++&&&&++
The door to the bedroom opened and Lisa turned at the sound. She debating standing, but her posture relaxed as she saw the dark-haired man in the doorway. He had changed into clothes that did him no justice, but it didn't take away from how good it felt to see him back. Something of the familiar, she reassured herself.
Jackson looked over to the girl who now slept on the single bed that decorated the room. One could only pray it was dreamless.
The teen had cried until she lay exhausted, collapsing into unconsciousness. The men had offered Lisa a room of her own, but it didn't feel right to leave Hannah. Not now, not ever. So she had found herself sitting, looking out into the brilliant sunlight of the unusual breach in the clouds. It had been an attempt to push away her thoughts, however now all Lisa saw was blue.
"How's she doing?" he asked quietly as Jackson took a seat at the window. The man clenched his jaw in that manner that had become more frequent over the past day and she couldn't help but wonder at the trigger.
It made her remember his posture, his conversation, the casual way he had inserted himself into her life in what seemed so long ago. The way the palm trees swayed under a hot breeze and the windows would roll down during a trip on the Turnpike.
She could picture her father now, calling with desperate urgency to find out if she was all right, how she was doing. How was she doing?
"She's lost her dad," Lisa replied with more bitterness than she meant. Her lips were turned downward into a frown as she looked at the sleeping figure.
She should have been allowed to finish growing up with nothing to worry about but boys, and dances, and where to head off to college. Or university, or whatever the hell the people called it in England. Even the grass was foreign, when she would run across the plush green and the strands would threaten to make her slip in her get-away.
There was nothing like the bristled weeds that people grew on the five-by-five piece of land some called a yard back home.
"She'll be alright," Lisa heard him say and nearly wanted to smack the confidence from his tone. "She's strong. She'll manage just like you have."
It almost seemed like admiration in his voice, but she couldn't look past his ignorance. It was so easy to confuse what she once knew of him and this stranger. Jackson would have understood long before even she did, he would have seen…
"You think I'm alright?" Her face reflected the scrutiny and a hint of disbelief.
"No, actually, I don't." He surprised her by answering without pause. Jackson stood and approached, every word steady and his gaze remained unrelenting. He paused at her side and she had to tilt her head to look up at him.
"In fact," he continued, pointedly leaning closer, a hand on her arm. It was merely for the touch of her, his skin on hers in the intimacy of his observations. "I suspect that every time you pause, every time you close your eyes, you see every one of those faces of each and every person who didn't make it. Thinking to yourself how every time you managed to be just that tiny bit luckier. Wondering."
She visibly winced at the truth of it, surprised at his boldness. But wasn't that what she wanted? No lies about her state of mind. She could feel the tears that threatened to fall and was even more surprised when his gaze softened and he uttered a barely audible sigh before coming to his conclusion.
"But I do know you won't let that stop you. It's not your fault, not one shred of it." Lisa tried to turn away at his words, but he took her chin under his fingers and pulled her to face him once again. He had done that before, although the touch had been much more forceful then.
"…And I think there are times when you are able to forget those fears and focus on the moment, convince yourself you just don't care. But you do. And because of that, somewhere along the way, you'll have to realize that you always will. It won't stop those bad things from happening. The question is only how you're going to handle it at the end of the day."
Those hazel eyes burned into him, and he knew she was losing the last of her control. "Sometimes…I don't want to 'handle' it anymore."
At her response, Jackson tilted his head in curiosity, his eyes narrowed gently as he waited for her to explain.
"Those moments you talk about," her voice quivered. "…where I pause, I wonder what it would be like just to stop."
He could see the defeat as she spoke, and he couldn't help but worry if she would hold, if she would stand up to his expectations. Jackson needed her strong, especially now. There was a complication that he wasn't looking forward to confronting and if she wasn't on the alert...
Well, he'd rather not consider that option.
"Now, see, that kind of talk just won't do." His thumb caressed her jaw and he tried to offer a supportive smile. "We still have your dad to get to."
There was a brief smile on her lips in return, but it didn't last long and he saw her cracking at the edges. He had hoped the suggestion would help, that it would spark something in her to forget doomed comments and the sort. But the exhaustion from the past few weeks hitting her body in trembling waves as the tears finally fell.
Her eyes closed as if it would help conceal her fears.
"What if…?" she struggled to get the words out, but they were choked. She couldn't look at him, couldn't look outside at the calm exterior that reminded her of normality. She couldn't bear to finish the statement of her doubt.
Jackson easily pulled the woman against him and it was the last straw. Lisa offered no resistance, sobbing freely into his chest.
