Vertigo (VivifiedVanityxSeven)

RE: Vertigo

A hand covered Lisa’s eyes as she sat down on the bed beside him, and an exasperated sound passed her rosy lips, “Jack… ” That shortened version of his name didn’t have the same malice that it usually had when she used it, and it seemed to bleed out for her that she was once more at a loss for what to do with him; but in this case it wasn’t that she didn’t know what he needed, it was that he simply needed too much. “Just…” She stopped herself, torn between her desire to try to help him through this and a sudden need to just wash her hands of it all. Sitting there a moment in silence, she leaned over him a bit, eyes studying the pallor of his face if nothing else. With her weight supported by her right hand, her left reached out, coming to rest gingerly on his chest, careful at least of where his wounds were “I don’t think that you could keep anything down at this point…” That and she doubted he would be too terribly keen on the idea of her hand feeding him… which, with how his hands were still shaking, was what it would come to. Mad as she was though, she didn’t have the heart to scold him, at least not right now. That could wait.

“If you want to try… there’s at least a sandwich in the fridge over there for you…” She offered, wanting to move him onto the bed correctly, but unwilling to stir him for the moment. If he passed out this way, she could at least manoeuvre him to a more comfortable position on her own without him ending up in a tangle on the floor.

He’d been out for several hours, doing god knows what, that thought came to her rather harshly, and in just looking at the face of death he displayed now…

He’d over done it, by more than just a little bit. Teeth found her own lip as her fingers set to work almost without thinking, checking the bandages on his throat, touching deftly over where his wounds lay hidden, checking for signs of bleed-through or any sort of burning heat – something she’d been unable to check for with his fever. Lifting his arm, she did the same for his forearm, rolling his sleeve up so that her fingers could trail down it before they moved to his chest. There they dared to unbutton his shirt a little ways, repeating the process a third time; she would have done the same for his thigh, but that process wasn’t quite as simple, so her hand touched to that thigh over the thick fabric of his pants instead, Lisa making do with what she’d been handed.

“Do you at least think you could drink some water?”
 
RE: Vertigo

Laying back on the bed, Jackson found he was now inescapably faced with his own reflection, which he stared up at with dull disinterest - what he saw was unpleasant, but he found he was beyond the ability to care about the aesthetics - he was aware that he needed to rest, but even as he laid there with exhaustion claiming his limbs, he found that his mind wasn't following suit.

Lisa moved at his side; rather than peering down at her, he viewed her movements through the mirror, regarding both of them from a third-person perspective, watching more than actually feeling the way her hands skimmed over him, testing his injuries and assessing his current state.

He knew that he would be ill - violently so - if he tried to eat anything; the most basic functions had been turned into nauseating things - food seemed like an impossibility, a distant and unpleasant concept. For once, Jackson's normally internalized thoughts showed on his face - somehow he became paler, as though the very idea was testing his already precarious health. He wasn't about to ingest anything any time soon.

"The blue bag," Jackson said simply, directing the subject elsewhere, away from the topic that was inspiring queasiness, "In the end compartment, there's a wooden container."
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa looked up towards his face at the sound of his voice; she’d been straightening his shirt, her fingers working quickly and smoothly to redo the four buttons, the distraction caused her hands to slow on the last one while her eyes silently questioned him. She realized he was staring at himself up in the mirror above, ever watchful, though his gaze lacked its usual intensity… It was almost distant. Her head turned, locating the bag he’d verbally directed her to, while both hands smoothed his shirt back down over his chest. She looked back at him once, avoiding the temptation to try and meet his gaze in the mirror above, almost as if to seek permission to riffle through his things before she moved from the bed to where he’d dropped the bag. It didn’t take her long to find what he’d been talking about, and as she made her way back to him she realized that the only reason she knew he was alive at all was by the slight flicker of his eyes as they gazed up towards the ceiling.

Her fingers were clutching at the wooden box as she returned to his side, and they tentatively sat back down beside him, almost afraid that slight movement would disturb whatever hold he had on the waking world… He seemed so very fragile to her right now; it was like he was already gone, or very nearly so.

Her fingers stumbled over opening the box, she unable to take her eyes from him. It was a small box, and fit comfortably on her lap, almost the size of medium-sized jewellry box; a felt interior greeted her, and it took her head a moment to grasp around what that felt protected. It was a knife, a familiarly sized one – a kabar is what he’d called it on the plane… complete with a dark sheath and brass hilt. She was half tempted to pull it free from the box, but something stopped her, and the hand that had been stroking the edge of the lid suddenly slammed it closed. Brushing her hands along its top she set the box to the side for now, her attention shifting back towards Jackson seeming a bit flustered by what she’d retrieved, “Yeah, okay…? The point?” She was upset he’d gone through the hassle of speaking for something so trivial; something that could have waited…
 
RE: Vertigo

In the mirror Jackson could observe Lisa redoing the buttons on his shirt, little fingers working their way up - yet he found he couldn't feel it. It was a concern he chose not to express, as he felt the continued tremors in his hands was already too much of an apparent Achilles heel. He found himself almost relieved when she moved away, crossing the room to the bag he had directed her to and eventually removing the item he had mentioned.

The knife in question was possessed of a seven-inch straight-edge blade, carbon steel and chromium, matte black save for a brown and brass Kraton handle; it was over a decade old and the leather sheath was lightly care-worn, but the blade itself had been kept precisely-honed, showing an amount of care on the part of the wielder - it had been the first profesional knife Jackson had owned, a combat knife he had kept with him for years, one that had accompanied him on a number of jobs and saved his neck on more than one occasion.

He didn't explain any of this to Lisa. He simply laid in place on the bed,

"Keep it with you," he said; his tone was casual, as though he was discussing the weather rather than weaponry, "Secure it to your belt, keep it hidden beneath your shirt - don't leave this motel without it."
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa released a rather unhappy breath, her eyes flicking over towards Jackson as she seemed to pause with whatever she’d intended to do. Picking up the wooden box from where she’d set it, she placed it on the nightstand carefully, leaning over him a little ways before she climbed to her feet again. Jackson needed a lot of things at present… but the most dire was probably rest; she’d been afraid the previous night when’d he’d finally succumbed to sleep that he wouldn’t wake up, and seeing him now… that fear was revived. She made her way across the room, turning the overhead light off before making for the two bedside lamps, her progression eventually taking her back to him, “Just… stop for now. You’ve done quite enough for one day,” her words were quiet, warning almost. He’d done enough, made a right mess of himself while at it, and he was still trying to push forward… She stood there a moment, her fingers still poised against the lamp’s spinning switch; with the lights off his pallor almost seemed to glow, and made her feel like she would be sharing the room with a corpse until she managed to convince some colour back into him. At this point, she didn’t know if she was still mad at him, sickly worried, or some horrid combination of the two that meshed itself so well that those emotions were near indistinguishable even to her.

