Here's the next. Tell me if I'm totally off-route with the characters. I have some doubts about this chapter.
And thank you for the reviews, as always:)
[Edit]: No update, I just corrected a minor thing - thanks, Cypris88, for pointing it out:)
Chapter 11: Gestures
It was one of those typical suburban streets with plywood houses and neatly cut bushes lining the narrow paths leading to the white painted front doors. A silent, sleepy neighborhood on a silent, sleepy Wednesday morning.
Lisa parked the Audi in front of a house that differed from the others around it in its brick walls and the old but well-kept and obviously cherished dark red 67' Buick parking on its driveway. She smiled as Rippner craned his neck and stared at the car, at the shiny V-shaped grilles that glinted off the sunrays like a kid who'd just seen Santa Claus. The Buick had this effect on most men.
"Okay, you stay here. I go in, talk to him, and if everything's settled, call you in."
He looked at her with an unsure expression, sweeping his gaze across their surroundings. Every minute of the two-hour drive was spent with debating with himself whether it was a good idea to let Lisa take them to her grandmother's… what the heck was this Duke? Anyway, right now he was rather in the less convinced state.
"You don't trust me?"
"I don't trust anyone. Especially not you."
There had to be something less serious on his face because her eyes twinkled at him and she gave him an amused smile. "Fair enough."
Lisa cracked the door open, and looked back at him.
"Think you can give me a few minutes without drawing attention?"
She laughed outright at the face he made; she was in her element recently, finding incredible fun in pulling his leg.
Rippner watched her numbly as she strolled to the front door, halted for a long minute squaring her shoulders before knocking with determination. From where he was sitting in the passenger seat, he didn't have a good view at the entrance but could tell the door opened. After a very short conversation, Lisa disappeared from his sight, and Rippner let his head drop back with a frustrated sigh. He just hated not being in control.
In the small hallway of the house the initial shock was unfolding into a happy reunion Lisa was glad for. She hadn't met Duke ever since the funeral and was very relieved that the old man didn't look so devastated as back in the summer. Though they weren't blood relatives, she was always fond of him, mostly because her grandmother had a high opinion of him she never failed to voice. And perhaps because she had very obscure memories of her own grandfather; she was very small when he died, and Duke soon replaced him in their lives.
Duke stared at her, squinting heavily like he thought his eyes might be playing a trick on him. He held her at arm's length, shook his head in disbelief.
"Lisa, dear… I thought… in the news…"
She gave him a chaste hug and smiled. "I know. But don't worry about that, I'm okay. You know you can't always believe what they say."
He shooed her to the kitchen eagerly as though he was afraid she might flee anytime. "Come right in. Want something to eat? Drink?"
"No, no, really. I'm fine."
He sat down heavily, face wrinkling even more as he returned the smile. He was younger by quite a few years than her late grandmother but still well over seventy; however, his vigor was enviable. She'd never asked what his secret and motto were but on some point she probably should.
"Honey, it's so good to see you unharmed. How could you get away?"
"Get-? Oh." Lisa gave him an almost apologetic look. "I didn't. I mean… I'm not captive."
"But… that man, the man from the plane. It was him, isn't it? Your mother told me it was."
Lisa felt her heart scrunch in yearning at the mention of her mother. She had to be so worried. So was surely her father. She couldn't imagine what they had to go through these days. She steeled herself and squeezed the pain out of her system for the moment. It was crucial that she stayed level-headed.
"Yes, it's him but… Actually, I'm here to ask you a favor."
"Anything."
Lisa sighed. Cramped her hand, trying to find the best words that wouldn't alert him and were still believable. "I understand if you say no, so don't worry about that. It's crazy enough even to me. So I… we need a place to stay at for a few days. A place that's safe."
The little word didn't escape his attention, and Duke looked at her puzzled. "We?"
A bit sheepishly, she muttered. "Yeah, the other half of the we is Rippner. The guy from the plane, I mean. He's outside in the car."
Duke had always been more of a philosopher type, his collected, calm demeanor had always fascinated her, and this time wasn't exception. He studied her expectantly, without alarm or doubt, only with tight awareness. "What's this exactly about?"
"I can't get into details because it's confidential but let's just say Charles Keefe has an agreement with him, and they are working on something together."
"A set-up? This whole story on the news is a cover-up?"
Lisa laughed. It wasn't a surprise Duke caught the real meaning so quickly. "Yes, I think it sums it up just fine. So we need someone we can trust, need a place because…well… it's a bit tiring to be always on the run. The police, obviously, aren't initiated into this matter. Wouldn't take longer than a few days."
"Of course, dear, it's not even a question that you can stay." There was a falter in his voice, and the wrinkles doubled on his forehead. "About him, I'm less sure. Are you certain he's no threat to you? He's not forcing you right now?"
Lisa chuckled. "Actually, I'm rather certain he's on the verge of leaving without me. It was my idea to come here in the first place, and he wasn't too enthusiastic about it. You have to know, he's not too trustful. And kind of difficult, too. But I can handle him. No worries."
Duke kept his eyes on her for a long moment before nodding and taking her hand in his large, reassuring one. "I'm just glad you're here."
"Thanks. But I have a condition. If you are not okay with it, that's fine, then we will leave. But if you let us stay, you have to promise me not to tell about us to anyone." Her words felt heavy on her tongue, and above all, in her heart. She tried to maintain a steady glance but inside she quivered with sorrow. "And by anyone I mean everyone. Including my parents. We cannot jeopardize the plans, and we're not sure if their calls aren't monitored."
The understanding went easier than she'd anticipated. Maybe his interest in conspiracy theories was really helping them this time. "Of course. I'm glad you find me trustworthy enough."
Lisa laughed at the twinkling glance he cast her way. Duke stood and peered out the kitchen window. She stepped beside him to check if Rippner was still there, and relaxed as she spotted the Audi.
"You might want to park the car in the garage then. It will be easier to keep it a secret from the neighbors."
Lisa was overly grateful for his practical thinking, and nodded in consent.
