Notes: :3 Sam is the most unstable person, I love her.

Frank stood up, and as soon as he had a grip on her, the pincers melted away. She was still injured, but not about to get skewered, so that was something. He set her on her feet and jerked his head to Jeff. "Go on, puppy."

Sam glared, but gave Jeff the last bit of healing needed to be back on his feet.

He hesitated, as though he expected Sam to take off sprinting, but she didn't. "Thanks." He sounded guilty.

Sam just shook her head, seething, as he left at a hobbling run. "You're such a fucking bastard," she spat, whirling on Frank despite her injuries.

She should've run. She really should've run, she was being an idiot. But he could've let her die. He could've let her die and hooked Jeff, and he didn't. So there must be some reason for that.

He was sitting on a nearby crate, one foot up beside him, spinning his knife on its point wedged into the wood grain. "…And yet you can't stop thinking about me." That sharp grin, wolfish and hard-eyed.

That was beside the point, and only served to irritate her more. "You're stalking me." Of course she'd think of him if he was creeping on her.

"Don't think no one noticed you trying to cross the line." His look was warning. The killers knew about that? "Don't go sticking hands where they don't belong, or you're liable to get them chopped off."

Briefly, she wondered if that was even possible. She'd never had someone try to sever a limb here. Jesus fuck— less morbid, please, focus on the topic at hand.

Heh. Hand.

Sam shook her head, dismissing all of that. "I never crossed it." Not really. "You threw a fucking knife."

"You said you wanted to learn," he sneered. It took a second for that to click. Right, knife throwing. She'd rather try that than the sling. He'd been listening? How long was he watching them that day? "Not my fault your boyfriend doesn't have the skill to do it."

"Stop calling him my boyfriend." Oh god. The broken body may have gone, but the sound still echoed in her memory. She'd seen worse here - experienced worse, in the case of the Deathslinger - but this one was still fresh. She needed to stop thinking about that. Just another gory snapshot to add to the scrapbook. She'd really prefer not to remember that. And how betrayed Jake had been in those last moments.

"You two spend an awful lot of time together."

Sam turned sharp eyes on him, levelly. "You sound jealous, Frank," she challenged. How fucking toxic could it get? Jealous over the fact that she had a friend? Jealous that someone else was on her mind instead of just his words, his manipulative bullshit invading her head?

"Don't have anything to be jealous of," he shrugged. "One of us is alive right now and one isn't. I think I'm coming out on top."

Her voice was stony and cold. "You're not helping your case." Red flags. Good. Maybe that would fix her crossed wires, remind her there were so very many things wrong with any kind of attraction to him. Beyond the killing— which, honestly, should've been the biggest red flag of all.

"I'm not jealous. I don't need to be. You're the one who asked me to kill you twice now. Your twisted little mind loves it. I'm just doing you a favor, helping you along with your death wish."

Death wish, huh? Was that his only bargaining chip in this situation? That he'd stopped her from dying? If he only did it to manipulate her - and that seemed to be his M.O. - she owed him nothing. Not a single thing. What, did he think he'd saved her? He'd put her there in the first place.

Sam's eyes narrowed as she took a few steps closer, watching his posture, his face, looking for a reaction. "'And yet you can't stop thinking about me,'" she parroted back his words from just a moment ago.

He made no attempt at a response, and his silence was too much of a confirmation.

Could she handle another hook? Her recovery from the last one had been surprisingly easy. Probably thanks to Susie. Who, by the way: why would she ever choose to be around someone as slimy, someone as cunning and vicious as Frank?

Yeah but remember the medkit? Remember when he panicked and tried to stop you dying?

What, to ruin her plan? Sure she did.

Sure seemed concerned, then.

Sure seemed disappointed that she was taking it into her own hands instead of doing what he wanted. The memory, once filtered correctly, only served to cement her choice.

His gaze was wandering over her, and she felt uncomfortably Seen. But she needed to get close to get what she wanted. Uncomfortably close, maybe. Was this what 'feminine wiles' meant? It had a little less sex appeal when she was trying not to limp.

