Okay, the new chapter is up a little earlier than I planned. I've had lots of unexpected downtime this week as I've been laid up with a wonderful case of acute bronchitis. Which is a worse spring break- working your ass off every day or losing your voice and coughing until you throw up? /TMI

Anyway- a big thanks as always to those who reviewed! To show my appreciation, I'll start my old habit of actually replying individually. :)

trudes193- Yep, Lisa is going to be conflicted for quite a while with more than just her feelings for Jackson. Poor girl has been through a lot, and I have a lotmore in store for her. I was also really amused that I got a review from you before the story had even officially posted on the site...I couldn't even read it for about 10 minutes after you wrote it.

Medisha- Thanks for the kind words and for your support. I always thank those who review because it means a lot to me that you took time to give me some feedback. I like the description "so-called" for Jackson and Lisa's relationship. They don't really have one right now, do they? :P

Brunette bulma- Actually, I've been planning on writing a DBZ fanfic for some time, but I was unmotivated by the fact that I never finish these stories. It was a big part of the reason that I picked this story back up. Yes, Jackson is very "ugh". Don't you just want to smack him and then take him with wild passion? Or is that just me?

son-of-puji- So far, I plan on the story having a relatively happy ending. It can't be completely happy, or the title would simply be "Roses." :D Honestly, I hope that I didn't make a big mistake in having her realize his feelings so early. I have this story outline to have at least 8 more chapters, and I don't want to fall into the trap of dragging it on and on, but at the same time, if Lisa didn't realize that Jackson might be more than he seems, the next few chapters couldn't happen the way that they will. I'm assigning you the task of letting me know if I'm dragging it out to the point of annoyance. Be gentle. :)

Without further ado...

Chapter 7: We Build Then We Break

Lisa stood outside the basement door. Was she supposed to knock? It wasn't his house, and he hadn't bothered to knock when he came to her room the first night. At least, she wasn't awake for it. And anyway, it was not like the door would open right to him. She chuckled at the thought of that massive house with a one-room basement.

Eventually, she made her way into his room. She found him laying in a bed, and it looked like he was asleep. She approached the bed, running her eyes up and down his body in amusement. She couldn't imagine him looking any less threatening than in jeans and no shirt, sprawled out on his back with limbs pointing every which way.

"Jackson?" she said softly, seeing if he would respond. When she got nothing, she moved closer and knelt down next to the bed. It was a curious thing for her face to be so close to his again, but this time on her terms. Oh, and the lack of hateful and/or angry glares was a noteworthy experience as well. He looked so peaceful, his full lips parted slightly. She felt an odd urge to smooth back the hair from his forehead, but thought better of it.

Instead, she took the time to really look at the man in front of her. She took inventory of his many injuries- the wound on his neck was nothing but an angry-looking scab. There were bruises on his side and hand where she had hit him with the stick, and a smattering of yellowing bruises along his chest and arms, which were probably from the many things she threw at him, from when she tripped him with the chair, or when she had kicked him down a staircase.

She thought back to her dad's living room, when Jackson lay bleeding on the floor. He was looking at her, and despite everything that had happened, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He looked like he was in so much pain, and was slowly dying right in front of her. Maybe it had been some kind of Stockholm Syndrome, but it definitely didn't please her to see him broken like that, nor did it make her feel particularly victorious. Their struggle had been kill or be killed, but she had never particularly wanted to hurt him so badly.

Lisa chucked softly. She couldn't even imagine what he had looked like when the wounds were fresh, and also wished she could have been a fly on the wall when he was explaining to his brother what had happened. He still had bandages where he had been shot, but she assumed those wounds probably looked better than hers. She wanted to see the damage, but she knew that taking off the medical tape would wake him.

She frowned when she saw a scar on Jackson's lower torso, a scar that reminded her very much of her own. Where did this come from? It wasn't the only foreign scar, either. She saw one on his shoulder than looked like it maybe a bullet had grazed him or something similar. There was another long, thin mark on his left pec- probably another knife wound, likely from a slash. She traced her fingers along the silky lines, wondering what story each one held.

Her gaze traveled up Jackson's chest, throat, and to his face. She pulled her hand back like it was on fire when she saw Jackson's baby blues fixed on her. His expression was unreadable, as usual. Lisa knew that her face was a bright crimson.

"Why do you have two guns in your bag?" he asked, surprising her. She frowned at him.

"You went through my stuff?" she demanded. She really hated the idea of him going through her things. Hadn't he ever heard of a little thing called privacy? He shook his head.

"I saw them in your bag through the wall. X-ray vision. Comes in handy." Lisa rolled her eyes.

"Alright, why did you go through my stuff?" Jackson shrugged, yawning.

"I wanted to," he replied, running a hand through his hair.

Lisa crossed her arms, getting impatient. "Why did-"

"Christ, Leese." Jackson closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not asking you why you were feeling me up, so why don't you drop why I went through your bag and just answer the question?" He groaned. "But first, get me two pills from the blue bottle and some water." When she didn't move, he let out an irritated "Please?"

