Joe Reisert walked through the door to Lisa's hospital room, peering in to see his daughter sitting up in bed, dressed in her sweatpants and a Miami Hurricanes hoodie. He knocked on the doorframe lightly, causing her to look up.

"Hey, Dad," she mumbled, weakly pushing her sleeves up to her elbows and making a feeble attempt to pull her hair back in a ponytail.

"Need some help with that?" Joe asked, setting down the donuts and coffee he had brought in. Lisa shook her head, struggling with the stretchy clinging to her wrist. "Are you sure? Because you look like hell," he said with a small laugh. Lisa gave another weak smile as she finally wrapped the stretchy around her messy curls and let go of it with a satisfying snap!

"Well, if I look like hell, ain't no use in gussying up," she replied. "You can go ahead and take me back to my place, this time, Dad. I know Regina's going to be there at your place tonight, so I'll stay out of your guys' way." Joe looked shocked.

"Lisa! Honey! We don't mind having you there at the house; you're my daughter, for Christ's sake-"

"Dad!" Lisa shouted. "Language!" Joe rolled his eyes. "I know you mean well, and everything, it's just- ... I'm not comfortable around that woman, yet." She fidgeted with a piece of lint on her sweatpants. "Besides, I'll be fine at my place, I can take care of myself. I know you don't want to see me puking all over the place, or turning green at the slightest scent of anything remotely aromatic."

Joe moved the wheelchair from its position near the door over to Lisa's bed. "Lisa, your chemo treatments take so much out of you. You can barely function for a few days. I'd much rather have you over at my place, where I can take care of you. That's what fathers do for their daughters." Lisa forced an apologetic smile.

"I know, it's just that-" She paused, thinking back to her most recent encounter with Jackson from the night before. "I've got a lot of stuff on my mind right now, and I want to work some things out all by myself without having other people around." She saw the dejected look on her father's face. "No! Daddy! I don't mean anything personal by it! I just ... I've got a lot of thinking to do, and I don't feel comfortable being sick around people, and I'd much rather stick it out by my lonesome. Okay? So ... can you just drop me off at my place?" That way, if Jackson decides to keep tabs on me, I at least won't be luring him over to Dad's place.

Joe finally sighed an 'okay' and held out the wheelchair for her, which she slid into. "Okay, kiddo, let's take you home."

-

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After her father left, Lisa locked the door and shuffled into the kitchen. She reached under the sink for her Rubbermaid bucket and shoved a small plastic trash bag into it.

Cancer Treatment 101: Always have a puke pail handy.

Boy, if I didn't learn that one the hard way! After her first chemo treatment session, she had spilled the contents of her stomach all over her kitchen floor due to lack of 'supplies'. She now made sure she always had a puke recepticle on hand.

She continued her shuffling all the way into the living room. Sighing, she set the Rubbermaid bucket next to the couch and flung herself down on the cushions before falling asleep.

-

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Jackson had been waiting in the hall closet for nearly an hour. Joe had left about twenty minutes ago, and Lisa had been up and about for the next ten minutes, but had been silent for the past ten. Must've passed out.

A sudden retching sound caught his attention.

Must've woke up.

He decided he no longer wanted to stay in hiding and slid the door open carefully, stepping out into the hallway. He followed the retching sounds into the living room, where he saw Lisa hanging over the side of the couch, vomiting into a plastic bucket. He made a quick detour to the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel and a glass from the cupboard. He filled the glass with water and took a sip before heading back to the living room. Lisa was still vomitting intermittently. She paused after the heaving stopped, catching her breath.

"You're going to get puke in your hair."

Lisa looked up slowly, seeing Jackson standing at the edge of her living room. The second she acknowledged his presence, he moved forward, stepping closer to her. Lisa tore her eyes away from him as she felt her stomach contract, forcing her light breakfast and lunch up again. She felt the cushion next to her sink as Jackson sat down. He set the paper towel and glass of water down on the coffee table and turned back to Lisa, pulling the rebellious curls that had fallen from her haphazard ponytail away from her face. Her body trembled as she continued to dry heave, her stomach empty but still nauseated. She felt a hand between her shoulderblades.

