Then Conquer We Must Chapter 1, a red eye fanfic

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's read the stories that started with "My Happy Ending"! Here's my latest attempt at this series. I've been fussing over this since about Labor Day, and had to finally get something out there, because I couldn't stand it not being at least partway published! This is not a one-chapter story, I'll be adding more ... I just hope to get the additional chapters beta'd.

That being said, on to other part of this story that I'd like to explain. Ever since I saw Whitney Houston at Super Bowl XXV sing "The Star-Spangled Banner" (which was a long time ago, and I was a kid when it happened, so don't call me old!), I've loved learning little bits and pieces of American History. One of the things that I've learned recently, was that The Star-Spangled Banner has more than one verse. That's where the title of this story comes from --- one of the unsung verses. So, I guess I'm drawing a parallel between our national anthem and Jackson and Lisa's lives --- there's more than one verse, and the story they tell is one of struggle, suffering, and overcoming it all to stand proud and victorious after having gone though so much:

O! thus be it ever when freemen shall stand,
Between their lov'd home, and the war's desolation,
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the Heav'n rescued land,
Praise the Power that hath made and preserv'd us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto -- "In God is our Trust;"

And the star-spangled Banner in triumph shall wave,
O'er the Land of the Free, and the Home of the Brave

- Frances Scott Key, c. 1814

I love these types of nights; when it's just cool enough after the end of the day to put on some long sleeves and feel comfortable with the additional fabric. It's early November along the Eastern seaboard, the air here in North Carolina has cooled considerably, to a nice 56 degrees, and the heat of the day has slowly ebbed away.

I reach into yet another Cherokee that I've managed to acquire -- switching vehicles has become a habit of mine, especially since we blew our cover in Atlanta. I had gotten cocky, thinking that I'd lost the man that had been attempting to follow us for the past few days, and I made the mistake of going out to a well-known tourist area at the wrong time of day. Nobody was frequenting the place at that hour, and Lisa and I stuck out like sore thumbs; easy targets for a watchful tail. We got the hell out of Dodge and moved northward, crisscrossing back and forth along state highways, back roads, and scenic routes. Eventually, our tail was lost, and we've been able to avoid suspicion and agents for the past couple days. But I'm not risking any more lives like that again. I've got too much at stake, now.

The bell attached to the door of the combo gas station/convenience store bobbles against the glass, chirping a cheery tune, and I look up to see a familiar face. Lisa walks to the edge of the sidewalk, getting ready to step down to the recently-laid asphalt of the lane nearest the store, and stops suddenly, seeing a truck coming towards her. For a moment, I feel my heart jump into my throat, thinking that she's not going to stop in time, or that the elderly man with the "U.S. Navy Veteran" sticker in his truck's window wouldn't see her, but both fears are allayed as he slows, waving her across. Bag in one hand, water bottle in the other, Lisa waves in thanks with three fingers, and carefully crosses the lane, stopping at the truck window to thank the man for his service to the country before heading across the row of gas pumps. The man beams and seems to get a little choked up, and when I see him wipe at his eyes, I know it's been a while since he's heard a "thank you" for being a veteran.

The pump clicks to a halt. I continue casting intermittent glances toward Lisa as I remove the nozzle, set it back in its place, and twist the cap back on. Finished, I lean back against the side of the Jeep, watching her make her way back to the vehicle. She's dressed in flip-flops, shorts, and a long-sleeved jersey tee with the words "Team Edward" in black lettering. I gaze lower, at her flat stomach, knowing what she's hiding from the rest of the world. I can't believe how immensely pleased that makes me.

"You wanted the Lipton Citrus Green Tea, right?"

I snap out of my trance at her words. "Yeah, thanks." I take the bag from her while she opens her water, and move it through the open window to set it on the passenger seat. On impulse, I reach out and rest my hand on her belly. I know she hates it when I do that in public, but it's become an irresistible crave, a primal need, ever since she told me -- the need to know that my son or daughter (or God help me, a set of twins or higher), is in there. Safe, and alive.

