Did I actually manage to post two chapters in the same month? :P I'm totally done predicting how many chapters are left in this story- I know where it's going to end, but I don't think I can wrap it up in one more chapter. Maybe I can, or maybe it will be five more. Jesus.
This chapter is kinda fun, I think. The characters seem to overlap each other, and it was pretty enjoyable giving Jackson-like lines to both Mama Rippner and Caleb, and to finally bring Jamie into the fold with her hints of Ben. I don't know why I get such a kick out of making them behave like each other. :)
Eva- There are not enough ways to thank you for your support over the months. If you thought the last chapter had a teasing ending, you just wait. It's about to get better/worse.
Pirate Gyrl- I'm glad you like the conversations. :) Mostly, I'm glad they make sense to people who aren't in my head. It's a little harder to get it all out without my beta, but life goes on.
I loved writing my drugged-up Jackson. It was fun for me to have him mocking this woman who's just trying to be the voice of reason (and is actually in the right) when he's usually the voice of reason with the team. And having him so not on top of things but so not caring.
KnoKnayme- It should be pretty exciting, I think. :) Marie's coming down next chapter (fingers crossed).
REUNION!
Chapter 40: Born Villain
Caleb swiftly folded the newspaper he hadn't been reading and shoved it in his duffel bag, getting to his feet from his partially hidden spot near the exit. 'His' flight from Miami had landed about 15 minutes previously, so he quickly melded in with the exiting passengers, making his way the rest of the way to baggage claim as though it really was his plane that had landed.
He felt much more exposed and out of place than he would have had he gone through security and waited near the gate, but it wasn't advisable to attempt such a thing with a gun tucked in his belt. Hell, it wasn't advisable to be at an airport period with a gun on him, but there was no other way to carry it. He had considered at least hiding it in his bag, but he didn't feel comfortable with the Colt so far out of reach.
He gave a nod to Jamie, pretending that he was seeing her for the first time even though he had already passed her and Matthieu earlier. Caleb couldn't wait forever by the baggage claim without arousing suspicion, and if he had come too late, Matthieu would have seen him, so it had been her job to distract the Frenchman and give Caleb that opportunity to sneak by.
Caleb approached the duo, unsure of exactly what to say. He hadn't seen Jamie in years, obviously, and normally, he would assume they would discuss the job, but with Matthieu silently staring at them, it was even more awkward. But he figured that was okay- Jackson probably wouldn't be as comfortable with the man, either, and tended to be a man of few words at times anyway.
He did stiffen slightly when he felt Matthieu's hand on his back, mere inches above the grip of his gun, and he pulled away from the man. "I don't need an escort," he spat in a low tone, adjusting the brim of his baseball cap. Obviously Marie would find out at some point that he wasn't Jackson, but as Ben had pointed out earlier, they didn't want her knowing from first glance and the twins' different haircuts were a dead giveaway.
Caleb smirked, still staring straight ahead as he heard Matthieu whispering in his ear. "Don't try anything- I have a gun."
"You just announce those things?" he antagonized, chuckling as he bit down on his lower lip to keep back a genuine all-out laugh. "Little hint," he continued as the trio headed for the exit. He was both genuinely amused and wanted to get this man angry, which would hopefully lead to him acting sloppier than he was now- if that was possible.
"You're not going to shoot either of us in an airport, so all your threat did is expose just how out of your league you are right now," he explained, his tone still soft but conversational. He was aware that he was being rather hypocritical considering the Colt that was tucked into his own jeans, but it wasn't as though he was announcing it was there. It was a very last resort. "And if that's how you want to play it, then Jamie and I will stay right here and you can explain to your sister how you botched your first field assignment in...fifteen years?" he laughed again, "Jesus Christ- all you had to do was escort us."
He shot Jamie an incredulous look, shaking his head. "And furthermore," continued, absolutely loving how defeated the man looked already. As much as he must hate himself for that stupid little comment now, it was about to get worse- Caleb hadn't even started. "Wasn't the whole killing us plan supposed to be a surprise?"
He grinned, walking in step with Matthieu as they were led into the parking garage. He couldn't see the man's face anymore, but that was alright. He could see his posture, and his posture just wanted Caleb to shut the fuck up. "Quelle surprise en effet, mon ami."
He shot Jamie a wink, nodding for her to follow Matthieu to the driver's side. The woman grinned back at him, hovering behind Matthieu as the analyst begrudgingly got in the car. Caleb was pleasantly surprised that the man wasn't arguing back- he knew he had failed.
