Author's Note: You guys, seriously, you're awesome. Tell Me You're Still You, CivilBlood13, Kyuubi123, m .Autumn, Sayuri-Yuuko, DarkxAngelxReader, and Owen Love Donut (who, by the way, wins at the Creepiest and Most Confusing Review Ever contest). Enjoy.


JASON

Jason finished sharpening his blade about the same time she finished her ravioli. He had hoped the food would keep her quiet long enough for him to finish, and his plan had worked perfectly.

But he was concerned.

He hadn't expected to find himself so mesmerized by her voice. It had happened when he'd first seen her on the dock, yes. But he had hoped that was a fluke. A random, one-time occurrence.

Then, after he'd made his rounds earlier, and turned back towards the mine, he'd heard her voice floating through the corridors, and he'd been drawn towards her like a magnet. She'd stopped when she saw him, releasing him from her spell long enough for him berate himself for being so easily entranced. He'd shown her what was in his bag and then dumped it on a workbench so he could start up the grinding wheel. Sharpening his blade always calmed him, gave him a sense of peace and control.

And then she'd started singing again, inside her little cocoon of blankets, and he'd had to stop working.

There was no other option. He simply couldn't waste the sound of her voice. His mind wouldn't let him. His mind, and the little flame in his chest.

When she finished eating, she leaned her head back against the mesh wall behind her and started humming softly. Jason sighed. He slid his machete into the holster on his leg and stood, making his way across the room.

At least she had let him finish working before she started up again.

She opened her eyes when he got to the foot of the bed. She didn't smile, but she wasn't frowning, either. And she wasn't blushing.

That was good. When she blushed, the flame got stronger. He wasn't sure why.

"I'm not going to stop singing," she said defensively.

Jason tilted his head. Is that what she thought? That he didn't like her singing?

He fought the urge to sigh. He hadn't foreseen this. He hadn't foreseen any of this.

He hadn't expected her to be rational, or playful, or… nice.

Friendly.

He hadn't considered the possibility that he might actually want to communicate with her.

He nodded. It wasn't much, but it was all he could give her.

"Yes? Yes, what?" She frowned, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Does that mean 'it's okay, you don't have to stop singing' or was it more of a 'go ahead, keep singing, and we'll see how fast I can disembowel a brunette' kind of nod?"

He laughed, though to her it probably seemed like more of a sigh.

She narrowed her eyes up at him. "You're laughing at me again," she muttered.

Clever girl. Was he really that easy to read? Or was she just very perceptive?

"Well, since you're laughing, I'm going to assume you…" she trailed off, and her expression shifted into a narrow-eyed, half-smiling look that Jason did not like at all.

She looked cunning.

Sly.

Predatorial.

Then it was gone, replaced in an instant by sad, pouting lips and wide, pitiful eyes.

"You don't want me to sing anymore," she said with a sigh. She wrapped her bare arms around her blanket cocoon, clasping her knees and resting her chin on her hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you hated my voice so much."

Even though he was perfectly aware of what she was doing, Jason couldn't help the tiny flicker of panic that flared to life inside him. He snuffed it out irritably, narrowed his eyes down at her, and crossed his arms over his chest.

I'm not falling for it.

She nodded. "No, I get it," she continued, biting her lower lip in that way that made the warm little flame in his chest brighten and burn. "I wouldn't want to listen to my caterwauling, either, if I were you."

Caterwauling? How did she even know that word? No one used it anymore. He'd had to look it up in the dictionary when he'd first come across it in an old hunting manual a few years back.

Still, he knew what it meant, and she definitely was not caterwauling. Her voice was lovely. It was soft, and melodic, and sweet. It calmed him, and entranced him. It was…

Divine.

He frowned at his own thought. Then, to the girl, he shook his head.

"I know," she said, staring up at him morosely. "I won't do it anymore. I promise."

He was simultaneously hit by two very strong and very conflicting emotions: frustration and amusement. He sighed at her and turned, walking back over to his worktable. He had better things to do than to stand there and let himself be manipulated by a tiny little dark-haired siren.

He focused on what was sitting on the table. He'd found a trip line he needed to repair, from the south end of the lake; the hemp had rotted through where it had lain against a mossy tree trunk throughout the wet, late summer months.

He spent a few minutes staring mindlessly at the rope. He could feel her gaze on his back, like an actual physical presence. Her eyes were so interesting. From far away they looked brown, but up close, they were a complex tangle of green and orange, with a few speckles of gold.

Jason frowned. Why was he thinking about her eyes?

He blinked, and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He pulled his hunting knife from his back pocket and picked up the rotted section of rope, slicing it apart. He closed the blade and stuck it back into his pants, and was instantly struck with the physical awareness of her eyes on him again.

But not on his back.

On his pocket.

He snapped his head around to look at her. She was still in the same position as he'd left her in, swathed in blankets, knees pulled up to her chest, bare arms crossed to support her chin.

And, yes, she was staring at his butt.

He tossed the rope down with a sharp sigh. Her gaze snapped up to his eyes, but instead of blushing, she bit her bottom lip and gave him that sad puppy look.

He growled, frustrated by the deep, languid burn that curled through his body, spreading from the flame in his chest like a slow, delicious poison.

She blinked, but otherwise her expression didn't change.

Jason grabbed his machete, brandishing it in silent warning.

Still, her expression did not falter. She did not fear death.

She did not fear him.

She was teasing him.

He stuck his machete back in its sheath and turned his back to her, grabbing the trip line and the roll of spare rope. He grit his teeth against the urge to glance over at her one more time, and instead stalked out of the room with another angry growl.

Her laughter echoed through the mine behind him.