And mine.

Ours.

A piece of her, a piece of me, combined together in something that, by the grace of God, is completely ... truly ... innocent. The knowledge that I could help to make something as pure and as untainted as a child has made my throat clamp, my chest clinch, and my eyes sting on more than one occasion. I want to let her know that. And on some level, I think she does. When she catches me staring at her, or when she feels me wrap my arm around her belly when she thinks I think she's asleep at night (even though I know she's not -- she's a horrible liar), I think she knows. I just don't know if I'd ever be able to tell her. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I can't. Every time I get ready to say something, the words seem to stick in my throat. More importantly, I'm afraid that she'll play on me going soft, which will inevitably only lead me to become even softer. When I let my emotions take control, I lose control of the situation, and people could start getting hurt.

And I'm not just saving my own ass, anymore.

Something about that has so intrinsically changed me. I'm more cognizant of my own arrogance, my own selfishness. And God knows I've been selfish. When I look back at my life up until this point, I've only ever lived for me. Everything was so black and white, I knew where the lines were drawn, and I've always been on the side that saved my ass at no matter the cost. Everything I've ever done has always been to the greater benefit of me. When I ripped Lisa from her home, I tried telling myself (and her, for that matter) that it was for her own good, but when all the layers of bullshit and talk are stripped away, even that was for me. I wanted to have Lisa, all to myself, and I justified it by pointing to the danger she'd be in if she didn't come with me.

But I can't live that life anymore. Lisa's been reading the Bible, and even talked me into reading it. As much as I can't stand to admit it, I've had a problem setting it down, some nights. I've never been much into God, or religion, or karma, or any of that crap, but ... I see my life story written in some of the passages. I can see the sinner, the murderer, the liar, the thief ... and at one point or another in my life, no matter what I say, I've played those roles. I've been those men, I've been in that situation. I'll be damned if those roles aren't hard to give up, either. They bring thrill, money, power, fame, women, and satisfaction. And once the party's over, and the last guest leaves, all you're left with is an empty room. A used, empty void. Alone. And you search for that next high, that next thrill, that next assignment, that next big paycheck, the next promotion, the next fuck ... only to end up right where you started.

And I hated that. I never felt that true sense of completion. Not to say that I've completely left it all behind, of course. But ... I'm seeing the lines being re-drawn. Everything's still in black and white, but ...

I don't know the exact words, and I sure as hell couldn't tell you the book or chapter if you asked. The very least I could do would be to say it's the New Testament. At least, I think it is. Whichever Testament that Jesus shows up in. There was an underlying theme running through the text that struck me, someplace deep inside. If it's still there, I'd say it hit my soul. You must lose your life before you can gain it back again. I struggled with that for days, nights, a week. I thought I knew what it meant, but I kept wanting to deny what I thought it was, because it would be such a bitter pill to swallow.

Finally, I had to break down and ask Lisa about it; I couldn't stand the turmoil any longer. As it turned out, I was right. You must lose your life before you can gain it back again. I'd have to give it all up, everything. I'd need to sever my ties to my old life, get out of the continuous lifestyle of blood money, assassination, sex, treason, and conspiracy. As simple of a choice it should seem to make, I ached over it. All of those things benefited me. I was the one who got to reap the rewards of renown, sex, and exorbitant amounts of money; and they were all great things to have. But when those things are gone, when all I've got left are the clothes on my back and the people I care about, I come up seriously fucking lacking. I would have to die to that old life, before I can gain a real life. I had to figure out what was more important: my lifestyle of luxury, espionage, mystique and murder ... or running from my company, with Lisa. Either way, I was still catering to my own selfishness.

