A Donation of the Genetic Type
Six milestones in six hundred words. Challenge accepted. Story is AU after about mid-Season Three.
EDIT: I went slightly over. My bad.
After seven months without any real success with a multitude of agencies, she was feeling pretty down. It wasn't that she'd really held any delusions of grandeur when it came to her situation as it appeared to the agencies: a single woman, late thirties, working 60+ hours a week - not exactly the most ideal situation in which to place a child. But still, that didn't change the fact that she wanted - maybe even desperately wanted - to be a mother.
So that night when she's lying on the floor in Jack's office telling him that she's really, truly given up and accepted her evolution into spinster cat-lady, she's taken aback when he offers her something that she'd honestly never seriously considered.
"You want to be my baby daddy?" she says incredulously.
He scowls at her, in his own particular way. "I wouldn't quite put it that way. I will supply you with the requisite genetic material. The rest is up to you."
Eleven days later she is in the doctor's office, being unceremoniously implanted with her boss's sperm.
When the fourth test in a row reads positive, she erupts into tears out of sheer delight.
She bursts into his office, with a smile as bright as the sun stretched across her face.
He arches an eyebrow at her, and she grins even wider in return.
"Congrats, Lemon," he tells her, before he brings her in for a quick hug.
Against his chest he can hear her whisper, "Thank you."
At thirty-nine weeks, he makes her an offer that truly takes her by surprise (and she'd thought she'd gotten over most of the surprises in this extremely unorthodox situation).
"Really?" she says softly, after a long silence passes between them. They are both sitting in her apartment, he in his past-six pm tux and she in the comfiest pair of maternity pants she could find.
He shrugs at her, swirling the scotch in his glass with a twirl of his hand. "I can imagine it would be hard to be in the delivery room alone. If you'd like some support, you've got it. I've got a pretty firm grip," he says, with a twinkle in his blue eyes.
"I'd like that," she replies, genuinely touched.
"No cursing my name, though," he admonishes, giving her a mock-stern look.
"I promise," she answers, and they clink their glasses together, his scotch and her apple juice.
She knows she promised not to curse his name, but it's hard when there's another living creature attempting to bursts forth from your own womb, like some sort of demented version of Alien. She clutches his hand tightly, breathing hard, and though she rues the day he was born, she's never felt quite as much affection for her friend as she does right now.
He leaves when her son is born, telling her that it's an important bonding moment for them. He tells her what a great job she's done, and kisses the infant lightly on the forehead as he goes.
At his fifth birthday party, James Francis Lemon lights up at the sight of a present from his uncle Jack. He smiles up at the man across the table from him, and rips into the gift with sheer delight. It's a tiny model of one of those old space shuttles, and he can't help the squeal of joy that escapes his lips.
"The space shuttle! Thanks Uncle Jack!" he exclaims, jumping down from his seat and rushing over to give his uncle a hug.
Jack lifts the boy up into his lap, smiling down at his best friend's son. "You're welcome, James."
And from across the table, Liz smiles at him and mouths a thank you that resonates far beyond the toy shuttle in her son's small hands.