: :
The inside of the car seemed to shrink with every passing minute he couldn't glimpse a movement in the house. It could easily happen that Lisa was calling the police on him at the moment while she was barricading herself in some panic room if he chose to barge in on them. Feeling utterly impotent and helpless, he climbed over to the driver's seat to at least give himself the impression he was still in charge. Sitting beside her while Lisa drove had been a blast to his male ego anyway. The street was still silent, and as much as he could tell no one was peeking at the suspicious strange car from their windows but he felt utterly exposed just parking there and waiting for a sign from Lisa. His survivor instincts urged him to turn the key in the ignition and just drive the hell away without looking back but a small part of him- a small, unreasonable and absolutely weak part of him- kept him there, giving her ten more seconds, and five more, and another five. I'll leave if a dog starts to bark, he promised himself, if a car drives by. He groaned. It was pathetic.
He was about to drive away- or so he told himself- when the front door opened, and an old yet fairly agile man he identified as Duke walked out of the house hastily. Rippner tensed in the seat, hands on the steering wheel, half-expecting the man to bring out a rifle and shoot a .80 caliber hole in his head. Instead the man made a beeline for the Buick, and got in. As the engine of the old car roared into life, gazing at the rearview mirror Rippner saw the garage door open, and Lisa waved at him with a glad smirk, motioning him toward her.
Finally understanding the situation, he couldn't stop a grin from spreading across his face. She pulled it through.
Not that he had doubts she would; no, not for a minute. He shook his head, mocking himself, and chuckled softly. She was incredible.
: :
"Shit."
It wasn't the most optimistic word to start a day with, but as Rippner looked at his watch, at the hour and date, it was the only appropriate reaction he could think of. It was five to ten, and 17 November. He stared up at the ceiling drowsily. He'd had to be dead tired if he slept in so late without waking to any noise made inside the momentarily silent house or outside in the street.
His assigned place for the night was the couch in the living room. Fortunately, though it was old and a bit battered, was wide and long enough for him to be fairly comfortable. The house had two bedrooms, both on the second floor, but one was for Duke, the other for Lisa to stay in. From his part, he was completely all right with the sleeping arrangement.
The previous day went by unexpectedly without any trouble. Duke turned out to be quite a pleasant man who was polite enough not to give him hostile glances for being the number one enemy of the Reiserts but under the surface Rippner could sense Duke was very much sober and alert. He could tell all his words and moves were measured one by one against a moral and ethical code, judged if they were appropriate enough for someone Lisa had to accompany. He didn't mind it till Duke wasn't considered a threat to them. They even engaged in meager conversations but he mostly tried to leave Duke and Lisa alone to discuss whatever family business and memories they felt like sharing with each other. Otherwise everything was calm, and after a while he'd started to feel relaxed enough to set his mind at ease.
Duke was in his late seventies but his gait was enviably vigorous and lively; other than the wrinkled face and the completely white hair, nothing proved that he was well into his age. He seemed to be active both physically and mentally, and though Rippner was pretty sure he wouldn't live such a long life, if he did, he certainly wanted to be in just as good shape as Duke.
Pulling himself out of the makeshift bed, he started toward the kitchen just to find it empty. Wedged under a red phone booth refrigerator magnet- obviously originated from London, maybe a gift from Lisa's mother who frequently visited England-, a short note read: It's bowling day today, won't be back before late afternoon. Feel at home. D.
Satisfied, Rippner headed for the bathroom, on the way checking on Lisa. Her door was still closed. Obviously, she was sleeping in, too.
By the time he heard her lazy steps coming down the stairs, it was already half past ten and he had just switched off the stove with a satisfied sigh.
"Good- Oh."
Lisa was standing in the doorway, her lips forming a comical 'O' as she stared at the table. Rippner couldn't keep the smugness off his face as the sleepy dullness to her eyes gave way to enthusiastic awe. Not that it was anything special, just an as much wide variety of breakfast meals as he could prepare from the ingredients found in the kitchen. He knew how she loved breakfast, he also knew what she loved to eat then. Actually, it was almost the same for him.
Taking his place by the table, and leaning back in the chair, he watched her drag her feet sluggishly toward him. She sat down opposite him. The smile on her face was one of his favorite.
"You made all this?" Lisa blinked at him, and grabbed the mug of tea in front of her. She inhaled deeply, and closed her eyes. Mint. No sugar. It went without saying.
"You seem surprised. You thought preparing breakfast was beyond my power?" he asked amused.
Lisa honestly wanted to say no but it was just impossible for her to imagine him standing beside the stove and flipping pancakes and French toasts with a spatula. Instead an answer, she filled her plate with whatever she found there: after the hurried or irregular breakfasts they'd had in the previous weeks, it felt like she was sitting at the mythical wishing-table. Everything tasted just perfect.
"Oh God." After clearing their plates in relative but harmonious silence, Lisa propped her chin on her palm, placing her elbow on the table, and looked at him lazily and sated. "I've never thought I'd be once so grateful for a real breakfast."
She sounded neither accusatory nor forlorn, and maybe that was the exact reason why Rippner felt the pang of regret about what he'd put her through: kidnapping her, forcing her to run for her life with someone she didn't trust, didn't like. He'd robbed her of her normal everyday life. And still, she could be grateful for a few pancakes.
He leant on his elbows, watching her engulfed in the steam of her mint tea. Watched the meager sunshine filtered by the lace curtain illuminate the left side of her face, bringing out the red in her hair, emphasizing the dimples when she smiled. He would remember her smile, this particular one, forever. Remember the look she gave him, the relaxed posture she was in. The patch of skin on her right shoulder that stood exposed. Preserving a memory like bottled fruit on the shelf in a larder – that's what he wanted that very instant. For a moment he reveled in the false appearance: with them having breakfast in the scene of a normal house, normal kitchen; like it was real. A feeling was prickling his stomach, making it convulse with pleasure and pain. It was closer to pain, he decided.
She tipped her head to the side, her eyes glinting with playful suspicion. "What's the hidden agenda? Messing with my head again?"
