Vertigo (VivifiedVanityxSeven)

RE: Vertigo

Lisa's lips had parted, preparing to give the man a brief, only somewhat polite answer. Hazels flicked to his dashboard, noting his name, "We've just had a really long flight, Mr. Green," and she smiled at the man, hoping that short answer would suffice. It clicked in her brain then what the driver was probably assuming to be going on between herself and Jackson; ironic was all she could place with that thought. A stewardess had once informed Jackson that the airplane lavatory wasn't a motel; she'd heard that displeased statement as she'd been walking away, but had never caught his response.

Well, now it is going to be one, she mused inwardly to that unhappy stewardess, as if the woman could actually hear her thoughts.

She turned towards Jackson briefly, her eyes attempting to scan the entrance of the airport again when they found themselves caught on his expression. She frowned slightly, her eyes following his unblinking gaze towards their driver and then settling back on Jackson. "Apparently my travelling companion doesn't do too terribly well on long flights..." She murmured absently, more to Jackson than to the driver, realizing that her only real thought at that moment was to hope that those blue orbs didn't shift their gaze towards her.

A hand found its way to her hair nervously, her fingers curling for a moment as she smiled sheepishly towards Eric as if trying to apologize for Jackson's behaviour, her expression hardened though, and she leaned over towards the man beside her. "Stop it," she breathed to Jackson at almost a hiss, "If that's the only face you can manage right now, just close your eyes and lay your head back." She didn't look at him after that, instead she simply pulled away from him and directed her attention towards her own window, hoping against hope Eric wouldn't be trying to fill the duration of the distance with small talk.

Given her job description, Lisa wasn't entirely opposed to such things. She 'made nice' with people all day, nearly every day; the people pleaser... but in the given situation, she didn't feel like dancing through the careful hoops of politely evading their driver's idle questions while wondering exactly how Jackson would feel about all of her answers.
 
RE: Vertigo

The driver's doubts about Jackson, as it turned out, were very nearly accurate; as he sat in the back seat, completely quiet and statue-like in his motionlessness, his hearing had begun to fade away as though he was listening to everything underwater - he didn't even seem aware that Lisa had spoken to him, his gaze pointed forward but unfocused. The feeling creeping through his limbs and torso had changed from a slow burn into a dull ache, something constant and throbbing, pain that felt as though it was in his blood and separate from the distinct pain of his injuries.

Eric nodded his head in understanding at Lisa's observation,

"Yeah, I had a friend like that, every time we got in the air, he'd start doing this thing where he hummed, right?" Eric said, and made a 'mmmh' noise, "Like that? And he'd do that for like twenty minutes - damned if I know why - before he started pukin'. Weirdest damn thing. All types of people out there, all react in all different ways. Gotta be hard, workin' on a plane, you know? Probably have to deal with the worst types, right, and it seems a pretty thankless job."

He took a left, moving through a business-heavy section of the city and away from it before he glanced at his rearview mirror and caught a second glimpse of Jackson,

"Whoa," Eric said, "Man, your eyes don't look good."

Normally the cabbie would have chosen to be a little more tactful, but there was something alarming about what he was seeing right then; when the guy had got into the cab, his eyes had been a freakish blue, but now they were nearly black from his massively dilated pupils and it was scary as hell - even worse, he seemed completely unresponsive,

"Is he alright?" Eric asked, glancing back at Lisa, tone tinged with concern now.
 
RE: Vertigo

The way cab drivers always seemed to love to talk had never quite made sense to Lisa until now; it seemed that Eric was keeping the conversation away from herself and Jackson all on his own. Story time... Lisa could do. You smiled and nodded at all the right times, and listened just enough to add your own little inputs to whatever was being told to you... just enough to keep the ball rolling without switching the conversation fully towards yourself. She'd turned towards Eric, flashing him a smile that was maybe a little brighter than she'd intended due to her being thankful for that turn of events; just a little longer and she and Jackson would have a small reprieve.

She was thinking over the eerie turn of that thought, and how easily she had settled into a level of comfort with him despite what had transpired between them less than two weeks ago, when something the cab driver said pulled her fully out of the play of those thoughts.

Confused slightly, she looked towards the mirror and, in realizing that the driver wasn't speaking to her any longer, turned to Jackson.

It'd seemed Jackson had finally had enough; whatever had been keeping the man going was well beyond the point of its last legs. Her hands found his shoulders, her right arm actually going around him for support as her left hand grasped gently to his chin, turning his head towards her and holding it there, "Jackson?" she questioned, a little louder than she'd intended. The arm around his shoulders shook him a little bit as if to shake him from whatever was pulling him under, "Jackson? You need to stay with me a little bit longer. I know that's a lot to ask, but we're almost there..." She wasn't quite sure if the fact that his eyes were open was entirely a good sign or not, but she looked into those eyes, repressing the shiver those nearly black voids couldn't help but birth in her, "Can you do that? Can you even hear me?"

It dawned on her then that Eric had actually aimed a question at her, and she tore her attention away from Jackson as much as she could, her eyes never quite leaving his face, "He's fine," she lied, "He just needs to lay down for awhile," she realized that probably would do little to settle the cab driver, not if he'd actually looked into those black voids. Looking away from Jackson, a forced smile found her lips as the hand that had been holding his chin lifted, petting the side of his head, "We're on our way to a rehab clinic..." it was the best thing she could think of off the top of her head, and probably the only excusable lie that would stop the driver from taking them straight to a hospital if Jackson got any worse. She wouldn't have disagreed with the man if he decided to take them there...

That was indeed where Jackson needed to be, for better or for worse, but right now they couldn't afford that, and she knew he'd never comply to such a thing if he had a say.

"Are we almost there? To the motel I mean?" The cute little couple off for a weekend get-away had probably just turned into some sort of sob story in the driver's mind, and Lisa wasn't quite sure which version she preferred less... Looking back to Jackson it seemed to hit her then; they would have been giving him morphine most likely, unless there was an odd reason he needed a different dose of painkillers... And if he'd been pulled out of the hospital early, not only was he not recovered enough for all that he was making himself do... that drug hadn't quite worked through his system yet. Maybe she was wrong on that guess; she was no doctor, and had almost zero medical training outside of a few first aid courses she'd forced herself to take only because of what she might encounter with her line of work.

Just as the cab driver probably saw lots of people, just like the flight stewardesses probably had countless stories and outlandish stories... so did Lisa. Anyone who dealt with the general public typically did, and it seemed that she was being made into one of those stories for some of those people more often than she was comfortable with.
 