The undeniable urge she had to hit him seemed to indicate the latter… His fever had broken, but with how he looked… she couldn’t tell if that was really something to be inwardly celebrating… or feeding that sick churn of her stomach with. She didn’t want him to sleep, he needed it direly, but… she was afraid…

Returning to her place beside him, Lisa dared a glance up at the mirror, searching for his gaze there, though her eyes didn’t linger, her head dropped as she instead looked to his face. A hand found the side of his face, turning his head towards her, “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Jackson, you need to stop the forward motion and just sit for a little while; stop worrying, and stop trying to do when clearly you’re at your limit. Tomorrow… if you wake up? That little bit of energy you feel? Does not mean that you’re fine to carry on. It’s simply not enough.”

She stopped, thinking, her eyes looking away from him, across the room, “There’s always a choice, right? Simple, fact-driven logic? I’m choosing to be here? With you?” Lisa paused, taking a breath, calming herself, “I don’t choose to be here to watch this. If watching you slowly kill yourself is what this is going to boil down to? I’m going to choose to take my chances elsewhere, because you don’t need me here to do that to yourself.” You need me to pick the pieces back up for you, which I simply can’t do. Her eyes closed tightly, her hand stroking the side of his face before her other hand found its way beneath his shoulder; she intended to get him onto the bed correctly, with or without his help, “Come on, let’s get you settled and at the very least comfortable.”
 
RE: Vertigo

This, Jackson decided, was where their perspectives collided; in Reisert's eyes he had left the motel as some strange testament to his testosterone, some misguided effort to prove his strength - when the reality was that he had gone as far as he had in order to arm them.

He laid in silence for a long moment after Lisa had spoken, considering his reply,

"If you want to discuss fact-based logic," Jackson replied, moving with her as her hand slipped under his shoulder,

"Consider that we are being apprehended by three trained killers - all of whom are healthy, fully functional, and undoubtedly armed with semi-automatic pistols and an arsenal of their own knives - who have had more than enough time to plan their next move. Our current, sole advantage is that they don't know our location, but these guys have been doing this for a long time, Leese, so if one person - just one - saw us get into that taxi? Or if a security camera caught the license plate? We had just better hope that our charming cabbie learned how to withstand torture."

He rested back against the headboard, his facial features tired as he spoke, a begrudging exhaustion as though he hated his own words,

"With that in mind, with even the slightest possibility that we could be found in this room, do you want to fall asleep at night with only your Mary-Janes for self-defense? Priority is preparation - and that is fact-based logic."
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa’s eyes found Jackson, almost angrily as he offered his reply. She knew before he’d started speaking that she wouldn’t like any of his reasons – she knew them already, and in her books they were sound. It was his method that bothered her so much… It was the huge risk he’d chosen to take… It was the simple fact that if something had happened to him she wouldn’t have been able to do anything at all to help him; comb the hospitals maybe, and hope that it was as simple as him having only passed out in the taxi cab… But without even knowing where he would have been heading, outside of that it was an hour out… Hazels betrayed her anger as she stared at him, hands still on his shoulders, she unmoving as all of this – and more – filtered through her head as he drew to a close. He was trying to paint for her the cold, hard reality where they were now both living, and she didn’t need him to do that for her. She understood without needing to know the gory details, without needing to over think the situation… without it needing to feel so real. Right now, she had Jackson to focus her time and energy on; to keeps things safe, and somewhat normal…

She’d only just stepped out of the realm of her own comforting reality… she didn’t need the full emersion. Not yet. Her eyes had locked onto his, her stare cold, orbs flicking between his but not in the searching manner they had before. There was nothing there that she wanted to find, not right now.

“You shouldn’t have gone alone,” Was all she said before she sprang to life again, hands absently smoothing out his shirt before she left the edge of the bed. Her answer was brief, and almost seemed to say that she understood all of that, but it wasn’t the point she was nagging at – that wasn’t why she was so upset, so angry… She went as far as to partially pull the covers over him, it evident by how she moved that she wasn’t at all thrilled with the position on the bed he’d moved to. He needed to lay down and rest, regain his strength so they could at least get something in his system a little later, not sit up and engage in whatever it was that made him think that sitting up was a good thing for him.

If he fell off the bed, she was just going to leave him there on the floor… Maybe then he’d realize…

As she made her way around the bed, Lisa had intended to find her own seat on the loveseat, but remembering the pallor of his skin and how fragile his grip on life seemed to be… She’d settled onto the bed beside him, taking her seat on it in one fluid motion, her posture rigid as she too leaned back against the headboard. Legs and arms crossed as soon before she’d even finished settling onto the bed, and her head was distinctly turned away from him. She could hear the faint sound of his breathing from where she was; that was enough of an indicator he was still alive to appease that side of her while the other side bristled at him.
 
RE: Vertigo

You shouldn't have gone alone.

Jackson was immediately struck by a multitude of retorts, the first ones being: Well, you were unconscious, so I had to and It's done now, anyways but given that he didn't particularly care to have his other hand broken, he resorted to his verbal filter - only to find it so thoroughly strained that there was nothing left to verbalize. Not for the first time, it occurred to Jackson that his social skills needed fine-tuning.

He leaned back against the wooden headboard, neck tilted slightly to rest his skull against the edge of it; his temple throbbed, but less than it did when he was laying down - however, the position forced his eyes to point upwards, towards that damned mirror, and he found himself looking once more at the bizarre tableau that they created. Beside him, Lisa sat with her arms crossed over her chest, annoyance clear in her posture, something that he couldn't help noting was a frequent occurrence - and he couldn't hold anything against her for it because if he felt even minor frustration with her, she undoubtedly felt it two-fold.

Their worlds didn't mesh well, and especially not under the circumstances.

Still, there was something strangely domestic about the image, to the point where Jackson had to uncomfortably turn his eyes away from the mirror, looking off towards the wall instead.

