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Vertigo (VivifiedVanityxSeven)

RE: Vertigo

"Hmm," She tried to keep that acknowledgment of what he'd said neutral; she tried to keep the revulsion from that soft sound. Lisa didn't watch movies like this for a number of reasons. For starters, the violence, though she understood that it was fictional, made her uncomfortable. If she'd ever had a moment within this motel room where she felt awkward and out of place, it was now. She watched the movie play on, working more on developing the characters for the audience, the story trying to draw them into the drama. What made the situation more uncomfortable was that the fans of gory thrillers like these did this sort of thing. They chose the character who would die, and they laughed about it, because it was all pretend. They knew that. Fiction. Something that wasn't real -- wasn't compatible to the real world, and the experience they used to draw those conclusions was based around years of watching that sort of fiction; it was their familiarity with how those stories moved along within all of their false contexts that allowed them to draw the correct conclusions. Jackson's was most certainly not; this sort of thing brought him his livelihood.

Maybe it was that feeling of discomfort that branched the connection in her head, but Lisa turned towards Jackson a little ways, her eyes not quite finding him... but not entirely looking away. "Did I ever... notice you... during your period of observation...?" Her question, though it came to her lips haltingly, was an abrupt change of pace from where they were, and she seemed to realize that. She'd voiced it before she even really realized what she was doing...

Looking away from him, she forced her eyes back to the safety of the television screen; the group had apparently made its way through the house they were in, and were working their way down another set of stairs into what appeared to be a basement of sorts.

"Did I ever look your way... See you there, or at least appear to..." She waited, again letting her question sink in, "Or was I completely oblivious the entire time?" Obviously she never noticed him, otherwise she would have done something about that, but her questions meaning was more vague than direct...

It was the disquieted feeling that the movie had stirred with her coupled with the knowledge -- fake as it was -- that the people she was now watching had been kidnapped from their safe little lives. They hadn't known until the last minute -- though the period of their being followed was understandably brief... She wanted to know if she'd been the same... and while she'd had this question buried away inside herself for quite awhile now -- since that flight -- she had the chance to actually get an answer with Jackson here... To know the answer to one of the questions that had eaten away at her for the duration of those two weeks... that had been swept away in the confusion of where she presently was, and of what she was buried neck deep in... and had now been uncovered by that familiar feeling...
 
RE: Vertigo

The question seemingly came out of nowhere but after a moment of consideration, Jackson recognized where it had come from - in the context of the movie, every character on the screen had been observed and profiled by their kidnapper, all of them had been brought into a death trap based on what had been gleaned from them while they were studied by some shady, unseen villain. As they watched the movie, Lisa was making personal connections, and he -

- well, he was the shady, unseen villain, wasn't he?

Finally, still looking at the screen, Jackson slowly shook his head.

"You looked through me," Jackson replied, shifting on the bed a little as his chest ached, "You didn't notice."

In his lifetime he had staked out a lot of people, he had researched them and dug up dirt on people as far back as grade school, he had managed to discreetly talk to their friends or family members without ever setting off alarms or giving up positions, he had accessed files that only authorities were meant to see, he had sat beside people he would kill weeks later and they still wouldn't recognize them, even with a gun to their head or a knife against their neck, the moment of clarity never came.

And that was because they weren't meant to ever recognize him. He was trained to be a ghost.

He looked over at her, squinting a little as his vision went out of focus for a second time; everything seemed to be a little soft around the edges.

"But don't take it to heart, it's not a personality flaw, Leese, it's just a thing everyone does, they skim over their surroundings. No one notices - no one is supposed to." he said; it was about as reassuring as he could be while giving her the details she wanted, though his tone was dead and flat, straight-forward the way everything else tended to be.
 
RE: Vertigo

She'd looked through him... Turning slowly to look at him as he offered her his logical reassurance, that short phrase echoed through her mind in place of what he was saying. It was true, but it was cold how he worded it... People looked through one another every day, as Jackson had said... but he didn't say directly. There was no play of his words, no clever wording -- he was simply explaining things to her, factually, as he always did, but how he'd said it still... clung to her.

She'd looked through him. The fact that he'd actually tried to reassure her stopped her from trying to assure him that she knew that, but that knowing that -- or even being told that -- didn't make things any better. She'd had a trained doctor feeding her the same lines, after all... for those minor visits that were needed to obtain the prescription strength sleep aids that were now coursing through him. He'd even tried to share that knowledge with her a bit more warmly -- a gentle hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort the deeply bothered girl with a quivering voice who was in his office, that coupled with the explanation flooded with care he was trained to give to everyone who walked through his door. She'd known that she wasn't at fault then too, but it hadn't helped her sleep at night. Lisa sat with the feeling those four little words for a minute, not quite sure if she was bothered more by the fact that she'd not noticed him, or if was simply how he'd phrased it.

Starting to speak, she stopped herself, but then started again, "I'm sorry for that... Though I don't see how anyone could miss you with those..." She did stop herself at that, and she fought off a strange sort of smile. He was good at what he did, that was how... He'd said it himself even, no one was supposed to, and because of that, they didn't, because he didn't want them to. He was paid to learn about them, not get to know them... "It must get lonely... Learning about someone like that... going with them almost everywhere, but never actually saying a polite hello -- being with them but not with them..."

In that moment of putting herself in his shoes, she was refusing to close the circle of what he probably had to do to those people once everything was said and done. She wasn't ignoring it -- she was aware of it, painfully so, she was just walling herself off from verbalizing that thought to herself.
 
