When Liz loses her baby, Jack goes to the hospital chapel and prays. He prays often – usually to certain stock market symbols or gods of fornication – but not to Christ or the Heavenly Lord.
He prays for Liz Lemon though.
Liz Lemon who was almost three months pregnant only four hours ago.
Jack curses the circumstances that made her trip and fall hard so that she hit her head – and then fall that somehow made her lose the child.
He realizes, slowly, that he would have done so much for this baby. He would have fought, but he cannot fight the circumstances. He cannot change anything. And as his hands turn to fists, he cannot punch anything but the air.
Liz is asking for him. But he can't see her now. Jack fears he would break down. That he would cry for her and her child and that he would give her anything – the sun, the stars, all the children of the world – but he can't. He can't bring little Sophia Lemon back.
Oh, God. He laughs suddenly, thinking he has finally found something he can't do for Lemon. He can fix her hair, clothes and manners, but not the thing that actually matters.
The last time she had a serious baby incident was with when he was in Washington D.C. with Cooter. And all he could do was fly home to comfort her.
She is asking about him. He is the only one she wants to see. This is because he is the only who knows that she is – was – pregnant.
But he can't think of what to say. How to help her.
He finally goes into her room with a cup of juice.
"How's your head, Lemon?" he mumbles. Her hands are at her stomach.
"I lost her." Liz shakes her head. "She's gone. Although I don't know if she was a girl." Liz laughs lightly and the pain is even more evident.
Jack sits, puts the juice on the table and grips her hand hard.
"At least," Liz gulps, "her father didn't know yet. So that's one less person to grieve."
Jack looks away.
"You're the only one who knows," she whispers.
He nods.
"Say something, Jack."
"I'm sorry, Lemon," he croaks.
"Does this mean I can't have it all?" she laughs weakly again. "Maybe this is a sign."
"No. It doesn't. If anyone deserves to have it all, it is you, Lemon."
She closes her eyes. "Jack, I'm lucky you were here. I can't – I was scared."
He doesn't remind her that he was terrified to see her fall, that it was the slowest fall in the world, and that her not opening her eyes right after almost made his heart stop again. And he doesn't remind her that he brushed her cheek with anxiousness every few moments as they waited for the ambulance.
"I know," he says instead. "I understand."
"I'm going to try again. But not like this. I can't bear this."
"What?"
"Jack," she turns to her side a little, wincing at the pain, and he steadies her, "I was thinking. Maybe adoption is the best plan. I don't have a good diet. I don't take care of my body. I'm not fit to carry a child."
"Lemon…"
"Is adoption so bad?"
"No. Absolutely not."
"Then?"
His fingers stroke the back of her hand. "Adoption would make you happy?"
"I think so."
He nods and then moves a piece of hair out of her eyes. "Are you alright, Lemon?"
She shakes her head and buries her face into her pillow. His heart pangs again.
When the adoption agent asks about the males in Liz's life, Liz hotly explains that she can handle a child alone without masculine help.
"But there must be someone," the agent protests. "And if there isn't, then will there be? And if so, what kind of a choice would you make?"
Liz sighs. "You've already met Jack. Mr. Donaghy."
The agent smiles and nods.
"Well, I guess that's him," Liz says. Jack stops. "What I mean," here she sends him an apologetic look, "is that this man would take her of my child, I know. So I guess he's my best male friend."
"I see."
"He's very caring," Liz says. "And he can be logical. And intelligent, gracious, friendly and sweet. When he wants to. But I know that for my child he would always be those things."
Later, Jack asks her if she meant these things. Liz laughs and tells him that he "wishes". But she says again that she is so glad that the child will have him in its life.
"If I ever get a baby," she moans.
"You will," Jack assures her. "You will."
He is planning to have Jonathan pull some strings.
The child never comes in from China or Liberia or Russia.
"This is a sign," Liz says again, as she drinks with him in his office.
"No, it isn't," he disagrees.
"Jack, I'm not supposed to have a baby."
"Yes, you are." He wants her to smile.
"If I am, it's not like this. Maybe I'm not supposed to be alone," Liz hypothesizes.
He refills her wine glass.
"Jack, I have to get married."
His hand shakes as he continues to pour.
"I could set you up," he offers. "Not with Gretchen, obviously."
"I don't think that's going to work."
He turns away from her. "Perhaps the maternal instinct will simply disappear, Lemon. And thing things will be alright."
"No. I'll just be unhappy if I don't have a baby now. And I've spent so much time trying to get one."
"Let's go out," Jack suggests. "I'll help you pick out a man to procreate with."
Liz laughs. "I'm not dressed to go out."
"You look fine."
"You won't want to be seen with me in public. Don't think I don't know that!"