"You'll have to learn to use it." Jackson said, after a moment of silence, adding drily, "It won't be enough to throw it at them."
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa could feel Jackson’s eyes on her; without even knowing what held his gaze… she could feel those orbs. Her hands rubbed at her arms slightly, and she dared a slight shiver; she’d heard him shift, heard his head thud dully back against the headboard… She could guess that he was looking at the mirror above. It was when he spoke that she turned towards him, a questioning sound not quite making it out through her unopened lips as her mad expression shifted into something of a mild confusion. What he was talking about visibly clicked into place as her eyes caught the corner of the wooden box sitting on the nightstand beside him…

Her hazels flicked from that box to his face, and her lips parted to allow what she intended to say to actually pass them, but she stopped herself at first, visibly pulling away from that immediate reaction. Just… shut up and go to sleep…

Eyes closed while she forced herself to sit for the duration of a moment, forgetting about her anger, forgetting about what he’d done, what he’d probably be willing to do again, and forgetting the duress he’d put her through today. “Right. I’ll just sign myself up for a class geared for that between dealing with the messes you keep making of yourself,” she smiled, the expression somewhat of a smirk, though touched by a faint sadness around the edges, but it faded quickly as she reached for him. Her right arm, the one closest to him, slid from his left shoulder to his right in a smooth succession as she scooted over to him, fingers finding a gentle grip on his shoulder. She was pulling him against her somewhat, her arm behind his back to stop his spine from curling into an uncomfortable position while her other hand turned his head so it was leaning comfortably on her shoulder. She’d been looking at his face before she’d made this move, had noted his own black eyes turned away now from the mirror above, and with how the angle of his head hadn’t really changed, “Just close your eyes…” she let that hang between them for a moment, only finishing it for herself… if you don’t want to look at that damned mirror anymore… Lisa never quite realizing why Jackson had turned away from it; she’d guessed that he was sick of seeing himself staring back…

Only fingertips were felt against his forehead, her hand covering his eyes for a moment, urging them to close as best she could before her hand worked to brush his unruly hair back from his face again, falling into the slow pattern of repeating that process… Telling Jackson to just go to sleep never quite seemed to work, and even now, pale as death, his hands still trembling somewhat… he was refusing to give his body the one thing that it needed most of all; rest. Such a simple thing he was depriving himself of.

If he’d only just close his eyes and allow himself that but for a few days, he’d be better off for it, visibly so, to both her and him, but he simply wasn’t…

And her almost nagging urging was doing little to convince him to do so; her subtle hints, her attempts to get him into a position where sleep would probably just claim him… all brushed aside. Her touch was faint as only the tips of her fingers were felt running against his forehead and through his hair time and time again, they daring to try to lull him in a way; it was why she’d suggested that he close his eyes, it was why she was offering him warmth, it was why her touch was more leading now than comforting, was why her arms weren’t quite around him, trying to hold him together…
 
RE: Vertigo

It was impossible not to hear the sarcasm in Lisa's voice, but her annoyance was notably absent this time around.

"Just the basics won't be enough," Jackson added; he knew he didn't need to actually say it - but he would be teaching Lisa how to properly handle her KA-BAR. Granted, just as he hadn't been comfortable with even putting a car key in her hand, he was understandably less at ease with giving her a seven-inch blade, but he found he was unconcerned about the potential she would have to hurt him with it. Despite the fact she had shot him in self-defense, Lisa had nearly fainted when he'd pulled surgical staples from his chest - so the chances of her driving a knife into him for any reason beyond that were slim.

He felt her shift beside him and he was suddenly being pulled closer; it had happened a number of times since they had come to the motel, but the frequency hadn't changed the strangeness of it for Jackson, who briefly tensed as his head was moved to her shoulder - the opposite effect it should have had - before he forced away some of the tension that was making his neck and shoulders ache.

He stared at the far wall as he rested against Lisa; the smell of her was becoming familiar, something he found he was mentally associating with the touches she applied to him; one of her hands dropped over his eyes and he blinked under it, bemused, his lashes brushing against her palm with the movement before the hand was gone, moving instead to his hair, her fingertips stroking through it.

For an instant he nearly questioned what she was doing, but their prior conversation came back to him with startling clarity: comfort.

She was attempting to provide comfort.

As children, most people experienced this sort of thing: they knew the touch of a caring relative when they were sick, injured, or upset. Into adolescence it would come from friends, and in adulthood, people sought it from lovers.

Jackson, however, had never sought it, nor had he grown up with it, so the pattern of her fingers moving through his hair was unfamiliar, but the repetitiveness of it was strangely comforting - to the point that, after only a few minutes of the quiet, careful touch, he found the world fading out around him again, everything going dark around the edges before he finally nodded off again, sitting up against the headboard, taken by a precarious and delicate state of sleep.
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson had tensed when she pulled him against her, resting his head against her shoulder. She could feel it as his back pressed against her arm, the way his shoulders were taunt and slightly upraised, and by the way the muscles in his neck had flexed… All of that only seemed to melt away from him when he drifted off… She’d felt it leave; the muscles in his face had relaxed while his eyes slowly closed, the rest of his body seeming to follow suit to that progression. Lisa kept her fingers moving slowly against his head, afraid to stop that small little gesture or shift it’s progression any least she stir him. He was almost a different person when he slept. Her eyes looked over his face, she trying her very best to ignore the almost sickly pallor that now tainted him. Features that were already somewhat soft lost the slight edge his daily expressions seemed to give them; he lost his bite when he slept… It made it almost too easy for her to forget who he was and what he was willing to do for a living.

Fingers finally dared to shift their play only slightly, they lifting a few locks of hair upwards, away from his head as she eyed the length of it.

If he could even stand tomorrow… she’d need to do something about that for him… She’d planned to today, but, their day didn’t quite lead towards that happening. She brushed those strands back and her cheek pressed against his forehead while her fingers stilled against the top of his head, buried within those too long strands that seemed to want to cling to her fingers as much as her hands seemed to love running through them.

He was going to teach her to fight with a knife. The realization of what he’d been leading up to earlier only seemed to come around to her now, and her head lifted from his. Hazels returned to his face, studying again; it wouldn’t be this Jackson to teach her such things… he appeared too innocent to possess such skills. It would be the other Jackson. The frustrating one. The one she wanted nothing more than to wash her hands of and be done with. Her hand curled slightly as the backs of her fingers brushed along the side of his head, whispering downward over his ear and to his jaw; this Jackson wouldn’t know of such darkness.

Lisa caught herself then, realizing where her mind had been wandering, and not entirely liking it. She frowned at herself – she always seemed to be frowning anymore… Forcing the expression aside, she too forced herself to look away from the man leaning partially against her. She closed her eyes, her head tilting back and leaning lightly against the headboard while her hand fell still against the side of his head.
 
RE: Vertigo

The touch of Lisa's hand in his hair was almost hypnotic, enough to lull Jackson into a light sleep, body relaxed, but sleep was turning out to be evasive, and the fragile state was wavering - he remained in that position, set back against the head board, head resting against Lisa, his state of slumber never deepening significantly though he remained nearly motionless.

