You guys are great! No harsh flames for taking a year and half to continue this story. To be honest, I was just driving when "Blood and Roses" started playing on my iPod and I was like "dammit, I will finish just ONE story." Thanks to everyone who reviewed- you are the fuel that pushes me to keep working at this story!
Also, good news- we're finally getting into the meat of the story. Well, maybe the yummy baked potato before the meat. No more filler, at least for a while. :D
Chapter 5: She Belongs to Me
Lisa froze. Caleb continued his ministrations with barely a hitch.
"Well?" the raspy voice hissed. Lisa held her breath, unsure of what to say or if she even could say anything at this point.
"Oh shut up," Caleb said, not turning around, "I told you not to speak unless it was necessary."
"Oh, this is -"
"No, it isn't," Caleb interrupted calmly. "She's here because she asked to come, and I said yes. That's all that matters right now. That, and her arm. What are you doing here, anyway?" Jackson scowled, lingering in the doorway.
"I heard a scream. Thought there was trouble." He finally made eye contact with Lisa, who immediately cast her eyes to the ground. Oh god oh god oh god... "What happened?" She glanced up and saw Jackson eying her arm in the same way he had eyed her scar a week and a half ago. She suddenly was very aware that half of her torso was exposed and quickly grabbed the remaining front half of her hoodie, yanking it the rest of the way across her chest.
She frowned. Why was she cowering in fear from this man? She had put him in critical condition, and it wasn't like he was in top shape yet. She was the one who came here, the one who was sitting in his brother's office, and she couldn't very well ignore him or get rid of him.
When Caleb said nothing, Lisa cleared her throat. It occurred to her that she never got her water, but she dismissed the thought almost immediately. "I...um...got shot." A familiar dark look clouded Jackson's face, but he cleared it quickly and raised his eyebrows instead.
"Always getting into trouble, Leese. Popular girl." Lisa scowled at him.
"By Keefe's men, Mr. Richards," she spat, "and my dad is dead." Caleb fastened the bandage, and rose to his feet, turning to face Jackson. He placed a hand on Lisa's shoulder, keeping her in place.
Jackson stood for a moment, stunned. "And what does that have to do with me?" he finally asked.
"Stop," Caleb cut in, advancing toward Jackson. He crossed his arms, standing in Jackson's path to Lisa, but not blocking their view of each other. "I'm letting her stay here, just like I let you stay. We will discuss what happens next later. For now, I want you both to finish recovering."
The room was silent. Lisa and Jackson stared at each other, and Caleb watched Jackson. For her part, Lisa was caught between wanting to tear her gaze away and missing those blue eyes so badly. Why? Why was she so drawn to him? She didn't get off on being a victim- she had never had anything but contempt for her rapist. And yet here she was, still being pulled into those damned eyes.
She bit down on her sore lip. It looked like she was going to be here for a while at least. And this little standoff was definitely not the place to start analyzing her feelings again.
Jackson scowled and stormed back down the hallway. Caleb turned back to face her, that same warm smile instantly back on his face.
"Thanks," she said to him, smiling weakly. Caleb shrugged.
"What's he going to do? Fight me?" Caleb fastened the bandage. "Alright, you're free to go. I should probably go talk to him, but I think I'll let him sulk for a while." He winked. "Rest up. Looks like you could use it." Caleb exited the office, leaving Lisa alone.
Lisa didn't move for a moment. She was suddenly aware of a stench in the room. Caleb must have been canceling it out with his own scent, and had been nice enough not to comment on it. She grimaced. Oh God...it's me. She glanced down at her bandage and then at her good arm, feeling like an invalid. She knew she couldn't get the bandage wet, and showering with one arm was going to be a pain in the ass. As would dressing. And undressing. Jesus, how did Jackson manage this?
Lisa stood up, rolling her eyes. Obviously, either Caleb or Cheryl (probably Caleb) helped him with these things. She began walking back to the stairs, feeling very out of place. Wasn't anyone going to help her? Wasn't she a guest? How about a little appreciation, you baby? She flushed, walking up the stairs. She stopped, realizing that Cheryl had never shown her which room would be hers.
Fuck. She backed into the wall and slid down, falling over sideways onto her good arm. And it was in the hallway of the house belonging to the brother of her tormentor that Lisa let herself cry. This was it. No more game. No Miami. No dad. No freedom. No home. And why? Because she worked at a hotel that just happened to be visited by one Homeland Security secretary who just happened to be the target of assassins. To say it wasn't fair was a massive understatement.
