Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Tina's etc

Spoilers: Nope

Pairing: Jack/Liz

Summary: Why's Liz Lemon so different?

A/N: Follow-up to "Jack's Women" (previous story). Partially inspired by the not-great movie "He's Just Not That Into You" (which does not apply to Jack and Liz coz he is that into her, in my world).

The morning after she didn't sleep with Jack – didn't sleep at all, in fact – Liz arrives at work early, before anyone else. She likes the writer's room like this. Empty. Quiet. Though she's well aware it won't stay like that long.

She feels better just being at work. Better to have something to think about other than what nearly happened between her and Jack. Better to have navigated the entrance and the elevators without glimpsing or bumping into him. But as she pushes through her door into her office, she sees that she was possibly not the only one left sleepless the night before. She was not the only one to head into work early, seeking solace in routine and responsibility. She was maybe not the only one still going over every detail of the previous night in her head, despite the fact that all she really wanted to do was forget about it as they'd agreed.

She knows this because when she enters, there is a plain white envelope in the middle of her desk. She spots it immediately and doesn't need to guess its sender. Its starkness and purposefulness stand out against the otherwise colorful chaos of her desk. And it's not like she has so much going on in her private life that she can't assume who might wish to impart something to her on this morning of all mornings. It's pretty rare that she gets gifts or messages delivered. And when she does they are generally from Jack. She must admit he has a particular flair for such things. And as such, she's pretty impressed by his restraint this time. He hasn't gone over the top, as is his wont when dealing with the women in his life. Of which she is now one. Although maybe she always was one. And while she is totally at a loss as to what he might wish to communicate, she is at least relieved that his message is unconvoluted by the typical flowers or chocolates or some weak conciliatory offering. Well, the chocolates might have been welcome. But frankly, it's always been her opinion that those sorts of lame presents are only sent by men who don't really know what they want to say.

Evidently, Jack does know.

Liz approaches her desk with trepidation. She slings her bag into her chair and shrugs her coat off her shoulders then picks up the envelope. It's blank on the outside and feels like it's made of high quality, expensive paper. Glancing round the room, she taps it against her fingertips a few times. Nibbles on one side of her lip. Adjusts her glasses on her nose. Then she opens the envelope. Inside is a simple white card and written on it in Jack's distinctive hand is one sentence. A single line, which seems to be an answer to her question from the previous night.

Because you're the exception to the rule.

She stares at it. Reads it over and over, mouth forming the shapes of the words. She looks up, blinking at the walls as she mutters the sentence under her breath. Then she draws a deep breath, shakes her head and tells her silent office, "I don't know what that means."

Unsurprisingly, her walls don't answer. They never do. So she starts for the door, although she's unsure if she's heading to the kitchen for a cup of coffee or in search of Jack and an explanation. She taps the card on her fingers a few more times as she walks and finds herself inexplicably heading straight out of the writer's room. She still isn't sure she's actually looking for Jack, isn't sure she's ready to see him just yet. But she has all the way to the elevator to work that out. She has an entire hallway to cover before she has to make that decision. Or at least, she thought she did. Until the elevator dings and Jack steps off and they are suddenly facing each other in the deserted foyer, both of them wearing expressions which clearly indicate that they're not fully prepared for this meeting.

They both stop in their tracks, a stretch of carpet between them. The elevator slides shut, abandoning Jack in front of her. And for a long moment they just stare at each other, blink at each other, neither moving or speaking.

Eventually, Liz opens her mouth and out comes the only clear thought she has in her head. "You still want me."

Jack is silent another moment. He nods. "Yes."

She tips her head slightly, brows twitching in confusion. "Are you drunk?"

"It's barely seven," he points out, needlessly.

"I, I meant from last night," she says, noticing that his appearance is slightly rumpled, an anomaly for Jack. And that his eyes are saggy with sleeplessness.

