How Battle Mountain Was Won ... Or, At Least, Negotiated

Jackson watched the highway stretch out in long, unending waves of simmering asphalt before him. The heat was stifling, even though the windows were down in the small Pontiac. He looked over and saw that Lisa had her hair pulled back in a messy bun, and was suffering from the unending heat as well. It'd been slightly cooler in Coeur D'Alene a week and a half ago, but here, the Nevada sun had burnt everything it had touched. As the temperature rose, the amiable air between them had evaporated, turning their friendly demeanors toward each other into a storm of contention, ready to break open at any minute.

"We'll pull over and spend the night in the next town, Leese, don't worry," Jackson said, raising his voice slightly over the heated breeze whipping through the car. He felt grimy, no doubt from the dust in the air that had made its way into the car. His sunglasses seemed to be coated with a fine film of the tiny sandy granules, but it was hard to tell when they kept sliding down his nose on a slick layer of sweat. Sighing, Jackson pulled the shades off, hooked his pinky around them, and pinched the collar of his t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger before pulling it up and wiping the perspiration off of his face. As he slid the glasses back on, he noticed Lisa was still staring at the baked landscape out the window. "Did you hear me, Lisa?"

Lisa's head turned suddenly, and Jackson could see that her bottom lip was swollen -- a sure sign she had been nibbling on it. "Hmm?" Her eyes were wide, as if fearing she had just missed a crucial detail of an evil plan. Jackson gave a small laugh, affording her one more quick glance before he turned his eyes back to the dusty road.

"I said we're going to be stopping at the next town." She nodded at that, turning her eyes back to the hills that stood in the distance to the west of Highway 80, the maddeningly straight and dusty road they'd been on for hours. The sun had finally disappeared behind the hills on her side, but still touched the tops of the ones on Jackson's. She didn't care, though, she enjoyed the sunset, watching as it turned the sky an orange hue, reminding her of Tang. A few clouds littered the evening sky, turning gold on the bottom, and reddish-purple in their crevices.

"Where're we gettin' off at?" she asked, turning in her seat to face forward again. She pulled her haphazard bun out of its elastic band, shaking her tresses out lightly. She felt sweaty and dirty, and all she wanted to do at that point was to take a shower and climb into bed. The heat had sapped her energy and made her cranky, but she was doing a good job at controlling her temper, so far. A sign appeared ahead, proclaiming "BATTLE MTN, NEXT EXIT".

"Battle Mountain, looks like," Jackson replied, moving to the right hand lane.

-
-

Lisa slammed the car door behind her, quickly pulling her hair back into another lazy, efficient bun, letting a few tendrils slip out of the formation and hang at the back of her neck. She reached through the open window and grabbed her purse and overnight bag, sliding her shirt over her the waist of her jeans after it rode up. She caught Jackson stealing a glance and flashed him a look of warning. He quickly pushed his sunglasses back up on the bridge of his nose again.

He waited patiently a few steps ahead, watching as she readjusted the weight load on her shoulder. "You've got the ID's, right?" Jackson asked. He had a tendency to make extra fake ID's for them whenever they stopped for extended periods of time, trying hard to conceal their real identity. The story he planned on using tonight was one he had used before --- cousins on their way to a relative's wedding, stopping and spending the night in the motel du joir.

"I thought you had them?" she asked, looking confused. Jackson's face paled.

"Fuck, Leese, don't even tell me you lost them! Don't tell me you lost them!" If she had lost their fake ID's, they were royally screwed.

"I didn't lose them," she spat angrily, feeling around in her purse for the laminated driver's licenses, "I just, I-" Not feeling anything in her purse, she panicked, throwing her purse and overnight bag onto the hot pavement, reaching into her pockets.

"You sure? When was the last time you had them, Leese? Where were they?" Jackson picked up her purse, rifling through the contents carelessly, searching every crevice of the bag.

"It, it was just the other day, when we were at that motel in Oregon, I remember! I had them then, and now ... I know I ..." she sputtered helplessly, reaching into her back pockets, searching frantically. Jackson narrowed his eyes at her.