He answered with a cunning smirk from his own repertoire. "Sure. Happy Birthday, Leese."
Lisa blinked, a confused, cautious smile frozen on her face, unsure how to interpret his words. Then her head snapped in the direction of the calendar on the wall, and gaped.
"Oh my, I forgot my own birthday," she laughed, perplexed. There was a glint in her eyes he was surprised to see. "Isn't it just great?"
Rippner cocked his head to the side, and watched her curiously. Actually, she sounded genuinely contented. Maybe she didn't like birthdays; still, another surge of guilt rushed over him. She should celebrate it with her loved ones, not with him – but the selfish bastard he knew he was, he couldn't bring himself not to feel satisfaction at the thought that she had to share this special event with him.
: :
The house had a very practical layout. The living room was the first premise to the left from the short hallway. Its windows overlooked the street, providing enough light all day. Opposite the living room the kitchen opened just beside a door to the garage and a bathroom. Along the back of the house there was a nice open porch with patio chairs and wooden tables under the canopy. The garden it provided a good view at was a bit uncared-for and shabby but the amorphous bushes gave a good cover from prying eyes. From the living room a narrow staircase led to the second floor of the house where two bedrooms and another bathroom were opening from a short aisle. It might be a bit large for a man living alone but with them staying for a few days it was certainly just about the right size.
The situation was new, awkward even, and none of them could properly handle it. That they had a whole house all to themselves and had nothing to do or concentrate on, let it be driving or reading a map or checking for gas stations and tails, they had no idea how to behave around each other. It was a natural reaction that Lisa retreated to her room while Rippner seemingly engaged in work, tapping on his laptop and cell phone, stationed on the couch in the living room.
Lisa emerged from her hideout only in the afternoon to prepare a quick late lunch; nothing complex, rice with chicken strips in pre-prepared sauce. The simple everyday activity was so strange after the unusual weeks on the road that for some time she fumbled around uncertainly before getting the hang of it anew. Though she'd never considered herself a devoted chef, right now she found excitement in the usually avoided activity.
When Lisa poked her head out of the kitchen to announce the lunch was ready, the scene she found in the living room left her a bit surprised: Duke had already returned, and the two men were in the middle of a conversation about anything and everything from politics and history or faraway countries. Smiling to herself, Lisa took the plates to the living room; the kitchen table was too small for three anyway, and had only two chairs. With her own plate she nestled on the end of the couch, and pretended she was reading while with half an eye and ear she tried to follow their words. It reminded her of the philosophical arguments her father used to have with Duke – she liked sitting there and eavesdropping on them; the differences in the two men's personality showing perfectly: Duke had a darker, more disillusioned view of the world, while her father was rather naïve in a lovable way. This time it seemed it was rather Duke who could be called more optimistic as Rippner, no surprise there, was overly skeptical and cynical. In knowledge, he was a match for Duke but it wasn't any surprise for her. It was well into the evening when Duke stood and retreated to his room.
They stayed there, suddenly feeling the walls close in on them. Lisa pushed around the last grain of rice in her empty plate, her senses receptive and tuned to follow his every move. She could feel his eyes on her, the open scrutiny he never failed to give her, and she fidgeted self-consciously. She started as he stood abruptly.
"Come with me," he said, and placing the plate on the coffee table, Lisa followed him a bit puzzled to the screen door leading to the back porch.
For a long moment Rippner gazed through the white mosquito net covering the door from the outside, his eyes unfocused under knitted eyebrows. Lisa remained in silence, not wanting to disturb his thoughts.
"I've got a birthday gift for you but not without conditions."
Unsure, she eyed him curiously. It wasn't surprising anymore that he knew when her birthday was, but that he remembered, cared to remember. Was he really so considerate that he wanted to give her something even though he was apparently reluctant about it? She wasn't sure she wanted anything from him. Anything she would like. Least of all that; anything that would remind her how well he knew her.
"Oh. Okay?"
His right hand sank in his pocket and he held his cell phone out for her. Tentatively, she took it.
"I set up a secure line. You have ninety seconds, no more, and it has to be kept strictly." Seeing her darkened gaze, he added with an amused smirk. "Ninety seconds to talk to your father."
"What?" Lisa couldn't believe her ears, and realized with horror that she felt tears gathering in her eyes at the mere mention of her father.
"I'm sure you heard it just perfectly for the first time," he had an almost arrogant sneer lighting up on his face, but Lisa discovered his eyes had a soft edge to them. Without warning, it was peeled off though, and he looked at her seriously. "The conditions, Lisa: no mention, no hint whatsoever on where we are now because they might be monitoring his calls, no mention about the deal either, about where we are headed. You can make the call on the porch but before the ninety seconds end, I'll knock on the window and you'll have exactly ten seconds to say goodbye. You don't want to know the consequences if you don't keep your part of the deal."
Lisa tried to nod solemnly but her heart danced around in her chest almost painfully. For a crazy, giddy moment she wanted to hug him for letting this happen.
"I'll leave you alone to talk to him freely. I trust you'd follow my orders. Can I trust you, Lisa?"
His eyes bore into hers, and Lisa returned his gaze openly. "Yes." She gulped, her voice shaky and small, and had to repeat the word. "Yes, you can."
Satisfied with her reply, Rippner opened the door for her, and when she stepped outside, closed it gently.
Lisa looked at his outline through the mosquito net, and gripped the phone like it was her only lifeline. Ninety seconds were the world for her now.
She dialed the number with trembling fingers. The measured beeps in the cell danced on her nerves, and she prayed her father was at home and she didn't have to leave another message on the answering machine. She wasn't sure Rippner would let her repeat the call. When the line connected, Lisa almost choked on her own words as her father murmured a very enervated 'hello' in the phone.
"Dad? Dad!" she realized she was yelping, and a bit more collected, she gushed in the receiver: "It's me, Dad."
"Lisa, honey, is that you?" she could literally feel the squashing weight on his heart roll off. Even his voice regained its normal quality, and simply by hearing the usual worry channeled to her, her nerves and muscles soothed like she'd just had the most perfect massage ever. "Are you all right, sweetie? Where are you now? What happened-?"
