Title: Indigo Eyed Girl

Author: Mindy

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Tina's.

Pairing: Jack/Liz

Spoilers: "Jackie Jormp-Jomp"

Summary: Post-"Jackie Jormp-Jomp". Follows straight after. Liz laments the loss of the high life.

-x-x-x-

Liz attaches her sex certificate to the door. "I'm back, nerds!" she announces gleefully.

A moment later, Jack enters, holding a raw steak in his hand.

"And you!" she rounds on him, her face spilt into a wide grin: "You were right! Again!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You were right," she tells him, moving in close and patting the lapels of his jacket: "About everything. Just like you usually are! I could kiss you!"

He narrows his eyes at her: "Are you trying to get yourself suspended again?"

She snorts. "No!"

"Why are you grinning like that?" he questions, pulling slightly away: "You're getting that manic look."

"Because you were right," she says again, and it's starting to unnerve him. "It's what you do -- that's why you're the boss! And this--!" she holds out her arms and goes to stand by her desk: "this is what I do. Jeez, Jack, I have had a wake-up call. Did you know that if you do nothing all day your pleasure centre shrinks to practically nothing?"

"It wouldn't surprise me," he answers, eyeing her up and down: "And we certainly wouldn't want that happening to your pleasure centre."

"You're telling me," she comments: "I might never enjoy a microwaved doughnut again. Or a good liz."

"Yes," he agrees wryly: "those are definite highpoints in daily life."

She nods in amazement then shakes her head in regret: "It's a shame though, my Downward Dog is going to suffer because of this."

"Your what?"

"My Downward Dog," she repeats eagerly: "Yeshi, my yoga instructor said it was really coming along. Here: check it out." She shoots him another grin then drops into an inelegant pose on the floor, hands on the ground and ass lifted. She peers back at him through her falling hair: "Not bad, right?"

Jack tips his head to one side. Takes a moment before averting his eyes from her round ass in tighter than usual jeans and long legs in sexier than legal boots. "Not bad, at all."

"Wanna see my Half-moon pose?"

"I think I just saw the full thing." He steps forward and holds out one hand: "Get up from there, Lemon, before you pull something. That floor isn't clean."

She puts her hand in his and struggles to come upright, her face a little flushed. She dusts her palms together: "See, all that flexibility is going to go now."

"That is a shame," he says and holds out the steak: "I brought you this."

She looks down at the steak in his hand: "I can't eat that."

"No, Lemon," he pokes a finger at his face: "it's for your eye."

"Oh."

He gestures to the couch and she half-reclines, her head in one corner as he puts the steak over her injured eye, but her feet on the floor, knees crossed to make room for him. Jack takes a seat in the other corner.

"I'll bet my wrinkle comes back after this," she murmurs, her one good eye focused on the ceiling: "And my jaw-line acne."

"What do you mean?" Jack asks, spreading his arms over the back and arm of the couch.

"I got my wrinkle botoxed," she says, leaning forward suddenly and circling a finger at her face: "and all those facials got rid of my stress-related zits. Didn't you notice?" She takes the steak off her eye for a moment and sticks her face at him.

Jack's eyes run over her face: "You do look different. The circles under your eyes are gone. Well, the one eye."

"I know," she replies with a nod: "I slept. This is what I look like, Jack, if I take care of myself."

"Lemon," he sighs, a smile forming on his face: "There is nothing wrong with having a wrinkle or two at our age.'

"Once again, Jack," she tells him dryly: "I am not your age -- even though I might normally look it. And anyway," she says, flopping back on the couch: "you would say that. Your wrinkles are nice. They make you look….I dunno, distinguished or something--"

"Yes, they do, don't they?"

"Mine just made me look…old."

He releases another sigh: "You do not look old."

"It feels like it's coming back," she mutters, feeling around her forehead with her fingertips: "Is it back?"

Jack peers over at her: "I don't see anything. And I can't say I've noticed it before."

"Liar," she huffs: "You notice everything about everyone."

"Not true," he replies, hiding a smile: "I notice only the people who matter, Lemon."

