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To Jack, it was another Wednesday. Another long houred, less lighted, coffee infused weekday. More notes on memories, less chatter with the clones, more insane ideas he knew better than to pursue. (Each written down, each given the merit of having at one point existed in his weary mind.) He felt incredibly stupid and unarmed, and nothing chafed at him more than being powerless.

Several people ended up on the wrong end of that dark anger, but at least it was always in a mutually agreed upon spar. It was toeing close to his habits from before with Peyton, however, and it would be wrong to say it didn't feel good to make someone else hurt instead. He was starting to consider yanking Leslie around in the mix.

But for now, it was another day finished, and the exhaustion hung over him like a cold cloak as he traipsed back to Chel's dorm. Noting she was fast asleep only after a somewhat noisy entrance, he slipped his shoes off and showered and changed as quietly as he could. In a way, he was glad: he didn't have to face another question of who or what or should I know? Finn said it could be temporary, but Jack's mindset was always leaning towards "what if it isn't?" (If you prepare for the worst you can't get caught off guard after all.)

Too tired to do much else, Jack crawled onto the bed and all but face planted, grumbling internally when he removed his now smudged glasses afterwards. In minutes he was fast asleep as well, eager to forget for a little while.

His sleep was abruptly broken by a dream he didn't remember, and for a while he just lied there. Jack's internal clock liked to screw with him at times, anticipating the time to get up by an hour or more for no reason. But the bed felt colder than usual--

He rolled over and found space to stretch out. A new spot to try and curl up to sleep again. But he couldn't help but feel a creeping apprehension, and he wondered if this was how Chel felt whenever she woke up alone: more abrupt, sharper, more a bite than a poison.

There was a slit of light under the bathroom door, though, and the wave passed. Jack waited for a while, wavering between falling back asleep and staying alert to get out of her spot. But when Chel remained quiet and out of sight, he eventually had to rouse himself and threw the covers off. Still heavy-lidded, he wandered over with a yawn, zombified. He didn't really question why it seemed like a good idea to join her on the floor and merely did so, sitting on his knees near the still wet mat.

Jack said nothing, wondering if the silence was meant to be preserved.

It was a slow dawn, a slight widening of his tired eyes that was eclipsed again by the look of one who wasn't a morning person. "Tensy back, then?" he asked. "God knows we can't have a party without that b*****d."

He could only imagine what sort of damage was being done then; there were plenty of holes in her memory for the demon to wriggle into if he so pleased. "You three," Jack added as he took her hand. "What're you doing on the floor?"

Maybe if he hadn't been half-asleep the reaction would have been more overt. As it was, Jack gazed at her for a while, his expression sagging with relief for the first time in a month. He entwined their fingers a little tighter and invited her to come closer with a small tug.

He almost wanted her to bite down. "As always," he said noncommittally. She'd heard him say it before: When I get angry, I get violent. "How do you feel? Nauseous?" A stab in the dark coupled with where they sat.

"I know," he said softly, and understood all too well what that meant for her. "No wonder people think he's a menace. Finn had a similar experience with him, too. It's his weapon: we think she has the power to manipulate memories. I was working on some things, but..."

Curling his hand around hers, Jack slipped his other arm around her shoulders, not to pull in further but just for the contact. "But you're back. That's all that matters to me."