It was painful to hear, as she broke, reminding him of how much things had changed. Jackson remembered her scar and what she had revealed to him that day. Despite her trials, despite the complications he had given her, she still had a fight in her that challenged anyone who would test it.
Oh, how he had challenged her.
He muttered words of comfort, of 'hushes,' simply holding her. For a moment, just one moment she thought she heard Leese, but it was fleeting and gone. He moved a hand into her hair, stroking the limp curls that had been allowed down in one of the rare moments. He had missed them.
What are you doing, Jimmy Boy?
Sense told him to stop, that it wasn't what she wanted. But somewhere in his discern of logic, he convinced himself it was what they both needed.
He cupped her face in his hand. It was gentle, soft under the streaks of tears. Jackson risked brushing his lips over her skin, warm against the cheek, but Lisa couldn't bring herself to look at him. She clutched at his shirt, at his arm as he kissed her. His mouth followed the damp path down until they touched the corner first, testing.
She was the one who turned, taking his lips fully to her own. It was tender, lingering with uncertainty. He tasted of Listerine.
It was not the sort of kiss she expected from Jackson and part of her was sorry for it. It was that break in the fantasy that caused her pull away and open her eyes to his. He was still close, breathing deeply with a fire in his gaze that made her wonder if he hadn't been holding back.
Why would he do that?
"You,"he whispered with a husky quality in his voice. "You are handling it just fine."
Jackson released her and stepped away. Her body tingled in the aftermath, her eyes widely observing the mixed emotions on his face. If anything, his reaction was the thing that startled her more than the kiss.
"We'll find some way to get you back to your dad. Okay?" he promised.
Lisa nodded with little else she could think so say, tears forgotten.
He didn't give her any further opportunity, instead leaving the room and closing the door behind him.
++&&&&++
Jackson's room was down the hall and around a bend. It was far, too far to hear the girls, but he had been assured arrangements would be made to move him closer. To date, he had seen men on the field, others pittling time away, but nothing done to prepare the room next door.
However, his steps weren't on the path to a secluded haven. It was time for a chat with the man in charge.
Rounding the corner he saw a distinctly different man waiting leisurely against the wall. His blond hair had been cropped short, rifle in hand. David Keplan had always been good with a gun, but he couldn't initiate a plan for shit. He was a follower, but if anything that made him even more of a danger because you could never tell exactly which side was paying the most on any given day.
Keplan smiled widely but Jackson didn't return the favor. "Of all the people to show up at these gates, I never would have guessed it would have been you, Donovan."
"Surprise," Jackson remarked with little amusement. If Keplan had made it, there could be no doubt that others lived. Had he really hoped otherwise?
"I mean, I know you were good," the man continued, playing to his ego. It was all a game; they had never gotten along well. "…but I never expected this trick up your sleeve."
Keep on underestimating me, Jackson dared as he leaned back in his stance, firming his position with arms crossed in assessment.
"I do two things well, Kep," he explained. His voice dropped low and dangerous, the Irish hints dropped away with familiar ease. There was no reason for pretenses. "Keep things discrete, and survive. It's why I always got the high marks and you couldn't quite seem to earn your keep. You were always too sloppy. Tell me, how did the cab run? She seemed to be struggling a bit there at the end."
The assassin's smile fell and he leaned in closer. Jackson made no move to back way, instead staring back with challenge.
"Sloppy," Keplan repeated, testing how the word felt on his tongue. "That's an interesting choice of words after Keefe."
He was right. As much as Jackson wanted to excuse what happened back in Miami, he had let it go too far. He had tried to protect too many people, and truth be told, it was the first job in a long time where his heart just wasn't in it. It was always easier when you believed in the cause, easier when the targets had a shady background. With Keefe, it was all political and it was all about the payment.
"Keefe was risky, high-profile. I'm not going to discuss it anymore than that. Not here, and not now."
He knew he had said too much even in that. Keplan grinned, brown eyes sparkling with as much as could be expected from the color. Jackson had always preferred something more…unique.
Jackson unfolded his arms and started to walk. Better to not give the man any more fire.
"I know that girl, Jack," Keplan said to the retreating man's back.
Don't stop. He wants you to stop. Jackson wanted to curse at the casual use of his pet name. The only time he had ever enjoyed the sound of it was on her lips.
"We all knew her face after what happened."
Keplan followed and Jackson couldn't help but slow down with bitterness on his tongue, "That's a pleasant thought. Have a good rub?"
The man probably did, and the thought of it made Jackson sick.
"I find it interesting how the very target that screwed you over is sitting in this same building, when nearly all of England," he had raised his voice and Jackson finally stopped, turning on his heels with a glare.