"Dad, I'm alright. Oh my God, it's so good to hear your voice. I missed you so much. Are you okay? Did you find the message I left on my phone?"
Lisa bit her tongue, realizing she was spluttering, not giving him time to answer her questions. Tears flooded her eyes, blinding her for a moment. This call was going to leave her an emotional wreck, she was already sure of that.
"Yes, I did. I haven't heard of you… I thought you…" Lisa squeezed her eyes shut at the half-said suppositions that got choked in her father's throat. He could hardly speak around the mixture of worry and relief in his chest, she could tell it even from a thousand miles distance. "Where are you?"
"I can't tell you now but I'm at a safe place. Don't worry about me."
"Rippner's keeping you hostage, right? You snatched a phone to make this call?"
"No, no, he let me-"
He didn't even let her finish it. It was one of those occasions when he wouldn't believe her stating she was fine. Actually, it happened more times than not. "Did that son of a bitch hurt you?"
She could hear the unasked word, the hint behind her father's question. Did he do that to you? Harshly, so her father would be convinced but Rippner wouldn't overhear her, Lisa whispered in the phone. "No! Dad, he's okay… I mean, he has issues but he doesn't hurt me."
"If it's so, then you can come home," it was more of a challenge in his voice, a clear belief that she wasn't telling the truth.
"Uh, well, yes, theoretically I could. It's just… I can't talk about this, but I'm here willingly. We have an…um, agreement. There is something we have to do but he doesn't force me. Please just accept what I say."
"He's beside you now, right? Making you to tell this? Whose life is he threatening you with?"
Exasperated, she sighed. There was no way she could make her father calm, but honestly, she couldn't blame him. The news about her kidnap and his own memories of Rippner attacking her in their house didn't quite help her case right now.
"No, he isn't doing anything like that, Dad. I know it's hard to believe me now but just do it. Just this one time. Please."
"When you're coming home?"
"I don't know. Hopefully soon. How are you? Mom? Did you talk to her? Are you okay? Please don't make yourself sick with worrying about me."
There was a short silence on the other end of the phone, she could literally picture him pinching the bridge of his nose so hard that it would leave a red mark there, and when he spoke, Lisa could hear a hitch in her father's voice. "It's your birthday today, honey."
"I know, Dad. That's why I call you now," she said lovingly, though her heart clenched at the misery in his voice.
There was a knock on the glass, polite but firm, and Lisa jerked with a feel of loss. She had to end the call but her heart ached so much that for a moment she was speechless.
"I have to go now. Call Mom, tell her I'm fine. I love you so much, Dad."
She didn't wait for his answer because she was sure there would be no way she could end it in time. End it at all. With a determined punch for she needed all the strength she could muster, Lisa finished the call. She cast an unseeing glance toward the door to let Rippner know she kept her promise, and turned away with a miserable look.
She wasn't sure she sounded convincing enough, but at least her father knew she was alive. For long minutes she was striding up and down the porch, hugging the phone to her chest. Surges of pure bliss and sorrow engulfed her, the concoction so heavy that it left her breathless. Though it was already dark outside which she was very grateful for at the moment, Lisa turned her back to the house, feeling Rippner's eyes on her even through the mosquito net, and let the relieved tears wash her face. Hearing her father's voice stirred her tranquility, turned everything upside down, but she guessed in a good way.
When Lisa could calm down enough to face Rippner, face anyone without the chance that her heart would spill out of her chest through a single word, a single smile, she entered the house. Rippner was leaning casually against the wall and watched her with hands in his pockets. In the dim light of the bulb above them, the deep shadows shifted on his face as he tilted his head, giving his eyes an eerie glint.
"How is he?"
Lisa was surprised to detect honest curiosity in his voice as she handed back his phone. "I guess fine. Worried but fine."
"Good." The silence was heavy between them as he studied her. "You didn't say anything you shouldn't have, right?"
"No. I was just trying to convince him I was all right." Her smile was wavering around the corners: it was more of an inside joke; Rippner, too, knew it well what a superhuman effort the task required. Her father was anything but convincible when it came to her well-being.
"Okay," he nodded simply, pocketing the mobile.
Suddenly she realized how much of an act it was from his side: trusting her like this, bothering with her emotional needs. Gratitude flooded her in hot waves, and she wanted him to know how much it meant to her, how it was the best birthday gift she'd gotten in the last five years. But when she spoke, words failed her.
"I… Jackson… thanks."
And still, from the smile on his face she knew he understood even the words she couldn't form. He almost always did, and this was the first time she found it a blessing.
In her humble speechlessness, with the shimmering glow in her eyes, with the words she couldn't tell, the smile she couldn't give but was stored in her all labeled for him, Lisa looked beautiful to him. He knew that with this basically and technically small effort from his side, something had just changed between them; and he intended to keep the moment with its crystal-clarity in a sanctuary deep within him forever.
As Rippner paced back to the living room, secretly checking the last call on his phone (he wasn't going to trust her blindly but was glad to see the last number was indeed Joe Reisert's and lasted exactly one minute and twenty-eight seconds), he gave himself a mental thumbs-up that Lisa didn't even see the irony in the situation- and it was his doing again- that she shouldn't be so grateful for something that had been forcefully taken from her then granted again. He knew perfectly how the human mind worked.
He also didn't fail to notice that for the first time in many months, hell, maybe the first time in their whole history, she called him on his first name. Not the shortened version, not tauntingly. The simple act itself drew a contented smile on his lips. It was an achievement he'd never suspected would feel so good.
: :
"You gotta be kidding me," Rippner leant against the doorframe to the kitchen, smirking sleepily. Lisa, a bit timidly, smiled back. "It's 3 am?"
"3.22, to be precise. Sorry, I didn't want to wake you."
He shook his head with a hint of disapproval, and crossed his arms before his chest. He'd awoken to the sound of cutlery clinking and a glowing yellow rectangle cast on the living room floor. The light in the kitchen was on, and as he'd shuffled closer, he caught a glimpse of Lisa preparing what suspiciously looked like scrambled eggs. She came across like she'd been battling for sleep and had obviously lost it.
