How strange, when an illusion dies...

Just as Vito had prepared to throw the blade in Jack’s direction, his arm jerked backwards, and he caught the elegant handle just seconds after he’d begun to loosen his grip around it. Two, simple words had stopped him, forcing his arm to freeze where it was, and for his bottom lip to fall from his previous, tight-lipped smirk. He remained silent for a moment, staring back at Jack, digging deep within her glossy eyes with his own, which betrayed the fact that he his control was slipping. He was spiraling downward - but Jack had spoken aloud the only words that could possibly have prevented Vito from killing her.

It’s OK…

Jack Dyllan had surrendered; she'd granted Vito permission to harm her; to inflict pain upon her, all for his sake – and Vito could not comprehend it. Jack had always been a fighter, but it seemed as though something within her had been flipped, causing her to act entirely out of character that evening.

Vito furrowed his eyebrows out of evident confusion, his lips still parted slightly.

He hesitated before stepping forward. In his right hand he held that dreadful blade, and as he stopped just inches before Jack, he moved it downward, holding it near the flesh of one of her freckled shoulders.

Kill her!

Vito snapped his mouth shut, pinning the edges of his tongue between his teeth. The indecision was tearing him apart. Had Jack kept her mouth shut, he most certainly would have thrown the blade towards her, and would have been successful, at last, in taking her life – but those two words had brought Vito back towards the surface, where he was forced to chosen between two, powerful emotions.

Rage and fear – yes, Vito was quite familiar with the pair, but in most cases he’d found that the two worked together, not against one another. Evidentlyeverything had been flipped…

“Jack…” Vito whispered, peering past his conflicted thoughts for a moment to meet her gaze. He trembled visibly as he held the bloodied knife to Jack, which he had begun to apply pressure to. He never did finish his sentence, for he had focused his attention entirely on the damage he’d begun to do to Jack’s arm, but for that short moment, it had sounded as though he'd begun to beg for her help. He'd wanted her to pull him back towards the light; to extinguish the excruciating flame that had engulfed his heart in flames - but he'd given in too soon.

He dug the blade’s jagged tip into Jack’s flesh, forcing it deeper as his fingers began to shake harder. The tender way in which Vito had inserted the blade beneath Jack’s skin suggested that Vito’s emotions were still in tact, and yet, the rage that he shook with made it quite clear that he was already too far gone for such things...

Jack watched him, seeing the struggle again, but fully expecting this look into Vito's eyes to be the last- she had watched the struggle in his eyes that night in the alley in London and he had still seemed to lose. That was what set them apart. Jack lost to the external darkness fighting her often, but she never succumbed to the internal darkness. Vito, perhaps, was not strong like her in that aspect.

The blade moved to her shoulder, and began to press against her, but she didn't tear her gaze from his, her hand still remaining on his hand that was slowly leaning the blade into her shoulder. She bit her lip as it had only just begun to penetrate her skin and she stared up at him, waiting for her fate. He uttered her name and her lips parted to say something.

But then he plunged the knife forward and the only thing that left her mouth was a small noise of pain, her eyes slamming shut and a tear squeezing out of her eyelids. She did not want to cry- but after being kindapped, batted around, blamed unfairly, yelled at, torn down, and stabbed twice in one evening, one tear would probably go unnoticed.

She opened her eyes, gasping slightly as her other hand came up to his hand, which was shaking tremendously. She gritted her teeth and her hands closed firmly around his, yanking it out and pushing the knife and his hands towards him, taking a step back. She stumbled backwards, resting her back against the wall.

