So, my first shot at Fanfiction, and some luvin would be greatly appreciated. (Cough cough: Reviews) If you want a quick JL then this is not for you, and although a few sentiments may pop in every now and then, it will be VERY gradual and subtle. The focus is on their circumstances and the psychology both play, and I hope you enjoy!

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Lisa Reisert was doing, by any outsider's viewpoint, better than ever. The after effect of the Keefe incident livened up her once taciturn life; the media simply couldn't get enough of this "pretty hotel manager who thwarted off a terrorist twenty-thousand feet above ground". The first few days Keefe had called her and advised to stay at home, but even with her curtains tightly shut and door locked, she could hear the impatient footsteps and jabber of reporters and camera men alike, circling her condo like a hungry pack of wolves, waiting to devour any scrap of information pertaining to the red eye. She had left once on that miserable week to visit her dad, and as soon as she opened the door, a crowd of anxious reporters hounded her, shooting her with brash questions about the flight.

"Miss Reisert, how do you feel about what happened?"

"Did you think you would make it out alive?"

"Do you think your life is still in danger?"

"What are your plans for the future after going through all this?"

She merely shook her head with an exhausted smile, and slowly made her way to her car and watched the mob of media folk fade away in her rear view mirror.

Then the letters came in. CNN, Good Morning America, even Oprah wanted to have a personal, "in-touch" interview with the heroine who saved the lives of the now infamous political family. She gave a sincere, almost apologetic letter to each eager news station and television show, explaining that what had happened was not yet up for discussion until post-investigation. (But she was undeniably excited about receiving a letter from Oprah.) Some even suggested that she write a book about it, but she humbly declined, feeling that what had happened had happened and she didn't intend to make a show of it for the publics' sake. Finally, like she predicted, the media calmed down a bit, leaving her completely alone after a month had passed.

Keefe was more than appreciative of Lisa's bravery. He insisted that she got a promotion, and now Lisa spent her days on the fourth floor of the Lux Atlantic, arranging accommodations specifically for the rich and famous guests quartering in presidential suites. She also helped plan out events in the newly built Lux Atlantic Ballroom, and she thoroughly enjoyed consulting and mapping out wedding ceremonies and company parties. Her salary literally sky rocketed, and with the extra money she had flying around, she decided to treat herself to some name brand goods that would have once taken a huge bite from her wallet.

Cynthia was still nestled at the front lobby; she was offered a promotion but declined it because she felt that it was hard enough being a receptionist; it would only stress her out more if she was jumped to a manager on such short notice. Since Cynthia still worked primarily night shifts, Lisa would often buy her a coffee before she made her way home. In time, both became considerably close friends.

"You sure he won't be coming back? You think anyone will be after you?" Cynthia had once asked, sipping her cappuccino quietly as Lisa mused the question.

"Well, I don't know. Its very possible. Keefe said that whenever I feel threatened or contacted by someone suspicious, he had agents available 24/7 to come and investigate the situation. But I don't want to think about it Cynthia, it has been awhile since the whole incident. If he wanted to do something, he could have done it awhile ago. Besides, what can I do? I can't let myself get too scared or paranoid...we will just have to wait and see."

Cynthia merely nodded, taking a small bite out of her brownie as she considered her words. "You're brave Lisa. Really."

Lisa only smiled weakly in reply.

Her dad once pressed the issue of therapy, but Lisa shook her head, insisting that contrary to popular belief, she was fine. The near death experience had in some bizarre way made her optimistic, made her realize the importance of being alive and how truly divine and amazing it could be, even amongst all the circumstances that she faced. She could not, and would not, let herself become stagnated in a pool of fear and sorrow, and instead sought out solace by those that cared about her. One night, out of sheer impulse, she went to her office cabinet and brushed out an old personal phone book that had been covered by a thin layer of dust. Then, sighing in relief, she grabbed her telephone and started dialing away.

Months later, Lisa found herself around a comfortable nook of old friends from college. Kathy, once the flirtatious party girl that she had shared a dorm room with, now became the poster image of the happily married housewife, caring for a pair of twin toddlers, living just south of Miami in a suburban haven.

Michael, Lisa's ex-boyfriend/ friend, had become successful in his job as a financial adviser, but struck bad luck in marriage and had recently gone through a nasty divorce. Before Lisa contacted him, he had spent his nights at local bars, drowning himself in vodka and spirits, mourning over his wife who, with even more bad luck, was his co-worker that was in the cubicle parallel to him. After a period of dismal conversations and alcohol, him and Lisa spent a majority of their weekends together, talking about the past and exchanging cooking recipes which, Michael admits, made his entire week. Cynthia often joined the group, and by the way the two interacted, Lisa had suspicions that Cynthia and Michael could eventually end up dating.

So, life went on. Just like Henrietta had said, keep looking forwards. Lisa was also sleeping well; she paid a visit to a doctor to cure her relentless insomnia, and now slept peacefully with the help of a nightly dose of Lunesta. Thanks to the medication for her now non-existent insomnia, her healthy sleeping pattern seemed to make her whole persona shine, physically and emotionally. She was even more pleased to find that the slight bags under her eyes had vanished. Slowly, Lisa felt the weight of both the rape and the red eye incident fade away, numbed by the anticipation of humorous banter, movie nights, and stories of college over cosmopolitans.

But what surprised her the most was the lack of fear or anxiety that she expected to feel after the flight. Indeed, if she did meet Jackson again she would certainly be terrified, but after seeing him lie beaten and defeated in the floor of her father's house, she realized that he wasn't so different from herself: he was human and could be taken out. Part of her wanted to grab her hockey stick and keep hitting away, but as she stared intently at his wheezing form, she saw herself. She saw herself against the parking lot of a grocery store, with the shadow of a man standing victoriously in front of her, gloating in his perverse superiority.