When he came to about half an hour later, his neck ached and protested to the position he had fallen asleep in, his head feeling as though it was filled with fog. Slowly, he lifted his head from where it had been set on Lisa's shoulder and, unlike earlier that day, he stirred gradually, his expression groggy; he raised a hand to his face, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eyes, the sensation of sleep not quite draining away, instead lingering and leaving him feeling vaguely drunken.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa’s eyes had been closed for the length of that thirty minutes, her hand still, resting almost protectively against him, and while she’d nearly dosed off, lost in the reassuring sound of Jackson’s breathing, sleep never did fully claim her. Her thoughts had drifted so far away from their original starting point that they’d shifted into some abstract mass on her that even as she was pulled from her slight daze, she couldn’t quite recall where they’d ended up, but they settled on the fact that Jackson was stirring beside her, pulling away a little ways as he came to. Her hand left his head, her own coming up from the headboard as eyes opened; they were watching him as they always seemed to be doing when she was worried. She smoothed out his hair from where she’d accidentally left it somewhat of a mess. “You’re going to need more than a cat-nap to get at least some colour back into you…” She murmured to herself, her hand only finishing its work with his hair. It was still somewhat early in the afternoon; the sun hadn’t even started to set yet, and even she was feeling drained from the stress the day had dropped onto her.

All of this swam through her head and more as Lisa climbed from the bed, grabbing the cup from the nightstand as she made for the small little bathroom. Her subconscious seemed to reason out for her what she was doing before she herself even finished the thought, pulling it from those murky depths forward into her thinking brain.

Jackson needed sleep, and some part of her simply knew that he wasn’t going to lay down and just succumb. After returning from his little outing he’d immediately starting sharpening his knives… and even after he’d weakened to a point where sleep should be the single most important thing someone would crave if only for the curative properties it would offer them… And now, instead of laying down after the brief nap she’d somehow managed to lull him into…

The way the bathroom was arranged, she was hidden from the bed as she stood in front of the sink, flipping the faucet on even as her hand moved towards the cabinet behind the bathroom’s one mirror… The sleeping pills she’d placed there, prescription strength, absent-mindedly left out in the open when she’d nervously unpacked a few things into that cabinet the night before during Jackson’s dead sleep – yet another example of the man refusing to just lay down and rest. Her hand lingered on the cabinet’s small little knob as what she intended to do finally came into her forward thinking brain, and there it was forced to float, drifting aimlessly as she considered if she should really be doing this. Plucking the off-orange pill-container from where she’d set it she looked over the back quickly, checking for any abnormal warnings or cautions.

It was because of the dreams she’d been forced to secure something to make sure that her nights were at least restful…

She almost wanted to close her eyes as she did it, setting that single pill – joined soon by a second after a short consideration on her part – on the porcelain edge of the sink. After returning the bottle to the cabinet shelf, she being careful this time to make sure to place it behind a few things, the cup she held found those two pills without hassle, small as they were, crushing them slowly with its base. Once finished, she set the cup against the sink’s only straight edge and brushed that power into it with her finger. Filling it with water next, she thoughtfully turned the faucet off as her other hand worked to swirl the water around, she eyeing it, giving full consideration to what she was doing. She should ask him before trying this, to see if he would just take one of those silly pills; they’d work after all, strong enough to induce sleep for some of the most frustrated insomniacs… but there was always the chance that he would say 'no'… and this wasn’t a game they were playing.

While it was easy for her to push away the danger of the situation they both were locked in, while it was easy enough to hide behind Jackson for now… This wasn’t the sort of thing to gamble with. Jackson needed to mend, anyone with eyes in their head could see that – or rather, anyone who knew the extensive nature of the damage she’d rendered to his body; he hid all of that so well, after all… One mustn’t forget that, which even she dared to from time to time… Like it or not, he needed to mend; he needed to heal beyond the point of just managing to survive something like what he pulled today, which, judging by the state he was in now…

Nothing had gone wrong; if it had, she doubted he’d be here right now.

She sighed, waiting a moment for the water to stop spinning. Her other hand quickly rubbed at her eyes for a few seconds while she tried her best to force what emotion she could out through those orbs; crying on command was not exactly something she'd ever practiced, but with all that had gone on for her over the course of the last month...

Walking out of the bathroom she found herself glad that the cup wasn’t a glass one. Ceramic, coloured, a pale blue… “If you can’t eat, you’re at least drinking some water,” She stated, her voice holding the same careful tone it had when she’d spoken to herself a moment ago; if she put what she’d done out of her mind… she wouldn’t have to play the cover-up game. Crushing the pill became a moment to collect herself, and everything else just sort of… fell into place… for the drugging of Jackson Rippner. He was going to kill her if he ever found this out. No amount of good deeds on her part would change that…

She’d been careful with her wording, what she’d said about the water not entirely being a question, and her hand found the back of his head while the other cradled the cup in front of him. Her eyes dared him to try and voice a protest, they slightly red while her lashes slightly damp. If his hands had been so shaky earlier that his ability to keep a grip on his knife had easily fallen into question, she wasn’t about to risk a cup of water in the bed, even for a quick drink.
 
RE: Vertigo

Nausea, dizziness, muscle aches; it was all status quo as Jackson stirred, the process sped up by Lisa's movement beside him. He was instantly aware of her warmth and its subsequent departure as she moved away from the bed - it was then that he noted his temperature had dropped severely, he was no longer feverish. In fact, he felt quite the opposite: chills ran through him.

Up until the last few weeks, Jackson's body had always been co-operative, recovering from injuries with ease and fighting off colds and viruses without any apparent difficulty. He had never been confined to bed because of illness before, so the fact his system was being so fickle was mildly frustrating.

He, of course, portrayed this by being completely deadpan.

Jackson turned his eyes to the clock across the room - it was four in the afternoon; they had been in that motel for nearly two days, and Ripper felt as though he was already fighting off cabin fever.

Lisa emerged from the bathroom and Jackson was instantly aware of her state; her eyes were damp and bloodshot. She was physically and emotionally strained, and it couldn't have been more obvious. It was why Jackson decided not to argue with her when she pushed the cup to his lips, though his stomach protested to the mere idea of even something as plain as water.

He brought his hand up to the cup though it was clear Lisa wasn't about to let him hold it on his own and he drank from it, discovering that his throat was actually like sandpaper right then, burning from the much-needed hydration.

He also discovered that either his sense of taste was off, or the motel didn't have a great water line, because the water was extremely bitter, nearly enough to make him shudder, though he held it back.
 
RE: Vertigo

When he’d reached for the cup, the tips of his fingers ghosted hers; her other hand continued to mess through his hair, absently, petting him almost as one would a cat. She’d filled the cup that was still pressed to his lips only partially full, a subtle ploy on her part to make sure he’d drink it all without the request seeming outlandish from her, and when those lips pulled away from that ceramic mug she smoothed his hair back down with one slow stroke of her hand before returning to the bathroom. The cup found the edge of the sink after quickly being rinsed out, set upside down and slightly askew to let it dry out while she wiped at her eyes again.