So, that night, on the outskirts of a little po-dunk town in New Mexico, at a nondescript motel off a dusty highway, with Lisa sleeping soundly in the room, I went out to the balcony and cried out to God. I literally cried. The last time I cried was when my dog got hit by a car when I was 7. But that night, on the balcony, sitting on the poor excuse for a chair that the motel had, I cried, great big gulping sobs while I sat, hunched over with my face in my hands and my elbows on my knees. I was sick of it. All of the pretense, the running, the empty void, the ... the inefficiency and utter pointlessness of it all. I begged, if there was a God, and if He was real, and He cared about us as much as that thick book of Lisa's with the gold-rimmed pages and red letters said He did ... show me. Give me a sign. I needed to know that there was something worth dying for, and more importantly, something worth living for. I was willing to do the whole 'lose your life and gain it back' deal, as long as I knew it would be worth the effort.

And that's when I found God.

It's cliche, I know. I would love to be able to call it a strike of coincidence, or point to odds and mathematical figures, but if I were to dig down deep and give my honest answer, I don't believe in luck or chance, anymore. I believe in divinity. A week after my own little come-to-Jesus moment, I was sitting in a historic inn in Boston, holding and rocking Lisa while she sobbed and hiccuped, drenching my shirt with her tears. She was pregnant. The one and only time I didn't use a condom with her, the first time, after that impromptu dance in the middle of nowhere ... and she was pregnant.

Suddenly, it wasn't about me anymore. It wasn't about what I wanted, or what I craved. All the things that I thought were important suddenly seemed insignificant. I no longer have an occupation in life, I have a purpose.

I'm going to be somebody's father.

My life is going to change, but I don't care about the inconvenience it'll cause for me. My needs and wants are secondary. I've got Lisa and my unborn kid to think about, now. They are what are important to me. And if I truly have to lose my life so that another can be gained, my kid's life or Lisa's, or both, then I'm willing to protect them at any cost.

I flinch and quickly lower my water bottle when I feel him touching my stomach. He's been doing that a lot lately, and I still haven't overcome my self-consciousness about it. I haven't felt that "maternal swell of pride" that I've been reading about, when he does that, especially in public. I just feel fat. Fat and awkward. My pants are getting snug, and my shirts are doing nothing to hide the fact that I'm beginning to look like a walrus. Of course, Jackson thinks I'm over-exaggerating when it comes to my impression of myself. I've been surprised to find out he's on the other end of that spectrum; if anything, he's put me up on a pedestal. Even when I can't stand the sight of myself, he tells me ... he ... God, I can't even recall it without getting teary-eyed.

He told me that I've never looked more beautiful than I look now, even with the emotional outbursts and the clothes that I'm starting to outgrow ... because I'm doing the most beautiful thing he can imagine - giving him a reason to change who he is and become a better person, for himself, for me, and the baby.

It had been a particularly hormonal day when he told me that, so of course, I immediately started bawling my eyes out.

He's been changing recently. I don't know what it is about him, there's just ... there's something different. I had picked up a Bible from my grandmother's house when Jackson took me back to collect some of the items she had willed to me. I started reading it, and I guess you could say I'm starting to become a follower. I wouldn't call myself a Christian just yet; I haven't been baptized since I was little. Maybe someday, when I get all of this Jesus and God stuff figured out, I'll go to get baptized again, if I make that choice. Maybe that's what's changing Jackson? He's been reading it -- out of curiosity, I had assumed -- so, maybe he's starting to change his thinking habits and vision of things, too?

"When do you think I'll be able to feel Peanut move?" His voice is low, but able to be heard over the noise of the gas station. "You're three months now, right? I'd think it should be about that time." He's added his other hand to my belly, both of them trying to feel what he claims is the nonexistent swell underneath my too-thin shirt. I grab his wrists and know my cheeks are flaming with embarrassment.

"Would you stop doing that, Jackson!?" His eyes meet mine, and I can see the mischief lurking in their glacial depths. I hope the baby gets his eyes. "And stop calling it Peanut, that's not a name!"

He rolls his eyes and moves his hands off of my body reluctantly, pulling himself from my grip as he leans back against the SUV again. "Yeah, well, It isn't really a name either. At least Peanut is a nickname." He had begun calling the baby Peanut when the doctor had been doing the ultrasound, informing us that the baby was healthy and was growing normally, and was already the size of a peanut. So, for the past few weeks, the name had stuck.