"You're sure-"

"Yes, I'm fucking sure!" Lisa screamed, bordering on hysteria. Jackson glared at her, and she sent a vicious scowl his way before hauling her overnight bag off of the ground, quickly searching through the side pockets, jabbing her thumb on an uncapped pen. She hissed angrily, starting to yank her hand back out, when she felt something slick and plastic shoved behind her hairbrush. She immediately froze, glancing at Jackson with a surprised look on her face.

Jackson furrowed his brows at her, feeling like an idiot standing in the parking lot and holding her purse. He watched as she slowly pulled her right hand out of her bag, two Kentucky driver's licenses held between her thumb and forefinger. He let out a loud breath of relief. "Jesus Christ, Lisa!" he moaned, dropping her purse and throwing his hands up into the air. Lisa mumbled something under her breath as she shoved her own ID into her back pocket. "Care to repeat that?" he hissed as he yanked his ID from her hand, dipping his face to look her straight in the eyes. Lisa glared back, unnerved.

"I said, quit being such a fucking drama queen about everything! I told you I didn't lose them!" She bent and picked up the purse, gathering the spilled contents, and hoisted her overnight bag back over her shoulder. Jackson turned angrily on his heel, leaving her behind.

"Can't fuckin' trust you with anything." Lisa scowled at his back as she followed.

-
-

Broken On The Inside

Lisa was pulling a new set of clothes out for the evening, searching through the suitcase Jackson had lugged in and thrown angrily on the bed. The two had glared daggers at each other before he returned back to the parking lot, gathering the last of their things and locking the car. Lisa grabbed the jeans, panties, bra, and tank top that she'd be wearing out to dinner that night, and made her way into the bathroom as she heard the door opening again.

Jackson moved into the room, dragging his suitcase and a duffel bag behind him as the door clicked shut. He gave her a heated glance as he set his suitcase next to hers, dumping the duffel bag on the floor. "I can't believe you lost them ..." he growled. Lisa flung the flap of her suitcase open again, reaching for the bottle of conditioner she'd stored in the side pocket.

"You want to keep blaming me for something I didn't do for the rest of the night, or do you want to shut the hell up about it?" she retorted. Jackson started toward her, and suddenly stopped, clenching his hands into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

"I'm-" he paused, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. Unintimidated, Lisa grabbed the conditioner and moved back into the bathroom, setting it on the counter before shutting the door lightly behind her. "I'm on my last nerve with you, Leese!" he growled. Lisa sighed and pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it on the floor as she began to unbutton her jeans.

"When aren't you?" she replied flippantly, lowering the zipper and coaxing the denim down over her hips. "If you're going to do something, do it, otherwise, fuck off!" She had just finished stepping out of her jeans before the door flung open and Jackson crashed inside, his fingers wrapping around her throat and slamming her against the wall.

She gagged as the red-face Jackson seethed in front of her, his hand crushing against her windpipe. She tried clawing at his hand in an attempt to get him off her, but he simply grabbed her arm with his free hand, pinning it down at her side while he pressed his body against hers.

"I've had, in the last three days, about four hours of sleep, over thirty hours of driving, and enough of your fucking smart-ass comments to last me the rest of my life!" he growled in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper. He watched her face turning from pink to red as her mouth continued opening in a futile attempt to reclaim oxygen. "Do you know how easy it would be for me right now, Lisa? To just keep squeezing your neck? To watch you suffocate to death?" To emphasize his point, he tightened his grip, watching her eyes squeeze tightly in pain and terror, forcing tears out of the corners and down the sides of her face. "I could get rid of the monkey on my back in the time it takes for you to strangle to death."

The hand Lisa had clamped around his wrist suddenly flew up and pushed against his chest, hard. The force was enough to knock Jackson back a step, and loosen his grip. Lisa gagged, nearly sounding as if she'd puke, before sucking in a painful gulp of air. Jackson slammed himself back against her, his blinding rage beginning to clear, but unwilling to stop the fight just yet. Lisa coughed and sputtered, drawing in heaving chestfuls of air. It was then that Jackson realized she was dressed in only her bra and bikini underwear. He gave a quick glance at her nearly naked form, watching her chest rise and fall in a rapid pace, the muscles of her abdomen clenching and releasing as she struggled for air. Lisa regarded him with a terrified expression, wondering if he was finally going to kill her ... or worse. His eyes flicked back up to hers.