RE: Vertigo

Weeks ago, Jackson had heavily patronized Lisa Reisert for being an emotionally-driven human being, posing it as an undesirable trait - at the time, he had been rapidly running out of options after a period of patiently trying to make Lisa follow the rules. He would have said nearly anything right then if it would have goaded her into making the phone call they had both known she would have to make.

But he didn't believe what he had said - of course, it was true that Lisa was an emotional woman, but it wasn't what he would consider a flaw, it worked for her, she functioned as a person capable of emotion while still keeping a level head while under pressure. She was well-rounded.

However, there were moments where Jackson found himself questioning Lisa's sanity, and this was one of them.

For the first time - and perhaps the drugs played a role in it - Jackson Rippner was visibly taken aback. His expression wasn't cartoonish, but he did seem to freeze completely, as though someone had hit a 'pause' button on him, and he was staring at Lisa in silence, unblinking, his eyes scanning over her as though trying to figure out if he had heard correctly.

She was apologizing. She was apologizing for not having seen him when he was tailing her, for not acknowledging his existence while he gathered intel on her. She was showing sympathy and even delving into the potential to be completely secluded in his job - and true as it might have been, her response was so bizarre that a small noise escaped Jackson despite himself, something choked that he tried to surpress, so it came out as a noise through his nose, something that sounded like 'snrrk'.

He was laughing. Smothered as it was, Jackson Rippner had laughed.

"Lisa," Jackson said, and there was something different in his voice, something outside of his usual dry, plain tone - something that sounded almost animated,

"Leese. I don't know how you breathe with all of that nice in you."

On screen, the skinny man in the hoodie was slowly roasting to death.

Called it.
 
RE: Vertigo

The sound that had escaped him drew her brows together, but her eyes remained diligently trained on the television screen. When he spoke though, she lost the will that stopped her from looking over at him, and now, she could feel those eyes on her. She stared at him for a duration, frowning. It wasn't an unhappy frown, but one riddled with confusion. "Ah... -- I" Lisa stopped, and her face scrunched itself as she shook her head in disbelief, "I don't even know what to say to that..." Her words were edged slightly, defensive even, but they weren't sharply pointed towards him. Her arms crossed themselves over her chest as she curled away from him a little ways. The almost, mirth behind what he'd said, if said by anyone else, would have made it a simple tease -- like they had been playfully picking on the person they were talking to. Something people did with one another every day... but coming from Jackson Rippner it was almost baffling, and because of that she was at a loss...

Turning her attention away from him -- almost in a sort of straight-backed pout -- she looked towards the wall even as the screaming on the television set reached her ears; the man's death screams as he was being burned alive... Jackson had been right... "You still haven't eaten..." She posed, the frown having faded from her face. She'd switched gears from trying to relate to him... to worrying over him as her defense mechanism, and her head nodded towards the sandwich she wasn't even looked at.
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson wasn't entirely clear on how to react either - the laughter had come from somewhere he wasn't familiar with, the sort of response that he couldn't remember ever having. Lisa seemed to curl into herself as a response, sensing derision, and Jackson found himself with the strange urge to nudge her. Playfully.

He didn't do it, because the idea of actually doing it seemed completely ridiculous, but he found himself vaguely disturbed by the urge. It wasn't the sort of thing he did. It wasn't the sort of thing he thought about doing.

He blinked hard as the television flashed in hues of red and orange while fire filled the screen and he brought his hands up to his eyes again, determined to remove the strange fog that was rolling over his vision.

"When was the last time you ate anything?" Jackson replied, and though it ended with the lilt that implied a question, it was clear Jackson was making a statement - Lisa had been too distracted to have actually sat down and considered what she was doing to her own health.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa looked back at him and watched him rub at his eyes. Oh right. He'd be going to sleep soon.

"You could worry over the state I'm in when I'm in as bad of a mess as you are," She chided gently. Wouldn't that be a funny turn of events... Jackson mothering her. If he'd even wanted an answer to his question, that should have given him one. She'd almost gone as long... Their situation was different though. She could get up and go get herself something to eat whenever she wished... He couldn't -- or rather, he shouldn't, and he'd very nearly have a struggle he couldn't afford just to get himself out of the door. Lisa didn't want to give him the time to try pointing anything out -- such as how silly such a thing sounded; healthy or not, Lisa did need to eat... she just didn't feel like she could stomach feeling full at present. Hunger hadn't hit her since before the flight here... She moved as she always did, the walls that she should have imposed between them when they'd first nested in this small room being ignored outright. Her hand seemed to find his shoulder for some sort of support as she leaned across him even though her weight never quite found him... Fetching the sandwich from the nightstand at his side, she retreated back to her side of the bed, "It really is like you're doing everything in your power to drag this out..." and then she stopped, her fingers mid-way through their task of unwrapping the sandwich for him.

Her demeanour had shifted all together from whatever conviction was driving her to try and make him get well again, that conviction melting away with an abruptness that startled even her. "Is it became I'm here...?" She looked at him, blinking once before her hands fell into the task once more with a much more drawn out pace, "Well, not me per say, but... that someone... is here?"

Lisa had a path she'd intended to follow, nearly childish as it was, but its progression was delayed as she took a moment to reflect. Had he had his way from the beginning, he would have been stumbling through all of this without her help. He'd invited her here in a way -- so she'd not forced her presence on him... but he...

He was used to being alone.

Reaching out, she offered him the foodstuff.
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson didn't move as Lisa took hold of his shoulder, in fact, he went incredibly still while she leaned over him because her hair grazed his face and he could smell her - not just the scent of her perfume or her shampoo, but the smell of her skin itself. Women had a way of doing that, of smelling good even without the plethora of products they tended to use - but this scent was distinctly Lisa.

