Vertigo (VivifiedVanityxSeven)

RE: Vertigo

Jackson had never shied away from eye contact, but as Lisa met his look with a hardened one of her own, he found himself bemused - there was something almost aggressive in the way she was looking at him. Reisert had always been assertive, of course, and occasionally edged on passive-aggressive, but aside from their little run-in at her father's home, it was the first time she had met him with what he could only perceive as a look of challenge.

For some reason, he found himself almost approving of it.

Rippner was the first to look away from their prolonged stare, but only to glance at the towels that hung on the wall just within reach; with his bad hand, he tugged one of the towels down - and managed not to wince in the process - before he closed the curtain fully again. He wasn't going to argue with Lisa on the matter; taking a bath wasn't exactly for his enjoyment right then, it was meant to be functional, just cleaning the wounds of any dirt or sweat that had gotten into them, general hygiene. He pulled the plug on the bath; he wasn't cruel enough to make Lisa put her hand into someone else's bloodied bath water.

He stood and had to steady himself with a hand on the wall, getting a brief head-rush from the sudden movement; he dried himself off with the efficiency of one who wants things over and done with and secured the towel. When he emerged, the towel hung low on his thin hips; defying the expectations of the trade, Rippner wasn't heavily muscled - his build was one of a runner rather than someone who strength-trained, all of his features angular. Like the rest of him, his torso was bruised unpleasantly in spots, mottled with the healing gunshot wounds and adorned with a few old, white scars.

Stepping out of the bath without looking unsteady was a challenge, but he managed to do so with the determined thought that, ultimately, he only needed to get to the next room; Lisa would leave for a period of time, and it would be long enough for him to pass out without her observing. Not a great plan, but a rational one.
 
RE: Vertigo

Hearing Jackson pull the towel down, she kept her eyes where they were, listening to his progress on the other side of that curtain. The water slowly draining from the tub partially mingled with the sound of him making it to his feet, and she rose to hers along with him. The fact that he could still force himself to stand was almost frightening, but what pushed that over the edge was how positively calm he seemed about all of this. She followed him with her gaze as he stepped from the tub at length, and she attempted to keep her eyes polite, training them on his shoulders upwards... but it was impossible for them not to wander. Leaned against the wall, her hands pressed between the small of her back and that cold surface, her eyes were drawn by the darkened bruising if nothing else. Lisa had been saved the sight of his injuries when he'd first disrobed, but now, unintentionally, she was being allowed to see the extent of what she had done to him. It was the shock of that reality that chased away any flush that would have otherwise touched to her cheeks, and it was that shock that held her in place, she the closest to feeling guilty about what she had done that she ever would be.

But that guilt never quite built itself up into a solid thing, dissipating itself as she closed her eyes to him, fading away as she reminded herself why she had been forced to lash out at him so... remembering exactly what it was he'd tried to do and why the two of them had even been allowed to meet in the first place.

Jackson had asked for this. He could have pulled back at any time, but he didn't. He pressed on, and so she'd pressed back.

Leaving the safety of the wall, she moved to lead him from the bathroom, her left hand trailing after her. Fingers were outstretched, tips kissing against his elbow to make sure he remained upright. The awkwardness she had towards the situation seemed to have left her for the most part, or it had at least been dulled down. He'd saved her because, right now, they both needed each other. He should be in agony...

In her brief lifetime, Lisa had endured her share of minor injuries; a few broken bones, a sprained ankle here or there, a dislocated shoulder once from a bad tumble down a flight of stairs... never mind the incident in the parking lot... She had an idea of what the healing process should be like; even for the minor scrapes she'd endured it had been, at best, unpleasant. If she didn't know any better, if she couldn't see for herself the wounds sprinkled across him, marring his lank frame over... He held himself together so well she wouldn't have even known. It was as if all of those wounds belonged to someone else entirely, and they were the ones weathering the pain of it... He simply had to carry the burden. That thought almost made her feel sick. The old scars his body carried came back to her after her eyes had left him, almost in hindsight.

He'd been hurt before, and so he probably was no stranger to this sort of thing.

With his job description that made sense, and it was something she'd not given a lot of thought to.

She moved her coat from the bed for him as they neared it, fishing free her phone and wallet from it before tossing it over her arm. There she paused, eyes never quite finding him as she thought over something. Making her way quickly over to her suitcase, she unzipped one of the smaller pockets and dug free a little bottle of pills marked Advil. Looking to him sympathetically, her coat was dropped over the couch before she doubled back to the bathroom, finding, rinsing out, and cleaning a cup with cold water. "I doubt this is strong enough to make a difference, and I don't really know if you should be taking this right now..." She started gently as she walked back to the bed, "You've more experience with this sort of thing than I do," she reasoned, gesturing to him slightly with the cup to indicate the older scars, "so maybe you would know..." her words faltered, dying off. She set the cup down loudly on the nightstand beside him in the silence that followed, going as far as to pull one pill out for him, it finding its rest beside the cup.

Her fingers quickly set themselves to working the cap back onto the pill bottle before it was returned to her suitcase, and snatching up the room key she headed for the door, pausing in its frame, "...You'll be alright here for a few minutes, won't you?" the question was almost apprehensive, timid even, and even though she was sure he'd be fine... she wanted confirmation from him, almost as if she were seeking a promise of sorts.
 
RE: Vertigo

For the sake of modesty, Jackson briefly considered pulling his clothes on again, but the idea of putting the material against his unprotected wounds was an unpleasant one, not just because of the sensation but also due to the potential for infection. Beyond that, he would only need to remove them again when Lisa returned with the gauze. Ultimately, the need to avoid unnecessary movement at that point won over the urge for modesty, and he moved back to the main room in a towel, feeling for all the world like a college student.

He lingered for a moment, hesitantly eyeing the bed as though it might burst into flames - he was aware of the fundamental need for sleep, aware that his body was scarcely holding on anymore, and yet the idea of laying down while Lisa was still there felt -

- vulnerable.

He was distracted by the thought when he saw the look Lisa gave him; it was unlike the hardened one she had given him moments prior, and more similar to the one she had given him on the airplane two weeks ago:

You don't have to do this, any of this.

She was holding Advil - it might have been funny if it hadn't been so sincere. For a moment, Jackson's expression faltered from it's usual plain state, an instant where there was a twitch of something else, but it was hard to decipher. It was perfectly logical for Lisa to assist him with the understanding they would keep eachother alive - but it seemed she was edging beyond the minimal assistance she would need to give in order to keep him functioning.

Her altruism was shining through despite the circumstances and for reasons Jackson didn't care to explore, it made him wildly uncomfortable.

Jackson glanced down at where Lisa gestured; a few old scars marked his body, various scraps and brawls he had encountered in his lifetime, precious few for how long he had done the job.

He looked back to Reisert and found there was something almost shy about the way she was speaking to him, as though she was actually concerned he might be dead when she came back. He could understand her apprehension; the average person was never clear on what to do with a dead body.