Lisa stared at him long enough to make sure that he got the message that she was not afraid of him. She grabbed the empty glass from the nightstand and filled it up with water in the bathroom that she had found while looking for his room. She brought back the water and knelt down by Jackson again, getting his pills from the blue bottle.

"Do you want me to feed them to you, or can you handle it on your own?" she asked sarcastically, holding them out. Jackson replied with a short grunt and pulled himself into a sitting position with what looked like difficulty, taking her offerings. Lisa frowned a little. Maybe he wasn't as recovered as he seemed.

"I took them from Keefe's men," she told him as he lowered himself back down with a satisfied exhale. "I'm not sure why...I just did." She took the glass from the nightstand and finished what was left of the water. "I shot them. They're dead." She bit her lip.

Jackson raised both eyebrows, his eyes still closed. "So, in two weeks, you took out a hitman, and two government hitmen? Nice job, Rook. Maybe I should just steal you." Lisa shook her head, smiling a bit.

"I don't think you can handle me anymore," she teased, "and unless you go to Texas and find my mom, you really have no one left to hold against me." She paled. Did she just joke about her dad's death?Where had that come from? Even Jackson looked a little stunned, his eyes opening to look at her.

"Don't worry, it's just a coping mechanism. Dark humor," he said. He reached his hand out and ran a finger along her bangs, as though he was just noticing her new hair. It was a familiar gesture that made Lisa a little uneasy, and she flinched when his fingertips grazed her skin.

"Is that why you make so many jokes?" she blurted, regretting it when he pulled his hand back as though she had burned him.

"Why are you here?" he asked coldly, and any kindness that had been in his eyes was gone.

Lisa frowned. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Why are you here, Leese?" he asked again, cutting her off. She sighed.

"You said you would change my bandage," she muttered, defeated. It was like playing chess, but a game of chess where your opponent simply shot any pieces that came near his off the board. Lisa would say one wrong thing, and Jackson would shut down.

"Later," Jackson replied, his tone signaling that he was done talking. Lisa stood up abruptly and stormed out, stomping all the way back to the third floor like a two year old throwing a temper tantrum. She dropped on the bed and stared at the ceiling, scowling. He was so frustrating. All she could do was hope that they could form a plan soon, and go their separate ways. Of course, that would require the Rippners actually being together at the same time with her and the four of them talking.

She turned onto her side and glared at the wall instead. She just wanted to get out of there and get on with her life. She tried to go back to sleep, hoping to wait it out until either Caleb or Cheryl came home so they could help. She could do it herself, but she found that she either tied the bandage too tightly, too loosely, the pad wouldn't stick, or whatever. When did she become so completely incapable of taking care of anything on her own?

Lisa turned onto her back again and sighed in exasperation. She wasn't tired, and it was only 12:30. At least five more hours in this house with only Jackson around, waiting for him to decide that he wanted to see her again? Thanks, but no thanks. She changed into one of her hoodies and a pair of jeans, and headed back down the stairs. In the entry way, she scanned for a pair of boots and a coat, throwing on a beanie and walking out the door into the cold afternoon.

She coughed as the frigid air was inhaled into her lungs. Of all the places to end up in, she chose Siberia. But, as she would rather turn into some kind of popsicle than stay in that house at the moment, she made her way down the driveway and started to walk down the street. She really wished that she had brought a pair of headphones or something...the silence was deafening, and it gave her no escape from her whirlwind brain.

One minute she hated Jackson. Then she was getting upset that he wouldn't let her get closer. As if that weren't pathetic enough, now she was wasting time wondering if he had feelings for her. It definitely seemed so, but then there were those moments when he was stone cold. Well, that and the whole tiny blackmail incident. She couldn't blame him for that, though. He was doing his job.

Lisa snorted. She was starting to sound like him. We all do what we have to do. Bullshit. There's a choice that everyone has to make, and saying that you had to do it is just a way of avoiding guilt. Just another coping mechanism that prevents you from really dwelling on exactly how wrong you may have been. If she had done what Jackson said and the Keefes had died, would she really have been able to say 'I had to do it'? Well, she probably would have tried, but she knew it was wrong. Hell, if it weren't wrong, she would have just done it instead of putting her life and her dad's even more at risk.

She had made a choice. She knew that she couldn't live with the knowledge that she condemned someon to die to save someone else, even if it meant choosing a person that she was acquainted with over her own dad. She would have been within her rights to say that she was forced, but it seemed that even on the plane, she knew it was crap.

The guilt over her dad was much lighter than it used to be. It had happened because she made the choice to save the Keefes. It had also occurred to her that even if she wouldn't have save the Keefes, things might have worked out more or less the same. She still could easily have been blamed for setting it up, and there was a good chance they wouldn't have believed "Jim Richards" had anything to do with it. As far as the flight attendants were concerned, he was someone that had worried about the crying passenger next to him and had maybe given her a sympathy lay in the Mile High Club. His excuse about the death in the family had been brilliant, actually. She had been on her way home from a funeral, and that would be easy to verify.