Shakily her other hand reached down and retireved the wand she had stowed in her pocket after healing Vito. She slowly brought it up to her shoulder, closing her eyes, panting slightly, sweat forming at her hairline as her body coped with the abuse. "Ep-episkey." The wound burned painfully but noting changed. she had been weakened by the night. "I can't-" she whispered to herself before shaking her head, refusing to let that stop her. "Episkey," she repeated, and she felt the edhes of her wound weakly try stitch itself together, though it remained open, blood begin to soak her sleeve. "You always complicate things," she said, her eyes closed, not sure who she had directed it to/

The tear that had slithered slowly down Jack’s cheek had caused Vito to experience a twisted feeling of pleasure as he watched the droplet dance across her skin; the tear had most certainly been a result of his actions, and to get such a strong reaction out of Jack made him feel as though he’d won a long, complicated game. In past instances, Vito could recall feeling sickened when Jack had shown signs of weakness because of things that he’d done, but this particular evening was far different than those occasions; the balance had been skewed to such an extent that Vito had been capable of digging a blade into Jack twice. Surely, Vito would fall off of his high position on the scale that he and Jack shared, and would shatter when he hit the ground; he had never been a lucky creature, and for him to remain in such a powerful position would go against everything event that had ever taken place during his life up until that moment.

For a second, Vito’s eyes had flipped backwards and had remained deep within his skull as he relished in the feeling of power and pleasure that he’d received upon giving in to his rage towards Jack. Never before that evening had he caused Jack to bleed, due to his fear of seeing her covered in the dark red substance… and it felt marvelous, inflicting such harm upon his enemy. For so long he’d itched to slice her open, and he'd finally relieved himself of that longing.

In his ears the sound of his suddenly speedy heart rate rang clear, and when paired with the sound of Jack’s shallow breathing nearby, it became rather difficult for him to hear anything else. He was being defended by the sound of Jack’s pain, and his pleasure – until a thick, warm liquid crawled atop his fingertips, and his suddenly heightened sense of hearing dulled in order to make way for his sense of vision and touch. His eyelids snapped open once more, revealing a pair of wide, crazed, brown eyes, which immediately met with the blood that had begun to seep from Jack’s fresh wound. He’d assumed that, once he’d given in to his anger, that his fear of killing Jack would have left him completely, but it became quite evident as his breath caught in his throat that he’d been mistaken.

Jack stumbled away from Vito to heal herself, and Vito lowered his blade in response, blood dripping from the weapon and from his fingers as he did so. His arms grew limp at his sides, and the knife fell to the floor once more. What are you doing!? Keep going! Kill her! Vito’s thoughts commanded him, but they lacked the power that they’d had over him just a moment prior, due to the fact that fear had overwhelmed him when his eyes met with the damage that he’d done to Jack’s arm. With the way that the injury bled, it looked as though Vito had nicked an artery, and though Vito did not know much about the human body, he was well aware of the fact that a human would bleed out if any harm came to their arteries.

He widened the part between his lips to speak, but after a moment of searching his mind for something to say, he found that he truly did not have anything to tell Jack. There was nothing to be said; conversation would not change what he’d done that evening.

Three attempts at Jack’s live, Vito remembered, added the most recent attempt to the scoreboard. Attempts… he repeated the word, picking it from his previous thought; who was to say that this time around, it would be more than an attempt? Jack was having difficulty healing the wound… and that meant that, if Vito did not step forward and assist her, there was a good chance that he would succeed that evening. At last, he would be able to say that he’d rid himself of the burden that was Jack Dyllan…

At last?

Did he truly wish for her to die? Certainly; he was a murderous poltergeist who cared for no one other than himself… but if he did long for her death date, then why was it that he’d been so horrified by the sight of her blood on so many occasions? He didn’t care for her. It simply was not a possibility. He just… could not stand to see her bleed. He could not stomach the sight of his companion covered in her own blood. It was not a sign of caring for someone, it was simply a symptom of the illness that Jack had infected him with. Certainly…

Finish it! Vito was ordered for the near-hundredth time that evening, but as he watched Jack fumble with her wand, bleeding against the wall, Vito decided that he’d grown quite tired of being pushed about by his own thoughts. “Shut up!” he shouted aloud abruptly, causing his voice to echo off of every wall of his bedroom.

There was a moment of silence afterward, and then, looking as though he’d just been awakened from a nightmare, Vito grabbed hold of the box of surgical tools that he’d put together so very long ago, and stumbled towards Jack. He crumbled to the floor before her, and ripped the box open hastily; if Jack could not heal herself, he would have to stitch her back together.

