September
…
Some people say that autumn in New York is inviting.
Liz wonders what drugs those people are on. Because unfortunately for restless pregnant women everywhere, the city is experiencing an Indian summer. The leaves haven't even begun to turn yet, and there seems to be no end in sight for the stifling heat wave.
On top of the weather, it's weird for Liz, to be home during the most important part of her show's season. Mostly it's just difficult to relax (it's hard to feel right about reclining with a cold glass of lemonade and a book while having thoughts about her employees possibly wrecking TGS). But she's asked Pete to keep her updated, and after the first week of officially not working, she begins to exhale. She'll tune in to the show, of course, and fully plans to give suggestions for the week after. It's not like she has to relinquish total control…
Her phone vibrates with a text from Pete, and she puts down Fifty Shades of Gray (what else is she supposed to do while Jack's at the office all day?) to check it. She has to lower her sunglasses to see the screen past the sun's glare.
Stop worrying, Liz. Try to relax—maybe buy that dumb Fifty Colors book that Paula has been going on about? Take care, Pete
Apparently Pete can read her thoughts…then she remembers that they've known each other for ages, and she's glad that he's looking out for her.
Liz smiles to herself, and slips her glasses back on. It is nice, on a Tuesday afternoon in September, to know that they will survive without her.
…
"Lemon?"
Jack's voice rings through the apartment, and Liz can hear his excitement clearly.
"In here," she calls from the breakfast nook, and saves the draft that she's working on before closing her laptop. All of this free time has given her a chance to improve her screenplay, and she's pretty proud of what she has so far.
"Hi, Lemon," he greets her with a quick kiss, before embracing her a little too firmly.
"Oww, Jack, what is it?"
"Sorry, sorry!" He gently rubs her arms a few times to compensate, and she looks at him expectantly. She hasn't seen him so wound up, since, well, Limited Edition Birthday Cake Oreos.
He takes a couple of breaths, and once he is sufficiently calm, he invites her to sit down.
"I'm already sitting down, Jack. What's the matter with you?"
"I've been promoted," he says, his gaze intent.
She eyes him for a moment, not entirely sure of his sanity. "What do you mean? There's nothing else for you to be promoted to. You're head of your whole division. Several divisions, actually; as if you would let me forget."
He resists rolling his eyes, because he thinks she is being rather obtuse. Then again, she may be doing it on purpose. It's not unheard of.
"I mean to say that I am the new CEO of Kabletown," he clarifies.
Liz's eyes widen behind her glasses, and her mouth pops open.
"Oh, my god! Congratulations!"
He smiles hugely, and they embrace (as well as her body will allow). He holds her tightly, savoring the feeling. Liz can see that he has been torturing himself all day, and wonders why he didn't just come home.
"They told me after lunch. I couldn't leave—there's always some damn thing—but I've been dying to tell you."
Liz knows that it's been in talks lately. Jack has mentioned rumors of Hank leaving, but it seemed too good to be true.
"I'm happy for you. I know how it feels to finally reach your goals," Liz says, smiling genuinely at him. She absentmindedly laces her fingers under her tummy, and is surprised when he suddenly turns serious.
"This job is just icing on the cake," Jack says, placing his hands over hers. "I may have been less verbal about it, Lemon, but it's true—"
Liz feels his blissful sigh.
"—You, and a family, were always my goal," Jack finishes. He's startled when tears appear in her eyes, and draws his hands away, concerned.
"What is it?"
Liz swallows, feeling ridiculous. "Nothing. That's nice to say, is all."
He chuckles in relief. "I meant it."
Liz leans her head back. "Sooo, you're boss of the world now. What does this mean?"
"A bigger paycheck," he deadpans, and she rolls her eyes.
"Very funny. What made Hank step down?"
He relays the story to her in an animated fashion, for him, and she tries to follow the details. After a minute she decides that she doesn't really understand the logistics beyond 'he wanted to spend time with grandchildren'. Jack will meet with the board next week, and Liz is thankful to learn that Hank has already negotiated for him to stay in New York.
"There will be a party next Saturday, to celebrate. What will you wear?"
Liz frowns. "Whoa, what makes you think I have time for a shindig, Jack?"
She makes a dramatic show of checking the iCalender on her phone, while he observes with narrowed eyes.
Liz shows him her schedule, which is absolutely blank. Obviously.
