30 Rock Fic: TGS (The God-awful Spectacles)
Title: TGS (The God-awful Spectacles)
Author: lookatmoiye7
Rating: PG
Characters: Liz, Jack, minor others
Notes: For omnomnom17. Because she’s an awesome combination beta/cheerleader/sister who’s always willing to Liz Lemon it up with me.
Summary: All she's doing is standing in her office, eating a cake-sized cupcake (which might actually be a cake-cake, but she's not entirely willing to admit to anything, yet) and giving her glasses a well-needed clean when they fall clear apart in her hands.
~
All she's doing is standing in her office, eating a cake-sized cupcake (which might actually be a cake-cake, but she's not entirely willing to admit to anything, yet) and giving her glasses a well-needed clean when they fall clear apart in her hands. It takes her a moment to process the fact that they are now in two pieces when only one is required, and, once she does, she finds herself quickly becoming permeated with despair, because they didn't even break in a place that's possible to fix them with tape.
Getting new glasses is a pain in the ass. People who don't wear them don't quite realise how much is involved in the entire process-they don't understand, they don't know, they haven't experienced the same horrors as her fellow bespectacled kin have. They don't know how expensive it is, or how long it takes to find decent frames, or how hard you have to stare at letters too small even for a microscope and then lie about knowing the answer, or how creepy her optometrist is (somehow, he always seems to accidentally touch her boobs, although last time it was more of a grab-and-squeeze than a mere graze).
The point is, Liz doesn't have the time for it. It's Friday morning, and Pete is sick, and Tracy's decided that Angelina Jolie is going to adopt him, and Jenna told her yesterday that she's seriously considering becoming a nun (except without the wimple, because her hair is her most important quality and if people can't see it, then who will sleep with her?). Not only that, but Jack's been hounding her for days about introducing him to Megan Fox, who Liz met accidentally at Subway (Megan herself hadn't been eating-she'd been quick to dispel that rumour), so she invited her to this evening's taping and is supposed to orchestrate a meeting between her and Jack.
And, she can't even wear her contacts because someone new moved in down the hall and they have a cat, and when she left her door open to dispel some of the smoke after burning her instant pasta, it ran in and peed all over her last pair, before shedding all over her new shirt (well, old, but she found it under the TV and it only has one stain, which beats all of her other options at the moment because her washing machine is broken) and knocking her coffee all over her hair (thankfully, she's managed to disguise most of that with a strategically-placed headband).
"Lemon." Jack's voice interrupts her stream of consciousness, forcing her out of her avoidance-fuelled reverie and back into the real world, and she's momentarily struck by how violent her desire for his blood can be (not in a creepy, sparkly vampire type way, just in a normal, psycho-killer type way). "Tell me, do you actually own a mirror?"
She doesn't want to fall for it, but her lack of vision makes her exceptionally vulnerable, so she does, anyway. "What? Of course I do."
"Oh. At least if you didn't you would have had an excuse." He wanders in further (she thinks-well, his aftershave seems to be getting closer, anyway). "Why do you look like someone just killed your refrigerator?"
"My glasses just broke."
"Oh. How many fingers am I holding up?"
If she squints, she can kind-of make out... She glares at him. "One. A rude one."
"What about now?"
"Same, but on the other hand." He makes an amused type of noise, and she sighs. "Stop playing with me, Jack. I don't have time to fool around. I'm really busy, and... my glasses just broke! Aw, man! Betsy was like my favourite pair ever."
"Please don't tell me you name your glasses."
Oh, right. That is one of the more ridiculous things she's unintentionally owned up to. "I... don't name my glasses?" She’s not very convincing.
"Honestly, Lemon, with that miraculous ability, it's a wonder you didn't get any acting jobs. And that your love-life is so lacklustre."
"Hey, hold on, there, Sparky! All is not bleak! There is a new conquest on the horizon!" She feels a bubble of pride form in her chest as she informs him of this, just as she always does when sharing details of her love-life with Jack. Unfortunately, he seems to be the closest thing she has to a friend, so telling him about the Australian guy down the hall that she's been flirting with is only natural. "His name is Wazza."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why go by 'Wazza'? Does he not have a real name which others can address him with?"
"He's Australian," she says.
"I'd stay away from that," he advises, shuddering violently. "After Nicole, I've never been able to go Aussie again. Too many bad memories. All that pavlova..." He looks terrified for a moment, absorbed in horrible memories, and she takes the opportunity to get rid of him.
