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She still wasn't sleeping. It had been days since she'd talked with America, and though the Moon's advice was sound, the smaller girl was still putting it off. Afraid to confront her Noah about the strange distance that had so unexpectedly sprang up between them. Afraid of his answer. It meant nothing had been resolved, the note of anxiety in the pit of her stomach was growing day by day, the weight of her exhaustion bore down heavier. She couldn't get a full night's sleep, the nightmares prevented it. She'd wake, screaming in the dark, and there would be no one there to curl up against, no pulse to count until her own slowed again, no exchange of reassuring warmth.

<You can't keep this up, Peyton. It's not healthy.> Of course he was right, but Peyton responded as she had been. A sigh, a nod in confirmation, but no intention to do anything about it. Yet.

<Maybe the infirmary can give you something to help you sleep.>

Maybe...

It wasn't a favorable idea, but it wasn't bad either. Peyton considered it as she made her slow way down one of the more run down neighborhood streets in the town. She'd stopped in to see America, but after the Moon had asked how things had gone when she'd talked to Noah, Peyton had made a hasty excuse to leave. She didn't want to talk about, didn't need her friend's good natured urging.

She just wanted the problem to go away.

While it was true that a run in with Jack usually proved entertaining, at the very least, today the mere sound of his voice carrying through the quiet street was enough to make the petite Sun flinch. Her steps stuttered, head lifting to throw a glance in his direction, but it was brief, and her expression wash somewhere between irritation and dread, and over it all the telltale signs of exhaustion. The warning growl at the back of her mind was needless, Peyton wanted nothing to do with the jolly green giant at the moment. So for once there was no curl of a smile or biting comment. She met green eyes, noted the lack of cast, and offered a small twitch of fingers in a wave before dropping her hand back into her pocket.

"Hi Jack." Don't engage. "Um. No, not yet." Stay mild. "Very clever though." Give him nothing.

The gift in question had been folded up and tucked into the bottom of the town cabinet in the bathroom. She didn't plan on using it, but you can never have too many towels.

She had hopes that'd be the end of it. That she could just keep walking, and he'd continue on his way. It was a foolish hope, really, all considered, but that didn't stop her from turning back to the crumbly road she'd been walking down.

The sound of his boots crunching over the pavement proceeded his voice, and Peyton let out a heavy sigh, schooling features as he drew up even with her. "Just stopped over to pick something up." Her last resort to a full nights sleep before she was forced to consult someone in the infirmary. Her voice was carefully mild, giving him nothing.

Until Noah's name cropped up.

Her head turned pointedly away, shoulders creeping up subtly as tension crawled through them. Her voice was still soft, neutral, but her body language was scream discomfort. "I got some very nice gifts from Noah." Make a joke, deflect attention away. "Not anything as clever as your gift, of course."

The proximity she could handle, it wasn't the first time Jack had invaded her personal bubble, and it likely wouldn't be the last. Besides, he was trying to get a rise from her, and she was trying not to give him what he wanted. Not this time. She didn't have the energy for this today.

Then he was touching her, and the Sun stiffened, an automatic reaction that sent tension singing through her shoulders before she could stop it and force herself to relax. Even that she probably could have endured, but he'd picked his favorite subject to needle her over, and she just didn't have it in her today. Not after the last couple of weeks. All the insecurities, all the anxiety, and all the exhaustion boiled up all.

She made a move to step out from under his arm, tossing an elbow back at his side as she did so. A sharp little jab to the ribs so she could slip away.

Her reaction time wasn't anywhere close to where it should have been. The grab should have been expected, but it wasn't, and she stumbled when Jack reeled her back in, fumbling to keep on her feet. Pale eyes were wide as they snapped up to meet cold green, but they narrowed seconds after, lip curling back as delicate fingers closed into tight little fists. And it was there in bright lavender, just how badly she wanted to hit him. Maybe she would have, but he jerked on her arm again, shaking her, and what he was saying started to sink in.

Steady again, she leaned away from him, for what good it did her. "What, you write something up?" Now the bite was back in her voice, no longer mild and conversational, but low and prickly. There was only so far she was willing to let him push before she started pushing back, and he'd reached the limit.

She was awake now. The bruising bite of his fingers around her arm were an anchor, and his voice ran like icy water across her skin. violence between them was nothing, expected and, honestly, relished. Why else would they keep coming back? It wasn't just hate, or rivalry, or any other mundane and perfectly acceptable explanation. It was the brutality, the rush that came when you let go of restraint and pretense. The pain, sharp and alive. This was more than that. This was crazy(but he had always been, she had always been, that wasn't new), this was possession.

He played at it, she played along. The usual give and take, familiar exchanges, but the game was over.

Warrick roared with protective rage, and there, too, was possession. Peyton was his. Definitively. His anger flooded in like a scalding wave, thawing the Ice of Jack's vindictiveness. Warm and comforting, she wrapped it around herself like a favorite blanket, and God it felt good. "I don't belong to you, Jack." An angry hiss, punctuated by the slam of her left fist against the right side of his stomach.

<Kill him!>

The lack of a sound was disappointing as ever, but she had far more important things to worry over just then. His hand on her arm shifted, sliding down to squeeze into her wrist, and before she could dig in against it he'd yanked her around to pin that arm behind her back. The other snapped out in retaliation, reeling up to throw another elbow, but the kick to the back of her legs brought her down hard on her knees and tore a sharp yelp from unwilling lips.

Them his voice again, like poisonous silk in her ear. Her own words fed back to her, twisted, and Peyton made a frustrated snarl as she tried to jerk away from him. If he thought she would sit there and let him carve into her skin he was wrong. Whatever their relationship, there was a perverse balance to it and always had. No relenting. Nothing given, always taken.

As much as she held the advantage in strength and speed it meant very little with just how physically and emotionally compromised she was. Jack didn't want a fight, and Peyton didn't have the energy to give him the one she wanted, but she did struggle. Twisting and pulling against his hold, free hand reaching back over her should grabbing for any little piece of him she could reach.

The relief of her arm falling back into a more natural position was short lived by the press of that long blade against her side. Instantly she froze, fingers clenched in the arm of his shirt. She could feel him behind her hovering close, but it didn't do her a lot of good considering how he'd managed to pin her. Not with strength, but the threat of steal biting into her skin. For a moment it seemed as if she weren't going to fight him, heart hammering in her then chest, mind reeling, then a flash of red light in her empty hand, and she was swinging backward, blindly.

"Get the ******** off me," she snarled it, trying to twist in his hold, regardless of the threat literally pressed into her body, hissing in pain as dagger and sword bit into her shield.

She would not go willingly into this. Whatever deal they forged did not include possession. Even if some of his points rang true, she still fought against him, against them. Clinging to denial, even now.

The rough concrete tore into her knees, and her other dagger flared to life in the hand still clutching his shirt. Dangerously close. Twisting her wrist, she angled it up at his throat. "You say I have no choice? Like I'll ******** make it easy on you." She'd turn the tables if she could, and it would be her name carved in blood upon his chest.