He managed to respond in a tone devoid of sarcasm or causticness, something straight-forward and the closest thing to kindness he could muster:

"I'll be fine." he said simply, waiting out her hesitation and watching her gather her things and step out of the room; bright Chicago sunlight filtered in through the open door, a reminder that it was still day outside even though it felt as though night should have fallen hours ago.

When the door fell shut, he let out a breath, closed his eyes and tried to collect his thoughts, tried to sort through them - but he found his normally systematic brain was sluggish. Planning would have to wait until later, he was beyond the point of simple repair.

He moved across the room and closed the curtains on the small, vaguely dirty windows at either side of the door and flicked off the light and moved through the darkness without issue, pulling back the covers and slipping under the sheets. There was some comfort in the dark, a place he was familiar with.

Alone, he moved his hand to his chest, testing the wounds he found there, fingers moving over a mess of metal staples and plastic sutures - a small touch sent a shock of pain through his torso and he drew in a hiss between his teeth. Understandable, gunshot wounds didn't heal in two weeks. He slid his hand down to his thigh and found the muscles ached at the smallest touch; he needed to rest it, or it would worsen to the point he wouldn't be able to support himself at all.

He flexed his left hand. Painful, but he could withstand it.

He brought his hand up to his head, towards the mottled black and blue bruises where Malevre had struck him with his gun the previous day. He touched the spot and very suddenly experienced a bout of dizziness; he closed his eyes until the world stopped spinning, but found he couldn't open them again.

Okay.

Now was as good a time as any.

An earthquake wouldn't have brought him back to consciousness right then.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa closed the door behind herself, locking it, his reassurance ringing softly in her ears, and it was actually that. One of the first solid answer's he'd given her about how he was doing... She lingered there for a moment after pulling her key from the door, taking a few long, slow breathes before she pointed her feet in the direction of the convenience store across the way... She'd taken her phone for a reason, making a brief call to Cynthia after hitting the doors to the store. On the plane, it had been easy to come up with a workable story for the situation; something as small as a room change was easy. It happened all the time. It only involved a minimal amount of people... With how things were looking, Lisa wouldn't be back for awhile... It was a dreadful thought when it came down to it, but the situation itself was grim, and she refused to actually allow herself to think over every dark aspect of it; she still didn't want to go there. She'd packed for a week, thankfully, having had the notion that she would want to stay longer than she'd need to once she got here if only to get away from things, to keep herself from being in the very locations Jackson had found her in during his period of observation.

She inwardly cringed at the way he'd phrased that...

Lisa had come here with the possible intention of getting away from the lingering memory of Jackson, only to find herself staying in a rather intimate situation with him. She'd possibly even flown to Chicago on the same flight as him... He'd said in the parking lot that they didn't know she was there, while that could have been spun any number of ways...

Her phone call was brief, though necessary. She was already late for checking into the hotel she was supposed to be staying at. Tomorrow, she would be late for an appointment. If she didn't show up, her own hotel would be called... and eventually the situation would spiral. It was a frightening though, but she needed to make herself disappear; make it so the people she saw day after day wouldn't know anything was amiss... It took a bit of verbal dodging, but she managed to convince Cynthia that it all had become too much, and that she would be staying in Chicago for a time. She was using Jackson as an excuse to hide that she was with Jackson at present. Reaching the check-out line, she assured Cynthia that she would explain everything to her when she returned home, and that everything was alright. She was distraught, but it was manageable. She'd simply pushed herself too hard too fast in getting back to her old routine... After delivering Cynthia with a few work related instructions -- namely to make sure to apologize for her absence and to cancel the engagement that had led to her even being here -- she ended the call, worked her way through the small line at the store, and made her way back to the room... She would deal with dissuading her father from worrying about her when he called her later that night.

...Darkness greeted her when she returned, and she was forced to give her eyes a moment to adjust to that dramatic shift before she dared to make her way through a room that suddenly made her feel like she were infringing within the lair of some monstrous beast... Depositing a few of the items she'd picked up in the bathroom, mainly a razor for his scruffy appearance and a pair of scissors for his hair if he intended to return to the old Jackson when he was up to it, she eventually made her way over to the edge of the bed. She'd guessed by his breathing when she'd first slipped inside that he was asleep, and that argument had been strengthened as she drew nearer.

Sitting there a moment, she struggled with the urge just to let him sleep for awhile. He needed it. Desperately so.

But she equally didn't like the thought of leaving his wounds open and exposed more for his sake than risking the sheets or the bedding... She placed the bandages and alcohol on the nightstand, her hand reaching for the bedside lamp before she stopped, rethinking that action. Waking him up didn't need to be a jarring thing. Her left hand found his forehead, fingers exploring slightly in the dark, her touch but a whisper as those fingers brushed through his hair noting its dampness. "Jackson...?" She offered to the still room, "I need you to wake up so we can do one more thing... and then you can sleep," her hand through his hair served the dual purpose of letting her gently check to see if he was still feverish and to comb back the unruly strands of his hair.
 
RE: Vertigo

Typically, Jackson Rippner didn't dream.

However, during the rare times he did dream, his mind would go back to the same places again and again, snippets of memory and images from so long ago that he could scarcely remember where they were from, but knew he should because they were so vivid. A dilapidated house with a rotting lawn, a rusted truck in the driveway and the noise the engine made when it cut out, the acrid smell of cigar smoke, the drip of the faucet down the hall, and the way that the second-last step would always creak when someone came up the stairs, just outside of his room.

Small things. Seemingly insignificant things, but when he dreamt they would play on a loop and the only change would come right before he woke up, the memory of jamming a wooden chair beneath the door handle so he could go to sleep, so no one would come in.

It didn't change even then, but on some level, Jackson was vaguely aware of Lisa's presence - he just couldn't seem to surface, stuck in the repetitive and unpleasant pattern of his sole recurring dream. He felt her fingers graze across his forehead, skimming over his skin - her touch felt cool and soft and strange, and his only response was the smallest twitch of his eyebrows; she was trying to get him to wake up.

An engine died. A cigar burned. A faucet dripped and a stair creaked.

He jammed a chair under the door handle.

He struggled to open his eyes, managing only to peer through a mess of lashes, his vision blurred as though he was looking at Lisa through a pond - he nearly managed to regain consciousness, but with it came vertigo, a rush of terrible heat, and pain. Pain everywhere. He didn't have a choice in the matter when the world went dark again, but at least the black-out came with silence.
 
