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Frowning now at him, she let out an exasperated breath. Peyton wasn't usually this subtle, but she did have a habit of treading cautiously through any conversation that revolved around sex or things of that nature. The fact that Jack was picking up on it and pointing out out left her feeling grumpy, but for once she couldn't really blame him for it.

"Yes, that was what I was trying to get at. Less about the ********, because I am aware of those memories, and more about the time we spent together that didn't involve tearing each other's clothing off." A very slight flush was creeping along the bridge of her nose, and continued to grow the longer she spoke, bits and pieces of memories flashing through her head.

"Before that night I didn't give a ******** about you or your well-being, and now I do. Something's changed, and I'm trying to figure out what." There, that was the truth, the whole truth. Peyton brought her hands up again to rub at her eyes before forcing her bangs away from her forehead to sweep to one side. "I'm trying to figure out why. Presumably whatever we had in that world was," she paused here, groping for a word, and finally settling on one that fit, but just sounded wrong. "Deep enough to leave an impression."

Her gaze had skated away to the side while she talked, but it snapped back again. "And it would have," she added, not quite an afterthought. "Ended in a bang, I mean. If you hadn't have been such an a*****e." Not that it mattered in anyway now, she was just irritated. Irritated that he was as much a d**k in this life as he had been in that one. Irritated that she cared, despite that, but had nothing concrete to base it on.

Not understanding it didn't make it any less real.

The irritation leaked from expression as he gave his opinion, and by the end of it she was smiling again. "No, I don't for moment think you actually give a damn about me. That would be very misguided indeed, and I'm not quite that foolish." Maybe if she subjected herself to enough of his verbal abuse the concern would just go away again.

The cup was thrust in her direction again, and she took it, but since it was still half full she simply held onto it.

"You say you aren't the same as the other you, but you insist I am. You can't have it both ways, Jack. Either there is no connection, or there is." The smile had descended into something cold and unpleasant, and she sat up a little straighter now, dark clad legs crossing one over the other. Legs that managed to go on for miles despite the teen's very short stature.

She stared at him, those pale, lovely eyes sliding from that handsome face, down to broad shoulders and the heavily bandaged expanse of his chest, and then up again before thin shoulders gave a careless shrug. "You're pretty to look at, but pretty is as pretty does. I don't want you, I just have a new and unearned appreciation for your continued longevity." Elbow on the arm of her chair, she touched two fingers to her cheek.

"The only thing I want to know, is what could my other self have possibly seen in that other you to make her care so much? Because I don't see it." Her breath left in an amused sound, curls sliding along her cheeks with the slightest move of her head. "It couldn't have just been the sex, because as you've said, as we both already know, the other me was a slut. She had lots of great sex, but it wasn't those memories she was reflecting on."

And now that petty satisfaction returned as his irritation became evident in the tension that climb through his shoulders and down his arms. She took it this time, savored it, because she knew he took pleasure in pushing her buttons, so why shouldn't she enjoy the same? Vindication was held a place in her long left of character flaws, right up there with her temper and penchant for reckless behavior. He smirked at her, but she saw through that arrogant mask.

If she could have simply turned off whatever it was that moved her to make sure he was alive, she would have. That didn't seem to be an option, nor did it look like she was going to get any closer to an answer. Faced with that, she really had no choice but to let it go for the time being, and hope it might just go away.

He was beneath her skin, not out of his own volition, but there none the less. If she could return the favor in kind, she would.

And he had let slip something that might give her the chance. "Curiosity." Her lips twitched, that cold smile flicking back into life once again. "Inflict. You say it as if masochism should be involved when seeking your company voluntarily. Are you trying to drive everyone away, or is it simply a byproduct of an unfortunate blend of unpleasant personality traits?"

She smiled if only to see that slight crack in his arrogant facade. It was a tiny thing, barely a ripple, but more reaction than she had ever been able to drag from him before.

"Not feeling very loquacious anymore?" If he wanted to toss about fancy words, she could toss them right back. Taym had been a wonderful influence on her vocabulary. She'd have to thank him when he came home.

When, not if.

"Is it lonely," she crooned, leaning forward to fold her arms over her knee, half empty cup still in one hand. "Being you? I imagine it would be." Her head tipped gently to one side to spill the ombre braid over her shoulder.

Expanded vocabulary was merely a bonus. Button pushing continued in the form of that cool, steady smile and unwavering eye contact.

"Do I cross your mind from time to time, Jack?" It didn't matter to her, and the mild indifference in her tone reflected that. He was pretty to look at, and through some metaphysical dream she knew just how much fun he could be, but that wasn't enough.