"It'd be easy for me to do a lot of things to you, Leese ..." he said softly, grabbing her attention. She narrowed her eyes at him and set her jaw, trying to look defiant.

"If you killed me, you'd be right back at square one," she panted. Jackson glared at her, tightening his grip slightly.

"And where's that, exactly?"

"Stuck back in the fucking pathetic excuse of a life you had before you met me," she growled. "And you wouldn't have someone to go home to." Jackson let go of her abruptly, suddenly struck by what she had said. She collapsed against the wall, heaving in chestfuls of air.

"You think that's what you are to me? Huh?" Jackson asked, causing her to look up. "You think I need someone to listen to my stories, or to go to a movie with, or run their fingers through my hair, or whatever other fanciful romantic shit that they always show in chick flicks?" He sounded disgusted, but Lisa simply watched him carefully. "Because if you do, then you're sadly mistaken!"

Lisa pulled herself up to her full height, raising her eyes up to meet his intense gaze. "Whether you want to admit it or not, Jackson, you like having me as your Little Girl Friday, and you'd go fucking insane if I wasn't around, because I'm. All. You've. Got!" Something flashed across his eyes, realization, maybe, but it was gone before she could get a second glance at it. She watched him take a few deep breaths, calming the anger that still churned within him. At length, he ran his hand through his hair and backed up, still glaring at her, until his gaze moved just below her right shoulder. He was openly staring at her scar, and they both knew it. For her part, she did nothing to stop him.

"I think you came along with me, not because you're scared, but because inside, you're as broken as you'd like to believe I am." He moved his eyes back to her face and gave her a sneer. "And misery loves company." She sucked in a sharp breath at his words, feeling hot tears stinging her eyes again as he left the bathroom, slamming the door angrily behind him.

-
-

Trigger-Happy Jack Has The Tables Turned

Twenty minutes later, showered and calmed, Lisa emerged from the bathroom. She knew Jackson was watching her, waiting for the fight to start again, but she kept her eyes averted and remained silent. When he realized that she wasn't going to cause a scene again, Jackson grew impatient and grabbed a change of clothes from his suitcase, moving toward the bathroom.

"You're going to broil to death in those jeans, Leese. Change into something different," he remarked coldly, going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Sighing, Lisa unzipped her suitcase again, pulling out a black knee-length skirt, made of a silky, flowing material. Figuring she wouldn't 'broil to death' in it, she took her jeans off, slid the skirt up over her hips, and readjusted her shirt. Jackson took much shorter showers than she did, apparently, because by the time she had changed, found a pair of flip-flops, and pulled her hair back, Jackson was emerging from the bathroom, hair still dripping lightly. "Get your stuff, we're going to go get something to eat."

They drove in silence to the Blimpie's down the road, where they each ordered a sub, Jackson ordering a veggie sub with light mustard, and Lisa opting for turkey, ham, and cheese on wheat. The silence continued as they ate, neither of them daring to even look at the other. After finishing their meal and grabbing their drinks, they returned to the car, where Jackson put the convertible top down, allowing more of the evening air in. Lisa said nothing as she slid into her seat, settling her drink between her knees and looking at the last glowing rays of the setting sun. Jackson got in and started the car, but when he pulled out of the parking lot, Lisa noticed that they were heading in the opposite direction of the motel.

"Where are we going?" she asked, looking in the side-view mirror as if the Super8 Motel would magically appear. Jackson glanced up in the rear-view mirror before tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

"I don't know," he finally answered. Lisa rolled her eyes.

"Why aren't we going to the motel, then?" she asked, clarifying her original question. Jackson's eyes didn't leave the road.

"Because I can't be stuck in there with you at the moment, or I'll go fucking insane, to use some words of yours." Lisa sighed and sat back, watching the scenery pass by slowly. Jackson really didn't seem to have a destination in mind, nor did he seem in a hurry to get there.

"I'm not broken," Lisa muttered finally. Jackson snorted.

