Winning Isn't Everything - Part 1/2
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Spoilers: Season 3ish.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything belongs to Tina (as it should).
It never would have worked out. It’s what she tells herself at least when she gathers the courage to walk into Jack’s office and announce, as calmly as possible, her plans to quit TGS to start a new show for AMC that will be filmed in Los Angeles.
“You always said I should go ‘get mine’ and that TGS is a sinking ship so…”
He’s stunned when looks at her, and he pauses for a moment before he speaks. “Yes. I’ve always said that. There’s no reason why you should spend the rest of your career wallowing in mediocrity.”
“Great! So this is a good thing, right? We should celebrate?” She asks, with a false upbeat sense of cheer.
He nods, but is not quite able to meet her gaze. “I’ll crack open a bottle of champagne.”
---
He doesn’t say goodbye to her when she leaves. Well, not really. They have sex two days before her flight. It was a rushed and messy tryst surrounded by boxes on her living room floor. She’s never good at censoring her thoughts during sex with Jack, which is why she blurted out a hushed, “I’ll miss you” against his chest afterwards. He didn’t say anything for a few moments - the thick, awkward silence making her feel foolish for saying anything at all.
Finally, he responded with, a dry, detached, “No you won’t.“
So, it wasn’t the most satisfying goodbye.
It is probably for the best, she reasons. If he truly cared for her - if this truly meant to be something more than random sex with an employee - he wouldn’t be so cavalier about her moving across the country. So in way, she’s proud of herself for not putting her career on hold on the off chance this thing with Jack would actually become something significant.
Before he left her apartment that night, though, she grabbed his tie and gave him one final kiss. She prolonged the kiss for as long as she could - knowing this would probably be the last time she’ll be able to be with him like this. Jack, for his part, never objected to the kiss’s duration and even pulled her closer, let his mouth open to fully meet hers as he gently touched her cheek. The kiss would have been incredibly romantic in any other context, but Liz was painfully aware of how their dysfunctional dynamic was a far cry from an actual legitimate relationship.
When he finally did break apart, though, he turned to leave, muttered a curt, “Good luck, Lemon,” and walked out the door.
That was a year ago. She hasn’t heard form him since.
-----
Which is why, she’s more than a little panicked about attending the Emmys this year. Not only is she nominated, but she’s going to see her ex-boss/friend/dude she used to have sex with and she has no idea what one wears under the circumstances. As a woman who frequently combusts under the smallest amounts of pressure in social situations, she has no clue how to handle Sunday’s events.
Finally, after much deliberation and googling “formal dresses for pear shaped 40 year old bodies” she settles on a dark plum strapless number that makes her boobs look pretty awesome. That’s something, at least.
She also doesn’t have a date. She should have a date. A circumstance like this practically mandates one. She’s in her office, looking at her rolodex (she hasn’t gotten around to digitizing her contact list yet. It’s on her to-do list) of possible men she’s met since being in LA that she doesn’t find completely revolting. None of them are suitable. She plucks out each card one by one and tosses them aside when she verbally writes them off. “Married. Gay. Crazy. Creepy.”
So she’s going stag. She can do this. And if anybody asks why she’s there alone she can toss away some quip about feminism and people will find her witty and hilarious. Yep. Good plan.
-----
Well, she ends up winning the damn thing. And it is kind of amazing to be up there alone, with all these people looking at her like she matters. The award is given to her by Stephen Colbert and when he escorts her backstage, he whispers in her ear that he’s a big fan. So the whole experience has a certain surreal element of cool to it and for a moment, she actually feels like the successful, confident woman she knows she should be.
Initially, she didn’t plan on mentioning Jack in her speech. But before she can censor herself she concludes her acceptance speech by saying, “And finally, I’d like to thank my former boss and friend, Jack. If it wasn’t for his annoying and relentless encouragement I would not be here.” The line garners some chuckles from those in the crowd that know (and fear) Jack, and she thinks, if nothing else, he would probably appreciate being acknowledged on national television.
Interestingly enough, though, she doesn’t even see Jack during the actual ceremony and thinks that perhaps he decided not to attend this year. She wonders if he deliberately skipped on the events this year because of her, and she’s surprised at how much that possibility upsets her.