RE: Vertigo

The cabbie's eyes were on the road but made to occasionally flick towards the back seat to keep an eye on the situation; he'd had some weird shit happen in his back seat before, but he'd yet to have anyone die back there and he wanted to keep it that way - the idea of someone dying in his cab gave him the willies, and this guy looked like he was ready to call it quits right then and there. The woman's reaction was moderately reassuring, however - she seemed to know what the hell was going on, and at least that was something.

Jackson, meanwhile, was focused on staying conscious, though the world was moving in and out of focus so rapidly that he began to feel nauseated. He was self-aware enough to know what was happening to his body right then, but was still annoyed with it for its inability to be pushed further - it had simply never occurred to him that the demands he was making on his body were unreasonable, that he had already taxed himself beyond what a human frame should be capable of withstanding.

At some point he became aware that he was looking at Lisa, though he wasn't sure when it had happened; his vision hearing began to swim back, just in time to hear Lisa asking how much longer the ride would be, and he realized that her arm was around him and that her fingers were stroking down the side of his head, through his hair and along his temple. For anyone else, the motion would have been comforting, something soothing and relaxing, but Jackson's response was a look of confusion, as though he was unclear on why he was being touched that way.

Then he was suddenly shifting to move away from Lisa, pulling back from the hand on his face and trying to shrug her off, his movements jerky and unnatural compared to his usual fluid grace, struggling against the way every part of him was now protesting to movement, his body's last-ditch effort to preserve energy.

Eric, meanwhile, was considering what Lisa had said and his expression had diminished from anxiety, to sympathy,

"We'll be there in just a couple'a minutes," he said, taking another right and finally pulling up to an older-looking motel that had a family-run accupuncture shop to its right, and a run-down looking grocery store to its left; the motel itself consisted of one floor of side-by-side rooms and the sign above the place declared vacancy, as well as heart-shaped jaccuzis,

"Shit, man. Rehab. Well, he's got a real nice girl to help him out," Eric said, peering back at them.

And Jackson, aware enough to know he wanted to get out of the cab as quickly as possible - suddenly the space seemed too small, everything was too warm, and he felt like he just needed air - pulled out Miguel's wallet and took out a few twenties, handing them over. Eric took them, but with clear hestitation, as though afraid he might get some of the crazy on him if he touched something Jackson had touched.

Seconds later and Jackson was blindly groping for the door handle, getting out of the car faster than anyone in his state should be capable of, making it to the sidewalk before his leg gave out on him, the limb registering its formal complaint in regards to the trauma and exertion it had undergone back at the airport. Half-kneeling, Jackson pressed one hand against the ground to stabilize himself, staring down at the sidewalk as he tried to collect his thoughts.

Eric was getting out of the car now,

"You know what," he said, "How 'bout I help you guys to your room, huh?"

Jackson put a cast-wrapped hand in the air,

"No." he replied, his tone harsh, seething as though furious with himself, "I'm fine."

He was even aware it was a stupid thing to say; he didn't look fine, and he was beyond the point of being capable of convincing anyone that he was, but he said it anyways. He remained certain that he would be able to get up again, he just needed the world to stop rocking.
 
RE: Vertigo

The look of confusion that flashed across his features registered to her, and she found herself relaxing just a little bit; he seemed to be back, the look in his eyes no longer that eerily vacant stare, and as he pulled away from her she let him go, not wanting him to struggle against her more than he already was.

As the taxi cab pulled to a stop, Lisa smiled yet again at what Eric said -- she was at a loss, and that seemed to be her answer for everything at the moment. Maybe if she smiled enough... it would all just go away. Her attention never fully left Jackson though, who one minute was paying Eric with money from the wallet she had watched Jackson searching through when they'd been leaving the parking lot. Now her head swam a little bit, her eyes following that wallet as it disappeared. She intended to ask Eric if he would wait a minute, let Jackson sit in the car while she dealt with getting a room, but she heard his hand on the door, and by the time she'd turned her head he was out of the taxi. Her hands quickly freed Lisa first from the seat belt and then the taxi, she making her way around the car after closing her own door before moving to close the door Jackson had left open. It was Eric's heart-felt offer that tore at her the most as she walked over to Jackson, and if she had been unsure of if to accept or not before she heard Jackson's response... she was even more unsure after. She was pretty sure that at this point she could actually restrain Jackson if she tried, the man seemed barely able to move, but... there was the off-chance that she couldn't... And there was the fact that Jackson had rather firmly declined Eric's offer to help them out, which meant that if he managed one last burst of energy at the wrong time, it could be intended not towards getting himself to his room, but at Eric.

This thought played itself out with a vivid clarity through Lisa's head as she looked towards Eric somewhat helplessly, her hands lifting, telling him to stay at the taxi. "Thank you... but just... Could you wait here a moment while I check us in? It'd probably be better if we managed on our own..." Their sob-story certainly was being made out to be far more pathetic than it needed to be if Eric was offering to help them out; she'd scold Jackson for this later, especially if this was actually a precursor of how their time was going to be spent together.

A hand found Jackson's chin as she knelt down a little ways to be eye level with him; the gesture wasn't warm, but firm. "Stay here for a minute... Give your leg a break, and let your head clear if it can... I'm going to go check us into a room," she gestured behind herself towards the office. "If you can't stand up by the time I get back, you're going to have to let us help you into a room or else you're going to be crawling into one, and you have to know how silly that is." Her hand fell away from him, her eyes lingering on his for a minute before she straightened up and pointed loosely to the back of the taxi, "Could you... get my bag out while I..." She murmured absently, turning and leaving the snowballing mess that was Jackson's current state behind her for a short time, never quite finishing the entire request.

Lisa had no real idea how far gone Jackson actually was with how he was acting, he needed to lay down, that much was obvious, but beyond that she could only really guess. She supposed that an over-reaction on her part would be far more helpful than an under-reaction at this point, even if he didn't like it.
 
RE: Vertigo

The cabby was experiencing a moral dilemma; his empathy was telling him he should come around the car and help Jackson to his feet anyways, but the self-preserving part had seen the look of indecision on Lisa's face and had taken it as a sign. As far as Eric was concerned, black men in Chicago didn't live to age thirty-five by doing stupid shit - even with good intentions.

So he busied himself with getting Lisa's bag out of the trunk, eyes flicking occasionally to Jackson just to be sure he wasn't going to do something like die on the sidewalk - not that he would know what the hell to do if he did.

He also made the decision not to try and make small talk with Jackson - it only seemed wise.

And Rippner, meanwhile, was steeling himself to get to his feet again, demanding his body obey him; he was angry with himself not only for being physically unable to keep up with his personal expectations, but for being unable to do so in front of Lisa Reisert. He wasn't clear on why, he only knew, for some reason, it was important.