"You okay?"
Lisa gazed at him, halting with the knife above the slices of red onion. It was clear what he meant by his words but this time it wasn't a nightmare keeping her awake. Actually, after the phone call with her father, she found it hard to fall asleep at all.
"Sure, just… um… bad habit, I guess."
"Uh-huh."
Cracking an egg, she poured its content in a small bowl and peered at him. "You want some?"
"Nah. I might make a cup of tea, though."
He pushed himself away from the doorframe and strolled to the counter. Lisa noticed he was barefoot, and there was a lock above his left ear that stood in a very strange angle, indicating he'd just climbed out of bed. Uncombed, his hair turned into untidy curls at the back of his neck, playfully brushing his ears. His appearance tickled something in her stomach, and she had to bow her head to hide an amused little smile creeping on her face.
"Want tea?"
"Yeah, thanks. Rosehip, please, there's a box in there."
She cracked another egg, added salt and sour cream, and stirred it with expert, quick movements as he sluggishly prepared two mugs and groped for the kettle. It was awkward, his presence now in the ritual she always held alone, and right now she wasn't ready for this. There were too many things unsettled between them, and Lisa found no inclination in her to immerse in them at the moment.
"I'll try to be quiet, you can go back to sleep," she promised, silently hoping that he would accept it but Rippner shrugged, opening up the cupboards one by one, trying to locate the teabags.
"No, I'm fine. You know I can go with little sleep."
Actually, he didn't quite look like that for her right now as he accidentally dropped the box of teabags then burnt his hand with the kettle. A bit annoyed, Lisa placed her hand on his wrist and pushed him gently away to prepare the tea while the onion was sizzling in the pan. He stayed standing behind her left shoulder, just a few inches away; Lisa could feel the heat emitting from his body. A point somewhere below her left ear was burning by the imagined or real gaze she assumed he was giving her. Lisa turned her head and looked up at him, trying to sound more caring than irritated, phrasing a hint in a way that it wouldn't come off as a hint.
"You look tired, why don't you go back?"
Through the heavy curtain of sleepiness, he watched her closely, suddenly seeing it clearly. All right, so she was eager to be left alone.
He huffed gruffly. "Fine."
Casting a contemptuous glare in her direction, he left the kitchen without a word. As he plopped down on the couch keen on going back to sleep, he realized he was too tense to be able to relax. What the fuck was his problem after all? He rubbed his forehead with a frustrated groan. For some reason, the fact that she wanted to shut herself away from him hurt. Unreasonable or not. He'd seen her during these lonely late night dinners many times, completely fazed by the intriguing fact that this woman he could not unravel was sporting some grave issues he couldn't put his finger on. It seemed Lisa didn't have the inclination to change this pastime from lonely into social. Not with him, anyway. She could go and sulk as much she wished, for all he cared.
Giving the finishing touches to the scrambled eggs, Lisa sighed, feeling completely miserable. Actually, feeling like a total bitch. Recently she discovered he had this talent to make her feel so when she occasionally lashed out against him. She needed some time alone but with him around it was simply impossible. Somehow he always sensed it just perfectly when and how he could rattle her even more, whether it was his intention or not. Tiptoeing to the kitchen door, she peeked across the hallway and into the living room. The TV was on. In the flickering bluish light Rippner was sitting with his back to her, obviously not paying attention to the infomercials as he reclined forward with his elbows rested on his knees. For some reason, Lisa had the inkling that she offended him somehow.
Suppressing a groan, she went back to the kitchen. Took her plate, the two mugs, switched off the light and walked over to him.
"May I sit here?" she asked quietly. Rippner looked up, a shadow of surprise crossing his face but it disappeared before it could fully develop. He motioned to the couch, making space for her.
"Thanks." He took his mug from her overloaded hands.
Lisa settled in, pulled her legs under her and placed the plate on her thigh. The silence was awkward. Both of them left their eyes on the uninteresting images of the best vacuum cleaner man ever created, looking somewhere beyond the muted TV. Clearing her throat, Lisa lifted her plate.
"Want some? This is your last chance to taste my Michelin star scrambled eggs."
He laughed, and with it, eased the tension between them. "Okay. I'm absolutely honored now."
Sticking a piece on the fork, she held it out for him. He swiftly ate it off of it.
And the world came to a sudden halt.
They seemed to sober at the very same moment: the fork trembled and he stopped chewing.
Jesus, what am I doing? Lisa looked at her plate and swallowed. It was an innocent move but felt anything but. How am I supposed to finish the rest with this fork? She hid the shiver shaking her limbs by tossing the eggs from side to side, watching dully as the super intelligent vacuum cleaner sucked up a fistful of paper-clips.
She couldn't see his smile, only sensed it through his words. "It tastes good."
"Yeah, after all, I had a few years to bring it to perfection," she meant it as a joke but came out quite bitterly.
Rippner didn't comment on it, simply studied her with a closed expression. From a point of view she was an indefatigable fighter, strong, and above all, stubborn; always going through whatever she had in mind. On the other hand, her incapability to accept facts for what they were, turn them to her profit and move on made her incredibly weak. The never-ending emotional circles she was running in had a destructive impact on her life that she was blind to see. He had no idea what kept her awake tonight but whatever it was, she let it take her down the usual road, the spiral course downward; she made it a habit to mope about just because it was a safe and familiar territory. Sometimes he suspected she simply didn't want to let things go. If nothing else, they were a good excuse not to meet expectation that required some effort from her part. How could someone so bold in defying the threat he'd imposed on the plane be so annoyingly, unreasonably coward?
He waited till she finished eating; that much, he was considerate. Considerate and cautious: he let her place the plate on the coffee table – the last thing he needed was a pissed Lisa with a damn fork.
"Why didn't you file a report on how you got that scar?"
She glared at him incredulously. There was a dangerous flicker in her eyes that didn't escape his attention but ignored it. He was ready for whatever fight she was going to put up; he'd been waited too long with his questions.