"Yeah, well, if we don't want to name the baby It or Peanut, we need to come up with some names soon." I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered as the breeze picked up. Jackson reached into the Jeep and grabbed the zip-up hoodie that one of us had carelessly discarded during the warmer hours of the day.

"Here, let's get this on you," he said, wrapping the jacket around my shoulders. "It's going to get colder than this tonight, so you're going to want something a bit warmer than that thin little shirt you've got on." As I pushed my arms through the sleeves, he leaned forward slightly, connecting both sides of the zipper down at the bottom, and pulling it up a few inches. While I was pushing up the sleeves, he stole the opportunity to quickly bend down, kiss my belly, and then zipped up the jacket as fast as humanly possible. I glared daggers at him, but he merely gave me that cocky wink, the same one he'd given the stewardess on the plane after our bathroom encounter -- boy, did that seem like a lifetime ago -- and gave me a quick peck on the forehead.

I'll have to break his hand when I'm in labor just to get back at that cocky son of a bitch.

It's too warm for snow as far south as we are now, but still, with Thanksgiving only a few days away, it'd be nice to see some. I had kept us moving, never staying too long in one place. I know I can't keep doing this forever. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to face the music where my ex-employers are concerned, and settle a score, one way or another, so that we can stop running. Running's only going to get more difficult as Leese keeps growing. Well, technically, it's the baby that's growing, but her increased size would be a by-product, I suppose.

When I steal a glance over to her sleeping form, I can't even tell she's pregnant. With the sweatpants and jacket that she ended up changing into, her curves are softened, and to the untrained eye, it's difficult to tell if she's gotten any bigger. Good. Hopefully that'll help the situation for the next stop we have to make.

By the time she wakes up, we're only fifteen minutes away from our destination. She had slept so soundly that she hadn't woken up when I had used one of her scarves as a makeshift blindfold and slipped it over her eyes. It was a bitch to convince her to keep it there.

"Why can't I know where we're going, Jackson?"

I roll my eyes as I brake slightly to turn down a street that I know embarrassingly well. "If I were to let you see, then it wouldn't be a surprise. That would negate half the reason for us going there." I wish she would stop asking questions, but isn't there a saying that's along the lines of 'shit in one hand, wish in the other, see which gets filled first'? "Anyway, we're almost there. About another minute or so." I turn the windshield wipers down, as trees lining the road have sheltered the car from the majority of the rain, which had thankfully slacked off to an annoying November evening drizzle. I turned to gaze at the expression on her face. The corner of her bottom lip was pinned helplessly between her teeth, a sure sign of her anxiety.

I hit the bump of the curb a little harder than I had intended, causing the car to rock slightly. After pulling forward a little further, I put the car in park, shutting off the engine. Lisa grabbed for her blindfold, but I quickly caught her hands and held them down in her lap. "Ah, not just yet." I glanced at the building in front of us, seeing movement at the door. A man exits, holding his hand over his eyes in a skewed salute to shield his vision from the rain as he tries to peer into the car. "Okay, Leese. I want you to see your surprise for Thanksgiving." I pull the blindfold off.

For a few seconds, she blinks against the light, and rubs carefully at her eyes. Then, she takes in her surroundings. For a moment, I can tell she's confused, but as she begins to fit the puzzle pieces together, realization spreads across her face. "So ... Happy Thanksgiving, Lisa." She gives me a look of wide-eyed surprise, before the man approaches the driveway and stands cautiously in front of the car.

"Is there something I can help you folks with? Are you two lost?" he asks, the sound of his voice muffled, but understandable, through the steel and glass surrounding us. Lisa's eyes jerk toward the figure, and she opens her door, leaning out on one foot.

"Oh my God ... Dad?"

Who gives Thanksgiving presents?

