A/N: Slowly but surely I'll get this one finished. Here's another chapter, this one the result of a very quiet New Year's Eve. I hope everyone had a wonderful year and that the next one is even better. Thanks so much for the recent feedback, it really means a lot to me.
A buffoon, a nitwit, a moron, a putz… there were only so many ways Jack could call himself a fool, each time hoping that the feeling spreading through his limbs as he walked away from Lucy's building would disappear. He needed to believe that the bottom falling out of his stomach, the weightless sensation when he looked at her, the damn near irresistible desire to spin on his heel and dash after her as she slipped through the swinging door were all the result of an extreme bout of foolishness on his part.
He couldn't live with the idea that this attraction he felt wasn't one sided. If she felt the same way, it would kill him. She was effectively trapped by the situation they found themselves in, and he ached at how conflicted she would be if she truly had feelings for him. She was engaged to his brother.
But he couldn't believe that she felt nothing, not when she'd hugged him so tightly in the shadow of the large brick building. She'd pressed her flushed cheek up against his chest like she wanted to feel the beating of his heart. He could still feel the way her arms had banded around his rib cage, so tightly that if he'd still been breathing, it would have been difficult to draw in a breath.
Jack kicked a piece of trash that had blown onto the sidewalk, grunting in satisfaction as the errant object sailed into the ditch. His hands crept down into his pockets, chin ducking down into his collar. It was damn cold, the wind stinging his cheeks painfully as he trudged along. A part of him welcomed the discomfort, feeling like he deserved punishment of some sort, the long walk a kind of karmic comeuppance.
It didn't seem possible, but the city was even quieter than before, the bare bulbs of tall streetlamps lighting his seemingly interminable path. As he passed under each pool of light, inching closer and closer to his equally quiet home, Jack began to pray. Little prayers, memorized rotely as a child, begging for patience and understanding when he really just wanted answers.
He'd been taught never to ask God directly for things, but merely to pray to be a better person, to find within himself the answers to the biggest questions, but he was coming up blank. There didn't seem to be any real explanation for the way he felt about Lucy, or why the hell she'd only shown up in his life when she was so clearly unavailable. How many times had he slipped tokens to some quiet girl before getting on the El? Had it ever been her?
He turned, finding the street he lived on, houses still strung with multicolored christmas lights, icicles dripping from their eves like thick sugared icing. The windows glowed with the soft yellow light, families sitting together in the living rooms and enjoying the rest of their holiday. Jack could have gone home, sat ensconced between his mother and sister on the floral print couch (a steal from the latest estate sale).
But he didn't want that. The guilt weighing heavily on him would not go unnoticed, at least not by his strangely perceptive little sister, or even his often distracted mother. They would know, maybe not its source, but they would know something was wrong. He couldn't sit and be accosted with a barrage of well meaning and even affectionate questions.
He was in love with Lucy and terrified that he would blurt it out at the least provocation. It was a thought he'd voiced to himself only in the quietest of inner thoughts, feeling its barely contained power to send everything in his life tumbling into disarray.
Closing in on his house, Jack slowed, not wanting to walk through the door. There were dozens of things he could occupy his hands with, unfinished pieces in his garage that should really be attended to, dishes sitting in the sink that needed to be washed, even laundry that needed to be done. None of it would be distracting enough. The thoughts would just circle in his brain until they began to ferment and fester. He needed to set them free, whisper them somewhere and then forget about them.
Reaching in his coat pocket, he jangled the keys, weighing his options. He could drive over to the church, rouse some poor priest from a well deserved rest and beg him to take a confession or at least just talk. The very idea stopped him in his tracks. Maybe he wasn't ready to tell anyone yet, to hear the almost certain advice that would fall on his ears. He wasn't ready to let the idea of Lucy go.
Jack got in his truck anyway, keys slipping easily into the ignition. The engine turned over smoothly, roaring to life almost immediately. It was an old clunker, but he took good care of it, checking the fluid levels on a weekly basis, cleaning the valves. He took pride in knowing what every sound issuing from the beat up pickup meant. Perhaps it was a testament to how truly distraught Jack was that he pulled immediately out of his parking space, not sparing any time for the vehicle to warm up.
It chugged along, only protesting mildly at being forced out into such a bitterly cold night. Jack was going to talk to the one person who needed to know how he felt. It was a happy coincidence that this person also happened to be utterly incapable of responding.
When he got to the hospital, the corridors were empty. This particular wing ran on minimum staff, especially during the holidays. The long term patients' needs were easily maintained by the small group of nurses and doctors that rotated in and out each day.
Jack crept along, not wanting to disturb anyone, but wishing even more not to catch any of the nurses' attention. Slipping into the dimly lit hospital room, he stood awkwardly at the foot of his brother's bed.
It was so strange to see Peter in stasis like this, the expression on his face unchanging as the days passed. Each time Jack visited he fully expected Peter's eyes to simply fly open, for his mouth to spread into that charming grin that always knocked away everyone's defenses, and each time it didn't happen a little part of Jack worried that it never would.
He'd been so determined to lay everything out for Peter, to release this weight sitting so heavily on his chest, but standing here in front of a comatose man made it all seem so trivial. Peter's life was hanging in the balance, and Jack was struggling with an attachment to Lucy. It seemed unfair to his brother.
Sighing, Jack sank down on the small sofa adjacent to the hospital bed. The cushions were hard, covered in a rough stain resistant material, not at all meant for relatives to comfortably sleep on. Shucking off his Jacket, he balled up the garment and shoved it under his head, his legs stretching out at an odd angle.
Jack suddenly felt like he'd been remiss in his duties as a brother, leaving Peter here all alone while he pined after Lucy. If only Peter would wake up, things would be so much simpler. In the back of his mind, he'd always wondered what it would be like if Peter ever settled down. It had been a bit of a fantasy of Jack's to relinquish some of the familial responsibility he'd been saddled with for so long.
Closing his eyes, Jack tried to drift off to sleep, ignoring the crick that was already forming in his neck. As surprising as it seemed, it wasn't hard to picture Peter with a wife and even kids. Peter had always had a soft spot for children, cuddling little Mary up in a warm embrace the few times he'd visited when she was a child.
The only discordant thing about the scene playing out in Jack's mind was the image of Lucy alongside Peter. It didn't fit, and he felt a vice clamp around his heart each time he thought about it.