January

They say that good things come to those who wait.

There are moments, of course, of fleeting happiness; inklings of joy that are experienced at the speed of light. Like when you spot a smiling baby on the street, or see a young man gazing at rings in a store window, or happen upon a two-for-one donut deal. Flashes of life. These instances provide bliss, but only temporarily. It is the lasting pleasures that are harder to come by, and their rarity makes them so much more extraordinary.

Elizabeth Lemon, at age 41, is familiar with this concept perhaps better than anyone.

Over the years, she's come to realize that her standards for men are a little high, maybe even borderline ridiculous. That, paired with awful situations and bad timing, means that she's managed to stay uncommitted for an impressive length of time.

That is, until the fall of TGS' sixth season.

Of course, she wasn't always so quick to accept her love for Jack. Why should she? It seemed utterly unnatural; impossible. How often did the big shot executive fall for the swarthy comedy writer? Exactly. In her case, the big shot in question seemed eager to criticize her, not romance her. She paid more attention to the things Jack said, rather than the way he looked at her. To her, the idea of them together was simply…unthinkable. So she refused to pursue it, and let the tension build up.

But that was before. It was back then; during those years when she refused to acknowledge the potential that they had, when the thought of losing so much control over personal happiness was unbearable to her. Eventually, she realized that if she didn't take risks, then all she'd have were those fleeting moments.

The point is, she's with Jack now, and all she has to worry about is whether or not the movers will take some of her stuff for themselves, like she's read about. And if Jack has enough closet space for her in his bedroom.

Talk about first-world problems.

...

Liz moves the lettuce around on her plate. She isn't really paying attention to her lunch—or her lunch companion. Her focus is somewhere outside the window that she sits next to. Specifically, on 168 Riverside Drive, where a stack of cardboard boxes sit waiting to be packed.

"Earth to Liz," Jenna says. "Hello. Anybody in there?"

"What?" Liz replies, turning back to her friend.

"I was just asking how the plans for the move are coming."

"Pretty good, actually. I've been trying to get rid of stuff, but it's hard, what with all the Craigslist serial killers."

"Uh huh. What kind of stuff?"

"Well, we decided that it wouldn't really make sense to move any of my furniture into a place that's already fully equipped. Ugh, that sounds dirty."

She frowns, but continues.

"Anyways, do you know anyone who could use a queen-sized mattress with a couple of cheese Doritos stains?"

...

Jimmy Fallon is playing on mute, and they watch lazily, still panting. Jack runs his hand over her lower back and she smiles against his chest. He looks down at her, wondering if something has triggered the smile or if she is just happy.

"Even when you have my entire body at your disposal, your hand still finds its way to my lower back," she teases.

"Habit," he says, not removing his hand. "To be honest, I like your lower back. My hand fits perfectly there."

She thinks of him leading her through the halls of NBC, and smiles at the memories. Who cares if it took them this long to become more than friends? They already have plenty of shared moments that she wouldn't trade for anything. In a way, maybe they work better now because of the history that got them here.

Their eyes meet and hold. Beneath the sated expressions and remaining traces of lust, they both can see the love and near disbelief in each other's eyes. A few months together, and some moments feel like they've been sharing a bed forever, like what they have is almost too good to be true.

"I'm so happy we decided to do this," she sighs.

"Move in, you mean?"

"Yes. That. Other stuff. All of it."

"As am I."

...

It's not as bad as she thought it would be. Her brain, always eager to question the hell out of any situation, seems to have lost to her heart. She obviously had some doubts about adjusting to sharing living quarters with Jack, but to be honest, it's so much easier than before. She doesn't have to run home for something she's forgotten at an inconvenient time. They even have a system. He makes coffee; she drinks it. He pays the cleaning lady; she opens the door to let the cleaning lady in. It's perfect.

And his apartment has way more bathrooms than hers apartment does. Even hidden ones that she didn't know about until she explored a little. So that's a plus.

She likes coming home from work to find him making dinner, or even just opening take-out containers. Once in a while, Jack will go all out and make her favorites (usually after he's done a merger or something). If she comes home early, she'll make lasagna from scratch. Single life has made her lazy in the kitchen, but dammit if she won't try. Besides, she rather likes the domestic scene. Not that she'd ever say so; not while she's still a Lizbean/feminist. She likes that food brings them together, though, so she's happy to make an effort.

And sometimes, a good meal makes the best foreplay.

...

Skin whispers across thousand-thread count sheets in the dark as she climbs in the bed.

A shiver runs through Liz's body, the finest of quivers, raising gooseflesh in response as she clenches her teeth to keep them from chattering. She curls into a tight ball, trying to generate enough heat to warm her frozen limbs, even as she tries not to disturb the man already asleep in their bed, wrapped in warmth and quiet darkness. A low masculine sigh breaks the silence when Jack stirs, as if sensing her presence.

She goes motionless, trying not to disturb his slumber; he's been working long hours lately and sleep is a precious commodity for both of them. But as an involuntary shudder wracks her frame, she feels him come fully awake.

"Lemon?" His voice is husky, smoky with sleep.

Her teeth are clenched so tightly that she can't respond, even as another shudder shakes her.

"Lemon…?" His hand reaches out, only to come into contact with brutally chilled flesh.

He involuntarily jerks away. "Good God!" The shock in his voice snaps through the quiet air. But his hand immediately comes back to fall on her skin, fire against ice.

"Where have you been?" But before she can answer, he is already reaching out to pull her closer. "Come here."

He winces when her cold palms feebly resist him through his T-shirt, trying to maintain the space between them. "N...n...no. Too c...cold."

"Exactly." Ignoring her protests, he simply pulls her closer, turning her and spooning his warm body around her cold one; letting his flesh warm hers. He pulls the blankets tighter around them, cocooning them in warmth.

With a ragged exhalation, she goes still as he encircles her in his arms, her back against his broad chest. He feels the tremors that ripple through her body, still rigid with tension. One wide palm strokes her flat abdomen soothingly, while his other hand rises to her face, his fingertips dancing lightly over her cool cheek. Slowly, the heat from his body seeps into her skin, and Jack feels the stiffness leave her frame as she finally relaxes into him.

She gives a tired sigh, but turns her face towards him, pressing her lips against his.

"Hi."

"Care to explain where you've been that's got you this cold?"

"Ugh. Pete had the fantastic idea of shooting promos on the ice skating rink. Of course, we had to wait until night skating was over, which meant, oh, midnight. I'm sure Jenna will be hospitalized for hypothermia from the skirt she was wearing."

"How tragic…did you get the commercials?"

"Shut up!"

"In all seriousness, it's got to be twenty degrees out there at best. You could have gotten frostbite." Her slender body gives a small shiver and he pulls her closer, nestling her hips against his. She feels so tiny in his arms, but far from insignificant.

"I know," she mumbles.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"It was late…I didn't want to bother you. I did text you earlier that I'd be staying behind."

She can feel him shaking his head at her stubbornness. "I assumed you were staying late to write or shoot inside. I would have just sent you a car."

"I didn't think it would take so long. Besides, you'd already had a busy day." She yawns hugely, and Jack feels her body loosen against his. She is starting to fade.

"Okay." He strokes his fingers across her side. "But next time call me," he insists. The strokes become longer, slower, lighter, purposefully lulling her into slumber.

Liz mumbles unintelligibly, but her left hand moves to intertwine her fingers with his over her stomach, holding onto him in the dark. He feels her slide naturally into sleep, her breathing falling into a soft, steady cadence.

Closing his eyes, holding her safe and warm in his arms, he lets himself follow her.

...