Jackson Rippner slowly opened his eyes. The windowless room he'd been confined to gave no hint as to where he was. Or what time it was. Or better yet, what day it was. He stared up at the sterile ceiling, eyes coming to focus on nothing in particular.

How long had it been since he'd failed that last mission? The word made his head hurt. Failure. He never failed. If it hadn't been for Lisa Reisert... He thought back to that day. It was always the first thing he thought about when he regained consciousness. Though he usually slipped back into a fitful sleep even as his mind began to replay that day's events.

He'd had it. The end had been so close... And it had slipped through his fingers. Had she not grabbed that pen... Oh, that fucking pen...

Then the chase through the airport, following back to her father's house... Chasing, hiding, fighting... Stabbed with a high-heel, shot with his associate's gun... All because of that fucking pen.

Out of the corner of his eye, movement. He turned his head, only to see Margo Fisher, daughter of one Martin Fisher, a.k.a. upper management. Her father was on his way to retirement, and Margo, in her power-hungry claw to the top, ruthlessly exploited her position as the boss's daughter. Luckily for him, Fisher senior thought very highly of his work. He just hoped this last assignment hadn't changed all that. He would have groaned, had Margo not been within earshot.

Christ, what was she doing here?

Well, he supposed it was a good sign. It meant that 1) he hadn't been arrested, and 2) he hadn't been killed. Though he wondered if that was indeed a good thing, when a man like her father was calling the shots.

"How long has it been?"

His voice was raspy. Unused. That fucking pen...

"You were out of commission for about a week after they got you back here. Since then, you've been in and out... It's been almost two months since the incident."

"Two months?"

She watched him through narrowed eyes. "The doctors say you'll be able to speak normally once your vocal cords have healed up a bit - "

"And how long - ?" It hurt to talk.

"I didn't ask. I really wasn't at all concerned about your condition."

How sweet. At least she was honest.

"How did - ?"

"It's standard company procedure to listen to all police frequencies as an assignment's being carried out." He really wished she'd stop interrupting him. "Though, really, you've never failed before, so I guess you wouldn't know how this works." Her voice positively dripped with disdain. He wanted to assure her that the feeling was mutual.

"When you so stupidly lost track of the girl, then followed her back to her father's home, we heard the calls over the police scanner. From there, it was easy enough to send in our own paramedics to retrieve you and get you back. There was enough chaos downtown, that by the time they realized you weren't in custody, you'd already been back with us for eight hours. Not including the time it took to get you here." She spoke slowly and deliberately, as if he was a child she'd explained this to already.

He took it all in, trying to remember the events of that day. After the plane, the airport, the fucking pen... Absentmindedly, he reached up and touched his throat. He couldn't remember anything after being shot by Joe Reisert. No. Wait... Lisa. He tried to growl at the memory, but it sounded more like a gurgle. Yes, she'd moved toward him, stood above him as things went black... She probably had been hoping to watch him take his last breaths. It would have been easier for her if he had.

He was brought back to the present as Margo cleared her throat pointedly. He turned his head and watched as she crossed one long leg over the other, watching him steadily as her expression shifted through boredom, amusement, and barely restrained hatred. But she didn't say anything yet. She just wanted his attention. She wanted him to speak. The bitch.

She held two dossiers in her lap, was idly flipping the corners. Ah, so they already had a new assignment for him. This was good news. Well, he'd always known he was much too valuable to them. He smirked, pleased to know he still had a job. She caught his expression and her own soured immediately.

"What're the files?"

She ignored him and leaned back, regarding him through lowered lids. "She made you look like a fool, 'Jackson'." She spit out his last alias as if the name itself had offended her. "You know my father doesn't suffer fools - "

He turned to fix her with a frosty glare. "It's a wonder he keeps you around..."

Her eyes flashed and she straightened immediately. Jackson smirked inwardly. Not many could get away with insulting the boss's daughter, but he knew he was like the son Martin Fisher never had. He got away with a lot. Apparently that included fucking up an assignment like the Keefes.

"The file - ?" Christ, it hurt like hell to talk.

She ignored him and stood up. "You're lucky you've had a good track record so far. Father doesn't usually tolerate failure..." Ugh. What was it with him and women with daddy issues? He just wanted her to get it over with and leave.

"The file, Margo."

She looked down at him and smirked, her attitude shifting once more - as if he'd never frazzled her. "We compensated the client for money wasted on your last assignment, but they still aren't satisfied. They want heads to roll, 'Jackson'. They wanted their message to get across, and instead, they come off looking like incompetent fools." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "My father could care less. It was a clumsy job at best, but he'd thought just maybe, you could pull something smooth off with so little to go on." She arched a brow, that damn smirk returning. "Of course, that didn't happen, did it?"