Making for the main room, she found a pause in the doorway connecting the two rooms, her shoulder leaning against the frame while slender arms crossed over her chest. Her head was up, but her eyes were downcast, staring towards the floor. If he wasn’t going to make his own health his priority, she was going to have to do it for him… more so than just sitting around and politely holding his hand through this. Her eyes flicked up from the floor, to him, seeming to gauge the situation; and if he was willing to go to the extremes he went to today with her… she wouldn’t be able to be so direct about it. She’d have to find a way to be subtle about it, with someone who wasn’t particularly subtle himself. She sighed, pushing away from the door frame and heading towards the other side of the bed. He wasn’t an idiot, Jackson Rippner wasn’t an idiot by any stretch of the imagination… unless… he simply hid it well. She paused at the edge of the bed, blinking slightly as that thought hung with her for awhile while she turned down the covers for her side of the bed.

She really knew nothing at all about him. Where he was from, what he did in his free time, the things he enjoyed… Outside of that brief plane ride and the pieces of him she’d been allowed to glimpse over the duration of that flight… Which that really wasn’t an appropriate span of time to get to know anyone…

Not that she would have liked to try once that ball had started rolling… but it… It all factored in.

Lisa knew absolutely nothing about Jackson Rippner outside of what he’d chosen to show her – his work face – and he knew quite a bit about her. Her habits, her schedule, the small little mannerisms that someone only found out about someone else from spending an extended period of time with them… He’d been with her for eight weeks, after all, probably even when she’d thought she was alone…

She took a moment before climbing back into the bed, making for her coat – and more importantly her cell phone; setting it to silent and placing it on the nightstand… Her father would probably be calling later, and she’d take the call if she were awake, but she didn’t want the phone disturbing Jackson if those two pills did indeed manage to drop him. It was while she was still thumbing through a few menu screens that she sank onto the bed slowly, that shift of weight onto the mattress felt before the sound of her phone finding the nightstand would be heard. Her hand touched to his shoulder, its gentle pressure urging him to just adjust himself on the bed so he could lay down, “No talking about what needs to be done tomorrow, no thinking about what’s going to happen further down the road,” her other hand had lifted the covers from him, preparing to slide them up to his shoulders as he laid down – that another silent push for what she wanted him to do.

“Don’t let yourself get all started up and moving when you should just put that light out before it gets going. Otherwise, tomorrow, it won’t be me that politely asks you to stay in bed… It’ll be the body you’ve taxed out today, mad and angry, and judging by the look of you, I think it’s safe to say you’ve possibly pushed yourself too far.” Her words were careful, not scolding or condescending… She was simply laying the situation out for him, intentionally devoid of their very strong difference of opinion. Holding out a polite offer for him to take.

His pallor hadn’t improved any, and though his hands had finally stilled their trembling, something different seemed to be coursing through him – she only managing to notice the ever slight shiver of him because of her proximity. His forehead had been clammy earlier, and it wasn’t beyond reason to assume that his fever from earlier would eventually shift in the opposite direction… And it seemed to finally be doing so; and, as per usual, Jackson Rippner said nothing. Near successfully bottling away even the things that she could help him with; the symptoms that could easily be treated if only to lessen the effort required for him to keep such a straight face through it all.

“Cold…?” It was a question posed as a single word, the lilt of her voice indicating the inquiry, soft and gentle, and her lips perhaps a bit closer to his ear than needed; she was sliding closer, it easily clicking in her head that her simply sitting beside him earlier had staved it off for awhile…
 
RE: Vertigo

Despite feeling utterly ridiculous for having the cup held for him, Jackson drained the glass; he was at once grateful for the water and vaguely nauseated by it, a feeling that was partially compelled by the strange, acrid taste of it. He sat back as Lisa moved away from him, taking in a couple of silent, deeper breaths to test; unsurprisingly, there was little change - the wounds stung, and would continue doing so for some time - he found himself gauging that it might be at least a month before the worst of the pain had faded, given that the injuries weren't just flesh wounds, but also encompassed underlying muscle and tissue. It would take time.

Too much time.

Time they didn't have.

Malevre was behind for now but the advantage wouldn't last forever and the motel - while currently suiting their needs - would not do for longer than a few days, though it seemed Lisa was under the impression that they could linger in one spot until he was completely healed, something that Jackson was very much at odds with.

In retrospect, though, he had already made a fairly severe point regarding his opinion on being stationary.

Lisa's hand landed on his shoulder, pulling Jackson away from his thoughts; his eyes flicked up to meet hers and though he was sure he wasn't doing it willingly, he felt his body shifting down with the insistent pressure of her hand, moving him down the bed - it was as he laid on his back that he realized all of his limbs had begun to feel strangely heavy, and though he was able to bring his hand up to push his hair back, his fingers felt clumsy and disconnected.

Reisert's voice was at his ear then, so sudden that he almost twitched away from it, her breath warm on skin that suddenly felt oversensitive to the temperature. For a long moment, he was quiet and it seemed as though he might be carefully considering her question the way he had considered others, but in actuality, he was just trying to find his voice - his head felt muzzy.

"Yes," he said simply, factually; he could feel the chill running through him despite the warmth of the room and the favorable weather outside.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa laid down beside him even before he managed his answer; she’d asked because she wanted him to know where she was going with that, not because she needed to hear what was so very obvious just by being close to him. Her voice started, a lilting sound in her throat that quickly died away; she’d thought better of trying to talk to him right then, and to keep herself silent her lips found his shoulder – it wasn’t a kiss, more her hiding the lower half of her face against him. She’d drugged him to get him to sleep, she didn’t need to be dragging that process out past that point. Eyes stared at the shoulder her face hid again, and the top of her head brushed against his cheek, the silken strands of her hair tickling at his face and neck while her arm slipped around him. Her hand settled on the other side of his waist, and she slid herself up against him in almost one, comfortable motion; she was on her side, her far arm curling under the pillow her own head rested on somewhat.

Her eyes eventually lifted, peeking up at him, and her head followed suit, tilting back a little ways, freeing her face from where she’d pressed it against him. She was more acutely aware of that slight shiver now, it scaring away the warmth he normally possessed… even without his fever… making the feel of him almost unrecognizable to her, and she quickly dropped her head back down, pressing her cheek against his shoulder instead as she finally stilled beside him.

“Good night, Jackson…” Her words were nearly tender, and hinted with an apology for the other night…

It had nagged at the back of her mind all day, drowned out by all of her other worries, but still vividly there and unearthed now to its full potential towards making her feel ill with herself. Saying nothing at all would have been more welcoming than what she’d left him with… and even though it was still early in the afternoon… Something needed to be said this time to wash away what she’d said last time. No one should be left with something so cold being the last thing they heard before closing their eyes for the night, let alone someone who was in the precarious balancing act that he was – not unless they deserved it. While Jackson deserved a lot of things – and had undoubtedly done enough to merit such coldness from someone… Right now… his actions weren’t so clearly malicious.