"Well, it's my birthday, so I can have a wish. And I wish not to talk about this."
"Technically, no, your birthday was yesterday."
"You're unbelievable." Her mouth turned into a rigid line. His, on the other hand, was smug as ever.
"Yeah, I know. Come on, talk to me."
Lisa moved to stand but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back on the couch. She was surprisingly yielding compared to the murderous look she had on her face. Rippner kept her firmly by his side, their hips brushing against each other. With his free hand he reached out. His fingers skimmed across her cheek, grazed the corner of her lips.
"You should know by now you can't escape me."
"Oh, God, you're so unbearably arrogant," she muttered, feeling a bit disorientated by his feather-like, almost nonexistent touch that was so much in contrast with his self-confident tone.
His eyes were sparkling with playful mischief. "Isn't that what women find so irresistible about me?"
"Hell, no!"
With an arrogant grin, an almost erotic bite on his lower lip that made her cheeks flush and gave Lisa the strange notion that her body heat would be able to melt the whole North Pole at the moment, damn it, maybe even the Antarctica, he remarked flippantly, "Well, we all know a woman's no, in fact, means yes…"
Lisa glowered at him incredulously, fighting the urge to simply crack his nose. "I could claw your pretty eyes out right now, you know?"
"You just said pretty?"
"No…! Yes…! I mean, that was meant to be sarcasm."
"Sure."
The dashing lopsided smile crossing his face made her guards slump along with her body, and sighing frustrated, she stayed in place. Though he gave her the urge to scream, he also planted a tickling sensation in her stomach that wanted to burst out in the form of a laugh. He always knew flawlessly how to take away the edge of whatever blood-boiling remark he'd just dropped; of course, only if doing so served him.
"Though I love when you praise me, let's go back to the topic and tell me now why you didn't report it."
Lisa squared her jaws defiantly, and the expert he was in reading her, he jabbed a threatening finger at her before she could even open her mouth.
"I know you haven't. You have only one police record for speeding from three years ago, and nothing else. I checked everything."
Lisa scrunched her face sourly. Of course, he did. She could easily tell it annoyed him to no end that there was no record of it, no trace that he'd been able to happen upon. He put it down as an offence to his extraordinary Sherlock side and behaved like she kept it a secret from him just to miff him.
Lisa turned away and gazed out the window. How could she tell him, how would he understand that she'd been ashamed, felt filthy, and blamed herself for not being fierce enough, fierce at all, maybe being too attractive and insolent thus challenging the man, calling fate out against her? How would he understand that she couldn't find the strength in her to share something so private and in a way intimate with uncaring, strange policemen, didn't want them to look at her with disgust or pity? She'd deemed the odds of them catching that man very slim anyway. And above all, didn't want to give a description because doing so, she would have relived every single moment she fought to erase from her mind. So she chose not to talk about it to anyone except her parents, wishing that with it, with the unshared words, the deed, too, would be undone.
She closed her eyes tightly. Why was it that to real, overwhelming pain we weren't able to match words?
Suddenly disgust flooded her in ripples at the memory, making her stomach convulse, throat clench and for a minute it felt like the feeling would stuck halfway, strangling her. She remembered the smell, the pain, the utter physical and emotional demolition but the worst came afterwards. Getting in her car, driving home, going in the bathroom, discarding her clothes. Cleaning herself. Scrubbing at her skin, wiping off the grime between her legs, washing, washing the soft flesh and still, always feeling mucky, even days, weeks later she would be jolted awake at night with the irresistible urge to rub off the disgusting goo oozing from her. Those nights she would throw up right beside the bed then lay there in shame, wide awake.
She wished she hadn't eaten anything because the scrambled eggs felt overly uncomfortable in her stomach right now. Her hand found its way to the scar, gripped the t-shirt with whitening knuckles above it. This is a reminder so you'd know where your place is, and that was when the fighter gave up and died, and motionless, she let him shred her.
The fighter sprang to life later with the involuntary assistance of the very man sitting next to her, and for that she was, all in all, paradoxically, forever grateful to him.
"Lisa?"
His voice startled her. She almost forgot it wasn't one of those nights spent on her couch, wallowing in misery alone. Instead answering his question, she absently whispered, staring at the bluish light of the streetlamps, the ghostly glow they painted on the windowpane.
"Sometimes I think of the woman I never became. The life I never had but was in store if…"
He groaned in utter disbelief. "I don't get why you're tormenting yourself with pointless things like this."
"You never do anything pointless?" She turned towards him, a mixture of mild surprise and sadness edging her voice as if doing unreasonable things would make him more humane. His gaze was nothing if not grave as he looked at her with heavy eyelids.
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't. You're the living proof."
"What do you mean?"
"Like following you home from the airport. Getting caught."
He didn't want to tell her how pointless it was to follow her for eight weeks when all he needed wasn't more than two. What really was crucial in terms of her personality wasn't revealed after eight weeks either, but so he fell into the deep, sticky hole of obsession, and that alone had obscured his clear judgment. He should have met her at the airport devoid of emotions, and instead, his head was full of their imagined connection, his fantasies, the little insignificant details of her life. And he certainly shouldn't have invited her for a drink. What the hell was he thinking? That wasn't a mere challenge. He wanted to take a closer look at what he'd never have. Or rather, challenge the odds and see if he really would never have it. Frankly, did he have the right to criticize her for her own useless reflections?
"So you never start a question with what-if?"
"Isn't that pointless?"
He didn't say a definite no, because that would have been a lie. Every what-if he'd ever mused on had something to do with her but it didn't change the fact that it was useless.
"Maybe. I guess I just want to see what I lost. You know, to compare the mental image I had of my future self in the past and what I'm having now. I surely didn't imagine my life at twenty-seven this way. You never-?" She stopped in mid-sentence, stole a glance at him. "Of course… hopefully as a kid you never pictured yourself as a terrorist."
This time he took no notice of the job description. "I knew what I didn't want to be: a 9-to-5 boring chap like my father. And see, I didn't become one."