"The fuck you aren't." He glanced over at her, opening his mouth to say something, but thought better of it, and pulled the car over first, putting it into park and turning off the engine. They sat in relative quiet for a few moments before Jackson decided to speak again. "If you aren't broken, why hasn't there been another guy in your life since you got that scar?" he asked boldly.

Lisa looked up, shocked, her mouth opening and closing a few times, but no words coming out. "I-I just ... I-" she sputtered, and suddenly frowned. "How is that a fair question to ask? You don't know me! You don't know what I've been through!" Jackson gave her an incredulous stare before throwing his hands off the steering wheel and into his hair, laughing loudly, and Lisa noticed it had a slightly maniacal tone to it.

"I don't know you!? I know you better than you know your own fucking self, for shit's sake!" he finally shouted. "You're a workaholic, you don't have any friends outside of meager acquaintances at work, you hardly ever go out, and you're the perfect example of Suzy Homebody. Then, some guy finds you in a parking lot, fucks you, leaves, and now you think you're damaged goods, and you can't trust any men who aren't named 'daddy'! I think that pretty much sums up your life at this point!" Lisa stared at him angrily, and her voice shook when she spoke.

"Don't ... you ... dare mock my agony that I had to go through! You don't know shit about what happened to me!" Jackson turned in his seat, leaning toward her so that she shrank against the door.

"Don't I, Lisa?" His eyes had turned into those of the Cheshire Cat's, sparkling wickedly at her, taunting her. "Why don't you tell me about it, inform me? Tell me about all the pain and suffering that you've gone through, that couldn't possibly compare to what I've seen and done and had happen to me."

"Stop it," Lisa warned, feeling him advance on her. She kept her eyes on him warily.

"No, Leese, I insist. Tell me, was he a big guy, bigger than me? Six foot, maybe? Or was he some runt that got lucky and scared you enough to overpower you? Hmm?"

"I said stop, Jackson!" Lisa felt herself beginning to shake, but she wasn't sure if it was from anger, fear, or shame. Jackson paid her no heed, his hand slipping into the console between their seats to grab the knife he kept stashed there. Lisa's eyes flicked nervously toward the glove compartment, where he kept the gun. "What are you doing, Jackson?"

"Did his knife look anything like this Lisa?" He held up the black blade for her to examine, and even in the waning light, she could make out the 12-inch blade. "Did he hold something like this to your throat? Or was it one of those fucking pathetic little Swiss Army knives that everyone carries around?" Lisa felt the burn of the knife slicing across her skin when her attacker slipped, as clear as if it had just been pulled across her sensitive flesh again. She felt bile rising at the back of her throat.

"I didn't get to see the knife, I just felt it!" she hissed, wishing he'd stop, but sensing he wasn't quite finished. She was right.

"Ah, inconsiderate I see. Most rapists are, by trade, I suppose." He flipped the knife around in his hand easily. "It's just good manners to let people know what you're threatening them with. What else didn't he do for you, hmm? The inconsiderate bastard, that is. Tell me, did he make you take all your clothes off, Leese? Or did he allow you a bit of decency?"

"Stop, Jackson!" He was going way too far with this.

"And when he fucked you, did he go fast or slow?" He watched her body shaking with rage and fear, but he couldn't stop. He finally had Little Miss High And Mighty knocked down a few pegs, and he wasn't about to let her think that she could smart off to him without suffering consequences again. He'd make her relive her nightmare in front of him, and she'd think twice about making another smart-ass comment to him.

"Quit it, Jackson!" She was backed all the way against the door now, her back digging into handle, and Jackson had one hand on her seat, leaning deep into her personal territory.

"Tell me, Lisa, when he was fucking you, did you get off?" Lisa's hand connected with a sharp crack against his cheek, causing stars to explode behind his eyes. His vision dimmed for a moment, stunned, and he heard a scrambling noise, could feel her moving, and saw her half-falling out the door. "Lisa, you bitch!" he growled, grabbing her leg. She tripped, and something dropped from her hand.

Jackson threw himself out of her door, watched her try to scramble to her feet, but he was faster than she was. He grabbed her shoulder, whipping her onto her back in the rocky, dusty mess. He felt her foot connect with his hip.