"Just steal something from the dressing room if you're so self-conscious."
"Is that an order?" she asks cheekily.
He clenches his hand. "Yes, Lemon. How about one in plum if you can find it."
"Plum?" she scoffs. "Alright, Mr. Donaghy. You're so bossy."
"You'll thank me for it."
He thanks himself for it when she emerges from the dressing room. Apparently, some of the employees were still around to help her with make-up and matching. She looks beautiful – not stunning and still very Lemon-ish – but beautiful.
In the limo, she asks where they are going and he responds that they are going to one of New York's best bars.
Once they arrive, they assess jaw lines and eye colors and physiques. And then intelligence levels and charisma.
"You're the best one here," she finally says, and touches his forearm affectionately. "Jack, you're the best."
He smiles and suggests a man sitting to the right of them. Her eyes light up and she nods enthusiastically.
Half an hour later, Jack leaves the bar alone as Lemon chats with Robert.
His driver, George, asks where the "Young Miss Lemon is".
Jack explains that she is with another man and George shakes his head sympathetically.
One day, in the elevator, Liz abruptly tells him that Robert will have a baby with her.
"He doesn't think we have to get married first."
"I see."
"You think that's okay?"
"Why on earth would it matter to me, Lemon?"
She turns away from him. "Sorry for wanting an opinion."
"If it makes you happy…"
"It can't be that bad?" Liz smiles.
"Something like that," he nods. He's a liar.
One night, Liz comes to his door.
"I can't have a baby."
He sighs, hair tussled from sleep. "Lemon, are you having doubts again?"
"Physically, Jack. Physically I can't have a baby."
He pulls her into his living room and she slowly leans towards him.
"I know you think hugging is ethnic."
She is against his chest.
"I'll get over it," he mumbles into her hair. Her heart is hammering – he can feel it. He hands glide of her arms, her back, soothing. His face is still pressed into her hair. She is quivering now, as if her whole body is crying. "Don't, Lemon. I'm sorry."
Her eyes slide closed and he realizes that she is finally relaxing. She's tired.
"Come on," He pulls her towards his bedroom because the spare bed isn't made up. She grips his shirt tightly. He helps her into the bed as she protests.
"It's alright. Just sleep." And then as an afterthought: "Where's Robert?"
"I don't know. Gone, maybe. I was angry," she slurs. "He didn't really care about not having a baby." Then, her own afterthought: "Where are you going to sleep?"
He shrugs, and then takes a chance. "Here."
Her neuroses kick in instantly as her fingers begin to clutch at the covers.
"Relax." Jack tells her. And then he climbs into bed. Slowly, he eases the fingers of one hand away from the blankets and holds her hand. She settles into the pillow.
And when she falls asleep, he slowly caresses his cheek. His arm settles around her waist.
He loves her.
Jack settles into the smell of him and her.
The next morning she eats toast, eggs and has some orange juice. He watches her.
"What are you going to do?" he questions finally.
"I'm going to find something else to focus on."
"Adoption again?"
"I don't know." She pauses. "This is so…non-feminist of me, but I don't really want to be a single mother."
He nods. "I understand."
Liz comes over often. They watch movies and she wears his clothes. They are both entirely domestic.
"This is so nice, Jack," she tells him. "We should've done this way before."
She sleeps in his bed all the time. Sometimes he moves to the study and works, and every so often she pads in the morning and hands him a coffee. Every so often she brings her laptop over too and they work together, in their own little corners, but completely together.
She has stopped seeing Robert.
"Listen," she says one day, "I'm writing a book."
He raises an eyebrow. "The Dealbreaker book wasn't enough?"
"This a novel! A humorous, but at the same time serious novel. Do you want to hear the beginning?"
"Let me read it."
He comes up behind her and skims through the writing. Then, he reads it again, more carefully.
"It's beautiful," he decides. And then kisses her on the cheek.
She stares at him.
"It's beautiful," he repeats, and then kisses her on the lips. His hands find her waist and hers find his shoulders, his face, his hair. He pulls her up, so that she is flush against him, ad he kisses her with all his might. He cups parts of her body that are so familiar to his eyes and yet so foreign to his hands.
They make it to the bedroom.
"I love you," he says.
She laughs. Not incredulously, but gloriously.
And that makes Jack smile.
"Do you want to adopt?" he asks one day.
"I'm okay right now," Liz explains. "I can wait. But…I can't wait too long." She smiles. "So soon, yeah, I'd like to adopt. When you're ready. If we can do it, I mean. Seeing as I haven't had too much luck with the entire process."
When Liz finally meets Sophia in China, she counts all the fingers and toes. And secretly, Jack does too.
Ten and ten.
Perfect scores.