"Okay, and on that bombshell, you can go away." She nudges him towards the door, narrowly missing a run-in between her leg and the couch. "I need to find my prescription, and then go all the way to Queens to see my creepy, boob-grabbing optometrist, and then, hopefully, get these fixed."
"The wonder that is your life."
"Goodbye, Jack."
"Remember Miss Fox, Lemon. I need this." He points very seriously at her before striding away.
Toofer, Lutz and Frank look at her with interest.
"He's not talking about Megan Fox," she lies, hopefully more effectively than her attempt earlier with Jack. "He's talking about... Negam Fox. His... taxidermist."
They must buy it, because they don't ask her any more questions.
~
Five hours later, she's had the worst, worst day ever. It's official. Megan Fox cancelled, so Jack got all pissy with her. Harrison Ford (Han Solo. HAN FRAKKING SOLO) came in to speak to Jack and she didn't believe it was him so she sent him to the women's bathroom on the fifteenth floor (that had been flooded with excrement) on purpose. Tracy found out about Jenna wanting to be a nun and decided that he was going to be the next Pope, hijacking a news bulletin and going on national television (in costume) to announce that he would take over around the time coinciding with the release of Fat Bitch 3, ensuring maximum publicity. Then Jenna had joined him and started talking about how she was going to be the first female Pope-ess, as long as she could still sleep with men.
Then, after spending far too long doing damage control, Liz had had to go out for lunch because she forgot to bring it, but her usual place was closed so she had to go somewhere new and she couldn't read the menu, so she ended up ordering an anchovy hamburger with anchovy sauce, and anchovies made her barf.
Then, worst of all, when she went back to her apartment after lunch to see if she could find her spare pair of glasses (she did, but they were broken in exactly the same place as her newer ones), she ran into Wazza, who told her, quite happily, that he was so glad she introduced him to her plumber, because they're together now. Together-together.
As well as adding to the suckiness of her day ten-fold, it also triggered something in her mind, and now she's trying really hard not to start thinking about plumbing-slash-gay jokes, particularly since Jack’s just come into her office.
At least, she's pretty sure it's him, because even though she's lying face-down on the floor behind her desk, out of the corner of her (admittedly unreliable) eye she can see a pair of shoes that look far too shiny to be anyone else’s but Jack's.
The feet move closer and she's struck by how pungent the leather is, something she'd never noticed from her favoured vertical position, before wondering if Jack would notice if she borrowed a pair. They’re much fancier than any shoes she’s ever even seen, and if she wore a few extra pairs of thick socks, or lined the shoes themselves with tissue paper, her feet probably wouldn't even move around that much.
"Lemon? What are you doing on the floor?"
"Can I have your shoes?" she asks, except it comes out all muffled.
"My 'shoov'? Is that some kind of televisual term, or simply a word you made up to add to your ever-growing arsenal of non-words you use to make yourself feel witty?"
"No." She tilts her head to the side, and, actually, it's much easier to breathe. "Your shoes. Can I have them?"
"No." He sounds offended.
"Why?"
"Because my feet are delicate and precious and… really, what are you doing on the floor? Did Wazza dump you?"
"No. As if, why would he dump me? I'm a catch. No, you see, I dumped him. Because he... he rides kangaroos and he’s descended from criminals and he doesn't even know how to surf."
"You were never going out with him, were you? And then he started dating someone else. A man."
"How do you do that?" She finally squints up at Jack, who seems ridiculously large-of Death Star-proportions, even-from her angle, and he stares back, Lade GaGa-faced. She sighs. "Okay, fine. He left me for my plumber Lupe and now I'm face-down on the floor of my office because he had a really, really nice ass." She nestles back into the carpet, taking comfort in her own food stains. At least they would never dump her for another man. Or break her glasses.
"I see." Then there's silence.
"That's it? I've told you I’m heartbroken, again, and that’s it?”
"D you want me to buy you ice-cream and let you cry on my shoulder and rant about the unfairness of men and feminine hygiene? Really, Lemon, I'm not a woman."
"The amount of product in your hair says otherwise."
He ignores her, something he's far too good at for her liking. "I'm not here for that. I'm here for something else."
"What?"
He offers her his hand in response. She has a moment where she seriously, definitely more seriously than before, considers knocking him down (she could take him easily-he'd be far too concerned about wrinkling his suit to fight back), grabbing his shoes and making a run for it, but she then realises that would involve actual running, and is therefore impossible. She takes his hand instead, and, in a team effort, they haul her up.