"I wasn't that drunk in the first place," he replies evenly, letting her read into this whatever she will. He takes a step towards her, adding, "But no. I'm no longer drunk."

"So then…" she pauses, still baffled, "you must…really want me."

The beginnings of a smile tease his lips. "I do."

Her lips press together. She can't help asking, tone dubious, "For how long…are you gonna want me?"

"That's impossible to say," Jack tells her, seeming to recover some of his usual confidence. "But it could be quite some time."

On the other hand, Liz is still floundering. She's not sure what to make of this, how to respond, whether to give in. Or if wanting to give in is a good or a bad thing. She looks down at the white card still in her hands, the carefully thought out sentence Jack sent her. "What does this mean?" she asks him, holding up the card. "I'm the…what's that even mean, Jack?"

Jack takes another step toward her, eyes steady on her face. "It means, Lemon…it means you might be the woman I didn't know I wanted, the One I didn't realize I was looking for. It means that of all the women I've ever wanted you're the only one I really need. So I would like to pursue this, see…where it goes."

She feels an odd expanding in her chest, a weird breathlessness. "For reals?"

Jack's smile returns, tentative. "Yes. I think we may have something here. I think-" he falters briefly, another anomaly, "I think we could make each other happy. That is-" he takes another step, "if you still want me."

Her eyes flick over him. "Still?"

"You wanted me last night," he says, brows raised.

She looks down, but admits, "True."

"So…?"

"So…" she clears her throat, looks up at him, "I think we should go out. That's what I think. I think we should go on a real, proper date."

Jack smiles, nods. "Very well."

She lets out a quick breath. "No, you know what, I think like, five dates would be…better."

He smiles and nods again. "Fair enough."

"Is it?" she answers, rapidly gaining confidence. "Okay then, I want ten- nope, changed my mind again. Make it fifteen. I want us to go on fifteen proper dates."

"I can do fifteen dates," he says with a slight smirk, a slight shrug. "That's no problem at all."

One eyebrow arches at him. "Without us sleeping together, Jack."

"You think I can't do that?" he says, straightening his spine.

"I guess we'll find out."

"I guess we will."

"Also-" she takes a step towards him, "you need to get a new bed."

"What?"

"A new bed. If you ever want me in it, that is."

"I do," he murmurs, eyes glowing softly, "I do want you in it."

"Well then-" she looks away, still uneasy with being looked at like that, especially by Jack who does that intense, wanting thing unlike any other man she's ever met in her life. "Those are my terms."

"Is there anything else?" he asks, a lilt in his voice.

"Yeah," she says, waving the card as casually as she can. "I think a kiss would be good at this point."

"Yes," Jack muses, closing the rest of the distance between them, "I believe it would."

He wraps his arms around her and she tilts up her chin, preparing to be good and kissed. He leans in and she leans in. And she closes her eyes as his mouth nudges against hers. It's pretty awkward since they both know it's coming, they're both overly aware of what they are doing and what they are starting. But once they begin, they find a good rhythm to sink into and it's nice. Better than nice. Way better. And better than the night before. Less hasty. More…savoring.

"Wow…" Liz breathes when they pull part, her eyes still closed, "it's even better sober."

"Mm," Jack agrees, then abruptly asks, "Could we possibly make it ten dates?"

She wags her head. "This is not up for negotiation, Jack."

"Twelve then?" he persists, "A dozen dates, absolutely no sex or talk of sex, plenty of making out and…you get to pick wherever we eat."

Her eyes narrow at him. "And the new bed?"

He bobs his head. "Of course."

She thinks a second, but not much longer. Because that kiss was pretty damn awesome. "Okay fine. But it's my final offer."

"Done," he says with a grin.

"Good. Great." She nods conclusively, grasps his lapels in both hands. "Now kiss me, stupid."

Jack leans in, muttering, "Only if you kiss me back."

"Oh, I'm gonna."

And she does. And he does. And that night they go on their first official date.

END.