A/N: whoa, it's been a while since I updated this. I promise I haven't forgotten about it. As always, reviews and comments are appreciated like crazy. I love hearing that people are reading the things I write.

They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Jack tucking his hands down in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. This part of Chicago was surprisingly quiet at night, the dark and freezing temperatures sending the city's residents huddling into their cozy little homes.

He glanced at Lucy, unable to keep his gaze away from her very long, his throat catching a sigh before it escaped. Just as he was about to look away she glanced up at him, pinning him with a mischievous look. "Ok, your turn."

"My turn?" Suddenly he was nervous, and he couldn't pinpoint why. What would she ask?

Surely her questions would revolve around Peter.

"Yeah. You know way more about me than I know about you. Time to dish out the goods."

He picked up his pace a little, hoping she would match it. Talking about himself wasn't something he liked to do under the best of circumstances, and fielding questions about his brother wasn't something he looked forward to. "Ask away." The response came out a little more gruffly than he'd intended.

She frowned, but increased her pace anyway. "Well… Have you ever thought about leaving Chicago?"

"I can't leave… too many… obligations." He felt hot under the collar, in spite of the frigid air beginning to whip around him. Swallowing, he attempted to dislodge the lump that had settled in his throat.

"Ok, but have you ever thought about it?"

Had he thought about it? Constantly. But it was only in the way you thought about things that would never happen, some hazy fantasy that gets more and more outlandish the longer you think about it, the shackles of reality having no bearing on it, since it could never happen anyway. No one knew. "Uh, yeah, sure… I've thought about it."

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Well, I mean, it's not Florence…. but I've always wanted to just take my truck and travel all over the country, looking for interesting pieces, techniques. Visit some of the traditional workshops that still exist in New England." He momentarily forgot his discomfort. "There are twelve defining periods of American Furniture making, Pennsylvania Dutch, Federal, Shaker… Looking at original pieces first hand would be just…" He trailed off, feeling the color rise to his cheeks. He was getting a bit carried away. His hand slipped out of his pocket, finding it's way to the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Anyway, I guess I've thought about it."

She laughed, the sound like spiced honey pooling in the pit of his stomach. "So you have."

The sigh escaped this time. "A lot of thought and no action. I guess it's a good thing you're engaged to Peter and not me." The wistful words tumbled out before his brain had time to process them. He nearly choked trying to clear his throat. "I mean, he'll probably take you to Florence for your honeymoon or something… He's always taking off and going places." His heart fluttered in his chest, suddenly filled with panicked worry that he'd revealed too much.

Her eyes widened before she looked away from him, suddenly finding the cracks in the sidewalk fascinating as her cheeks grew pink. "I guess Peter isn't really tied down to anyone, huh? Not the settling down type."

He stammered, suddenly feeling like he should tread lightly. Peter was just incredibly self involved. He had been his whole life, and Jack didn't bear him any ill feelings for it. It's just the way he was. But it was really hard to look at Lucy and say these things. He wanted Peter to be different, if only for her. "Um, he's just… I mean…"

She smiled up at him sadly, her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something. Her mouth snapped shut and she trudged on.

"I'm sure he'll feel differently… with you." How could he not? Jack couldn't imagine Peter having Lucy at his side, having her in his bed, in his home, and not feeling inextricably connected to her. In the short time that Jack had known her, he'd come to the conclusion that her warm presence was something of an opiate.

Every night he went home, shucked off the day's stress, and told himself: No more Lucy. It was a useless mantra. His house seemed too big, full of rooms he'd probably never use. He'd been hopeful when he bought it, picturing a herd of children running through the halls, big family dinners with aunts and uncles and cousins.

It seemed like an unlikely future these days, but he'd never been afflicted by the ache that filled his chest now. Lucy made it seem so possible and yet impossible at the same time. It wasn't a feeling he liked. He was overwhelmed by the suddenness of it all.

"Would you?" Her question was spoken softly, and Jack barely caught it before the wind swept it away.

His feet stopped moving, shoes seemingly filled with cement. She continued on for a couple steps before realizing how far he lagged behind. Jack felt breathless. It was as though she'd read his mind. What the hell was her game? This wasn't fair. There'd never been a time in his life when anyone had ever picked Jack over Peter, given the choice.

She twisted around to stare at him, a little smile gracing her porcelain features, one corner of her mouth hitched up. "Hypothetically, of course."

He relaxed, hearing the playful note in her voice, and quickly caught back up with her. "Well, hypothetically, I suppose your ability to find my family's annoying quirks endearing would be a plus." He paused, raising both of his hands to make an imaginary frame. "And I think I may have been mistaken before. There might be a few photogenic traits on that face."

She shoved at him. "Hey, you'd be lucky to have this face passed on to your children." She snorted, raising on gloved hand to her nose. "Although, maybe they'd be lucky to get your nose."

He chuckled. "Hey, wait a minute, let me see." Drawing her hand away from her face, he studied the line of her nose, noting the creamy texture of her skin. Oh this was bad. He felt himself falling, the rug being pulled out from under him. He took a shuddering breath and refrained from brushing her skin with his knuckles. "Yeah… my nose would be the best option."

She pulled away from him, laughing breathlessly. "I'll have you know, Eddie Zachary thought I had the cutest nose ever in the fifth grade."

"Did he suffer from undiagnosed myopia? For all I know kids in Wisconsin don't wear glasses." She rolled her eyes at him, setting warmth coursing through him yet again. He'd never have guessed it was the coldest night this winter, his blood heated as it pumped through his veins.

They were nearing familiar surroundings, the brick edifice of her apartment building coming into view. He loathed the idea of seeing her home, returning to his lonely house. "Alright, tell me more. Where did you grow up?"

She rubbed her hands together, tucking them up under her chin for warmth. Her eyes peeked up at him from beneath long sooty lashes. "God, you've just become Mr. Chatty this evening."

It was true, they'd never spoken quite so much. Jack suddenly felt self conscious, his cold fingers making their way to the hair at the back of his neck yet again, a nervous tic he'd developed recently. "The fact of the matter is, I'm about to start shivering and making conversation keeps my face from freezing."

Her tinkling laugh echoed in his ears. God, he'd never get used to it. Freezing was the least of his worries, a pleasurable heat tingling on his skin each time he heard the sound. They slowed to a stop, standing awkwardly on the sidewalk. This was the moment he'd been dreading all the way, and he couldn't help but drag the toe of his boot along the patches of ice on the pavement, silently stalling.

If the feeling in his chest was any indication, he'd been transported back a couple decades, fifteen years old again, at the end of his first date. Every cell in his body wanted to give her a goodbye kiss, the electric impulses darting from his brain to his spine, racing along all the nerves in his body.

He clenched his jaw. That would be a stupid move, one that it would be impossible to come back from. Even if it were possible to write one kiss off as an impulsive mistake, Jack knew he'd never be able to stop at just one kiss.