With trembling fingers, Vito produced a handkerchief from a pocket within his slacks and reached towards Jack’s shoulder to pressed it to her wound – when his arm suddenly disappeared from view, along with the rest of his body. The inability to see his own fingers startled Vito, despite the many times that it had happened in the past, and he found himself incapable of moving the handkerchief any further towards Jack. He was growing weaker, it seemed... but why? It hadn't been he who'd he'd nearly killed, so why was it that he could no longer remain visible?

Vito inhaled sharply out of surprise.

He’d fallen from his high position on the scale, and had broken on the ground below, just as he’d predicted.

Suddenly, he reappeared before Jack, though his image was not as consistence as it should have been. The fact that his skin had become fifty-percent transparent was not the most shaking of his physical aspects, however; blood had begun to seep from a deep cut in his shoulder, which perfectly mirrored the injury that he’d caused Jack. "What the f*ck?" Vito hissed as pain shot through his arm, and for the second time that evening, he came to realize that his skin had been flawed with an injury that he'd never actually received.

Jack slid down the wall, tilting her head up as she dealt with the pain, hissing in pain as the motion made her stomach contract. The outside wound had closed up and stopped bleeding, but the internal damage was not yet healed. She closed her eyes, for a second allowing herself time to just... try and stay strong. Her head dropped over and her chest rose and fell quickly. The blood flow had been stemmed, but it was starting up again. She closed her eyes. She had to pull herself together if she wanted to live.

Suddenly, Vito bellowed for someone to shut up.. She knew that if it had been directed at her, he would have ensured she knew that, so she had to assume he was battling his own demons. She winced and shifted, again grimacing in pain. Her clammy palms readjusted her hold on her wand, trying to mentally prepare herself to heal herself.

She opened her eyes to see Vito in front of her. She thought to try and escape, sure he was readying himself to finish her off, but when she looked at the tool in his hands, it was not a knife, it was instead the box of surgical tools. Oh, boy. She was almost considering getting them both counseling, just to disprove the field of psychology once and for all- she might even get their psychiatrist to quit on them, completely abandon the field to be a mailman or something.. That could be fun.

Her mind was obviously trying to distract her from trying to survive. She shifted back and watched Vito take out his hankerchief, reaching out to clean her wound. Suddenly, Vito was gone though. Her reaction was immediate- one of the last times he had disappeared, Jack had almost completely lost Vito, and she had been absolutely terrified. She would not let it happen again.

She dropped her wand and her hand fastened on her companion's arm, groping fot where it had been. "No, stay," she said, an almost pleading tone in her voice, but it became stronger, as though Vito had no other option. "Don't leave." She had almost lost a lot tonight, and yet she managed to cling on to everything. She would even cling to Vito.. despite the attempted murder that had just happened.

He reappeared and she slumped, releasing him and letting out a sigh of relief. She blinked and that's when she saw the bleeding wound in his shoulder. Her entire face dissolved into an expression of helpless frustration. "What the hell is this?" she cried out. She shook her head, reaching up to wipe her face of sweat and the singular tear that clung to her chin.

She took a shuddery breath and nodded, muttering, "Teamwork." She reached out and pulled the hankerchief from his hand and leaned forward to press it against his wound. While the blood seeped up she slowly creeped her hand to her wand and picked it up, curling her arm slowly to not disturb her wound, though the motion pressed more blood from the wound- she could not use the other hand though, she had to stem Vito's bloodflow.

She took another breath and said in a steady voice, "Episkey." She winced but the spell began to take effect and stitch together. She looked up at Vito, willing to again risk her life to save his. "At this point, it's going to scar either way. You do know how to cause damage." She swallowed. "My way's quicker and less messy." She raised her wand and rested it against his shoulder. "Episkey." She had gained more strength since healing herself, a few moments before. She felt her remaining strength drain and her hand limply dropped into her lap, her head resting against the wall.

The surgical kit fell from Vito's hands when Jack pressed his handkerchief against his shoulder firmly. The pain was far worse than that of the wound that she’d only just rid him of a moment before… How many more scars did the evening have planned for Vito? How many more times would he look down at his body to find that his skin had been torn by seemingly nothing?

