Disclaimer: Alas, I don't own anything having to do with Red Eye and won't be making any money off of this. I do it for the love – don't sue me.
Jackson's stomach lurched at the sight of the blood. He wasn't squeamish by any means, as evidenced by the carnage that littered the apartment, but there was something fundamentally wrong with the fact that it was Lisa who was slumped against the wall, wounded. She was supposed to be invulnerable, unable to be broken by normal means. It was too brutal. Too inelegant.
He didn't waste time asking her if she was all right – the answer to that tired question was fairly obvious. She was in shock, her green eyes slightly glazed and her skin clammy. The procedures for dealing with shock in adults floated to the top of his racing mind, and Jackson took comfort in the logical progression he needed to follow.
Dropping Lisa's hands into her lap, he gingerly lifted the edge of her light sweater, now stained with blood, to assess the damage and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the bullet had grazed her instead of hitting straight on. The ugly furrow in her skin was raw and still bleeding, but definitely nonfatal. "It looks worse than it is," he said, "but we have to stop the bleeding. Can you stand?"
Lisa pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head. Her skin was paler than ever and beads of sweat were forming on her forehead. "Hold on, then." With that, Jackson gathered her slight form up into his arms, heedless of the blood that smeared them both, and carried her to the couch.
She hurt too much to mind his proximity. Was it only last night that she'd fought him tooth and nail? It was too much to deal with, too much to handle and stay sane, these reversals of fortunes and roles. He eased her down onto the couch and she winced as she sank into the cushions – it felt as if her right side were on fire. She'd never experienced anything quite like the smoldering pain that gripped her now.
Jackson left to go rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. When he returned with latex gloves, a wet rag, gauze, a bottle of prescription painkillers, and a glass of water, Lisa's incredulity overcame the pain long enough for her to raise an eyebrow at him. "What, you plan for things like this?"
His old smirk returned in force at her words. "I make it a point to keep...versatile items on hand. Are you complaining?" he said as used the rag to swab the blood from her hands. Jackson then donned the gloves and folded a patch of gauze with brisk efficiency. Lisa found the energy to scowl at him when he pulled the hem of her sweater up again and gently inspected the inflamed flesh before pressing the gauze down on the wound. "Keep some pressure on that; I'll check it in about fifteen minutes. Once the bleeding's stopped, you'll take the painkillers." Satisfied that she would follow his instructions, Jackson rose, stripped off the latex gloves, and disappeared down the hallway.
Lisa leaned her head back to stare at the ceiling and pressed harder on the gauze. Maybe I can make myself pass out, she thought, and when I wake up, all of this will be a very bad dream. Tears of pain and frustration pricked the backs of her eyelids, and she blinked furiously to keep them at bay. The temptation to just let her emotions run unchecked was powerful, and at the moment, she was beyond caring about keeping up appearances with Jackson. The whole situation was stupid – he was stupid for dragging her into this – and now to top it all off, she'd been shot. When had her life turned into a bad action movie?
When Jackson came back carrying his duffel bag and wearing a fresh suit, Lisa's eyes were closed and he experienced a moment of fear. Was she injured more seriously than he'd first thought? "You still with me, Leese?" Crouching down beside the couch, he pushed her hand out of the way and lifted the blood-stained gauze to check the wound.
Lisa groaned and wet her lips with her tongue. "Why won't you just take me to the hospital?" she asked him. Her voice was tight with renewed pain.
So she hadn't passed out after all. The familiar mask settled back into place. "Why do you always ask questions you already know the answers to?" he responded as he changed the gauze and used a roll of surgical tape that he'd found in the bathroom to tape the material down. "You know I won't let you go that easily, Leese."
Anger flared. "What more do you want? This isn't enough for you?"
"This wasn't quite what I had in mind, to be honest. But we can work around it." He dug around in the duffel bag and withdrew a worn white t-shirt. "Do you want to put this on yourself, or would you like some help?" he asked with an air of false accommodation.
If looks could kill, Jackson would be dead a thousand times over. Lisa gritted her teeth and said, "I hate you," but didn't protest when he pulled the ruined sweater up and over her head. She felt his eyes come to rest on her scar and fought to keep her pulse steady. The air between them was thick. Just leave it and get that damn t-shirt onshe thought, shivering as the cold air of the apartment collided with her exposed flesh and left her covered in goosebumps. Some wicked little part of her mind chose that moment to wonder what it would be like if he were the one giving her those goosebumps, if he suddenly took it into his head to -
Lisa ruthlessly quashed that thought.
She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until Jackson finally pulled the old shirt down over her head and arms and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. "Take this," he said peremptorily, shaking an oblong white pill out of the medicine bottle and dropping it into her hand.
