Things That Can't be Changed (You Know I Would Love to Try) (30 Rock, Jack/Liz)
Title: Things That Can't be Changed (You Know I Would Love to Try)
Prompt: 100_situations #093. Limited
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Spoilers: through "Cooter"
Word Count: 1,418
Rating: PG
Notes: Follows " This is Not Like Poetry" and " It's Simple Enough." Angsty, still. I think I'm done with bumming people out for now.
Table: Number Two.
Summary: Liz didn't expect to see him again.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Title is from 'Love to Try,' a Hotel Lights song. Don't sue.
*
Liz didn't expect to see him again. Maybe a ridiculous assumption considering the number of chance meetings she's been part of, but she and Jack never ran in the same circles. (Sometimes, their lives felt entirely separate.) But here she is, standing in front of a movie theater, gaping at her ex-husband while he stares back. (It's like Annie Hall except she's alone and uncomfortable and he's with a woman who's young enough to be his daughter. She might be young enough to be Liz's daughter, but Liz suspects this perception might be born out of a desire to see him in the worst possible light. To accentuate what is wrong with him so she's unable to recall the parts of him that used to make her happy.) He looks vaguely pleased to see her. Liz tenses.
"What's going on?" the girlfriend/date/woman that Jack is sleeping with asks.
Jack is brought out of his dazed surprise, clears his throat. "Isabelle, this is Liz. My ex-wife. Liz, this is--"
"Isabelle," Liz interrupts. "I heard you."
"Are you going into the theater?" Jack asks.
Liz shakes her head. She was, but she's not going to risk being in the same auditorium as them or their movies getting out at the same time and running into him again. This is already more awkwardness than she can handle. "I was going somewhere else. Walking. Walking to that somewhere else that I'm going."
He frowns, and she's not sure if he's disappointed in her, disappointed in everything, or just sad. "Isabelle, why don't you go inside? Liz and I have some things to catch up on."
"No, we don't." Liz catches Isabelle's confused look before she does what Jack requested. "You've trained her well," Liz says after the door closes behind her. "That was mean. I don't know why I said it." But she can't bring herself to apologize.
"I've tried calling you," he says.
"I haven't seen your name on my Caller ID."
"I never called you; I only tried to. I didn't think you'd answer, so I didn't bother. I considered using someone else's cellphone, but there was still the problem of how to keep you from hanging up."
She could tell him she's wanted to call him, but that might make him think she wouldn't have hung up. She would've. She would've, and she doesn't want to talk to him. The thing is, Liz sometimes wishes she could have a conversation with the Jack who's her best friend instead of the one who's given her both her most successful and most disastrous relationship. But she'll only be able to relate to him as the latter for the rest of her life. "Jack--"
"Maybe we could go somewhere. Have a drink."
"What about your girlfriend?"
"I wouldn't call her my girlfriend." His tone is dismissive. "And she wouldn't care."
She'd feel bad for him if she could find anyone to pass the time with, even someone who wouldn't miss her if she disappeared. "Still, you know. I wouldn't feel right. Disrupting your evening."
"You wouldn't be." He looks at her expectantly. She doesn't give him what he wants. "I heard about your pilot getting picked up by Showtime."
"Yeah," Liz says. "We're excited." It doesn't show in her voice; she has yet to relax. "We get to use curse words," she adds lamely. "Which is, you know. Exciting. So, how long have you been seeing the girl who doesn't really like you?" She shakes her head. "That was mean, too. I should go."
"I don't feel it was particularly mean, just honest. We've only seen each other a few times."
She wonders how many women he's been with since they broke up. She wonders how many of those women he cared about even a little. (None of them, she decides, because she's continuing to focus on his faults.) "And I guess you're still making a lot of money?" It's the only small talk that comes to mind, for some reason.
"I am."
His vague happiness becomes a bit more noticeable; he smiles slightly as his gaze turns fonder. He's looking at her the way he used to when he was particularly impressed with her. But maybe he's merely impressed by his ability to make a lot of money.
"I miss you," he says, and then she knows he actually is thinking about her. She can't be around him. "I think--"
"Bye, Jack."
She turns around. Takes a step. Another. He says, "I still love you."
He's grasping at straws to keep her there, and it works; she stops in her tracks and turns around. She doesn't even know why, as this changes nothing. But it reminds her of the night she left, when he listed all the reasons why she should stay as if he were pitching a new reality series or product line. We weren't always unhappy, was one of the final ones, and she chose to focus on his admission that they were unhappy. She'd like to say she hasn't looked back, but that's all the past few months have been: a constant questioning of where they went wrong and what they could've done differently. Wondering if she should've stayed and tried to work it out. Because, for a time, she was happy. For a time, she wanted to have kids with him; she wanted to spend every day of her life with him.