"It's okay. It'll pass, Leese," she heard him murmur as he slowly moved his hand in a circle on her back. She sniffled a few times before wiping the tears from the side of her face and sliding her upper body back onto the couch. "Here, Lisa." She looked over at Jackson, who held out the paper towel. She gave him a cautious look before taking it from him. She wiped at her eyes, then her mouth. "Take a couple drinks, it'll make you feel better." She threw the paper towel into the bucket and accepted the glass of water, gulping down a third of it to rinse the acidic bile taste from her mouth. Once the taste was gone, she took careful sips, feeling her breathing begin to return to normal.

"How long have you been here?" She handed the glass back to Jackson, who set it on the end table next to the couch and shrugged.

"Got here about an hour before your dad dropped you off." He noticed she was still shaking from her previous exertion. He grabbed a pillow and set it in his lap before pulling at the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. "Here ... lay down, put your head in my lap." She paused, giving him an incredulous stare.

"You've got to be kidding." When he didn't respond, she realized he was being serious. "Look, I don't know how stupid you think I am, but-"

"How stupid I think you are has nothing to do with this situation," he replied curtly. He shook the blanket out a few times and looked back at her, fixing his gaze on her face. "Leese ... you're nauseous, you're shaking, and you're exhausted. While I agree that this would be the perfect opportunity to pull a fast one on you, if I was going to do that, I would've done it a while ago, wouldn't you think?" Lisa shrugged and continued watching him warily. "Now lay your head down on the pillow so I can cover you up." He gestured to the pillow in his lap. Lisa sighed, too tired to fight, and rested her head on the pillow. She felt the blanket settle over her as Jackson tucked it in around her.

"And what are you going to do while I'm laying here?" She asked weakly. She felt his legs shift under her head slightly as he slid his feet out of his shoes and propped them up on the coffee table.

"I'm going to watch the episode of LOST that you DVR'd, then channel surf until Glenn Beck comes on at nine." Lisa smiled to herself as she heard the remote rattle on the end table and then heard the electric hum of her TV turning on. She closed her eyes as she settled into the couch and Jackson's lap. She felt him pull the stretchy out of her hair, loosing her curls.

"What are you do-"

"Don't worry about it. Go to sleep," he replied. Sighing, she settled back down and closed her eyes again. She felt his fingers running through her curls absentmindedly before rubbing small circles at her temple.

She vaguely heard Sawyer calling Kate 'Freckles' before she was lulled asleep.

-

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A grating noise, followed by a low bang, roused Jackson from his sleep. He opened his eyes carefully, expecting to see sunlight streaming in through the windows. Instead, he was met with the deep gray-blue of the five o'clock morning hour. He looked around and saw Lisa's lithe form tucked up in the heavy blanket, with her head now laying next to his legs. The pillow that had been resting between his lap and her head now lay abandoned on the floor. Another grating noise, followed by a mechanical whirring caught his attention.

Jackson carefully stood up, making sure not to wake Lisa. He took a few strides to the window, pulling the blinds back cautiously. He nearly laughed at the sight of what had set him on edge.

The local garbagemen were emptying trash cans into the back of their truck and compacting the contents with their hydraulic system.

Jackson released the blinds and shoved his hands into his pockets. He peered back at the prone figure on the couch, and made his way back to her. Gathering his keys and cell phone from the coffee table, he bent over her and paused. Finally, after a few seconds of mental debate, he closed the last few inches between them, placing his lips against her temple. He gave her a soft kiss and ruffled her hair slightly before grabbing his shoes and standing.

"Take care, Leese," he mumbled, heading toward the door.

-

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Lisa jerked awake, squinting at the light emanating from the TV. She placed a hand against the side of her forehead, remembering the feeling of Jackson's lips pressed against her skin. Her rational side shuddered at the thought. A deeper, more irrational side within her began to merrily skip around through fields filled with butterflies, rainbows, flowers, and puppies.

She sat up instantly, feeling the blood rush pound through her head. After letting her eyes adjust, she glanced at the time above the news ticker on the bottom of the TV screen. 1:43 a.m. What? Steadying herself, she cast a glance to her left.

