He looks down at his watch, checking the time yet again. It's been approximately fifteen minutes since the fire alarm went off in the restaurant (he suspects that the cigar-smoking gentleman he encountered in the restroom is to blame). Upon hearing the shrill ringing of the klaxon, he'd purposefully strode out of the lavatory, grabbed his jacket, and (thankfully) located his dining companion standing flustered by the exit door. He had attempted to tell her that "No, your jacket is much more important than dessert...", but she'd clutched to the fork and the plate like a lifeline, so he sighed to himself and held her elbow tight as they moved down the stairs to the ground level.
He shifts his gaze over to her now, watching her sway and shiver in the cold, scooping up the last pieces and fragments of her much treasured dessert. She seems to be (subconsciously) ignoring him, absolutely devoted to the final forkful of cheesecake she is currently bringing to her mouth. He watches her chew it, closing her eyes and savouring it. He is entranced by her worship of this simple combination of cream cheese and sugar – it seems to be more of an experience for her than part of a meal. Perhaps in this case, it was more of a coping mechanism for the cold – a way for her to ignore the fact that her teeth are chattering and her limbs are shaking from the exposure.
She'd refused his jacket when he'd offered it, as they stepped out from the building out into the evening air. The dress she is wearing offers little (if any) protection from the elements; indeed, it exposes more of her than he's seen in a while. Watching her from this perspective, he startles himself with the realization that she is not beautiful, not even pretty – Liz Lemon is stunning. At this, he finds himself grinning, grinning with the thought of finding his best friend so attractive.
She notices him looking at her, but doesn't really react. Her hands are busy against her arms, feebly attempting to restore some sort of circulation to her outer limbs. It's a futile effort; her hands themselves are too cold to accomplish anything, and she drops them to her sides after a few moments.
"You look like you've turned to ice, Lemon," he states wryly, wishing there was some way he could transmit to her some of his warmth.
"Jssst kcal me lemmmn pop," she slurs, lips blue and unresponsive from the cold temperatures and her lack of thermal defences. She tries to bring her hands up to her lips, sputtering small amounts of warm air into the cupped area, attempting to keep them warm.
He can't take anymore of this; he can't sit idly by and watch her freeze, even if she did reject his coat and his help earlier. He moves towards her quickly, shaking his head. "For heaven's sake, Lemon pop," he grumbles. He grabs the outer edges of his jacket and pulls the two sides them apart, creating an open space in front of his chest. Leaning forwards, he catches her small wrist easily within his grasp, and pulls her in.
His first (illogical) thought as he feels her press up against him is that she fits to him like a glove does to a hand. Her head comes to below his chin, barely outside of the extent of the collar, while the rest of her body is pinned next to his by the perimeter created by his coat. He can't help but think to himself how it simply feels so right.
That thought, that feeling quickly dissipates a moment later as Liz feebly attempts to push herself away from him, out of the reach of his arms and of his warmth.
He doesn't budge an inch. "What are you doing, Lemon? Did you want me to let you freeze?"
She looks up at him, and there's something different in her eyes, something intangible and indistinct. "No..."
His eyes lock onto hers. "Then don't argue about it. It'll still be a couple more minutes, and I've got enough heat for the both of us." To prove his point, he moves his hands to settle loosely around her waist, keeping both the coat closed around them and her body close to his.
He knows that this is a little too close for the level of friends they claim to be. He knows that he probably shouldn't be enjoying this so much right now (especially when he had to leave his scotch behind upstairs). He knows that he shouldn't (ever) be considering Lemon in any other fashion or form than that of trusted colleague and confidante.
In his mind, he knows all of this all too well.
His heart, though, is a different story.