Lisa rotated her body slowly to bury her face in the carpet as her sobs grew louder and started to rack her small frame. She curled into a fetal-like position. Her dad was innocent. All he had ever done "wrong" was love her and support her! Always concerned about her- often rightly so- and always wanting her to be happy. Buying her self-help books and-
"Lisa!" She froze as Cheryl quickly approached her, kneeling. She quickly choked on her sobs, beginning to cough violently. She felt the other woman carefully lift her up to sit against the wall. She eagerly took the water bottle that was offered, downing the cold liquid.
She drank too quickly and started to cough violently when some water went down her windpipe. For a few seconds, it was a struggle not to vomit the water and the McDonald's all over the rug. She succeeded, and once she regained her voice, she found herself babbling. "I didn't know where you wanted me to stay, I don't know how to shower, I smell so bad, I haven't brushed my teeth, my arm hurts, I hate bay breezes..." She hardly noticed Cheryl carefully pulling her to her feet, leading her down the hallway.
Lisa continued to ramble, as Cheryl moved her into a bedroom, but she felt like she was just making noises at this point. She stupidly flung herself on the bed and let out a pained scream when her arm made contact. When she had finally calmed down, she rolled over and saw Cheryl sitting in a chair, watching her with concern.
"You have to calm down," Cheryl stated. She motioned to the bag next to her. "I went out and got you some clothes that will be easy to put on and take off with one arm. As for showering, I can help you with that." She smiled at Lisa's embarrassed expression. "No, not like that. I'm not going to bathe you. I can help you cover the bandage so it won't get wet. I would recommend a bath instead of a shower, though. It's good for the soul."
Lisa smiled weakly. "A bath sounds great," she managed. She allowed Cheryl to lead her to the bathroom and sat on the toilet lid while the other woman began to draw a bath.
"So," Cheryl began, dropping bath salts into the warm water, "what's your plan?" Lisa pulled off the rest of the hoodie and dropped her head into her good hand.
"Caleb and Jackson already asked me," she murmured, "If I had a plan, I wouldn't be here." She looked at Cheryl, wiping her eyes. "I'm in over my head. I have no idea what to do next. I thought maybe you guys could help me." Cheryl nodded, rising to her feet.
"I figured, and so did Caleb. Give us time, and we should be able to come up with a plan together. With Jackson." Lisa wasn't sure how much help Jackson would be, but she said nothing about it.
"Thank you," she replied. She glanced at Cheryl, noticing that the other woman was looking at her scar. When Cheryl realized that Lisa was watching her, she raised her head back up. There was questioning in her eyes, but she asked nothing. She silently began to wrap Lisa's arm in the plastic wrap she had brought with her, sealing both ends to Lisa's skin with duct tape to keep out the water.
"Relax and enjoy yourself as much as you can," she said, sounding an awful lot like Caleb. Lisa smiled gratefully and thanked her. She quickly but quietly locked the door when Cheryl was gone and awkwardly removed the rest of her clothes.
The redhead couldn't help but moan in pleasure when she submerged herself in the warm water, remembering to keep her arm hanging over the edge of the tub. She knew that the bandage was waterproofed, but it probably wasn't a good idea to keep it underwater for a prolonged period of time.
Alright Reisert, forget the damn game. Let's try approaching this with calm logic. Your dad is dead. It can't be fixed, so you canNOT dwell on it. He died saving you, so do him and yourself the favor of keeping yourself saved. The US government wants you dead. You have disappeared off the grid- no cell phone, no credit cards, no ID. You are now completely dependent on Caleb and Cheryl, and maybe Jackson.
Lisa winced. As hard as it would be, she knew that she had to make nice with Jackson. He definitely wouldn't help her if she kept snapping at him.
She couldn't figure out the Rippners. Caleb was a real paradox. Warm and friendly, a healer, but he had gone completely cold when rebuking Jackson and when she had asked how Jackson was alive. And when Cheryl had said "our profession", was she talking about herself and Jackson? Herself, Caleb, and Jackson? She couldn't imagine Caleb the doctor as a life-taking assassin. Of course, she had the same thought about Jackson when he first told her. With everything that's happened in the last eleven days, is it really so hard to believe that Caleb had worked with Jackson? Is he still working with him?
And what about Cheryl? Sometimes she was kind, and sometimes stern, and Lisa had no idea what triggered the switch. She seemed to be the practical one, and comfort was not her forte. It was much easier to imagine Cheryl as some kind of hitman...woman.
Lisa smiled weakly. The pieces were starting to fall into place. Cheryl was the practical one, probably a "good dog," as Jackson would say. Caleb was the warm one, and probably not as good at following orders. Jackson was...the brains. The gorgeous, brilliant manager.
