A/N- Well, I managed to get this one out pretty fast, considering all that is going on! Thank you all so much for your replies; they are wonderful! Hope y'all enjoy this next chapter. Hope I didn't make Lisa too OOC. As always, constructive criticism is most welcome.

Chapter Two

There was no sudden explosion of sound and fury as their eyes met. The second that passed was just the same as the one before that, and the one after. There was only a split second, in which Lisa's hand tightened on her skirt convulsively and his throat closed in, preventing speech. Emotions thudded in her, of pain, mistrust and hatred, and for Jackson there was left only the dark chords of anger, fear and suppression.

The tension between them was electric, sharp, and biting, rising like a sea of lightning. It flowed between them: thick ropes, binding, pulling and restraining. Each knew that they were tied, and could do nothing about it; the constraints were of their own emotions.

It only built in the next moment as Lisa rose to stand closer to the bedside, and as his eyes followed her.

She forced her voice down to a pitch in which it did not break and waver. She forced herself to be strong, to remember that he had no power over her and that she had come to rid herself of him. She was the predator, now, and he was the hunted.

"I would not advise speaking again," she said, and her voice came out harsher than she had meant it to. The rasp was almost cruel, almost like his voice. This would have troubled her if she had not already resigned herself to the fact that he had changed her. She was here to find out how.

She smiled, a smirk curling around her lips as she lifted a dry-erase board with a marker. Every movement delicate, she placed it on his chest.

His body may have been broken, but it was obvious that neither his spirit nor his animosity were. His eyes met hers for another second, and the pure, raw hate and passion in them made her catch her breath. There was power in him, even as he lay completely helpless and at her mercy. The power did not scare her as much as it called to her, which frightened her more than anything.

A pale hand lifted the black marker, regarding it with disdain that was clear in every muscle's movement. He wrote in a scribbled scrawl that was impaired by his injuries:

Why are you here? To gloat? Leese, I think you know better than that.

Part of her was beginning to wake to the insanity of all this, to the fact that she was standing at the hospital bed of a man that had tried to kill her. The rest of her pushed that part aside, for now.

The facade was slowly melting away, however. She was beginning to lose confidence, to lose the arrogance that had aided her just a moment ago. She forced an expression of utter contempt onto her face, and stared down at him.

"Although seeing your body mangled like this does give me a certain degree of satisfaction," liar, she thought, "That is not what I am here for."

Fear crept over her for a moment, absurdly. She took a breath before continuing what she was about to say.

"You changed me, Jackson, and we both know it." Why was she telling him this? She hadn't meant it to be like this.

Something was building inside of her, something cold and hard and predatory. It was like the tension between them, slow and quaking and tremulous. She moved her gaze slowly from the board to his eyes, giving him a level gaze. His eyes were oddly bright and alert, and he watched her every movement as if each one was vital.

"There is something within me that longs to crush you," she whispered. All defenses were gone now, long-abandoned to the thing that was swelling within her. In her eyes was only the honest truth, the depths of her to which she had never allowed anyone entrance. She had no idea why she was allowing this man, of all people, to see her.

"There is a deep force within me that rises up every time I think of you, and it frightens me more than I would ever admit to anyone else but you."

His eyes were not mocking, but he was completely still, as if he was savoring every moment.

"I hate you," she rasped bitterly. "So much." Unspoken emotion leaped from his eyes to hers, a connection.

The next moment was silent, broken only by the noises of the respirator attached to his throat. Lisa felt tears beginning to rise to her eyes, but she stopped them in her throat, and breathed in. Once. Twice. She could continue.

"I want you to know," she hissed, "that something ties us together now." A part of her could feel regret, and wanted to pull herself back from the edge. The rest of her was so far that it did nor matter any more, and she was so absorbed in the moment that the future ramifications did not reach her.

She reached for his throat, and he did not even try to stop her, despite the fact that the wound was still raw. Her fingers pressed lightly on the bandages, and his eyes closed for a moment in an expression that anyone else could have mistaken for ecstasy. Lisa felt only wonderment at his expression, and a still-new amazement that it was she that was causing this. Self-revulsion swept over her, but she did not have time for it, not now.

"Never," she breathed, pain choking the words, bringing them forth from her throat, "forget this moment." His eyes burned with intensity as they opened, looking into hers. "It was me that caused this. Any pain that you are in now, it was my doing."

His eyes were overflowing with emotion, and none of it fear. He whispered, his voice garbled, mangled almost beyond all recognition, "I may have to steal you."

The words cut across her like a knife, a shaft of light in the darkness. And then she woke, coming back to herself. Acute terror cut across her, as well as a bewildered thought: What am I doing

She stepped back from him, quickly, her breathing coming faster. His eyes were colder now, mocking her, laughing at her. In her haste, she did not see the regret.

Every breath heaving, still wondering at what she had done, not knowing herself, she hissed, "Stay away from me!"

She turned around, the defenses back in place, her emotional shields set once again. Grabbing her purse, she turned around and fled.

She knew it was not over. She knew it as she ran down the stairs of the hospital, tears flowing down her cheeks. She knew from the look in his eyes that it would never be over, that he would not let her go.

There was a place within herself that was dark, that was cold, that was like him. The thing she feared most was not Jackson Rippner. It was the depths to which she could sink. She could only pray that he would not know her weakness; he was far too good at exploiting it.

There were more emotions, snarled deep within her. There was a searing touch of fire that shone deep within the darkness, something that kept it away. It was brilliant, illuminating, could reach to the edges of her soul if she let it. But secretly, to herself, she feared it most of all. It was like a flower that grew in a desert; impossible, going against all odds.

She could not repress it forever. She knew this, deep inside herself. That was why she reverted to the darkness; it was safer, perhaps, than giving herself away to this terrible thing of beauty:

Love.