"What the fuck, Jackson?" Jamie called out as Caleb opened the passenger door, somehow managing to remain completely serious despite how phony the words were. "Why exactly are we going if she's going to kill us?" That got Matthieu, who hadn't closed the door yet. Caleb watched him turn to reply to her. Like the desk monkey he was, he had turned his back on Caleb, and the younger man took advantage of that brief moment.
Caleb quickly ducked into the passenger seat, grabbing the analyst's hand and shoving with all his strength, driving the car keys into the Frenchman's neck. He used his free hand to grip Matthieu's nape, pulling him close to Caleb's thighs and swiftly removing the keys from his throat, hardly noticing the wet sucking sound his actions caused. The jet of warm blood across Caleb's shins let him know that he had definitely hit a major vein- likely the jugular.
He tangled his now free hand in Matthieu's jacket and tugged sharply, helping Jamie to swiftly move him to the floor near his feet. He calmly held the older man, who had once been like an uncle in the twins' early twenties, out of view until he heard the last wet grasp for air, waiting a few more seconds for good measure.
Caleb calmly picked up the keys from under the body, wiping away the blood with his shirt. His attention was stolen by Jamie as the younger woman threw her arms around him, squeezing tightly.
"Missed you," she told him, placing a platonic kiss on his lips with a wide smile. Caleb chuckled, staring down at his blood-soaked jeans. He hadn't told Jamie it was going to be him instead of Jackson, but he supposed he shouldn't be surprised that she knew right away.
"You too," he replied genuinely, handing off the car keys. "I should probably change before we get to Bennington." He directed Jamie toward his own car that they had left in the same ramp, waiting while she transferred the rest of the equipment from Caleb's trunk to this car's. He dug through Matthieu's pocket, tossing the dead man another glance as he handed the parking ticket over to Jamie.
"Do you think we're being set up?" he asked as they exited the ramp. The entire thing had been so pathetically easy, but he had to keep reminding himself that while Marie might also be out of practice, but the woman was still a legendary assassin. He couldn't afford to keep being cocky about it, that was for damn sure. Maybe it was too easy- wasn't Marie smarter than this?
"You think she sacrificed her brother so we would let our guard down?" Jamie answered his question with another, frowning. Like Caleb, she seemed more bothered by the possibility than dismissing it as paranoia. "Probably," she finished, finally answering both of their questions. Caleb turned his head to finally look at his former teammate. More than anyone else he had seen so far, she looked so different. It was to be expected, though- she was only nineteen when he had left. Sometimes he forgot how much younger she was than the rest of them.
Jamie caught him looking, and grinned, pulling out of the airport loop to merge with traffic. "See something you like?" she teased softly, watching the road again. Caleb chuckled, lighting a cigarette before remembering that he had to awkwardly hold it with his left hand due to the blood smeared down his right. Damn.
"You do look good, Jameson," he replied honestly, sliding on the Wayfarers again.
Jamie laughed harder, bracing her knees on the steering wheel as she tied back her thick curls with a hairtie. "I haven't heard that in years," she admitted, and Caleb frowned slightly. It hadn't even been his nickname for her- it was Jackson's. They were Jameson and Jack Daniels, or J.D. "Things are a lot different now," she explained with a soft shrug, and Caleb nodded. He had definitely seen that.
He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his cell to text Ben that they were on the way. The plastic slipped from his hand, thankfully landing on his thighs instead of in the pool of blood now seeping into his shoes, not the Caleb noticed. He knew that scent. He glanced up, finally noticing his surroundings, and his jaw dropped slightly.
Of all the cars in Marie's possession, she just had to send Cheryl's.
No, he couldn't get caught up in it. Not because they didn't have time- on the contrary, they unfortunately had hours to go before arriving in Oklahoma- but because the wound was still too new, and the mix of emotions would be clear as day across his face. He definitely wasn't getting into it, not with any of them. It would just hold him- them- back, and there were more important things to concentrate on.
Attempting to push the burst of fresh pain from his mind, Caleb lifted the phone again and reverted to cold, hard math, quickly typed out his message to Ben.
On our way- 10 min. Don't let Nikita drive.
"What's been going on?" he asked, finally replying to Jamie's last statement as he hit play on Hellbilly Deluxe, the CD he already knew would be there, and scanned forward to "Dragula". He closed his eyes, leaning his head back as he let Rob Zombie flood his senses, absorbing some of his frustration. It might be considered rude to start music just when he asked Jamie a question, but that's how they had always been. It felt weird to not have music in the background at this point. He did care what she had to say, but he was more interested in the distraction. Like Ben, the woman could talk freely longer than most people he knew, and if he listened, he didn't have to think.
Ben hobbled toward the car as Jamie pulled into the parking lot. He really hated those fucking crutches- they just added to his awkward lankiness and drew unnecessary attention.