RE: Vertigo

She felt him stir beneath her hand ever so slightly, seeming almost to come to in that slight movement, and she found herself holding her breath. Waiting. But stillness only followed, the slow rise and fall of his chest and the steady sound of his breathing touching to her ears being the only reassurance she had that he was still alive. She tried again, his name, a little bit more firmly this time, and her hand moved to his shoulder, shaking him once. Still nothing. Nervously, her right hand pulled the cord for the lamp, turning the device on, and she found even herself closing her eyes against the light for a minute. His unresponsive nature worried her, and she felt the icy fingers of a mild panic begin to dig in, but she brushed them aside with the reminder that he was breathing, steadily, as he should be. His pulse, though slightly rushed, seemed to be where it should be, and while he was still warm to the touch, it didn't feel as though to a dangerous degree. His body finally just gave out on him, she told herself, remembering how very far he'd been pushed. He's going to sleep this off, and wake up on his own after he's recuperated. Nervously, she took a few slow breaths, forcing herself to settle down, to look at the situation calmly and rationally since, if he had slipped under... there was little she could do. He would either come out of it or he wouldn't.

A grim though even with who it was centred around, and one that made those chilling fingers return to her with a vengeance.

Her fingers trailed through his hair again, turning his head slightly to the side as she looked him over slowly. She could manage this without his help... It would be awkward... more so if he woke up in the middle of it, but he wouldn't be impossible to manoeuvre, not to the extent she would need to anyway.

She dealt with his forearm first, the easiest of his injuries by far, disinfecting it gingerly before carefully wrapping it back up in a protective layer of pale gauze. His thigh was next, the slow process being repeated, it another easy location to access, and one that had her overly grateful towards him for leaving the towel around him. His neck proved a trifle more difficult to manage, followed long after by the gunshot wounds that marred his chest. One from her father, and one from herself... The memories played out vaguely as she worked, fingers innocently exploring those gruesome sites, she being allowed to see the damage not just with her eyes but her hands as well.

He was the bloodied canvas on which she had worked, upon which their brief history was painted over. She'd been forced to lift him up at the end, a task that proved cumbersome at best, her fingers working quickly to wind that gauze around his slender torso as he leaned against her, lifeless almost. His head was resting against her shoulder, she could feel him move with each breath, his chest expanding and contracting against her somewhat, noticed the faint patch of warmth that collected against her shoulder as his breath brushed over it... Setting the remainder of the gauze back on the nightstand, she sat there for a long moment, not quite willing to release him back to the warm arms of the bed.

It was an odd sensation, feeling that life exist against her, feeling the warmth of him, his pulse, his breathing, all of it so close. It was that which held her there, she surprised by her own reaction to that closeness, not because it was another human being, but it was him. Jackson. Her boogieman.

Vulnerable. Completely so.

Pulling herself out of it, she lowered him back down to the bed as carefully as she could, strands of his hair brushing against her cheek as his head left her shoulder, the scent of him still clinging to her remembered from before... She hadn't missed it as they'd sat side by side on that long flight, or during the handful of times she found him closer to her still... but it had been something she'd overlooked until now, not something she would have expected to remember.

It seemed to be easy to forget what he was when he was asleep, his face relaxed, expression hauntingly peaceful...

Fixing him more comfortably on the bed, she pulled the covers back over him and moved away, busying herself as best she could as if one shaken by something. She put the rest of the items she'd used away and unpacked herself a bit, mostly putting a few odds and ends in the bathroom cabinet as well. If they were going to be here awhile she wouldn't be living fully out of her suitcase. She went as far as to gather his things from the bathroom, venturing to see of the motel had a laundry room; it did, and she made quick use of it, checking on him from time to time as she went about these mundane tasks which she eventually ran out of.

She'd settled onto the couch after his folded clothes had been placed over her suitcase which found its home beside that small couch, her coat and vest mixing in with his items. The light had been turned off at that point, but enough light still streamed in from the window that she could see him, the sun itself only just beginning to set some several hours later. She was curled against the back of the couch, her head resting against the back of it, her arms wrapped slightly around herself with knees drawn in towards her and bare feet finding rest on the cushion beside the one she sat on. Lisa was tired, understandably so, though it was the one mild ailment she seemed to be suffering from as she laid there, eyes half shut, their worn gaze trained on the bed. Jackson hadn't stirred in all of that time, and the worry she managed to keep at bay with the assurance that he did in fact need to rest managed to worm its way passed that little wall of reason she put up, throughout all of the sounds she'd made, the accidental disturbances, none of it had roused him... Her mind was spinning circles around that, back and forth with itself, working herself up and settling herself back down.

Round and round the cycle went until, eventually, Lisa's eyes were no longer open...
 
RE: Vertigo

It was ultimately a blessing that Jackson would remain unaware of the small, quiet moment that had occurred, as it was the sort of scenario that he had spent his life avoiding - the idea of being vulnerable to others was disturbing, and at present, he was sure he was at the most vulnerable he had ever been, save for a time very, very long ago. Had he been even slightly aware, he would have been mortified to find himself resting against Lisa, not because he would be repulsed by her - no one could honestly say they were - but because of how susceptible he was right then, how easily he was moved around by her, and by how, in his sleep, he seemed to relax against her body, his head on her shoulder, arms immobile and relax in a way that only sheer exhaustion could cause.

In any other circumstance, he would have been woken up by the smallest movement.

But right then, he was defenseless - he would stay that way for five hours, a short time in terms of sleep, particularly with the exhaustion he had gone through, but he was woken up by his body.

As a veteran on his job, Jackson was used to pain - he dealt with it differently than most people did and regarded it in a coldly sterile way. Pain, he had decided, was just another sensation; with proper consideration, one could review and analyze their own pain in a way that made it meaningless, a dull buzz in the nervous system, rather than something that took over entirely.

When he woke up that night, however, he did not have the benefit of time to meditate on his body's complaints; he surfaced from sleep with a sharp, audible inhale, a subdued noise of pain. In that moment, in the darkness, he briefly forgot where he was and he had to close his eyes again, fighting against what had turned from a slow burn into a horrible inferno throughout his limbs and torso, his heart thrumming so fast in his chest that he could hear it pounding in his temple. Still semi-conscious, he reflexively shoved the blankets off of himself, finding his hands shaking and the black world around him shifting like a boat rocking during a violent storm. Nausea and dizziness hit him all at once and he forced himself into a sitting position, a movement he regretted almost instantly - more pain. He shifted himself back against the headboard, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling, finding his own darkened reflection staring back at him, pupils dilated so his iris had become only a sliver of blue.

He breathed, he attempted to focus only on each inhale and exhale, but his pounding heart seemed to disturb even that.

It was at some point amidst his hitched breathing that he remembered where he was. Chicago. The airport. The taxi, the hotel, and Lisa. He looked down at himself and the thought swam by him that his bandages had been changed, at some point, Lisa had changed them and he hadn't even woken up for it. And, as he paid more attention to his surroundings, over the rush of his own blood, he could hear her gentle breathing - she was on the couch.