They weren’t intentionally good; it was more, indirect… but even with that… The hand that was resting lazily on his side rubbed a small little line there, “Try and get some decent rest.” The words sweet dreams had drifted into her mind, but she’d stopped herself at that. He didn’t deserve her malice, but to say that to him made the situation feel too normal, and it was for her own sake that she feared that normality.
 
RE: Vertigo

Somewhere in the muggy recesses of Jackson Rippner's drug-addled, pain-ridden, and sleep-deprived brain, he was aware of the strangeness of their situation.

Ten weeks ago he had been hired to convince Lisa Reisert to use her signficant authoritative pull at the Lux Atlantic to ensure Keefe's location was ideal for the job.

Two weeks ago he had sat beside her on a plane and threatened to have her father killed if she didn't co-operate. And he hadn't been bluffing, though he had, perhaps, been slightly more permissive with Lisa than he would have been with any other target - he attributed it to finding her more interesting than the others.

Two weeks ago, he had knocked her unconscious, chased her through an airport and thrown her down a flight of stairs, and she had stabbed and shot him.

Now they were laying in bed together, and she was trying to keep him warm. There was no denying the complete insanity of it. Neither of them remarked upon it, however, because it was obvious - they were both hyper-aware of the circumstances they had found themselves in, but there was little that could be done, beyond merely trying to survive it.

But Jackson wasn't sure what to do with the compassion; it wasn't something he had encountered before.

He didn't try to shake Lisa off when she moved in close, partly because he simply couldn't find the will to, and partly because his entire body felt strangely heavy. He felt her hand on his side, moving in soothing motions, and the effect was much like earlier, but effecting him more rapidly.

Lisa spoke, and he was aware of the words, but they didn't register until just before he fell into a heavily drugged sleep.
 
RE: Vertigo

She was slowly growing accustomed to the rarity of his responses to her… and also, at times, their briefness. Of course, this time he had a fall back – she’d drugged him. A mild sedative to make sure he actually put himself down, hopefully for the night… She felt his breathing slow beneath her arm, that slight movement of his torso growing more sombre, and the flutter of the heart she could just barely hear with how her head was laying against him strengthened the argument that he was asleep. Her own breathing nervously stopped, and her eyes closed as she attuned herself to him, listening and feeling, making sure that the natural patterns of sleep his body was falling into was only that – that the quietness that overtook him didn’t continue to grow, that it instead levelled out where it should… but from there remained constant.

She was making sure he wasn’t fading away… At length, she dared to breathe again, coming alive against his side and giving him a slight squeeze; it was only a half hug of sorts, and a weak one at that, but the meaning was there… She was thanking him for not drifting further under, grateful that his rock-bottom had levelled out and didn’t seem as though it would lower itself any further… She was also silently thankful that the pills had worked, and that he hadn’t noticed their affects – at least not in a direct manner. Lifting her head a little ways, her left hand left his side, the back of it finding the far side of his face to turn his head only partially towards her. The motion was tentative and given as much care as she could manage – she didn’t want to wake him, after all. The rest of her remained motionless where she lay as her eyes raked over his face, noticing how very unlike Jackson Rippner he looked right now – the contours of his face hadn’t changed any; it was the habits behind that face…

Unkempt wasn’t a word she would have ever associated with him; he seemed to care about the little things… he paid attention to small details… he was observant – annoyingly so. All of which indicated that he cared about how he approached things; a certain amount of thought and tact went into every action this man shelled out… His mind was always working. That was probably why his silence was so unnerving – as was his gaze. There was always something going on in that head of his, and anyone who found themselves subjected to those eyes… didn’t want to know what went on behind them.

But on some strange level… they did. It was like the monster in the closet – once you knew it was there, you had to go investigate. Boarding up the room and forgetting about it just wasn’t an option even though you’d want nothing more than to do just that.

Those eyes were closed right now, and his mind probably elsewhere… being carried along through the drifting currents of sleep.

She pulled her own thoughts from their drift, her hand sliding up his face to brush his hair back before eyes preened over the bruising at the side of his head. He’d been carried out of that hospital in a body bag. Her expression was unhappy as she tilted her own head down – away from him, her arm quickly returning to his waist. Jackson Rippner was her boogieman… but he was also a living, breathing person… with a host of likes, dislikes, opinions...

Only her eyes glanced up at him, accusation in their depths – how could someone who was simply human… do the things he did. It was beyond her…

Her thoughts carried on like this for a while, recalling everything she’d tried to forget; remembering everything he’d put her through… Trying to recall every word and every miniscule expression that had crossed his features during that flight… She was trying to piece him together without his knowing; trying to paint a picture of what things were possibly like on the inside… Until, eventually, after an hour or so of inching through this process, Lisa finally drifted off herself, lulled slightly by the gentle reassurances of his breathing and heartbeat… The last thought before Lisa finally succumbed to her own light sleep was more of a question, and not quite something she could find the appropriate piece to in her attempts to put back together the puzzle that was Jackson Rippner… Did the man dream at all…? And if so, what about…
 
RE: Vertigo

The tranquilizers had a profound effect on Jackson's already fatigued body, putting him into the deepest state of sleep he had ever been in; a lifetime of good health and a nigh-impervious immune system had allowed him to avoid medications, and a preference for a clean lifestyle had kept him away from any of the recreational variety - ultimately, Jackson's only vice was the occasional beer, a rare indulgement.

It was because of Jackson's immaculate habits that he was so thoroughly affected by the sedatives, and for the first two hours he was practically motionless - throughout the night, however, Rippner would shift in his sleep, and in his unconscious state, once again sought out the warmth of the body beside him, his reservations dissapating, lean form moving to press closer to Lisa, his hand finding her hip at first, fingers moving almost curiously against the material of her skirt.

Through the night, his position would shift until he was eventually settled in one that satisfied whatever urge had initially driven him to come closer, and when the sun was just barely rising, Jackson Rippner would be found with his head laying against Lisa's stomach, one arm slung across her thigh, completely silent in his slumber and as motionless as a corpse, his hair mussed and the downy scruff on his chin pressed to her skin where the hem of her shirt had crept slightly upwards through the night.
 
RE: Vertigo

Something was tickling her. Even sleep-addled, she remembered where she was and who she was with, but those memories were groggy at best, fragmented even… Her eyes fluttered open slowly; she could feel him against her like she had the previous morning, his weight slightly on top of her, not crushing but instead light and oddly comforting… but it was different this time, he was there, but he wasn’t… She had the presence of mind not to start squirming around blindly as she would have done in her own bed if she were alone, and once she’d settled her left hand reached up. Fingertips were welcomed not by a thing causing that odd sensation, but by a familiar head of hair… Not able to see straight enough to use the mirror over-head to sort of where exactly Jackson was, Lisa’s head lifted from the bed slightly, and from there her expression became almost unreadable. Her lips had parted slightly, hazels simply staring at the back of his head, her expression the same as if she’d only just stumbled onto something she shouldn’t have. It wasn’t the room or the bed that clicked into place for her this morning, it was Jackson… and it was how they were laying. The hand she had resting gently on his back moved slightly, fingers twitching, feeling the little cocoon of fabric they’d stumbled into throughout the night created by the fold of his shirt collar…

Perhaps her left hand would have gone for his hair as if had the previous morning if she’d been able to look at this with the same innocence she had the last time they woke up together – accidental shifts in how they were laying throughout the night… but it was that soft tickle right above her hip bone that scattered that innocence.