"Well, hello, Miss Jaylin," he greeted as the younger woman met him by the trunk. Of course Jamie wasn't the woman's real name- it was yet another pseudonym, provided by Ben himself. It had started as a joke, a play on her actual name- Jaylin Mercedes- but it had stuck like most monikers he bestowed on people.
"Hey yourself, B. It went fine, but Cal thinks it was too easy," Jamie explained, popping open the trunk and digging through one of the bags. "I should have brought the rest," she finished, referring to the team she had sent back to New York.
Ben shrugged as best he could, watching her pull out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "No way to get them there without calling attention," he reminded her, not surprised in the slightest by her first statement. He had suspected from the get go that this wasn't a normal meeting, after all. "Not your fault." He motioned to the winter survival kit near the bags- specifically, the blanket folded underneath. "We should probably cover the body," he offered, and then frowned. He had seen these types of kits in the trunk of a car before, but only in the Midwest.
"Cal's being kinda weird," she admitted, grabbing the blanket with her free arm. "Not really a surprise though, right?"
Ben didn't respond, staring instead at the license plate of the car. Minnesota plates, and it definitely wasn't Caleb's vehicle. Fuck a duck. "Did he say anything?" he asked, grabbing the woman's arm to keep her there. He was pretty sure he knew the source of Caleb's 'weirdness', but confirmation might be nice.
Jamie shook her head. "Does he ever?" she asked lightly, but there was something grave in her tone.
Ben chuckled. "True," he replied, handing a small bag to her. "Got you a sandwich," he explained. "Love the hair, by the way- fierce."
"You should," Jamie said with a laugh, leading the two to the driver's seat. "It was fucking expensive. You driving, then?"
"Mhm," Ben replied, bracing himself on the driver door as she tossed the blanket and clothes to Caleb. "Too messy for Nik's delicate sensibilities, I guess." He shot a grin at the redhead, who was already in the backseat, staring at the floorboard.
Jamie just laughed again, grabbing Ben's crutches and taking her place in the backseat next to the Russian. Ben awkwardly maneuvered himself into the driver's seat, glancing over at Caleb, who had his feet propped on the covered corpse. "What did you do?" he asked with a grin, eyeing the blood that coated the younger man's jeans.
"Keys," Caleb replied calmly, but Ben saw the smallest of proud smiles on his face. There was that bloodthirsty Cal he had known so well.
"Fucking beautiful, kid," he praised, pulling out of the parking lot and back onto the main street. He glanced over occasionally as Caleb stripped down to his briefs and Converse, noting that the man was actually doing a remarkable job pretending he was fine. If Ben didn't know him so well, he might have missed the slight tremble in the younger man's fingers and the movements that were less fluid than normal as he pulled on the fresh clothes.
Caleb used the already-ruined t-shirt to wipe at his Converse. He didn't have another pair of shoes, so he was trying to remove the blood as best he could. He did manage to wipe it from the rubber, and thankfully, it didn't show all that well against the black fabric, but there was no cleaning the laces. "I guess I'll have rusty laces," he joked weakly, tossing the shirt down near the blanket. "Total fashion faux pas, isn't it?"
Ben smiled grimly, nodding. Caleb was definitely upset, but Ben wasn't going to say shit- he knew better. For now, he had to leave it be and let Caleb do his thing. And besides, Ben's thoughts weren't exactly constructive to the whole 'moving on' thing. He just flat-out didn't buy the story. He had seen Cheryl and Robert together so many times over the years, and he had never seen anything between them that resembled attraction. From Robert, yes, but from Cheryl? Ben knew through Caleb that the manager had been hitting on Cheryl from her first day on the team, but he had never seen her return any of it. Maybe she was just that good at hiding it, but Ben was well aware that it was easier to pretend that you have feelings for someone that don't exist than it is to hide feelings that are there.
But it was just a thought, and likely a stupid one. Why would she go through all that trouble of pretending that she was cheating on Caleb with Robert? It seemed a stretch- to say the least- that she faked everything just to bring Caleb back into the fold, to motivate the brothers beyond their obligations. The woman wasn't a martyr- why would she go through all that trouble just to make it personal? To make it easier to kill her in Lisa's place? She didn't even fucking know the Floridian- she wouldn't sacrifice herself for her.
No, it was just Ben's wild imagination, and so he kept his mouth shut. And would always keep it shut. Even if he was right, telling Caleb would only fuck up the younger man more than he was already. It was pointless. If Cheryl was just a bitch, let her be a dead bitch. If she had inexplicably set up this elaborate self-sacrificing con, then who was he to expose it?
