Welcome to Gaia! ::

She heard the shift of movement, and when she lifted her head he was leaning towards her, face closer, and she blinked at him, startled. The topic alone was enough to have her heart rate picking up, but that sent it racing, and she sat up a little straighter, stared back at him with wide eyes. The shadows beneath not quite eliminated by the careful application of make up.

Again she wet her lips, tried to conceal just how unhappy this line of questioning made her, but Jack wasn't stupid, and as much as she liked to lie to herself that it wasn't true, he did know her better than most.

"The mission was a success. Sinagra was neutralized." That wasn't what he'd asked, and she knew it. "It..." She swallowed. "It feels like it's still there." This, of course, could have been phrased better. Gaze flicking off to the side, almost nervously, she knotted fingers together in he lap. "It's not, we check out, clean, but the urge is there. Like a stain."

Everything was clouding together. She didn't know anymore if she'd always enjoyed the thrill of violence, or if it was some lingering effect of the red-eye. Sleep was harder to come by, she woke most nights screaming, and the poor girl was undeniably tired at this point.

The temptation to plant her palm in his face and shove was large, but they had struck a bargain and she would stick to it, no matter how difficult it might have been to resist. Small fingers curled tighter together, and teeth pressed, the muscles in her jaw tightening. She was not some ******** prey animal, but there was nothing she could do to wipe that predatory look from Jack's gleaming eyes.

On an inhale she shut her eyes, blocking him out as he reminded her of awful truths, but they snapped open again, narrowing, as Noah was brought up. "I've kept my word," she hissed back, temper flaring. So close to the surface in Jack's infuriating presence. "And he knows about my missions." It came out defensive, angry. "He knows about the red-eye, and what happens. Just not," she faltered, deflating a little. "Not the worst of it."

No, that she saved for Jack.

It wasn't that she didn't take him seriously. It was that she didn't want to loose him. That far loomed large in her mind.

The anger was receding as quickly as it had come, and she slumped back, laying along the coffee table, chin up and eyes closed. "How is this helping, Jack? So far all you've done is listen about missions and nightmares."

The rustle of cloth should have been a warning, but Peyton had brought small hands up to comb fingers back through tickling bangs to forcing them back from her face. Her eyes opened slowly as he moved, looking up at the ceiling over head until the soft bump against the table made her freeze seconds before he was looming over her. Tension sang through her shoulders, her stomach, down to her toes as he leaned towards her, and what should have been comical -- batter and bruised, arm in a cast, swallow and wild -- was anything but.

<Too close!> Warrick snarled, hackles raised, and the Sun's breath caught in her throat, stalling as she stared up at him. "What are-" The protest died as he spoke up, and she shrank away from him, back pressing into the table beneath her.

A hand was there, fingertips light against his chest, unconscious and reactive as he came in closer to touch her cheek. A startlingly gentle action from someone she'd only ever associated with violence and pain. It was unnerving, the soft caress, that slip of hair behind her ear, and she turned her head away from that touch. "So when do these practical lessons in patience begin?" Because as of yet he hadn't been a whole lot of help to her besides as a someone to vent to.

The impact of wrist against table had lips drawing off teeth in an automatic snarl. Pinned, Jack's considerable weight leaning onto that thin limb was enough to keep it more or less pressed to the table, and she fought not to bury the knuckles of her free hand into that battered face, because like it or not, they had a deal and she had every intention to stick too it.

As much as she was able.

Which, unfortunately, would not be long.

He shifted, sitting on her thighs, and she couldn't help the uncomfortable grunt that followed as he leaned over her, grinding her wrist into the wood, and spitting venom in her face from inches away. And he was right, of course, in that she was impulsive, because the more he spoke, the hotter her blood boiled, until he'd feel the tension in her legs building, the bunch of muscles in her stomach as she reached back to grab the edge of the table past her head.

{And she couldn't answer, wouldn't answer, because for as far off base as he was, there was those awful beads of truth. Because she did enjoy the struggle, and the b*****d <******** knew it.}

All that lean height would work against him as she jerked her legs up, rolling her hips, to send him tumbling forward and right over her head into the space between table and tv stand.

The roll off the table wasn't terribly graceful, but it was fast, and she landed in a crouch on the other side. Heart in her throat, and hackles raised. She was ready for him to dive back over the table and make a grab for her, but he he didn't. There was a strangled cry of pain, the sound of long limbs moving across the floor, and a groan. Then that awful laugh, and Peyton was raising up finally to stand so she could stare down at him from her side of the table.

Obviously she'd expected anger, and the lack of was enough to cool the fire of rage that had flared up inside her. Moods swinging violently, as they so often did of late.

When she stepped around the table she was sorely tempted to bury her foot in his side. If one small touch had been enough to make him flinch, than it would have been so easy to do so much worse. And she'd have enjoyed it, she knew, pulling those cries of pain from his proud lips. It would have been music to her ears, enough to warm her cold little heart on a winters day.

Instead she stopped with one foot on either side of him, looking down. "It's not the truth that bothers me, Jack." Pale curls fell in tumbles over a thin shoulder as she tipped her head. "I accept the truth, every ******** up bit. I do like the struggle and the pain, but these are all things I've admitted." That soft voice was cold.

Bending at the waist, she planted her hands on her knees, legs straight and strong, and her hair was long enough now that the colored ends tickled his face. "Don't talk about Noah. You don't know anything about him." She ignored any mention of America, his question was moot, because the Moon would never say anything as venomous.

The calm exterior cracked as her lip twitched, tugging back in what might have been a sneer if she hadn't caught it. Again, those needles of truth she couldn't have denied if she wanted to, but not the whole truth, because Jack, for all his intelligence, was single minded. Or, possibly, relentless in his badgering. Blind to the whole picture, or willfully ignoring it just to piss her off. "Not everyone is a monster," she answered sardonically.

One foot shifted, and the toe of her boot brushed against the side of his ribs. "Not everyone enjoys pain."

There was no pleasure in causing harm where none was offered; to herself or someone she cared for. Justified in some way. She didn't want to hurt Noah, never wanted to hurt Noah. He existed in different world than Jack, or Finn. That same world Astrid resided in. A world she didn't belong in, but would fiercely protect.

Retaliation was always expected from Jack. The words purred out, a warning, and she tensed to move, to drive her knee into his chest, but she hadn't known about the dagger, and even hurt, even drugged, he was still fast.

The cut bit into her shield, into the skin beneath and the tendon below that, and though protected, it was still an unpleasant shock. Painful and jolting, it brought her down hard, knees hitting the ground to either side of him instead of against that bandaged chest like she'd intended. Palms hit a second later as a grunt fell from her lips, but she was pushing herself back up awkwardly, drawing an arm back as delicate fingers closed into a tight little fist.

And this time, he was 100% right. Because she was a monster, and she liked the pain. His pain. Her own.

The punch never connected.

The shriek that came upon impact was just lovely, but but with it came pain, burning and sharp, stabbing repeatedly into her side, and she shrieked for him, half pain, half fury, before rolling to the side, away, back hitting the tv standing hard enough to make it wobble.

And as so often happened between them, anger boiled over. That need to p***k, to poke, to needle under the skin rising to the surface. A cold little smile stretched along pink lips as she rose up on her arms to look down at him, and her voice, when she spoke, was soft and infuriating. "You like it too. The game. This give and ******** take. You <******** love it."