Disclaimer: 30 Rock belongs to Tina Fey.
Years later, after TGS went under; after Jack finally got Don Geiss' job; after Liz became a political commentator for a paper in Oregon; after Tracy Jordan was convicted for "some crime or other" (the judge's exact words); after Jenna landed a role on a hit primetime drama as the curmudgeonly grandmother; after the contact between Liz and Jack went from daily meetings to weekly lunches to monthly phone calls to nothing at all (it's no one's fault; these things happen); after Liz got married; after Jack went through three highly-publicized engagements to successively younger women (apparently without finding whatever it was he was looking for); after Leo Spaceman discovered the secret to eternal life, only to be swamped under a wave of so many malpractice suits that his credibility—and finances—were ruined forever; after Jonathon and Kenneth were married in Vermont, Kenneth's mother sobbing (not tears of joy) the whole time; after Liz learned to think of herself as desirable; years later, after all that, Liz and Jack run into each other at Dulles Airport one autumn evening.
She sees him first, but over the years she's approached twenty-two men who looked exactly like Jack from behind, so she decides not to make a fool of herself yet again. She's at the baggage claim waiting for her suitcase when he approaches her from behind and says, "Lemon?"
A grin splits her face before she even finishes whirling around. "Jack!"
For once their hug is natural and automatic. She flings herself into his open arms, burying her nose in his shoulder and breathing the unique scent that is Jack Donaghy. He presses his cheek to the top of her head, his breath ruffling her hair, his hands big and warm on her back.
They stay that way for two minutes, three, five. The people who move around them, lugging bags, looking for signs directing them to the taxis, must think that they are lovers, but Liz doesn't care.
Eventually she pulls away because she wants to see his face. He looks older. Older than she thought he'd look. Thinner, too. His eyes seem bluer than she remembers. His hair is still great. His eyes feast on her, raking over her body from stylish shoes to classy hair. They are still locked together, gripping each other by the forearm as if afraid that some force will tear them apart.
"It's been a long time," he breathes. "You look wonderful."
She laughs wetly. "I've missed you."
"What are you doing in D.C.?"
She smiles ruefully. "Business. You?"
He grimaces. "Business."
A familiar flash of red catches her eye. "My bag," she says.
He lets go of her and snags it, hoisting the garish suitcase over the lip of the carousel and setting it at their feet.
"Where are you staying?" he asks.
"The Hilton."
To Jack's credit, he doesn't wince. "I'm at the Ritz. Let me give you a ride. Wait, first let's get dinner. If you want to." He speaks quickly, eagerly, as if to forestall objections she has no intention of making.
He only has a carry-on (he explains that he tries to fly commercially rather than taking the corporate jet, as an example for the executives who work under him), so they head outside and find his limo waiting. The chauffeur holds the door open for them; Jack helps her in with a hand on the small of her back.
They sit half-turned, facing each other, their legs nudging together and then apart with each acceleration and deceleration of the car. They can't stop smiling. Liz's face is starting to hurt.
"How are you, Lemon?" he asks, taking her hand. (This is more than they would touch in a year back when they were friends.)
"I'm good. I'm happy," she says, enjoying the sensation of his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "And you?"
He shrugs, leans even closer to her. "I have the job I always wanted. I must be happy."
Liz thinks he sounds unconvinced. "Are you seeing anyone?"
He pulls back a little, his eyes narrowed. "How's your husband?" he returns.
Okay, that was a little venomous. She makes a mental list of topics to avoid.
They go to a beautiful restaurant and drink wonderful wine and eat exceptional food. Jack pushes aside the candle so it won't be in the way when she steals bites of his tiramisu, or when he reaches out to clasp her hand between courses.
It's just like old times. Just like old times, except that the connection between them is stronger than ever. They don't talk much about their lives now. They reminisce about TGS instead, about working with Tracy and Jenna and their own failed relationships, Phoebe, Elissa, Floyd, Dennis, names and people neither of them have had cause to think about in months or even years.
When they finish the meal they stroll out of the restaurant, his arm finding its way around her waist. It's strangely comfortable.
"I'll have the driver drop you off at your Hilton," he tells her, his fingers tracing patterns on her shirt. His voice is low, wistful.
