Liz found it strangely exciting that at one point, she had been married. Technically speaking, this meant that she wasn't a spinster, but rather, a divorcee. Her marriage had only been a mistake, but Liz figured that it indicated that she was kind of normal. The idiots, who only saw the marriage as a typical marriage and assumed that it meant that Liz had married someone that she truly and hopelessly adored with her heart and soul, wouldn't be smart or aware enough to actually realize that it was a language barrier and cultural misunderstanding that lead to the short-lived marriage between Elizabeth Lemon and Jack Donaghy.

Life as the Donaghys had been just the same as before they had been accidentally married. Jack still criticized Liz, trying to get her to be better than just herself, while Liz went about trying to figure out what the hell it meant to be better than herself.

And just when she thought she had finally gotten this elusive thing, it was gone. Much like Jack.

She would never admit it, but she liked the idea of being Jack's wife. It gave her much more leverage, not just in the professional aspect of their lives, but in their unique relationship. She knew that she knew Jack more than Avery ever would, and she knew Jack knew more about Liz than Liz knew about herself. They were the epitome of symbiosis sometimes, and sometimes, Jack was the parasite to Liz, hindering her in her other relationships with men who she didn't work with.

Knowing Jack had having him in her life had always given her some sense of security. She'd always have someone. For example, in their divorce proceedings, Jack offered to help her retirement fund by paying her alimony. Liz had laughed and had declined his offer. That would have made it too real for something that was just a little clerical error.

But she knew that Jack would probably end up ignoring her wishes and going ahead with his plan anyway. He was only humoring her by asking, to allow her to think that she had a say in the matter. Jack was unlike any other man in her life, perhaps the only man who was not her father, to take to heart Liz's best interests.

So, when Jack came to her office and handed her an envelope, she wasn't sure what to think. "What is it?" she asked him.

"It's the marriage license. I have no need for it, but I thought I'd see if you wanted it, for whatever reason. Maybe you would like to scrapbook it or something," he suggested with a smile.

She took the envelope and bent the clasps back. After opening the top flap, Liz pulled the document from the envelope and examined it before glancing up at Jack once more. "You mean, you don't want the evidence that proves you're terrible at speaking French?" she asked jokingly.

He gave her a bemused smile, but didn't laugh. "If you decide to burn it, don't start any fires in your building."

"Duly noted," she replied as she slid the document back into the envelope.

"Night, Lemon."

"Night, Jack."

After Jack left her office, Liz sat with the document in front of her on the desk. She wasn't going to burn the license. She didn't know what she was going to do with it, but she was going to hold on to it for a little longer. Although, Liz knew that she would probably never get rid of the few artifacts of their secret marriage. Maybe someday, she'd be able to tell her kids about the weekend that she accidentally married their Uncle Jack because neither of them spoke French.

And if that didn't happen, if she didn't end up getting married and was getting on in years, maybe she would someday find the marriage certificate and be so senile that she couldn't remember the actual details surrounding the marriage, and find comfort in knowing that her life hadn't always been exactly as she had imagined. Liz hoped that she would be comforted by the fact that there had been someone who loved her unconditionally without any default settings.

There was always that.