Defying everything his body told him, he moved to get up; the muscles in his legs felt as though they were crawling with something that was alive, though he knew it was the withdrawal causing it. He pushed against the mattress for leverage to try and rise, but the world tilted nearly upside-down and pain shot in one temple and out through the other until he was forced to sit still for a long moment, steadying himself, silent.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa's sleep was fleeting; it was a shallow thing, her thoughts stilling but never quite settling, and at the very first sounds from him, soft as they were, her mind began to spring to life. It took her a short while to fully shake off that fogginess enough to open her eyes, enough to realize that she should be opening her eyes, and that something was going on that needed her attention. Dizzily she sat up a little ways, her mind only half way wrapping around what had stirred her as her hand pushed against the back of the couch. Sitting up the rest of the way, her breath caught in her throat her mind held to a single thought, she'd been worried about him, worried if he'd even wake up... and he had.

Jackson was awake. He tried to rise, but failed, falling back to the bed.

Her feet found the floor, and she crossed the distance, shifting from sitting on one piece of furniture to the other. Pressing her hands to his bare shoulders as she placed herself to the right of him, her grip was firm, not entirely holding him in place but intending to stop him from trying to get to his feet again if he attempted it, "What's wrong, Jackson?" she asked somewhat hurriedly, her voice low. Her right hand brushed through his hair, fingers trailing down the left side of his face to hold his head still as she leaned forward rather than attempting to turn him towards her. Whatever relief she'd felt at seeing him sitting up had been smashed back down, the worry setting in fully this time. Jackson being awake wasn't a good thing at the moment.

She debating reaching for the light, but stilled her hand; she could see enough to know that his eyes were nearly black, the faint light still peeking in from the edges of the curtained window as well as the level that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness serving her well enough. Her hands had felt the tension in his shoulders, and it put her on edge, feeling more like an unforgiving vice than anything else, "If you can you just need to lay back down..."
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson was immediately aware of Lisa's movement, and though he was aware she posed no threat, he felt his pulse briefly skip, as though even the slightest movement around him was sending maddening amounts of adrenaline coursing through his system, something he had long ago ceased to experience after a lifetime of high-risk jobs. Any effort to slow his pulse rate failed miserably, his heart pounding hard enough that it seemed to jolt him with each throb; the experience was unpleasant, like being hit in the chest cavity with a small hammer.

Despite the stillness of his mind, despite the knowledge of what was happening, he couldn't stop the ache.

Lisa moved towards him; in an otherwise still room, the outline of her form stood out and he his fingers dug into the sheets as though trying to ground himself.

He heard the question; he couldn't seem to answer, his voice seemed frozen in his throat, all of his muscles tense like an animal prepared to strike, the cords of muscle in his neck, shoulders, and upper arms standing out against the strain. He felt her hand in his hair, on his face, on his shoulder; his skin crawled. He tensed further, his voice escaping him so suddenly that he hadn't even realized he had spoken, his voice hoarse and harsh sounding from the injury and the pain,

"Don't touch me." he ground out; he felt as though he had to move. He felt as though he had to get up. He felt as though he was going to have to tear his skin off to get at the itch under it. He knew it was the withdrawal, and he reminded himself - the thought was an anchor, a reminder of why it was happening and an assurance that it would eventually end. He spoke again, but this time more quietly, "Just - stop touching me."
 
RE: Vertigo

His voice sent an ice-cold spike straight through her, wide-eyed, her reaction happening before she could even register it. Her hands lifted from him, and she visibly recoiled. Fear was in those hazels, and she everything but physically moved away from him. The second time he spoke it eased her a bit, his voice calmer, less jagged... less threatening, and it kept her there in place beside him. Hands lingered for a moment close but not touching; unsure of what exactly to do though heeding his request.

Even if he felt like moving, unless he had a specific reason to get up, he needed to stay off of his leg; he needed to stay put more than anything right now, to give his wounds time to heal and mend...

If that first utterance from him hadn't been frightening enough, the tension in his body seemed to spread as she watched, or perhaps she became more aware of it. The dim lighting accented those slender limbs, each cord and muscle that raised itself up even slightly was turned into something a bit more gruesome, the light trying to add to his almost ghastly countenance. "Fine," Her hands pulled away a little ways, and her voice shook at first, the rattling he'd given her still coursing through her a little ways. She swallowed back that fear, "But you need to stay off that leg," her voice was firm this time, shifting from what it had been before; it was a warning almost.

"If you try to get up, I'm pulling you back down," It was promise more than any sort of threat; she'd leave him be as long as he behaved himself, a boundary that if he crossed it... she'd be forced to act. She'd go as far as restraining him if need be... unless he had real reason to be pushing himself like that.... Her hands eventually settled in her lap, they holding on to one another with fingers laced tightly.
 
RE: Vertigo

For an instant, Jackson felt a swell of enormous frustration, something that made him want to take Lisa by the shoulders and shake her.

He did not, however.

Amidst the pain and the discomfort and the crawling skin and the heat, he was still aware that Lisa was right - he needed to keep weight off of his leg, he needed rest, he needed to stop moving and to co-operate.

But his body was telling him another story; the adrenaline alone was making it difficult to hold still.

For the first time, Jackson had no idea what to do with himself; sleep had all but escaped him and movement wasn't an option, not with Lisa beside him, determined to keep him in place - which she could potentially do, with him in his current condition.

He tried again to refocus, to turn his attention elsewhere, but he found there was no where he could take his mind - there was only Lisa, and there was no clear way of utilizing her as a distraction.

Another glance down at himself; the bandaging around his torso had been done with a careful hand, wrapped around him several times despite the fact he had been laying down.

"How did you even..?" he managed to rasp out.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa sat there in the dark beside him, not entirely sure if there was anything she could actually do to ease him, outside of doing the one thing he asked of her... Don't touch me. The way that had first tore from his throat played through her mind, her fingers tightening in their hold of one another. For some reason that seemed to be one of the hardest things for her to do, because it was the only thing she could think of to sooth him, and if he were anyone else, it might have worked in some small way... But he was Jackson Rippner. The normal rules just didn't apply to him... She was on edge as she sat next to him, not quite looking at him, but afraid to let her thoughts drift away; if he bolted, she would be on him, attempting to wrestle him back down before he could get too far, before it would be the unforgiving floor that would be catching him instead of the worn springs of the bed. She didn't know what she was anticipating from him if he decided to go against her warning, he could barely stand after all... but she was prepared for it if it came.

Lost in her own little world of confusion, her mind didn't drift into wondering where his was going, she didn't notice him glance down, didn't realize the slight pause that followed that action... His question did reach her though, and it jostled her into looking at him. She took a moment, having the presence to realize that she'd probably done something very bad, something that he wasn't supposed to know about even as innocent as it was. That feeling intensified as the memory of him leaning against her played out against her skin, and she recalled that scent, his warmth seeping into her... She shivered, looking away from him, anger seeping into her as that memory faded.

"How do you think?" she answered, her voice had a slight edge to it, she looking to him out of the corner of her eye.