"I guess I can go," she shrugs.
"Indeed. And so the question persists: what will you wear?"
She opens her computer, and types formal muumuus into the search engine. He is not amused.
…
"You look wonderful," he breathes into her ear, while his hands find the curves of her hips.
She slaps him away, protesting.
"Don't, you'll tug it down! It's only being held up with double-sided tape, and some sticky putty that I found," she complains, and he hopes to God that she is joking.
He steps back to hold her at arms' length, taking in her form. Jack can hardly believe his eyes—it has been a while since she's dressed up, but this is worth waiting for. Her gown is floor-length and strapless; the prenatal yoga that their doctor suggested has fared well for her. In fact, Jack himself has gone down a couple of tux sizes—Liz made it clear that no way in hell was she doing sweaty exercises unless she could have the satisfaction of torturing him as well—and they look radiant as a couple; this he knows.
Further inspection reveals tiny crystals around the garment's Empire waist, and they shimmer with her movement. Finally, the dress's cream color provides a nice contrast with her dark hair. She is, of course, fabulously pregnant, and he knows that tonight, the attention will not be on him alone.
Liz reaches up to straighten the bow tie on his brand-new tux, and seems content that she will not have a wardrobe malfunction in the near future. She has extra tape in her clutch just in case, but the people at Saks really know their stuff (she went at Jack's insistence, heaven help her if she suggested otherwise). She hasn't had a real night out in ages, and is excited to rejoin society. Especially if the society in question has a knack for booking extremely talented caterers, which it does.
Tonight, they are on top of the world. They are a showrunner and a soon-to-be CEO. They are a wife and husband, almost a mother and father.
They are Jack and Liz, and the entire media—everyone from the idiots at TMZ to the idiots at the New York Times, if you ask Jack—wants to get the dirt on their suddenly fascinating lives.
They pose for photographs, and Jack is not at all uncomfortable with using Liz's pregnancy as an excuse to duck inside way before he should (not that he doesn't genuinely care about her feelings). They sit at the bar, and Liz sighs in relief to be off her feet. Jack smiles sympathetically, unsure that he deserves the answering glare ("Jack, I'd like to see you stomp around on a pair of these things, with the additional weight of an unborn child,"). After five or so minutes, making the rounds becomes unavoidable, and she says she'll meet up with him after a much-needed trip to the bathroom.
After she does her business, Liz lingers inside the powder room to appreciate the décor (and do a necessary self-inspection). She decides that her lipstick is okay, but something else needs attention. She digs around in her purse for the travel-sized deodorant, and her hand is very much in her armpit when a voice behind her interrupts.
"Liz, hi."
She looks up in the mirror, and hastily lowers her arm when she recognizes the woman behind her.
"Um," she says intelligently.
"I thought I'd see you here. I haven't forgotten your weird relationship with Jack," Avery says, waving her hand carelessly. Liz finds it odd that Avery would put it that way, and then it dawns on her that she may simply have no idea they were married.
Liz decides to test the waters. "Yep, you know me. Always got Jack's back."
Avery remembers her meeting with Jack, all those months ago. She eyes Liz's midsection and experiences a moment of doubt, but reassures herself that there is no way that he and Liz would have made it so long. Betraying no emotion, Avery faces her former…threat, if she's being honest.
"Yes, it's so wonderful that he's been promoted. His date tonight is a lucky woman," she says, careful not to seem too obvious that she is fishing for information.
Liz decides to have some fun. "Oh, he was married a while ago, I guess you haven't heard," she says politely.
Avery frowns. She had no idea, not that she will reveal that to Liz.
"I did hear something, but I've never met her. We don't care much about personal details at Fox, and I haven't spoken to Jack myself in, well, ages…" she trails off, and leans into the mirror to examine herself.
Her words are not entirely true. Fox is in fact borderline obsessive when it comes to executive gossip, especially at rival networks. But Avery is skilled at holding a grudge, and made a point to ignore Jack completely after his rejection. She's worked hard to remove herself from his life as much as possible, and only even came tonight in order to be first in line for a scoop on Kabletown's new CEO. Not because she wants to know how Jack is doing, or how he looks in a tuxedo these days. Although, how he looks in a tuxedo could certainly be relevant to the story.
