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She wasn't sure why she was there. It wasn't as if she was especially close to the Lifer, in fact she had rather vehemently disliked him for quite a long while after their first initial meeting. Of course, Pey never really took losing all that gracefully, and certainly not after having been bodily tossed about and then knocked out. Their second match had been even more frustrating, ending once again in the Sun blacking out, only to wake up in a hospital bed with Jack standing over her with a chart.

That talk had been...not awful.

Then New years, and the alternate reality they had stepped into. Memories of a relationship that had been volatile, off and on, but had been good enough to infuriate her when the giant had asked her to be his date for the evening then neglected her. Nothing had happened, not really, but there were snippets of memories to fall back on, feelings.

It had been enough to build upon the minuscule foundation that had already formed.

Now she sat beside his bed, slouched in the chair with her feet up and crossed at the ankle, heels propped on the edge of the mattress. Her left elbow was resting on the arm rest, cheek cradled in her up turned hand as she waited for him to wake up.

The Irony of the situation was not wasted on her.

Watching that sleep peaceful face contort and pinch in pain as consciousness returned to him was damn near wrenching, and would have been no matter who was laying on the bed. A lump formed in her throat, and as the giant rasped out a agonized curse Peyton reminded herself that it could have been her laying there. That it probably should have been. There but for the grace of God. How had she, covered in blood and bile, and the twitching bodies of biting bugs, escaped this, when Jack, and Noah, and every other poor trainee that had barely touched the stuff been infected?

Swallowing past the lump, she sat up a little straighter as his eyes opened and turned to land on her, and she couldn't help the barest flicker of a smile at his questions, though devoid of humor. It wasn't funny. Nothing about any of this was funny.

And she didn't bother answering him, because it was obvious.

She would drop her feet to the floor so she could lean to grab the pitcher and a cup off the bedside table. It clicked ever so slightly, ice still clinging to life in the insulated container even after sitting for so many hours. Getting to her feet, she stuck a bendy straw in the glass before holding it down for him. All of this done without a word, expression utterly mild if not for the obvious strain of worry and the notable dark circles beneath tired eyes.

The girl winced as he lunged for the stare, and she had actually reached out to put a hand at the back of his head to help him, but he sank back against the pillow before she could finish the action. <********> was right. Seeing them all asleep, bandaged from head to foot, was bad enough, but watching that obvious pain was harder. Strong, proud individuals reduced to so much cooked meat, helpless, damn near piteous.

Any other time and that dismissive, acidic tone would have pissed her off, but she forgave him his anger in the face of that much pain. How much of a b***h would she have been in his place?

She met those narrowed eyes with neutral ones, expression soft with concern. Not just for him, but for them all. "I'm not here out of charity," she commented softly, grabbing her chair by the arm and pulling it over so she could sit again but stay close enough to hold the cup for him if he needed more water. "And I don't want you dead."

The cup was returned to the table before she sank down in her chair, posture speaking plainly that she had no intention of leaving.

What was she here for?

Warrick rolled through her conscious, puzzled himself, but quiet. Seldom did he speak up when his partner was being kind to others, even if he didn't understand why.

Features twitched as Noah was brought up, and Hanna. A subtle curl of lip, not out of anger, but just general response. "He is, he's also sleeping, as is Hanna." She looked away from that bald anger, to her hands, small fingers picking idly at her nails as if there was still grim beneath them. There wasn't, she was clean as clean could be, but the feel of grim seemed to linger.

"Everyone I've checked on so far has been asleep, mercifully." Pick pick. Pale eyes lifted again, meeting his. "Except you, your heart rate started ticking up slowly, I figured you might wake up, so I stuck around, just in case you needed something." She gestured towards the water. "I could go back to them, and sit there and be useless, or I can stay here, and try to be helpful."

As if to prove her point, she picked the cup up off the table again and leaned forward to offer him the straw. Closer this time, so he wouldn't have to strain to reach it. She didn't bother telling him not to rush, or to take it easy, he wouldn't appreciate it. Besides, he already knew that hasty drinking led to coughing, which lead to even more pain.

The leer was actually met with a smile. It made her feel better, him making jokes, as if whatever pain he was in wasn't so bad it completely nullified his personality. Whatever his opinion on her being there might be, she at least felt better doing something, rather than nothing.

The empty glass was refilled, and she glanced down at the ice thoughtfully, ignoring his requests in favor of nudging an ice cube up enough with the straw for her to snag it between two fingers. It was then held out, not unlike a grape, for him to catch in his mouth. If he was so parched he'd suck down an entire glass of water, the ice would probably be appreciated.

