As much as you appreciated Jack's efforts to feed you as his hostage and, nauseating as it was, pet, he wasn't very good at anticipating your needs. It wasn't too long after he'd given you the snack Tim left that your stomach growled again.

"Pet, are you hungry? You have to tell me these things, you know. Otherwise I might let you starve."

He was across the room, hunched over a book. When he read, you'd noticed, he tended to trail one pointed claw across the page, light and slow, and you had taken to watching the steady movement to pass the time. The monotonous motion distracted you well enough from the way he never seemed to look away from you. You still didn't really know how he saw, or if he did at all, but you knew that if Jack had eyes then he would be looking at you, always.

"Yes," you replied simply.

I guess I can understand why he acts like this, if he's not a human. I've probably been spending too much time with him... not that I have any other choice. He's more obsessive than anything; he's never tried to hurt me when he didn't think he "had" to. And he wants to keep me around, presumably, if he ...

Your hand moved to your lower abdomen, to the wound he'd left that seemed like it would never heal. It was getting easier to touch, at least.

It's only been a few days, if I remember right. This would take forever to heal even if I was at home. I can barely even walk yet, though – I wish I could move, or something.

Jack turned the page of his book, and your attention was immediately back on him. You had become hypersensitive to his movements in your time in bed, and it had taken its toll on you. You were getting to know your kidnapper, and you were starting to like him – at least. you were starting to not hate him. He was becoming easier to understand by the hour.

What stood out to you most was his distaste for noise. His senses were sharp, in his typical animal way – any movement of yours, he locked onto and didn't seem to want to let go. He never complained, though. He only ever seemed to be upset when another person came in needing Jack to fix them up. He was a hard kind of guy to get to know in the first place, and so many of the men living in the mansion were brash and insensitive.

No wonder he used to snap at me so easily.

You had found, too, that he was easy to speak to as long as you kept your voice down and didn't surprise him. There was something in you at some deep and unreachable place that wanted to talk to him more.

Maybe even get to know him.

You shuddered at the notion, unnerved by the way you felt about him. He noticed, and you were not surprised.

"What's on your mind, pet?"

You were silent for a moment, considering the best mode of response. He didn't seem to mind. When you finally answered, you kept it short.

"You, I guess."

He didn't move a muscle. He was very good at staying still.

"I'm wondering. I want..." You didn't know if it was safe to put it so bluntly.

Well, my only other option is being stuck here not knowing. Both options... aren't the best. I guess it can't really hurt to take the risk.

"I want to know more about you, Jack."

He stayed just as still as he had been, but something changed – you could no longer feel him looking at you. Being observed by Jack was palpable, and often uncomfortable. You felt now as if you were entirely on your own in the dark little room, and you weren't entirely sure what to make of it, so you looked to him.

He seemed to be inside of himself, somehow; lost in his own thoughts. You sighed inwardly at his apparent dissociation – you had gone too far this time.

At least he's not attacking me. That's... progress.

Jack, silent as ever, straightened up one muscle at a time and shook his head.

"Later, pet. I'm going to get you something to eat. Don't run off, now."

He chuckled at his own joke as he left the room and pulled the door shut quietly behind him.