He held his breath. There was something very wrong about sitting there, smelling another person.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Lisa straightened up again and settled back beside him; he silently released the breath and allowed himself to resume living - though he was starting to think he should have just held it until he lost consciousness, because now Lisa was asking questions that he was finding he didn't want to answer.

"I can assure you, I don't want to drag out anything," Jackson replied, looking at Lisa again, but he found turning his head made the world go hazy for a moment and he blinked owlishly at her while he waited for his senses to sort themselves out, "I don't play well with others."

That much was obvious.

"And you and I, we have some different opinions about how this should be playing out."

She was handing him a sandwich; somehow this detracted from the point he was trying to make, but he took half of it, pointedly leaving the other half in her hands.

"And our respective careers make us both assertive. We're like oil and water, Leese. Not even. We're like oil and a lit match." he said, eyeing the food for a moment before taking a careful bite.
 
RE: Vertigo

"You make it sound like we can't get on at all... Like we should be at each other's throats when we disagree on something..." She murmured as she looked at the food he'd left in her hands. His small way of worrying over her that was probably more him shoving what she was trying to do to him right back towards her.

Sighing, she pulled the plastic back over the sandwich half, but didn't quite set it to the side.

"Then how would you have this play out...?" She probed not all together gently before her former statement could be verbally acknowledged. Hazels had lifted and had found his face, and she stared at him with an almost quiet anger. "What would you have us do right now other than try and..." Her mild temper puttered out, quelling itself on its own fuel as she looked at him, "mend you so you can go a day without completely wearing yourself down?" He wouldn't be awake much longer, she could see it in his eyes, but she didn't say anything; she resisted the urge to reach out and stroke her hand through his hair... Whatever conversation they were having would die down soon... and he would be out, asleep... slumbering sweetly while she saw to cleaning herself up for the day and calling her father back so the man wouldn't worry...

It was remembering that call that reminded her she needed to discuss a few things with her father -- things that would worry him, and probably spark a lot of questions that she couldn't answer... She had connections, people who had been used against her once in all of this; people who had been unknowingly threatened in something that would have ended if she'd just parted ways with Jackson after sharing a coffee instead of leaving him with the gift she did. She needed to sever those connections in a way, because while she and Jackson seemed to have successfully disappeared for now -- Lisa could still be found through those people.

And if she had the presence to think of that, she was quite sure those who were after them did too...
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson had lost track of when he'd eaten last, but by the way his body was reactng, it had been far too long; a single bite of the sandwich caused a wave of nausea that he had to wait out, though he kept his expression clear of any indication, focusing instead on Lisa's voice.

"I don't think I need to remind you, we've already been at eachother's throats." Jackson said wryly; with a bit of consideration, it was a joke. A very dark joke that referenced the time his hand had been around her neck and the time her pen had been in his. They had left marks on eachother, there was no denying that much.

"I can't tell you how this would play out with two people involved," Jackson continued, "For reasons you already covered. I travel alone. I work alone. I do everything alone, because that's what works for me; but I'm not alone this time, so things are different and I have to account for the variable of a second party. But if we're going to use hypotheticals, if you somehow lost your ability to make choices and decisions and would willingly and unquestioningly follow my lead - which we both know is not going to happen, Leese, but that's just part of your charm - then we wouldn't have stopped here for longer than one night. In fact, I would have had the cab take us directly to where I keep all of my weapons and I would have utilized the floor for recovery."

He managed another bite of the sandwich and set it off to the side. He picked up the empty coffee cup and toyed with it for reasons he couldn't explain, rolling it between his palms.

"I would have armed myself and if I felt I wasn't well enough to keep moving, I would have gone to a nearby pharmacist and gotten my hands on some of the harder painkillers. Then I would have gone to where your business meeting was supposed to be, and I would have waited for Malevre's bodyguards to show up, killed one and, with any luck, tail the other one back to where Malevre is."

His head was swimming.

On the television, people were screaming.

He blinked, and for a moment, almost didn't open his eyes up again, a strange instant where he nearly nodded off sitting up. He straightened up, pressing one hand into the mattress and furrowing his brows. He thumbed the lid off of his coffee cup without really thinking and the pad of his thumb touched the inside rim and came away with grit. Jackson stared down at the coffee cup, silent. His jaw worked visibly, the muscles in his neck shifting.

He set the cup off to the side again and slowly turned his head to Lisa again. He stared at her.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa sat in silence as she listened to him. In a perfect world, it was a beautifully strung together plan -- if one overlooked its intentions and reasons for needing to be. One that would have had them clear of this mess already... or dead in a gutter somewhere. And if Lisa allowed herself to be drawn into its perfection, she would have felt that she'd quite bumbled things, because there were several key problems with the beautiful painting he'd tried to construct around them -- born purely of the hypothetical. He'd not bothered to tell her any of this until now, and there was the matter of the state he was in during their first few days of holing up here. She doubted that even with the best drugs in the world, Jackson wouldn't have lasted long enough to see that flow of events to its conclusion, not with her help, and not with all of the luck in the world... No... that wasn't right... He would have lived through the ordeal -- every agonizing inch of it, but his body would have given out as it had in the cab before they'd even made it this far... and as it had again the day he'd gone out to fetch whatever the bag across the room held... She could still recall the confused look when his hands had started trembling so much so that he could barely keep a hold of his knife. Lisa had a response to him, a simple one -- one that wasn't her scolding him or correcting him, but simply... She heard the coffee lid pop open, and her eyes looked to his hands without much thought. It was when her eyes drifted upwards she felt her heart drop.