It was, perhaps, the thought that gave him the drive to get back up, an unsteady and painful-looking, mechanical motion that made him look rather like a robot powering up. His leg protested and twinged in response, but he managed to stand fully, eyeing their surroundings. His vision, he noted, still wasn't right; everything had taken on an unnatural clarity, a sharp focus that felt like tunnel vision while the edges were blurred.

Accupuncture to the left. Convenience store to the right. Across the street was a bar, a massage parlour of questionable massages, and several ancient-looking restaurants. If he looked down the road, he could just make out heavy traffic passing the street; they were on a less-travelled side road, just beyond a busier area.

He habitually filed the information away, just as he did whenever he was presented with new surroundings - a good memory was valuable in his job, and his was flawless.

Though, maybe not right then.
 
RE: Vertigo

Her step was brisk as she made her way to that well lit corner of the motel, it very near to a jog; the glass-paned windows had been all the indication she needed to know where the check-in desk was. Her hand hit the door, and the little bells overhead chimed to life as she pushed it open. She cringed beneath that moving object; it was the gaudy gold of an old Christmas decoration. Making her way to the counter, she looked around at the empty room, frowning disapprovingly at the instant-lack-of-service both because of her own haste and because of where she herself happened to work. No matter how dolled up they tried to be... She hated places like this, more than anything, and the thought of actually staying in one for an extended period was absolutely repulsive to her. Not exactly prone to being overly impatient, her hand found the little bell that served as both a paper weight and a summoning device for whomever was in the back, and its shrill sound rang out. She could hear the television airing a show she was unfamiliar with, but against bad clichés the man in back seemed to respond to the sound of the bell, his hurried footsteps heard as he rushed to the entrance of that little back room.

"Sorry, sorry," A young man gasped at her somewhat awkwardly, a smile quickly covering his face as he stepped up to the other-side of the counter, "You'd like a room of course?" He'd only looked at her briefly -- long enough to probably note that her face was unfamiliar, and that most of the guests of establishments like this didn't have their visitors come to the front desk -- before his gaze dropped, hands nervously shifting through a messy stack of papers that seemed to be hidden below the counter.

A clipboard was dropped in front of her, dropped accidentally by shaking hands, and it clattered against the counter, causing Lisa to look up at the poor fellow in mild alarm, "Is everything alright?" she asked slowly. She reached for the pen to begin filling in the required fields, putting their room under the name of a Mr. and Mrs. Dawson before handing over the required sum of money for a three nights stay from her own pocket book.

"No,-- I mean, yes. My grandpa runs this place, you see. He's out of town for the week and left me in charge," The boy explained sheepishly, his eyes never quite meeting hers as he fidgeted through the nervous bouncing of one of his legs.

"Ah, I see," Lisa smiled, looking to his eyes as she handed the clipboard back over. That gaze was never met fully, but the clipboard was taken and stashed once more back under the desk, "Well, I'm sure that you'll do just fine," she offered that bit of reassurance as a key was dropped into her hand. She looked at it, wondering in the back of her mind what sort of grubby hands had touched it before her.

"Your room's at the end of the row; enjoy your stay..." He offered, pointing in that direction.

She smiled uncertainly, turning and heading towards the door, "I'm sure that it will be unforgettable," she mused, the only light of the situation she'd made since Jackson had actually been able to stand on his own without looking like he was about to topple over. It was clear that the poor thing didn't know how to respond to that, and she dismissed him with a wave before stepping through the door, the jingle bells over head singing out her departure.

The sight that greeted her on her walk back was somewhat shocking, and her fingers curled around that dingy key as if it could offer her some form of support. Her pace didn't falter as she walked passed Jackson, dismissing the urge to pause beside him to see if he was alright, and instead she made her way to the taxi. "Thank you," she said, her hand reaching for the handle of her suitcase, "I think that we can manage from here." Making her way over to Jackson, she stopped about an arm's length from him, and she paused, not quite sure what to do with him now that he'd actually made it to his feet. She'd intentionally gone to his left side, her hand reaching out slowly, and as she had done in the parking lot, her fingertips found the small of his back. She wasn't close enough to actually be supporting him, and her touch wasn't firm enough to urge him along, instead, she was there in case he fell over. The idea of sitting out here while he tried to find his footing again wasn't one she entirely relished, not when their room was so maddeningly close, and it was a scene she could see playing out vividly enough that it coming to actually pass worried her.

"Room number five," She offered him, nodding towards the door that was maybe only fifteen feet away.
 
RE: Vertigo

Eric waited just at the edge of the sidewalk with Lisa's bag, expression a little tense as though he had been waiting for Jackson to collapse all over again - which, thankfully, didn't happen. The cabby nodded his head at Lisa's polite thank you,

"Good luck," he said, offering the bag over to her, and giving Jackson one more glance before heading back to the cab and using his radio to find out where his next pick-up would be located.

And Jackson, given the circumstances, was waiting with a surprising amount of patience - though his silent compliance might have actually just been the result of his waning focus - and he regarded Lisa with a typically neutral expression, as though he was stubbornly unwilling to convey his current status. He moved at Lisa's mention of where their room was located, focusing on getting there without another rebellion from his limbs. As they walked, Jackson finally spoke, his voice rough:

"Rehab?" he said, in a tone that made it clear he was actually saying 'really?'
 
RE: Vertigo

Hearing the taxi pull away, Lisa turned, watching it drive off, but the sound of Jackson's voice yanked her from actually seeing its merge with the traffic down the short little road that led to the motel. She couldn't help but smile at it, the expression a partial smirk. He'd managed to hear what was said in the car. This shouldn't have surprised her, after all, he was Jackson Rippner... Her boogieman for the past eight weeks of her life. "Revenge for the 'quickie' on the red eye," She offered.

Daring to step ahead of him a little ways, the keys jingled in her hand as she adjusted her hold on them, unlocking and opening the door for him.

Her eyes barely left him, making sure he stayed on his feet even as her hand groped blindly into the room for the light switch before moving back to hold the door open while she stepped out of his way. She was trying her best not to impede his progress into the room. "I had to tell the poor man something plausible for what was happening, else I think he would have driven you straight to the hospital..." She added on a more serious note, "Which is where you should honestly be right now, but that's beside the point."

The room itself was moderately small, perhaps the motel's idea of "cosy." The carpeting was dark, a midnight blue at best, and the walls were beige; the ceiling repeated the dark tone of the floor, only it added an extra touch, compliments of whomever had painted it, of little stars dotting that poorly made "night sky." A single bed greeted them, with sheets, blankets, and pillows of varying colour patterns to match the rest of the room; its only saving grace was that it was at least sized as a double. Outside of the bed and the two wooden nightstands that stood proudly beside it, the only other piece of furniture was a confused chair that jokingly pretended to be a loveseat, positioned beneath the window by the door; it was too large to be just a chair, but not quite big enough to pass for a loveseat. The far wall of the room offered at least a sink and what looked like a mini-fridge coupled with a microwave and a coffee maker, and beside that tiny little make-shift kitchen that was spanned out over a counter that emerged from the wall was the door to the bathroom. A heart-shaped jacuzzi lurked behind that door, as well as everything else that was expected in a bathroom.