For a moment, I had a sinking feeling that he had taken me to a stupid tourist attraction, like the World's Largest Ball of Dryer Lint, or something. But, as soon as the blindfold comes off and my eyes adjust to the light, I know that he's taken me someplace much, much better. The landscaping comes into focus, and I feel a delayed recognition. I try to look at him, to give him a verbal response, but I'm so shocked that I can't even get anything out. And he has that smile on his face. The real one, where his whole face lights up and softens, and I can instantly tell that he's happy.

And that's when I saw him. I open my door and begin to step out. "Oh my God ... Dad?" Please be real, please be real. The man freezes and stares hard at me. I know that look. I vaguely remember to shut the car door as I propel myself around the door and toward my father. "Daddy!?"

"Lisa? Oh Jesus, Leese, is that you?" Even as he asks it, his arms are opening, awaiting me.

I don't wait for any further invitation. I jump into my dad's arms, wrapping my own around his neck as he closes his embrace around me. Instantly, I'm sobbing, and I can't blame it on the hormones. This is legit. I'm home. Jackson brought me home for Thanksgiving.

"God, Lisa! I've been looking all over the place for you! You just disa- ... I never knew where you ... where've you been!?"

I start to open my mouth to explain, but Jackson beats me to it. "I've been keeping her safe for a while, Joe."

I let go of my father and look toward Jackson. He has a dewy halo of drizzle on his shirt and in his hair, a half-smile still plays across his lips, and his hands are in his pockets ... one of his tell-tale signs of feeling awkward and left out. If he could ever be described as such, I'd say he looked sheepish.

He brought me home for Thanksgiving.

I caught him off-guard when I launched myself at him, giving him the same treatment as I did my father. He stumbles back a step or two, trying to yank his hands out of his pockets fast enough to grab the car to balance himself. After a second, his arms wrap around my back, one at my waist, one at my shoulders. How does one thank someone for bringing them home for Thanksgiving? I give him the only thanks I can come up with.

"Thank you, Jackson," I whispered against his neck, not trusting my tear-choked voice to be successful at a louder decibel. "Thank you ... for bringing me home!" His arms tighten around me, squeezing in acknowledgment before loosening again.

"Go see your dad, Leese," he whispers, looking past me, toward my dad.

My dad still looks as shocked as I feel. I guess, after not having seen your only daughter for so long, one would be. With that thought, I subconsciously touch my stomach. Shit. This one would be hard to explain, if we tell him at all. I'm not sure what information about the events after my disappearance is safe to divulge. I don't want to endanger my dad with knowledge about our life on the run that could come back to bite him in the ass.

"So," I manage, feeling every bit as awkward as Jackson had looked, "should we go inside, out of the rain?" Dad nods and Jackson's already locking the car.

The elder Reisert's house isn't exactly as I had remembered it. The renovation had been completed, and the decorations and furniture had been set in their proper places. Apparently, my blood stains from the last time I had entered Joe's house hadn't proved irreversibly damaging to the hardwood flooring.

"So, Lisa ... are you back, for good?"

Lisa looks back at me from her position on the bar stool at the island in the kitchen, her gaze questioning.

"Probably not for good, Joe. Not just yet." I can understand the anger and disappointment that I can see building within him, and I definitely don't blame the man. "But I thought she should be home for at least one holiday, this year. If things stay quiet, she'll be able to stay until at least Thanksgiving."

Leese immediately scrunched up her face in confusion. "What do you mean, 'I'll be able to stay'? You're leaving me here by myself? You're not staying, too?" She quickly turned back to Joe. "Dad, let him use the spare bedroom. If nothing else, at least the fold-out couch." She's fighting my battle for me? "Don't make him leave, Dad. He's kept me alive for this long, just-" Oh, she's got that begging face on. "Please."

Joe crumbled like a dried-out sandcastle.

"Fine." He fixed me with an uncertain look. "He can have the room across the hall from yours."

"I thought that was going to be your office?" Lisa questioned.