Vito threw his head backwards and hissed at the ceiling, momentarily forgetting about Jack’s injury; unbearable pain could be quite distracting, after all.

As Vito’s skin began to reconnect, weaving itself back together beneath the tip of Jack’s wand, a rather haunting memory overwhelmed Vito, much in the way déjà vu haunted human beings. He’d been incapable of remembering the event under normal circumstances, as it had been during one of his previous lives long ago, but the similarities between his current situation and that particular occasion caused the memory to replay within Vito’s mind.

Thunder shook the walls that held the large home upright, but the noise went unnoticed by those who occupied the structure, as they were rather distracted by the stranger that they’d just invited in from the cold, autumn rain.

The couple had been rather startled by the knock that they’d heard upon their door when the stranger had arrived on their doorstep, as they lived quite a long ways away from the nearest town, but when the stranger had entered their home, no outside noise was paid any attention. The stranger had explained that he’d gotten lost on his way out of town, and that, because of the mud that the storm had created, his horse had fallen and had broken one of its legs not a mile from where they’d lived. According to him, he’d walked the entire way in search of help, and had been overjoyed when he’d come across they’re home. The couple bought it, of course, as there was no real reason to doubt the man’s story, other than the fact that his shoes had not a spot of mud on them, which was a detail that the couple had easily overlooked.

“It is of no burden to us; you are quite welcome in our home,” the woman told her guest, smiling at him.

“Indeed. Would you care for tea? You are sure to catch pneumonia if you do not warm up!” the woman’s husband added, unaware of the fact that his wife was eying a bit more of the stranger that they’d invited into their home than was to be expected of a married woman. She held her husband’s hand, but it was clear by the way in which she’d begun to flutter her eyelashes over her brilliantly colored orbs that she was far more interested in the stranger than she was the man she was sitting beside.

“Yes, I would. Thank you” the stranger replied, pretending for a moment that he hadn’t noticed the suggestive looks that the woman kept giving him. He spoke quietly, and in an accent that did not match the region that they were in. The woman picked up on the accent, and commented on it as her husband stood, and disappeared into the next room to fetch the Rosie Lee that he’d offered the other man, “Do you not live here in England?”

The stranger smirked in her direction, and replied, “No, I do not; I am American. Does this displease you, ma’am?”

Sounding a bit too eager, the woman assured her guest that she had nothing against Americans, and commented on the fact that she hadn’t been on any particular side of the Revolutionary War. The stranger flicked an eyebrow upward, “Is that so?” What he hadn’t included in the question that he’d spoken aloud, was his thought about her being one of the dullest human beings he’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. Of course, the woman would not have understood the inclusion of her species, and most certainly would have been offended of the statement, and thus, he felt it was unnecessary to speak the thought aloud. He had not even caught a glimpse of the woman’s daughter, after all, and it was only she that the stranger was interested in, as it had been she who’d brought him back to life.

“May I ask you a personal question, ma’am?” the man asked, growing rather impatient.

“Why, certainly!” she responded as she leaned towards the man before her. She was about as subtle as a flying brick…

“This is a rather large house for just two people, is it not? Have you any children?”

The woman frowned, looking disappointed that the question he had wanted to ask had not been about herself, “Y-yes. Yes I do.”

“I too have a pair of children; one boy, and one girl. It will not be long until each have grown enough to work,” the stranger lied so to set up his next question. “Of what age are your children, ma’am?”

“I have one child, whose tenth birthday has only just passed,” the woman replied.

As though the child had been listening in on their conversation, just as her mother had mentioned her, she appeared at the bottom of the staircase, peering across the candle-lit room at the stranger in her sitting room. “Sir,” she greeted him politely, curtsying as she’d been taught. The stranger stood from his seat, and made his way towards the young female in a few, elegant strides. He met eyes with the young woman who had created him, only to cause him to begin to grown weak once more as she grew older and her violent anger towards her parents began to disintegrate, and frowned.

“Ma’am,” he greeted her in return, but rather than extending his hand for her to shake, he produced a rusting kitchen knife from his traveling cloak, and quickly plunged it into her chest.