It was her phone that caused her to jump, its purred ring loud in the otherwise quiet room. Her eyes looking to the coat that had been laid out over the arm of the couch while her thoughts scattered. Dad. She rose from the edge of the bed a little ways, eyes finding Jackson warningly before she dared to switch over to the couch, digging out her phone and putting it to her ear, "Lisa Reisert...?" She answered, stopping herself from answering with that childish name of 'dad' instead.

Her eyes remained on Jackson, her attention on him careful despite the distraction. Her father's voice was muffled on the other end, she turning her head away from Jackson a little ways seeking whatever privacy that could offer. He asked her how she was and if the flight had gone smoothly, and she smiled on instinct, the expression genuine even though her situation at present was quite dismal. "Everything went fine... I'm settled in, and I think I'm going to stay over a few days," Her smile faded slightly, "And like you've been saying, I think I need a break from things. Time to recuperate..." His warm response followed, assuring her that was a good idea, that she deserved one after what she had been put through. Telling her that she worked herself too hard. "Yeah, I know, I should have listened," Eyes that had never quite left Jackson flicked away, "Dad, listen, I've plans for this evening, and I need to get going," he started to say something, but she quickly countered, "No, no, I'll be out most of the night. I'll talk to you tomorrow, alright?" She smiled again, the expression creeping up on her this time, it somewhat sad, not as innocent as her first had been.

"Yes, I'll be careful," A pause, "I love you too," another pause, "I know, Chicago is a dangerous place, I'll be careful, I promise -- Look, dad, I have to go, I'll be late..." she fidgeted nervously, "Goodnight," his own good bye followed before she clicked her phone off.

Both of her hands grasped hold of it, and she sat there for a minute, her eyes not lifting towards him and instead remaining trained on her phone. "That's one of the times it's acceptable to lie, right? Because I'm not lying to you?" Her words were almost venomous as they came out, soft and quiet, but sharp just the same.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa likely had to struggle him upright to bandage his torso while he was unconscious; her reaction to the question had been strong and nearly defensive - she was embarrassed, potentially because of the sheer awkwardness of it. She didn't want to talk about it and frankly, neither did he, but some part of him had been impressed that she had managed to do the job as neatly and precisely as she had.

But then, Lisa Reisert worked well under pressure.

He didn't have a chance to respond to her nearly-hostile question because her phone went off - and though Lisa did an admirable job of initially hiding who she was speaking to, Jackson was aware of who was on the other end of the line. Like clockwork, her doting father would call at night, ask about her day, question her health, and when she told him she was fine, he would question that as well. They would say they loved eachother, missed eachother, and say goodnight. If it wasn't so sincere, it might have been robotic.

Jackson said nothing; he simply observed Lisa - his examination of others was habitual, a job requirement that had become so ingrained that he scarcely recognized he was doing it.

And, right then, it provided distraction that he found he desperately needed.

When Lisa hung up the phone, her response was again defensive, as though she was justifying what she had just said to her father despite Jackson's complete silence. She was on edge for reasons beyond their current situation, something else was on her mind.

He chose to say nothing, he merely watched Lisa as though patiently waiting out her hostility, his elbows balanced on his knees, a position that made his spine curl in a way that was nearly feline, his pulse visible, throbbing in his throat.
 
RE: Vertigo

Hazels trailed over the neat little row of three by three buttons that coated the front of her phone, following the lines they made up to the display face, and their gaze lost themselves there for a long while in the visuals for the signal strength, battery life, and the other functions her cell phone was set to display... not really reading, simply waiting out his response. Her question had no real intent for an answer; she was mad, she could feel the blood rushing to her face as the silence stretched on, and her thumb rubbed slowly but firmly against the edge of her phone. But she had asked him something, and he wasn't answering her. With anything. Only silence. And she wasn't alright with that. At all. She hadn't been alright with that since the taxi, but she had understood that then, she understood even after they'd made it inside. He'd pushed himself too far, was probably having trouble focusing on anything at all at that time... Whatever held Jackson Rippner together had been very near snapping. She knew she shouldn't expect too much of him even now, but she expected something... Deserved something for worrying about him.

Her eyes flicked up; her posture was tense, on edge as she sat there, knees pressed gently together with her hands resting gently upon them, her back straight, rigid even... and then her eyes met his, black pools that were staring straight at her with a patience that drove her pulse upwards still.

He was watching her.

Lisa's hands and jaw both clenched in unison, and it looked for a minute as though she would say nothing... "You..." She practically hissed, turning away from him as she stashed her phone back inside one of her coat's pockets, the loose ringlets of her hair bouncing as she did so, "You! she started, turning back to him somewhat though her hands remained upon her coat, pressed there, clenching to it. Her voice was not exactly shrill but slightly elevated in pitch when the next bit tumbled out, "Since we arrived here you've been nothing but difficult! I understand that you're out of commission for a time, and you'd probably rather be locked in here all by yourself to sort all of this out, but the state you're in is a little bit beyond just figuring it out on your own.

"That's why I'm here, right? That's what you were alluding to back at the airport? That you're no dashing prince on a white horse come to rescue me from a gruesome end? That we both need each other if we want to get through this?" She was working herself into a mild rant of sorts. "If that's the case, then you need to get over this..." She hit a wall for a moment, searching for the right word one of her hands gesturing to him as both of those small extensions of herself left the security her coat offered her, "...this... whatever this is and let me help. Or at least let me think I am by telling me what's wrong; the symptoms you're feeling, what you need done, answering my questions."

She'd wound herself down, and her hands settled once more in her lap as she pointedly looked away from him. "I'm not going to just sit in the corner and leave you to your own devices, and you're just going to have to deal with that."

She was mad at him; mad at him for being so difficult, mad at him for pushing her away earlier, for making her feel like her very touch burned him, that it was the thing causing him pain... She was mad at him for making her worry about him, she was mad at herself for giving into that temptation, mad at him for the mild feeling of awkwardness that still trilled through her because he simply wasn't wearing anything under that towel even though there was little either of them could do about it...

...and she was disgusted with herself for realizing that all of that was upsetting her.

Lisa seemed to still, burning herself out as the tension left her and the slight flush of her cheeks faded; her eyes remained away from him though, staring at the wall across the room and wishing desperately that there was something upon that wall for her to look at besides the terrible blandness of it all.
 
RE: Vertigo

Though Jackson was more than capable of the small talk and manners required to get to know a target, he had never truly been socially integrated - something that could be attributed to a history he simply didn't care to think about - and so he found himself very occasionally bemused by another person's reactions. For the most part, people were predictable - if he was given the time to quickly study someone, he could gauge how they would react before he spoke, it was how he had gotten Lisa to join him for a drink in the airport to begin with. It was why he had been annoyed when she ordered a Bay Breeze.

But at that moment, he hadn't forseen her reaction to his silence - though he saw the tension in Lisa's shoulders before he heard it in her voice, a building fury, annoyance, anger as she went on a tirade that remained characteristically polite - even in her most illogical moment of anger, Lisa was restraining her rage. It was fascinating.

He decided it would be best not to bring that up as a topic.

