"I thought you said you didn't get involved," Jaimie said, tilting her head, watching Dean pour himself a drink.

He turned to her. "Thought you agreed this isn't involved."

"Right," she said. "Guess I forgot."

He shrugged. "You want me to go, I'll go."

"I didn't say that," she said, sipping her own drink. "I'm sorry about Maria. I know she…meant something."

"Not really," he muttered.

"Right," she said, shaking her head. "You know you make it really hard to be nice sometimes."

"I didn't come here for nice," he said with a smirk.

"Well gee," she said, "why don't you just come over here and get what you came for then?"

"Don't do that," he said, shaking his head, draining his glass and pouring another. "Don't make me a bastard to make yourself feel better."

"You think this is making me feel better?" she asked with a dark laugh.

He shook his head again. "You still worried about me?"

There was a long stretch of silence before she answered. "Yeah."

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because I know how much it sucks to lose somebody you care about," she explained, studying the glass in her hand.

"I'm not you," he muttered. "And Maria's not Scotty boy. She was a mark. I played her cause they asked me to."

"What am I?" she asked.

He smirked. "You are a hell of a lot of fun unless you get in one of your little moods."

"You really know how to make a girl feel special."

He shrugged. "I try."

She sat her glass, now empty, down on the table and stood up. "I'm tired. I think I'm gonna go to bed. You wanna come?"

"If you're in the mood for company…"

"Sure," she said, closing the space between them, leaning in, her body brushing his. "Why not?"