"Good for you."
The silence that permeated the room for a few minutes was, surprisingly, anything but uncomfortable. Lisa huddled under his blanket and sipped her tea lazily. Rippner sat beside her enveloped in his thoughts. His legs stretched before him leisurely as he rested his head on the foam-filled back of the couch.
"You know what disaffectation is?" he asked suddenly.
After reading tons of books dealing with psychoanalysis, Lisa was pretty familiar with the term. Slightly pissed, she stared at him hard.
"So you suggest I should simply eliminate every feeling in connection with that event? So what I wouldn't recognize anymore means it doesn't exist? Wow, tells a lot about your emotional intelligence. I guess you've practiced this method a lot. Actually, to a degree where you cannot reflect over anything at all." Looking at his contorted face, the black-blue shadows shifting menacingly on his features as the TV flickered, she snorted: "Oh scratch that. Anything but anger… That one you surely recognize."
Rippner laid his head back and sighed heavily, exhaling his momentary wrath. For some reason, he terribly wanted to prove her wrong right now, not really realizing the thing she'd just accused him with was something he'd worked very hard to achieve, and was famous- and perhaps envied- for among his co-workers. She could push his buttons with spot-on accuracy, eliciting completely controversial reactions from him, and it was disturbing. In his mind, and it was the legacy of the stalker who examined the subject with academic precision, only he had the right to do so.
"Thing is, you still let that asshole rape you every fucking day and numb you into this state of suspended animosity. That shithead was just some loser who realized he'd never have a woman like you, and it made him bitter and drove him-" he stopped abruptly, suddenly unable to decide if he was talking about the rapist or himself. The sensation jolted around in his chest like a brick, shattering his carefully built detachment.
He was all of a sudden sharply aware of her arm brushing his arm under the blanket, even their knees touched. She was so close. The back of his hand jerked. It jerked towards hers, touched it, the skin on her knuckles. So soft. So maddeningly soft. The fury he recently felt whenever he thought of what had happened to her, the unreasonable fury over that someone dared touch her resurfaced. He never for a minute understood why the idea of some disgusting thug forcing himself on her left him absolutely deranged with rage. True, it was one of the most despicable act man could commit but it wasn't good enough explanation on the tempest it evoked within him.
Because you want to touch her, too, but can't, he accused himself. Because you are jealous of that thug. Because he took something from her that you never will. The feeling, unreasonable or not, felt pretty much like that.
"Just let it go already." It could easily be a remark addressed to him just as much to her.
"Easier said than done."
"Sure, especially if you don't even try."
Lisa shot him a glare. He had no idea whatsoever what huge step she'd made, what a wreck she'd been. That had been a long road, an incredibly long road that she'd covered. Someone so emotionally inept like he was would never value the slow but steady development she conducted.
"You know what? Why don't we talk about something else? I sure as hell don't need your condescending remarks right now."
"I'm not being condescending, Lisa!" Rippner moved so quickly that she didn't have time even to start. He grabbed her by her shoulders, shook her with an almost frustrated vehemence that made her head wobble back and forth like of a rag doll. His gaze was so intense as if it had its own light source, and for once, his face betrayed how upset he was, though she couldn't quite grasp the reason for it. "Can't you see what you're doing to yourself? Can't you see it's not him fucking up your life but you?"
Lisa eyed him like she saw him for the first time, unable to attach the words to what she knew, what she thought of him. It was so unlike him; not the spot-on analysis, not the utterly cruel words without sugar-coating but the heat he channeled at the moment. He was right, she knew he was but then again, he made it sound like it was easy. She couldn't form a reply, stayed frozen in his grip, and watched numbly as, to blow the awkwardness and alien taste of the moment away, a mischievous yet somewhat forced smile pulled the corner of his lips upwards.
"Hasn't anyone told you it was unfair to other men that you lock yourself up?"
She couldn't give the reaction he was most probably anticipating, only looked at him sadly. "All the men I meet are hell-bent on ruining my life."
He'd hurt her the worst possible way. Hurt her in a place she could not reach to cure, and there was no medicine, no medical treatment to help her. She couldn't move on, couldn't date because it seemed she served as a magnet for insane and violent men. She'd risked a lot, come over her previous resistance that shut her away from the world after the parking lot incident when she decided to join him at the Tex-Mex, thinking it was about time to give a chance to someone showing interest in her. And where it led her… She couldn't trust a man again, not yet.
"Point taken," Rippner released her like she burnt him, suddenly appearing very sober. "But just for the record, I wasn't hell-bent. Not in the beginning, at least."
"Yeah, like participating in someone's death would have left me emotionally unaffected."
The fury was immense, spreading over his features like a dark, muddy tide. She shook at the ferocity of his voice.
"You know what? You were right. Let's just change the fucking topic because you're honestly convinced that life is out there for you, and I'm the Antichrist who wanted nothing but harm you from day one. If that's what makes you feel better, then I won't disturb you in your wallowing."
"No, I…" Lisa bent forward, buried her face in her palms, and sighed desperately. Her voice was small and muffled as she mumbled to him. "Don't quarrel with me. Please, I just don't want to argue with you now."
She heard him exhale loudly, once, twice. She smiled a little behind her hand, there she dared to, as to how he seemed to always struggle for control over his temper when he was with her. She briefly wondered if it was a characteristic of him or a privilege only she could claim. A small, irrational and vain part of her whispered about the latter in her ear. She was still hiding her face from him when Rippner reached out for her and pulled her to him. It was a surprise for both of them that she let him. He touched her temple with his chin, lips too, maybe.
"Okay. Me neither."
Feeling his arm around her shoulder, being in each other's personal space, her whole body tensed. She kept fidgeting with a whole dimension of half-assed excuses to retreat (from being overly grateful for the sports bra she would always wear underneath the Batman shirt to minding the wound on her arm) crossing her mind but he didn't relinquish the loose hug and Lisa let her arms drop to her lap, let her head rest against his shoulder. It's not that she trusted him, not in every way at least but right now his embrace was just as good enough as any other people's.
