Title: Second Chance to make a First Choice

Author: Mindy

Rating: T sexual concepts

Disclaimer: Tina, NBC et al, own all characters.

Pairing: Jack/Claire, Jack/Liz.

Spoilers: "The One with the Cast of Night Court"

Summary: Jack gets a second chance to choose.

-x-

It's when Claire walks in on him and Liz that they finally achieve absolute closure on the whole Claire issue. Not that they thought they needed any, or were seeking some. But it happens nonetheless, and rather unexpectedly.

They did try to watch her film. After he offered, Liz went over to the entertainment system, inserted one of her discs, then turned to him with a tentative smile. Still seated in the center of the sofa, Jack patted the spot next to him invitingly. He watched her eyes flick back and forth between where she would normally sit in such an instance, and where he wanted her. Where she'd normally never dare to go. Unable to take the suspense of watching her decide, Jack grabbed her hand and with a mumbled: 'Come here,' pulled Liz down next to him.

He didn't miss the small smile on her face as she nestled in beside him, under his arm but not quite touching. Nor did he miss the urgency in her tone when he offered to fetch the popcorn for her and she stopped him – one hand on his thigh and eyes wide as she told him they'd have it later. Jack wordlessly agreed, staying where he was as Liz redirected her eyes to the screen, making some muffled comment at the disclaimer on screen, about corporate pigs covering their asses.

"No offence," she'd added sheepishly. He'd taken no offence and added that he dreaded to think what she'd say on one of those absurdly superfluous commentaries by off-screen talent. "You and me both," she'd replied, lamenting however, that all her Robot and Bear Talk Show sketches, slaved away on for so many nights, would probably never be preserved for prosperity in a dvd release.

"I'm afraid you are correct there," Jack admitted just as the movie started. He tried to watch, he really did -- perhaps still attempting to make amends, to salvage the night he and Lemon had planned. And it was funny in parts. From what he noticed. But neither of them laughed. The tension in the air made it impossible. It had grown even more palpable once they stopped talking. And sitting so close made them hyper-aware of every move, every breath, every gulp of the other, which otherwise would seem insignificant, but now, became the only thing they could concentrate on.

When Jack glanced across at Lemon, she was slumped low against the couch, one arm slung across her stomach, the other propped on it so she could bite her thumb. She was watching the TV screen through her lashes, her chin tipped downwards. He'd sighed, looking away and asking her:

"What're we watching, Lemon?"

"You know," she'd mumbled.

"I don't," he'd replied: "that's why I asked."

"It's a thing. With people. Who do stuff."

"So much clearer."

He'd waited another minute or so, watching the time tick by on the dvd's timer, before releasing another breath and asking her:

"So what would happen if I kissed you right now?"

Lemon did not budge -- though he could feel in every pore of his body the shock emanating from every pore of hers.

"I…I don't know," she stammered eventually, shoulders inching up round her ears.

Jack turned to look at her again. "Want to find out?"

He certainly did.

Which is how he ended up with Lemon half-naked underneath him. And Claire gaping at the two of them in horror and shock. It's certainly not how he'd meant or hoped it to go. In all his imaginings of kissing his best friend for the first time, there were never any interruptions by former, crazed lovers. And understandably so. Even in his fantasies, he didn't relish the idea of being distracted from such a pleasurable, climactic moment.

Because, when it finally happened, kissing Liz was so sweet. Not in the sense of it being innocent or trite. But in the sense that he'd waited so long to know it. In the sense that the moment, when it finally came, was slow and real and full. Sweet in the sense that with her, he knew who he was kissing. He knew that when she put her hand on the side of his neck and pressed her lips back against his that she was kissing him. The actual him. The real him. The him that she knew, and nobody else. And for that reason, Jack kissed Liz like he'd never kissed another woman.

The first time he kissed her, Liz was lying down on the couch, her hair in a curly pile about her head, the fingers of his hand sifting through it. Jack curled a hand under her knees and lifted her legs over his lap, never taking his eyes off her face. He ran a hand up her thigh, making her lick her lips. Then he leaned down to capture them with his own. The first kiss was tender, infinitely meaningful, but brief. He pulled back to get her reaction and watched her try to suppress a pleased smile. She bit her lower lip shyly, but the smile still managed to reach her eyes. He smiled back, then moved in to kiss her again.

He gave her a couple of short kisses before settling into a longer, deeper kiss, her hands moving up and down his arms as his hand rested stationary on her waist, one finger getting a taste of the warm skin between her shirt and her jeans. The kiss deepened further, Liz's eyes opened as he moaned against her mouth. But closed again when his tongue entered her mouth.

He couldn't help himself. His fingers began undoing the buttons of her shirt, starting at the bottom. He only got two undone, before getting the overwhelming urge to slip a hand inside to circle her skin. It was not long afterwards that things began to heat up, his mouth headed south and Liz's shirt was all the way undone. Wrapping both hands round her waist, he drew her body off the sofa, towards his mouth. She arched into him, her ass and shoulders still on the cushions, but the rest of her straining towards him with a hunger he never thought possible.

And it's at this moment, when his eyes are roving over her exposed torso, his mouth on her stomach and her eyes shut tight in pleasure that a horrified shriek alerts them to Claire's presence. They both freeze, although Lemon's eyes snap open. Enough to watch Claire as she stomps about the room, apparently having returned to retrieve some lost item of clothing. When she cannot find something to have pretended to have forgotten though, she hurls a few expletives at them -- topped off by a few 'sluts!' -- before she storms out again, hair flying and eyes flashing.

As the door slams shut on her wrath, Jack turns to Liz, propped up on her elbows, shirt undone and lips an indecent red. He watches her face, watches to see which way her expression will go. He is unsure whether something like this could catapult her into a full-scale meltdown, or worse, might cause her to withdraw from him and abruptly flee.

Tentatively, he asks: "Do you think she was talking to you or me?"

Liz flops back against the cushions, gloriously unconcerned: "I'm not the one making out with two ladies in one night. If anyone's a slut here, it's you, Jackie."

"I didn't sleep with Claire," he tells her, shifting up to catch her gaze.

Liz looks him in the eye, silent a moment. "I didn't say you did."

"I know. I just…thought it might be a good time to clear that up," he says, then adds: "If it needed clearing up."

"Hey, I hate to break it to you," she mutters: "but you're not sleeping with me either."

"Tonight?" he asks, wide-eyed: "Or ever?"

"I have a very strict 'not-before-the-twelfth-date-rule'," she tells him then reaches up to pat his chest: "Though for you, I might be convinced to lower that to…ten, maybe..?"

"I'm appalled, Lemon," Jack murmurs, adjusting himself over her. "I think you are grossly underestimating my powers of persuasion. I'm fairly certain I could convince you to at least halve that number."

"Hm…" Her mouth curls up shyly in one corner as one hand slips round his neck. "Eh, kiss me again and we'll see."

Jack grins as he descends. "God, you're sexy when you make jokes."

Liz rolls her eyes, murmurs knowingly: "Yeah, that's what aaaall the boys say."

END.