Their eyes meet and she thinks that neither of them is ready to say goodnight quite yet.
"I bet the mini-bars at the Ritz are fancy," Liz says.
His lips curve. The limo pulls up.
"They are," he agrees. "Would you like to test one out?"
She leans into his body as if for warmth.
When Jack checks in at the Ritz, the receptionist calls Liz "Mrs. Donaghy". She doesn't correct him. It's an honest mistake, considering the way Jack keeps shooting her smoldering glances, and better than the truth. Jack gives the bellboy his own bag as well as Liz's suitcase. He peers at her under hooded brows as if wondering whether she'll object. She holds his gaze and nods slowly.
Jack's room is on the top floor. The bellboy drops of their luggage and Jack tips him a few dollars. The door swings shut.
In an instant Liz finds herself pressed against the wall. Jack's body is solid against her, his lips on hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as if desperate for her taste. Her arms come up to wrap around his neck and she kisses him back, hard. She whimpers. He groans. Their heights are perfect for this, their bodies pressing together as if to grind away the clothes that separate them.
They pull away for air. Liz gasps, "Jack."
He kisses her neck, making her shiver, and his hand snakes up under her shirt to caress her nipple through her bra. He cups her, massages her, renders her boneless.
She pulls him up and they kiss again. She undoes the buttons on his shirt, her hands a little unsteady. She yanks his shirt open and splays her hands against his hairy chest.
They separate again and he pulls her shirt over her head. He undoes the latch of her bra and draws it off of her, leans in to nuzzle her bare breast. She trembles at the sight and feel of him, the warm suction as he latches on to her nipple, the tickle as his hand drifts across her other breast. He worships her that way for a blissful eternity, then falls to his knees in front of her.
He removes her shoes, then, his eyes locked with hers, slowly undoes the zipper of her slacks. He pulls off her pants and underwear, leaving her totally naked. She flushes a little under his heated gaze, but all thoughts of embarrassment are gone when he grabs her by the knees and leans in to bury his nose between her legs.
She groans and sags, her hands in his hair as he licks her, his tongue working magic. He pushes a finger inside her and begins to work her slowly as his lips find her clit and begin to suck.
It doesn't take long before her world is exploding in a flash of white and she's screaming his name.
He continues to stroke her gently as she comes down, then abruptly stands and sweeps her into his arms. He carries her to the bed and sets her down on it, his hands lingering on her breasts, her hips.
He shucks off his own shoes, pants, and boxers, pausing only to retrieve a condom from his wallet. He climbs over her and they kiss again, steadily, carefully. She can taste herself on his tongue. Another spike of lust shoots through her and she says, "Jack, I need you. Now."
He shudders and sits back on his knees to roll the condom onto himself. He settles over her again, pulls up her leg, and, eyes locked with hers, eases into her.
It's the most perfect sensation Liz has ever felt. She thinks that maybe she's been longing for this feeling, this man, for years. He presses his forehead into her neck as he seats himself fully inside her. "Liz," he groans. "Liz, Liz, Liz."
She wraps her other leg around his waist and he takes that as a signal to start moving. He thrusts gently, leisurely, taking his time with each careful movement of his hips. She is moaning beneath him, writhing, urging him on. After years of anticipation neither can last long, and his thrusts begin to speed up. He pounds into her with desperate need, gasping with each thrust. He lowers one hand to rub at her clit, watching her face all the while, and she comes just seconds before he does.
He is beautiful when he comes.
He hovers over her for a few minutes, panting, sweating, before heaving himself off and collapsing next to her. He disposes of the condom in a garbage can by the bed, then wraps an arm around her as she curls up against his side. She kisses his chest.
It occurs to her that she has just cheated on her husband. She wonders that she didn't realize that until now. She wonders why the thought isn't enough to get her out of this bed, out of Jack's hotel room, out of D.C. completely.
"Do you ever wonder what might have happened between us," Jack says, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger, "if I'd kissed you that night, after Gerhardt's birthday party?"
"Every day," Liz says. She tilts her head back to examine at his face, which is red and peaceful and anguished. "You?"
He bends down to kiss her gently. "Every day."
He holds her as she begins to cry.