Shaking his head at his own irrationality, Ben pulled out his phone, firing off a text to Jackson. Joseph's out. Napoleon next. He grinned to himself, knowing the nerdy history buff in Jackson would get a kick out of the code names Ben had given Matthieu and Marie, Joseph and Napoleon Bonaparte. Maybe Napoleon and Josephine would have been more correct sex-wise, but Marie was hardly Josephine and Matthieu was sure as shit no Napoleon. He waited, almost giddy, for the response Jackson wouldn't be able to stop himself from sending.
To Waterloo, Iron Duke.
Ben shook his head. What a nerd.
Jackson clenched and relaxed his jaw for what seemed like the hundredth time, fidgeting with his cuticles. He had never been a nail-bitter- Caleb had been the one with that particular tick- but his nails were already ripped to shreds nonetheless. With each passing hour, the confidence that he could handle this "reunion" like any other job was eroding.
He let his hand drop to Lisa's head, absently tangling his fingers in her short, soft waves, his short nails barely grazing her scalp. He had caught himself rambling to her too many times, giving her every bit of information and warning except the one piece that mattered. He had whittled away at the topics she was allowed to bring up before Lisa reminded him that she didn't have a reason to talk to the woman.
If the former redhead picked up on his uncharacteristically naked anxiety, which she likely did, she wasn't picking at it. And now she was asleep yet again, which was both good and bad for Jackson. It was good in the sense that he didn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing too soon, but it left him with nothing to do. The news had been ruled out already, which gave him an irritating selection of daytime soap operas and Judge Judy. Could have been Joe Brown, Mathis, or Marilyn Milian, come to think of it. It was all the same, and it all gave him insufficient distraction.
Jackson reached for another syringe, biting his lower lip at the stab of pain in his ribs. He had slowly but surely pulled himself into a sitting position an hour prior, insisting to only himself that he was not going to be flat on his back for this. It had hurt like a son of a bitch, but it salvaged some of his pride.
Thomas had finally managed to snag him some mepivacaine, a local anesthetic that worked much better than the vicodin, but with the doctor back at work, Jackson had to inject it into the lumbar catheter himself and his current position made that feat much more difficult. But Jackson was stubborn enough to disregard all of this if it meant Spencer didn't have to see him looking so pathetically frail in bed.
He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, carefully maneuvering his torso and inserting the needle into the tiny tube protruding from his spine. He injected the mepivacaine as Thomas had shown him, tossing the empty syringe in the small trash can next to the bed, and leaned back again, waiting for the epidural to work its beautiful magic again as he stared at his silent phone.
It had been an hour and a half since the Ben's last message, letting him know that the quartet was on their way to Bennington. They still had at about an hour until they arrived, and Jackson was giving them fifteen minutes after their arrival until he would assume the worst, rounding it all up to an hour and a half for kicks.
There was a small part of his brain that wished he could be in that car, working with the team instead of waiting for news, but for the most part, Jackson was completely used to most aspects of this scenario. It did nag at him that Caleb was involved, of course, but Jackson was confident in his younger brother's abilities. If something was going to go wrong, it would be something completely out of their control, and Jackson's presence would never change any of it.
But there was something else bothering Jackson, something he wasn't going to admit to anyone. Something that most people probably wouldn't find surprising- maybe fascinating, or at least interesting- but something that the twins had never actually discussed. Partially because they didn't have to, partially because Jackson assumed Caleb shared his lack of inclination to talk about such things, and partially because it was an embarrassing cliché.
The only way Jackson could ever think to explain it was that he knew something was wrong with Caleb. It wasn't physical pain- it wasn't like the job in England when Caleb had been stabbed and Jackson felt a sting in his own side. It was some kind of emotional distress, the kind that led to Jackson subconsciously taking on his brother's idiosyncrasies- biting his nails, picking at his cuticles. It only seemed to happen when the two were apart, and Jackson had never figured out how to stop it from happening- and calling Caleb to find out what was upsetting him wasn't really-
Actually, it was. Well, calling wasn't an option, because Caleb wasn't about to talk about things with his three person audience- if he was willing to talk at all- but there was nothing stopping Jackson from sending him a text. And maybe it was the medication talking- disregarding that a local wouldn't really impact his thinking- but it seemed like a good idea. It had the benefits of maybe calming his brother down a bit and keeping him from his own impending issues.
Jackson reached for the phone, his hand freezing in mid-air for a moment when the phone buzzed, letting him know he had received a message. Fantastic, another one of those moments. Sure enough, he flipped open the phone and saw that he had received a message from Caleb. More accurately, a message from himself, seeing as how the brothers had switched phones before the younger departed for Oklahoma.
We'll talk in MN.