“Elizabeth!” The child’s mother screamed and ran forward, but the stranger’s aim was impeccable, and, despite the distance that had remained between himself and the child, he’d managed to slice straight through the young female’s heart. The child sputtered in reply as blood began to crawl up her throat and pour from her parted lips. Her mother continued to scream, clinging to the child as though she were a life raft. It was only a matter of time before the man of the house returned, with the way that the woman was wailing.

When he did return, however, he would be far too late to get his revenge on the man who he had so foolishly invited inside his home, and who had murdered his only daughter, for the stranger had begun to bleed from a deep wound in his chest, which ran straight through his heart. The stranger would be ‘dead’ by the time the father next entered the living room.

Vito brought his eyes downward to meet Jack’s gaze once more, who he watched as she healed her own wound. She’d just gained control of herself, it seemed, for the charm had worked on her injury in the way that it hadn’t before – but Vito’s mind was elsewhere, as he had begun to ponder over a possibility that disturbed him far more than the sight of a bloodied Jack Dyllan could ever… and that was the idea that the redhead before him had been the one person that he could rightfully blame for his existence.

“You couldn’t have…” he whispered, staring wide-eyed at Jack. Never before had he considered the possibility, and never had he wished to, but his mind simply could not find any way to rule out the theory.

For years he’d roamed the streets of London in search of his creator, but never had he set foot on Hogwarts’ soil during that search. He’d been certain that it hadn’t been a child who’d created him – not this time; the first emotions that had overwhelmed him when he’d ‘arrived’ in London had seemed far too complex to belong to any student within the walls of Hogwarts….

Vito fell further backwards, tumbling until the back of his head was only a few inches from the floor, and his bent arms were only just holding him upward. “It isn’t possible…” he whispered, but the words that fell from his tongue had not truth behind them. “I would have known. Surely, I would have felt it…” he continued, sounding as though he’d gone mad…er.

She could see that the way Vito's skin crawled under his shhirt that surely the wound had been healed, though there was no escaping the inevitable scar it would lead. Hopefully, he could look past that, understand that continuing his life was a lot more important than a scar on her shoulder.. But this was Vito she was talking about. He would never be able to overlook imperfection.

She closed her eyes, feeling the skin continuing to work its way to a healthy staus, closing up, stemming the blood flow, beginnning to work and heal as antibodies rushed to the site of the stab wound, just making sure that no infection would get through. She could almost feel the adjustment of flesh, through the burning in her shoulder, just the way her stomach was tender and still felt like electric jolts were being sent through it, randomly stirring pain in her.

She could feel the wounds healing, but it not feel like it was getting better. Because these pains never quite ended, did they? The scars atop her head sometimes throbbed or jolted.. It was not because the wound had no healed, but the reason had not sealed over. Those wounds would always hurt until their cause did not. Nerezza's scar, a Sectumsempra, should have hurt a whole lot more than a scar received by falling to the pavent when dodging a spell.. But it did not hurt so much to think that Nerezza would allow her to die...

She looked up, saying quietly, "Vito.." She stared at him. He did not seem like he was with her.. Had perhaps the spirit shed the body when he disappeared. She straightened up, her breath catching in her throat. He spoke. You couldn't have... What? Heal him? Her eyebrows met, her eyes searching his. What had he realized? What had he discovered?

What was he hiding from her?

She swallowed and he fell backwards. She glanced at the knife and nudged it away before using her arms to push herself towards him, looking down. "What is it?" She felt a little defiance rise from the pain and the confusion. "Tell me, Vito."

Never before had Vito feared Jack; he’d felt fear for her on several occasions, but never had he experienced that negative emotion towards her – until that dark moment or realization. She neared him, and in response, Vito shoved himself backwards with the heels of his expensive shoes until the skin of his back met with his bedside table. It was almost ironic, the fact that things had changed so dramatically that Vito, who’d only just held Jack’s life in the palm of his hand, was attempting to put as much space between himself and Jack Dyllan as possible. The idea that the woman whom he’d harmed so many times in the past, and who he’d slowly begun to care for – something which he would surely never admit to himself or to Jack – could end his life with a single decision to mature, was simply too much for Vito to bear.

