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The next Chapter will be coming soon!

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Fanfic Fish . . .

Lisa waited patiently outside the closed door, holding the needle and thread in hand. Her ear was trained on any sounds emanating from the bathroom. She had to be ready in case Jackson decided to fall unconscious again. Through the few minutes that she had been listening, she had heard a few curses and grunts that sounded like Jackson was in pain.

Finally she worked up the courage to approach the door. "Jackson . . . are you okay," Lisa had to fight form smacking herself in the head. What a stupid question! Of course he's not okay; he's been beaten, stabbed and nearly drowned.

A soft sight of relief came from inside the room. "Perfect," was the sarcastic remark.

Lisa rolled her eyes and put her hand against the door, she realized that it wasn't locked or shut all the way for that matter. Pushing it open softly she walked in.

Jackson sat on the floor still in his wet sweatpants holding his head in his hands. Most of the blood flow had stopped, now all they need was to be cleaned and closed up. Lisa took a seat next to him and he finally looked up.

"Here," she said handing him the tools to take care of the wounds. Remembering that he had a fever she quickly went to the mirror and opened it right-to-left. The open space revealed cabinets filled with bottles and odd shaped tubes. Her eyes stopped to rest on the bottle that read 'rubbing alcohol'

Lisa turned around to see Jackson sewing up his battle wounds. She crinkled her nose in disgust. "How can you do that?" she spat.

Jackson looked up at her, and then gave her the best grin he could muster. "My job required me to go almost everywhere, not all of my jobs ended well, and outside of the U.S. doesn't really have great medical care," Jackson stopped and used his teeth to cut the string from his arm then began to speak again. "I learned that in Syria, nasty bullet wound."

Cringing openly Lisa took her seat again next to Jackson and began dabbing the alcohol over the open wounds. "Well . . . that's interesting. When she did the action the stinging sensation that the clear liquid caused made Jackson to gasp then suck in a sharp breath. "Sorry," the young woman apologized.

Giving her a sympathetic look, Jackson continued fixing his other wounds. "So what are you going to do?" the question slipped form Lisa's mouth.

"I suppose I should leave Miami, they'll probably find me anyway . . ." he looked at her again and smiled softly, "I could always kill them."

Lisa's right eyebrow shot up, and her lips turned into a tight strait line. "What if they kill you first?"

Jackson shrugged his shoulders then immediately regretted it when a sharp pain shot through his upper body. "Help me stand," he commanded.

A small arm wrapped itself around Jackson's torso and lifted. When Jackson was standing he latched on tighter to the smaller woman. The room is spinning again, he silently mused.

No amount or power of words could describe how Jackson felt at that moment. His body ached horribly where the newly stitched wounds were, and the areas around the wounds were on fire. His head felt fuzzy and it was almost enough that couldn't lift it.

"Don't think I'm trying to take advantage of a bad situation, but I'm going to help you get changed," she told him.

"I can do it," Jackson's weak voice told her.

"Mr. Rippner, don't be a baby! Incase you didn't notice, I'm holding you up right now. You don't have the strength to do anything but sleep, and there is no way your sleeping on my bed in wet and bloody sweatpants." Lisa held strong, and finally Jackson agreed with a little nod of his head.

"I'm finally getting you into bed, sort of speak?" Jackson grinned s Lisa gave him a dirty look.

Lisa worked carefully as she helped Jackson slip off his sweatpants. "Boxers?" Lisa asked mischievously.

Jackson's head shot up quickly. "I'm not a whitey-tighty's kinda guy," he explained.

All in all, it took about fifteen minutes to get Jackson changed then another fifteen to walk down the stairs. During that time, the two had exchanged rude words and comments thought the frustrating task.

Lisa Riesert was almost completely holding Jackson up. His energy had long ago disappeared, and now he relied on he to help him down the stairs. "Ow," he had mumbled over and over with each passing step.

"We're her Jackson," Lisa whispered to the tired man. She looked at him, but was only able to see his dark hair. His head rested on his chest, and his arms were lax around Lisa's shoulders. "Let's get you into bed."

They both sat down on the bed together, but Lisa had regained some of her stamina and returned to her feet. She laid Jackson out on the soft mattress. The young woman pulled the covers over Jackson's stomach, and up to his chin. "I'll go get you some aspirin, and then you can sleep, okay?"

A small mumble was the only evidence that Jackson gave her to signify that he had heard her. He just wanted to sleep.

Lisa went to fetch a cup of water, and two ibuprofen. When she returned, she found that Jackson had already fallen asleep. "Goodnight Jackson," she whispered as she brushed away his bangs from his face. He still had a fever, but they would have to fix that in the morning.

Pulling up a char to the side of the bed, Lisa sat and began humming, 'Calling All Angels'. Lisa's mother and grandmother had sung the song over the years whenever she had fallen ill. Now it was her turn to sing it.

TBC . . .