Perhaps easily overlooked in comparison to the rest of the room was the large mirror that spanned the length of the bed and was attached securely to the ceiling by some means or another; it stared boldly down at them as if to proclaim what the room was generally used for.

Lisa's hazels panned the room before she turned to close and lock the door behind Jackson, she stalling on the deadbolt; she really did loathe places like this. Turning back around her hands found his shoulders, her hold on him somewhat firm as she made sure he made it to the foot of the bad and sat himself down.

"How are you doing?" The question was uncustomarily gentle for her given who she was asking it of, and it was the first time she'd actually stopped to ask him that since she'd ran into Jackson on the elevator -- or more correctly he'd ran into her. Tilting his head back slightly her eyes sought his, checking to see if pupils were still dilated. He needed sleep, that much was obvious, and probably several other things that he simply wouldn't be able to manage on his own. All of this she'd realized in that taxi ride; he really was simply human, he just managed to hide those limitations almost too well. She could now almost understand how he had been so relentless when he'd pursued her through her father's home, why, when anyone else would have just left and called it a day... Jackson just kept coming.
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson gave Lisa a slightly sideways look,

"I would have thought the pen was your revenge," he replied dryly, managing sarcasm even then; he didn't dignify her comment about hospitalization with an answer - he had just spent two weeks in a hospital and all it had done for him was give him a case of the crackheads.

He moved into the room as the door was opened, his vision briefly staggered by the artificial light; after a few moments of feeling as though he had gone blind, his mind re-focused and he began to take habitually take in their surroundings, scanning the room and creating a mental layout - however, his process was interrupted when Lisa's hands went to his shoulders, something he normally would have deftly avoided, but this time around hadn't even noticed until he was sitting on the bed.

His head was being tilted back and Jackson was staring up at Lisa once again with those distorted, blackened eyes; he considered that two weeks ago, she never would have done this. Two weeks ago, she had the common sense not to do it, and despite having just seen him grieviously injure a man with a car key, she was steering him around like he was a child - something that he told himself he most definitely did not need her to do.

Jackson shifted, moving his head irritably off to the side to get her hand away from his chin, making it clear how he felt about the current situation, but the downside to the sharp movement was that it made the world flip upside-down and he had to close his eyes, tilting his head back until he felt it would be safe to open them again - and when he did, he regretted it.

There was a mirror.

Over the bed.

If that wasn't horrifying enough, his reflection was.

It seemed to take an inordinate amount of effort for Jackson to get to his feet right then, having barely spent a minute sitting on the bed, but he did it anyways, aware that his body was furious with him for it, but too aggravated to hold still even with the threat of losing his footing again - every part of his body felt overheated, down to his very core, and the ache in his muscles was rapidly worsening. Withdrawal. He was aware it would only get worse, and he wasn't about to have some sort of seizure in front of anyone, particularly not Lisa. He wondered vaguely if there was a chance of bolting himself in the bathroom until it passed.
 
RE: Vertigo

Her hands moved away from him as he shifted, and she watched what happened next play out with relative calm even though she could feel a nervous flutter inside of her; it wasn't a pleasant sensation. She could see each simple thought play out over his face; noting the mirror, realizing what it was for... and then seeing himself in its reflection. It was a slow process, drawn out to her own perception, because she could almost feel each thought coming to him before it actually became something tangible in his mind. Him managing his feet yet again wasn't anticipated, however, and Lisa moved out of his way, her hands down at her sides. He hadn't answered her question, but she knew that he'd at least heard her. Taking a slow breath, she closed her eyes, sinking down onto the edge of the bed herself and leaving him to do what he wished.

"They gave you morphine, didn't they? The doctors at the hospital?" She offered; if it were simple exhaustion or even raw pain driving him, he wouldn't be on his feet like this... Her legs crossed, her arms folding over the topmost knee as one of her hands covered her face. The dilated eyes that would assuredly be replacing his cold blues if her nightmares ever came back, how he'd seemed dead to what was going on around him in the taxi, his collapse on the sidewalk... All of those could be explained away behind him having over taxed himself, the oddities stringing those events together simply being Jackson's personality bleeding through... If it were as simple as his injuries flaring under everything he'd put them through, he wouldn't still be up and about with the option to sleep so close at hand. Even she would welcome the idea, her three hour flight waning on even her, coupled with the emotion toll of everything that had just happened...

Curling up and forgetting if only for a little while would have been warmly welcomed, but as her hand lowered and she looked to Jackson she knew this wasn't going to happen.

Not for a long while.

Her eyes raked over him, gauging him. Her thought trail from before came back to her, only this time she wondered what would happen if she were only here trying to help him, if she would run the same risk Eric would have. She wasn't so delusional as to think that she was safe around him, that he wouldn't potentially lash out at her if he didn't like what was happening, but he had to know he needed her around right now. That was why she was here after all, their mutual need for one another's help... but with how the rest of the day was looking like it was going to pan out... Maybe rehab wasn't such a farfetched excuse to have told Eric. Looking away from him, her eyes looked up at the mirror over head towards her own orbs, thinking. He needed to get off of his feet before his leg gave out; she hated to be repeating the same action time and again when it was something he obviously wasn't too fond of... It was true, two weeks ago she wouldn't have even been here with him, wouldn't have even been moderately at ease, wouldn't be trying to help, and she wouldn't have had that small little feeling building in the pit of her stomach that was close to genuine worry.

She could always just knock him out. The idea was strikingly tempting, but not something she would ever do, at least not unless he merited such a thing.

"Jackson, please, sit down? This is why we're here after all, for you to rest. Not for you to be up and about when it's clear you're close to just toppling over," She resisted the urge to try leading him to the bed again, and instead remained where she was, her eyes closing as her face hid behind her hand again. She wanted to see what he would do with what she'd asked of him, and she wanted to see if he would settle down on his own if she let him have what space the room offered.
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson was moving, but he wasn't clear on what his goal was even as he paced; within the confines of the small hotel room, there was no where to go and an utter lack of distractions to keep him occupied. He didn't answer when Lisa asked about the morphine - he didn't want to think about the I.V. that had been pumping opiates into his system for two weeks - the very thought of it was stirring repulsion inside of him, a visceral reaction while his body protested to the withdrawal. He was caught in physical confusion as his aching muscles demanded he rest while they simultaneously burned and itched, and movement seemed to be the only thing keeping it at bay.

