A/N: Sort of a transitional chapter, but anyway... chugging along still. As always, I adore when people let me know what they think, comments are like gold.

She sat there in the dark, looking down from her window like a detective in a spy novel, lurking in the shadows lest someone see. The warmth in her stomach swirled pleasantly, inexplicably increasing in volume until it had crept through her limbs, warming her cold toes encased in too large boots.

Right then and there she'd stepped back, embarrassment tinting her cheeks as she pulled away from the window. It was love, she knew, coursing through her veins as giddy excitement left her breathless. Love? Objectively, it was was the most ridiculous thought she'd ever had. He didn't know, couldn't reciprocate, and yet she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she loved him… Jack. It was perhaps the the most painful realization of her life.

How long had she been looking? Not that she considered herself some desperate spinster, but there had always been this golden little fantasy in the back of her mind. It had her desperately searching the faces of strangers each day, her own bashfulness the only real roadblock to the hundreds of meet-cute opportunities that passed by. She just wanted someone to come home to, to laugh at stupid things with, someone whose eyes lit up when she walked in the room.

And Jack did that, whether he knew it or not. His eyes softened when he spoke to her, the rough edges in his low voice smoothed out like perfectly aged whiskey. Everything he said to her hung open ended like a question he'd pay to have answered. Even thinking about it now made her breathless, the thin coat on her shoulders suddenly oppressive as it held the heat close to her.

She shrugged it off, tossing it unceremoniously toward her love seat. She missed, the dark material pooling on the floor, barely noticeable in the dimness. She thought briefly about retrieving it, hanging it gently on its hook by the door like she always did. It was the last piece of her father she had, other than a few finger worn photographs.

Her father. If only he were here right now, none of this would have happened. She wouldn't have made such a fool of herself; the loneliness wouldn't have eaten at her until she'd latched on to the first semblance of family that came her way. She wouldn't have lied about Peter, and Jack… She wouldn't be standing here, trying to make herself feel bad when really all she felt was an irresistible joy hovering just beyond her fingertips. Sparing the garment one last glance, she turned away.

Kicking off her shoes, she traversed her tiny living room, crossing the threshold to her dark bedroom. The bed, surprisingly, was made up, contrasting greatly with the near constant state of upheaval the rest of her apartment stayed in. The queen sized mattress was too big, really. She'd filled it with pillows and still it felt like she was swimming in the ocean when she slept there, which was pretty infrequently, hence it's pristine state.

Tonight she was drawn to it though, forgoing the usual spot on the sofa she dropped into. She traced her fingers along the floral pattern of the coverlet, the tiny stitched seams tickling the pads of her fingers. For a long time it had been in the hope chest her mother had intended for her, tucked in next to all manner of things meant for a life she'd given up on ever having. It was out of style of course, the colors faded slightly, but Lucy loved it. Its painstakingly pieced squares so lovingly hand sewn, beautiful in spite of its flaws. Just as that ugly coat made her feel close to a father she missed incredibly, this blanket made her feel close to a mother she'd never really known.

They were poor substitutes for the genuine thing, but still, there was a measure of comfort as she disrobed and slipped into the bed. Strangely, even though her situation was just as depressingly hopeless as before, Lucy couldn't help the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth.

When she closed her eyes she saw his face, smiling sheepishly at her when he thought she wasn't looking. And it may have been some illusion, but she could have sworn the smell of his cologne infiltrated her sinuses.

Here, cozy in a cocoon of her own making, she let herself, for one moment, give in to it. She could still feel the way his arms had banded tightly around her as she was flailing, surprisingly strong as they held her to his chest.

Tonight at least, she would pretend, let her mind wander where it may, the dreams already forming in her subconscious. She'd worry about reality tomorrow, run through the short list of her acquaintances until she found someone who could give her advice.

Lucy, you're born into a family. You do not join them like you do the Marines.

The words played over and over in her head, a harsh reminder of the little game she was playing. But, damn it, it wasn't a game! Her heart ached whenever she thought about disappointing Ox and Midge. Why had she gone to Jerry for advice? It was stupid really, her boss of all people. How pathetic was it that he was the closest thing to family she actually had? Jerry was a nice man, but he didn't really know her, and he was in no position to be giving her life advice.

Unfortunately, the worst part about what Jerry had said to her, was its resounding truth. She absolutely clung to Callaghans, and the cantankerous warmth they constantly exuded. But in reality, all of that wouldn't really be too hard to let go of. She could have found a way to extricate herself from everything, if she had even remotely wanted to. That was the problem - she didn't want to, not in the least.

She took token after token as the passengers slipped them under her little glass window, pressing the turnstile button like a robot without looking up. It was cold in her little box, even with her wool hat pulled down over her ears, her fingers poking out from her gloves getting stiff as the day passed.

She glanced at the little digital clock on the wall. The last half of her day had passed while she stewed over Jerry's words, a tiny voice in the back of her head telling her that she shouldn't go to dinner tonight, even though Midge had been so sweet when she invited her. She couldn't face Jack, his endearingly bad jokes and soft gazes. Her eyes would linger on his lips while he talked, her nose instinctively searching out the unique combination of laundry soap and cologne that was Jack. Someone would notice, it would be awkward.

But she didn't want to cancel, damn it. She wanted to go and laugh with these warm people, and chat with Mary about boys, and listen to Saul and Elsie argue over depression era theater. She needed to snort in disbelief as Jack said or did something nonsensical. She craved it like a drug, and every ounce of sensibility was pushed out of her brain as the clock ticked closer to five.

She jumped when a hand lit on her shoulder, a surprised squeak sounding out against the walls of the booth.

"Jeez, Lucy, what's with you?"

Lucy swallowed, and tried to gain her voice. How was it the end of her shift already? Celeste stared at her expectantly as she waited for a response. "Sorry, I, uh, was preoccupied."

This earned Lucy a dubious look, Celeste arching one eyebrow up curiously. "Preoccupied?"

Lucy felt foggy again, her mind drifting as she got up from her stool. "Have you ever been in love, but knew it was a bad idea?"

Celeste slipped into the spot Lucy had vacated, fluidly resuming the task at hand. "I told you never to get involved with a married man, girl. They never leave their wives."

Lucy blinked. "What? No! It's not like that, it's just…"

"Star crossed lovers?" Celeste paused, turning to assess her coworker.

The expression made her blush, the very idea of her and Jack actually being categorized as "lovers" set her heart to racing. "Uh, kind of, maybe, I don't know."

Celeste clicked her tongue, once again back to collecting tokens. "Nothing is ever as dramatic as Romeo and Juliet. If you love each other, you'll find a way to make it work." Dropping a handful of tokens in the jar under the counter to punctuate her statement, she continued. "As long as there aren't any wives involved."

"There aren't. Good Lord, a girl fantasizes one time about Alec Baldwin and she never hears the end of it!"

"He has Kim Basinger."

"But for how long? Celeste, really, I mean… Wait, that's so not the point."

Celeste laughed, the chuckle a pleasant sound. Lucy really had been in her own head far too much today. She let out a long breath. "Ok, well, I have to go. I have plans."

She slipped out, ignoring Celeste's last parting shot. "Say hi to Romeo for me!"