Joe shook his head. "Couldn't get around to keeping myself in an office that was right across the way from your old room. Especially since you-" he paused, shrugging. "I just use the den. It works." He suddenly turned his eyes towards me. "Now, before we go any further, you're going to explain to me exactly what the hell happened that necessitated the kidnapping of my daughter. And after that, you're going to explain to me why I shouldn't murder you." Shit. He looks angry.

Lisa begins, "Dad, look, I-"

"No, Lisa," Joe quickly interrupted, immediately silencing her. "I want to hear it from him."

The way he said 'him' lets me know just how welcome I am in his house. Not at all. "I assume you saw the bullets through her apartment?" I asked. He gives me a nod, and gets a weird expression on his face.

"Lisa, honey ... tell me you didn't get hurt," he pleaded. Lisa shook her head, giving him a forced smile.

"No. I-" she paused, looking at me, "Jackson got me out of there in time. It was his old company that he worked for. They've been trying to get ahold of us for a while now. They apparently think there's some bad blood between us and them."

"Who's us?" Joe asked. Lisa gestured between the two of us.

"Me and Jackson. They didn't take too kindly to me screwing up one of their jobs, or to Jackson letting it happen."

Joe shifted his attention back to me. He didn't look any more thrilled at the prospect of me being in his house than he was before. "So you decided to kidnap her and hold her against her will-"

"Dad!" Lisa's voice was calm, but firm. "Dad, look," she paused, looking at her hands, before giving me a quick glance. "I know that it must've been hard for you ... all these months, not knowing where I was, or if I was alive, or-" she cuts herself off, and I get the feeling that she's saying this more for my benefit than her father's. "It was hard to be away from you, too, Dad. But it was in everybody's best interest that things happened the way they did." She looked over at me, giving me a knowing smile. I couldn't help but to grin back at her, giving a quick glance down to her belly. Things definitely turned out well for me. "Besides, Jackson made sure that I stayed out of harm's way." She tried biting back a smile. "Well ... mostly." Another concerned look from Joe. "But, he brought me home, in one piece."

Joe was silent for a few moments. He stared at his hands, on the counter in front of him, his fingers interlocking and moving aimlessly, as if they were wrestling with whatever thoughts he was battling in his head. After a few more moments, he stood. With great care, he walked around the counter and wrapped his arms around Lisa, pulling him against his chest, and buried his face against the top of her head. "Welcome home, baby," he choked out, stroking her hair. "Welcome home."

I stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the bookshelf-turned-trophy-shelf on the opposite wall. I hadn't had the time to take things in last time I was in here, not with Lisa battering me with her field hockey stick.

Behind me, I heard a shampoo bottle drop, and turned to see Lisa emptying the contents of one of her suitcases onto her bed, items spilling out everywhere. She was in a hurry to get unpacked, apparently, and was haphazardly reorganizing her belongings. I reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her. She seemed to notice, for the first time, that I was in the room.

"What's wrong?" I asked. I watched her shake her head and avert her eyes. "What are you nervous about, then?"

"I'm not nervous," she answered quickly. "Who said I'm nervous?" Really bad liar.

I watched her for a few more moments before gathering her toiletries and moving them into the adjoining bathroom. In there, unfamiliar bottles of shampoo and conditioner stood neatly in a shower caddy, along with a yellow loofah. Pieces of Lisa's life prior to moving out of her father's house. Prior to me. The thought temporarily angered me, but it passed as quickly as it came, and I set all the items in the right places before heading back into her room. She was still busily unpacking, hanging clothes in the closet, folding pants and skirts into neat piles in drawers. Something in her closet caught my eye, and I had to bite back a laugh.

With Lisa flitting around the room like a hummingbird, I reached into the closet, wrapped my fingers around the long field hockey stick, and pulled it out of its resting place, holding in front of me like a bat. I appraised it carefully, remembering how lethally she had wielded it.

"Not that thing, again?"

I looked up when she spoke, moving past me to hang up the last few sweatshirts. She quickly jabbed the hangers into the necks of the shirts before hanging them back up on the rack, three at a time. She tried to move out of the closet, but I blocked her, placing my body between hers and the bedroom.