Jackson lay slumped against the arm of the sofa, with his feet still propped up on the coffee table, the remote still in his hand, and his left arm tucked under his head. Dead asleep to the world.

A dream, Lisa sighed. It had all been a dream. A weird, out-of-body-experience, third-person dream. She had another three and a half hours before the trash truck came. He never kissed her, never ruffled her hair. Thank God, her rational side chimed. Her irrational side was still too busy skipping through that damn warm and fuzzy field because of that stupid dream. She contemplated laying back down, but a light flashing on the coffee table caught her attention. Jackson's cell phone.

Should she? All she had to do was pick it up, look at the caller ID, set it back down. Before she could make her decision, the flashing abruptly stopped. Her interest piqued, she quickly reached for the phone and looked at the LCD screen.

1 New TXT
1:46 a.m.

Without a second thought, Lisa flipped open the phone and watched the screen flash to life. She quickly navigated to the Message Inbox and searched for the new text message. Her blood ran cold as the message populated on the screen.

Stop letting the Reisert bitch distract you, and DO. YOUR. FUCKING. JOB!

Lisa steeled herself and glared at Jackson, mentally willing him to wake up and face her wrath. First of all, where the hell does this person get off calling her a bitch!? And second, what exactly is she distracting him from doing? Not wanting to wait any longer for an answer, she poked a finger into Jackson's arm.

"Jackson," she whispered. He stirred momentarily, then seemed to settle into a more comfortable position. Lisa reached out again, this time grabbing his arm and shaking him lightly. "Jackson!" she hissed, feeling anger bubbling in her gut. She watched as his eyes squinted open slightly, blinking at the light from the TV. He clicked the remote and the TV turned off, filling the room with a staticky fizzing noise for a few seconds before becoming silent.

"What is it, Leese?" he asked, sliding his feet off of the coffee table, and letting the numb extremities bang with a dull thud against the floor as his heels made contact with the ground. An unpleasant pins-and-needles tingling sensation skittered up his calves, making his skin crawl.

"Care to explain?" She threw his phone into his lap and crossed her arms angrily across her chest as she waited for an explanation. Jackson glanced at the message. An uneasy tension constricted his chest.

"Not really, I don't." He closed his phone and shoved it into his pocket, before glancing back at Lisa. She fixed him with a saddened gaze.

"You know, Jackson, every time I begin to think you've changed, you prove me wrong." With what little light there was, Jackson could see disappointment written clearly across her features. "You were being so ... different, so nice, earlier tonight. And now, I-" Lisa paused, and Jackson wasn't sure if she was getting emotional or simply struggling to find the right words. "I don't know if I can trust you or believe anything you say or do."

Jackson snorted. "First of all, Leese, I've never claimed to be a changed man. Whether or not you're putting me up on a pedestal is your own probl-"

"I'm not putting you up on a pedestal, Jackson!" Lisa exclaimed in a hurt tone. "I just thought that-"

"Just thought what? Huh, Lisa?" Jackson argued. "Thought that I could change into some white knight to rescue you from your woes? Thought I could become an honest-to-goodness humanitarian? Face the facts, Leese! I am who I am, and I'm not going to change into something different just because you expect it of me!" A silence fell between them. Lisa gathered her blanket in her lap and shoved a stray lock behind her ear.

"You said you never lied to me," she said softly. Her eyes were downcast, looking at the floor, refusing to look at him. "That's all I ever really expected of you. And now I'm beginning to think everything you are is one big lie." She paused, swallowing hard. "I'm not sure what to believe anymore." Jackson noticed the hitch in her voice, and when she suddenly stood and shoved past him, he knew she was fighting back tears. "You can let yourself out." He heard her stomping up the stairs, and her bedroom door slammed a few seconds later.

Sighing, Jackson looked at his phone again before sliding his feet into his shoes. A few minutes later, he opened her front door, flipped the lock on her doorknob, and closed it behind him.