Rippner remained unhelpfully quiet through the course of her diatriabe, watching her little hands cut through the air in frustration, observing her movements when she was openly angry, something he hadn't had a chance to witness before. She was even flushed.

Also something he hadn't seen before.

Hands clasped together, he waited; he waited until she had fallen silent, and waited for another moment after that before he spoke - his voice was rough from the injury, but unmistakably calm.

"I alluded to nothing," he said finally; he didn't like the word or the use of it - he had always considered himself a relatively simple person, his intentions transparent; honesty wasn't just for the pious anymore - it was a skill that removed complications,

"What I did, Lisa, was tell you exactly what you needed to know, in the frame of time we had to discuss it."

It was difficult to be the voice of reason when wearing only a towel. Somehow Jackson managed it.

"At length, you are here because you were coming to Chicago anyways. I am here because I was brought by force. We are in this hotel together because the same person wants both of us dead. Neither of us walked away when we could have because we both knew our chances were less favourable separately. I do not believe I ever implied otherwise."

Something in his chest and neck spasmed and Jackson had to duck his head for a moment, hands clenching against eachother, though no sound escaped him through sheer force of will. After a moment of quiet, he looked up again, and even he couldn't hide the pain that was showing in his eyes, though he continued on in the same placid tone, the rest of his features as immobile as they had been before,
"Could it be, Leese, that you just don't like the responses I give you?" Jackson asked, though it was posed more rhetorically than anything; a little introspecting and Lisa would realize that he had been nothing but honest with her - his responses were straight-forward, the anti-thesis of difficult - they but the truth could also be ugly, "And as for the ones I don't give you - we both know I'm going through withdrawal. What do you think you can do?"

The last part wasn't intended to be cruel, merely factual - there was no medical help she could provide, though the idea of physical or emotional comfort had never even occurred to Jackson. He wasn't from that world.
 
RE: Vertigo

When his voice came, Lisa listened; she was mad, frustrated, and wanted nothing more than to just get up and leave the room for a little while. It was the roughness to his voice that kept her in place, her fingers almost knitting together into a tight little knot. Her thumbs worked over one another, slowly, methodically, until she seemed to realize what she was doing and her hands stilled, pressing to her knees instead. The tension was returning to her as he spoke. Eyes remained upon that bland little piece of wall, looking it over for any flaw or deformity to distract herself as she took in what he was finally telling her; she didn't like it, not one bit.

And then he told her that, his question rhetorical, it following a brief pause she'd missed the cause of, soundless as he was with his agony. It was the use of his nickname for her that brought her eyes to him, a small, angry flare building inside of her, but it extinguished itself as soon as she saw him.

His eyes were haunting.

Everything about him was so eerily calm, as though nothing was the matter, but those eyes...

She looked away again as he was concluding his verbal response to her, something up until now she didn't dare interrupt simply because he was talking to her. Leaning forward, a hand partially covered her mouth while giving her chin something to rest upon, her other hand holding weakly to that arm's elbow.

"...I honestly can't do anything, Jackson..." Her words were partially whispered, muffled by fingers she didn't bother to move, and they came at a long length. It took her a moment to realize that he'd actually asked her something, and while silence probably would have been a suitable answer... confirming what she'd just said... her words came anyway. "I've nothing that can really help you through this; no magic pill or secret remedy... I've nothing tangible... " she mellowed down, and everything she said came slowly.

"But you could at least let me try and ease it... instead of putting up such a damnably high wall between us, because that really is the only thing that I could do," her head lowered as her hands ran slowly through her own hair, "You could act like it's not me that's hurting you... Pretend... that we don't hate one another, for just a little while..." She trailed, giving up at that point, her voice leaving her. Her head lifted, palms pressed together as the tips of her fingers touched to her lips, and her thumbs pressed to her chin while her eyes sought the floor. Her expression wasn't bashful or shy, only cold.

What was she suggesting...
 
RE: Vertigo

It was one of the few times in his life that Jackson could say he was genuinely puzzled; he wondered if he should attribute it to the effects of withdrawal, the head trauma, or the pain he was in, but whatever was causing it, he found he was having difficulty discerning exactly what Lisa was trying to say to him.

She wanted to ease the pain; he wasn't clear on how, and Advil didn't exactly go a long way when it came to gunshot wounds.

Jackson realized that, in his efforts to understand, he had been staring vacantly at Lisa for several long moments, head canted slightly to the left. He sought to correct it the moment he recognized it, but found he still hadn't managed to dissect what she had been saying.

But, amidst it all, he did manage to take hold of one comment and inspect it; he found he didn't particularly care for it. He still hadn't blinked, staring directly at her as he spoke:

"I don't hate you, Lisa." Jackson said flatly, his tone one of mild irritation, as though the suggestion was one of the more ridiculous things he had heard. Given their history, of course, it would be easy to assume he hated her - after all, he had spent eight weeks following her, had held her hostage on an airplane, and had stalked her around her childhood home. To anyone else, it was clear hatred.

To Jackson, well, it was his job.

He didn't have the chance to say anything else immediately after, however, as his pulse jumped again, creating the unpleasant twist in his neck and chest and causing him to finally shut his eyes, his jaw clenching.
 
RE: Vertigo

Her eyes remained down on the floor for a long while, but as yet again silence stretched between them she found herself once more glancing over to him, and the expression on his face almost startled her. If it had been his gaze alone she would have been worried that he'd lost himself again and was about to topple face first onto the floor, but the slight tilt of the head... almost made him appear confused, like he was thinking something over and putting far too much effort into it. She was about to ask him if everything was alright, but he seemed to shake himself out of the stare on his own, and her lips pressed together behind her hands to hide that she'd been about to.

She was beginning to think of his watchfulness as more of a stare than anything normal, maybe that was why it was unnerving her so, why it had tripped her fuse earlier... She was being allowed to see what she'd spent eight weeks beneath. It was that one, simple, little statement that almost confused her; the one thing he'd seem to key into within her answer, a correction for a mistake, one he appeared to think her silly for having made judging by his tone. Before her mind was even allowed to wrap fully around the implications of this though he shut himself off to her. His eyes closed, and she watched his jaw clench tightly; she didn't have to guess to know what had caused it. She seemed to forget what he'd been saying, and that she'd found herself wrapped in a brief bit of confusion over it as she gave in, pushing herself from the couch and stepping over to him.

She paused, hesitant, looking to him, eyes somewhat wide; she was afraid of his reaction...

Dropping onto the bed beside him, her arms reached for him, wrapping around him gently and pulling him against her somewhat. She was sitting closer than she had been last time, and her thigh brushed against his as one of her hands lifted, her fingers webbing out as they trailed softly through his hair. Resting her chin against his shoulder, she faced him, her eyes closed as she scooted closer, allowing her forehead to touch to the side of his head. She didn't say anything, not at first anyways, and she kept her eyes tightly closed, not wanting to see his face or those dreadful eyes of his if they turned towards her.