"Get off of me!" she shrieked, trying to dislodge him. Now Jackson was pissed.

"Why do you always have to push my buttons, huh, Lisa? Do you enjoy seeing me angry? Is that what it is?" He pinned her easily to the ground. "What does it take, to keep you from getting on my last nerve every fucking day? Hmm? What could I do to make you never even think about fucking crossing me?" She glared at him, and he suddenly realized ...

"That's what it is, isn't, Lisa? I know exactly what it is!" He held the knife against her throat and watched the horror flood across her face. Dark pride surged through him as he knew he had her right where he wanted her. "Your worst nightmare, isn't it?" His free hand slid along her thigh, shoving her skirt up to her hips, exposing her smooth legs, along with her choice of undergarments. She whimpered, trying to placate her fears. Jackson was high on the adrenaline rush it was giving him, knowing that he had the control of the situation. In his adrenaline-fed boldness, he unbuttoned his jeans, pulling down the zipper while he forced her thighs apart with his knees.

"Oh, God!" she wailed, trying to move away as the tears stained her cheeks. He pressed the knife closer to her throat, watching as a dark line dotted her flesh. "God, Jackson, please! Please don't!" His hands ran up the smooth length of her thigh, feeling the warm silkiness of her skin. He was so turned on right now, it'd be a damn struggle to keep himself becoming the next man in her nightmares.

"All you gotta do is behave, Lisa. But you can't seem to do that, can you? Always fucking talking back, pissing me off ... it never ends with you, no matter how much I threaten." He let his thumb hook under the elastic of her panties, tugging them down slightly to reveal the bump of her hipbone. "Maybe I need to raise the stakes for you-"

The deafening blast and sudden flash of light stunned him, but even more surprising was the source. The pair stared at each other for sickeningly long moment, before Jackson realized Lisa had the gun he had stashed in the glove compartment, the one he had taught her to use at the shooting range, shaking in her hands, and she had just fired it at him. He felt something wet on his ear, and reached to touch it. Pulling his hand back, he saw a slight smear of blood. She had nicked him! She missed.

"Leese ..." It was hard to see her face in the twilight, but he could see she was still trembling violently, the gun rattling in her hands. He moved to take it from her, but she pressed it to his temple instead.

"Get. Off. Of me. Now." She growled the words through clenched teeth, cocking the gun a second time. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"You really don't want to do that, Leese. If you fire that gun at me again, I'll most likely jump, and my knife's over an artery right now. I can imagine how you'd hate for it to slip."

"I said, get off."

"Put the gun down first."

"Fuck you!" she spat. Jackson shoved her arm to the side, moving the gun away, and heard the second gunshot go off. Lisa screamed and dropped the weapon, her hands flying to her mouth. Jackson sat stock still for a frightening moment.

Lisa heard the knife clatter to the rocky dirt, and she expected Jackson's lifeless body to topple onto her, thinking for a horrified second that she had shot him. Instead, he moved off of her, falling back with a thud against the car. She watched as he pulled his knees up, rested his arms on them, and hung his head.

"J-Jackson? ..." He shook his head.

"I can't believe-" he paused, and she could hear him suck in a breath. "I can't believe I just-" His head snapped up suddenly, his pained eyes glancing at her disheveled appearance. "God, Lisa, are you okay?" He crawled to where she was, and Lisa, too shocked to do anything but watch, didn't move. He grabbed the hem of her skirt, pulling it modestly back down to cover her exposed thighs, and brushed off what dirt he could. "Look up," he instructed. Dumbly, Lisa tilted her head back, feeling his fingers slide across the burning line on her neck, hearing his hiss of regret. He licked his thumb, trying to wipe away the still-oozing blood, but it was hard to see anything in the pale moonlight.

"Is it bad?" she asked, referring to her neck. He could see dark spots that he couldn't be sure were shadows or bruises, and shook his head.

"I can't believe I did that, Lisa. I wasn't going to ... you know ... but I-" he hung his head in embarrassment. "I let it play out way too far, even for my tastes." He was shaking lightly, and Lisa could tell that what had transpired rattled him. "I wanted to scare you, so you wouldn't- ... I didn't mean for it happen like that, Lisa."