When she remembers that Liz is still there, Avery straightens up. "But this is much more interesting. Look at you," she gestures, and Liz gets the feeling that she's more curious than she is pleased. She's almost insulted.
"Yep, it is pretty interesting," Liz replies with a half-smile.
"Congratulations," Avery says, her tone relaying anything but. However, Liz is hardly afraid of Avery anymore, and she straightens herself up as much as she can at this point.
"Thanks."
Avery raises her perfectly arched eyebrows.
"Who is the father? If you don't mind me asking, of course."
At this point in the game, Liz is positive that Avery really doesn't know about them. Perhaps she truly has been out of the loop. Either way, she thinks that Avery is trying a bit too hard to appear disinterested.
"Jack," she says casually, and relishes the ugly look that overcomes the blonde's face.
Liz has to resist clapping her hands in glee. She's bested the perfect Avery Jessup at something (without even trying that hard), and wishes that there were someone around to take a picture of the moment and document it forever. For now, she's content to enjoy Avery's barely contained rage.
"Really," she says through her teeth.
"Yep. I'm due in November, not that you care." Liz is the epitome of calm, and she surveys Avery coolly, because who the hell is she to act so hostile towards a pregnant lady? Liz decides that she's never liked the woman, and realizes that she was always nice to her only out of respect for Jack. Obviously, the feeling is mutual.
"To be perfectly honest, I'm unsure as to why I've already spent this much time talking to...Liz Lemon," Avery says her name with obvious distaste.
"Hyphen Donaghy," Liz corrects, and resists the urge to add 'bitch' to the end of her sentence.
"Excuse me?"
"Lemon-hyphen-Donaghy. For future reference."
Avery narrows her eyes. "You've made your point."
"Just making sure," Liz says neutrally. Inside, she is laughing her ass off. She can't wait to relay this to Jack; she hadn't known until now that it'd be so much fun to put Avery in her place.
"Well, I should get going. Shall I tell my husband you say 'hi'?" Liz asks.
"That won't be necessary. Bye, Liz."
"See ya," she waves cheerfully. When the blonde is out of sight, Liz whistles a little to herself while she sticks the deodorant back in her bag.
…
She finds Jack schmoozing with a circle of men in tuxedos, and stifles a giggle because they look like a group of penguins. Handsome, gray-haired penguins.
"Ah, Lemon, there you are."
Liz greets Jorgensen and a few other familiar executives with a kiss to the cheek, and shakes hands with the ones whom she has never met. 'I'm thrilled to finally meet your lovely wife,' is the general consensus. So far, so good.
"Lemon, I was just telling these gentlemen about that wonderful bed and breakfast we stayed at in Lake George last month," he says, slipping an arm around her waist.
Liz wonders if he's told them about the raccoon infestation that happened while they were there. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and she decides to keep that little piece of information between the two of them. She knows that Jack's public image is important to him, so she's on her best behavior.
"Oh, it was really nice," she says instead, nodding. "Lots of boats."
The group chuckles, and Liz breathes a mental sigh of relief. She uses the boost of confidence to launch into a hilarious Tracy story, and feels Jack relax beside her.
Jack was right—he is hardly the center of attention anymore, but he couldn't be happier (or prouder. Her impending motherhood is proof that he is keeping his legacy alive, after all). Liz is a natural charmer, and she converses easily with the partygoers. Jack knows her face well, though, and after a while he can see the tiredness in her eyes from standing for so long. He promises himself that he will make it up to her later; for now, he holds her to his side and murmurs his thanks while she wistfully eyes the passing platters of champagne flutes.
When they find themselves alone for a moment, Liz takes the opportunity to down a couple of shrimp toasts.
"How are you holding up, Lemon?" Jack asks.
"Fine. Party's pretty fancy; I keep expecting a Marvel Comics villain to show up any moment," Liz mumbles through a mouthful of hors d'oeuvre.
"Aside from that delusion, I hope you are enjoying yourself somewhat," he replies with a smile.
She swallows. "I saw Avery in the bathroom."
His face falls, concerned. "Oh, God. What happened? Are you okay?"
She snorts. "I'm fine. Not so sure about Avery," she says.
"Meaning…?"
"It was like, all Hot-Box-With-Avery-Jessup-y, except she was the one getting hot and bothered, not me."
"I'm not sure I care to hear the details."
