Characters: Jack/Liz. Friendship and a bit of UST.
Spoilers: Minor through "Kidney Now."
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1102
Disclaimer: Not mine! Fun, not profit.

Summary: The first day of a new season is a lot like January 1. My last couple fics were fairly angsty, so here's a happier one.



“Hi, Lemon,” Jack says, and something about the way he’s standing there throws her off, weird as that sounds—or maybe it’s just the fact that he is standing there, waiting in front of her office like some kind of welcome wagon. Like the most upscale welcome wagon in history, because he’s got a bottle of champagne and a jar of what looks like caviar (gross), and yeah, it's the first day back from summer hiatus, but still, she wasn’t expecting him to be here.

“Hey,” Liz says. She’s glad he has stuff in both hands, because now they don’t have to do the whole awkward Are we gonna hug now, or what? They only saw each other a few times over the summer; she’s been so busy with the book, and then Jack was at a microwaves conference in Japan for most of July. So she’s really happy to see him standing here, even if it did unnerve her at first, and even if he did bring that disgusting caviar people somehow pay hundreds of dollars for (that doesn’t sound right, but she’s pretty sure it is); still, she doesn’t really feel like calculating a hugging strategy right now. “Throwing a party?”

“I thought you’d like a drink for the first day, but more as an anesthetic than in celebration. And my office is being renovated, so I’m on the 31st floor for the time being—it’s really not well-suited to guests.”

“You’re renovating?” Liz says as she opens her door. “Again?” The air inside the office is stale and musty, as if everyone’s bad ideas have been decaying there all summer. (Wow, she should write that down. Books are supposed to sound poetic, right? But maybe not humor books.) She takes the champagne from Jack and sets it on her desk, then starts looking through the drawers for those plastic flutes she got at Target.

“The last renovation was two years ago,” says Jack. “I don’t want to give the impression that GE can’t afford the best.”

“Uh-huh. You know, Frank called me last week. He wanted to know if it was true that the writers’ dental coverage was being axed. But that can’t possibly be true, since you’re getting a new office and all, right?”

“Lemon, it’s a bit early in the year for a socialist tirade, and besides, if wooden teeth were good enough for the father of our country, are the creators of ‘Robot Sex Line’ really entitled to reject them?”

“Jack, let me reiterate that Frank called me. At home. I was talking to Frank in my underwear, OK, and he’s just gonna keep calling and complaining unless—”

“All right,” Jack says. “I’ll talk to Geiss. Maybe we can get your employees onto the ‘Hillbilly Plus’ plan. Now, shall we?” He sits down in front of her desk, picks up a champagne flute and looks at it disdainfully—probably noticing the “Made in Guatemala” etched into the base. “Don’t you have something a bit more…”

“When you’re in Lemon’s house, you play by Lemon’s rules. And this is how I roll.” Liz pours Jack some champagne, then fills half of her own glass, perching on the edge of the desk. “Isn’t it a little early for this? By which I mean, eight-thirty in the morning?”

“I notice you asked that after pouring yourself a drink.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, what am I, a—” Liz is unable to think of an appropriate analogy. “A…notable non-drinking person? And you didn’t seriously think I would eat caviar, did you?”

“Lemon…” Jack begins with a sigh. “What better time than the start of a new season to strive for self-improvement? It’s like New Year’s Eve, but without Ryan Seacrest or the deep shame of being forced to kiss your grandmother because everyone else came with a date. In other words, if you’re resolving to change your life—which, if you’re looking to make a splash as a writer, you undoubtedly should be—now is a good time to start. Besides, the caviar is chocolate-covered.”

“It wasn’t my grandmother,” Liz mutters as her hand inches reluctantly forward. “It was my great-aunt. Do you mostly taste the chocolate or the gross fish egg stuff?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Jack hands her the jar and leans back expectantly. Liz keeps the lid on and brings it a little closer to her face. Well, it smells OK, at least. She should take a tiny bite and then spit it out when Jack isn’t looking; at least then he’ll stop with the hard sell.

Hesitantly, she unscrews the cap—then almost topples off the desk when a spring-loaded plastic snake pops out. “Verdammter Mist!” she exclaims.

Jack is laughing so hard Liz thinks he might puke again. “I can’t… I can’t believe you…” He shakes his head, tears rolling down his face. “Stop, stop,” he says, holding up a hand, although she isn’t doing anything. “That j—wait, wait.” Maybe ten seconds later he pulls himself together and continues: “That joke was old in the seventies, and chocolate-covered caviar, really? You nev—didn’t anyone ever—I can’t, I can’t,” and now he’s hysterical again. He should puke. See if she cares.

Well, actually she would. This is her office, and that would really be a lousy way to kick off the season.

“Yeah,” Liz says. “My brother did. When he was eleven.”

Jack clears his throat. He’s the only person she knows who actually says “ahem.” Wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, he says, “I’m sorry, but I thought of that somewhere around July 7, and—”

“Sure, sure. Never stand in the way of Jack Donaghy, corporate visionary.”

He cocks his head, looking semi-serious all of a sudden. “You’re not mad,” he says, half-telling, half-asking.

“I’m kinda PO’d,” Liz says, taking a haughty sip from her Target champagne flute. “I actually have a phobia of, um, gag gifts, so…”

“That’s understandable,” Jack says solemnly, but he looks pretty relieved. Like oddly relieved that she isn’t mad at him. Even though until about ten seconds ago, she was sure that she was.

Whatever, Liz decides. A plastic snake in a can isn’t the worst thing that will happen all year. Probably not even the worst thing today—she thinks she hears Frank chanting, “No dental, that’s mental” down the hall.

Liz raises her glass. “Happy fall season,” she says.

Jack taps his glass against hers and seems disappointed by the absence of a clinking or tinkling noise. Well, what does he expect for $3.99? “Here’s to a great year, Lemon.”


END

Verdammter Mist: God damn it (German)