"Listen. I know it's cliché, you won't hear anything like this again from me, but that's the best I can offer: you should be grateful that you survived and got a second chance to value life for what it is. Just accept that it happened, that yes, it was unfair, yes, it changed your life. But it doesn't mean it ruined it forever. Realize it already that it also made you stronger."
"Stronger? No, it didn't. You did."
He pulled his head slightly back so he could see her face. There was a smile playing on his lips but so vague that she started to suspect her imagination tricked her.
"As much as my humble ego would like to claim it his own, it's fair to state you had it in you. Ever since then. You said it, remember? That it wouldn't happen again. You made sure of that by stabbing me."
Lisa looked up at him cautiously but instead of anger all she saw was the ghost of that smile. Her gaze dropped from his face to the scar at the base of his throat, and her fingers reached out to touch it before she could stop herself. He recoiled a bit, more out of the unexpected sensation than of resentment, and allowed her to feel the uneven tissue with her tentative, bizarrely curious fingers. He could easily understand it, her morbid admiration for the work she'd done, for the eerie little smile on her face, but the sensation of her touch was pretty much unwanted at the moment. Or rather, not the touch itself but what it evoked.
Her eyes swam back to his face as Lisa let her hand slide away from his neck, pretending it was all natural to touch him like that. She was thankful for the relative darkness, the flickering TV being the only source of light in the room beside the eerie glow filtering in from outside. He stared rigidly ahead, seemingly immersed in an ad of some weight loss protein powder. He couldn't be possibly interested in it, but she bit back the remark dancing on her tongue. Nothing, not even his expression, his ever so controlled face, his eyes, the muscles in his body: none of them gave him away. What eventually betrayed him was ironically his heart. She felt it beat away a thunderous rhythm under her palm, the only thing he couldn't control, and though it wasn't clear for her why he was upset, she smiled. She liked it, the drumming, the rebellious speed, the defying dance of valves because it said he had a heart, not only in physical way.
Somewhat shyly that she intruded his secret against his will- though he'd done the same to her over eight weeks and even more-, Lisa let her hand creep away.
They were fixating the obese woman miraculously becoming slim with unfocused eyes for a very long time. Lisa was growing sleepy, and she could tell by his even, deep breathing that he was about to drift away too. Still, she wasn't able to will her body to stand and move back to her room. Her limbs felt heavy, so did her head.
"It's nice," he muttered suddenly, brushing the top of her head with his nose. Perhaps he was referring to her hair. Or the once-obese woman, Lisa wondered sleepily. Of course, he didn't say: your scent, no, it'd have been too open praise, too personal and honest. Lisa looked up at him, not the remark but the tone of his voice made her do it, and smiled. It was only he who could tell something like this with a chocolate soft voice and such a detached, closed face. She didn't mind it though, she told herself she knew him that much already. She stirred. The tip of her nose brushed against his neck, his unruly curls tickling it, and- she was bolder- she admitted.
"I like your aftershave."
They went stock-still, both of them freezing for different reasons.
"It slipped, right?" he smirked.
"No, but it was a compliment to the brand, not you."
He chuckled. "Always thinking quick. Something I value the most in a woman."
They were equal now. That was a slip, too. They were too tired to think straight, that was the most obvious, most comfortable explanation to come up with.
They regarded each other from the covers of wariness, lies and shields they'd built in years. Rippner knew he was balancing on the edge of an abyss he could not see the bottom of. There was no way he would let himself risk the control over his life he was about to gain back. She was poisoning his thoughts by her mere presence. He was making an idiot of himself.
Rippner swallowed forcibly, swallowing the enormous sensation of grief, and leant forward for his mug. He willed the already lukewarm tea to help him gulp, and just as he wanted, the moment dissipated. They stayed there, leaning against each other but without the promise of something more, something tender and intimate.
Eventually, it was Lisa who fell asleep, her forehead pressing against his neck for support. His mind knew the solution; it was his body that wouldn't obey. Instead waking her, instead untangling their arms and leaving her on the couch, instead many other reasonable things he could have chosen, Rippner stretched himself out on the couch, pulling her with him, and covered them with the blanket. He switched off the TV, and in the dim light he settled to watch her with strained eyes. His hands came to life and had their own will as they encircled her. Everything felt unreal like in a delirium where one couldn't decide what was real and what was the play of imagination.
He had no idea what time it was, how long he'd been lying there listening to her breathing. She moved on her back, wedging her body between his and the back of the couch.
He followed her move. Buried his face in her hair, and he let his imagination roam, let his mind remember the times when he'd been picturing them this way, out in his car, just for the sake of entertainment in his infinite boredom, that's what he'd told himself back then, and the incredulity of reality almost crushed something in his chest now because the real sensation was too powerful to endure. He lifted his torso up on an elbow and watched her sleep, cherishing the moment because never up to that point could he see her sleep so peacefully, so relaxed in his presence. He leant in, touching her hairline with the tip of his nose, trying to catch some of her calmness to quiet his own tempest.
She stirred in her sleep, mumbled something about her slippers left in the fridge, and he smiled against her earlobe. A sigh escaped but whether from his lips of hers, it was hard to tell. And the thief he was, he stole what the stalker had never been able to get: with a swift, stealthy move, with an ashamed move, he filched a kiss from her lips, a dream-tasting soft goodnight kiss that lurched the world around him for a second, lurched the couch beneath them, and lurched something deep within his guts, tipping his ever shrinking coolness.
But it wasn't good enough in its passivity. It wasn't good enough without Lisa taking her own share of it from him.
So defeated in his own agenda, he gently kissed her eyebrow, and for his humble touch he got his reward when Lisa turned again in his arms and buried her face in the folds of his t-shirt – this involuntary, unconscious display of trust unexpectedly made his rebellious heart flutter against his ribs.
And for the first time in many, many years now, he fell into a deep, undisturbed sleep.
A/N: I have two illustrations to this chapter if you're interested. Can be found under the link in my profile: the pics are called "Dinner" and "Heart".