-

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Lisa woke the next morning to the sound of her radio blaring the local Top 40 station. She groaned and slammed her hand on the power button, instantly ceasing the obnoxious rap music. A headache pounded behind her temples, and she dreaded getting out of bed.

After a few minutes, she let her legs slide over the side of the bed and she pulled herself into a sitting position. She instantly regretted it. The throbbing ache started at the base of her neck, working her way up the back of her skull, signaling the beginnings of a tension headache. She could taste the bile in the back of her throat from having vomitted so much the previous night.

With a groan, Lisa stood and shuffled to the doorway tiredly. She navigated her way down the stairs and into the living room, cringing at the thought of pulling the vomit-filled trash bag out of the Rubbermaid container. However, she knew it would be a much worse job if she didn't have the trash bag in there.

She finished cleaning her kitchen and living room before grabbing her phone and a glass of water and settling herself on a bar chair at the island in her kitchen. With a sigh, she dialed a too-familiar number and waited for an answer.

"Good morning! Thank you for calling the Lux Atlantic, this is Cynthia. May I assist you with a reservation?"

"Cynthia, it's me," Lisa croaked.

"Hey Lis- oh! God, you sound horrible! Are you alright!?" Cynthia asked worriedly. "Is your treatment making you sick?"

Lisa tiredly ran a hand through her hair. "Yeah, Cynth, it's got me sick in a bad way, this morning. I feel like shit."

"Yeah, well you sound like it, too! At least you get every other two weeks off for it. Could you imagine having to come in after that?" Cynthia postulated. Lisa shook her head slowly, then realized that the other redhead wouldn't be able to see her response.

"No, I definitely couldn't. So, anyway, I'm just calling in to see how everything's going. Having any problems? Anyone giving you a hard time?"

"Nope!" Lisa could practically hear Cynthia's smile. "Nothing I can't handle! I swear, Lisa, those management classes you signed me up for were amazing! I feel like I can diffuse practically anything!"

"Well, that's good Cynthia, I'm glad that-"

"Actually," Cynthia interrupted, "hold that thought. Bob and Marianne Taylor are heading this way. No doubt to complain, or to checkout. Or both. I'll give you a call later, okay?" She hung up before Lisa could respond.

Sighing, Lisa turned the phone off and laid her head on the counter, pressing her cold glass against her forehead.

-

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Jackson stood next to his BMW at a gas station just outside of Adams, a town off of I-75 in northern Florida, nearly 6 hours north of Miami. He waited patiently as the numbers on the gas pump continued rolling over as he filled up. A chirping noise emanated from his pocket, signaling an incoming call. Jackson quickly pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open.

"Rippner," he answered.

"Finally pulled yourself out from between the Reisert bitch's legs to do your fucking job, I see." Jackson gritted his teeth and took a few breaths before responding.

"I'm just outside of the Georgia border." He contemplated his next word choices carefully. "And don't you ever talk about me like that ever again, got that, Henson? I haven't spent the last 12 years with this company to have my professionalism questioned by a rookie like you." He was practically seething at Henson's insinuation. "I'm the upper echelon, rook. Make comments like that again, and I'll see to it that you get an entirely different type of 'retirement' altogether."

Henson merely scoffed. "Let me break it down for you, Jackson ... you're not our company's poster boy anymore! You're out of the good graces! I don't see why the boss doesn't get rid of you, mob-style." Jackson wanted to rip the kid's throat out. "All that aside, however, the higher-ups would like me to deliver a message to you. They want you to get your job done by tonight, or they call out The Cleaners and you don't get a paycheck," Henson sneered.

Jackson lifted the gas nozzle and set it back in its niche at the pump, twisted the gas cap closed, and flipped the cap cover closed as he waited for his receipt to print. "Henson, you are on my last nerve right now. You better hope to God my next assignment doesn't send me anywhere near you up there in Denver because I'll rip your throat out if I come near you! You don't ever talk to me like that." He ripped his receipt out of the printer and reached into his pocket for his keys. "The job'll be done tonight, tell them they've got nothing to worry about. Now don't ever fuckin' call me again. Understand, rook?" He slammed his phone shut and quickly got into his car, pulled out of the gas station, and continued heading north along I-75.