Disclaimer: Nope, Red Eye isn't mine. But perhaps if we all join forces and abduct Wes, maybe we could make him share it with us? ;)
Summary: My own personal hot little bathroom scene redo - because everyone would secretly love to be locked in a tiny room with Jackson. Also paints in some different scar history for Lisa.
"18F HAS BOMB." Lisa paused a moment, eyeing the hastily constructed words on the plane's bathroom mirror. It would attract the help she desperately needed, even though the message wasn't true. Jackson didn't need a bomb to be a threat - he managed to do that naturally. His painfully deceptive face; the steely, bitter glint in his clear, intelligent blue eyes. At first she hadn't noticed that cruel look in his gaze because she was always striving to be a people pleaser, to see the good in others even when they were at their worst. However, Jackson wasn't at his worst and hadn't been all night; rather, he was in his element. He had the control he wanted and they both knew it.
For a moment Lisa's gaze slid beyond the writing and focused on her own reflection. The thin, yellow lighting did terrifying things to her face. Pale, sick. Throbbing forehead, boiling stomach. Her trachea burned from her half-hearted attempt at vomiting. She needed to get out of this lavatory, off of this plane, away from this nightmare. Why did her nightmares always manage to become personified?
The little girl, with blond hair - she might still be waiting patiently outside. Hopefully her young age would not prompt her to think someone was playing a joke. Lisa hoped she would tell someone about the writing. She would take the message seriously. Please, let her take it seriously.
Lisa knew her brain was only thinking half-clearly, and as she opened the restroom door, she realized it had definitely been thinking with the wrong half. The assassin's tall, dark profile filled the doorway. "I was just wondering—" His predator gaze glanced swiftly around the bathroom and caught the mirror, and his handsome, calm face contorted into hateful scorn. Without warning he forcefully shoved her backwards and entered the room, then slid the door shut and threw the lock.
Jackson grabbed her by the throat with an iron hand and used his body weight to ruthlessly slam her back up against the wall, his head bowed against the side of her face. His other hand covered her mouth, and for a few infinite seconds she only existed in darkness as blind panic overwhelmed her. Outside, the pair heard the flight attendant lead the little girl away to a different part of the plane. As their voices faded, so did Lisa's faint hope of being rescued.
He removed his hand once he determined no one would interrupt them, and lightly twisted his fingers through her curly hair. The sudden heat of his body, coupled with the knowledge of what he was capable of, made her sick to her stomach. "Not smart, Leese," he warned ominously. She felt his warm breath exhale across her cheek, and at that moment understood how little control she had left. She had stupidly underestimated him and now he was locked in here with her and she couldn't do anything about it. The flight attendants already thought she was mentally exhausted from her grandmother's death, and Jackson was an unbelievably smooth talker. "I made it so simple for you," he murmured quietly as the grip around her throat tightened slightly with anger, "and yet you decided to make it difficult nearly every step of the way…"
Her lungs desperately fought for air but could only gain a few mouthfuls before the assassin's chest pressed harder, impossibly closer, against hers. "At this point I have every right to call my guy in the Beemer," he whispered darkly, his lips brushing delicately against her hair. "Call him and tell him to take his time… get that knife nice and sharp…"
Her breath caught in her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, but the memory from that parking lot, two whole years ago, flashed through her mind as if it had only happened yesterday. She tried to open her eyes again – to force the images out of her brain – realized everything was strangely distorted, as if a twilight sky had washed the world in shadows. She wanted to pass out and fall through the purity of emptiness, but her father… that knife…
"I can't - breath…" she cried helplessly, and after a final cruel squeeze that brought stinging tears to her eyes he backed away slightly and released her neck. She gasped weakly and slumped forward a few inches, dizzy with pain and lack of oxygen. To her dismay she fell weakly against him. Her hands cradled her face so he couldn't see her tears, even though they both knew she was crying. She retreated exhaustedly into her mind and wished, not for the first time in recent years, that she had been born a completely different person; that she led an utterly contradictive life to the one she was living now.
Jackson's hand was still threaded through her hair, the other settled on her shoulder before lightly pressing her against the wall. "I think I hit a nerve," he stated with a smug, offhand grin.
Lisa lowered her hands and studied his disheveled hair, the arrogant smirk on his barely parted lips, the imperturbable blue eyes studying her just as carefully… painfully blue eyes that suddenly glanced down and lingered on her chest. She realized his hand was twisted in her shirtsleeve and had pulled the fabric out of place. Looking down she saw that terrible scar, and the memories flooded through her in heart-constricting succession.