He's just human.

Sighing, she simply shook her head and turned around. What was done is done, and even though in the bottom of her heart she knew that it may not be over, that he may come back to "talk again", she couldn't bring herself to finish him off. Let that be handled by the authorities. Even with his eventual escape, Lisa comforted herself, thinking that if he was alive, he'd be too busy with other matters than to merely seek out revenge or pay back. She eventually concluded that he was nothing but false promises.

"We'll talk again..."

Then, he called. At first she thought the phone call was a cruel joke; it had been the all too typical Friday night and the call had caught her completely off guard. Doubts rushed through her head at first, but what convinced her was that voice, that cold, deep voice that articulated each word with a dark and taunting tenor. How could she forget the voice of someone who tried to kill her and her father? He had called while Michael and Kathy were over making lasagna, and had left a brief and curt message.

"Mynt Lounge. Nine O'clock. Be there."

Lisa froze, letting the phone slide from her grasp and crash onto the floor, startling both Kathy and Michael. Lisa threw her hand to her mouth, gagging as she rushed into the bathroom and keeled over the sink, dry heaving. Michael rushed in and brushed back her hair, lightly patting her back while shouting for Kathy to bring some water. After an agonizing minute, Lisa finally calmed down, taking the glass of cool water thankfully as she sipped it slowly, feeling her stomach protest to the intended comfort. Michael and Kathy kept asking what happened, but Lisa hushed them.

No one knew about Jackson; only Keefe, Dad, and a few investigators knew the gory details of the flight. Michael had once asked, but Lisa shook her head, exclaiming that she wanted to keep it a private matter. She did however say that it made her realize the value of life, and that from now on she was going to stop seeking refuge solo and instead hold on to the people she cares about most. Michael toasted her to that, and never asked any more questions.

Even with the sleeping pills, Lisa could not fall asleep that night. The last time she had a pang of fear was a few months back , when she woke up one morning to find his face soaked in every newscast around, shocked to find that he escaped federal prison. Her father came over that day and exhorted her to buy a weapon, but Lisa assured him that on her own time, she would buy some mace or perhaps a gun, if situations came to that. Her father had called zealously that month, but as weeks rolled by with no action, things settled fast and once more Lisa and her father relaxed.

But alas, it must have been a long calm before an intense storm.

She decided not to tell anyone about their meeting at the Mynt Lounge. The back of her mind warned her to tell Keefe, but something in her, whatever it was, wanted to tackle the matter alone. It was a public setting thankfully, and she herself had visited the lounge on several occasions with Cynthia and a few co-workers. Why he chose that place in particular remained a mystery, but she suspected he was the type who, on his night off, would loiter around a trendy bar and, with his looks, never came home empty handed.

"Bastard..." She mumbled to herself as she dug through her closet, unable to decide what to wear. What does one wear when you meet your tormentor/intended murderer? In the end, she just chose something simple and elegant, realizing that she was wasting her time worrying about his opinion on her fashion sense: to hell with him.

Driving there had been agonizing. The roads were still a bit slick from the previous day of intense rainfall, and even with the lack of traffic she had expected, the length of the drive seemed far too long. Her fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel at every stop light, and often she checked her mirrors, hoping she wouldn't find a luxury car suspiciously trailing behind her.

Finally, she was there. The neon sign seemed a shade too bright, given the circumstance. She paused before opening the door, eyes closed and took in a deep, shaky breath. This was it, this was her little secret trip to see the devil himself, and she was stupid enough to do it all alone, without anyone's knowledge. Asking why would prove pointless: she didn't know herself. A small trickle of fear seeped in, but she forced herself to brush it aside.

Just human. Just human. Just human...

She opened the door. Immediately the aroma of alcohol and cigarettes filtered her senses, and the dim lighting of the area made it hard for her to see. She willed her legs to move, but to no avail; she seemed lodged in place, her legs protesting to move. Finally, after much effort, she was able to propel her left foot forwards, and she was about to keep moving until her eyes met a pair of familiar cerulean orbs.

Lisa slightly gasped. There he was, just as sharp and ghostly as she had imagined he would be. His face features were heavily shadowed by the scarce amount of light, highlighting his unnaturally high cheek bones that made him seem almost demon-like. He grinned, but his eyes glittered in dark conspiracy, causing Lisa's stomach to squirm uncomfortably. Her foot still refused to move forwards, and it suddenly dawned upon her that it was a huge mistake coming here alone to meet him. The glint in his eye was enough proof.

RUN.

Instincts quickly took action, and Lisa willed herself to speak, to say in the shortest version possible of what she wanted for him to do.

"Go away..." Her voice was inaudible, but by the way his eyes sharpened in rage, she knew that her words had struck home. Then, as if they had a mind of their own, her feet led her out the door swiftly, and she found herself sprinting towards her Toyota Corolla. She lodged her key harshly to open the front door, and in seconds drove off, hoping nobody could hear the wild screech of her tires.

"Idiot!" She yelled at herself, pushing the acceleration pedal harshly, causing her car to slightly buck. The ride home was a fast one, embellished with curses and quick glances to see if anybody was following her. Then, after the intense, near-wreck drive back, she slowly parked her car in front of her condo and leaned her head onto the steering wheel, and cried for the first time in months.

Just human. He's just human. He's human...

(Yep. He's just human. A mighty fine one if I add. Quick update, eh? LEAVE SOME LOVIN! )