"I'm too good for you," he tells her, watching as she reaches up to straighten her glasses, only to be disenchanted when she remembers they aren't there. (Sometimes, when she's in bed at night, even though she's taken them off she'll feel phantom-glasses still on her face. It's not a completely uncomfortable experience.)
"So you keep saying. Why are you here, anyway? Why aren't you still snubbing me because Megan Fox decided to go to Miley’s Princess Party instead of meet you?”
"Because for once in my life, I am going to be overtly nice. My therapist says it will be good for me to do something relatively selfless, claim ownership of it, and openly receive the good tidings it presents me with."
Liz has to admit it-she's rather impressed. "You're confessing to seeing a therapist? Way to go, Jack."
"Don't get the wrong idea, Lemon. I told you, this isn't a touchy-feely moment."
"So, what is it, then? This selfless thing you're doing." A thought occurs to her and she thinks that if Jack really did what she's thinking, then she might just explode with happiness. "Oh my dog! You didn't buy me the life-sized, voice-activated black Dalek, did you? With real rubber sucker and adjustable eyestalk? Did you?"
"No."
"Oh."
"I got you these." He holds out his hand, and in it is...
"My glasses!" She snatches them off him and shoves them on, revelling in the sudden clarity they bring her. "They're perfect! How did you get my prescription? Actually, I don't want to know." She snatches looks at different things in her office, testing her ability to see. She can. "Thank you, Jack."
"Fascinating," he comments.
"What?" She stares at him, happier than she should be to be able to see every detail of his kind-of-nice, very-blue eyes peering at her. "What is?"
"I feel," he squeezes his hands into fists, and she’s reminded uncomfortably of Darth Vader, "nothing."
"Really, nothing? Should I be more excited? Maybe jump and squeal a little bit?" She tests it out, willing to do pretty much anything for him now that he's restored her sight, but he cringes and pulls back so she stops. "Didn't help?"
"No. Huh." He moves to her door and opens it.
"Jack," she calls, and he turns slightly. "Thank you. Really."
"Still nothing." He leaves.
"Now?"
"No," he calls faintly.
"Damn." She sits down at her desk, revelling in the fact that she can actually see the letters on her keyboard, and picks up a bunch of files to organise them. One of them catches her eye, because it's not related to work in any way, and... "Hey," she calls to her staff, "who tried to get me sign for the porn cable channel?"
Toofer, Lutz and Frank all point at each other.
~
Author: lookatmoiye7
Rating: PG
Characters: Liz, Jack, minor others
Notes: For omnomnom17. Because she’s an awesome combination beta/cheerleader/sister who’s always willing to Liz Lemon it up with me.
Summary: All she's doing is standing in her office, eating a cake-sized cupcake (which might actually be a cake-cake, but she's not entirely willing to admit to anything, yet) and giving her glasses a well-needed clean when they fall clear apart in her hands.
~
All she's doing is standing in her office, eating a cake-sized cupcake (which might actually be a cake-cake, but she's not entirely willing to admit to anything, yet) and giving her glasses a well-needed clean when they fall clear apart in her hands. It takes her a moment to process the fact that they are now in two pieces when only one is required, and, once she does, she finds herself quickly becoming permeated with despair, because they didn't even break in a place that's possible to fix them with tape.
Getting new glasses is a pain in the ass. People who don't wear them don't quite realise how much is involved in the entire process-they don't understand, they don't know, they haven't experienced the same horrors as her fellow bespectacled kin have. They don't know how expensive it is, or how long it takes to find decent frames, or how hard you have to stare at letters too small even for a microscope and then lie about knowing the answer, or how creepy her optometrist is (somehow, he always seems to accidentally touch her boobs, although last time it was more of a grab-and-squeeze than a mere graze).
The point is, Liz doesn't have the time for it. It's Friday morning, and Pete is sick, and Tracy's decided that Angelina Jolie is going to adopt him, and Jenna told her yesterday that she's seriously considering becoming a nun (except without the wimple, because her hair is her most important quality and if people can't see it, then who will sleep with her?). Not only that, but Jack's been hounding her for days about introducing him to Megan Fox, who Liz met accidentally at Subway (Megan herself hadn't been eating-she'd been quick to dispel that rumour), so she invited her to this evening's taping and is supposed to orchestrate a meeting between her and Jack.
And, she can't even wear her contacts because someone new moved in down the hall and they have a cat, and when she left her door open to dispel some of the smoke after burning her instant pasta, it ran in and peed all over her last pair, before shedding all over her new shirt (well, old, but she found it under the TV and it only has one stain, which beats all of her other options at the moment because her washing machine is broken) and knocking her coffee all over her hair (thankfully, she's managed to disguise most of that with a strategically-placed headband).