Hadn’t Jack blamed Vito’s actions on his creator in the past?

Vito growled inwardly.

Jack demanded that he explain what it was that he’d come to realize, and it suddenly became quite clear to the poltergeist what it was that he needed to do for the sake of self preservation; he would not tell Jack of his revelation. He would not allow her to know the dark secret that he had uncovered, as she would surely use it against him in the future.

Something deep beneath the flesh of his chest stung painfully; he’d begun to think of it as a revelation… surely that meant that he was not wrong.

Vito recalled all of the times that they had found each other during times of need as though they’d planted tracking devices on one another, and scowled. Had it been because of some unnatural connection? If so, then what else? Had the understanding that Jack had expressed towards Vito been nothing more than a symptom of bringing a poltergeist to life?

The weight of the truth began to crush him.

“Get out,” Vito grumbled abruptly.

At that moment, the light that Jack had once created within Vito’s dark mind - that feeling of hope that Jack had installed within him at one point during their twisted companionship – disappeared, and he was once again filled with that torturous feeling of anguish.

“Get out!” he repeated.

Vito had been fooled; outwitted by a human being...

He'd been lied to. He'd been betrayed. He'd been forced to feel human emotions, and to live, by someone who would one day send him back to Hell when she grew bored of him.

Vito struggled with the sob that had begun to claw its way out of his throat; he could not break down in front of Jack. He refused to be comforted by her...

Jack stared at him, eyes wide and confused as she shook her head in confusion, reeling as he pushed himself away from her. Never.. He had withdrawn and tried to walk away.. But the things about them was they were always hurtling towards each other. She could not understand why he was suddenly so keen to run, so keen to escape her..

And why did she detect fear in his eyes?

She looked down at herself, wondering what it could be that scared him. She did not know where she had seen that look before. She felt as though it were familiar somehow.. She glanced down, trying to mirror it, and felt familiarity crease into her expression.. She had worn it before.. When faced with an out of control Vito.. and now he was looking at her with it.

She honestly cared about Vito. She did. But she knew the only hope for him was that she could prove to him what he could be.. The worst thing that could happen is for her to somehow become him. Yes, they were similiar, but Jack could not fill herself with hate in the way he could, feed off of other's pain. They had to remain distinct, so that they could continue to save each other.. But as he looked at her, the only thought that came to her mind was that she was transforming.

Panic rose within her. She looked down again and closed her eyes. You won't give up on him. You refuse to hurt him. You'd die to protect him. You'd die to protect Chase. You'd die to protect Ari. You could never side with the Death Eaters. You could not murder someone who cared for you. You are not Vito. You are his only hope. You can't give up on yourself now.

He demanded she get out and slowly she looked up, seeing he was farther from her. He mumbled for her to leave and she blinked. He bellowed it again and she shook her head. she saw a strange contraction on his face and she felt something crash in her. She knew that expression too.. "Vito.." she said, her voice in a terrified whisper. "I can't." She felt her expression twitching- confusion, hurt, pain, fear- her mask was completely gone, there was no hiding. No one else had been through this with her, who else would understand. Chase and Ari meant a lot, but they could live happily without her but.. Jack needed the people who needed her most. "Vito.. You're all that I have. You need to talk to me. Please."

“I, am all that you have?” Vito asked slowly, restating the words that Jack had previously spoken so to set up his next statement, “What about me?” he screamed, his façade having been torn down for the time being. The sob that he’d once attempted to swallow had freed itself. It was a pathetic sound; one of pain and of fear at once, and because of the fact that Vito rarely allowed such noises to escape his throat, it almost sounded as though the expression of sorrow had been made by the human body that he’d possessed, rather than himself. He brought his bloodied hands to his hair, took two fistfuls of his hair in his curled fingers, and pulled the strands of hair away from his face forcefully until pain ripped through his skull.

Vito Dee Symons hadn’t acted in such a way since that dark evening nearly a year prior, when the knowledge of his nearing expiration date had sent him into a state of hopelessness – the evening when Jack had seen him in his weakest form...

An angered scream burst from Vito’s chest and echoed off of the tinted glass of the pair of windows within the room, which would surely have shattered, had he howled any louder.