She stared at him from where she sat unmoving, barely able to breathe as he stared at the empty cup for reasons she knew he was aware of without anything being said. The familiar tension in his jaw worked itself, and her heart sank even further. The motion was almost hauntingly calm as he set the cup to the side, and his head lifted, their eyes meeting for a long, all too slow moment... Their conversation wouldn't be dieing down... but it would definitely be changing.

What was it he'd said... Oil and a lit match? At this moment, that felt about right.

Lisa swallowed hard, her eyes dropping to her hands before flitting back up; she was resisting the suddenly strong urge to move away from him, but she didn't dare take her eyes from him. She cleared her throat, "Maybe you'd play better with others if you'd allow yourself to try..." she'd only just managed to say evenly. Jackson's eyes were a very hard thing to read unless he wanted them read, and Lisa was learning to attribute that to the fact that they were -- more often than not -- so very cold. They were watchful in a way that let the one on the receiving end of their gaze know they were being observed on an almost intimate level -- every detail, every gesture, every flickered expression being taken in... But what was actually churning behind those eyes was locked behind a bricked wall.

It was easy for her to see where one could lose themselves in those pools, not in any sort of romantic notion, but... simply in trying to figure out what was going on behind them. She caught herself before she could be lost though; lost in wondering if he was angry with her, or if he was puzzling out why she'd done it... or if he was about to light the oil between them... and lost in wondering what exactly was going to happen if he did so. Blinking slowly and swallowing again, nervously so, those eyes dropped to the space between them. She wouldn't get up off the bed right now -- he might see that as her fleeing and spring like a predatory animal...

It had happened once before... Instead of moving away from him -- or running away, as she would have liked to do right then and there -- she stood her ground, her posture rigid, uncomfortable, but her head still held high even though her hazels had dropped.

If that space suddenly ceased to be empty... then she would flee, and she was on a hair trigger for that moment. But what does one say to someone they've drugged? Not that what she'd used was really all that terrible, especially considering her reasons... but she had drugged him...

"Don't be mad..." She managed at a whisper, already mentally mapping out her escape route to the door; it was her one small plea for him not to strike the match.
 
RE: Vertigo

This, Jackson supposed, was his fault.

With his injuries and Lisa's stubbornness, there hadn't been much choice in the matter - but he hadn't been vigilant enough. In his effort to ensure things functioned smoothly, he had gotten careless and exposed his neck to someone who had already literally stabbed him in it. It was idiotic, and now that he was realizing the extent of his indolence, he was also realizing it had been naive, a word he had never once connected with himself before that moment.

He stared at Lisa and she stared back at him, and now that he found himself fully acknowledging the strange weight in his limbs, it seemed to be growing more pronounced - Lisa Reisert had drugged him, she had slipped something in his coffee. And when he thought about it, he realized she had done it the previous day as well, remembering the strangely bitter water that he had accepted without question - it had been his mistake, his stupid mistake. He had been making a lot of those lately, and they all seemed to involved Reisert.

She didn't seem to know where to look, eyes flicking from him to the bed and back again, every part of her tense, but Jackson didn't move, he simply stared at her, unblinking in a drug-addled state - right then, he still had his faculties, but he knew that even if he fought it, he wouldn't have a choice but to eventually drop off into sleep, his body was too exhausted for him to fight the effects for the entire time it was in his bloodstream.

What had she given him?

Sleeping pills. She had given him sedatives.

He was angry. In fact, he was livid.

But some part of him was also vaguely amused in a dark, horrible way.

"You're a dangerous woman, Ms. Reisert." Jackson said, and his voice was dead calm.
 
RE: Vertigo

Ms. Reiser. There it was, and it made her close her eyes and visibly shiver. The silence that had settled between them was almost suffocating to her, so much so that she needed to remind herself to breathe through it, and though it had been his voice that had eventually broken through that wall... How he'd said what he'd said didn't help to relax her any. She turned away from him, and her eyes found the wall the headboard stood flush against. The image of him that lingered in her mind seemed the careful coupling of the Jackson she remembered with a Jackson so very near just falling over and succumbing to what she'd given him. "Only to you, it seems," She breathed at last, her eyes opening though she didn't look at him. Lisa carefully studied the lingering image she'd imprinted in her head of him rather than the actual man across from her. It was safer that way. She didn't have to see him looking at her there -- to watch his unflinching gaze. She only had to feel it.

Forcing a breath, slow and steady, her eyes did eventually turn back to him, and her hands smoothed down her skirt over her thighs. The action a strangely measured one; her attempt to soothe herself more so than straighten out a garment that didn't need fussing over. "It's... only a sleeping pill..." She ventured, "Nothing actually dangerous... Nothing like you were given when..." What she'd done was harmless. She was trying to assure him of this. Her eyes were trying to assure him of this.

What I did isn't comparable to what 'they' did... I would never put you in a body bag... "You can sleep it off in a few hours."

Before that tone had crept into his voice, she would have tried to urge him to lay down without much thought -- she would have paid attention to that hinted softness in his eyes that told her the odds of him actually making any sort of grab for her were slim at best, but it was that terrifying calm that kept her where she was... that made her hesitate when she'd not hesitated in a long time with him. "You should probably lay down, Jack,"

Her words were softly spoken, and his name was gentler still. Fingers that had crawled forward tentatively were inching not for him but for the pillow behind him, preceding her other hand as it reached for his arm only at length, "At least make yourself comfortable..." They'd been here before -- she being forced to urge him to actually lay down the night before, only then he hadn't been aware of what she'd put in his system... He hadn't been looking at her with those eyes like that. It made her feel guilty, partially because she knew what she had done was wrong even though her reasons weren't. Lisa could hear the television in the background; people were screaming again. Someone new was being tortured. Even though the movie itself had been laced with her desire to get Jackson to remain still long enough for the drug to work itself through his system, that wasn't all it had been.