The sensation moved in time with his breathing; it was slow enough not to drive her to the point of fidgeting beneath him, but sharp enough to make her acutely aware of how dreadfully close they were to one another… The driving need she’d felt to try and ease what she could for him, to worry over him, and to feel ill each and every time she was reminded that there really was so little she could do for him was nigh forgotten as she lay there…

It was replaced with a shrill sort of tension that twined itself inside of her at the pit of her stomach; a nervous flutter of sorts, one that made her breath almost catch, and one that made her fear his waking up not because of his own need for rest, but because he’d realize where she was. She wasn’t supposed to be here. That was the thought that was trilling in her mind, irrational as it was. It wasn’t centered around the room itself, or even her proximity to him… it was fixated on how they were laying; his head rested gently on her stomach, his arm draped over her… her shirt lifted only slightly… Enough… Enough that the whole thing danced its way into no longer being quite so innocent.

Enough that she realized that her irrational panic towards him waking up and finding them like this didn’t stem from how they were laying, or even towards that slight tickle… but instead towards the fact that she really didn’t dislike that simple sensation, or the nervous flutter running through her… or the fact that it was him stirring it to life within her.

Throughout all of this, she remained almost completely still beneath him -- uncomfortably so -- careful not to wake him as all of this played out inside of her. Her head eventually laid itself down back against the pillow, eyes slightly wide while she stared towards the far wall to avoid the mirror overhead. It was her hand that finally moved, breaking the stillness, trying to keep up the appearance of what she would have normally done – or at least what she’d done the day before… she trying her very best to ignore the direction her mind was trying to take things each and every time he inhaled or exhaled… Those digits freed themselves from the fold of his collar and touched down again only at the side of his face in a trail upwards, they attempt to almost clumsily mirror the petting she’d lulled him to sleep with the night before.
 
RE: Vertigo

Unlike the previous morning, Jackson didn't suddenly and violently snap awake - instead, he became gradually aware of movement, a realization that drew him slowly from his sleep, long fingers curling against her hip when she twitched almost imperceptibly beneath him. He felt her hand brush down the side of his face, though he had yet to consciously register precisely where he was and why his pillow was warm and firm; he shifted as he stirred awake, the side of his face pressed to her abdomen.

Jackson's mind was foggier than it had been the previous night, as though someone had managed to remove his brain and put wads of cotton into his head instead; clarity was lost to him right then, every part of him seemed to be starting up slowly, like an engine being revved or a turbine sputtering to a start - or like the car that had failed them back at the airport.

Rippner almost instantly forgot about the analogy and was left with the strange conclusion that he had somehow become a wood-panelled station wagon.

"Mnrg?" Jackson said articulately, peering around the room in a groggy attempt to get his groundings before he finally looked at Lisa, his beard dragging lightly along her skin when his head turned so he was resting his chin on her.

He blinked unevenly; at some point during the night, the enormous size of his pupils had reduced, bringing back the chilly blue of his irises, though the coldness of them - for that brief moment in time - was almost completely irrelevant when pitted against his drowsy expression, unshaven jaw, and mussed hair. There was even a pattern of lines on his temple where his head had rested against the folded material of Lisa's shirt, creating a bizarre mix of bruising and imprints on his skin.

He observed her for several silent moments, brows tensing slightly as though he wasn't even clear on what he was seeing.

And then everything moved into place, but only with the speed of a rolling fog; the first indication was when he lifted his head, suddenly aware of his position - it was a movement that was followed by him pulling his hand from her hip, an action that might have been done more rapidly if his reflexes hadn't been dulled. It was something he was acutely aware of when he nearly lost his balance for it, just stopping himself from tipping over and back onto Lisa; clumsily, he moved himself away from her and into a sitting position, blinking slowly at the wall opposite him, trying to get his eyes to focus properly.

What the hell was wrong with him?

"Homgh." he said, and then fell silent again, closing his eyes and hanging his head as he tried to figure out how his tongue worked; when he opened them again, he spoke very precisely, each word carefully hammered out, though his voice was rough from sleep, lacking the sharpness it usually held, "How long was I asleep?"
 
RE: Vertigo

She felt him begin to stir beneath her fingertips; the speed of his breathing increasing, the way the muscles of his body tensed slightly when his fingers moved innocently against her hip… All of this drew her away from him a little bit; the hand that had started its usual play through his hair stopped, finding its rest against his shoulder almost nervously. Was she afraid he’d be able to read her? To know what had been going on behind her eyes? She blinked, eyes still fixated both away from him, and away from the mirror, and she would have remained that way, with her head turned to the side. It wasn’t the almost confused sound that drew her back to him, but instead it was the feel of his head turning against her; the sensation of the his beard tickling against her skin as his head turned caused the most minute lifts from her shoulders as she suppressed the urge to almost shiver, eyes that were once wide closing slightly as she met his once-more blues, and in that face she found an unfamiliar confusion. He’d been up out of bed almost before his eyes had opened the previous morning, but this was a slow, gradual lifting of sleep… and if her thoughts hadn’t drifted to the point they had before he’d stirred, she would have dared a soft of smile at him, maybe even messed his hair further… It lasted only a moment though; she could almost watch as his world slowly clicked into place behind those blues, and then it was gone. That brief moment where Jackson Rippner almost appeared… very warm, inviting even, in an innocent sort of way.

Lisa watched him push himself from her clumsily, and for that reason she let him move. She even drew her hand away from him for fear of it getting in his way, eventually turning herself away from him to curl herself slightly with her back to him – she having quickly straightened her shirt before repositioning herself.

His question reached her though, and she frowned unhappily at it. “Not long enough for the rest you need…” She answered even before reaching for her phone, and only her arm moved in reaching for that mobile device. She pulled it in close as she thumbed through the screens indicated she’d missed calls the night before, “About ten hours…”She murmured after, failing to return her phone back to the nightstand even though she was finished with it. Two in the morning was far too early to try calling people back... Her phone didn’t have any messages left for her – just the simple, missed call notification.

She’d missed their nightly routine, that was all, but her father would still be worried, even though he’d say he wasn’t when she finally called him back.

