A few new things are going on!
One, I realized earlier this week that Blood and Roses has transformed from the decent plot I originally planned into a twisted, heavy, and overall much better story. This isn't because of me- it's because of my reviewers! You guys push me to set my bar higher and really think about where I want the story to go. I've had quite a few comments stating that the writing is getting better with each chapter, and if so, you have only yourselves to thank! As a thank you, I've started sending PMs to each reviewer giving them a small preview of the next chapter. THANK YOU SO MUCH!
Two, I have a beta! Thanks a million to She Who Shines for meeting up with me online and letting me ramble about plot points and ideas. It really helps me improve the plot not to mention polish each chapter.
pinky's creature feature: Glad to hear that I inspire bad behavior. Always a great motivator!
trudes193: Thanks for the review! I already PM'd you with my comments, so I won't repeat here. :)
Jesscah: Thanks for noticing the contrast! There will be a lot of it in the rest of the story, as you'll see in this chapter. And I plan on putting more of Jackson and Lisa's backstories from this point on.
son-of-puji: All we need to do is make some joke about joining forces with the other writers to infiltrate the government with our knowledge, and our fate will be sealed...(disregard that joke, Agent Smecker!)
Medisha: You are forgiven because of this great review! It's always heart-warming to see that people appreciate the thought and work that go into writing in-depth stories.
Jk: Glad you liked it. There's more of that to come!
If you missed the link from the previous chapter, I would recommend listening to Sarah McLauchlan's Sweet Surrender (or at least looking up the lyrics) before reading this chapter.
Chapter 16: Sweet Surrender
The last hour of the ride to the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport was made in relative silence. Jackson spent most of it staring out the window. Lisa had tried to start a few conversations, but he just wasn't in the mood. He had woken up earlier, and felt nothing but a tightness in his chest. He wasn't sure why.
Instead of talking, Jackson thought. He thought about Caleb, Lisa, Cheryl, Robert, Keefe, Marie, and himself. Three weeks ago, his life was in order. He was on track with his job; the Keefe job was all but done. Marie had faith in him, because he was the best. He was the go-to guy for any political job you needed to have done. Terminate a plot formed by a collection of Frenchmen to discourage immigration by staging a series of attacks on the banlieue Clichy-sous-Bois? Boring. Take out of the main weapons ring in Austria, piece by piece? Child's play. Take out four major personnel in the United States government within a week of each other? Should have been dull.
Jackson had been to more countries in the last two years than most people plan to visit in their post-lottery winning dreams. He had been to all of Europe and yet seen nothing but targets, tools, and marks. He had turned strategy into an art, and had set up expertly-laid barriers all around him. No one was allowed inside- even him at times. He could count the number of people who truly knew him on one hand and have fingers to spare.
His relationship with Caleb was far less than idyllic, but he had refused to let himself think about it. The two had spent the first twenty-three years of their life inseparable. Even as kids, Caleb was considered Jackson's more outgoing shadow. He followed him everywhere, and they did everything together. They shared the same circle of friends, although Caleb had always been closer to them than he was.
Images long past flitted across Jackson's mind, memories of sneaking out for their first cigarette, when they had accidentally started a small fire in the field and had worked frantically to put it out before someone noticed. The hours spent swimming together in the community and school pools, racing each other lap after lap. Sometimes Jackson let Caleb win, just to laugh at the look of frustrated knowing on his younger brother's face. When Caleb had his first "serious" girlfriend and Jackson had to explain to him how to stop being horrible at sex. Caleb took him at his word even though Jackson didn't have any more experience than he did, and the two shared a laugh when the younger remarked that he might be better if she didn't just lay there. The hours they spent as partners, out on stake outs just talking about life and yet nothing at the same time. So much laughing.
Jackson wasn't laughing anymore. Just like everything else, those years were gone. When Caleb had gone back to school, they had drifted further and further apart. Jackson was quickly transforming into a cold-blooded killer, and Caleb was a warmer, compassionate man. He couldn't help but wonder how much of the person he had become was due to this separation. Maybe Lisa would know. Throughout everything, Caleb had been his anchor and in a way, his sanity. He was the only person Jackson never felt that he had to explain himself to, because he already knew the answers.
Jackson and Lisa arrived at the airport and checked in.
As they walked past the Tex-Mex, Lisa looked at him.
"Maybe we should get something to eat?" she asked teasingly, but Jackson could hear how much she was struggling to sound lighthearted. He saw the questions in her eyes, and knew that she was hoping he would open up to her.
"Not hungry," he responded with a halfhearted wave. He felt a sharp pang in his chest when she looked at him with disappointment and pity. She tried to take his hand, but he yanked it away. "Go," he said firmly. He bit his lip as he watched her. She was obviously contemplating refusing, but she thankfully gave in and walked away. He felt a strong urge to follow her, forget his stewing and just share a private joke while they sat and ate nachos, but he crushed the desire and threw himself onto a chair in the waiting area instead.