That was oddly where her guilt sprang the most from; he'd think what she'd done had been, to a certain degree, nothing but an act. It hadn't been, and the idea that Jackson would even consider of what she'd done to him as his mistake never even filtered into her head amidst everything else -- and it wouldn't have even if there had been nothing else within swimming about.
 
RE: Vertigo

To an extent, Jackson was aware that Lisa Reisert wasn't going to hurt him - despite the very physical confrontation they'd had not so long ago that had left him in his present state, he knew it was something that wouldn't be repeated - it had been situational, at the time, Lisa had been his job. She wasn't anymore.

And for Lisa's part, it had been self-defense - despite all of the stitches and broken bones and bruises and gunshot wounds, he didn't begrudge her protecting herself, it was what anyone would do, and it just happened that Lisa had been perfectly capable of defending herself. He hadn't even found himself particularly surprised by that fact, but he also tried not to think too hard about being in the Reisert home, because when he didn, he could identify the mistakes he had made, and the most glaring one had been that he'd hesitated. Again and again, he'd hesitated and held back when he'd had chance after chance to end it, by his count he could have killed Lisa five times during the course of their game of cat-and-mouse and -

- he hadn't.

He hadn't done it.

He tried not to think about the reasoning behind it and instead told himself he'd slipped up and had gotten clumsy and had been bested by her, and that was that - she'd gotten the high-ground, and if she hadn't, she would be dead.

But now, there was no reason to hurt her, no reason to kill her. Even as his vision blurred and he stubbornly refused to close his eyes, he found he had no urge to strangle Lisa, no drive to take one of the knives he'd brought back and just get her out of the way - but he still felt like an idiot for not realizing sooner, for not noticing the first time she had drugged him, and for leaving himself vulnerable.

Or, more vulnerable than he already was.

Lisa shifted beside him, talking quietly and adjusting the pillows with the full knowledge he wouldn't be awake for much longer, and the fact it was so obvious, the fact she knew he would pass out soon was more cause for him to be annoyed with himself.

Idiot.

He was losing it. How had he let himself get to this point?

Why was he even letting her call him Jack?

He took in a breath and let it out as an audible sigh through his nose, an annoyed sound that was usually followed up by sarcasm, but it seemed Rippner was at a loss for words, all he could do was stare at Lisa - but that was also partly because he was sure he would fall over if he tried to do anything else.

Dangerous, dangerous woman.
 
RE: Vertigo

He was trying so hard to stay awake... Lisa would have brushed this off as something only spurred because of what she'd done to him, but... he was always like that. Only this time that struggle came with those steel blues focused solely on her, the ice in that gaze had dwindled down though -- if there even was any real intentional chill to begin with -- melted away as he started slipping under. All his strength seemed to be pooled into the look he was giving her; she wasn't quite sure if he was silently hating her behind those eyes, assessing the situation, or merely... watching... Her own soft sigh followed his when the expected sarcasm didn't drip from him, and the hesitation melted from her. Not entirely because she'd decided that he couldn't lash out at her even if he'd wanted to. He looked miserably helpless...

She rolled herself from her knees, pressing her weight instead onto her hip so she could scoot closer. Miserably helpless...

It was in that look, it was in that quiet frustration that had been on his face when he couldn't finish dressing his own wounds when she'd come back, it was why he'd just wanted left alone in the beginning when it was so very clear that wasn't what needed to be done... why he'd looked at his hands in confusion while they were betraying him when he'd gotten back from his little jaunt across the city... "Sometimes I wish I knew what went on behind those eyes. It would make things easier for the both of us," she dared, meeting his tired gaze for a moment before her hazels moved on, "while other times I think I should be glad that I don't know."

He wasn't heavy, and she found herself thankful for that as she readjusted him down the bed as best she could -- making him actually lay himself down.

There were too many distractions -- too many other things to think on and dwell on -- for her to note how soft his bare skin actually was, for her to partially lose herself in that inviting warmth that always seemed to draw her in... And after settling him, she looked to his face again, her right hand pressed to the bed somewhere beside his head.

Her other hand brushed his hair back, the gesture attempting to soothe his eyes into closing while her fingertips tickled against his forehead. "You're not vulnerable... even like this," Her voice remained gentle, but her words were firm, "So you don't need to try to warn me away with your eyes... or whatever it is you're doing... There's time for that after the drugs have worn off. Then you can threaten me, tell me how mad you are, or do whatever it is you're going to do... and we can move on. Maybe we can even talk all of this through and sort out what we should be doing... Behave like real people and come to an agreement of sorts instead of disagreeing all the time... and having it come to this."
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa was not reacting the way she was supposed to, Jackson decided.

Somewhere along the way, there had been a misunderstanding and a cold, hard look that had been meant to create a wall between them had somehow drawn her closer - but maybe Lisa was disregarding his expression, maybe she was only factoring in that he was obviously incapable of fighting her. Maybe she had decided he wasn't a threat to her, that he couldn't back up the look with anything except the distant threat of when he woke up again.

She moved closer and Jackson could feel her body heat; he continued to watch her, but then her hands were reaching for him and - without even thinking about it - he found himself trying to lean away, trying to avoid her touch like a dog that had been kicked, but all he achieved was making it easier for Lisa to insist him back on the bed, and the world flipped and there was that damn mirror again, and he could see the image of Lisa hovering over him, an image that was strange and surreal right then.

