you crying all night?"

"Why do you care?" Nicky demanded, and his voice cracked, "It's got nothing to do with you."

"I'm your friend, it has everything to do with me!" Sam shouted, and he didn't understand why he was shouting, only that Nicky also was.

"If you were my friend, you'd leave me alone!" Nicky cried, furiously wiping away his tears, and Sam grabbed his hands before he could do more damage to his eyes, his cheeks now sporting red blots from where his sleeve had irritated them.

"Because I'm your friend, I'm not leaving you alone," Sam said, tightening his grip around Nicky's hands as the man struggled to pull away, "Look at me. Look at me."

Nicky shook his head, continuing to stare at his sheets, tears freely falling at this point, shoulders wracked with sobs as he struggled against Sam's grip, trying to get away but with nowhere to go, pressed against the corner of the room and his bed.

"Look at me," Sam repeated, and it wasn't the harsh tone he had started with, but the kind tone his father used to use whenever Sam had gotten too upset; it was an understanding tone that never failed to get what it wanted.

Sure enough, Nicky raised his head up to look at him, confused and in a kind of pain Sam couldn't even begin to identify, the younger man barely able to keep his eyes open past his swollen eyes and stinging tears.

Releasing his hands carefully, trusting he wouldn't move, Sam sighed softly and reached up to wipe the tears away, his calloused fingers feather light against Nicky's smooth skin, and that only made him cry harder, hands coming up to just hold Sam's wrists, his head bowing.

"Look at me," Sam whispered, "Come on, look at me."

Nicky raised his head and Sam moved so he was cupping his head in his hands, thumb grazing his cheeks softly, and he looked him right in the eye, leaning forward so Nicky couldn't find a way to avoid his gaze.

"Whatever happened," he began, "Whatever got you into this, you're gonna get through it, okay? You don't have to tell me what's got into you, but you need to tell someone, 'cause keeping it all bottled up inside isn't healthy, I mean look at you now."

Nicky ripped himself out of Sam's grip, turning towards the corner he was pressed against, effectively shutting Sam out, the older man refraining from making a frustrated sound; whatever was going on with Nicky, getting upset with him wasn't going to fix things.

"Why are you so upset?" Sam asked, and he winced at how tired he sounded; the last thing Nicky needed was to think that Sam was giving up on him, too tired to actually care.

"Because I'm twenty-six years old and I know more about the guy who brings me my mail than I know about myself," Nicky spat, whirling around to glare at him, "Because I have three PhD's, but it's not like I know shit about things that really matter, I didn't even know something that defined me until I had to hear it from the war criminal that knows where I like to put my groceries."

His words were slurred and he reached up to rub at his eyes, his movements harsh and his teeth clenched shut, and Sam rushed to stop him, holding his hands again, wincing at the fresh red marks on Nicky's already abused eyes, the younger man mumbling incoherently to himself, clenching his eyes periodically, like remembering an uncomfortable situation and wanting to be rid of it.

"How'm I supposed to know people if I don't know myself?" Nicky demanded, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm supposed to be a genius, but I know shit about things that really matter..."

Sam had a feeling that he had heard these words somewhere before, and was repeating them like an anchor, but the kind that drowned more than it grounded. He just sighed as he looked at the man for a moment, still unsure as to why this had gotten into his head in the first place.

"You know," he finally said, "It's 'cause of your PhD's and ability to have everything together that I forget you're actually twenty-six."

Nicky furrowed his brow, clearly not expecting that response, but Sam just went on, continuing to hold his hands, not trusting the man to let go just yet.

"Nicky," he sighed, "You're twenty-six. You're not supposed to know anything about anything, and especially not about yourself. People your age are still struggling to get their lives together, but you have your own successful practice and know a hell of a lot more than some of the people I used to work for who're more than twice your age."

Nicky shook his head. "Three PhD's before I turned thirty, Sam...I don't count with most people my age, I don't even really count for people your age."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I love the modesty, it's a good look on you." Nicky breathed a laugh at that, and Sam smiled; progress.