"Seriously, Leese ... what's wrong?" She rolled her eyes at me. "I'm not letting up on this until you tell me. Is it your dad? Is it being here? Come on, Lisa, tell me."

"I'm fine, now if you don't stop asking, I'll be forced to do a reenactment of the last time you were in here!"

I smirked at her, thinking of how I had shoved her against the door and ripped the field hockey stick out of her hands. The idea was enticingly erotic, now.

"Everything okay in here?" Joe called, rapping lightly against the bedroom door frame. Lisa gave me a glare and shoved me out of the way.

"Yeah, Dad. Just hanging up some clothes."

I followed Lisa and shoved my hands in my pockets, trying to look as harmless as possible for her father. I had the feeling that he and I would be butting heads like rams over the next few days. When he gave me that disapproving sneer he had managed to give me four times since we had arrived, I simply shrugged my shoulders at him.

"Dad, does Jackson's room have blankets and pillows and everything?"

"The room Jackson will be staying in does, yes." Joe replied, making sure I got the hint. Not my room. Just the room I'm staying in. Gotcha, Joe.

"Dad, please don't start this," Lisa moaned tiredly. "I don't want anything but good memories about the short amount of time we're going to spend here. Please, both of you-" she looked between the two of us, "get along. For my sake, if nothing else. Dad, I know you've got your axe to grind about Jackson, and Jackson, I'm sure you're probably thinking the same thing, but please ... call a timeout for the next couple of days, okay?"

If Lisa wanted me to get along with her dad, which I had so far, then that was fine with me. It was only for a few days. And it was the holiday season, so ...

"Joe, you've got my word, I'm going to be a complete gentleman in every area of concern while I'm staying in your house. I might not like doing it, but ... I'll do it."

Lisa looked expectantly at her father. Joe simply glared at me, before turning and fixing a softer gaze on Lisa.

"I'm going to bed. Try not to stay up too late," he managed. Lisa's face fell as she realized that was all she was going to get from her dad. It wasn't quite a ceasefire, but it was all he was going to offer. He glared at me again. "I'm a light sleeper." With that, he turned and headed toward his room.

"Yeah, well, I'm really good at sneaking through your house, too," I mumbled at the empty spot he had vacated. I felt Lisa's hands laying gently against my chest.

"Thank you," she said softly, standing on her toes and pecking me on the lips. I pulled my hands out of my pockets and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her against me as I leaned down and kissed her back quickly.

"For what?"

"Being the bigger person."

I smiled against her lips, loving the way her words made me feel. Before I could get either of us involved any further, I headed for the door. "I'll sneak back over here after Joe's asleep," I whispered, giving her a smirk and closing the door behind me.

I could hear my dad snoring from his room further down the hallway. It was nearly midnight, and I had been waiting for Jackson to make good on his promise.

It felt weird, being back in my old bed. The room was just the same as it had been the day of the Keefe incident, with my recent additions aside. I had put religious devotion into unpacking my suitcases, in an attempt to avoid the 800-pound gorilla in the room. Jackson had picked up on my mood immediately, though, and vowed to keep pestering me about it until I caved and told him what's wrong.

I stared back at the ceiling again, waiting to hear the jiggle of the door handle that would signal Jackson's arrival. Instead, I heard the settling of the house, and faint noises from outside, a dog barking somewhere down the street.

When the shadow entered my room, I nearly screamed. The shadow froze, holding a finger to its lips, and I realized it was Jackson. He was good about sneaking through the house. He made his way to my bed, and leaned over to kiss my forehead. "It's just me," he whispered, before sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"You couldn't have at least rattled the door handle before coming in? Given me some warning?"

"I tried your bedroom door, you've got it locked. Old habits die hard, huh? I came in through the bathroom."

I had forgotten that I locked the door. It had become second nature to lock doors after all the running and hiding we've been doing. I guess I had inadvertently locked Jackson out. If he had been determined, with no other way in, he would've picked the lock, somehow. Luckily, I'd forgotten the bathroom doors.