A hand went through his hair, fingers touched his overheated skin and felt better than they should have for just grazing his temples. She spoke to him and the world began to fade away in a way that was almost becoming familiar for all of the times it had happened in the last few days,

"I am never taking coffee from you again." Jackson managed, just before he passed out.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa deserved that, and it brought a sad smile to her lips as her eyes flicked to the television. Fingers continued to caress through his hair, and the touch slowly faded off until her hand settled on the pillow beside his head. She could hear his breathing over the television, faint as it was; she'd been listening to it gradually slow itself down as sleep finally claimed him. The sound was familiar to her, afraid to admit that as she was; she'd fallen asleep to it every night they'd been here, the pace the rise and fall of his chest took when he was out... even the beat of his heart... and now she could recognize that rhythm. He would be down and out for awhile, and she needed to leave him be so he could rest. Leaning down, she pressed her forehead to his before she moved away from him. Turning off the television and returning the remote to the nightstand, she made a grab for her cell phone. It was early enough her father would be awake... Probably eating his breakfast and having his morning coffee... She needed to tell him a few things, trust that he wouldn't overreact, and trust that he wouldn't demand answers to the questions he'd have...

Trust. Probably something she'd lost from Jackson, or at least that was what the last thing he'd said to her before he'd sank beneath the surface made her think.

Phone in hand, she went around the room, tidying things up before she retreated to the bathroom; disposing of the coffee cups and making one last check on Jackson before hiding herself away to have a conversation she didn't quite want to have...



...Lisa stared at herself in the mirror. The door was closed but not locked -- she'd only been on the phone maybe thirty minutes, and with what she'd put Jackson down with... Even considering who he was, he wouldn't be stirring for awhile. Not for awhile... And then? The face that stared back at her in the mirror seemed to know... 'I'm never taking coffee from you again', the real Lisa couldn't tell if that had been a threat -- his response to everything she'd tried to tell him summed up in one, curt rebuttal... Or if it was an attempt at humour. Hair lightly tousled, eyes tired, expression tense... She knew what was coming, but the Lisa looking at that reflection couldn't quite puzzle it out...

The Lisa staring out at her could pretend to live this life, knew what these sort of people did, how they responded to those around them when they disagreed, but the Lisa looking at her knew that it was all an act. That was the reason for the disconnect, why she didn't know what her reflection knew so very intimately...



...Her shower, as before, was brief -- she spent more time trying to simply absorb the heat from the warm water as it ran against her skin than actually being productive. And when she was once more forced to look in the mirror as she worked a brush gently through her hair... the face that stared back at her this time wasn't the same as it had been. She was still tired, but she looked more as she felt. She really didn't know what was going to happen. The façade was falling. She looked lost and a little bit afraid. Sighing, she forced her attention from that reflection by opening the cabinet door and returning a few things to it before leaving the bathroom. At some point between stepping out of the shower and making it to the bathroom door, she'd stumbled into a dark navy tee-shirt with a gray sweater jacket whose sleeves hid away her hands with their length. The skirt she wore was the same gray one from before, and she'd used the heat from her shower to smooth away most of its wrinkles.

She'd not wanted to bother with fishing too deeply through her suitcase for anything else.

It was when she finally emerged from the bathroom that the tension that had been building in her flitted away; he was still asleep. She lingered in the door frame awhile, watching him... and making sure he was alright... He'd been warm when she'd brushed his hair away... That memory came to her, and she looked at her fingertips as if they held the answer. Sighing, her hand curled into a fist, and she shifted her warn things into the crook of one of her arms so she could go back to the sink and retrieve a cold washcloth for him. Emerging from the bathroom, she made her way to him, and she staved off the urge to sink down onto the bed beside him when she pressed the cool cloth to his forehead. Forcing herself not to linger, she returned her things to her suitcase and made a decision.

She'd managed to convince her father that she was taking a much needed break from work, and that everything had just caught up with her and she needed some time to herself. She told him that work may be contacting him as she'd not been very professional with this decision...

If anyone asked, he didn't know where she was, and he only knew that she was supposed to be heading to Chicago for business... The next person to call was Cynthia... If the people who were after them were indeed connected to what she had stopped...

She didn't want to risk having the conversation in this room this time -- or even in the bathroom from the fear of waking him, so she grabbed the key to the room and headed for the door. There was a laundry on the back end of the motel that she'd used the first night they'd hunkered down here... with a door... and a lock... and he would be fine on his own for a little while... What she hadn't counted on was actually falling asleep in that small little room after that phone call, curled up against the locked door... Where her father could trust, Cynthia understandably had questions -- questions that Lisa couldn't quite answer... questions Lisa had to simply promise to answer when she returned... If she returned alive. It was those questions that had so suddenly drained her...
 
RE: Vertigo

One Hour In

Jackson stirred, his drugged sleep interrupted by a sound that registered on a subconscious level - the sound of a door shutting. Too sedated to influence his body to follow his demands, he barely managed to open his eyes and the world focused in and out and the barest of light coming through the closed curtains seemed blinding.

His best efforts weren't letting him move.

He was out again in seconds.

Three Hours In

Jackson's second attempt was only moderately more successful; he managed to push himself nearly upright but every part of him felt heavy and disconnected as though his limbs didn't belong to him.

He tried to take in his surroundings but none of it was making any sense or holding any meaning, but he found one sober thought:

She's not beside me.

Lisa must have gone out. He knew this was bad, but he couldn't think of why. He knew he needed to find her, but he couldn't pinpoint the reason.

His arms gave out on him.

So much for that.

Six Hours In

Jackson woke up with his face planted into a pillow and he blinked at the wrought iron headboard for several minutes, the winding design making him briefly dizzy. He shut his eyes.

He opened them again.

All at once, he remembered where he was, who he was, who he was with, and what had happened. Gripping the headboard, he forced himself up and ignored the way his entire body seemed to be telling him to just give it up and lay back down.