Maybe it was from her father she’d gleaned her willingness to worry over someone…

She came to at that, remembering who she was with… Not the innocently confused face from only moments ago that was even now making itself difficult to recall, but her boogieman, a man who was hardly human in what he could do… and thus a man who could hardly sit still when he so desperately needed to so. Rolling herself over, her hand reached for him, fingers curling at the crook of his arm, “Don’t get up…” It wasn’t quite a demand, but it was scarcely a question, though regardless of how her voice sounded her fingers made it clear she didn’t intend to let him go, “I won’t ask you to lay back down, but just, give yourself a break. You overdid it yesterday. There’s no point in you being up and about when there’s no need for it.” She didn’t look at him while voicing any of this, though she was turned towards him; her eyes sought the floor, anything that was a distraction towards looking at him. Pushing herself up from the bed, her legs curled in close to herself for leverage so she could sit; her hand withdrew from him, both of them settled uncomfortably in her lap. That almost pleasant tension was still there, thrumming lively within her; it was why she kept away from him for the moment.

Earlier she would have thought nothing of all of the little touches she applied to how she went about dealing with Jackson through this – the addition of always brushing his hair back when she checked his temperature, the fact that she never seemed to simply push or pull him or simply let him manage things on his own, she was always there, with a hand, an embrace, or something else to guide him along. That was why, when she finally slid over next to him, her feet finding the floor, she kept away from him, her hands remaining in her own lap. Her fingers were laced, obediently, and her gaze remained distant.

“Would you like some coffee…?” The question was somewhat leading; it was a direction for them to go in for an otherwise unplanned day.

With her work, Lisa always had something going on… she always had a schedule to follow, a finely tuned routine that kept her life in order… Right now she had nothing. No job to worry over, no people to organize, no meetings to schedule, no paperwork to do, no important persons to spend her time sorting out their own stresses for their own complicated scheduling… It had been at least two years since her last solid vacation – the death of her grandmother not entirely counting as something of a welcomed break. She’d only been absent from work for two days for that anyway; she’d even shown up the morning of her departure to sort through a few things for Cynthia, fine tuning the brief outline she was leaving her with before boarding a plane for Texas later in the day…
 
RE: Vertigo

The white-collar businessman who skims from the company income, the Soprano Opera singer who sleeps around, the postal worker who loses his mind and slaughters his co-workers - the world was rife with occupational stereotypes, and while Jackson's job wasn't common enough for any mould to be created, one could infer that it took a certain kind of person with certain tendencies to do what he did. In his world - in the world that was just as real as Lisa's, only darker - his kind was a little like the rock star of the illegal job market; they lived a life out on a precarious ledge, their salaries were high, their death rates were even higher and their lives were exotic, filled with alcohol, illicit drugs, and even more illicit women.

But it was just a stereotype.

That said, there was an amount of truth in it; Jackson could attest to the fact that his job took him to interesting locales and that it paid very, very well - to the point where most people could easily live off of the interest made from a handful of jobs - but it had never really been about the money. What people never really knew about was all of the other parts of the jobs, the less-than-glamorous ones that had a Point-man sitting in a car outside of a home for two days, or a Retrieval Expert travelling endlessly to do a rundown, or a Hitman perching on a ledge for five hours with a cramp in his neck from looking down the scope. People never talked about the lack of a social life, the disconnection with reality, or the substance abuse problems that almost inevitably came with it, just the way it came with any other rough, violent job - like detective work, or even being a marine.

It was why Jackson had always made a point of keeping his distance from any mood-altering substances; his interaction with alcohol had been limited to the occasional beer, his encounters with drugs had only been in passing during jobs; he didn't touch the stuff.

So he was left wondering why he felt high as fuck as he tottered to his feet, gripping the headboard for support; the world did a slow, tilted spin around his head before it stabilized; he had heard what Lisa had said, that he shouldn't get up, but the idea of staying in the bed seemed worse than the idea of staggering through the lack of equilibrium; he blinked unevenly at the wall opposite him and it seemed to be continuously changing distance.

Jackson was silent for a terribly long moment, staring at the moving wall; for an instant he considered asking Lisa if she was seeing the wall move as well, but he reconsidered: the wall wasn't moving. He was seeing things. He was, at the very least, a rational temporary schizophrenic.

"Coffee would be good." he said finally. Coffee would be great. Coffee was a fantastic idea.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lifting her head, her eyes widened in disbelief as he took to his feet, and she sat there staring at him for a moment in the silence that stretched uncomfortably. She heard more than saw his hand find the headboard of the bed for support, and while she was close enough to do her best at catching him if he toppled forward.. some small part of her wanted to pull at her hair in frustration aimed squarely towards him. The awkwardness she was feeling melted away almost instantly when she took to her feet, his answer almost disturbing to her as small hands found his shoulders first, urging him to sit back down on the bed, and from there they never left, “Why must you be so hell-bent on making everything so difficult…” She murmured softly. She was looking at him, but not seeing him – more observant towards what he was doing, or rather what he possibly intended to be doing – than the little things going on with him; it was why she, at first, missed that odd sort of look that haunted the contours of his face… Something that, if Lisa had been familiar with the sort of people who often put themselves intentionally in the mental state Jackson was now in… she would have known.

But she didn’t, and she wasn’t, so she missed it at first, subtle as it was – at least with everything else he was going through layered on top of that.

“Maybe if you would stop trying to make yourself go… we could actually have a good morning…” It was a play on the sarcasm he’d dropped the morning before, when he’d set himself to the wonderful task of redecorating the bathroom sink with little pieces of himself; presents for her to find, and that worked far more efficiently at jarring her awake than any morning coffee ever had. She’d placed herself in front of him, not close enough to arouse another awkward moment between them, but still close enough to impose him getting any further from the bed… She looked at him then, eyes touching over his face to stall herself from falling into the pattern of checking his bandages and injuries – they’d missed changing those the night before, which meant they’d need tended to sometime soon.

His eyes had returned to their natural state; a cold, unyielding blue instead of the almost heart-stopping black he’d had since shortly after bumping into her. She was glad of that, both because it meant that he was improving… and because his eyes weren’t so chilling. They were bad enough on their own, they didn’t need the aid of his withdrawal painfully dragging that intensity up a notice… Thinking on that, Lisa began to realize that it was that intensity that was missing from those eyes… or rather, it had shifted in how it was displaying itself. His eyes looked focused, as they always did, but what was going on behind them still seemed to be hampered the way it had been when he’d first turned to her. A slow progression of thought, sluggish and drawn-out… Her thin brows drew together slightly, eyes locking with his, one of her hands going so far as to make sure his face remained pointed towards hers. “How are you feeling?” The question was posed gently, as all of her questions towards the state of him seemed to be, but the depths of her voice held to them a firmness that tried its very best to demand an answer from him; trying to indicate that what she was asking wasn’t just for politeness sake.
 
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