Chapter 11

After an uncomfortable orientation to Bruce, Jackson guided Lisa to her couch. She still teetered blindly with overwhelming sorrow. Lisa sank into the seat and shrunk, weeping. Jackson stood to tend to her. He frantically searched her cabinets for a glass, and returned with water as an initial peace offering. He then offered her a tissue from a well-used box on her end table. She accepted his gifts numbly, and stared at the carpet. Lisa remained motionless, her glass and tissue in hand, even as Jackson's weight sank the sofa beside her. His hand stroked the reprehensive hunch in her back.

"There's a few things I don't understand, Jackson," said a monotone Lisa finally. "First of all, why didn't Bruce tear you apart out there?"

Jackson motioned slyly to his jacket. Tucked safely in the inside pocket was a packet of doggy treats. Lisa nodded.

"I know how to neutralize people. What makes you think I don't understand dogs?" he said with a grin. She paused, staring at her hands. Why couldn't I tear you apart?

"Lisa…" he started. His voice shook, tattered from the earlier assault. "You need to know something."

"What's that…" her voice scraped timidly.

"They didn't send me here," he stated, "but they know where you are, and they have someone watching you."

Lisa turned her gaze to him. Her tears dried. "Why?" she gasped. She sipped the water and placed it on the end table.

"I'm not sure... I do know who they've sent to watch you, and believe me, you have very little to worry about. If you can handle me, you can sure as hell take her." He smiled warmly at her.

"Jackson…" her voice cracked and her eyes dropped again, "what I did to you… I don't think I can do that again." Lisa absentmindedly wrung her wrists as she spoke. "I don't know if you understand, but when I saw you laying there, bleeding on the floor… I… something in me just…" She cut herself off and squeezed the tears from her eyes.

Jackson watched her relapse, his face melting further. He leaned closer to her and whispered softly into her ear. "Lisa, you did the right thing."

"How can you say that?" she cried, muffled by her hands. She shook and shuddered.

"Lisa…" he continued to whisper. He brought his hand to her cheek and cleared the stray hair from her face. His hand dropped to hers and slowly persuaded them downward. "I gave you the choice between your father, your friend, or the bad guy. You chose to save the people you care about, and I admire you for it. You've done the right thing."

"But…" Lisa tried, discouraged. She sniffed. Her painful gaze watched the nap of the carpet.

"Everything isn't always black and white. You made your choice, and it was the best one possible, save them both. And I said, I admire you for it," Jackson stated matter-of-factly.

Lisa pouted, and continued to stare at the carpet. Jackson sighed, and resolved that his words were not sinking in. His hand rose to her cheek, and gently pulled her face to his. Finally, she looked him in the eyes.

"Lisa, I admire you for it…" he repeated. Damn, I'm starting to sound like Barnett. She stared into his eyes, blinking as the words absorbed.

Jackson leaned to her, hesitating. He waited for her to push him away, to tell him to get the hell out of her house and never come back. She didn't. . His lips delicately brushed hers. Gently he caressed her cheek and gently he kissed her trembling lips. Bruce whined at the pair from across the room.

Fire prickled through Lisa's body, from the tips of her fingers to the pit of her stomach. Time stopped. Her heart was on the verge of bursting. Lisa tensed. Jackson stopped. He pulled away, humiliation in his eyes. Now Jackson stared at the carpet, ashamed. The silence pierced.

Lisa touched her fingers to her stunned lips. The kiss lingered, on their lips and in the air. A phantom that renewed Lisa and tormented Jackson. She had not been kissed like that, so tender and loving, in years. Hell, she had not been kissed in years. She breathed. Jackson remained motionless.

"That pen broke my heart…," he voiced quietly.

Lisa's brow furrowed. "I don't understand…," she whispered.

Jackson sighed. "What I saw in you before, your selflessness, your compassion, your purity… all of it came to a head with that stupid pen. It hurt me, but it killed you… That's all I've thought about for two years, that stupid pen. "

Lisa turned her stare back to the carpet. She sighed. "Jackson… I moved here six months after it happened. I bleached my hair nine months after. I started taking karate one year later, and I bought the gun two months ago… I don't even know how the stupid thing works. " Lisa paused. She took a breath. "I knew, no matter how far away I went I would see you again. I just… didn't know what would happen when I did. I didn't know if you would choke the life out of me, or if you were just as confused as I was that day on the plane…," she confessed.

"Sometimes I… wanted you to come back, for selfish reasons. I wanted to see you again," she continued, "sometimes it terrified me."

Jackson smiled. "Stockholm Syndrome?" he chuckled. He looked at her and smiled. Screw it, he thought. He cupped her chin and brought her lips back to his. He hesitated once again.

"I've missed you, Leese," he whispered, and kissed her. This time she yielded and surrendered. She returned the kiss and braced him with a steady hand. Lisa tasted tears that she knew were not her own.

As they parted, he touched his forehead to hers, resting and breathless. She wiped the glittering streaks from his cheeks affectionately.

"Jackson, there's something else I don't understand…" she whispered.

"Mmm?" his voice trembled once again.

She broke away. "Why didn't they kill you when you were in the hospital? For terrorists they didn't seem to think that through."

Jackson eyes widened. His face blanched in abrupt terror. You stupid son of a bitch… Why didn't you see it before?