"Lemon." Jack's voice interrupts her stream of consciousness, forcing her out of her avoidance-fuelled reverie and back into the real world, and she's momentarily struck by how violent her desire for his blood can be (not in a creepy, sparkly vampire type way, just in a normal, psycho-killer type way). "Tell me, do you actually own a mirror?"
She doesn't want to fall for it, but her lack of vision makes her exceptionally vulnerable, so she does, anyway. "What? Of course I do."
"Oh. At least if you didn't you would have had an excuse." He wanders in further (she thinks-well, his aftershave seems to be getting closer, anyway). "Why do you look like someone just killed your refrigerator?"
"My glasses just broke."
"Oh. How many fingers am I holding up?"
If she squints, she can kind-of make out... She glares at him. "One. A rude one."
"What about now?"
"Same, but on the other hand." He makes an amused type of noise, and she sighs. "Stop playing with me, Jack. I don't have time to fool around. I'm really busy, and... my glasses just broke! Aw, man! Betsy was like my favourite pair ever."
"Please don't tell me you name your glasses."
Oh, right. That is one of the more ridiculous things she's unintentionally owned up to. "I... don't name my glasses?" She’s not very convincing.
"Honestly, Lemon, with that miraculous ability, it's a wonder you didn't get any acting jobs. And that your love-life is so lacklustre."
"Hey, hold on, there, Sparky! All is not bleak! There is a new conquest on the horizon!" She feels a bubble of pride form in her chest as she informs him of this, just as she always does when sharing details of her love-life with Jack. Unfortunately, he seems to be the closest thing she has to a friend, so telling him about the Australian guy down the hall that she's been flirting with is only natural. "His name is Wazza."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why go by 'Wazza'? Does he not have a real name which others can address him with?"
"He's Australian," she says.
"I'd stay away from that," he advises, shuddering violently. "After Nicole, I've never been able to go Aussie again. Too many bad memories. All that pavlova..." He looks terrified for a moment, absorbed in horrible memories, and she takes the opportunity to get rid of him.
"Okay, and on that bombshell, you can go away." She nudges him towards the door, narrowly missing a run-in between her leg and the couch. "I need to find my prescription, and then go all the way to Queens to see my creepy, boob-grabbing optometrist, and then, hopefully, get these fixed."
"The wonder that is your life."
"Goodbye, Jack."
"Remember Miss Fox, Lemon. I need this." He points very seriously at her before striding away.
Toofer, Lutz and Frank look at her with interest.
"He's not talking about Megan Fox," she lies, hopefully more effectively than her attempt earlier with Jack. "He's talking about... Negam Fox. His... taxidermist."
They must buy it, because they don't ask her any more questions.
~
Five hours later, she's had the worst, worst day ever. It's official. Megan Fox cancelled, so Jack got all pissy with her. Harrison Ford (Han Solo. HAN FRAKKING SOLO) came in to speak to Jack and she didn't believe it was him so she sent him to the women's bathroom on the fifteenth floor (that had been flooded with excrement) on purpose. Tracy found out about Jenna wanting to be a nun and decided that he was going to be the next Pope, hijacking a news bulletin and going on national television (in costume) to announce that he would take over around the time coinciding with the release of Fat Bitch 3, ensuring maximum publicity. Then Jenna had joined him and started talking about how she was going to be the first female Pope-ess, as long as she could still sleep with men.
Then, after spending far too long doing damage control, Liz had had to go out for lunch because she forgot to bring it, but her usual place was closed so she had to go somewhere new and she couldn't read the menu, so she ended up ordering an anchovy hamburger with anchovy sauce, and anchovies made her barf.
Then, worst of all, when she went back to her apartment after lunch to see if she could find her spare pair of glasses (she did, but they were broken in exactly the same place as her newer ones), she ran into Wazza, who told her, quite happily, that he was so glad she introduced him to her plumber, because they're together now. Together-together.
As well as adding to the suckiness of her day ten-fold, it also triggered something in her mind, and now she's trying really hard not to start thinking about plumbing-slash-gay jokes, particularly since Jack’s just come into her office.
At least, she's pretty sure it's him, because even though she's lying face-down on the floor behind her desk, out of the corner of her (admittedly unreliable) eye she can see a pair of shoes that look far too shiny to be anyone else’s but Jack's.
