Time After Time| PG | 30 Rock
Title: Time After Time
Prompt: between the lines, realization
Challenge: ham_napkin
Fandom: Jack/Liz, 30 Rock
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1075
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I’m supposed to be focusing on other fanfics right now, which naturally means that my mind has been drifting elsewhere. This is the result. Let me know what you think!
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Sometimes Liz wishes that Jack would invite her to a real bar or restaurant to have a drink after work instead of asking her to have a drink in his office. It’s not that she doesn’t like his office (this new round of renovations is particularly pleasing to look at) and it’s not like he has bad booze, but sometimes it would be kind of cool to get away from the place where she gets reprimanded at least five times a week. It would also be cool to hang out with Jack outside of work; he’s pretty much her best friend and she’s noticed that her spare thoughts often drift to him (not that there are many that aren’t occupied by Jenna or Tracy or donuts).
But this isn’t so bad, Liz reasons. They’re sitting on his new sofa (which is way comfier than the last one) and sharing a bottle of red wine. They’ve given up on glasses an hour ago and are passing the bottle back and forth. They’re slumped against each other on the couch, their bodies sagging into one other. If Jack weren’t propping her up, she’d probably be horizontal. It’s kind of nice though…he’s more comfortable than she would have given him credit for.
Liz blinks a few times, staring at the orchid plant in the center of the table and willing it to stop hovering. It’s not working and, giving up her botched attempt at telekinesis, decides to tune back into whatever Jack is saying.
As she suspects, he’s still talking about his latest soulmate: “Did she really have to tell me that she needed to date someone her own age? Am I really that prehistoric, Lemon?”
She looks at him. His eyes are really blue tonight. “You’re not old. She’s just too young.”
“She was only twenty-four years younger than me.”
“That’s too young, Jack. That’s like…” She scrunches her forehead and tries to come up with an appropriate metaphor but fails. “Way too young.”
He takes another swallow of wine. She watches the way his lips purse around the lip of the bottle. He has a pretty decent mouth. She likes to watch it do stuff sometimes, like talk and smile and pout. But she doesn’t stare at it or anything. She looks away.
Jack lets out an exaggerated sigh. “What’s wrong with us, Lemon?” he asks, handing her the bottle. It’s warm from where his hand clutched it.
Liz likes Jack when he’s drunk (and sober too, really). Usually he’d comment about how she’s more flawed and hopeless than he is, but she supposes that maybe his pithy witticisms aren’t as clever when he’s intoxicated. She doesn’t mind. She likes being an “us.”
“Y’know, Jack…maybe it’s not us.” She takes a sip. For the first time since they’ve cracked open the bottle, she realizes that she’s putting her lips against something that just had Jack’s on it. It’s like they’re kissing but not really.
“You’re right. It’s them. It’s all of them.” He spits a little when he emphasizes the last word.
“No…well, maybe a little.” Liz frowns, focusing on the thought that’s hazily appearing in her mind. She grasps for it, hoping that she won’t lose it. “You ever wonder if maybe there’s a reason why all the guys I date are d-bags? And why the women you date are always kinda crazy?”
He takes the bottle from her (their fingers touch) and raises an eyebrow. “Bad taste?”
She shakes her head. “No…I mean….what if there’s some big, cosmic reason why your almost-marriages don’t work out and why I haven’t met some half-way decent dude?”
Jack purses his lips again. “Like what?”
It’s starting to make sense to Liz, but the thought of verbalizing it to Jack when he’s not quite getting it is making her nervous. “Like…you know…” She frowns again. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.” And then it all makes sense and her throat goes dry.
He nods. “How poetic of you, Lemon.”
“I mean it, Jack,” Liz says. She turns her body to get a better look at him. He remains leaning against her. Her heart is beating a little faster now and Liz is actually worried that she may throw up from all of the alcohol or the realization she’s just had or maybe a combination of both. “What if there’s a reason why, time after time, we end up here, commiserating together over messed up relationships?”
Jack looks at her then for a long moment. He takes another sip of wine, hiccups slightly, and sighs. “Even I know the answer to that one.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Because you’re a good friend, Lemon, and you’re always here when I need you.”
Liz sighs. She doesn’t understand why it’s not making sense to him. They’re equal parts drunk; he may even be more sober than she is since there’s more surface area in his body to soak up the alcohol that he’s consumed (or however that works…she doesn’t really know…maybe it’s just that he has a higher tolerance than she does…or maybe he really is just as drunk). Either way, she’s positive that this isn’t just a random drunken thought bubble. It’s a bit weird that she’s realized this when she’s inebriated, but that’s no excuse for quick-witted, one-step-ahead-of-everything Jack not to have picked up on it yet.
She’s in love with Jack.
“What I mean is…”
He pats her arm and smiles wanly at her. “And that’s why I know you’ll be here if my date with Natalie doesn’t work out tomorrow night.”
Liz’s shoulders sag and she slumps back against the couch, tugging the bottle into her hand. She takes too large of a swig and a bit of the red liquid seeps from the corner of her mouth and dribbles down her chin. As if Jack could ever love a slob like her.
And, to Liz’s astonishment, Jack reaches a thumb out and catches the droplet before it falls onto her shirt. He smiles, sucks the liquid off his thumb, and gives a contented sigh. “It’s good to have a buddy to talk about this stuff with.”
“A buddy. Right.” She takes another sip and sighs, tuning him out while he starts talking about Natalie’s mile-long legs. She stares at the orchid plant, which has reproduced since the last time she saw it, and hopes that she won’t remember this conversation (or her feelings) come morning.
