Disclaimer: Do not own Red Eye. Though I wished I own Jackson. But for the moment, I can only amuse myself with writing about Jackson without a shirt. Please don't sue. I am a poor student so you'll only get a piggy bank full of pennies and a half-eaten candy bar.
Eggs at 3AM
Everything was dark. So very warm. Comforting.
She closes her eyes. But sleep does not come back.
'Not again,' she mentally says to herself. It is 3AM. She had work in four hours. Another 18 hour shift which she did not look forward to. And she can't sleep.
Finally, after laying there for a few minutes, she sits up. Pulling on the cotton bathrobe, she shivers at the cold air that drifts in from the open window. She goes over to it. A moment's hesitation, before she latches it closed.
Before leaving the bedroom, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She runs her hand through her messy hair, trying to pat it down but to no avail. She does not check for anything else, though she can see a bit of purple peeking out from the neckline of her robe.
She goes to the kitchen, turning on the light. The kitchen is very small and modest, clean and hardly used. Except for the nights when she can't sleep. She goes through the refrigerator. Eggs, newly bought, grated cheese, and tomatoes. 8 minutes later, she is in front of the stove, moving the eggs around with a spatula, the smell a comfort to her wayward mind. The milk is in the microwave, warm milk helps her sleep.
An arm encircles her waist. She stiffens. A body presses up against hers and she sucks in a breath. She didn't even hear him come out. His lips come down near her ear.
"Old habits die hard, I see."
She shrugs. "I couldn't sleep."
"And scrambled eggs at 3AM makes it better?"
"Most of the time." She tries to ignore the shaking of her hand, hoping that he does not notice her trembling. He was too close, too warm, too…
She tries to push such thoughts out of her mind, though the task was not easy with him standing behind her.
She turns off the stove and takes two plates from the cupboard. He moves from behind her to stand beside her, she notices that he's nude from the waist up. She avoids his gaze as she deposits the eggs on both plates. She could feel his eyes on her and it unnerves her. Images of what had happened earlier comes unbidden to her mind, making her blush. She tries to push it away. He's still looking at her, he's smirking and she knows that he is very satisfied with himself.
"I hope you don't mind eggs at 3AM," she says, trying to keep the air light.
He chuckles, "I'm always up for something new."
"Do you like pepper?"
"Sure."
A minute later, they are both reclining on her couch, her with eggs and a glass of warm milk, he with eggs and red wine. At first, they are quiet, watching an old movie on TV. Casablanca. She loves that movie. She always had a thing for Humphrey Bogart. Though tonight, not even the actor could get her mind off of the half-dressed, handsome man sitting beside her on the couch. For a while, she picks at the eggs, suddenly no longer in the mood for it. She just wants to curl up and disappear into the couch cushions.
She mentally berates herself for getting into a frenzy. It didn't mean anything.
'Sure it didn't, and he's only staying here and having eggs at 3AM with you because it's fun.' She wishes her mind would just shut up.
Finally, after a while, (the image of Ingrid Bergman showing up uninvited to Humphrey Bogart's room brings back memories of earlier), she sits up and goes to the sink.
He notices and follows her. He places the dish in the sink besides her. She notices that the plate is bare. Just one more reminder that he was real, that he was human.
"Thank you," he says to her. "Your eggs can use a bit more flavoring."
"Well, next time, you can make your own eggs." The minute the phrase leaves her mouth, she automatically regrets it. Next time? Was she actually considering the possibility that this was going to happen again?
Unluckily for her, the words are not lost on him. "Next time, I intend to make sure you don't wake up at 3AM." His voice is low, and deep, and full of promises, promises that sends shivers down her spine.
She turns off the water and goes back to the living room. He follows her. "You're avoiding me."
"No I'm not." She busies herself with tidying up the couch and turning off the TV.
"You're not looking at me."
"Yes I am," she lies.
He grabs her arm and turns her around to face him, steel blue eyes against warm brown. "Now you are." He sees the uncertainty in her eyes, not unlike that of earlier. And this causes him to once again pull her close, his face resting against her hair, he loves the smell.
She stiffens, still not used to such intimate contact.
"Don't fight me, Leese," he whispers into her hair. He had said the same thing earlier.
"I'm not."
"You know I hate it when you lie," his voice is devoid of all malice, and is soft, pleading almost.
She hesitantly puts her arms around him. This was all right, he was here, he was real. She was okay. A moment passes, and she allows herself to relax against him.
He pulls her down to the couch. "You know I didn't force you." He is still holding her.
"No, you just showed up."
"And that was all it took."
"No, there was the struggling, and me beating you again." She smiles against his chest. So warm.
"You didn't beat me."
She could hear the indignation in his voice, and it only serves to make her smile wider.
"If I didn't, I got pretty damn close."
"As I seem to recall, I was the one on top."
"Only because I let you." At another time (probably a few minutes ago), she would have never thought this kind of talk was possible between them. Yet here they were, laying against each other, talking like a normal couple. It was enough to make her almost cry with relief. This was okay.
"It was your choice."
"Yes…it was."
"Are you having second thoughts?" And she knows he's not only referring to the bedroom.
She pulls away to look at him. He has the most beautiful eyes. Her hand comes to his face, caressing his cheek. And the answer comes to her naturally, surprising her. "No."
He smirks at her. "Good. Next time, you can be on top."
She smiles back, "Good."
He runs his fingers through her hair. And she finds herself asking. "Do you have work soon?"
"Yes." She doesn't ask him where, or how. She doesn't want to know.
"Will I see you later?"
"Yes."
She makes a mental note to pick up some extra food on the way home. A silence ensues. An issue hangs in the air, waiting to be addressed. She ponders whether or not to say it now or later. It had been so fast earlier that there hadn't been time to ponder everything, to figure out where they stood. There was time now. "This doesn't change everything that has happened."
He knows exactly what she is referring to. "Nothing will do that."
"So why?"
"Because," he pulls her to him. She complies. "Would you want anything else?"
She doesn't, and she tells him that with a kiss. His arms cradle her, as if shielding her. Against his body, she feels secure and safe. She runs her hands up his bare chest before wrapping her arms around his neck. This kiss is different from the previous ones. It is slow and deep. There is no rush to remove clothes, no hands trying to feel everything. They have time, everything is okay.
He carries her to the bedroom. She does not try to fight it this time.
Her mind berates her, telling her that this isn't right. That it wasn't decent. It wasn't normal. She tells her mind to shut up.
She pulls him closer. Skin on skin makes her forget all thoughts.
No, it wasn't love. It wasn't even normal. But somehow, that fact didn't disturb her. She didn't care about that. Not right now, because he was with her. Around her. Inside her. His hot touch, his kisses. She feels his warm, solid form on top of her and somehow, that makes all of this okay.
She knows that one day, she will be angry with him for all of it. She'll want more and he will either give it to her, or he won't. They will find some way to build a life together or they won't. Right now, there were no expectations. He made her feel, and she did the same, and somehow, that was enough.
Fin
A/N: This is my first time in the Red Eye section and I'm very proud of myself. This is what happens when one stays up late at night watching Red Eye, one starts having naughty thoughts of Cillian Murphy without a shirt. But hopefully, the characters aren't OOC. If they are, a thousand apologies. On the grammar issue, the syntax and structure are deliberate. I just thought Lisa's thoughts would be very disjointed, considering how confused she must be feeling. Please R&R. Comments are appreciated.