She stood on wobbling legs and moved past him, grabbing the gun, opening her car door and sliding inside. She picked up her cup, which had toppled and spilled ice on the floorboard during her quick escape, and flung it carelessly to the rocky dirt. Jackson realized that he wasn't going to be able to do any more apologizing at the moment, picked up the knife, and stood, brushing off his clothes. He realized with sickening disgust that his pants were still undone, and hurriedly zipped them back up. Wordlessly, he made his way back to the driver's side, got in, started the Pontiac, and drove them both back to the motel in the most painful silence he had ever experienced.

-
-

They walked in through the side entrance, by the staircase. Entering through the front lobby would've drawn unwanted attention to their disheveled appearance, mostly Lisa's. Much to Jackson's humiliation, her neck was sporting dark bruises that were exactly the size of his fingers, along with a bloody red slash across the front. Her hair was mussed, she had scratches and cuts on her legs from the gravel, and her outfit was more or less ruined.

He slid the key into the door, unlocking it, and held it open for her. She barely made a sound as she entered, moving straight to her suitcase. "You might want to get showered up," he mumbled, hating himself as he said it. Of course she needs a shower, you sick fuck! And she'll probably need a whole fucking library of Dr. Phil books after what you pulled!

Lisa continued her silence, pulling a pair of boxer shorts and a new tank top from her bag and slamming it closed, before moving through the bathroom door and slamming it closed, as well. Jackson sighed and threw his keys on his suitcase, falling down on the bed. He hadn't meant to hurt her like that, especially the cut across her neck. He had only intended to scare her, make her think he was capable of becoming ... him, the anonymous man in her past from the parking lot, the one her took her life from her. Just like I've done to her now.

His conscience was eating away at him. He hadn't felt guilt or remorse in a long time, he thought those feelings had died when he had agreed to becoming employed in his previous line of work. Now, they burned through him, smoldering through his veins and causing agony with each pulse of his heart. Why did I have to be so violent with her? She drove him insane at times, but why couldn't he be like normal people and just yell at her, instead?

He stood, grabbed his keys, and left the room.

-
-

Lisa turned off the water, watching as the last vestiges of dirt, grime, and blood trickled down the drain. She looked down at her bare, wet body, and let herself examine the wounds for the first time. Her hands had chunks of skin missing from when Jackson had grabbed her leg as she scrambled out of the car, causing her to fall face-first into the desert dirt. Rocks and chunks of clay had caused the abrasions, pulling away the tender skin of her palms. Her arms and legs weren't much better, especially her knees. She could feel the sting of raw skin on her back as well, but there was one mark she was particularly concerned about.

She wiped the fog off of the mirror and stared at her reflection, tilting her head up slightly. A neat white line played horizontally across her neck, outlined in red. It had stopped bleeding, but it still stung. Closer examination revealed that it wasn't deep, it was just ... a warning. As were the dark bruises on the sides of her neck. Disgusted with herself, she turned away and got dressed.

-
-

Jackson looked up when as the bathroom door opened. Lisa stopped, the look in her eyes reminding him of a scared wild animal.

"Sit down, Leese." He motioned to the bed, and Lisa regarded him warily. "I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just going to-" He held up a pharmacy bag, gesturing to the contents contained inside. Lisa peered into the bag, seeing various boxes and bottles. She sat down on the bed carefully, still skittish. Jackson dumped the bag upside down, revealing a stash of cotton swabs, antiseptic, Neosporin, cooling creme, pain reliever, and various sizes and shapes of adhesive bandages.

"Now you decide you wanna play nice?" she asked quietly. Jackson paused, looking up at her, and for a moment, she thought he was going to attack her again.

"I'm trying to care for some of what I did earlier. The physical part, anyway." He gave her a helpless glance. "The mental part's going to take a while, I know. So ... I'll work on this for right now, and we'll talk after I finish up and get out of the shower."

"Take a shower, first," Lisa responded, averting her gaze. "Everything will still be here when you get out." Jackson nodded, not wanting to continue the fight from earlier. He stood, grabbed boxer shorts and a t-shirt from his suitcase, and made his way to the bathroom.

