A/N: I'm sorry. This chapter was a lot later in coming than I thought it would be. I had to go back and rework the outline of the story to take into accounts the new direction that I have taken this story. Let's just say that it's gotten quite a bit longer than I originally planned it. These characters, once you start writing them, they just take a mind of their own. Hopefully, everyone enjoys this next part, in which Jackson plays (or attempts to play) Florence Nightengale.
One of the most wonderful things about being a manager was that there was no one there to chastise you for missing a day or two off of work for one reason or another. Lisa, with her honest work ethic, had never been one to take advantage of that privilege. In fact, ever since her graduation from college and the time she started working, she had rarely, if ever, taken a personal day (excluding that obvious weekend with her grandmother's funeral). But as she sat there, in her present state, feeling like she was coughing up a lung, she felt that perhaps, sick days weren't so bad and sometimes, probably even necessary.
It was nearly sundown before she finally awoke again. And what greeted her was the unpleasant rumbling of her stomach. This was a dilemma. Get up and go get some food, or stay in bed and try to go back to sleep. Sadly, she didn't feel sleepy and the only thing she had had that day was a few sips from a bowl of soup and that was hardly considered a proper meal.
She recalled setting her cell phone down after that phone call, and seeing Jackson's approving look. There had been that voice inside her head, yelling at her for giving in so easily.
"I didn't do it for you," she said immediately, as if to justify her actions even to herself, driving away the voice that said something was coming, that Jackson was not to be trusted, that she had once again fallen into a hole. This time, she wasn't sure how she was going to dig herself out.
"You keep telling yourself that Leese," he replied with that all-knowing smirk of his, and it took all of Lisa's strength not to sit up and smack it off of him. Then again, considering how crappy she felt, it was probably not the best way to go, she didn't think she could physically fight him that day.
Well, one second thought, maybe she could; though she wasn't sure if she would win.
He then sat up and walked out of her room. She leaned forward, craning her neck to see where he was headed (hopefully away, far far away).
But to her surprise, she heard sounds coming from the kitchen. What in the world was he doing? Her answer came back a few minutes later with a tray that had a bowl of soup, a glass of orange juice, and cough syrup. Immediately, she felt her defenses rising again.
"What are you doing?"
"Bringing you breakfast. Well actually, brunch since it is close to noon," he replied, in that same tone that he had used last night, as if this was the most natural thing in the world, leaving out their volatile history. It was as if they had always been friends and this was something that he was doing for her because it was the decent and right thing to do. But Lisa knew better. They weren't friends and this was not natural for them, at all.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, utterly bewildered. There had to be a catch. Then again, she doubts that he would tell her what that catch was.
"Why do you keep asking useless questions?" He set the tray down on her lap.
She was trapped.
How did he know where to find her dinner tray? And her silverware? Damn it, there was no knife.
"I wouldn't keep asking questions if you would just give me a straight answer."
"I'll give you a straight answer when you ask the right question."
And what was the right question? She couldn't help but wonder.
"This isn't a game Jack." She had to clear her throat to get that out, she was using it too much and could feel the strain. This was definitely not the time for verbal sparring.
"Never said it was."
"Why haven't you tried to kill me yet?"
"Are you always so talkative in the morning? No wonder you work at a hotel."
"Answer the question Jack," she said, half angry, half frustrated. This made her cough again, profusely. Damn it, a cough drop would be great right now.
"Which one, you've asked so many I lost track." That damn smirk. She wanted to slap him across the face. Or better, push his face into the soup. Or both.
"You're a bastard, you know that?" Was the only thing she could say. There had to be a better word to describe him. Bastard sounded too tame in comparison.
"So I've heard. Now stop arguing and eat your soup before it gets cold." She only stared at him angrily, her arms folded against her chest, the soup untouched. "Why Leese, I didn't know that you were the type to condone such childish behavior."
She chose to continue glaring at him. "I'm not doing anything until I get an explanation."
"Alright then, if you want to be a child, I can treat you like one." With that, he picked up the spoon, dipped it within the soup, and raised the spoon to her lips. "Now open up."
"How do I know that it's not poisoned?"
"Leese, despite your negative opinions of me, I'm not that sneaky."
"Really? I beg to differ."
"Well, I only play dirty when my opponent does. And I consider a pen in the throat when I'm not looking, a very dirty thing. So I reacted accordingly. Quid pro quo, Leese."
She continued to firmly keep her mouth closed and her face turned. He placed the spoon back into the bowl.