"Look," he said, "I've never met a person who said 'I know myself' and actually did. I've met people twice your age who still don't know themselves, and that's just the way it goes. You're twenty-six. You have time. And an unfair advantage."

Nicky scoffed softly, staring down at his hands which were still covered by Sam's, not saying anything, just staring. Whatever was on his mind, it was clearly much more believable than whatever Sam had to say, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try and fight it.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," Nicky sighed, and Sam just looked at him; there wasn't anything for him to say.

"Okay. C'mere," Sam sighed, reaching out and pulling Nicky towards him, the younger man immediately curling up against his chest, gripping his shirt and closing his eyes, taking deep breaths as his face contorted once more, fighting tears.

Sam was used to comforting a lot of people, always being a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen, but he rarely gave hugs beyond the comforting ones right before people left. The longest hug he'd given was to one of the older veterans who came to support. He had stood up to hug him and the man clung onto him for much longer than expected, but he just kept patting his back and hugging him until he was okay enough to let go, because his father always taught him to put others before himself; his father always tried to hug him more than he ever did let him.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that Sam realized Nicky had fallen asleep. He looked down at the man and saw he was fast asleep, looking utterly exhausted. With a sigh, he shifted so they were both lying down, Nicky still curled against his chest. He might as well get some sleep as well, seeing that he probably wasn't going to leave any time soon.

Nicky had helped him out. The least he could do was return the favor.

º º º

Nicky was still asleep, but had moved away from Sam sometime during a more fitful dream, letting the older man climb out and greet Rhett who was grading papers in the living room.

"Hey," the younger man greeted, standing up, "How'd it go, is he okay? Are you okay?"

Sam licked his lips. "I don't know...I mean, I'm okay, thanks, but Nicky...you said that he was worried about people leaving him?"

Rhett nodded. "That tends to be what he worries about most. It's complicated, he never asks people to stay, says he doesn't want them to, but he's got this thing. A lot of people have left him, it hasn't really been the healthiest experience."

Sam pursed his lips, nodding as he sat down on one of the couches, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. After a moment, he spoke, "That wasn't why he was crying."

Rhett looked up from his papers again, having sat down as well, and frowned loudly, sitting up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Sam breathed, "He was crying because he doesn't know anything about himself and, for some reason, that terrifies him. He quoted something Steve said because it related to him, then started shouting about how he had to have someone else say something to figure out how he was feeling. He...he thinks that his entire existence revolves so much around other people that he doesn't have his own unique person."

Rhett just stared at him, mind elsewhere as he tried to understand exactly what Sam was telling him, the older man unable to do anything but wait to hear what he had to say; Rhett knew more about Nicky at the end of it all; maybe that was the problem.

Finally, the blond sighed. "He's never—What did he mean by that?"

Sam couldn't hide his surprise; Nicky had never told Rhett. Shaking his head, he shrugged. "I have no idea. I mean, it's what it sounds like, really."

Rhett rubbed a hand over his mouth, shaking his head to himself. "Okay. Thank you, I'll...I'll try to...I don't know."

Sam simply sighed, leaning back in his seat. "None of us do."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

"The romcom is starting" my ass. But actually, now that we've cleared up a really, really crucial part of Nicky's person, we're now gonna get into the fluffy fun bits, then the climax, then the aftermath, then the end. Yeah, easier said than done, but last chapter had Sam leaning against a doorframe, so I filled that quota for myself.

Anyways! Yeah, Nicky is really sad and this really plays into the fact that, in every story I've written him in, he's portrayed differently. In Lonely Hearts, he was very happy, but he was also incredibly insightful. In Past Lives, he was a lot sadder and simply more understanding, not necessarily as insightful for Rhett. In Broken Lullaby, he's a lot more mature. It all depends on who he's with and what he can do for that person. But who is he to himself? Who is he really? I have no idea and neither does he.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!