Keplan paused mid-step, taking the hint and dropped the volume with a hiss. There was no more amusement in his features. "…England, let me remind you, where you were ironically pulled thousands of miles from her. When nearly all of England is a fucking, walking mausoleum."
Keplan was riding the edge. It was Jackson's turn to lean into the man's personal space, with a cock of his head and clear speech, "No need for the language, Kep."
He remained careful not to touch the other man, no reason to give him just cause. Ironic. Jackson mulled over the choice of wording, "I think someone's been misinformed. She was never the target."
"Heh, sure," Keplan responded with a sarcastic undertone. "You watch some of the best fall under this shit and see how your language settles."
So he did know something. Anything would be worth hearing at this point, even from the likes of him.
"What happened to Roberts? Sheridan? Ellen?"
The man knew had been offered a hint of importance and took the opportunity to soak it up. Keplan explained, "Last time I heard, the Organization was scattered. Few of the players still on tour in Italy, few keeping quiet in the States. Only Harrison made it on a flight out, according to the last news I heard."
Evacuations. That meant there some someplace to evacuate to, and the idiot was probably too stupid to think about making a run for it. Or too stupid to make it if he tried.
The soldier continued, "As I see it, we're as good as dead here. They won't risk coming in after us. We aren't worth it, even if they knew you pulled through."
"Who's to say they don't?" Jackson paused, letting the words linger. He couldn't help the grin that followed as Keplan faltered in his confidence.
"Why?" Keplan's first question was directed more to himself than to the Manager. "What could you possibly be worth to them, Donovan?"
"I know someone made sure I stayed alive in that hospital." It was a statement they both took to heart. Once you entered the services they owned you, in some manner or another. If they had wanted him dead, he never would have made it to the shores of Great Britain.
"Well they are long gone now," Keplan stated, shifting his rifle as he tried to regain the upper hand. He was failing miserably. "…and in this place, you aren't the hot-shot."
Jackson was expecting it. "From what I've seen, neither are you."
"Biding time, Donovan." There was no smile on his lips. In fact, Jackson got the impression the man was just following the waves, lost. It made him feel a whole lot better about his own stand on things. "Biding time."
The conversation was over. Jackson didn't offer any 'farewells' or 'catch-you-later.' He fully expected the man to have nothing more to say, but this time he was the one caught underestimating.
Jackson had barely turned when Keplan started to instigate once more, "I have to say she is as lovely as I imagined."
He was pushing the limits and Jackson's eyes darkened as he wondered where the soldier was heading.
"All that time on surveillance must have been a nice break for you. Especially after that Jones job."
Eight weeks. He remembered them clearly: the days when he sent out the dogs, the days he got in the car and handled it himself. There had been a lot more of those than he had anticipated. Call him a masochist, but then Lisa had that way about her that often made him lose his mind.
And then there was Jones: that had been chaos, although he had come to redefine the term after waking up in St. Thomas. Looking back, transporting a Crime Lord seemed like a walk in the park.
On the other hand, here, there were no snipers waiting around the bend, only Keplan wasting his fucking time, getting in the way, and generally making him very irritated.
"If the stories are true, she'll be a real challenge." Keplan commented with that smile again, and haughty posture he had no right to claim. "…But I think she'll come around, don't you? I've been told I have charm."
There was something in Keplan's voice that put Jackson on edge. Keplan knew something else, something about this place, and it screamed through his eyes, his smile, but Jackson couldn't make out the words.
"Is that what they are calling arrogance these days?"
"Call it what you will, I can't wait to taste those pretty lips of hers."
"You won't touch her, Keplan!" Jackson spit quicker than he had intended. It took him a minute to realize he had grabbed the man's jacket and thrown him against the wall. His voice was deep and jaw clenched as he spoke. "Let's just make that clear, right?"
"You think I'm the only one you have to worry about, Jack?" the man uttered, wincing.
Jackson let go as if burned, his eyes still fiery with warning, and Keplan stepped back warily.
"Don't pull any of that 'Jack' shit while I'm here," Jackson warned. "I'm sure those soldier boys out there don't have a clue about your background and somehow, I get the impression it's not so safe to advertise your line of work. Not with the instability I've seen from those men. They're going to crack, and I don't know about you but I'd rather not be on the receiving end."
Their stance was clear as the two men stood in front of each other and finally the soldier kept his mouth shut.
Jackson left Keplan standing there as he turned down the hall, disappearing around the bend. The remaining man's smile fell, straightening in thought. Perhaps he would get one-up on Donovan after all.
Keplan frowned, "You have no idea…"
++&&&&++