A/N: I thought i would be tired of this by now, but i'm not. :D No one seems to be reading it, buuuuut, I like writing it for my own pleasure. I think it's because I've always wanted someone like Jack Callaghan. Damn romantic comedies for getting my hopes up. This wasn't the first and it won't be the last.

He helped her into the truck like a gentleman, letting her grasp his shoulder for support as she clambered up into the high seat. He wasn't sure how he felt about taking her back to Peter's place, being in that particular space with her was probably not a good idea. It definitely wouldn't be good for the jealousy lurking so close to the surface. He really didn't want to feel this way about his brother. But, it was hard to deny her anything, especially when she gazed up at him, eyes sparkling like he held the key to something she really wanted.

So, instead of halting things like he should have, offering to make the delivery himself, insisting that she stay home, get some rest, he found himself trotting around the back of the big delivery truck, the wintry Chicago air whipping at his skin as he reached the driver's side door. The handle was icy against his fingers as he jerked it open, hauling himself into the seat next to her.

"This should be quick. I'll have you back home in no time."

She merely nodded, sliding the buckle of her seat-belt into its home with an audible click. Jack started the truck, grateful that he didn't have to wait for it to warm up, having idled in front of her building for a good twenty minutes before collecting the wherewithal to do what needed to be done. He pulled out of the spot immediately.

The sound of the engine humming, an almost unnoticeable catch in the timing, was the only thing to draw Jack's attention from the quiet person next to him. But it didn't hold his attention for long. The silence made him fidgety, reminding him of another ride not so long ago. There was no radio to fill the air this time. He tapped on the steering wheel anyway, in time to some unheard cadence.

He felt a pressure in his chest, building like a balloon being slowly inflated past capacity,, trying to push past his ribcage. He knew he should say something, that she was probably still irritated with him for his accusations at the hospital, and rightly so. It was hard to formulate an apology for his actions, when he didn't have a real handle on his motivations. He just blurted it out. "I'm sorry."

The words came out on the tail of a long sigh, the balloon in his chest deflating. He tore his eyes away from the street for a moment to look at her, guage her reaction. He lips were pressed together tightly, the corners of her mouth pinching a little. Jack couldn't tell if she was trying not to smile, or thinking of some retort to put in him his place.

He was saved from the agony of uncertainty when her eyes crinkled, the smile breaking through to the surface. Relief surged through him, so unexpected that it made him a little breathless and he immediately looked back to the road, pretending to be very interested in the yellow and white marks zipping by them.

"Sorry for what, Jack?"

So, she wasn't letting him off the hook entirely, she wanted to draw it out a bit, get him to rehash his idiotic behavior. That was fine. He supposed she deserved that much. "For the whole, Joe Fusco thing, back at the hospital. I didn't know what I was thinking."

She laughed. "Poor Joey. He's really not that bad. He'll make some girl who really likes muscle cars and poorly dubbed kung fu movies really happy one day."

He hazarded another glance in her direction. This time she was staring off into the night, her head tilted against the passenger side window, breath fogging up the glass a little with each tiny exhalation. She was so magnanimous with people, even Joe Fusco, who had outright lied to a complete stranger in regards to her. Hell, her acceptance of Jack's apology was proof enough of her willingness to give people another chance. He hated that this was just another thing to add to the growing well of affection he felt for her. He sighed, this time looking back to the road to keep from saying something he would surely regret.

She didn't even notice his inability to respond, continuing her thought. "It's all a big act. He's really just a lonely idiot, too insecure to be genuine." She sighed. "Loneliness makes people do stupid things."

Jack's breathing faltered once again, hearing the wistful tone in her last comment. Did she regret getting engaged to Peter? Did she regret the whole relationship? He wanted to stop the truck, and grab her, shake her until she admitted this whole thing with Peter was a mistake. She was not the kind of person that belonged with Peter, damn it all, she deserved so much more than a shallow commitaphobe with admittedly good hair.

Her words echoed in his ears. Loneliness makes people do stupid things. Was that what he was doing? Was he so lonely that he was actually contemplating stealing his brothers fiance? It was so ridiculous, but he couldn't continue lying to himself. That was exactly what he wanted, and maybe his loneliness did play a part in it. Sure, he had his family, saw them on a daily basis, felt the warmth of their love each night as he hugged his mother, his father's hand clapping him on the back.

He was blessed, thanked God each night, saying a rote prayer memorized when he was a boy, but he couldn't say that he didn't feel alone. His big empty house, paid for by the wonderfully lucrative family business, echoed at night when no one else was around. He'd never really thought about the sound of his own footsteps coming down the hall being the only thing he would hear until the next day, when his alarm would blair at six am.

That is, until her. Lucy had waltzed into his life, making everything he'd been content with seem so empty. Now each night was a torturous eight hours spread out before him. A time to be bided until he could get up the next morning and promptly leave his cold room. The worst part was the dreams that would inevitably overtake him when he finally closed his eyes. He'd kissed her in his dreams, many times finding the courage to walk up to her and take her face in his hands, to finally feel her soft skin against the pads of his thumbs, her silken hair threading between his fingers. Her lips tasted like almonds and honey in his dreams, the scent of flowers wafting up from her hair as he clutched at her. It was ridiculous. His conscience never quite let him get past kissing her, waking up panting and alone somewhere around three am. The devil's hour.

He flexed his hands on the steering wheel, concentrating on keeping his foot steady at the accelerator. No, his newfound loneliness was not going to make him do something stupid. "I guess I can't blame the guy. In his own weird way he may have been looking out for you."

He took the last turn toward Peter's apartment, feeling somewhat relieved with the large brick structure came into view. This night was almost over, and he could return to his big empty house. He didn't want to think about the dreams he would have tonight, they were certain to be different than any of the ones before.