Jackson smiled faintly, scoffing slightly in irritated amusement. He fired back a quick 'Deal' before setting the phone back on the nightstand, rubbing the back of his neck and disinterested in the fact that it was yet another one of Caleb's common gestures. It encouraged him and even gave him comfort knowing that it seemed he and his brother were finally on their way to repairing their many issues. And that the younger man knew exactly what to say to him sometimes.
Maybe it was the whole experience of almost dying yet again, but the problems between the twins were seeming so...'nothing' wasn't the correct word, but it all seemed so much easier than it had a few days prior. So what if-
Jackson's entire moment of uncharacteristic warm fuzzies and disgusting optimism was abruptly killed by the sound of the front door of Thomas' home opening. He held his breath, barely acknowledging Jeff's muted voice in the silent tension, and within a few seconds, he heard that voice. The voice he hadn't heard in three years but one that he could never forget or misplace.
He had only heard his mother's voice a handful of times in the last decade, which was nothing compared to most normal people in the world. He talked to her during prison visits and the occasional phone call, but neither had much to say to each other, both unwilling to carry on as though the events that December evening- eleven years ago, next week- had never happened.
Jackson instinctively reached for the pack of cigarettes in his pants before remembering that not only did he not have any, he was absolutely not allowed to smoke. He took a deep breath instead, bringing his fingers absently to his lips as he mimed the unhealthy habit- it helped sometimes. Not this time, though.
As the footsteps approached, Jackson glanced down at his chest. Despite his lack of shirt, it could hardly be called 'bare'- he had three bandages covering his various bullet holes. He should have taken a shower when he had the chance. He knew he looked so pathetically weak and worn out, hardly like a man with any kind of grasp on his life, and definitely not the man he wanted her to see.
Jackson pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and squeezed, trying to calm the hell down and get a grip. After all, everything he said regarding how he didn't care about her, about how she wasn't his mother anymore and didn't matter was a bunch of lies if he couldn't manage to keep it together now of all times. And despite everything that was screaming otherwise in his mind, he still wanted to believe it was the truth. She couldn't get to him because she was just another person.
Jackson exhaled deeply, releasing his face and looking up in time to see the familiar figure in the doorway. Thankfully, his last attempt at a rally had made an impact. He found himself able to stare steadily at the woman, his resolve not wavering when her gaze dropped to his many wounds, both covered and old scars and the warm concern softened her hard features.
Jackson remained silent, turning his head to follow his mother's movement as she walked across the room and sat at the edge of the opposite bed. Unfortunately, the older woman seemed in no hurry to say anything, and Jackson finally broke the silence.
"You're a little late for the silent vigil," he told her, managing to keep the bitterness from his voice. "Are we going to talk, or not?"
The question seemed to catch Spencer off guard, but she recovered quickly and smiled wryly, getting to her feet. Jackson watched in discomfort as her hand approached his forehead, as though she was going to smooth back his hair. She hesitated, seemingly thinking better of it, and retracted her hand. She studied him, that same somehow taunting smile teasing her lips.
"You look..." she trailed off, and Jackson felt his blood run cold. Bitch. He knew what was coming, because he had taken these same cheap shots more than once in his life, and chances were, he would take one at her before the night was over.
"Just say it," he muttered through clenched teeth. Let her have her moment and then they could get to it- he was already finished with this circling.
"...so much like your father."
Jackson just nodded, not phased in the slightest. He was well aware- almost every physical feature he and Caleb had came from James. "Alright," he responded blandly, "Was that it?"
Spencer shook her head, sitting down again. "Actually," she began nonchalantly, crossing one leg over the other and lighting a cigarette. Bitch. "I was waiting for you to explain yourself."
Jackson chuckled dryly in disbelief. She was hardly one to demand any kind of explanation for anything. "I wasn't aware that I owed you one," he replied just as flatly, reaching forward slightly to take the offered cigarette without a second thought. Fuck the rules, and didn't Thomas say coughing was good for him anyway?
"So you went through all the trouble of setting up this elaborate explosion faking that woman's death and making a big mess that we have to clean up, and you think you don't need to explain yourself?" Spencer asked, raising a delicate eyebrow. "She's quite the pain in our ass right now."
She's like that sometimes. That's what Jackson might have said, if he was talking to Caleb or maybe Ben, shutting down the topic in a way that was both honest and made a slight joke at Lisa's expense, but not with this woman. They weren't close enough for anything more than a short drag and a "No, I don't."
Spencer sighed, taking the cigarette back from Jackson as he coughed sharply, wincing at the pain. "Do you want my help or not?" she snapped. "We know that woman isn't Reisert, and this entire imbroglio has gotten to the point that we can't say it's her without any evidence that she was ever involved."