Her breath felt heavy, nervous, but she kept a determined glare, intent on enacting her plan. He didn't deserve to win this. Not after what he did to Jake. Not after what he'd done to her, making her choose. And if she had to take herself down a little in the process… It wasn't the first time she'd made a sacrifice for the sake of spite.

Even with that determination, she still felt uneasy getting so close willingly. That fucking heartbeat. Common sense. Would it ever go away around him?

You shouldn't want it to. It's there for a reason: to stop you getting killed.

Fair.

Frank was just staring at her. Watching her. His gaze had lost its humor, just leaving something intense and… hungry. He watched her like he was hungry.

"All you runners are meat for slaughter, don't forget that."

Yeah. Don't forget that.

…Hadn't killed her yet, though. Sam just had to psych herself up enough to do it herself before he had a chance. 'You can't save me, I'll die.' Sure, that felt like an entirely appropriate response.

(…This place was messing with her sanity, if she ever had it to begin with.)

Closer. And closer. Almost close enough to reach it. Almost close enough to hit the leg that hooked over the edge of the crate. She tried not to let her gaze linger on the knife, but it might not have mattered.

His eyes tracing previously-hidden ink felt like his blade on her skin. The leaves that curved down and around her ribs, only partially visible. The top of the numerals peeking over her waistband at her hip. The single-line portrait on her leg.

She felt every muscle in her tense when he reached out his empty hand, slipping it around her thigh to run his thumb along the line, following each curve and double-back.

Sam chewed at her lip. Her glare slipped, a bit of anxiety peeking through, but just as intent. He shouldn't be allowed to feel good. She shouldn't like that. He'd just killed her friend, then let her off the hook like some kind of bargain to force her to stay. He was not good.

So then why did he feel so good?

Her arms had been a safe zone and he'd pushed the limit there, had made them sensitive and needy, and now he seemed intent on her legs. Working his way inward. The thought made her mouth dry and she swallowed hard. Her fingers twitched briefly as she got up her nerve.

Finally, she bit the bullet and cautiously reached for the hand with the knife.

She could feel Frank's attention shift, his thumb pausing its careful path, as he watched her warily. His hand closed around the handle again, like she might try to take it from him. Nope. He had to be the one holding it. Or maybe he didn't, but she wasn't willing to take the chance. She'd probably only get one shot with this. Get him complacent, then strike.

Thin fingers delicately wrapped around his wrist, lifting his hand - and his knife - from its perch. Pulling it towards her. If he was going for her legs today, so be it. She avoided his stare, just watching the knife as she brought the tip to her other thigh and moved his hand to trace a line up it. She could hear him sucking in a breath with the movement of the blade.

The hand on her tattoo tightened, fingertips digging into her skin, and she felt the muscles in his wrist tense, holding tighter to the knife's handle before taking over the movements she'd started.

Her abdomen tightened, toes curling and legs shaking with their sudden tension. Right. She'd forgotten this bit. This involuntary reaction. Her empty hand closed into a fist, clenching and releasing to lessen some of her nerves.

Finally, Sam risked a look at his face. Good. He was focusing on his work with the knife. She'd noticed it before, at the lodge, how it calmed him, pulled his focus.

She tried to keep that leg mostly still, but she still found the muscles in her back bunching, her hips shifting impatiently.

Movement caught her eyes as Frank's lips twitched into a slight hooked smile, and he let go of her tattooed leg and pulled her clenched fist to his shoulder, tightening on her wrist until she took the hint and held on. When his grip returned to her body, it was on her hip, firm, trying to hold her still.

Fuck. Not allowed, this shouldn't be physically allowed, the laws of physics or— or biology, or something shouldn't have allowed nerves to work this way.

It was pulling her focus, too, mixing her thoughts up, distracting her with sensation.

She was still holding his wrist loosely with her other hand, following the movements as the knife's tip bit little welts into her skin. The hand on his shoulder tightened. She needed that support. For more reasons than one.

There was a soft shake under her touch; a silent laugh.

Right. This was a plan. To remove the one bit of leverage he held over her: her life. Couldn't gift it to her if she took it herself. She thought like that a lot these days… Whatever it took, to cope with the constant inevitable deaths.

No more stalling.

"Frank?" His name came out hushed, more breathless than she would've liked, as her fingers tightened on his wrist.