A look around the room told him Lisa was gone, a glance at the clock told him she had been gone for hours.

Instantly, Jackson's mind went to Malevre; there were different breeds of hitmen, and Malevre's was the sort that like to personalize jobs - it was why he had taken the time out to apply a few torture methods to Jackson before their flight, a sort of warm-up. With that in mind, he knew the sort of things the man would be willing to do to Lisa.

Jackson was on his feet, propelled by the thought; he had enough sense to grab a shirt but didn't bother buttoning it, knowing it would take more time than he was willing to spend right then.

A glance around the room didn't show anything had been disturbed and he stepped outside for the first time in what felt like weeks; mid-day sun hit him and lit him up in a way he knew made him look like a maniac, standing barefoot alongside some rundown motel.

He glanced back inside; the knife he had given her was still there and he felt a surge of annoyance at that fact - she would defend herself with sporting equipment and office supplies, but she wouldn't take an actual weapon. MacGuyver. He was on the run with a female MacGuyver.

Uncaring of his dishevelled state, Jackson left the motel room and aimed himself for the lobby, demanding his legs obey him. When he got inside, he waited stoically behind a young, giggling couple while they were given the keys to their room; when they turned, both of them balked at the sight of him, the woman gasped.

"Enjoy your stay." Jackson said tersely, and his voice sounded raw and gravelly, lacking the usual smoothness; he moved to the front desk where a teenager did a double-take, giving him a wide-eyed look.

"Brunette, 5'5", dark eyes, 130 lbs soaking wet and probably wearing business casual, we came here a few days ago, room five - you'll remember her in about five seconds. Have you seen her?"

All of it came out in one breath, his tone dead and flat; the boy stared at him.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"Oh!" he said, "Yes, uh, Dawson. Mister and missus Dawson. Uh. No, I haven't - uh -"

The look Jackson was giving him made him stammer, the blue gaze was hard and severe - he felt like the next syllable that came out of his mouth would be the deciding factor in whether this man ate his jugular or not.

"- haven't seen her." he finished weakly.

Mr. Dawson finally blinked, briefly relieving him of the blue gaze, but he didn't blink evenly, his eyes seemed to close one at a time. Like an iguana. Like he'd forgotten how to blink.

A small nod seemed to confirm he believed it, then he left without another word, moving back for the hotel room; upon entering he shut the door behind him and made for his travel bag, opening up the side compartment and digging through until he pulled out a 9 mm handgun, ejecting the clip from it.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa came to almost pleasantly despite the uncomfortable position she was in against the door. Her hand lifted to her head slowly, fingers touching through her hair though not quite messing through it; she was cold enough to make her almost want to shiver. The warmth she usually woke up to wasn't beside her or blanketing her as it always seemed to be... because she was in... the laundry room. Lisa stared blankly across the room as the day -- or at least her day until around three hours ago -- put itself back together for her. Shoot. He would be waking up soon... She had no way of knowing that Jackson Ripper was already wide-awake, well, wide-awake considering, and hassling the poor boy in the lobby just a few yards away. Using the table beside her to pull herself to her feet, one of her hand fumbled for the light switch for the small room -- dousing the room in a soft darkness while she checked her phone. It was nearing one in the afternoon. She looked around herself, and her hand found the side of her head, steadying her still sleep-addled brain. She'd only laid her head back for a moment, mentally exhausted from trying to hold it together through that last phone call.

If there ever was a time to feel separated from those closest to her, that time seemed to be now. Lisa Reisert had made herself, in a way, disappear. She would have a lot of explaining to do when she returned home -- if she returned home... It was what needed to be done.

She left the laundry room around the same time Jackson was returning to the room, and slowly made her way back to that room with her phone and key card held awkwardly in hand. She was mulling over how the rest day would play out for them once he did pull himself from sleep as she unlocked the door and slipped inside.

He would be mad, she was sure, but he wouldn't actually try to harm her, she wouldn't think. Would he...? Nevermind that she was already trying to think of a way to impress upon him how much he did need to take it easy... She was quiet with the door, using both hands on it to ease it closed despite the cell phone in hand -- and when she finally turned around after locking it back up she found herself pausing. The bed was empty. Alarm spread across her face as her eyes widened, but that feeling of dread wasn't allowed to linger too long, because in a quick sweep of the room she found him not far from where he should have been... He wasn't entirely a mess, but the shirt he'd put on at some point... it unbuttoned, clinging haphazardly to him, didn't help bring about the words 'neatly-dressed', and instead quite literally scared them away with how scruffy the rest of him looked. Lips parted slightly, and she seemed about to speak when she stopped cold, abruptly so.

Her head turned slightly to the side, and her eyes focused heavily on the gun in his lap; her expression deadened.

Hazels flicked back up to his face. She was at a loss for what to say, because whatever she'd meshed together as an appropriate 'hello' had obviously left her. "You've a gun..." It wasn't quite a question, but rather a statement. A cold one. A leading one.

She didn't ask where Jackson had fetched that cold metal from, because she knew the answer to that without thinking. Probably when he'd gone out for the day... Any question of 'why' was quickly brushed aside just as easily. He killed people for a living, and so it'd be silly for him not to have such things on hand... The only question left was why he had it out -- why he was cleaning it...? She hoped her three words led to that answer, because about the only answer she could come up with was that he was still mad at her... Her empty hand reached back without thinking, touching to the door handle behind her though she didn't unlock it, and she didn't move to open the door. She just leaned back a little ways, on edge -- not quite sure if she could actually see Jackson shooting her over what she'd done, but unable to brush the possibility away as a silly thought.