Jackson thought back to the night that he and Caleb sat in their living room in their shared apartment in Brooklyn. They were twenty-three, and coming down from a post-job high. Nothing too high-profile; just a murder of the leaders of a weapons ring in Harlem. Something was nagging at Caleb's mind.
After his second glass of whiskey, Jackson was irritated enough to finally ask Caleb what was bothering him.
"I'm going back to school," Caleb admitted quietly. "I passed my MCAT and got accepted into Harvard." Jackson choked on his drink and had to hit himself in the chest to stop his coughing. He had no idea Caleb had even been planning on going back to school, let alone had already taken the MCAT. How had he missed it? "It's what I want to do," the younger man continued, staring at his half-empty glass.
"Why?" Jackson hissed. Why are you leaving me? Caleb sighed.
"Marie told me that the agency needs doctors on the inside." He tilted the glass around, watching the liquid sway. "You know I wanted to become a surgeon someday." He sounded oddly betrayed, which just bewildered Jackson more, because he was the one having the rug pulled out from underneath him. "I think I could be more helpful putting people together than ripping them apart."
Jackson scoffed, watching his brother from the corner of his eye. He couldn't look him straight in the face. "Bullshit. You're the best shot of any of us."
Caleb shrugged. "So? People like me are a dime a dozen." He glanced at Jackson. "Jesus, you might try to be supportive. This is a big deal, you know. They don't just let anyone into Harvard." Jackson finished his third glass and poured another.
"Harvard," he mocked. "So you think you're better than all of this now?"
His brother smiled sadly. "Yes," he admitted. "I am better than this life." It didn't escape Jackson that although he chose his words carefully, the implication that the older brother was part of 'this life' was definitely there. He said nothing, biting down hard on his lip. "I told Cheryl. She supports it."
Fucking Cheryl. Jackson took too big of a swallow, and suppressed the urge to cough. He would not show weakness now. Cheryl was his friend, but it was becoming more and more obvious that she was part of the problem. Jackson would have to be blind not to notice how much Caleb was changing ever since he had decided that he loved her. In the last few months, Caleb's priorities had seemed to shift.
Jackson had done his best to act supportive, but he harbored a secret that he would never share with anyone. He resented Cheryl, and Caleb's little confession was a perfect example of why. It was obvious that Caleb was confiding more in her than in him. He thought things would be better when Marie had moved her to a different unit, but apparently they were just as tight, maybe more so. Jackson knew in his heart that Cheryl was replacing him, and he couldn't stand it.
"We're getting married," Caleb confessed. Three words, and the rest of Jackson's world was completely shaken. It was true. He had been right. Jackson quickly rose to his feet, disturbing the open bottle of whiskey that had been on the floor next to him. He hardly noticed the brown liquid pouring freely onto the carpet. He just knew that the contents of his stomach were churning, and he had to get out of that room as soon as possible.
"Congratulations," he forced out, and made beeline for his room. In his drunken state, he felt the stinging of potential tears in his eyes, and he refused to cry in front of Caleb. He just would not do it. Unfortunately, the younger man was at his heels.
"Can't you at least pretend to be happy for me?" he demanded, his voice rising. Jackson could tell that he was also on the verge of tears, but knew that he couldn't care less if Jackson saw. He said nothing and walked into his room, slamming the door behind him.
It was too late for Jackson to hide. "What did you think was going to happen?" he heard Caleb yell from the other side of the door. "Did you think that it was just going to be you and me forever, just going from job to job killing people until we either grow old or get killed ourselves?" Jackson paced around his room, trying to shut his brother out. In a way, Caleb was right. He had taken for granted that they would always be the most important people in each other's lives, that others would come and go, and they would remain.
Caleb continued to pick at Jackson's gaping wound. "I'm not sorry," he insisted. "I want more than this." Jackson stopped short. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was he 'this'? He threw the door open and delivered a solid punch to Caleb's face, sending the surprised younger man back into the wall.
Caleb didn't stay down for long and came back at Jackson with a hard hit of his own. Jackson launched himself at him, and the two grappled on the floor of the hallway, punching and kicking at each other furiously. Jackson landed one last punch to his brother's face and struggled to his feet. His nose was bleeding freely, along with a gash on his head from Caleb knocking him into the door frame with his first hit. With each intake of air he felt stabbing pains in his side, and knew he had some cracked ribs and what felt like a fractured wrist, maybe some sprained fingers. Caleb stayed on the ground, but stared at him with a defiant fire in his eyes. He looked worse than Jackson felt, and it broke his heart.