-
-

Giving You Your 'Never Again'

He half-expected her to have packed up and left when he got out of the shower. But, as he opened the door, freshly-showered, with his previous set of clothes under his arm, he saw her still sitting in the same spot on the bed, her battered legs pulled up to her chest. He dumped his clothes into the laundry bag, noticing Lisa's ruined outfit wasn't in it, and moved back to the bed. He sat down on his side of the bed, reaching for the cotton balls and antiseptic.

"You said earlier ... you said you weren't going to ... to rape me," Jackson dipped the cotton ball in the antiseptic, squeezing out the excess as she spoke. "What were you going to do?" She hissed as he dabbed lightly at a cut on her ankle, the antiseptic burning the raw skin.

"Something that, in hindsight, was inappropriate nonetheless." He moved up her exposed leg, applying the antiseptic to each cut and scratch he found. "I was going to scare you into behaving, but ..." he reached for a new cotton ball, loading it down with antiseptic, as well. "I ended up scaring myself." He moved to her other leg, noticing the long gash that ran nearly the entire length of her shin. "Jesus," he breathed mournfully. He had scared her, and worse, he had hurt her. Two things he didn't think he ever wanted to do again in his life.

Lisa noticed the red mark on his ear, the tell-tale sign of raw skin. Had she actually shot him? "I ... you've got a ..." she pointed to his ear, grabbing her own empathetically. "I didn't mean-" She reached up, moving her hand towards his ear, but Jackson brushed her hand away and gave her a dark look.

"I told you not to miss, Lisa," he murmured. "I'm considering that a 'miss' ... don't miss again."

Lisa sat patiently while he attended to her physical wounds, moving slowly up her body, until he finally got to her neck. She watched as pain and regret swam in his eyes, and she nearly jumped when she felt his hand on her neck for the second time that evening.

"Shh, it's okay ... I'm not going to hurt you this time." His words were so soft, so sincere, so full of remorse, that Lisa had no choice but to believe him, and as she remembered the events that had led up to this, she began to cry. "Lisa?" Her tears turned into soft sobs. Jackson felt himself breaking inside. Without thinking, he pulled her to him, cradling her against his chest, his fingers running through her still-damp locks as she clutched his shirt.

"You sc- ... scared the ... hell outta me!" she whimpered, hiccuping slightly. Jackson closed his eyes, feeling his veins burning with self-hatred again. He rested his cheek against the side of her head, feeling the dampness of her hair cooling his heated face. "I thought you were going to kill me, or ... or ..." She cut herself off, erupting into new tears and sobs that wracked her small frame.

"No, Leese. Never." He rubbed her back gently, rocking both of them back and forth as he attempted to calm her. "I promise. Never." He held her like that for the next half-hour, until her tears had subsided, her shaking had stopped, and she had finally dozed off into an exhausted sleep. He lowered her carefully back down, gently coaxing her out of her curled-up position, and tugged the covers from underneath her. Standing, he quietly grabbed the assorted first aid supplies from the bed, opting to set them on the dresser instead of placing them back into the noisy plastic bag.

Moving back to the bed, he saw that Lisa had again pulled herself up into a ball, and had turned to her side, facing his half of the bed. He turned off the light, slid under the covers, and threw the blankets over Lisa, as well. Jackson watched as she breathed evenly, her exhaustion overcoming her usual fidgety sleeping habits that caused them to wake up in a compromising position on more than one occasion. He reached out and began tucking her stray tresses behind her ear, noting the angry line he had sliced across her throat. His thumb grazed across the crevice the knife had created when it carved through a few layers of skin. With any luck, and some Neosporin, he wouldn't become the second man to vitiate her fair skin with a scar.

He caught sight of a nasty-looking bruise around her wrist, most likely from when he had her pinned against the wall earlier. He lowered his hand to hers, his fingers wrapping around her small hand in a gentle embrace, his thumb tracing back and forth across her knuckles. "Never again, Leese. I promise."

Lisa sighed in her sleep, her fingers clenching momentarily at his. Satisfied that she was in a deep slumber, Jackson closed his eyes and let sleep visit him, as well.