"But, seeing as you're not going to eat it anytime soon, I'll just leave it here. I have work to do and despite the very stimulating company, don't have time to hang out here." He then took the spoon he was offering and put it in his own mouth. "Mm, still good. I'll see you later Leese." He stood up and walked out of the room, not looking back, nonchalant, as if it had all just been a social visit, as if he could come and go as he pleased. She did not move but watched his retreating form. When she heard the door open and close, she fell back against her headboard.
Jackson had been here. And he would be back, she knew it. And she was not dead, nor injured.
And he, her enemy (up until recently), had brought her soup. It was almost a laughable had she not been sick. Her mind whirled in confusion. Her stomach growled.
Tentatively, she took the spoon lying in the bowl and, hesitating for a moment, brought it to her lips. And it was good, she liked tomato basil. And she cursed him for knowing that. Damn his tomato soup. Damn his sea breezes. Damn his eyes. Putting her face in her hands, she gave a muffled scream, the best her sore throat could make.
Then, she went back to the soup. As she did ate, she contemplated what "work" Jackson had to do. She was willing to bet money that it was the unsavory kind, the kind that involved threats and head-butts probably. And a knife.
Lisa looked at the bowl of soup, stopping abruptly. It looked like blood…and realized the hands which brought her this were the same that could inflict so much pain and blood. And had done so, to her, not so long ago. He had almost killed an entire family, and she could guess that he had killed a whole lot more since that time.
Suddenly, her appetite was gone. In fact, that stark realization made her feel even sicker. She slowly put the tray away, got up and walked out to her kitchen, hesitating before pouring the remaining soup into the sink. Then, despite having nothing in her stomach that morning, she threw up as well.
And she was horribly reminded of a certain airplane bathroom. She felt the burning in the throat and rinsed out her mouth.
No, if she was going to get better, she was going to do it without his help. There was no way she was letting herself owe Jackson anything. And so, without a bite to eat that morning, Lisa had gone back to her bed and sank into an uneasy, but much needed, sleep, her stomach empty but thankfully, not hungry.
Now, as she woke up again, the bowl of soup seemed like such an incredibly long time ago. She almost regretted pouring it all away but no, she resolutely decided, it had been the right thing to do. Yet, that didn't solve the hunger problem. And cooking did not seem to be an option, not in this state. What to do…what to do…
Suddenly, her cell phone rang. She glared at it. Was it him? Did she want to find out? She picked it up, relieved when she saw the caller ID.
She pressed the phone to her ear. "Hi dad," she cleared her throat, not wanting to sound too raspy.
"I called your hotel and they said you were sick, are you alright honey?" She could hear the concern in his voice.
"I'm fine, it's just a cold." She was surprised with how congested she sounded. It was a good thing she had taken a sick day today. Thanks to Jac - No, she mentally shook herself, she was not thinking about him right now.
"You sound terrible honey, do you want me to come over? You know you shouldn't be alone when you're sick."
Lisa couldn't help but smile. She was almost 30 now and he still treated her like she was 10. Sometimes, it annoyed her and she had to remind him that she was grown up and able to take care of herself. But, at the moment, that concern comforted her. It made her wish that she was young again, and that her parents were in the next room in case she needed them. The last time she had had that feeling was after the incident, when they had both almost…
"I know, dad," she said, forcing herself to break that train of thought. It was okay, they had both gotten out of that alive.
"I'll come over and bring you dinner, you need a lot to eat if you're going to get better."
"No," she said, that old independent habit kicking in, "it'd be too much trouble, I can just order some take out."
And after, he had still kept her old room. She didn't mind as much now. Strange…
"You know oily food will only make it worst. Let me bring you over some stew, it'll be good for you." And she couldn't bring herself to say no (funny, that had been happening a lot that day). 30 minutes later, Lisa could hear her door opening and the familiar heavy footsteps of Joe Reisert. She got out of bed.
"Lisa, are you there?"
"I'm right here dad," she replied, greeting him in the living room.
He looked the same and somehow, it relieved her to see him. She didn't know exactly why, though she had an idea. He was safe. She let out a breath.
"Jesus! What in the world are you doing up, you're supposed to be in bed." He carried a large bag and she could tell that there was probably enough food to last her for a few days. And that was comforting too.
"I was just seeing if you needed help."
"Of course I don't, get back to bed. I can take care of it."
"The bowls are in the bottom cupboard and-"
"I know where everything is, I have been over here before. Now get back into bed."
Lisa had nothing to do except turn back on her heels and go back to her room. But, she hung around the doorway, looking into the kitchen to make sure that he found everything.
"Lisa?" his voice called her from the kitchen.
"Yes?"
"Where do you keep your tray?"
"Bottom left, right next to the pots and pans."
"Where the…can't seem to find it," she could hear him muttering to himself, "Ah! There it is." Jackson had known where to find it. How had he known? She didn't want to think about it, it made her feel uncomfortable.