"Did he?" She hadn't been there, so hadn't seen what had happened, but there was plenty of evidence to support the theory. "I think if he was intending to simply eliminate you all via fire bomb, there wouldn't have been any survivors. As it stands, everyone survived." Those delicate features had taken to thoughtful lines, absently stirring the ice around the glass with the straw. "Which means whatever burned you took care of whatever you were all infected with."

Did she like the method with which they had been cleansed? Hell no, she was pissed to see them all hurt so bad. Could the same have been achieved another way? She didn't know.

Another cube was poked up enough for her to grab, and she offered that one out as well. More to keep herself busy than anything else.

For once she didn't blush, or even really react to the whatever lewdness he employed to catch that second ice cube. Too relieved by the normalcy to b***h. Relief felt really good right about now.

"I've seen my share," she commented quietly, finally cracking a smile. "And you're right, though usually the end result doesn't leave the victims alive." She pointed the straw at him, waving it about as she talked. "I don't think it was normal fire. Do you remember much about it? Other then the obvious that it ******** hurt."

The smile slipped as he questioned her, for more than one reason. "Really?" Wasn't he friends with Finn? Like, close friends? She moved as he tried to move, grabbing at the bed remote and handing it to him so he could just rise it up . Surely that would be easier than trying to sit up himself. When she sat down again the straw was back in the glass, swirling slowly around the ice. "I don't need anything." Which was true.

The second part of his question required more thought. Her lips had parted to supply an automatic 'no', but she paused, wondering how true that was. "Maybe," she offered finally, shoulders raising in a shrug.

Am I?

<You would know more than I, but...>

She enjoyed fighting, everything about it, even the aches and pains that came with it. She attached herself to someone that made her miserable as much as they made her happy. She had sat through the application of a tattoo between her shoulder blades and hadn't so much as flinched.

Was she?

"It would explain things, wouldn't it."

"I said other than the obvious." Her tone was flat, eyes narrowing slightly before she just let it go. Maybe there hadn't been anything different about the fire, maybe it had just been fire. She didn't think so, but maybe.

Brows rose as he proceeded to lay out her motives, or behaviors, and her lips gave an amused twitch at the application Freudian case. And he was right about a few things, really right, she did have daddy issues, but not like he thought. Because it was obvious now that he had no real understanding of her.

The straw came up again so she could point it at him as she slid a little further down in her chair so she could proper her feet up once again on the edge of his bed. "I'm not a slut." It was almost funny that he had assumed that of her, though if he really that close with many people on the island, she supposed it wasn't that unusually that he hadn't heard anything about her. "The me in that dream was, but I'm not her."

She debated how much she really wanted to tell him, but really, what could it hurt? It wasn't as if her inexperience was some dark secret anymore, not thanks to Solomon. "Noah's my first real boyfriend." The Sun watched his face for any reaction. "I'm still very much a virgin, despite having odd memories to the contrary from that New Years dream." The memories where there, flashes of feelings and sensations that had hit her during that gala. She had the know how that came from experience, but did not have the actual experience.

"I'm still sitting at first base." Thin shoulders rolled in a shrug as if to say sorry to disappoint.

The laugh came as no surprise, and as she suspected, it hurt. She watched that flash of pain tighten arrogant features with a petty sort of satisfaction, smile lingering, mild. She let him talk, because really, they were passed due this conversation, and she really wanted to get to the bottom of this new found concern for his well being.

Maybe he'd remind her all over again just how much of an insufferable a*****e he truly was, and she wouldn't have to give a damn anymore. Wouldn't that be nice.

"I remember," she informed him, shifting to rest her cheek against her hand again. "I remember growing up on the island, having an easy, normal life. I remember it being nothing like my own reality, and there-in lies the difference, Jack." It was nature verses nurture, that age old question. "Everything had been so easy in that dream, so I had been easy." Spoiled, entitled, utterly arrogant. "But life's not easy, Jack." She stretched his name, enunciating it slowly.

She didn't know what the future held for her and Noah, they were taking things slow, but she would not give Jack the satisfaction of making her doubt.

"You like to push buttons." It wasn't a question. She watched him, bandaged, features taunt with pain, and still arrogant. "It amuses you. But what happens when the buttons you're pushing no longer work?" They weren't so terribly different. Peyton liked the game as well. Poking and prodding to pull a reaction, though she saved that treatment for those she felt deserved it.

"Are you a challenge, Jack?" Again, that deliberate pronunciation. She smirked at him, rotating the glass in her hand to make the ice rattle within.