Jackson. Why can't I stop thinking about him like he is still Tex Mex Jackson? He was never Tex Mex Jackson. It was a lie.
He never lied to you.
Or was he lying about that?
After her bath, Lisa crept back to her room, wrapped in a robe that Cheryl had left for her. In the room, she opened the bag and found a pair of yoga pants along with a tank top. Slipping into both items, she crept under the blankets and curled into a tight ball, easily falling asleep.
Lisa opened her eyes, glancing around. It was still light out when she went to bed, but now it was completely dark. What time was it? What had woken her? She froze when she felt the side of the bed behind her dip from the weight of a body. It was focused on one spot, indicating that the person was only sitting. Sitting a mere couple of inches from her back. That knowledge wasn't much comfort.
"J-Jackson?" she whispered, not turning around.
"Mhm," came the reply. Her heart rate began to quicken, and she gasped when she felt his fingertips barely graze her arm. He never had been very good at respecting personal bubbles. She whimpered softly when she felt his fingers on her bandage, carefully sliding along the edge where the material met skin. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. Tonight, anyway. Maybe tomorrow." She heard the smirk in his voice. Unsurprisingly, she did not relax.
"Everyone is telling me to relax," she murmured, still staring at the wall. "This is all your fault. I blame you."
"Why? Everything would have been fine if you had just done what I said." His fingers left her arm, leaving her skin surprisingly cool. He didn't say the rest, but she heard it. Your dad would still be alive.
"You think I killed him, don't you?" she said, her voice breaking.
"No. Keefe's men killed him," Jackson replied. With that, Lisa started to break all over again. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to make a sound. She had cried enough in front of Jackson Rippner.
"What else could I do? Let Keefe die? Let his wife and children..." she trailed off, knowing full well that she had given away her current state. "It was my fault. I attacked one of the agents, and my dad pushed me out of the way."
"We all do what we have to do," came the cold reply. It was odd. Jackson was hardly being comforting, but Lisa felt like he was trying to ease her guilt in his own way.
"The bullet Caleb took out came from my dad's body," she whimpered. "He died right in front of me." She sniffled. "Why am I telling you these things?"
"I have no idea." Both were silent. Jackson resumed tracing the bandage on her arm. Lisa turned her head to press her face against the pillow. She knew why. It was sick, but it had already occurred to her that the Rippners were all she had, and of the three of them, she had the strongest connection with Jackson, of all people.
He had been right. Her life had revolved around work. No friends, apart from maybe Cynthia. But Cynthia was more of an acquaintance, among a few others. They didn't know Lisa. Jackson seemed to, somehow. And she had no idea who he was.
"Your voice sounds a lot better," she said to break the silence as she lifted her face from the pillow, resuming her wall staring. And it was- almost good as new. "I thought you aren't supposed to talk." Jackson scoffed, but said nothing. "I need your help." It was barely a whisper, but she seemed to get his attention. He grabbed her chin and yanked her around to face him.
"And why I should help you?" he hissed. Lisa squirmed under his touch, trying to get away while not dropping her weight to her other arm. "You got yourself into this mess."
"Because I didn't try to kill Keefe. You did. You can't let me take the fall for it." Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she saw him raise an eyebrow in...well, she couldn't really tell what he was feeling. Amusement?
"And yet, here we are." When she said nothing, he released her chin and flung her back onto her side. "But I'll consider it." Lisa tried to yank her bandaged arm away when she felt Jackson unhook the clasp, but he held her fast with the other hand.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, fear in her voice again. He had just said that he wouldn't hurt her!
"Looking," he replied, slowly unwrapping the bandage and removing the pad. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke again. "Hold still." Lisa gasped when she felt him press a cloth to her wound. Not because it hurt, but because she expected it to hurt a lot more. He was being surprisingly gentle as he pressed a newly sterile pad to the wound and began to wrap it back up again. Was this really the same man who threw her down a flight of stairs? "Needs to be changed regularly," he said as he finished, clasping the material in place. "They left one hell of a mark."
"Why do you care?" she asked bitterly. She was still hurt that he didn't say that he would help. Not because she expected him to, but because there was a small part of her that hoped he would make it easier on her and want to. She closed her eyes when she sensed him lean forward. He pressed his lips to her ear, and she felt his warm breath on her face. It was familiar, but not exactly comforting.
"Because, Leese- I am the only one who gets to hurt you."
Then he was gone, leaving Lisa alone again.
How was my Jackson? In character? OOC to the point of insanity? R&R and I. Won't. Do. It. (reference to the "like mah status" Youtube video).
Oh, also: how do you think Jackson escaped? I have my own idea all ready to come to light later, but I'm just kind of curious as to if anyone has theories. :)