He unbuttoned and shrugged off his jacket, too overheated to keep it on any longer before he moved wordlessly into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and sticking his head under the cold water, his good hand clenching the side of the porcelain sink to hold himself steady; after several moments of this, he rested his forehead against the faucet, closing his eyes. Again, he tried to make sense of what his body was doing, tried to pin-point all of the aches and pains and he was suddenly aware of something he hadn't noticed before.

His chest felt wet.

Unsteady on his feet and already aware of what he was going to find, Jackson slowly unbuttoned his shirt - black and well-tailored, though not at present - and he looked down at the bandages that were wrapped around his chest - at some point they had gone from pristine white, to pink, with a splotch in the centre where the cotton had turned crimson.

"Ah." Jackson said simply.

This, he decided, was a good time to sit down.

So he did, on the bathroom floor, where the tiles were cool in comparison to the overwhelming heat of his body.
 
RE: Vertigo

She heard his jacket hit the floor, and she looked up in time to watch him disappear into the bathroom. Her eyes turned to that forgotten garment as if her staring at it long enough would force it to reveal what exactly it was she should be doing. Pushing herself from the bed, she walked across the room and retrieved his jacket from the floor; folding it neatly, she set it on the bed followed by her own coat. She heard the faucet running in the bathroom and had some idea as to what he was up to.

Turning around, she walked slowly over to the door frame. He hadn't answered her, which wasn't exactly helping any... or at least his lips hadn't answered her.

When he slumped to the floor she was allowed to see what unbuttoning his shirt had revealed to him, but more adequately revealed to her, and it brought her over the threshold of the door frame somewhat slowly. Sinking to her knees beside him, facing him still, she stared at him hard. Reaching out against her better judgment she felt his forehead with the back of her hand, checking, making sure his head under the faucet meant what it seemed to mean. Strands of wet hair clung gently to her fingers, and she brushed them aside so she could better see his eyes as she pulled her hand away, dreading those enlarged pupils as she did.

"I know that you don't like this -- you don't like any of it," She said rather firmly, "I don't either, Jackson. If I could be somewhere else, with anyone else... I would be. Believe me. But right now? Like what brought us to this point... We need to learn to disagree," her voice softened as she spoke, her eyes dropping to stare at the crimson that stained what should have been a smooth white winding around his chest. "You're not fine, and you're especially not going to be fine in a little while... Which means while I may not know exactly what you need, I'm going to try to figure it out, regardless of if you want me to or not, and that will go a lot more smoothly if you actually talk to me, and if you can promise me that I'm not going to find a key in my throat for trying..." Her eyes hadn't lifted back to his face, she didn't want to see those blacks, and she was mulling over exactly what to do over that crimson stain.

His bandages needed changed, obviously, but to be able to do that she needed to leave him here on his own for a little while which was not an all together settling thought... but if she didn't go know, he would be worse later. There was also the question of... did they really want to bother with that right now... when the rest of the day was probably going to work itself into a downward slope of sorts...
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson Rippner had always been good at planning; with a skill for predicting outcomes, he had learned to prepare, while also leaving some room for variables - it was a method that had worked for years, but Lisa Reisert was the sort of variable that veered things off course; she was a point-man's worst nightmare and she was the sort of variable that destroyed solar systems - all in one neat, pretty, business-formal little package.

And she hid it well.

She hid it so very well that no one would ever guess that she had been the one to cause the injuries - granted, they were in self-defense, that was something even he was willing to acknowledge - and yet there she was, kneeling in front of him and checking him for a fever. Her compassion was so very normal. Predictable.

Two weeks ago she had stabbed him in the leg, broken his hand with a field hockey stick, and shot him in the chest.

Today she was aggressively taking on the role as his nurse.

He had always figured that normalcy was relative, and she was living proof.

Lisa's hand brushed his forehead and her skin felt cool in comparison to the inferno that seemed to be boiling his blood - it was almost pleasant, until he reminded himself that he didn't particularly care for being touched by anyone, and he assured himself, certainly not by her.

"I left the key back in the parking lot." Jackson supplied helpfully, a deadpan assurance that Lisa wouldn't find a key in her own throat any time soon; he waded through his mind for responses and found only murky depths - his normally organized thoughts had been reduced to confusion and pure exhaustion,

"What I need is to be left alone."
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa sighed, her lips pursing together; her hazels found his blues, and she stared at him hard. She didn't like that answer, at all.

It was his eyes that made her look away, unnerving as they were at present. Climbing to her feet, she glanced down to him, briefly, "If you were just going through..." she rolled one of her fingers trying to mentally snag a word she refused to use, "...this. I'd do just that." Shifting away from him she opened one of the cabinets, looking for something, "I'd leave you in here until this had all worked through your system," her hand found what she was looking for, and reached out for it, pausing, "but it's not that simple."

She pulled a washcloth from the cabinet, closing its door as quietly as she could before flipping on the faucet and testing the water with her hand, "You can barely stand, and I think you've pushed yourself too far in just getting to this point... I doubt you should be up and about at all. Even Jackson Rippner has his limits, indestructible as he is, and think that you've found them..." Her voice trailed as she held the cloth under the cool water long enough to dampen it. Turning the faucet off she twisted the excess out before kneeling back down beside him, that piece of pale fabric being folded along the way. Her fingers found his forehead again, the unnatural warmth radiating from his skin seeping into her fingers; she forced his head to tilt back a little ways before she draped the frigid cloth over his forehead and eyes. She pulled away from him after that, her hands rubbing together somewhat while her eyes found the tiled floor. "Your bandages need changed," She started, stating the obvious, "but before we can do that, you need to cool down first... and get you cleaned up a little bit." She was implying something with each of those listed items...

It was the bandages around his thigh she was worrying over most, both because of how long he'd been on it and because it presented a somewhat awkward subject to breech. The latter two presented the same problem in awkwardness, perhaps even more so. She forced her mind, while she explained all of this to him, to remain neutral. To forget, for the moment, who she was actually talking to -- he'd assured her that he'd left the key behind, a small, reassuring jest -- because if she allowed her mind to settle on who he was, she'd be more likely to realize what she was actually doing, and even further, what she was suggesting despite the situation they were both faced with.

And so her thinking remained mechanical; a list of things that needed to be accomplished, and a collection of needs that needed to be met.
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson had leaned his head back against the wall, settled opposite to the sink and hanging in some delicate balance between pain and numbness - the latter of which was rapidly dwindling.

The mention of him being indestructible was - laughable. She was obviously aware of his injuries, so he could only perceive the comment as thinly veiled sarcasm, though he made the decision not to remark upon it.

