(A/N): This is purely meant as a work of comic humor and fanfiction. It is not intended to offend or impugne the writing skills of any of my fellow writers. It is simply my take on how I would like to voice my own God-given right to an opinion.

Commandments: Thou shalt not review me with an unfounded flame. Thou shalt not take this fic seriously. Thou shalt laugh, or thou shalt just not read it. I'm going to continue it with or without you anyway.

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Session Two: "Ripp"ing It A New One

There were squeals of rapture. Miss Maya groaned; she'd forgotten to ban squealing. Oh well; it was too late now.

The boy, her "son", blinked once at Rippner before he simply unbuckled himself, stood, stepped over the girl that sat next to him, and walked down the aisle to the restroom in the back, which he locked himself in.

Some girls were distracted long enough to watch him go, waited for the red "occupied" light to blink on and then cry out in anger. "Why can he unbuckle himself?" they demanded of Miss Maya.

She glanced down at the lavatory. "He's not required to be here during this portion of the flight."

Meanwhile, there were cries stating the blatantly obvious all over the cabin.

"Oh my God, it's Jackson!"

"He's so pretty!"

"Look at his perfect blue eyes!"

Jackson rolled his "perfect blue eyes" and sighed. Tapping the small cushioned microphone that was attached to the podium, he cleared his throat and bent down to speak into it.

"Um, good evening."

Swooning – also not banned – ensued. He waited yet again for them to calm down, and then gave a short, curt laugh. "If we have to put up with this all night, I'm never going to get a chance to say anything."

Complete and utter vacuum reigned supreme. One could hear the engines roaring away through the almost-soundproof walls.

"I'm here tonight, as well as the other guests, to speak about certain assumptions made concerning myself and Ms. Reisert."

Almost every ear in the room perked up, and the girls sat up straighter in their chairs. A couple happened to bat their eyelashes a bit, but a stern look from Miss Maya quelled that attempt at flirtation right off the bat.

"I'd like to make the public statement that I am a professional manager of assassinations and terroristic attacks. Not that any of you didn't already know that, I just thought it needed to be said. And as I'm still alive and not incarcerated at the present time, one can assume I'm very good at my job.

"I'd also like to point out that because of the nature of my job, it is imperative that I remain calm, collected, and in control of myself and my situation at all times. I do not let myself get distracted by personal issues or vendettas, or else I put my job in jeopardy. It's as simple as that."

He noticed a hand near the back.

"Um, hold all questions until the end. I promise there will be a Q & A."

The girls grinned. Goody!

"Ahem. As I was saying, I've conducted countless jobs in the past. I've dealt with people who have tried to resist more times that I want to remember, and while I may not have suffered such injuries as I did when dealing with Ms. Reisert…" Here he seemed to come under a strange emotion for just a split second. It was dark and held the slightest traces of a deep resentment, and then it was gone again. "…I certainly have sustained multiple wounds. If you could see my chest and back-…"

There was a collective sound that reminded one of the noise emitted by a mob of over-ecstatic marshmallow peeps. It was high-pitched, almost piercing, and then fell off into another long, contented sigh.

Jackson shook his head despairingly as the captain came over the speaker again.

"THERE WILL BE NO MORE MENTION OF MR. RIPPNER REVEALING ANY OF HIS BODY TO THE PASSENGERS, AS WE MOMENTARILY LOST THE BALANCE IN AIR PRESSURE DUE TO AN OVERLOADING RELEASE OF PENT-UP FRUSTRATION."

Jackson looked up at the speaker mounted above his head. "Poor choice of words," he explained before turning back. "What I meant to say was that I have scars much worse than those dealt to me recently. I'm not going to get vengeful just because she shot me."

The hand went up again. "What?" he demanded.

"Didn't she beat you with a field hockey stick?"

"Yes."

"And break her high heel off in your leg?"

"Yes."

"And stab that pen through-…"

"Yes!" he snarled. He leaned over the podium and inadvertently revealed under his collar the reddened skin and stitches scars that now decorated his throat. "I'm just saying that I've had worse and don't give a damn about all that! I'm not going to try to get personal because that's what gets you caught! You start trying to find a way to get back at them and then the police get involved and you make one wrong move and then you're looking at life with no chance of parole! I've seen it happen to the men I work with! Haven't any of you considered that? That maybe I don't give a rat's-…"

"PLEASE REFRAIM FROM SWEARING, MR. RIPPNER. WE WANT TO KEEP THE RATING DOWN."

Jackson glowered. "That maybe I don't care about Lisa Reisert," he growled under his breath. "At least not enough to actively pursue her. I have worked with women before. Didn't you grasp that by the way I explained the concept of male-driven fact-based logic to her? I practically oozed misogynist back there.

"I have worked with women before. Lisa Reisert was no different. Thus concludes my prepared speech."