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Prompt: between the lines, realization
Challenge: ham_napkin
Fandom: Jack/Liz, 30 Rock
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1075
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I’m supposed to be focusing on other fanfics right now, which naturally means that my mind has been drifting elsewhere. This is the result. Let me know what you think!
-
Sometimes Liz wishes that Jack would invite her to a real bar or restaurant to have a drink after work instead of asking her to have a drink in his office. It’s not that she doesn’t like his office (this new round of renovations is particularly pleasing to look at) and it’s not like he has bad booze, but sometimes it would be kind of cool to get away from the place where she gets reprimanded at least five times a week. It would also be cool to hang out with Jack outside of work; he’s pretty much her best friend and she’s noticed that her spare thoughts often drift to him (not that there are many that aren’t occupied by Jenna or Tracy or donuts).
But this isn’t so bad, Liz reasons. They’re sitting on his new sofa (which is way comfier than the last one) and sharing a bottle of red wine. They’ve given up on glasses an hour ago and are passing the bottle back and forth. They’re slumped against each other on the couch, their bodies sagging into one other. If Jack weren’t propping her up, she’d probably be horizontal. It’s kind of nice though…he’s more comfortable than she would have given him credit for.
Liz blinks a few times, staring at the orchid plant in the center of the table and willing it to stop hovering. It’s not working and, giving up her botched attempt at telekinesis, decides to tune back into whatever Jack is saying.
As she suspects, he’s still talking about his latest soulmate: “Did she really have to tell me that she needed to date someone her own age? Am I really that prehistoric, Lemon?”
She looks at him. His eyes are really blue tonight. “You’re not old. She’s just too young.”
“She was only twenty-four years younger than me.”
“That’s too young, Jack. That’s like…” She scrunches her forehead and tries to come up with an appropriate metaphor but fails. “Way too young.”
He takes another swallow of wine. She watches the way his lips purse around the lip of the bottle. He has a pretty decent mouth. She likes to watch it do stuff sometimes, like talk and smile and pout. But she doesn’t stare at it or anything. She looks away.
Jack lets out an exaggerated sigh. “What’s wrong with us, Lemon?” he asks, handing her the bottle. It’s warm from where his hand clutched it.
Liz likes Jack when he’s drunk (and sober too, really). Usually he’d comment about how she’s more flawed and hopeless than he is, but she supposes that maybe his pithy witticisms aren’t as clever when he’s intoxicated. She doesn’t mind. She likes being an “us.”
“Y’know, Jack…maybe it’s not us.” She takes a sip. For the first time since they’ve cracked open the bottle, she realizes that she’s putting her lips against something that just had Jack’s on it. It’s like they’re kissing but not really.
“You’re right. It’s them. It’s all of them.” He spits a little when he emphasizes the last word.
“No…well, maybe a little.” Liz frowns, focusing on the thought that’s hazily appearing in her mind. She grasps for it, hoping that she won’t lose it. “You ever wonder if maybe there’s a reason why all the guys I date are d-bags? And why the women you date are always kinda crazy?”
He takes the bottle from her (their fingers touch) and raises an eyebrow. “Bad taste?”
She shakes her head. “No…I mean….what if there’s some big, cosmic reason why your almost-marriages don’t work out and why I haven’t met some half-way decent dude?”
Jack purses his lips again. “Like what?”
It’s starting to make sense to Liz, but the thought of verbalizing it to Jack when he’s not quite getting it is making her nervous. “Like…you know…” She frowns again. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.” And then it all makes sense and her throat goes dry.
He nods. “How poetic of you, Lemon.”
“I mean it, Jack,” Liz says. She turns her body to get a better look at him. He remains leaning against her. Her heart is beating a little faster now and Liz is actually worried that she may throw up from all of the alcohol or the realization she’s just had or maybe a combination of both. “What if there’s a reason why, time after time, we end up here, commiserating together over messed up relationships?”
Jack looks at her then for a long moment. He takes another sip of wine, hiccups slightly, and sighs. “Even I know the answer to that one.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Because you’re a good friend, Lemon, and you’re always here when I need you.”
Liz sighs. She doesn’t understand why it’s not making sense to him. They’re equal parts drunk; he may even be more sober than she is since there’s more surface area in his body to soak up the alcohol that he’s consumed (or however that works…she doesn’t really know…maybe it’s just that he has a higher tolerance than she does…or maybe he really is just as drunk). Either way, she’s positive that this isn’t just a random drunken thought bubble. It’s a bit weird that she’s realized this when she’s inebriated, but that’s no excuse for quick-witted, one-step-ahead-of-everything Jack not to have picked up on it yet.
She’s in love with Jack.
“What I mean is…”
He pats her arm and smiles wanly at her. “And that’s why I know you’ll be here if my date with Natalie doesn’t work out tomorrow night.”
Liz’s shoulders sag and she slumps back against the couch, tugging the bottle into her hand. She takes too large of a swig and a bit of the red liquid seeps from the corner of her mouth and dribbles down her chin. As if Jack could ever love a slob like her.
And, to Liz’s astonishment, Jack reaches a thumb out and catches the droplet before it falls onto her shirt. He smiles, sucks the liquid off his thumb, and gives a contented sigh. “It’s good to have a buddy to talk about this stuff with.”
“A buddy. Right.” She takes another sip and sighs, tuning him out while he starts talking about Natalie’s mile-long legs. She stares at the orchid plant, which has reproduced since the last time she saw it, and hopes that she won’t remember this conversation (or her feelings) come morning.
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