He nearly sighed in annoyance. So his next assignment was a rehash of the last one? He had to arrange another Keefe assassination? As delightful as it would be to pay dear Lisa Reisert another visit...

"No, he doesn't trust you to have another go at the Keefe assignment. We have someone else working on it." She sounded smug. He turned his head to look at her, careful to keep his face blank. The bitch sounded so pleased with herself... Pleased to hear about his failure. She always did enjoy pouring salt on the wounds. She had probably asked to be the one to brief him. Just so she could enjoy the fact he'd failed. The company's golden boy...

"You're to forget everything about the last assignment and move on to the next project. You're to go by the name Robby Packton..." Here he looked at her incredulously, and she sneered as she pulled out a clear plastic bag with a driver's license, credit card, social security number, and some cash. "Well, we let you pick your name last time, and you seemed to like the serial killer ice breaker... We thought maybe you'd have more luck this time around." He hated the new alias immediately. She regarded him, coolly amused, then continued. "There's a couple in New York he wants you to tail. Senior citizens." She handed him the first dossier and the plastic bag. "It's just an information-gathering job this time, so I would hope you can handle it, 'Robby'."

He was just supposed to tail a couple of geriatrics? That was grunt work. Fuck. So he wouldn't get out of this completely unscathed. He was being punished. Damn it. He glowered at the file she'd handed him.

"And Lisa - ?" Now, why the hell did he let that slip out? Was he still drugged up? Damn, he loathed himself for letting himself ask about her.

"Who?" She raised an eyebrow and leaned back against the chair, crossing her legs once more.

He glared up at her murderously. She knew exactly who. He hated failure. She was making him admit his failure, and he hated her even more for it.

"I'm not sure I recall a 'Lisa'..."

"My last assignment."

She pretended to think another moment or so, then widened her eyes in false recognition. "Oh yes. That's the name of the girl from the plane... The one who single-handedly brought you down. Lisa. Lisa..." She glanced at the second file folder. "...Reed? Oh no, here it is. Reisert." She smirked and leaned forward, and again, Jackson wondered bitterly why'd he'd even brought it up. "She made you look like quite the fool, didn't she?" Her lip curled and she glanced to his throat. "Sound like one, too."

He narrowed his eyes spitefully. "I'm not through with her yet." It was the longest sentence he'd managed so far. And it hurt like hell to choke it out.

"Not through with her? The assignment's over, Robby. There'll be plenty of other girls out there for you to fuck."

He didn't even dignify her with a response this time. She knew he was a professional. He'd never fucked a mark in his life.

She sighed, resigned. He was an asshole, but she understood the desire for revenge. Unfortunately, it wasn't his problem any more. "She's not your mark any more, Robby. You have other things to think about, and my father won't be happy if you ignore this next mission after just failing the last one. He doesn't give just anyone a second chance." She stood, smoothed her skirt out and flipped through her file.

He looked at her steadily for a moment. Wait. Not his mark any more? Surely they weren't planning to go after Lisa again...

"Is someone else - ?"

"Forget about it, Robby."

"No... She's mine... I'm the one who fucked up. I'm the one who wants to get even - "

"And that's why it can't be you. You're too close to the situation. You'll let your emotions get the better of you, and you'll fuck it up again. The client wants to know the reason behind the botched job? We'll bring them her. And well..." She chuckled darkly. "If I was you, I'd forget about the girl and move on."

Hate her though he might, he knew her too well. That was her 'official' stance. The speech her father had prepared for her. He studied her, calculatingly. "And... off the record...?" He put his fingers to his healing trachea to get the painful words out... "What would you do... if you were in my place?"

Margo eyed him for one long moment, fingers drumming against the manila folder in her hands. Then, slowly, she smirked and leaned in, green eyes flashing dangerously. "I would find her first."

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Author's Notes:
Bon soir, all! Yet another Red Eye-aholic here. Don't worry, I am not at all a fan of Mary Sues (shudder!) and I know how original female characters tend to automatically get lumped into the Mary Sue category... But no. I needed a character to get the ball rolling. Women tend to be so much more underhanded and conniving than men, and so I picked female character over male character. That, and Margo's based on one of two Shakespearean characters that may be the most vicious female characters in literature. If you can guess who they are... well, I have nothing to offer but respect.

...Which reminds me:

Not mine. I can't even claim Margo, since she's based on another character. I'm poor and I love you, Wes. Please don't sue.