----
When she arrives at the Governor’s Ball after the ceremony, she feels kind of awkward. Mostly because she’s standing at the bar waiting for a drink, and she’s still clutching her Emmy, which is starting to put some strain on her arm muscles. She contemplates leaving it at her table, but wonders if it may get stolen. Do people steal Emmys at this thing? Probably not, her name is engraved on it, after all. But people are jerks (especially in LA), so she decides to keep holding onto the stupid trophy just in case. It is in the middle of her realizing that she has managed to turn winning a freakin’ Emmy award into an annoying and irritating experience that she hears a low voice rumble in her ear.
“You thanked me. I didn’t think you would.”
Her stomach drops and face flushes at the familiar voice. “Well, I’m not a total ingrate.” When she turns, she sucks in a breath at his unexpectedly close proximity.
“Congratulations.” His fingers lightly brush against her hip and he gives a chaste kiss on the cheek. Even this slight innocent display of affection is enough to make Liz recall all the times when his hands were doing things to her that were much more explicit and she’s annoyed at how pathetically vulnerable she feels in his presence.
“Thanks, Jack.”
His hand casually gestures to the Emmy, “That must be heavy. Go have a seat. I’ll bring you a drink.”
Liz nods, grateful that she can now avoid the throng of people waiting at the bar, but is mostly focused on the fact that Jack clearly wants to spend time with her tonight. She is more than okay with this.
Back at her table, she begins to chat with some of the stars of her show but frowns when she sees a beautiful blonde fawning all over Jack. She attempts to surreptitiously observe the flirting, but she doesn’t pull that off for very long because when Jack’s eyes meet hers across the room, she immediately looks away and then cringes at being so desperately transparent.
She immediately goes back to engaging in conversation with one of the producers in an attempt to get her mind off Jack. They’re not together. He can flirt with how many skanks he wants. Hell, that’s probably a major reason why he comes to these things. Because what is LA but a virtual breeding ground for meaningless skank sex?
“I assume you still favor Pinot Griogo?” He murmurs, effectively interrupting her conversation.
“Oh. Yeah. I still do. Thanks.” She takes the glass of wine he offers and is pleasantly surprised when Jack sits in the vacant seat beside her. “Bruce, this is Jack Donaghy. He was my boss back at NBC.”
Jack reaches across Liz to shake the other man’s hand, and her spine straightens when Jack’s other hand casually drapes across Liz’s shoulders. The two engage in a civil conversation, but Liz is too busy focusing on Jack’s fingertips on the curve of her shoulder to pay much attention.
When Bruce politely excuses himself, Jack and Liz are left alone at the table and she’s amazed that she can’t quite figure out what to say even though she’s spent four years of her life sharing almost everything with each other.
“So how does it feel? To be successful?” Jack finally asks, breaking the silence.
“Not going to lie, Jack. It feels pretty awesome to write for a show that isn’t deemed ‘an unwatchable mess’ by Entertainment Weekly.”
“Then this calls for a toast.” He lifts up his glass and says, “to creating something that isn’t a national embarrassment.” Their glasses clink; her eyes beam at Jack’s affectionate grin.
That was their first drink of the night. By the time they reach their fifth drink, it is a couple hours later and Liz is in his arms dancing to Michael Buble crooning in the background. The champagne has gone straight to her head and she’s letting him lead her across the dance floor unreservedly. The moment is bittersweet because she knows that the exhilaration she’s feeling right now is fleeting. Because in a few hours Jack will be on a flight back to New York and she doesn’t know when - or if - she’ll ever see him again. This realization causes the smile plastered across her face to falter.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, immediately noticing the shift in her demeanor.
She shakes her head, not wanting to end their night on an unnecessarily sour note. “Nothing.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Just a little tired from the booze and excitement.”
Jack hesitates for a moment, pulls her in close before suggesting, “I could take you home.”
“What about the blonde? Wouldn’t you want to stay and flirt? The night is still young for you.”
“That woman threw herself at me in a desperate attempt to get an acting job. I’m not interested in being complicit in a form of prostitution.” He brings his lips to her ear and whispers, “What I am interested in making sure you get home safely.”
She sucks in a breath and nods, “Well, okay then. Home it is.”