"Just let me do this..." She said softly, her lips near his ear, "If it doesn't help take your mind off of what's going on inside, then at least let me feel like I'm doing something," her hold on him tightened somewhat, and the hand in his hair tightened in time, its hold on those damp locks careful and almost loose.
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson had been too distracted by the jumping, erratic rhythm of his pulse and the tendrils of pain that were creeping through his body to notice that Lisa had moved from the couch; it was only when he felt the bed shift that he became aware of her proximity - and suddenly there was warmth. Lisa's arms were moving around him, pinning his own awkwardly to his sides; his eyes snapped open at this, his brain either not fully registering or not quite accepting exactly what was occurring, a mental refusal to identify the gesture for what it was.

But then Lisa's hand was in his hair, her head rested on his shoulder, her hair hung low and the curls of it brushed against his skin, her forehead was pressing against his temple and her leg touched against his - he could smell her conditioner.

Jackson stared at the distant wall for a long moment, his brain processing with the speed of an oncoming iceberg. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Lisa, his normally carefully blank expression having turned into open confusion - but her eyes were mercifully closed, as though she was also trying to block out what was happening in that moment:

Lisa was hugging him.

For the first time in a very long time, Jackson Rippner had no idea what to do, and the feeling of her breath against the shell of his ear made his voice give out on him, leaving him temporarily mute. Ultimately, it wasn't a situation he had encountered before - this sort of thing just didn't happen in the world he was from, so the feeling was alien to him. He felt her hold on him tighten, pulling him closer, and he finally managed to speak,

"What exactly are you doing?" he asked; he was quiet, his tone bordering concern, as though there was the chance Lisa might have snapped without him noticing, that maybe all of her self-help books had been thrown out the window and she had completely lost it in that instant.
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson was still in her arms, all except for the gentle sensation of him breathing and the rapid thrum of his heart, which she could feel beneath her fingertips when the hand that was very nearly petting him drew close to his throat. This was as it had been before; his skin, warm to the touch, and his scent once more flooding her senses... The difference was that this time he wasn't leaning helplessly against her... He wasn't asleep this time, subdued by a forced slumber that held him under; he was very much awake. She could feel the muscles beneath his skin tensing and relaxing in the mundane task of keeping him upright, and she felt his head turn, only slightly, bringing their faces closer but never quite closing that distance.

Feeling his hair tickling against the skin of her face, she pulled away a little ways, allowing her eyes to open to look at those offending strands rather than to look at him. He hadn't pushed her away yet... hadn't told her to stop touching him again... and he didn't hate her...

"Comfort..." That single word was breathed as she moved, her arms sliding away from him only long enough to let her shift her position on the bed, the leg closest to him curling beneath her and settling itself behind him to allow her to face him better. Her other leg moved closer as her arms tightened again, "I'm offering you that, Jackson... The beat of another heart, a soothing touch, something to pay attention to besides what's going on inside... That's all," Only the tips of her fingers moved against his head, her hand rocking back and forth slowly to allow that motion against his scalp. Her head tilted down, resting on his shoulder again, feeling the gauze she'd wrapped around him instead of the warm flesh of him. "This is part of why I've been trying to touch you..." The last bit came almost accusingly, more so than she'd intended for it to, blaming him for not understanding in a way.

She realized how absolutely wrong this was; she hadn't forgiven him nor had she forgotten what he'd put her through, hadn't forgotten what he'd almost done, what he'd tried to do to her... but even he didn't deserve to suffer like he was.
 
RE: Vertigo

It was clear in that moment that Jackson and Lisa had experienced very different lives; to Reisert - despite what had happened to her years ago - human touch was an obvious source of comfort, embraces and minute touches were healthy and desirable.

To Jackson, this made no sense; his human contact was limited only to the required minimum for him to do his job - a handshake or a scrap, a hand around the throat or wrist, depending on the situation and whether they were co-operating.

Of course, that didn't mean Jackson wasn't familiar with other aspects of physicality; he had been with women before, it had never been difficult for him to pick up a girl in a bar for a night of meaningless, but thoroughly passionate sex - he was still human, despite all of the indications otherwise, and sex was something that was so basic and uncomplicated that it only made sense to seek it out on occasion.

But this - it wasn't something Jackson was familiar with; he had never sought the touch of another person for comfort, in fact, he wasn't certain he could remember ever being - hugged, so the action was startlingly strange. He felt Lisa shift beside him, one of her legs drawing around behind him; she was pulling him in as close as she could, her fingers stroking his hair.

He remained silent after Lisa had spoken, taking in how surreal the situation was, but this time he didn't balk at the touch, he only remained quietly confused by it. When he finally did speak, it was in the same flat tone he always used, something deadpan only because it belied his sheepishness:

"And what, exactly, do I do?" he asked finally. There was no sarcasm, only a legitimate question; he was completely at a loss and so far beyond his comfort zone that it had stopped mattering, though he wasn't clear if he preferred to be shot at, or hugged. It was up in the air.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa's head lifted at his question, her hold on him loosening, her tone put-off, "You don't need to be..."

Sarcastic? He wasn't being so. The seriousness of his tone fell upon her after that disbelieving statement had almost slipped from her entirely, and for a moment, it was Lisa who had no idea what to do. How could he... He'd at the very least watched her for eight weeks; daily she greeted people with a warm embrace, daily small little gestures of affection were exchanged... With her father, with Cynthia, sometimes with overzealous strangers at the hotel who thought it necessary to express some form of thanks with more than just a simple handshake...

But then it dawned on her. She had never been put in a situation like this. Those were variations of every day, day-to-day greetings... Nothing like this. And with how he'd been behaving... he probably...

Dealt with things alone when they became like this...

She couldn't find her voice for some time after that. Her eyes were looking at him at last, she'd pulled away a little bit, enough that she could see him clearly, and her lips were parted as if she'd attempted to answer him, but her voice simply would not work at first. She was imagining all sorts of horrible situations for him, near death experiences, grievous injuries, filling in the stories behind the scars that peppered him that were old and whitened... all of which he'd stumbled through alone, probably with minimal hospital care.

"You don't have to do anything..." Her voice distant when it finally decided to work for her, buried beneath everything that had crashed down around her -- the pieces of his reality invading her own. "You can just sit here if you like... or you can put your arms around me... You can hold on to me if things get bad enough for you that you need to hang on to something," She recalled the tension in him from before and how his hand had clenched to the bed; some small part of her had the presence to hope that he wouldn't exactly subject her to that... She'd felt his grip before even when he hadn't been trying to hurt her with it, and even then it had been like a vice.

"Or we can lay back, get you a bit more settled, and maybe you can fall asleep again," She shook her head, her arms tightening around him again, "Goodness, Jackson, there is no set procedure for this... Just go with it."
 