He opened his eyes up just as she knelt in front of him again, just in time to get a cloth dropped across them - his mouth was pulled into a thin, unamused line by that point, but he couldn't deny that the cool water was relieving.

He would have been content to stay that way for some time, until Lisa spoke again,

Before we can do that you need to cool down first.


He was aware of his current physical state; he was a mess. He needed to get rid of the old bandages and treat his injuries; he need to shave, and quite possibly take some scissors to his hair - that much was obvious. But it was the emphasis on the word 'we' that made him lift his head away from the wall, pulling the cloth away from his eyes to look at her.

He weighed his options. He was aware that he was rapidly becoming limited in what he was capable of doing, that he was only on the cusp of his withdrawal symptoms - but the idea of being assisted while in that state was appalling.

Prepared to respond to Lisa with venom, Jackson had to take a moment and force his mind into a state of neutrality: logical response versus emotional response.

The logical course would be to allow Lisa to help him, to get it over with quickly. The emotional course was to stubbornly refuse because the potential for vulnerability was too great. He had always taken a rational and unemotional approach to everything in his life - he told himself that the current situation should be no different.

Somehow it was, though.

His jaw tensed, an action that made his neck muscles jut out, and he forced himself to sit up, beginning to irritably pull the dress shirt off of his shoulders.

"I do not need help," he said, pointing at the shower with his chin, his tone one of patience that had grown a razor-edge, "With that. Just to be very clear."

There were limits, and while Lisa might have been willing to do what it took, Jackson was less-inclined to allow it.
 
RE: Vertigo

Smiling, Lisa turned to look at the shower. The expression that had masked his face as he'd mulled over what she'd said had her worried, worried he was going to continue to be silly about all of this, but he'd yielded. Slightly. Enough that the all too awkward scene of her needing to wrestle him into the shower dispelled itself from her thoughts; leaving him to his own devices ran the very real risk of him either falling and cracking his head open, or if he ran the smart road and only filled the tub... him passing out and drowning.

She didn't consider him completely helpless, more... compromised for the moment.

Her head turned back to him, and she took his shirt from him, folding it neatly and setting it on the floor beside her. "Don't worry, even I have places I'm not inclined to go," She said somewhat callously. She debated helping him with his shoes, but decided not to push things, and instead moved to sit at the edge of the tub. Pushing the curtain aside and turning the water on, much as she had done at the sink, she ran her hand under its flow, adjusting the temperature as needed, "I'm only staying in here to make sure you don't pass out and drown..." the edge in her voice lessened as she said this, her tone softening almost. Her hands rolled up her sleeves more as a precaution than anything, though what good that little gesture would do if he actually passed out she had no idea. Pulling the stopper on the floor of the tub, she was making it clear that him standing for any duration was something that was going to be avoided outside of him getting from point a to point b.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, noting his progress before she shifted down to the floor beside him again. Her fingers reached for his throat, feeling around the bandages for the two little metal clasps that held them in place. Once found and released, those fingers began deftly rolling and unwinding the bandages accordingly. "I'm guessing that you at least did make it to the hospital," She started, more focused on what she was doing than Jackson himself, "How did you manage to leave so soon...?" It was her way of broaching the subject that they needed to talk about, the thing that had been lurking in the back in her mind through all of this... The real reason they were both here together. She thought it best to start at the beginning of things.

She dared a smile again, "I bet the doctors absolutely loved you..."
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson observed as she took his shirt and folded it - on any other occasion, his compulsions would have had him do the same, as cleanliness and order kept things linear - and he found there was something almost disturbing about the sight.

And on top of that, he felt like he was negotiating for his own privacy; at some point the dynamic between them had shifted, and his injuries were a catalyst for the change, as temporary as he was sure it would be. With him physically deteriorating and mentally compromised from the drugs, Lisa was the one who had to take control of the situation - logical, but still unsettling.

He decided not to mention that he was tempted to intentionally drown himself, and began to undo his belt buckle, the clicking metal seeming especially loud in the otherwise quiet room, his broken fingers protesting to even that movement, but he ignored it.

He had to pause for an instant, however, when Lisa's hands delicately reached for him - the movements were careful, but she was coming precariously close to his throat. He tensed visibly, the muscles in his jaw popping slightly in obvious discomfort and he just stopped himself from grabbing her little wrists before she could touch him.

But he allowed it, and ignored the perfume he could smell on the inside of her wrists.

Lisa unravelled the bandage from his throat, revealing a large radius of purple and black bruises that surrounded a sutured wound - it felt strange being out in the air for longer than a few moments at a time.

When she moved away, Jackson seemed to finally unfreeze, as though someone had flicked a switch back on,

"I didn't leave," Jackson replied frankly, having to take a moment to steady himself before he forced himself to his feet; in an almost business-like manner, he began undoing his slacks, "I was heavily drugged and taken away in a body bag."

He didn't allow the slacks to drop away, instead he held them at the waist and gave Lisa a pointed look, as though questioning exactly how this was going to work; he wasn't shy but modesty was still a feature that came heavily into play - he was aware that he wasn't unpleasant to look at, but it didn't change his urge to avoid being naked around - anyone. Nudity was a private affair, reserved for private matters and this was not a situation he would file under that category.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa's small hands worked smoothly around his throat, her eyes more focused on her task than on the person she was working around. She couldn't help but notice the way he tensed though, his jaw working the way it did when he was unhappy or unsettled, and there was an almost nervous silence that hung in the air. He didn't like this, but he was allowing it. That message was hauntingly clear to her, the only whisper that broke that deafening silence in which she felt almost like she'd forgotten to breathe. The sound that had proceeded her reach for him clicked into recognition as her hands pulled away from him, the bandages held in a neat little roll; it had been a slow sound, almost drawn out, and had her ears allowed it to transition from noise to recognition when it had been made... she probably would have looked down more on impulse than any sort of need to figure out what he was doing. Lisa had known this would be terribly uncomfortable when she'd first brought it up, but she hadn't exactly realized how much.

Her eyes never quite found his face, the roll of bandages held tight in her hand as she watched him make it to his feet. What he'd said settled heavily on her, her eyes remaining almost locked on the stitching nestled slightly above the little indention of his collar bone.

"A body bag..." She echoed. She heard a zipper. Those three words stuck with her for a minute, and her head tilted, her eyes seeking his at last, "That's why the police aren't after you? They think that you're dead? That's why I was never warned..." The look he was giving her finally seemed to sink in, and her eyes widened only a breath.