Spoilers: Season 3ish.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything belongs to Tina (as it should).
It never would have worked out. It’s what she tells herself at least when she gathers the courage to walk into Jack’s office and announce, as calmly as possible, her plans to quit TGS to start a new show for AMC that will be filmed in Los Angeles.
“You always said I should go ‘get mine’ and that TGS is a sinking ship so…”
He’s stunned when looks at her, and he pauses for a moment before he speaks. “Yes. I’ve always said that. There’s no reason why you should spend the rest of your career wallowing in mediocrity.”
“Great! So this is a good thing, right? We should celebrate?” She asks, with a false upbeat sense of cheer.
He nods, but is not quite able to meet her gaze. “I’ll crack open a bottle of champagne.”
---
He doesn’t say goodbye to her when she leaves. Well, not really. They have sex two days before her flight. It was a rushed and messy tryst surrounded by boxes on her living room floor. She’s never good at censoring her thoughts during sex with Jack, which is why she blurted out a hushed, “I’ll miss you” against his chest afterwards. He didn’t say anything for a few moments - the thick, awkward silence making her feel foolish for saying anything at all.
Finally, he responded with, a dry, detached, “No you won’t.“
So, it wasn’t the most satisfying goodbye.
It is probably for the best, she reasons. If he truly cared for her - if this truly meant to be something more than random sex with an employee - he wouldn’t be so cavalier about her moving across the country. So in way, she’s proud of herself for not putting her career on hold on the off chance this thing with Jack would actually become something significant.
Before he left her apartment that night, though, she grabbed his tie and gave him one final kiss. She prolonged the kiss for as long as she could - knowing this would probably be the last time she’ll be able to be with him like this. Jack, for his part, never objected to the kiss’s duration and even pulled her closer, let his mouth open to fully meet hers as he gently touched her cheek. The kiss would have been incredibly romantic in any other context, but Liz was painfully aware of how their dysfunctional dynamic was a far cry from an actual legitimate relationship.
When he finally did break apart, though, he turned to leave, muttered a curt, “Good luck, Lemon,” and walked out the door.
That was a year ago. She hasn’t heard form him since.
-----
Which is why, she’s more than a little panicked about attending the Emmys this year. Not only is she nominated, but she’s going to see her ex-boss/friend/dude she used to have sex with and she has no idea what one wears under the circumstances. As a woman who frequently combusts under the smallest amounts of pressure in social situations, she has no clue how to handle Sunday’s events.
Finally, after much deliberation and googling “formal dresses for pear shaped 40 year old bodies” she settles on a dark plum strapless number that makes her boobs look pretty awesome. That’s something, at least.
She also doesn’t have a date. She should have a date. A circumstance like this practically mandates one. She’s in her office, looking at her rolodex (she hasn’t gotten around to digitizing her contact list yet. It’s on her to-do list) of possible men she’s met since being in LA that she doesn’t find completely revolting. None of them are suitable. She plucks out each card one by one and tosses them aside when she verbally writes them off. “Married. Gay. Crazy. Creepy.”
So she’s going stag. She can do this. And if anybody asks why she’s there alone she can toss away some quip about feminism and people will find her witty and hilarious. Yep. Good plan.
-----
Well, she ends up winning the damn thing. And it is kind of amazing to be up there alone, with all these people looking at her like she matters. The award is given to her by Stephen Colbert and when he escorts her backstage, he whispers in her ear that he’s a big fan. So the whole experience has a certain surreal element of cool to it and for a moment, she actually feels like the successful, confident woman she knows she should be.
Initially, she didn’t plan on mentioning Jack in her speech. But before she can censor herself she concludes her acceptance speech by saying, “And finally, I’d like to thank my former boss and friend, Jack. If it wasn’t for his annoying and relentless encouragement I would not be here.” The line garners some chuckles from those in the crowd that know (and fear) Jack, and she thinks, if nothing else, he would probably appreciate being acknowledged on national television.
Interestingly enough, though, she doesn’t even see Jack during the actual ceremony and thinks that perhaps he decided not to attend this year. She wonders if he deliberately skipped on the events this year because of her, and she’s surprised at how much that possibility upsets her.
