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"No," he replied. "Just bruises." Chris beat him, but he didn't beat him; Jack supposed that was some luck. "More on the right than the left." He scrunched his face and lifted his arm up as much as it'd let him, leaning forward and easing his weight on the other arm.

"So this's ironic, huh? Supposed t'be dead, but here you are making sure I'm just fine." He glanced at Gale. "Think that'll be something fun t'tell your girlfriend."

Kicked dog? Bah. Chel was the kicked dog as far as he was concerned.

Jack, Owain admonished him quietly.

With a smile of superiority that masked the minute reactions of pain to each touch, Jack touched his index finger to his lips and shushed Gale gently. "Spoilers, Gentry. But credit where credit's due: I wouldn't have had half as much fun doing it," burning, blinded, dehydrated, hallucinating, "if your girlfriend hadn't been such a coward that she didn't just kill me herself. Leaving me to die is so risky, so James Bond villain." He scoffed. "I don't die that easily."

I would not be so eager to rouse the temper of your healer, dear one.

But Jack didn't mind. the more he talked about it, the more resentful about it he found himself, and the more he acted like it was a joke.

"Next time, she ought to stay behind and finish the job herself. That's the only way to do it right."

"Yes, I call Lina your girlfriend because I'm mocking you and not at all because it's a fact," he said rather mockingly. "Stormy is a ridiculous name anyway. This isn't The Justice League, and that isn't what I know her by."

The rest of what he meant to say was cut off by a strangled noise as Gale continued his work. The bandages were soothing, but the pressure set his nerves on fire.

"Fuuuuuuck. I'm curious, though: are you gonna tell her you saw me?" Jack asked. "Or are you gonna let her find out on her own? 'Cause I'd really like to have a word with her about that."

He scoffed. "Are you really going to talk s**t about names when yours is Gail?" (He knew the different spelling by now but didn't care.)

Unable to suppress his shivering now, Jack waited until Gale applied the third patch of gauze before lowering his arm and rubbing sensation back into it. "I wouldn't dream of you keep anything from her," he oozed. "I know she's got you whipped." He still remembered the fight on Christmas Eve when she had literally sent the midget back home so that adults could talk.

"You're wrong, of course. You're worth as much as you make yourself out to be." Jack let his eyes fall closed, still faintly smirking even though it was only for show. "I thought someone who became a hunter at only sixteen years old might have understood that by now. Or are you comfortable with your mediocrity under Caelius?"

Once the job was finished, he was up and moving as Gale spoke (above his every word), trying to control the little spasms that wanted to happen as the alcohol continued to sting; all movement was still protested. Jack could feel his heartbeat in his head as he leaned down, opened the mini fridge, and grabbed a cold beer can that he then gently put to his cheek with a soft grunt.

If anything Gale said had interested him, it wasn't showing.

"Interfering, s'that what it was?" Jack asked, snickering without any humor. "Keep her, Gentry. I'm done with that b***h. In fact, you go ahead and send her a message for me when you go running back to her lap like a good dog: tell her she won't have to worry about me ******** with her anymore." His feigned smile turned frosty. "But if we do happen to cross paths, I'll keep what she did to me in mind."

His smile evaporated but the chill of it didn't. He gazed at Gale like he wanted nothing more than to smash something over the midget's head.

"She used to owe me two years. Two ******** years where I thought she was dead, that she'd committed suicide after promising me she wouldn't, letting me think it was my fault she couldn't be happy enough to stay alive."

His eyes narrowed. "How would you feel, Gentry, with that bleeding heart of yours, if you'd spent that long blaming yourself for her death, 'cause even with a ******** up life you still loved her? If you had to deal with not just your own s**t but the s**t she left behind: her family and her friends? Huh? How would you <********' feel," his voice grew harsher, his fists balled, "if after all that, you get here and find out that not only s'she alive, but she's with someone else and ignores you every god damn way she can? Tells you to move on when you can't? Doesn't even wanna be friends or anything, just <******** the past and ******** you, erasin' s**t like it doesn't matter anymore? Decides leaving your a** is more important than saving it?"

He didn't know why he was ranting at Gale. Maybe the pain loosened his lips like alcohol ******** you," he hissed. "Now she owes me two years and a life. <******** you and the little pony you rode on, Gentry, because how I live with that is my business."

Some part of him knew that it was a giant insult to his person, but Jack was numb to the sting. All he heard in the words, I'm not going to fight you anymore was I am weak. And I'm sorry became I'm not sorry at all.

He was injured and could easily be combated with a single punch or kick, but that didn't stop Jack from advancing on Gale with a dangerous look in his eyes. "Yeah...You know what? You're right. I don't care," he snapped, a maelstrom of emotions stirring in his chest in spite of his words. Deja vu struck him: wasn't this exactly what Peyton had tried on him so many months ago in the infirmary? And here he was doing the exact same thing, minus the choking--and he wasn't too sure that wouldn't become a possibility in the very near future. "I never ******** care. Why would I? Who the ******** would give a s**t, right? So get out if you're so tired."