He didn't want to back down, but they had both had enough. "I wish you nothing but happiness," Jackson spat, and summoned the last of his strength to storm back into his room.
Jackson absently brought a hand to his perfectly fine ribs. He was back in the waiting area, but he would never forget the physical and emotional pain he felt that night. Things were different after that. The two had somewhat mended their relationship before too long, but Jackson felt like there was a large part of Caleb that he just didn't know anymore. They had never spoken of their fight. He didn't know if Caleb had even told Cheryl about it- neither scenario would surprise him.
From what Lisa had said, Caleb interpreted the night as Jackson being disappointed in him and nothing more. He seemed to have no idea of Jackson's bitterness toward Cheryl. Of course, Jackson had also gotten over that...for the most part. He accepted that she was important to Caleb, and that it wasn't her fault that the two had grown apart. He still blamed her irrationally for taking his brother from him, but he kept it well hidden from both of them.
He had attended Caleb's graduation from Harvard, and had hugged his brother tightly before and after, admitting that he was truly proud of the younger man. He had been the best man at the wedding, and had given a completely appropriate speech. Two weeks ago, he had listened to Caleb admit that he and Cheryl were growing apart, that they didn't see eye to eye on children- he wanted them, and she wasn't ready-, and that they hadn't had sex in almost four months, and had tried to offer him genuine support. He had noticed that she was never affectionate toward Caleb, at least when he was around, and had attributed it to Cheryl's personality. She was not known for being sentimental or showing softer emotions.
Jackson couldn't even imagine what was going on in Caleb's head. Through the meager bond they still had, he could hear the absolute pain in his brother's voice, masked by rage. As strong an urge he felt to slit Cheryl's throat, he felt an even stronger urge to be there, hugging his little brother tightly until the pain subsided. He also understood with bitterness that even if he were there, it just simply wasn't an option anymore. They could never pick up where they left off five years ago. It would take months, maybe years of commitment before they could fully repair their relationship.
Cheryl. Try as he might, Jackson could not understand what happened with Cheryl. When did she change so much? It was one thing to stop loving your husband, possibly to want a divorce, but to attempt to carry out a plot to kill him? Where was the connection that Jackson was obviously missing? Why would she want to kill Caleb, and why in his own place? These same questions had been running through his mind ad nauseum since he had received Caleb's telephone call, and he was no closer to figuring things out than he was then.
Jackson held his head in his hands, wincing at the pain coming from his chest. Then there was Lisa. He had watched her for almost two months, and he found her inexplicably entrancing. At first, it was her physical beauty, which was odd considering that while she was an attractive woman, he knew that most would consider her above average, but not breathtakingly stunning. He found her so alluring almost from the start, and his attraction just grew the more he watched her.
When he saw the outgoing mask she wore in public in contrast to the shattered shell of a girl she was in her apartment, he had a feeling that somewhere in between was a perfect blend, a woman who was both sweet and sad. If he were being sentimental, he might think of her as a fallen angel that he felt a strange pull toward. He had been able to suppress these feelings until the day of the funeral. It was a deviation from the plan, and he had to watch her at all times. With her pale skin contrasting with her dark attire, both the friendly mask and the broken pieces on display, she had never intrigued him more.
It was that desire that broke him in their first meeting. It was the reason he had given his real name and invited her for a friendly drink. For that half hour, the first he spent being acknowledged by her, he had lost his head. With the flight delays, he had somehow convinced himself that time itself was being put on hold, that the plan didn't exist, and they were just two strangers in an airport trying to get home.
He had asked her questions about her job, and even though he already knew the answers, he tried to pretend that he didn't. He made his observations about her into a little game, pretending to guess her favorite drink. When she lied, it broke his illusion slightly, but when she started talking about Henrietta, giving him information he didn't know, the game was right back in play. He just enjoyed the conversation until the announcement that they were boarding the flight to Miami. He was catapulted back into reality, and she was back to being a tool, a device required to complete the job.
The events of the flight quickly flooded through him. The tears, the fear, the struggles, the pen in his windpipe. Jackson touched the mostly-healed scab on his throat. She surprised and secretly elated him by fighting him every step of the way. Except the scar. He was still embarrassed for reacting the way he did when she had lied about her scar, not that he would ever admit it.
He had never been able to come up with a rational reason for his blow up. He finally had to admit to himself that it was a man-childish response to her reaffirming the knowledge that to her, he was nothing but a cold-blooded monster and that she would never think of him as anything else. He would never have what he wanted so badly, a chance with her. When he had seen the scar, all of his professionalism had melted, and he saw her broken pieces again. He didn't blame her for lying- he was just hurt that she had done so, angry at himself for being hurt, and he irrationally took his anger out on her.
In Lisa's lies, he saw every failed relationship- his parents, his brother, and now this intoxicating woman who he could never have.