"That would be your problem, wouldn't it?" Jackson replied, trying to hold back a smug smile. "What are you going to do otherwise, say it's someone else?" Fuck it, he didn't want to hold it back. "Are you going to hold a press conference and say that not only did Lisa stage her own death, she murdered some unknown person in the process?"
The brunette woman took a deep drag, shooting Jackson a sharp look. "Of course not. Who would believe it? That woman couldn't assassinate a squirrell."
"What does that make Keefe?" The two Rippners quickly turned their attention to Lisa as she sat up, her glare focused on Spencer. Jackson raised an eyebrow, giving the woman a small smile even though she wasn't even looking at him. She obviously hadn't been quite as asleep as he had thought. "Because I killed him," Lisa finished, and then narrowed her eyes at the other woman, thinking. "I know you."
She turned to Jackson, her face showing a handful of negative emotions. "That's Spencer? Your 'in' at the CIA?" she asked, sounding almost accusatory. Jackson only nodded, knowing where she was going with this but not wanting to hear it. There was only one way she could know the CIA agent. Sure enough, Lisa leaned forward, still frowning. "She was one of the people who questioned me after the flight," she explained softly, and Jackson didn't need her to finish.
He turned to face his mother again, his eyes flashing. "You helped set her up?" he asked the woman, who was obviously still surprised to see Lisa there. Apparently she hadn't recognized her at first. "What-"
"Of course I did," Spencer snapped, quickly regrouping as she met Jackson's eye contact. "It was my goddamn idea, but I wouldn't have had to if you wouldn't have been careless enough to give her your real name. Jesus, what if that had gone public? What about your brother? What the hell were you thinking?" she finished, turning Jackson's interrupted question back on him.
"It wasn't your place," Jackson snapped back just as ferociously, now unwilling to look back at Lisa. He didn't think Spencer had given away enough information with that outburst to identify herself, and he didn't want to know if he was wrong. He couldn't waste time thinking about it.
"I was protecting all of us, and don't you dare pretend you would have done otherwise," his mother replied, undeterred.
Jackson opened his mouth to reply, but he was stopped by a hand on his forearm. He still didn't turn, but he heard Lisa all the same. "It's done," she said softly, imploring him to drop the entire thing before sliding her fingers down his arm to take his hand in hers and squeezing. Jackson returned the gentle pressure, frowning slightly. He knew Spencer was right. He could shift the blame all he wanted, but really, he couldn't be surprised or even that angry about what she had done. There were other ways she could have handled it, but when it came down to it, Jackson was far from innocent.
"So what do you want, exactly?" Lisa asked the agent, her voice harder again, and Jackson bit back another smile. She seemed to pick up on his animosity and was taking his side, no explanation necessary. Or she didn't appreciate being called a pain in the ass or the implication that she was weak. At least, not when it was coming from someone other than Jackson, because he had said both.
Jackson's mental smile faded as he focused his attention on his mother instead. He didn't need the older woman to answer Lisa's question. He already knew what she had come for, and it wasn't exactly talking. "She's here for you," he replied for her, his grip tightening. He didn't need it explained because it made perfect sense. The feds wanted to torture some kind of confession from the young woman, tying her to the entire plot, and then either imprison or execute her. It was clean and so much easier, and would happen over his dead body.
"Miss Reisert-" Spencer began, more formal than she had been, but Lisa cut her off immediately.
"That's not my name," she insisted, squeezing Jackson's hand. Jackson seriously wondered for a split second if she was reading his mind. The small woman was picking up on his anger so acutely- the more tense he became, the harder her voice came out. He was used to this, in a way, but it usually came from his associates, who were trained professionals and knew how to read body language cues better than actual words most of the time.
Spencer sighed again, taking another drag. "It could be again," she replied, and Jackson recognized the attempt to remain patient. He wanted to cut in right then, insist that Lisa wasn't interested, but he definitely did not speak for the woman and he was moderately curious as to how Spencer was going to try to sell this plan. "I'm here to bring you back home."
Jesus Christ. Jackson clenched his jaw, trying to remain silent, but he couldn't hold it in. "Bullshit," he spat, instinctively pulling Lisa closer to him. Spencer glanced down, seemingly noticing their hands for the first time. She lifted her gaze back up to Jackson, her eyes flaring. He could easily read the are you fucking kidding me? in those dark pools. He stared right back at her, not backing down at all. Of course he loved Lisa, and she loved him. What did Spencer think- they were risking their lives for the fun of it?
"Could you excuse us, Jane Doe?" she asked, not looking away from her son. Any of the patience she had once shown was quickly dissipating. Jackson shook his head, but released his grip on Lisa. He wanted her to stay, but he was not going to hold her there.