"What now?" she asked once she was done choking down the caplet. Lisa hated swallowing pills – painkillers, antidepressants, it didn't matter. She'd had enough of that to last a lifetime.
"We get the hell out of here. I'll go load the car, make sure there aren't any more where they came from -" here he cast a pointed glance at the body still by the door, "while the painkiller kicks in. You should be able to walk by then."
As soon as he was gone, Lisa struggled to sit up and swung her legs over the edge of the couch. The pain in her side intensified and a wave of nausea swept over her, but she refused to give into it. She would walk to that car if it killed her – no more of Jackson carrying her around like a sack of potatoes. Besides, she had a feeling that he took a perverse pleasure in her helplessness. By the time he returned empty-handed, Lisa was clutching the kitchen counter and studiously looking at everything but the corpse on the floor. The thought didn't help her nausea one bit.
Jackson's blue eyes flashed in annoyance at the sight of her up and about, but he simply wrapped one arm around her waist and threw her left arm over his shoulder. The journey down the seven flights of stairs was arduous, but Lisa managed to stay conscious. The medicine was finally starting to take effect – everything seemed blurry and distant. She was vaguely aware of him helping her into the car, and then the hum of the engine, and the blast of the air conditioning. When they stopped a short while later and he came around to help her out of the car, Lisa forced her eyes open and tried to figure out what was going on.
She must have looked bewildered. "We're taking the train to Midtown," Jackson explained as they started across the parking lot. He was more discreet now, with only one arm draped around her waist, hand on her opposite hip – to the casual observer, they would look like an affectionate young couple. It was hot outside, so hot that the quick trip across the parking lot sapped what little energy she had left. On the train, Lisa leaned against Jackson's shoulder, beyond caring about anything but the fact that he was there, he was solid, and he wouldn't let her fall into the aisle.
Her body against his was distracting, to be sure, and if the circumstances had been different, Jackson might have enjoyed the contact. But instead he occupied himself with planning his next move. Once Lisa was settled, he would have to do a little detective work, maybe call in a few favors to find out who'd been behind the attack on his apartment. His jaw tightened at the thought. Cleaning up that mess was also a priority – he had little hope that he would ever be able to use the apartment again, which was a shame considering he'd been living there on and off for the better part of a decade, but it wouldn't do to have the police swarming all over the place before he could secure the information therein.
"Peachtree Center Station," came the announcement, interrupting Jackson's racing thoughts. He sensed that Lisa was fading quickly, and it became more difficult to guide her through the crush of Atlanta foot traffic - the sight of the Ritz-Carlton was indeed welcome.
"Welcome to the Ritz-Carlton, Atlanta" the perky concierge said by way of greeting when they came dragging in. If she noticed Lisa's disheveled state, she gave no indication. "How may we serve you this evening?"
Jackson mustered up the charm that he definitely was not feeling right now and smiled at the blond. "Hi. I'm really sorry this is so abrupt, but my wife and I were just passing through town when she came down with a nasty case of food poisoning." Here the woman's eyes finally lit on Lisa and widened just a bit. He had to wonder how many times Lisa had faced similar situations at the Lux Atlantic. "I stay here all the time on business, so my name should be in the computer under Roberts. John Roberts."
The click of the keyboard was the only sound for a few moments before the woman said, "Ah, yes, here you are. Mr. John Roberts. Will you have the Deluxe Room or Suite?"
"The Suite, please. And book it for a week to start off with, if you would, ah -" Jackson glanced at her nametag. "Ellen. Thank you very much."
"It's my pleasure," she returned smoothly, assembling a packet with room keys, pamphlets, and other detritus of hotel stays. With a glance at Lisa, she lowered her voice and asked, "Would you like to take advantage of our medical services for your wife? I can send a doctor up to tend to her."
Jackson smiled and shook his head. "No, no, we just came from the hospital. Thank you again." A doctor discovering the truth about Lisa's condition was about the last complication he needed right now.
Ellen watched until the pair disappeared into one of the lobby elevators. "Poor thing," she mused, turning back to her work. "At least she's got someone to look after her."
A/N: I'm strangely ambivalent about this chapter – it works for me, but it's not really heavy on plot. Or earth-shattering revelations, really. Just dealing with the aftermath of the last chapter and changing settings. But if you think about it, it's been less that 36 hours since all of this began, so naturally things will move kind of slow. I toyed with the idea of having Lisa seriously injured, but that would make things more difficult later on – there's still a long ride ahead! Also, I'm trying to throw in pretty subtle hints about the backstory I've created in my head for Jackson, so kudos to you if you pick up on them.
There are far too many absolutely wonderful reviews coming in for me to respond to every single one, but I wanted to give a special shout-out to NeverEndingNightmare and steph88NYC for theirs in particular. Warm fuzzies all around! Thank you so much for the encouragement!