She shakes her head. "We can't have this conversation here."
"Are you ever going to have this conversation with me anywhere?"
"No," she admits. "This... it has nothing to do with that. With love," and it hurts to say it out loud, even though she's come to terms with this fact. Pretty much. "We don't work."
"We did," he replies, and she thinks he might be gearing up to repeat his old sales pitch; his smile is entirely gone and his expression has turned serious. "Once, we worked very well."
"And then we didn't." Why is she still standing here? "For most of it, we didn't."
"You're the only woman I've ever loved."
Well. That's a new point. A complete lie. "That's not true." It's like he's forgotten she was there for his first divorce, for the couple of girlfriends he actually cared about. It's like he's forgotten she used to be his friend. "I know that's not true."
"You're the only woman I've loved for the past five years."
He says it like this means something, and maybe it does for him. But it seems trivial when Liz takes into account how she's as sure as she can be that she's never been in love before him, they split up six months ago, and: "We were together for three years." A little over it, actually; she filed for divorce four months after the anniversary of their first date.
"I know how long we were together."
She wants to ignore this information, and she probably should. She knows it doesn't matter. But what she feels is this need to kiss him. For once, her mind wins out. "If we could make this work, we would've done it already. We would've never gotten divorced. We did all we could do, and this is where we ended up. So." She pauses. "We can't have this conversation here. Or anywhere. This conversation is over."
She stares at him for a long moment. Part of her wants him to say something to change her mind. Then they could get a drink and maybe she wouldn't have to sleep alone tonight. She'd wake up with him and somehow know they can do it this time, they really can. But the rest of her knows he's already made his best arguments. Even his new ones are only variations on a theme.
He doesn't say anything anyway.
She turns again. Walks away and doesn't stop. She's proud of herself for making it to the subway without crying. Even prouder when she gets through her front door without crying. She ends up curled up on her couch, on the verge of tears until she can't hold it in anymore.
She still loves him, too. But they'd fail again. They'd fail again, and she can't handle going through it all for a second time.
So she'll continue to move on with her life. Focus on her show and finding someone who's right for her. And if she ever sees Jack again, she'll keep walking.
It's a plan. It's a good plan.
END
Prompt: 100_situations #093. Limited
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Spoilers: through "Cooter"
Word Count: 1,418
Rating: PG
Notes: Follows " This is Not Like Poetry" and " It's Simple Enough." Angsty, still. I think I'm done with bumming people out for now.
Table: Number Two.
Summary: Liz didn't expect to see him again.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Title is from 'Love to Try,' a Hotel Lights song. Don't sue.
*
Liz didn't expect to see him again. Maybe a ridiculous assumption considering the number of chance meetings she's been part of, but she and Jack never ran in the same circles. (Sometimes, their lives felt entirely separate.) But here she is, standing in front of a movie theater, gaping at her ex-husband while he stares back. (It's like Annie Hall except she's alone and uncomfortable and he's with a woman who's young enough to be his daughter. She might be young enough to be Liz's daughter, but Liz suspects this perception might be born out of a desire to see him in the worst possible light. To accentuate what is wrong with him so she's unable to recall the parts of him that used to make her happy.) He looks vaguely pleased to see her. Liz tenses.
"What's going on?" the girlfriend/date/woman that Jack is sleeping with asks.
Jack is brought out of his dazed surprise, clears his throat. "Isabelle, this is Liz. My ex-wife. Liz, this is--"
"Isabelle," Liz interrupts. "I heard you."
"Are you going into the theater?" Jack asks.
Liz shakes her head. She was, but she's not going to risk being in the same auditorium as them or their movies getting out at the same time and running into him again. This is already more awkwardness than she can handle. "I was going somewhere else. Walking. Walking to that somewhere else that I'm going."
He frowns, and she's not sure if he's disappointed in her, disappointed in everything, or just sad. "Isabelle, why don't you go inside? Liz and I have some things to catch up on."
"No, we don't." Liz catches Isabelle's confused look before she does what Jack requested. "You've trained her well," Liz says after the door closes behind her. "That was mean. I don't know why I said it." But she can't bring herself to apologize.
"I've tried calling you," he says.
"I haven't seen your name on my Caller ID."
"I never called you; I only tried to. I didn't think you'd answer, so I didn't bother. I considered using someone else's cellphone, but there was still the problem of how to keep you from hanging up."