"Whatever you want to say, you can say in front of her," Jackson replied, knowing full well the consequences of his words. If Lisa was going to find out about his mother, she would find out. He just didn't feel like keeping the truth from her in the moment. He let out an internal sigh of relief when he didn't feel Lisa moving from the bed. True to her word, she was staying at his side.
"Alright," Spencer said, her voice betraying her surprise. She had obviously picked up on the fact that either Lisa didn't know who she was, and likely didn't know what- if anything- the younger woman knew about their past. "You can't be with her, Jackson. You can't trust civilians."
Jackson raised both eyebrows at this, but before he could respond, the older woman continued. "She might think she's alright with it now, but things will change and she could hold you- and your family- hostage with what she knows."
"I would nev-" Lisa began, but Jackson held out his arm across her chest, symbolically stepping in front of her without even moving his legs.
"No," he replied coldly, trying to stand firm while processing every implication behind the woman's words. "You don't- you lost the right to give me advice when you walked out on-"
"And what was I supposed to do?" his mother demanded, her composure cracking just as his was. "I was trying to give you a normal-"
"Then you shouldn't have left us with a fucking assassin," Jackson snapped, his voice raising far beyond his normal volume with each couple of words. He was not a yeller, but he was simply losing his control. "You shouldn't have let it get that-"
"He would have turned me in if I fought back," the woman insisted. "He knew my name, Jackson, and he could prove that Cathy Erickson didn't exist until 1980. It would have been my word against his evidence and I would have lost-"
"You lost us anyway!" Jackson yelled back, his voice cracking slightly, unused to the high volume and even higher emotion. Lisa stared down at the tense arm pressing sharply into her chest, completely dumbfounded. If she had thought watching Jackson, Caleb, and Ben argue on the hotel balcony was bad, there were no words for this. She was afraid to touch Jackson for Christ's sake- he might actually strike her. She had never seen his entire muscular structure tensed up like it was at that moment, as though he was using every ounce of self-control that he possessed to stay still.
She wanted to stop him, but there was just no way to calm him down now. She wanted to let him get it out finally, but the two were completely losing it on each other, a decade of pain rushing out in purely emotional words, and she didn't think it did either of them any good. Even when Jackson had been threatening his brother's life, he was still composed enough to articulate. The dam was broken, and she had no idea what to do with the flood water.
"I did what I thought was right," Spencer insisted, her voice just as harsh as her son's. Lisa would never have been able to see the resemblance by merely looking at the two, but she would be damned if they weren't mirrors of each other when they spoke. She actually felt some sympathy for the older woman whose eyes were flitting wildly over her son's chest. It was screamingly obvious that she hadn't wanted this life for her kids, which meant that she was telling the truth- she had done her best and knew that it wasn't nearly good enough. "I was trying to-"
"I don't give a damn," Jackson interrupted, lowering his arm to grasp Lisa's thigh. Lisa was honestly surprised he even remembered she was there. Somehow, hearing that line from his mother seemed to pull him back into reality, and his voice seemed to steady, the words coming out with more forethought. "I really don't give a damn right now why you were careless enough to get in that situation, if Dad told you he was going to slit all our throats if you left, or whatever your story is, but you just don't get to pass your shit onto Lisa, and you sure as hell aren't taking her anywhere to-"
"That's her decision, Jackson," Spencer rebuked, choosing to ignore everything else he had said to her. She turned her hard gaze to Lisa, and again, despite the lack of similarity in color and structure, that sharp stare was all too familiar. "Do you want to see your family again?" she asked, but this time, it was almost a threat.
Lisa was sure her jaw dropped, even if it didn't actually move, and she narrowed her eyes. Of course she wanted to see them, but how-
"At least be honest about it," Jackson spat, his grip tightening even more. Lisa was sure he was going to leave tiny bruises on her flesh. "Tell her what you're actually going to do and see if she's really that stupid."
"Oh for Christ's-" Spencer cut herself off, shaking her head slightly. "We're going to clear her name," she insisted, speaking directly to her son again. "People aren't buying this cute little killer- even a confession will be seen as bullshit at this point."
Lisa pursed her lips slightly, knowing it was stupid, but still feeling somewhat offended. She wished the woman wouldn't refer to her so condescendingly. She was a killer. But she wanted to know what the woman was offering more than she wanted to defend her new record, so she kept her mouth shut.
Jackson scoffed, and Lisa saw that despite how much calmer his words were coming out, his body had not relaxed in the slightest. He really did seem to think he was protecting her life. "Give me a fucking break," he replied, not hiding his disbelief in the slightest. "You're going to let her-" He stopped himself suddenly, turning back to look at Lisa for the first time since the beginning of this meeting.