Lisa sighed. She knew that whether or not it was Jackson's intention, she mostly likely would have gone down for the assassination. And she couldn't help that her dad had saved her. He could hardly be expected to just stand there- she was just surprised that he moved so quickly. No, she didn't completely blame herself for what had happened to her father anymore. She just missed him.

Lisa's heart sank when she realized something new. She was going to miss her dad's funeral. It would probably be in a few days, and everyone would be there...except her. What story would they hear? Would they be told that Joe had sacrificed himself and that she was on the run from DHS?

Suddenly, Lisa's right leg shot out to the side as she hit a patch of ice that had been covered in light snow. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't given herself time to react and ended up lurching forward, throwing her hands in front of her to break the fall. Major mistake. Her right hand hit first, and her vision went white as a searing pain shot through it. She rolled over onto her back, cradling the throbbing wrist with the other arm. She didn't know how long she lay on the ice, crying in pain, frustration, and downright humiliation for being so careless before she pulled herself to her feet and looked around. Thankfully, she hadn't made any turns since leaving the Rippners', because she wasn't sure she would have been able to remember them anymore.

Wrist and pride hurting, she headed back to the house. She walked in the front door and was met with a scowling Jackson.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. Lisa kicked off her boots, glaring at him. She didn't have to talk if she didn't want to. She carefully slid the coat off and hung it on the rack before heading into the kitchen, the angry man at her heels. "Well?"

"Out," she replied, opening the freezer and scanning for an ice pack. Jackson growled and grabbed her arm, yanking her around to look at him. Of course he grabbed the wrong wrist, and Lisa cried out in agony, pounding her other fist on his chest in release, but was careful not to hit his injured side. Jackson dropped her arm, startled.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, more surprise than anger now in his voice. Lisa pulled the ice from the freezer.

"I fell," she responded shortly and pushed past him with her good shoulder, heading for her room.

"Stop," Jackson ordered, wrapping an arm around her waist from behind in restraint. "Let's take a look at it." Lisa snorted.

"When did you get your medical degree?" she asked mockingly, pressing the ice pack to her sleeve. Jackson sighed, sliding his arm so his hand rested on the small of her back and leading her to Caleb's office.

"I can tell if it's a break or not. And I'll call Caleb." He sat her down in the chair and took the phone from Caleb's desk, dialing his number. Jackson knelt down in front of Lisa and carefully took her forearm with both hands, cradling the phone on his shoulder.

Lisa watched Jackson finger the sleeve. She could tell it was too tight to pull up her arm without hurting her wrist, and it looked like he knew it too. Without bothering to ask if she was wearing a shirt underneath, he helped her slide the hoodie off, starting with her "good" arm, then her head, and pulling the whole thing off over her bad arm as he greeted his brother. She was left mortified in only her bra and a shade of pink on her cheeks, but he didn't seem to notice. He gingerly inspected her wrist, and she heard him tell Caleb that it didn't seem broken. Maybe a sprain.

Jackson stood up and went to a cabinet, making a few confirmation noises. Lisa sat and watched him grab a few items from the cabinet. "An hour?" he asked, kneeling back down in front of Lisa, "Sounds good." He hung up, looking up at Lisa. "He says to put it in a splint for now. He'll check it when he gets home." He placed a depressor under her wrist. "Why did you leave?" he asked calmly, wrapping tape around the depressor to hold it in place.

"Why do you care?" she responded, pulling her wrist back. She smiled when Jackson remained quiet, knowing that she won the round. He can't even admit that he was worried that I had left.

The two stared at each other for a moment before Jackson broke the silence. "We have someone working on getting you a new identity, and then you can get out of here," he said, reaching for her arm to change her other bandage, "and this will all be over." So the Rippners have been talking, just not to me. Lisa watched Jackson's gentle movements. He was always so kind to her when he did this kind of thing, and she wasn't used to it. She swallowed hard.

"Do you want me gone?" she asked softly, looking up to meet his eyes. He raised his eyebrows and exhaled, fastening the bandage.

"I'm not sure," he replied, and wouldn't look at her eyes again. He headed for the door. Why did I say that? Why not make some snarky little comment about how if I never see him again, it will be too soon or something? He was almost out the door, and another pawn lay on the floor in pieces. At this point in the game, the player should probably try some tactical assault, but what did she know? She had no idea how to actually play chess.

"Running away again, Jackson?" Lisa asked, crossing her legs. She was still topless, but now it had a different effect. It almost added to her power, showing him that she was not at all afraid of him. He stopped, but didn't turn around.

"What are you talking about? When did I run?"

She scoffed. "You've been running from something since I met you." Jackson looked at her and smirked.

"Clever, Leese. Did you learn that in one of Dad's pathetic self-help books?" Jackson turned around quickly and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Lisa sunk in her chair and watched the chess pieces fly through the air. Forget shooting- Jackson had just flipped the board.

Damn that Jackson and his defense mechanisms! :) I feel the need to point out that I've seen six movies with Cillian, and the man never wears jeans in his films (maybe in 28 Days Later). So, I felt obligated to put him in a pair for once.

As always, R&R please!