A/N: Thanks to all those who are reading this and asking for more. And to all those who are just reading. A small warning – this is more angst/hurt than comfort. Bear with me. They'll get there.

She calls his name as he leaves her there, the press of his mouth against hers leaving her lips burning. Rising to follow him out, she is stopped by the appearance of both Thomas and Clarissa in the doorway. She tries to get past them, but their concern isn't easy to dissuade, and she ends up letting them examine the bruising to her neck.

Eventually, however, enough is enough, and she manages to get away. The challenge Jack issued before he left echoes in her mind, and she begins to think. It is very important she manages to track him down before he gets into trouble. Or, knowing Jack like she does, injures himself. Because as much as he had threatened to hurt someone else, she knows it is him who is more in danger than anyone, especially in this state.

She doesn't have a set route or plan in mind, so it takes her a while to track him down in the end. But when she does she wonders why she didn't think to start where her search has inevitably ended up. Instead of making her presence known, she stands in the shadows, watching him like a voyeur as his fists fly with accuracy and power into the heavy bag hung before him. At some point he had discarded his shirt, and the sheen of sweat over his back tells her he has been here for a while.

It takes her a minute of observing to notice his hands are bare, however, and it is this that finally propels her into the room. Approaching him slowly, not wanting to startle him when he is like this, she makes sure her heels make a sound on the hard floor beneath them to announce herself.

Finally getting level, she is shocked to see the intense concentration on his face as he keeps hitting the punch bag for all he's worth. Right-left, Right-left, right-left, right-left, and then a firm uppercut with his right hand, before the he starts the jabs again with his left hand. The only sound in the room is that of each fist as it makes contact and his harsh breathing as he keeps constant pace.

Still facing the bag, he eventually breaks the otherwise silence with, "Why are you here?"

Her voice is still weak, and she sees him flinch as she responds. But if he gets to ask stupid questions, then so can she. "Why are you?"

With a final uppercut, he pauses his attack on the bag, almost sagging against it, and she is helpless to not try to support him. He goes to push her away, before something stops him from actually making contact. Instead, without meeting her eyes, he whispers, "You shouldn't be here."

The words do what he physically couldn't do, and she withdraws, shocked and a little bit hurt. "Wha-? Why not?"

Without answering, he goes to pick up a well-worn towel and his shirt where they have been shoved away on the floor, but is stopped when she reaches out and places her hand on his arm, not surprised to feel it shaking slightly beneath her palm. The effort he had been putting in to his routine must have made his muscles fatigued, and she wonders again just how long he has been here.

This time, he does meet her gaze, but his tone is still cold. "Don't."

"Jack…"

"I mean it, Nikki." This time his retrieval of his belongings is successful, but she still hears the hiss of pain he lets out when his fist closes around the rough material of his shirt. Gently, she reaches over and takes his shirt away from him before cradling his battered hand in hers.

Tracing the split knuckles, she wipes away a thin film of blood that has begun to ooze from some of the deeper cuts he's sustained from the punch bag. "You should have wrapped these. You know that. Why would you…"

"Because you could have died!"

She is so shocked by the tears that have formed in his eyes, it takes a minute for the words to filter through to her brain. When the do, she drops his arm, her hand going to her neck again, self-consciously. "I…"

His hands are on her wrists again, holding her against him. If it wasn't Jack she might have been scared by the power he was so evidently showing, but it is and she isn't. His eyes are closed, his forehead resting on hers once more, and his voice is barely over a whisper as he confesses, "I want to kill him. I do. I want to go down to that cell and wrap my hands round his fucking neck and squeeze and squeeze until he can't breathe anymore, because I can't get the image of him doing that to you out of my head."

Releasing one wrist, he pulls the scarf down, barring her marred skin once more. "You could've died. And I can't…"

He doesn't finish, instead rests his head against her neck, his arms now circling her torso, holding, no, clinging to her. His body is shaking against hers, but she doesn't know if it's from the exhaustion or from something else. So she lets him hold her while she holds him, his words and the passion behind them stilling her from doing anything more than that right then. His words from earlier echo in her mind. You have no idea what I'm capable of. She can't help think that maybe he's right after all, maybe she doesn't.

It doesn't mean she doesn't want to know though. So, even though she is holding him more than he is holding her now, she lets him in a little.

"So could you."

And then it is her turn to let out some of what she has been holding back for so long. "You were run over. Beaten and left to die on the side of the road. And then shot. And you could have been killed right in front of me, and then what would have happened to me, huh?" (In the one and only grief counselling session she had attended after Leo's death, she had been told she had abandonment issues. She had snorted in reply, and had told the shrink just before she had walked out that maybe if people didn't keep leaving her, maybe she wouldn't have them.) "You made me need you, even after everything else when I promised I would never need anyone like that again, and I hate you for that. I hate that I need you. I hate that you have that power over me."

She is crying again now, her head burrowed against Jack's neck, breathing him in. The fear she had felt back in the woods returns, and it is only the feel of his very much here, very much breathing skin beneath her hands that is stopping her from losing it completely.

"I hate you," she tells him again, with absolutely no heat or truth behind the words.

Jack pulls back from her, and his eyes trace over her face. She wonders what a picture she currently makes to him. She wonders why she cares. And then she doesn't care, because he is kissing her again. Only this time, it is slow. And long. And she stops wondering what he sees, and simply kisses him back.

TBC