RE: Vertigo

As it turned out, Lisa's conclusions were correct; Jackson had gone through the entirety of his life in general solitude and a vast majority of his interactions had been based around his job - there was no private or personal life to speak of, only work. From Lisa's perspective, it may have been horrifying, the concept of a person who went from day to day without any real connections to others, without a distinct home or family to speak to before going to bed at night - but for Jackson, it was normalcy. For him, there was nothing disheartening or dreary or unnatural about his lifestyle, it was simply the way it had always been, and he didn't see a reason to alter it - nor did he desire to live more like some of the targets he had tailed, as observation had deemed that sociable lifestyles inevitably led to complications. People were good at that sort of thing.

It was why Jackson liked the limitations of his social interaction; he was rational enough to know that he couldn't go entirely without human contact, that even the most introverted human would need to occasionally communicate with others, lest their mind rebel at the isolation and cause them to completely snap.

Ultimately, Rippner's isolation was self-imposed: he just preferred it that way.

It was part of what made the current situation so absurd - but in his opinion, it was also partly because he was only wearing a towel. He was aware enough of social conventions to know that nudity wasn't exactly normal in this sort of scenario, and he wasn't clear if Lisa's awkward sympathy had made her cease to care, or if she had simply forgotten - but with her hair brushing against his shoulder and her hands on his back and arm, he wasn't able to ignore it.

This sort of thing, according to Lisa, was supposed to help - he just wasn't clear on how.

Pain went through him again and he tensed once more in Lisa's embrace, instinctively turning his head away, towards anywhere that would allow him to feel he wasn't being observed in his weaker moments, to avoid the feeling he was being exposed far too much, in more than a physical way. His hand shifted on the bed and the side of it ended up brushing against Lisa's leg, a small and accidental contact that made him suddenly incredibly aware of how warm her entire body was.

"I'm getting dressed." Jackson said with finality; if he was going to have to suffer through withdrawal and the pain of his injuries he wasn't going to do it in a damn towel.
 
RE: Vertigo

Feeling him tense against her almost painfully and watching him turn away, Lisa's own expression turned worried, though she gave him that solitude. Her arms briefly tightened around him, and hands that were still remained so; dropping her head, her cheek found a rest on his shoulder, and her eyes closed... only to open a moment later as her breath hitched. In the small duration of time that had passed between her sitting on the couch to finding a place beside him... the realization that Jackson was simply wearing less than very little had drown itself in her worry and the simple need for her to try and do something for him.

She'd felt his hand brush her bare thigh, an acute sensation that was somehow intensified because he didn't nervously jerk it away after the fact. Reminding herself to breath, she wasn't allowed to wonder for very long if he'd noticed that small little gesture -- one she assumed to be innocent in nature -- before he spoke. What he said translated plainly; Jackson had indeed noticed. Her discomfort apparent, Lisa's head lifted from him and she didn't look at him, "Right... That's probably... a good idea..." She couldn't believe that had slipped her mind...

His hand hadn't moved.

Biting back the urge to move quickly away from him, her left hand lifted, petting the back of his head once before she slid from the bed. She fished his black briefs from the neat pile of clothes she'd made of his things and tossed them onto the bed beside him; she still didn't look at him. "You're still feverish..." She reasoned, her hands moving to ruffle quickly through her bag for her own night clothes, "I think we can both agree to that." If they'd both been alright with just him in a towel, her arms around him as they both sat on a bed exceedingly close to one another, the room darkened... what she'd just allowed him would be a step up. Flustered somewhat, she made for the bathroom, items in hand, leaving him to the room for his privacy since she was more mobile than him at the moment.

It didn't take her long to change, switching from her skirt and button down into a pair of dark pyjama shorts that were paired with a matching tank top, and covered over by a gray woollen sweater. She'd paused at the bathroom door, holding her work attire against her chest, still aware of that awkward little moment that had passed between them. Lisa now had another thing to add to the list of reasons she was mad at him... she hadn't been disgusted by it... Emerging from the bathroom, she kept her eyes down, staring down the bridge of her nose towards the floor and added her things to the pile of his things rather than bothering with trying to put them neatly away, and it was there she lingered for a moment, almost unsure of all of this.

Even with the lack of an real light, she could note the shift in the colour of his shirt, from a soft black to a dark where it was spotted with his blood. It was that which had caught her eyes as it peeked out from beneath her own clothes.
 
RE: Vertigo

It seemed they had both had the same realization simultaneously, because Lisa had stilled at the small brush of his hand against her leg. Neither of them mentioned it or reacted outlandishly to the inadvertent touch - that was all it had been, after all - but they had both suddenly become aware of all the connotations, had the situation not been of the completely platonic variety.

Which it was.

He felt Lisa's hand stroke through his hair; it reminded Jackson of what people did to puppies, a sort of petting motion - but he also found it wasn't unpleasant.

Jackson had been moving to rise from the bed, but before he could even begin to stand, Lisa was on her feet, crossing the room and picking up his clothes - specifically the boxer-briefs - and handing them to him. The action was so decisive that Lisa seemed to be making a point: he wouldn't be putting anything else on.

Of course, there was a perfectly legitimate reason for it - if he was feverish, the last thing he needed were layers of clothing trapping in his body heat. Yet even with the rationalization, Rippner felt almost as though he was being given permission to put something on - as though Lisa had somehow been granted an immense amount of control.

Which, he supposed, she had - it wasn't as though he was terribly capable right then.

He didn't respond, he merely observed her until she dissappeared into the bathroom. He couldn't help it; he sighed when he looked at the boxer-briefs - he wasn't exactly an afficionado when it came to underclothes, but boxers were too baggy and unkempt, normal briefs just looked uncomfortable, and anything smaller than briefs, in his opinion, was just ridiculous. Still, he found himself with the mild regret that they just didn't seem substantial enough right then.

Not that Lisa couldn't handle it, she was a grown woman, and he wasn't some teenage boy - just, to an extent it felt immodest, lacking politesse, even under the circumstances. Perhaps he was clinging too much to civility, mid-fever.

So he put them on and folded up the dreaded towel, setting it aside and trying to ignore the way every part of him seemed to twinge and ache in protest. When Lisa came back into the room, she would find him on his feet, one foot up on the bed as he inspected the wound on his thigh - like the majority of his injuries, it was sutured. He noted they would need to be removed soon.

And, also like the rest of him, Jackson's back was mottled with fading bruises and a couple of old scars, though nothing as significant as the injuries on his chest.

He heard her movement behind him, and saw her in the mirror above the bed before he turned around - and from that vantage, could see she had also changed. Lisa's normal attire consisted of extremely conservative clothes, mostly business-wear when she wasn't exercising; in the instant he observed her, he noted her legs were markedly those of an athlete.

When he turned, his expression remained neutral; he felt more naked now than he had before, but at least he could move without concern that he would be baring things that he didn't feel Lisa should be subjected to.

"I was starting to feel under-dressed." he said mildly, referencing the fact Lisa had still been in business attire when he had been clad in a damp towel.
 
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