She placed her palm to her warm forehead, feeling dizzy all over again. It was time to go stumbling back to bed. A few minutes later, she was greeted by her dad carrying a tray of hot stew and juice. "There you are princess," he said, placing it on her lap.
She couldn't smell the stew but she could tell it was tasty, it sure looked like it to her hungry stomach. Picking up the spoon from the bowl, she raised it to her lips and then, for a second, hesitated, looking at it. The situation felt eerily familiar, almost like déjà vu.
That morning…they even have the same initials.
"Is everything all right honey?" came the voice of her dad, interrupting her train of thought.
"Huh?" she looked up at him, and saw his quizzical expression. What would he think if he knew that Jackson had brought her breakfast that morning? Somehow, the thought of that made a very unbecoming snort come out of her. The whole situation, all of it, was sadly comical, in an untoward way.
God, I have a warped sense of humor. "I'm fine dad," she managed to say without bursting into giggles at the absurdity of it all.
She didn't know what time it was when she woke up again that night. All she knew was that it was hot, way too hot. She moaned, pushing away her stifling blanket.
Then, there was a hand. It pressed itself into her forehead.
"Dad?" she managed to croak out. That was funny, she thought he had gone home… He had offered to take her back home. But she had decided against it, though not without her own share of personal conflict. Then again, nowhere was safe, not really. And she was not going to bring her dad into this situation.
"Not quite Leese," said a raspy voice that only belonged to one person. Of course.
"What?" Her eyes squinted open, but it was too dark, she couldn't see anything. Her eyes adjusted and-
"Shhh…" he hushed. He was silhouetted against the light from the window. She couldn't see his face. "You're burning up."
She tried turning her face away, to get away from his hand and its heat, as well as from the person himself. Damn it, why was he back? Lisa couldn't fight him right then, he knew that. "No…get away from me," she groaned, trying to swat his hands away. What was he going to do to her?
"All this stubbornness isn't going to help you get better."
"I don't need your help," she whispered. She turned over, trying her best to hide from him, despite how hot she felt. No, she was going to get through this without any help from him.
"Why do you lie, I hate it when you do," came his reply as he turned her over, onto her back, despite her protest. It was almost forceful and yet, there was still a touch of gentleness. Strange combination.
There was the sound of water dripping and a cool cloth was pressed against her forehead.
What was intended as a harsh retort came out only as a sigh as she felt herself cooling, the heat evaporating, as if being fanned away. All that she could feel was the bliss of the coldness as it moved softly against her face…and there was nothing to do but lay there, prone, as if on a cloud, where the only thing that existed was that coolness and Jackson's hand, taking away the unbearable heat. That voice in her head, exhausted from arguing and shouting, fell silent and still. And she felt herself relaxing. There was no protest.
The coolness traveled everywhere, on her cheek, her neck, on her collarbone under the pajama shirt she wore. And she whimpered when he stopped suddenly, as if hesitating. Then, the hand was gone and she felt herself utter a protest. She wanted to grab his hand as if left her, and that logical voice inside her head was too tired to argue against that thought. There was the dripping of water and a sigh from her lips as he applied the newly moistened cloth to her face again and repeated his previous motion.
"There…" he said, his voice surprisingly soft. She didn't mind it so much then and was on some level, surprised that she didn't. "How does that feel?"
Sighing, she breathed, "Good." It felt heavenly but that word was missing from her vocabulary at that moment. Damn it.
"I'm surprised you haven't tried to kill me yet," she couldn't help but mumble underneath his continuing ministrations.
"When you get to know me, you'll find that I'm not that bad," he replied in that soft voice again, though now tinged with a hint of his trademark snark.
Her only reply came as a murmur as she felt herself being lost in the haze of sleep again, lulled by his gentle hand as if by a lullaby. Of its own volition, seemingly, one of her hand reached up and touched his, pressing his palm closer to cheek, giving it a squeeze. It felt nice.
"Thank you," she whispered before she succumbed to slumber.
She did not remove her hand and Jackson sat there, watching her, keeping his hand in place.
It was not much, but it was definitely a start. The start of what was the important question.
A/N: I realized, looking over the story from the beginning, that I never really got a chance to address the fact that Lisa had been accepting an assassin into her home and allowing him to get under her skin again. This chapter was the best way to finally start addressing that issue, which I feel is not tackled enough in the fandom. After all, Lisa, with her upstanding, type-A personality wouldn't be who she was if she didn't analyze every aspect of this pseudo-relationship. But enough of that, more to come soon, I promise, hopefully before I start school again! In the meantime, R&R.