Liz shrugs. "She was a little shocked, that's all. I imagine that she'll recover." She scans the spacious room, and sure enough, Avery is chatting very closely with a tuxedoed partygoer. Jack follows her gaze, and raises his eyebrows.
"I'm just glad you're fine. It seems that I've taught you well," he smirks.
She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I thought we were past the mentor/mentee thing. Get over yourself, Jack."
He leans in to mutter something sexual in her ear, and she swats him with wide eyes.
"You needa stop saying stuff like that in public! Maybe ever."
He ignores her, and kisses the sweet spot behind her ear. She resists the urge to squirm, because they're not entirely in private. She only wishes that Jack would remember this, too.
…
"Hello? Oh, hi, Colleen, how are you? Uh huh. A little ache-y, but I'm hanging in there. Yeah, he's right here. Hold on."
Liz ignores the hand motions that Jack is making to his neck, and hands him the phone with a gleeful look.
"Hello, mother," he says, and sighs. Deeply. Colleen says something on the other end, causing Jack to roll his eyes.
"No, Colleen, I am not tired of Lemon, nor do I plan on becoming so," he says tiredly, and sneaks a glance at Liz, who is pretending not to enjoy herself.
"Yes, I am aware of my marital history. I don't see how this concerns…oh, really? Did you call just to tell me that? Not even a 'congratulations, Jackie'?" he says through his teeth in a decent imitation of his mother.
Liz laughs silently; because of course Colleen would see this as an opportunity to wind Jack up. It's been a while since she's called, and things have been too calm.
He listens for a while, and his face takes up a strange expression. Liz looks at him quizzically, but he doesn't meet her eye.
"Yes, I'll tell her. Goodbye, Colleen."
He hangs up the phone, and stares at the wall. Liz pokes him tentatively after a minute of silence.
"What did she say?"
"She says to tell you to drink your liquids, and lay off the Mallomars."
Liz grimaces at him guiltily. "How did she know?"
He shakes his head. "That's not even the weird part, Lemon. She said she is…proud. Of me."
"Of course she is," Liz frowns, "Why wouldn't she be?"
"She's never told me in those exact words. I feel…oddly light."
She smiles. "I never doubted it. Deep down, I don't think you did, either."
Perhaps she is right. Still, his mother's words mean almost as much to him as the job itself.
…
The early morning September sun shines in through half-closed curtains as Liz awakens. It is Sunday, and though the urge to use the bathroom is overwhelming, she pauses for just a moment to watch her snoring husband. She likes seeing Jack like this, uninhibited and relaxed. She sighs when it becomes necessary to disentangle herself from him, and she pads towards the bathroom on swollen feet.
Apparently, their daughter has found a very comfortable position right on her bladder.
She returns a minute later, causing the mattress to shift when she crawls back into bed. She tries to find a position her back will tolerate and is greeted by a soft fluttering sensation deep inside of her; it seems as if someone else aside from her is already awake.
"Hi baby," she murmurs sweetly, patting her tummy under the loose sleep shirt.
"Is it morning already?" Jack mumbles beside her, still half-asleep, and he turns on his side to face her.
"Yeah, but it's Sunday. Go back to sleep," she says.
"Hmm. Why are you awake?"
"The baby was lying on my bladder. She already has a great sense of humor. Probably gets that from you," Liz says grumpily.
"I think you mean to say that she is already obnoxious, in which case I would argue that she takes after her mother," he smirks, but she can hear the pride behind his words.
Liz places a light peck on his lips, and Jack resigns to the fact that he's not going to fall back asleep. After brushing a tangled curl away from her face, he responds with a deeper kiss.
It doesn't take much these days, and she moans into his mouth while his hands travel southward. She pushes the sheets off and he guides her onto her side. Seven months pregnant, she is neither slender nor graceful. Her body is sometimes burdensome, yet it makes little difference in way of desire.
Her breasts are heavy and tender, but he knows exactly how to touch her. Her moans and sighs drive him crazy, yet he has the skill to continue moving his other hand between her legs, demanding access. She squirms next to him, an excited flush covering her cheeks, eyes closed as she absorbs the pleasure.
Later, she takes a minute to get her breath back, and he laces his hands under his neck, smiling at the ceiling (he's still got it).
And it is Sunday.
She pokes him in the side once, and he turns his head, questioning. "Yes, Lemon?"
"Can we have pancakes now?"
…