The feet move closer and she's struck by how pungent the leather is, something she'd never noticed from her favoured vertical position, before wondering if Jack would notice if she borrowed a pair. They’re much fancier than any shoes she’s ever even seen, and if she wore a few extra pairs of thick socks, or lined the shoes themselves with tissue paper, her feet probably wouldn't even move around that much.
"Lemon? What are you doing on the floor?"
"Can I have your shoes?" she asks, except it comes out all muffled.
"My 'shoov'? Is that some kind of televisual term, or simply a word you made up to add to your ever-growing arsenal of non-words you use to make yourself feel witty?"
"No." She tilts her head to the side, and, actually, it's much easier to breathe. "Your shoes. Can I have them?"
"No." He sounds offended.
"Why?"
"Because my feet are delicate and precious and… really, what are you doing on the floor? Did Wazza dump you?"
"No. As if, why would he dump me? I'm a catch. No, you see, I dumped him. Because he... he rides kangaroos and he’s descended from criminals and he doesn't even know how to surf."
"You were never going out with him, were you? And then he started dating someone else. A man."
"How do you do that?" She finally squints up at Jack, who seems ridiculously large-of Death Star-proportions, even-from her angle, and he stares back, Lade GaGa-faced. She sighs. "Okay, fine. He left me for my plumber Lupe and now I'm face-down on the floor of my office because he had a really, really nice ass." She nestles back into the carpet, taking comfort in her own food stains. At least they would never dump her for another man. Or break her glasses.
"I see." Then there's silence.
"That's it? I've told you I’m heartbroken, again, and that’s it?”
"D you want me to buy you ice-cream and let you cry on my shoulder and rant about the unfairness of men and feminine hygiene? Really, Lemon, I'm not a woman."
"The amount of product in your hair says otherwise."
He ignores her, something he's far too good at for her liking. "I'm not here for that. I'm here for something else."
"What?"
He offers her his hand in response. She has a moment where she seriously, definitely more seriously than before, considers knocking him down (she could take him easily-he'd be far too concerned about wrinkling his suit to fight back), grabbing his shoes and making a run for it, but she then realises that would involve actual running, and is therefore impossible. She takes his hand instead, and, in a team effort, they haul her up.
"I'm too good for you," he tells her, watching as she reaches up to straighten her glasses, only to be disenchanted when she remembers they aren't there. (Sometimes, when she's in bed at night, even though she's taken them off she'll feel phantom-glasses still on her face. It's not a completely uncomfortable experience.)
"So you keep saying. Why are you here, anyway? Why aren't you still snubbing me because Megan Fox decided to go to Miley’s Princess Party instead of meet you?”
"Because for once in my life, I am going to be overtly nice. My therapist says it will be good for me to do something relatively selfless, claim ownership of it, and openly receive the good tidings it presents me with."
Liz has to admit it-she's rather impressed. "You're confessing to seeing a therapist? Way to go, Jack."
"Don't get the wrong idea, Lemon. I told you, this isn't a touchy-feely moment."
"So, what is it, then? This selfless thing you're doing." A thought occurs to her and she thinks that if Jack really did what she's thinking, then she might just explode with happiness. "Oh my dog! You didn't buy me the life-sized, voice-activated black Dalek, did you? With real rubber sucker and adjustable eyestalk? Did you?"
"No."
"Oh."
"I got you these." He holds out his hand, and in it is...
"My glasses!" She snatches them off him and shoves them on, revelling in the sudden clarity they bring her. "They're perfect! How did you get my prescription? Actually, I don't want to know." She snatches looks at different things in her office, testing her ability to see. She can. "Thank you, Jack."
"Fascinating," he comments.
"What?" She stares at him, happier than she should be to be able to see every detail of his kind-of-nice, very-blue eyes peering at her. "What is?"
"I feel," he squeezes his hands into fists, and she’s reminded uncomfortably of Darth Vader, "nothing."
"Really, nothing? Should I be more excited? Maybe jump and squeal a little bit?" She tests it out, willing to do pretty much anything for him now that he's restored her sight, but he cringes and pulls back so she stops. "Didn't help?"
"No. Huh." He moves to her door and opens it.
"Jack," she calls, and he turns slightly. "Thank you. Really."
"Still nothing." He leaves.
"Now?"
"No," he calls faintly.
"Damn." She sits down at her desk, revelling in the fact that she can actually see the letters on her keyboard, and picks up a bunch of files to organise them. One of them catches her eye, because it's not related to work in any way, and... "Hey," she calls to her staff, "who tried to get me sign for the porn cable channel?"
Toofer, Lutz and Frank all point at each other.
~