"Whatever." She sits up again, moves in close. Again. "Tell me the truth, Jack. You know the one I mean, it's usually here, right here." She stabs a finger between her eyebrows and frowns at him woefully.

"Oh. That one."

"It's back, isn't it?"

"Yes, Lemon," he tells her after a moment: "I'm not sure it ever entirely went away."

"Augh," she flops back against the couch, but this time not away from him, close to him. His arm rests behind her, her head lolls towards him. "Jack…" she mutters after a moment: "don't you have any rich friends who could support me in the lifestyle to which I've become accustomed? Age, looks, are not important, even hygiene can be negotiated. But preferably one with a physical disability that rules out sexual activity of any kind?"

Jack laughs softly: "I wouldn't do that to you."

"Why not?"

"You'd never be happy with that life."

She tilts her head to look up at him, and floors him by asking: "Would you marry me? To keep me in botox injections and champagne breakfasts and spinning classes?"

He looks down at her for a moment. "As tempting a proposal as that is," he says eventually: "if I were to marry you, Lemon, it would not be for the financial benefits it would afford you."

"Hmm," she lowers her head, drops it onto his shoulder: "it'd probably be so you could educate me on, er…male-female intimacy, right? I would be enrolling in your version of a sexy masterclass."

"I'm afraid I would have to insist on it," he answers, making Lemon laugh a little against his shoulder. The sound is low and sexy and he is not sure how she ended up tucked against his side or why his arm is about her shoulder but he doesn't remove it.

Not even when the door swings open and Frank appears, staring blankly down at them. "Oh," he comments: "URST. I get it. I'll come back."

Lemon lifts her head and frowns after him as he exits: "Oh brother. What's the bet that's going to be on a hat tomorrow…" She turns to Jack who is looking at her intently.

"Do I…want to know what that meant?" he asks, brows lifted.

She narrows her eyes. "I'm gonna guess no."

"Hm." He nods a few times, still looking at her.

"You're staring at my wrinkle now, aren't you?" she mutters after a pause.

Jack smirks: "It's a lovely wrinkle."

She rolls her eyes: "Yeah, yeah."

"Lemon…" he tells her, getting up from the couch because it was becoming a little too close for comfort: "I'm very pleased that you've come back to us. The show…needs you. And this place wouldn't be the same without you."

She smiles slowly, her eyes warm: "Thanks, Jack."

He nods and heads for the door, then turns back to look at her, still on the couch, looking oh-so-hot in her black outfit and oh-so-pitiful with her purple eye and cute wrinkle. "How about dinner," he asks impulsively: "on your last night of freedom?"

She rises eagerly, straightening her jacket. "No more sushi, though, let's eat real food."

"On one condition," he agrees and faces her fully. "Will you promise me to never use botox again?"

"On myself or on Jenna?" she answers back quickly: "And probably not, either way, actually."

He shoots her a half-smile. "Leave that wrinkle alone, Lemon, trust me on this."

"We-ell, like I said," she muses, hobbling over to him: "you are always right. It's what you do."

"And I do it well." He holds the door for her, points to her noticeable limp: "What happened? Did one of them go for your gimpy knee?"

"No," she grumbles: "I twisted my ankle running in these lame boots -- no pun intended."

Jack chuckles: "You'll survive." Then lifts her arm over his shoulder: "Come on, champ."

"That's quite a sympathetic streak you've got there, my friend," she notes. But she allows him to help her limp out through the emptied writer's room. "Fortunately," she adds with more than a little relish: "it's nothing a little food won't fix."

"Am I buying?" Jack asks, bowed down to her height and arm slung round her waist: "Because I'm not sure I can afford to indulge your more lavish tastes these days."

"Oh, Jack," she sighs and waves a hand: "I'm still the same simple Lemon I always was."

"Thank heaven for that," he murmurs under his breath. They take a few steps together before he adds: "That doesn't infer that I'll consent to setting foot inside a Burger King."

She lets out a huff. "Dude, you're such a buzz-kill…But fine. We'll go to Plunder instead. I like their desserts."

Jack smiles. "It really is all or nothing, with you, isn't it, Lemon?"

"Every time, Jack. Every time."

END.