There was a grand total of twenty motionless seconds while Jackson stared the congregation down, daring them to say anything. One brave soul in the back meekly raised her hand.

Jackson stalked down the aisle and she cringed in her seat, afraid of what he was about to do. Every head turned and followed his progress until he halted in front of her. The girl, one of the few non-Lisa lookalikes, was shaking in her velour gauchos.

He bent down and placed his hands on the back of her seat and the seat in front of her, leering down in a very menacing fashion. Her carry-on bag had the name "Allie Stillwell" stitched on it, and he read it before looking back to her.

"What, Ms. Stillwell?" he snapped.

Pale green eyes wide with surprise, she was frozen, unsure as to whether be exploding with fangirl glee that he was so close to her or be wetting her skirt in mortal terror.

"Well?"

Pushing a strand of dark brown hair out of her eyes, she finally gathered herself enough to speak. "Are we going to get that question and answer session now?"

He bit his lower lip in an attempt to quell the frustration and fury that was surging under his skin. Using the most complex control of himself, Jackson jerkily stood up, made his way back to the front of the room, straightened his tie, adjusted his collar and managed a very shaky "Yes."

Miss Maya chimed in. "So long as the questions are not blatantly unacceptable or stupid."

Hands shot in the air. He nodded to one.

The girl sat up. She expertly flicked her caramel-colored hair over her shoulder and pulled a notepad and pen out of her black duster. "I'm Tiffany Kelson, Mr. Rippner. So you don't support the Jackson/Lisa pairings we write?"

"No. I don't. And frankly, I don't care about your name, either."

She ignored this statement and quirked and eyebrow. "Why not? Why can't we have some artistic license?"

"Because it's not true. You may as well be writing for some grocery store tabloid about celebrities and aliens. We're not in love. End of story. Another question; you."

The new girl cocked her head. Her name was Tess, but taking a note from Tiffany, she opted not to tell him that. "But you still have feelings for her? Deep down?"

Jackson groaned. "No! I do not like Lisa Reisert. As far as I know, she does not like me. You'll have a chance to ask her and hear it straight from the horse's mouth. I'm willing to put money on the fact that she hates me. In a bad way, not in a romantic 'you threatened the Keefes, my father and me but you're attractive so I'll forgive you anyway' kind of way," he commented sarcastically.

"We're going to get to talk to Lisa?" Tess exclaimed.

"Ms. Reisert. Yes, after me."

"Will you be speaking together?"

"Probably not."

"Is there a chance?"

"Look, we're sitting on separate sides of the cabin up front with a partition between us. We're using separate bathrooms."

This comment was met with knowing looks and a few high-pitched giggles and squeals. The intercom crackled again with the captain's voice.

"AGAIN, MR. RIPPNER, PLEASE REFRAIN FROM SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS AS IT CAUSES THE PASSENGERS TO OVERLOAD THE SYSTEM. NO MORE REFERENCES TO CERTAIN RESTROOM SCENES, YOUR BODY, CERTAIN DC COMIC VILLAINS OR 'BEING' WITH MS. REISERT IN ANY SENSE OF THE WORD."

"Why the DC Comic-…?"

"JUST ADHERE TO THE RULES, MR. RIPPNER."

Jackson shook his head and rubbed his temples. "Any other questions?"

"Will you be speaking again? About anything?"

He thought this over. "I suppose if the occasion calls for it I may make another statement or two. But my bulk of time is up and I have a weapon drop in Kuwait to organize, so you'll excuse me."

Jackson stepped away from the microphone to a deafening applause (another non-banned practice). Miss Maya escorted Jackson back to the first class cabin and closed the curtain behind him before turning back for an announcement.

"There will be a one hour break between speakers. Please use this time to use the restroom, nap, or watch the complimentary movie. No, it is not 'Red Eye'. It happens to be '102 Dalmatians'. Any attempts at storming the first class cabin will be met with a swift and precise defenestration as before stated. Thank you."

The passengers realized they could now unbuckle themselves and there was a mad dash for the two restrooms, one of which had recently been vacated by Miss Maya's "son". A calm period reigned, and for one blissful hour there was a peaceful lull over the cabin.

Well, that's that. Or at least that's how I expect Jackson would react, should this situation ever come to pass. He may or may not be back; no promises.

I'm still accepting applications for appearances in the next chapters. For those of you who already sent in one for this chapter, you may RESUBMIT an application so you may appear in the next one. Unless I receive another e-mail, I will not include you again. Sorry for it.

First-timers, if you would like to be included, DO NOT POST A BIO IN THE REVIEW! Fill out the following fields in an E-mail to me titled "Red Eye Fic Bio" or something to that effect. I do not read junk mail or spam, so make sure the subject field makes sense to me.

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