He raised his eyes to hers, that shadow of a smile on his lips, and her stomach flipped over itself. Now was her moment.

"…Fuck you." She pulled his hand back only to jam the knife into her leg, pushing away from him and stumbling back onto the ground.

That one moment of shock she saw on his face made it worth it. She could handle the pain. She was getting better and better with pain. And seeing him surprised was so very validating.

"What the hell, Sam?"

A dark laugh shook through her. "Your fucking face." It was maybe a tiny bit hysterical. "You—" Her hand pressed against the wound, slipping in the sudden flow of blood. "You're not winning this, Frank." She heard his frustrated breath even as she closed her eyes, smirking.

There was quiet for a long time. "…You get real fuckin' loopy when you're dying, you know that?"

"Oh fuck off." She tried to gesture loosely with her hand, but it was getting heavier.

Another long moment of pause, and then she felt him lifting her up on one shoulder. The fucker. He was gonna hook her after all. She could've expected as much. It made her mouth bitter, but there wasn't much she could do now. She'd forced him to let someone leave with a key. That had to be a positive.

Only, he didn't put her on the hook. Instead, he set her back down, back propped up against one of the other nearby bits of debris.

"You're such a fuckin' dumbass, Sammy," he muttered, voice close.

Sam let out a long pshhh. "Yeah, okay." Another scoff of a laugh.

"Can you even die today?" He sounded as resigned as he was annoyed. Weirdly patient. Their little game of knives had certainly calmed his mean streak.

What did… Oh. He knew about that? "Susie told you."

"Yeah. Susie tells me everything. She's like a sister to me." She'd never heard him sound quite so soft before. Maybe he was telling the truth. But if he was…

Sam grimaced. So he knew about her existential crisis, then. Maybe. Or at the very least, he knew about her double-edged skill.

There was a tense silence, and it felt like he was about to say something else. Sam squinted one eye open to check.

Frank was crouched beside her, arms crossed and resting on his knees, chin propped on top as he watched her. Watched her dying. There was a little notch between his brows as he frowned. "You're lucky I'm nice, you know that?"

She let out a harsh bark of laughter, facing front again and closing her eyes. "'Nice.' Says the guy who made me pull a Sophie's Choice on how my friend would die. If he's even my friend after this." That made her chest sore.

"He'll come back." So dismissive. "They all come back."

Sam grudgingly had to agree. At least when it came to moris. Sacrifices may be riskier, but moris were just another dose of suffering. It was why she preferred them. Didn't mean Jake would ever forgive her for it. She could be as pissed as she wanted for that, it was her right.

It was getting harder to hold onto that anger, though, as more blood drained.

"…And I'm definitely nicer than some," he added, tone dark.

She felt leaden. Couldn't even jump at the surprise of fingers brushing her hair behind her ear.

"Next time you die, you'd do better hiding than parading how long it's taking you to fuck right off this mortal coil."

Such sage advice. Sam jerked slightly in a bitter laugh.

"I'm serious. Some of these guys…" Frank trailed off. His thumb was brushing against her cheek softly, which felt so at odds with the pricklier warning of his tone. "They're fucked up. You hear bottles smashing, you get the hell out of there and hope he didn't brush up on Deerstalker."

Bottles? She felt woozy. "Summ'on has bottles?" Her words were going. The last bit of time before things went dark. A ticking clock, that last-minute high.

"And Herman. The guy will fuck with your head, but he's not above a little physical torture, too. Worse than me."

"You act like yer so scary but yer not thasscary." It was like nitrous oxide.

"…I think I'm a little insulted at that."

Sam snorted softly, breath evening out.

"Danny, too. He's fun sometimes, but an absolute dick with a love of blackmail. The best way to deal with that is usually to stab him, but you can't do that, so just avoid him. Not that I have a problem with a little humiliation, but the guy can cross some lines."

"Why're you tellingmee thiss?"

There was a long pause. "Susie likes you."

That high before death removed the filter between brain and mouth, but she didn't get a chance to speak the thought that had just popped into her head, because everything was gone.

And then she was back in the field.

Notes: God I love the 'traitorous body' trope. Also: a peek at soft Frank. Just a peek. :3