He wished to slip behind another of his smokescreens, and to boot Jack from his room before breaking down once more, but he simply could not gather enough control over himself to do so.

Vito gave his hair another rough tug backwards; he was desperate to rid himself of the overwhelming anger and aching that he was experiencing – but it seemed as though no action that he made would ever have that desired effect; only Jack had ever been able to grant him permission to feel content. She was only able to do so because of the link between our emotions, he reminded himself bitterly.

“I have Satan’s,” Vito began to speak for the first time in a few, long minutes. “I am constantly surrounded by women who would willingly sell their souls to have sex with me. I have money, and I own the finest collection of clothing that I have ever laid eyes on.” Vito paused for a moment to meet eyes with Jack, his pain visible within them. “I could have anything I want – I do not need you!” he told her, but it sounded as though he was attempting to convince himself of the words that he was speaking, rather than Jack.

He untangled one of his hands from his dark brown hair, and shot his fist off towards the side, connecting the side of his hand with the wall beside him, before shouting once more, “I am the king of the world, so why the f*ck do I care? Why, Jack? Why you?” He truly did not care to hear her answer; he was well aware of the reason behind his emotional attachment to his human companion. Vito wouldn’t have felt anything towards Jack if it hadn’t been for her affection towards him. Had she any sense – had she felt the same hatred towards Vito that everyone he’d ever encountered in the past had, he wouldn’t have given Jack the time of day to begin with…

Vito had never been so lucky.

Jack could honestly say she had never been so confused in her life.

First thing was first, Vito's words were making absolutely no sense to her. They were so open to interpretation, she could not begin to figure out what exactly he meant. By inquiring about himself, was he saying that he needed her too? Or was it simply a device to get the conversation steered back to him, to have it refocused on him? The way he had emphasized his words, though, it sounded like he believed it was the other way around.. but so angry..

And that was the other thing... Vito had never broken down this badly. A sob escaped his lips and Jack nearly fell through the floorboards. She certainly felt as though she were falling through space. And the terrible emotions that jolted across her as he made that noise.. It was like experiencing a lifetime of pain in one singular moment. She closed her eyes against the sound, afraid it would be all-consuming if she let it sink it to deep into her. He screamed the words and she winced, her head bobbing. He seized his hair and began pulling like mad- she had done that more than a fair few times in her life- but never had she seen Vito do that. She could not stop herself..

"Vito, don't. You'll mess up your hair-"

She was interrupted by a scream and she squinted though refused to allow her ears to shut out the sound. Again, feelings flashed through her, so vibrant and jarring.. He kicked his foot against the floorboards, and there was temporary silence. Even the music had stopped, apparently the DJ wanted to listen in. Now that there was silence the music continued.. the party continued.

Nothing had ever been eerier than that moment of silence in Satan's.

Finally, he spoke, listing offf everything he had. He said he did not need her.. but there was admittedly something unconvincing about the statement. Jack was not sure about this.. She had never wanted to make Vito be anything but not as dangerous. She never had set out to make him feel like he needed her. But she needed people to need her, to save them. She stared at him, her eyebrows still met in the middle, sadness in her eyes, lips pursed.

He hit the wall and she squinted her left eye, and he began shouting at her. Again, she had no idea what he was referring to her. Did he mean why did she of all people care? Why was she of all people here? Why had he shared so much with her? But he had said something about him caring. Did he mean why did he care about her?

She sighed and closed her eyes leaning her head back and pulling her knees up, allowing for a moment of silence, her hands shaking like mad- they were shaking uncontrollably and she did not even bother to try and stop them. Finally she came up with an answer that covered all of the questions. She opened her eyes and swallowed, looking over at Vito. "I don't think either of us could help it." She shakily ran a hand through her hair. She could feel the shakening spread to her legs and she felt her knees knocking together, not sure why she was losing control. She closed her eyes and swallowed. She tried to regain control and opened her eyes.. still quaking slightly, still needing to do something. She cooted forward a little, towards Vito, wondering how he'd react. She felt that if she could just help him, they could both begin to feel a little better. "Vito.."