She could tell him she's wanted to call him, but that might make him think she wouldn't have hung up. She would've. She would've, and she doesn't want to talk to him. The thing is, Liz sometimes wishes she could have a conversation with the Jack who's her best friend instead of the one who's given her both her most successful and most disastrous relationship. But she'll only be able to relate to him as the latter for the rest of her life. "Jack--"
"Maybe we could go somewhere. Have a drink."
"What about your girlfriend?"
"I wouldn't call her my girlfriend." His tone is dismissive. "And she wouldn't care."
She'd feel bad for him if she could find anyone to pass the time with, even someone who wouldn't miss her if she disappeared. "Still, you know. I wouldn't feel right. Disrupting your evening."
"You wouldn't be." He looks at her expectantly. She doesn't give him what he wants. "I heard about your pilot getting picked up by Showtime."
"Yeah," Liz says. "We're excited." It doesn't show in her voice; she has yet to relax. "We get to use curse words," she adds lamely. "Which is, you know. Exciting. So, how long have you been seeing the girl who doesn't really like you?" She shakes her head. "That was mean, too. I should go."
"I don't feel it was particularly mean, just honest. We've only seen each other a few times."
She wonders how many women he's been with since they broke up. She wonders how many of those women he cared about even a little. (None of them, she decides, because she's continuing to focus on his faults.) "And I guess you're still making a lot of money?" It's the only small talk that comes to mind, for some reason.
"I am."
His vague happiness becomes a bit more noticeable; he smiles slightly as his gaze turns fonder. He's looking at her the way he used to when he was particularly impressed with her. But maybe he's merely impressed by his ability to make a lot of money.
"I miss you," he says, and then she knows he actually is thinking about her. She can't be around him. "I think--"
"Bye, Jack."
She turns around. Takes a step. Another. He says, "I still love you."
He's grasping at straws to keep her there, and it works; she stops in her tracks and turns around. She doesn't even know why, as this changes nothing. But it reminds her of the night she left, when he listed all the reasons why she should stay as if he were pitching a new reality series or product line. We weren't always unhappy, was one of the final ones, and she chose to focus on his admission that they were unhappy. She'd like to say she hasn't looked back, but that's all the past few months have been: a constant questioning of where they went wrong and what they could've done differently. Wondering if she should've stayed and tried to work it out. Because, for a time, she was happy. For a time, she wanted to have kids with him; she wanted to spend every day of her life with him.
She shakes her head. "We can't have this conversation here."
"Are you ever going to have this conversation with me anywhere?"
"No," she admits. "This... it has nothing to do with that. With love," and it hurts to say it out loud, even though she's come to terms with this fact. Pretty much. "We don't work."
"We did," he replies, and she thinks he might be gearing up to repeat his old sales pitch; his smile is entirely gone and his expression has turned serious. "Once, we worked very well."
"And then we didn't." Why is she still standing here? "For most of it, we didn't."
"You're the only woman I've ever loved."
Well. That's a new point. A complete lie. "That's not true." It's like he's forgotten she was there for his first divorce, for the couple of girlfriends he actually cared about. It's like he's forgotten she used to be his friend. "I know that's not true."
"You're the only woman I've loved for the past five years."
He says it like this means something, and maybe it does for him. But it seems trivial when Liz takes into account how she's as sure as she can be that she's never been in love before him, they split up six months ago, and: "We were together for three years." A little over it, actually; she filed for divorce four months after the anniversary of their first date.
"I know how long we were together."
She wants to ignore this information, and she probably should. She knows it doesn't matter. But what she feels is this need to kiss him. For once, her mind wins out. "If we could make this work, we would've done it already. We would've never gotten divorced. We did all we could do, and this is where we ended up. So." She pauses. "We can't have this conversation here. Or anywhere. This conversation is over."
She stares at him for a long moment. Part of her wants him to say something to change her mind. Then they could get a drink and maybe she wouldn't have to sleep alone tonight. She'd wake up with him and somehow know they can do it this time, they really can. But the rest of her knows he's already made his best arguments. Even his new ones are only variations on a theme.
He doesn't say anything anyway.
She turns again. Walks away and doesn't stop. She's proud of herself for making it to the subway without crying. Even prouder when she gets through her front door without crying. She ends up curled up on her couch, on the verge of tears until she can't hold it in anymore.
She still loves him, too. But they'd fail again. They'd fail again, and she can't handle going through it all for a second time.
So she'll continue to move on with her life. Focus on her show and finding someone who's right for her. And if she ever sees Jack again, she'll keep walking.
It's a plan. It's a good plan.
END