He was ugly on the inside.

Misplaced caring aside, this little visit had shown she could still delight in his discomfort. That whatever concern she felt did not overrule her general disdain. It had been easier to forget, earlier, how very unpleasant he could be. Easy to feel sorry for him under stress or in pain, but eventually he would do or say something to remind her that he was a b*****d.

She should have seen it coming. Hurt or not, this was Jack she was needling, and he could just as vicious and volatile as Peyton could. She had a habit of underestimating him, it had been her downfall in the tournament, in the following rematch, and it persisted now. He lunged for her, and because she assumed he was too hurt to move, it was unexpected and surprising. Shock made her hesitate, and that was all he needed to wrap long fingers around that slender throat and jerk her forward until they were eye to eye and his stale breath was warm against her face.

Anger roared up inside her, Warrick's and her own, and in those first few seconds while rage contoured that lovely face any number of painful retaliations had flashed across her mind, but in the end, as his words slithered into the small space between them, strained and harsh, she swallowed all that anger back until her face gave him nothing for the hooks he was trying to dig into her.

She met those blazing green eyes, and her own soft lilac was cold.

Oh, how he had infuriated her, dug beneath her confidence to shake her at her core. Those losses had hurt, her pride had stung with them for months. It had taken time, and experience, and the simple act of growing up to move past such trivial things. To look beyond the veneer of failure to things much deeper, more important.

If he thought he could break her by reminding her she had been afraid, he was sorely mistaken. Peyton knew she was afraid, it was why she was here, in the infirmary. It was why she would remain here for days on end. Anything to avoid falling back into that dark place with the feel of insects like a sickening hail against her skin.

Her breath was a soft blend of fruit, and it chased away the stale heat of his own. "Did you like it?" She whispered it, voice squeezed quiet by the hand at her throat. And she smiled. A cold twist of soft lips.

Delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist, but she didn't squeeze or try to pry him away, merely held on. Thumb sliding over the gauze that was darkening with the stain of fresh blood.

"Does it hurt?" She returned that dangerous purr.

The only thing that kept this from being a very bad situation was the fact that Jack was too hurt to put any real force into the grip he had on her. It was tight, nails biting into her skin in half moon indents, but she could draw breath, and she felt the trembling in his arm. It had started as a fine thing, barely noticeable, but it was growing worst with every passing second. He would break first, she just had to wait.

The hand at his wrist was still, no need to squeeze. He snarled at her, lips curled in that feral grin, and she felt her own smile turning dark. "Then tell me."

Maybe it wasn't wise, but she didn't care. Her pulse a fluttering thing under his hand, and when she swallowed he would feel it, but that big hand was it it's limit. She leaned forward, rising up on her knees on the chair, and her free hand moved up to join the first on his arm. Grip almost tenderly gentle, and that would be an insult all on it's own, because as he was, she didn't need to try to hurt him. He was tearing himself apart for her.

Warrick's voice rolled in a low growl through her head, a deep bass that brought goosebumps in a wash across her skin.

The smile faded the second his hand withdrew from her neck. Like a light switch, one moment that wicked smile, the next sneering suspicion. Her lip curled, too familiar with the Lifer to trust this sudden withdraw. His arm had been shaking, pain twisting features taunt, but he still had a little fight left, she knew it.

Then he was yelling, and pale eyes snapped wide, startled, before she dropped his arm as if the touch of him had burned her skin. But it was too late, the curtain had flown back, and some unknown Moon was stalking towards her, trying to force her away.

The demon in her head released an angry snarl, but Peyton just stared part The Moon's arm at the whimpering giant in the bed. It was an act, and she didn't believe it, not for a second. Jack did not whimper, he was too arrogant, too proud, for such demeaning things.

She stared at his pain etched face as she was escorted away, and she smiled, that awful, wicked smile, one more time. Just for him. This wasn't over, not by a long shot. No, this was just the beginning. He'd made her care. Maybe not him but a version of him, and she couldn't turn it off, but she could twist, darken it into something else entirely.

If she had to care, then it would be for how misfortune found him, and if it had been her to cause it.

Just before she lost sight of him her lips moved, mouthing the words 'well played' before the curtain was yanked back into place and she was forced out of the room.

She stood there for a moment, heart still beating like a trapped thing behind her ribs, and her fingers lifted to her neck. It hurt where he'd held her, the bite of his nails like a angry sting against her skin. There would be bruises, faint, but there. A halo of ugly color around the crescent indent from his nails.

No, this was not over.