Seemingly flustered, she looked away, her gaze flicking across the floor quickly as she climbed to her feet, "Right..." That single word was distant as it passed her rosy lips. The bathroom had felt small to begin with, especially with two people nestled in there, but now it felt even smaller to her. It was that all too simple thing he was about to do that suddenly humanized Jackson Rippner. He wasn't some untouchable figmentation that existed beyond the bonds of reality. He was real, flesh and blood... just like her, just like her father... just like the Keefe family he'd almost helped do away with. He had wants and desires, could feel pleasure and pain; he was a being comprised of events, experiences, and his own reactions to those things... His mind worked like anyone else's, sorted through those daily exchanges with the world around them, compiled them into likes and dislikes... She felt unsteady on her feet for that long moment as every exchange she and Jackson Rippner had ever shared came flooding back to her, playing out differently, being reworked into something a bit more than a distant nightmare. She'd shared that flight with someone, not something. Someone who too was limited by the worldly laws of physics and their own needs, someone who had probably been in agony since before she ran into him on that elevator because of what she had done to him...

"Right..." She repeated a bit more firmly, everything but outright shaking her head to snap herself back to where she was standing.

Eyes that had lifted to the hand that held to the waist of his pants suddenly looked away from him as if that action could erase every thought and remembered sensation that had fluttered through her. Her pause had been uncomfortably long, or at least it felt so to her. "I'll just..." She pointed to the space behind him even though leaving the bathroom all together would have been preferable. The neatly organized storyline she'd built up in her head for how this potentially awkward scenario was going to play itself out suddenly fell apart, and she was struggling to pull all of those pieces back together as she turned herself away from him to step around him, uncomfortably aware of their proximity as she slid passed. She kept her back to him as she stood there, giving him whatever space... and privacy... he wanted.

"How long ago were you taken from there?" She asked, trying to resume the conversation, her voice still somewhat unsteady as she worked her damnest to reform Jackson Rippner into the creature he'd been before, back into that two-dimensional demon that she'd spent the past two weeks feeding her fears to.

She'd been intending to help him remove the rest of the bandages, his shoes too, but she suddenly didn't want to touch him. If not for the very real risk of him actually passing out and never making it out of the tub, if not for the fact that she herself needed him alive to potentially survive everything that was going to happen down the road... if not for the fact that she couldn't stomach the thought of leaving anyone alone to deal with what he was facing... even someone like him... She would have left and closed the door for him. He wasn't allowed to be simply human, especially not to her.
 
RE: Vertigo

Most of Miami thought Jackson Rippner was dead; Malevre and his grunts had come in dressed as coroners, CSI, and FBI - they had come with official paperwork, with badges and uniforms and carefully planned dialogue. They had come with a plan, and they had come for him.

And if it hadn't worked, they had also come with knives lining their jackets.

"That's why you were never warned." Jackson agreed darkly, a mild suggestion that if she hadn't gone on her business-trip, she might have never known he was still alive. Though even that was questionable, as Malevre would have still wanted both of them dead for their mutual involvement in the failed attempt on Keefe's life.

Jackson quietly observed as Lisa went through various stages of embarrassment; though he hid it well, he was painfully aware of the awkwardness of their scenario - though, in his opinion, it was Lisa's stubborn need to be altruistic that was making this awkward. If she had simply left him to sort through his own injuries, the situation would have been much more straight-forward.

But she didn't leave, and it was clear enough that she wasn't going to; she slipped around him and the cotton blend of her jacket brushed against his arm, a reminder of their proximity before she was facing away from him - the most privacy he would get under the circumstances.

He toed off his shoes, removed his socks, and he let his slacks fall away; predictably, Jackson wore black underneath as well. He began the careful process of removing the bandages from his chest, his forearm, and his thigh. Each wound was in a different stage of healing and all of them were still sutured and bruised, a map of wounds and bruises across his body - along with a few fresh ones that Lisa hadn't given him.

He discarded the bandages in the trash and removed the last of his clothing before he stepped into the bath, pulling the curtains.

The water was warm, and though he hated to admit it, welcoming.

"Three days ago." Jackson replied.

Three days ago, he had been in a Miami hospital - and now he was in a heart-shaped bath in Chicago. He felt ridiculous.
 
RE: Vertigo

In the brief silence that was broken up only by the soft sounds the treads of his shoes made on the tiled floor as he removed them, the sound of cloth upon cloth as his slacks were dropped, the dull clunk his belt made as the metal buckle hit the floor, and the nearly imperceptible sounds his very body made as he worked the bandages from him before she heard them hit the trash... in that silence Lisa Reisert's mind was working. Packing up, boarding, and beating Jackson back into the small little box she'd had him in -- forcing her mind to remember the boogieman instead of just the man. It was easier that way, for her and probably for him.

She could loathe him while he was like that, she was allowed to be repulsed by all of the terrible things he did -- had done -- without needing to know why he had done them, why he took on the jobs he did, why he agreed to such things, why he was okay with carrying them out...

His answer came to her as she was just placing that box, nice and safe, on a shelf somewhere in her mind to be forgotten about, and she turned towards the tub slightly, deciding that it would be alright if she moved now. She'd had a look at the curtain when she'd filled the tub; the motel at least had the decency not to make it a clear plastic so it could serve a purpose other than simply keeping the water where it was supposed to be. The vague direction of the suggestion he'd made had been the crutch that had allowed that box to be remade, and it was that suggestion that hung on her as she stepped to the wall and sank slowly to the floor. Her legs stretched out, crossing neatly, and her hands smoothed out the soft fabric of her skirt. The sound of that gesture coupled with the quiet sound the water in the tub made was eerie to her, familiar, something she heard often enough in her day to day that she found herself angry that it was here, filling this space.

Something so normal shouldn't be allowed here.

"Would you have come for me?" The question was direct, though vague at first, and in her brief anger at the situation she was surprised she had voiced what was rolling through her mind, "If they hadn't gotten to you, would you have come on your own?" She was sitting where he'd been sitting before he'd made it to his feet, careful not to disturb the curtain beside her, or the rest of his garments. She'd folded his shirt for him, and had considered doing the same for the rest of his clothes, but suddenly that simply felt wrong to her. Like he didn't merit such an act of kindness, and so she sat there, head tilted down slightly, hazels locked on the fingers of her hands as her thumbs rolled over one another over and over.
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson shifted in the bath, gritting his teeth as warm water moved over his thigh, stinging the wound and making the already throbbing muscles ache; he pushed his knuckles against the muscle a bit aggressively in an attempt to ease some of the tension, but found the sudden movements only seemed to aggravate the rest of his body, warning him not to push himself, lest he worsen his already precarious condition.

And, in the warmth of the water and with his body temperature slowly climbing beyond what was normal, he became aware of how hazy his head was and how tired he actually was; he put his hands throug his hair, wetting the strands and pushing it back from his face, a look that made his features seem even more angular and one that revealed a mess of fresh bruises along his left temple.