He had intended to voice his doubt that they were going to let Lisa live with everything she knew, but it occurred to him just then that Spencer didn't know everything Lisa knew. If this offer was real...it could be the best option for Lisa. It could give her life back. It changed everything, and now he had to know if it was real. He couldn't screw it up for her by jumping the gun.
How many times had he said to himself and out loud that Lisa shouldn't be with him? Shouldn't he give her that chance? He owed her that much, right? It could be the way he made up for getting her into this situation in the first place- letting her go.
Lisa furrowed her brow as Jackson relaxed significantly and his hand abruptly left her thigh. What had changed? Why- and how- did he seem so much more determined yet somehow defeated? She watched him break their eye contact and turn back to Spencer, feeling almost cut loose by the sudden disconnect. She reached for his hand again, but she didn't feel any response this time.
She made eye contact with Spencer again, suddenly feeling much smaller than she had before. What the hell was going on? The woman already looked different, more collected herself. She and her son had obviously been communicating with their body language as well as their words, and Jackson's sudden withdrawal seemed to feed her own confidence. Before Spencer even opened her mouth, Lisa knew that whatever was about to be said wasn't an offer- it was an order.
"You were abducted by the Chechens after the flight," Spencer explained, her voice now completely steady. "They planned to kill you for foiling their plans, but decided to keep you around instead and devised a staged death because they knew the authorities were looking for you." Her eyes bore into Lisa's. "Horrible things happened to you, but you managed to escape. And when we catch those 'responsible', you will be only too happy to identify them as the ones who held you hostage."
Lisa wanted to throw up- the words were said so easily. She was flat out being told to play this elaborate victim who had been raped, tortured, and God knew what else, and then set up others- did the Chechens have something to do with why Jackson had been talking about learning Russian earlier?- as she ran crying and lying to her family.
This couldn't be real- why wasn't Jackson saying anything? Lisa just didn't understand. He had been dragging his heels, offering responses that ranged from smart ass to full-on wild animal up until now. Did he agree?
Gritting her teeth, Lisa lifted up her hand to grab Jackson's jaw, forcing him to turn and look at her. What the hell was he thinking? He owed her something. Jesus, she couldn't read that blue this time. There was too much going on, too many emotions swimming around in his irises.
"It's where you belong," he said coldly, his eyes coming into focus, but Lisa shook her head. Not this time. She wasn't buying the ice. It was too abrupt to be real- she had seen Jackson's mask too many times to believe it. She just wanted the damn truth. The two stared at each other, both defiantly waiting for the other to back down, but surprisingly, Jackson gave in first.
"You'll be safe, Leese," he clarified, his voice almost a whisper, and Lisa identified one strong emotion creeping back into his eyes- sorrow. She shook her head again, now sickeningly aware of what he was doing.
"What about you?" she asked softly, wishing now more than anything that Spencer would leave. He was still guarded- if only she could get him alone. But no, she just watched as Jackson first seemed to melt at her question, only to harden right back up again.
"I go back to New York with my team," he explained, almost casual now, but Lisa thought she would have to be blind to miss how much he struggled to get the words out. "And that's it."
"'That's it'?" Lisa repeated. "As in…" She didn't know how to say it without sounding over the top dramatic, but she didn't have to. Jackson nodded, and Lisa wanted to cry. 'That's it' as in it was over, she wouldn't see him again. As in, she had to make the choice between her family and him, except she wasn't even being given options.
She shook her head again, more in disbelief that the situation was even happening than refusing the 'offer'. After everything...she could just go home as though none of this had happened? As though she was going to an alternate reality where she was a heroine?
"You'll have a future," Jackson insisted, almost pleading with her. "The kind you...wanted, remember?" Lisa heard what he didn't say: the kind you won't get with me. A life in the normal world, not the underworld. A life with possibly a husband, children, and back to a stable job. Back to her family. Back to her own name. No guns, no deception and manipulation. No Caleb or Ben. No Jackson.
Lisa closed her eyes, feeling the burning of oncoming tears. She couldn't look in his eyes anymore, because it physically hurt. There was no answer she could give that he wanted to hear- she understood him all too well now. But she couldn't answer for him now. She couldn't answer for anyone but herself, and so she concentrated, trying to block out the logic trying to break down every word, every implication, and focused on her heart instead. What did she want?
Lisa shook her head one more time, releasing Jackson's jaw to prop her forehead on her palm. She knew what she wanted. "I'm sorry," she finally whispered, opening her eyes to finally give a response to the waiting Rippners.
I'm thinking the side story for this chapter will be the event that got Cheryl transferred to Miami and caused so many problems between the brothers. R&R!