----
When she arrives at the Governor’s Ball after the ceremony, she feels kind of awkward. Mostly because she’s standing at the bar waiting for a drink, and she’s still clutching her Emmy, which is starting to put some strain on her arm muscles. She contemplates leaving it at her table, but wonders if it may get stolen. Do people steal Emmys at this thing? Probably not, her name is engraved on it, after all. But people are jerks (especially in LA), so she decides to keep holding onto the stupid trophy just in case. It is in the middle of her realizing that she has managed to turn winning a freakin’ Emmy award into an annoying and irritating experience that she hears a low voice rumble in her ear.
“You thanked me. I didn’t think you would.”
Her stomach drops and face flushes at the familiar voice. “Well, I’m not a total ingrate.” When she turns, she sucks in a breath at his unexpectedly close proximity.
“Congratulations.” His fingers lightly brush against her hip and he gives a chaste kiss on the cheek. Even this slight innocent display of affection is enough to make Liz recall all the times when his hands were doing things to her that were much more explicit and she’s annoyed at how pathetically vulnerable she feels in his presence.
“Thanks, Jack.”
His hand casually gestures to the Emmy, “That must be heavy. Go have a seat. I’ll bring you a drink.”
Liz nods, grateful that she can now avoid the throng of people waiting at the bar, but is mostly focused on the fact that Jack clearly wants to spend time with her tonight. She is more than okay with this.
Back at her table, she begins to chat with some of the stars of her show but frowns when she sees a beautiful blonde fawning all over Jack. She attempts to surreptitiously observe the flirting, but she doesn’t pull that off for very long because when Jack’s eyes meet hers across the room, she immediately looks away and then cringes at being so desperately transparent.
She immediately goes back to engaging in conversation with one of the producers in an attempt to get her mind off Jack. They’re not together. He can flirt with how many skanks he wants. Hell, that’s probably a major reason why he comes to these things. Because what is LA but a virtual breeding ground for meaningless skank sex?
“I assume you still favor Pinot Griogo?” He murmurs, effectively interrupting her conversation.
“Oh. Yeah. I still do. Thanks.” She takes the glass of wine he offers and is pleasantly surprised when Jack sits in the vacant seat beside her. “Bruce, this is Jack Donaghy. He was my boss back at NBC.”
Jack reaches across Liz to shake the other man’s hand, and her spine straightens when Jack’s other hand casually drapes across Liz’s shoulders. The two engage in a civil conversation, but Liz is too busy focusing on Jack’s fingertips on the curve of her shoulder to pay much attention.
When Bruce politely excuses himself, Jack and Liz are left alone at the table and she’s amazed that she can’t quite figure out what to say even though she’s spent four years of her life sharing almost everything with each other.
“So how does it feel? To be successful?” Jack finally asks, breaking the silence.
“Not going to lie, Jack. It feels pretty awesome to write for a show that isn’t deemed ‘an unwatchable mess’ by Entertainment Weekly.”
“Then this calls for a toast.” He lifts up his glass and says, “to creating something that isn’t a national embarrassment.” Their glasses clink; her eyes beam at Jack’s affectionate grin.
That was their first drink of the night. By the time they reach their fifth drink, it is a couple hours later and Liz is in his arms dancing to Michael Buble crooning in the background. The champagne has gone straight to her head and she’s letting him lead her across the dance floor unreservedly. The moment is bittersweet because she knows that the exhilaration she’s feeling right now is fleeting. Because in a few hours Jack will be on a flight back to New York and she doesn’t know when - or if - she’ll ever see him again. This realization causes the smile plastered across her face to falter.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, immediately noticing the shift in her demeanor.
She shakes her head, not wanting to end their night on an unnecessarily sour note. “Nothing.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Just a little tired from the booze and excitement.”
Jack hesitates for a moment, pulls her in close before suggesting, “I could take you home.”
“What about the blonde? Wouldn’t you want to stay and flirt? The night is still young for you.”
“That woman threw herself at me in a desperate attempt to get an acting job. I’m not interested in being complicit in a form of prostitution.” He brings his lips to her ear and whispers, “What I am interested in making sure you get home safely.”
She sucks in a breath and nods, “Well, okay then. Home it is.”