For what seemed like a very long time, there was only silence between them, but it wasn't enjoyable for either of them, not with Lisa encased in the awkwardness of it all and Jackson bleeding slowly into the water - and then she spoke. The question was so simple that Jackson discovered he hadn't really given it a great deal of thought - he had been so aware of how the situation would play out once the Keefe assignment had failed, he simply hadn't considered what he would have done if it had gone differently.

So silence lingered again, a pregnant pause as Jackson actually took a moment to consider it. If the opportunity had arisen, would he have gone after Lisa Reisert? Would he appear at her work, or when she was out with friends? Would he catch her alone on some dark night, or during her early morning jog? Would he come for her in her sleep? He used the time to thoroughly consider what it would be like to take Lisa's life, to choke her voice away and remove any light from her eyes.

When Jackson finally responded, his voice sounded strange and quiet, as though he was perplexed by his own answer:

"I wouldn't have come to kill you." he said finally.
 
RE: Vertigo

The silence that followed her question stretched on to an uncomfortable length. Eyes that had been following the lines and grooves of the tiled floor eventually stopped, locking themselves on a single point; she realized that the anxiety she felt towards however he was going to answer her... was born because she assumed she knew that answer. She'd been living it for the past two weeks, unable to shake him -- or rather the memory of him, and her mind had haunted her with that list of what if's. Every possible confrontation had played out at some point; every possible bad end she had lived through in some way, if only in her head. Her anxiety at least dulled out the edge of her anger... now it was squaring itself towards the silence. Part of why she was trying to keep him talking, even if it drew itself question by slow question, was so that she would know he was alright, that he wasn't beginning to lose himself as he had done in the taxi. Her eyes lifted, her head turning towards the curtain as she began to wonder how long would too long be; would she be able to hear the sound if he slipped under the water or blacked himself out?

Would those eerie little ripples shift in the chorus they sang or would they hide what had happened from her?

And then his answer came, and it wasn't what she'd expected. He wouldn't have... She stopped on that, her whole world focusing on his voice, keying in on it as soon as the words spilled from his lips. He dispelled all of the delusions she'd spent her time building up between her and him with that single answer, making her feel like a silly, scared little girl for ever having thought he'd do otherwise. He'd told her himself that he had just been finishing the job... and with the job over... He had no reason to... She turned away from the tub, her hand covering her mouth as she looked to the door, wanting more than anything to get up and walk out of the bathroom for a minute.

But instead she busied herself with collecting his things, neatly, and placing them into a pile with his shirt, out of the way. "So, um... After you're out of there, I'm going to head over to the store across the way and pick you up a few things. We'll get your injuries redressed and then you can get some sleep. We can figure out the rest in the morning," Her voice was soft, though flooded over with something that caused her to almost choke when she first started speaking, narrating the sort of direction they would be taking. Her voice became stronger with each word though, and by the end had evened out into what it had been before. Had she not been so caught up with the relief that overwhelmed her, had she not been allowed to build up so much nonsense around that single what if scenario... she possibly would have noticed the quiet voice behind his answer, would have formulated a question around it... she would have maybe noticed that if you singled out a handful of words from that brief answer and erased them, that simple answer should have led to another question.

Her mind never wrapped around any of that though.

"How are you doing in there?" Her voice had evened out, and the hand had fallen away from her mouth, joining its mate at her knees, her legs lifting off the tilted floor a little ways, "Is... everything feeling alright?" It was an easy way to generalize about a body that was presently at war with itself, nevermind the will of the man that kept pushing it needlessly onward.
 
RE: Vertigo

In the silence that followed, Jackson allowed himself to lean his head against the tiled wall to his right; even with the steam from the water, the ceramic felt cool against his skin, a small comfort amidst the chaos of his body. For an instant, he let himself lose focus, he let his eyes shut and he focused on the cold tiles - and though Lisa was speaking to him, for that moment, he was scarcely aware of it, her voice fading to the background and becoming muffled.

He considered that right then, it would be incredibly easy to fall asleep and he very nearly did, almost gave in to the pressure in his temples, the buzz in his ears, the pain in his torso, and the ache in his muscles, but he kept one crystal clear thought in his mind that had him forcing his eyes open again:

He was naked. In a bath. If he fell asleep, Lisa would shove the curtain aside and they would have to deal with a new and uncomfortable level in their already outlandish alliance.

He sat up again, just in time to refocus on her question:

"Peachy," he said flatly, his voice sounding raw and ruined even to his own ears, "I'll be triathalon-ready by tomorrow."

Gimp triathalon, maybe.

He moved the curtain enough to peer around it at Lisa, lofting a fine, dark eyebrow at her as though to prove how peachy he was; this did little to support his statement, not with the pallor his lips had taken on in spite of the heat. For three days, his body had been functioning in spite of its condition, given an artificial boost in the form of morphine and at one point, a very unpleasant shot of epinephrine delivered by Malvere.

However, now that the need to keep moving was temporarily removed, his body and mind were simultaneously throwing in the towel - the breakdown was gradual, but obvious.
 
RE: Vertigo

Peachy? Her slender brows drew together at that, her jaw setting itself in a slight clench. The sarcasm in his answer evident, strengthened by what he added after. He'd answered her, but that his answer hadn't been exactly helpful, and therefore was far less than satisfactory for Lisa Reisert. What's more, she was upset with him for it. Lisa turned towards the shower curtain, her angry expression aimed at the man on the other side of it. She was debating pulling the curtain aside; the thought had entered her head, brief and fleeting, but the wall the two of them seemed so keen to impose between themselves stopped that thought from becoming an action... Instead, it was Jackson who broke down that wall, the curtain sliding to the side only a modest distance, his eyes meeting her own. She held that gaze, boldly, her own unflinching, she not shying away from those dilated eyes of his, not balking beneath the look he was giving her...

Her eyes moved slightly from his, straying as they roamed over the details of his face. He'd pushed his hair back at some point, and those wet strands clung obediently together staying mostly away from his face save for the rare lock that fell forward. Those disobedient strands did little to hide the nest of bruises along his left temple, and she found her eyes caught there. She overlooked the pallor of his complexion with that small distraction, and the lips that almost matched its hue, but when she finally did notice, her eyes lingered there too before they lifted to look once again into his black pools. His scruffy appearance wasn't working in his favour, and only worked to curb the frown she'd first met him with. "We need to hurry up and get you to bed..."

Had he never been pulled from the hospital... and shoved in a body bag, a terrifying thought to her... he wouldn't have been out of bed at all.

"...Where at least when you pass out, I won't be fishing you out of that tub," She added the last bit lightly, though she swallowed after the words had left her, as if pushing something foul down her throat. A face that had once softened hardened itself again, and she turned pointedly away from him to stare at the wall across from her, a heart-shaped one at that.
 
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