Title: Spoon

Author: Mindy

Rating: See part one for rest.

-x-

He has to face her at some point. Jack decides he might as well do it while Liz is partially distracted by food.

She doesn't see him approach, dressed in the best suit he brought with him, tie flawlessly knotted in place, face clean shaven and patted with expensive aftershave and hair dried, naturally of course, into it's usual suave spike. As he heads across the diner, he both wants her to look up and see him and is dreading it. Because he knows, he'll be able to tell with one look, just a single glance, how much Lemon knows. How much she heard. He'll see it in her eyes.

"Oh, hey--" she says when she notices him, then seems to cut herself off.

Jack stands by the booth where she is skimming some of her papers whilst shovelling pancakes in her mouth. He clears his throat. "You have something on your…"

She frowns, lifts a hand towards her face. "Where?"

He points to a red smear on the corner of her mouth. "Your lip."

"Oh…" she pushes the smear into her mouth with one finger, sucks the finger then continues talking: "So you want the good news or the bad news?"

Jack carefully slides into the creaky booth. "There's good news?"

She shrugs, apparently concentrating on her breakfast. "Semi-good."

"Give me both," Jack replies, picking up the menu and scanning the high-grease, low-taste options.

Liz waves her fork at the TV hanging over the diner's bright red counter. "We're snowed in," she tells him, mouth full: "Looks like we're here for another night, whether we like it or not."

Jack turns in his seat to take in the local news, the footage on screen of snow laden streets and snow bound cars. "…I see."

"Bu-ut," Liz continues cheerily before he turns back: "the good news is that the hotel manager found me a cot to sleep in. So I won't bother you tonight."

Jack turns back to face her. He's silent a moment. "You didn't bother me last night."

"I didn't?" Liz pauses in her eating, takes a sip of coffee. As she puts down her cup, her eyes flick over to his then hastily away again.

And with that one look, that one tiny gesture, Jack knows. She knows. She heard. She absolutely heard. There's no doubt in his mind. Liz was there. And she heard exactly what he'd hoped she hadn't.

She digs determinedly back into her breakfast. "Well, anyway," she plows on, and it's only then that Jack hears the tension in her voice, beneath the cheer: "I like sleeping in a cot, it remains me of camp."

"Shouldn't I sleep on the cot?" he answers, his voice coming out a little grouchier than he intends. "Why can't I be reminded of camp?"

"You never went to camp," she points out: "And you wouldn't fit on it anyway."

He lifts his brows. "But you will?"

"Just," she replies with a half-shrug.

Jack goes silent again. "Lemon," he tells her, voice low: "you don't need to sleep on a cot."

Liz opens her mouth, nods a little, then says: "I think I should sleep on the cot."

"You take the bed," he insists: "I'll take the floor."

"I want the cot," she insists: "I like the cot."

Jack looks away, drops the menu on the tabletop. "We really should've had this discussion yesterday," he murmurs, mostly to himself.

"Y'think?" Liz mumbles into her next mouthful.

Her eyes flick up and meet his again. And there's that look again. That same look, that unmistakable look. That squirm-worthy look. That look that lets him know that she knows his dirty little secret.

And that's when it hits him that there will be no escaping Lemon today. There usually isn't, but today, there's really going to be no escaping her. They will be eating three meals together (if Liz can limit herself in that way), in between which they will either be stuck in a snow-covered rental car or be doing business all day. After that they will reluctantly retire to their cramped, dreary hotel room where they will no doubt argue some more about that night's sleeping arrangements.

All the while, both of them will be trying desperately to pretend that what happened that morning did not happen. They will both be pretending that everything is exactly the same. They will both be ignoring every accidental touch or furtive look that floats their way and reminds them of how that morning, they woke together in a warm and comfortable spoon. And how…right…that felt.

Jack sighs. He better order a good breakfast.

This is going to be awkward.

END.