"So, are you going to tell me what your issue was earlier tonight? Do I have to torture it out of you?" His eyes held a mischievous glint, but his hand was warm and gentle as it caressed the side of my face.

"You know what my issue is," I mumbled, turning my cheek toward his inviting palm. He turned his body slightly, squinting as the moonlight suddenly fell upon his face. It gave him an eerie glow. It reminded me of that night in that little inn in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, when the lights had gone out and we'd had our first kiss. I'd barely slept a wink that night, watching the moonlight filter through the window and onto his face. God, that seemed like a lifetime ago.

He put his other hand against my abdomen, his fingers sprawling over the light t-shirt I wore. His look was questioning, and I nodded. Yep, that was my issue. He sighed, his thumb stroking my cheek.

"We don't have to tell him if you're not ready, Leese. We can wait a while. It doesn't have to be now." Why did he have to be the understanding one? Why wasn't that my job, anymore?

"It does, Jackson. I have to tell him, while we're here. Who knows when I'll get another opportunity to come back here? For all we know, they could be following-" As soon as I spoke it, the feeling of dread crashed over me again, quickly accompanied by panic and terror. I sat up so quickly that Jackson flinched in surprise.

Had he not grabbed my arms and held me in place, I would've been up and dressed and repacking. Luckily, though, he was able to discern my thoughts and got a grip on my arms, anchoring me in place.

"They're not follow-...Leese?" He placed his hands on either side of my face, turning it toward his own, making sure he had my attention. "They're not following us. I mean ... I'm sure they're following us, but they have no clue we're here. They're weeks behind us."

"But what if they find out that we've been here? We just put my dad in danger-"

"They won't come here."

"You can't be sure."

"I'll end it before then." He said the words with such absolute certainty that it left no room for disbelief.

"What do you mean?" I was afraid of what his answer would be.

"I'm not going to keep making you run like this, Lisa." His eyes held a hint of sorrow in them. "You and I both know, that, in a few more weeks, it's going to be harder to keep this up, what with the pregnancy, and Christmas, and holiday traffic, the whole nine yards. It's just not going to work. At least, not without sacrifice."

I felt myself steel with resolve. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep my dad safe."

His words were just as strong. "And I'll do whatever it takes to keep you and the baby safe. We're not running anymore. If we keep running, the stress or physical fatigue or, God forbid, something worse ... will cause you to lose the baby. You and I both know that." My hand reached for my stomach, feeling the bump underneath the shirt. Suddenly, it didn't make me feel fat and hideous. The thought of losing the baby ... especially after the horrible decision I'd nearly made weeks ago ...

I shuddered, and Jackson pulled me against him. "I'm not losing either one of you, you got that? I'm keeping you and Peanut safe." I rolled my eyes and groaned.

"He, or she, is not Peanut!" I felt the short laugh rumble in his chest. I sighed, letting him hold me, feeling the heat radiate from his body. "Tomorrow," I finally mumbled.

"Tomorrow what?"

"Tomorrow I-" I swallowed against the lump in my throat. Tomorrow I'd need nerves of steel, I should say. "Tomorrow I'll tell him." I pulled back enough to look at his expression. "Tomorrow I'll tell my dad about the baby."

"No." Jackson shook his head. "Tomorrow, we'll tell your dad about the baby."

I gave him what I hoped was a smile, but I had a feeling it turned out to be a grimace. "No offense, Jackson, but ... I have a feeling my dad's not going to take it too well, and he'll probably take it even worse if you're the one that tells him."

"So, what, am I supposed to tuck my tail between my legs and hide, while you tell him all by yourself? Nuh-uh. Not going to happen."

He could be stubborn, sometimes. "Look, let me just ... if you want to be there, that's fine. Maybe just, be a bit on the quieter side while I tell him?" When I see his features relax, I know we've come to some sort of a compromise.

"Sounds reasonable enough." He pauses before a mischievous smirk crosses his face. "I want to be there just to see the look on his face, if nothing else."