Jackson gripped his hair. She drove him absolutely insane, and the worst part was that she did it completely unknowingly. She was an involuntary seductress. He wanted to tell her everything about him, but at the same time was terrified that the more he let on what a flawed person he was, the faster she would run as soon as she got what she wanted from him.
He felt such a strong urge to confide in her, to tell him how badly his failing relationship with his brother was hurting him. He wanted her to know that he did feel guilt for what happened with his parents, but that had blocked those feelings for twelve years and he just didn't know how to face them anymore. He wanted to make her promise to keep him from killing Cheryl on the spot for what she had done. He wanted to apologize for all the times he had yelled at her, to make her understand that even though he regretted them, he didn't know how to let someone in anymore. He wanted her to keep fighting through his barriers, to promise to never leave him.
Jackson shook his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to squash the headache that was pounding away. He had to stop doing this to himself. This was a dangerous game that he was playing, and it was exhausting him. He was well aware that Lisa's feelings for him were mutual. He knew that she would keep fighting his defenses, whether or not he asked her to. That wasn't the problem.
The problem was that she didn't belong in his world. She was too innocent, too pure. Her rediscovered strength was too new, and he felt like he was taking advantage of it for his own benefit. What he didn't know was how real these feelings for him were. He didn't know that when things calmed down, and she wasn't bound to him by necessity if she would continue to feel for him, or realize just how awful he was. Even if it was for a good reason, he had to acknowledge that he killed without remorse, and she was a hotel manager whose father was dead because of him. The fact that it was inadvertent just didn't matter.
He winced, reaching through his bag for a bottle of aspirin. The headache was growing, a perfect symbol of the battle that he was losing. Even as he yelled at her, trying his best to keep her at a distance, in the back of his mind, he thought about kissing her. As he tried to convince himself that he was no good for her, he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in her hair and just not give a shit about the reality anymore. He planned her escape from him after the trip to Miami was over, but he dreamt about running his fingers along every inch of that beautiful porcelain skin.
Jackson popped the aspirin in his mouth and realizing that he had nothing to wash them down, swallowed hard. He groaned softly, trying to give the medication time to work. The pain continued to grow, and he realized that it was a symptom of this internal battle. He rose to his feet, flinging his bag over his shoulder. Aspirin wouldn't work any more than lying to himself. He was tired of fighting.
He had spent so many years of his life suppressing his emotions, and within a few weeks, Lisa had managed to unravel everything. She had brought pain that he had successfully avoided rushing back to his surface, and he had to admit that it was too late to lock it all away again. He needed that connection. He wanted so much to look into someone's eyes and see himself, and the eyes he imagined were green, feminine, and searching just as much as he was.
Jackson quickly found himself at the Tex-Mex, in front of Lisa. She sat at the bar, running her finger along the rim of a glass containing a half-finished sea breeze. She looked up at him, confusion in her features. Jackson opened his mouth to say something, but realized that there were no words. He simply grabbed her good arm and yanked her to her feet.
Lisa gave a surprised gasp, but he instantly smothered it with his own lips. It wasn't a gentle kiss. He wasn't asking permission or carefully exploring her mouth. It was a hungry kiss, feral and needy. Lisa's hand was quickly on his chest, and he realized with a shot of panic that she was about to push him away. Instead, he let out a low growl when he felt her delicate fingers wrap around his shirt front and grip tightly.
In fact, the tiny woman was matching his intensity. She quickly shifted her arm around the back of his neck and pressed herself even more tightly against him. Jackson welcomed this, burying one hand in her hair and pressing the other firmly on the small of her back. He didn't even care that the pressure of her body against his was causing pain to his wounds. The pain enhanced the pleasure of finally letting go and devouring the woman in front of him. He could taste her drink still tart on her tongue and at the same time, her fear, pain, and passion. He felt his own turmoil being carefully soothed, as though she were absorbing the agony that had been building up in his core.
The kiss said everything that he had been unable to say: Don't leave me. Please help me. I need you. I'm sorry.
The two settled into calmer caresses between their lips as the initial intensity faded, but neither was willing to pull away first. Jackson smiled softly against her lips. The pounding in his head was completely gone. The last of his defenses were shattered, and in this action, he knew that he had surrendered to her. He placed one more kiss on her lips, sucking gently on her bottom lip, before pulling away.
He took in the face of the woman in his arms. Her lips were slightly swollen, her cheeks were flushed, and a look of ecstasy danced in her eyes. It occurred to him that they both had been waiting more than just the last week or two for this to happen. It was possible that they had waited for a majority of their lives.
Lisa spoke first, her voice huskier than usual. "I think you owe me some nachos, Rippner."
I think now would be a fantastic time to go on another year and a half hiatus. Problem?