This was the sort of scenario the nightmares that had filled her past two weeks had been born of, though she couldn't quite remember if she'd been forced to watch the ending to this particular one...
 
RE: Vertigo

There were certain things that could never be overlooked; a gun was just an ineffective lump of metal if it was poorly-maintained, and this one hadn't been used in years. With the knowledge that he had no way of finding Lisa, Jackson had taken to doing the tasks he always did in preparation for a job, a system of patterns and schedules and routines that ensured everything would be exactly the way it needed to be, the last thing he needed was the gun jamming when he was about to put a bullet between Malevre's eyes.

The door opened and Jackson paused but he didn't lift his head; Lisa was back. For an instant, he felt like an idiot - but his thoughts hadn't been unjustified, they did have someone after them who wanted them dead.

"Yes," Jackson replied simply, a return statement.

He refused to let his thoughts register on his face, Lisa didn't need to know he had gone looking for her - and it was only as he finished cleaning the barrel that he finally looked up and found her backed against the door, and though he couldn't see it, he knew her hand was on the doorknob. His eyes flicked from her hidden arm, up to her face and he actually sighed before returning to what he was doing,

"I'm not going to shoot you." he said, his tone almost exasperated.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa's eyes found the floor almost sheepishly... She considered trying to make him get himself back in the bed, but decided not to. He'd been resting all day -- not willingly, but he had been... Her hazels watched his hands work for a moment, cleaning a that thing wasn't too terribly taxing. She took a breath, relief flooding her more visibly than she would have liked, and she'd only just stepped from the door heading for the small couch when there was a knock on it. She frowned, refusing to look toward Jackson, and before she could even wonder who it was a familiar voice announced itself, "Miss? I saw you heading back to your room... I just wanted to make sure that, uh, Mr. Dawson found you alright..." Lisa, who'd turned towards the door, cocked her head to the side, but she didn't turn around. She flicked the lock for the door and opened it a crack, offering the boy a smile but placing herself so that the young lad couldn't see into the room.

He was being polite. His eyes were on the floor... and he was fidgeting a bit... "Yes, everything's alright now," She answered warmly, flashing him her best smile. She was about to thank the lad and send him on his way, when she stopped, "He... came asking for me...?"

The lad nodded, his eyes lifting as he made to peek inside the room -- not in an obtrusive way, but as if to see if "Mr. Dawson" was lurking right behind Lisa. "Miss...? Is he alright...? He seemed a little... worried," The boy paused, thinking, dwelling on what he'd said so far, "and his eyes didn't quite seem right..." The boy said this at a whisper, almost afraid that "Mr. Dawson" might over hear and come after him, and as if it wasn't only Jackson's eyes that had unnerved the boy so much. Lisa almost smiled, her eyes closing as she sounded that brief mirth. Reaching out a hand, she gave the poor thing a squeeze on the shoulder.

"He's fine. He's harmless... and he's found me," Said about the man with the gun behind her... Her voice kept that polite warmth, her words calm, reassuring the boy further that everything was indeed alright with the two of them, "Thank you." He eventually nodded after a moment's hesitation before he turned to trot on back to his lobby.

Closing the door once more, she too hesitated before turning around. She didn't say anything as she made her way to the couch and sat down; brows were lifted slightly in question, but she didn't pose any. She leaned back against the couch, and her legs crossed while her eyes found not Jackson but the bed between them. That piece of furniture was bridging the span between them, but it wasn't quite crossing it.
 
RE: Vertigo

There was a knock at the door and, for the second time, Jackson didn't look away from what he was doing, but he paused - he could hear the desk clerk's voice, small and meek on the other side of the door, professionally following up on a client's earlier question - in any other scenario, that sort of thoroughness would have been appreciated, but in this case, Jackson found himself tensing his jaw muscles in reaction. He could hear the question in Reisert's tone, he could hear the boy mentioning he'd seemed worried and Jackson stoutly refused to agree with the word choice - he hadn't been worried.

He didn't worry. It wasn't something he did.

But then Lisa had turned back to him and silence fell over the room again as he put a great deal more focus into the gun - though at that point, he was really just polishing it, it wasn't going to get any cleaner.

The silence stretched on; Lisa said nothing, so Jackson said nothing; he put the gun back in the bag, he closed it, and he began pulling on his shoes.

"Bring your knife next time." Jackson said flatly, pushing himself to his feet and aiming himself for the door.
 
RE: Vertigo

And there he was. Jackson Rippner. Someone who could appear so delicately human at one moment, but then make someone feel absolutely mental for having had such thoughts the next... She'd looked at him when he'd mentioned bringing the knife, and was thus allowed to not only hear Jackson take to his feet, but to see him do so as well.

She was up maybe a second behind him, stumbling towards the door. The fingers of her left hand pressed to the door behind her and her right hand came up almost warningly, "Whoa, whoa... You're not leaving." Her eyes raked over him from head to toe, and she could sympathize with why the lad at the desk had wondered... If Jackson were anyone else... with how he looked, with the state he was trying to leave in, Lisa would gauge him as being upset, and with what she'd done to make him fall asleep... Even though this was Jackson Rippner, someone who didn't quite follow the rules of what someone should do or feel... She'd made that connection, "Especially not like this. You don't need to sit back down, but there's no reason for you to leave." She wasn't chaining him, but she was keeping him caged for his own sake.

"...And there are a few things we need to discuss besides."
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson was nearly to the door, he was nearly there, just reaching out for it when Lisa slipped in front of him; he let his hand drop back to his side but he didn't move, standing in place with roughly a foot of space between them. Lisa had literally put herself between him in the door, she was using herself as a barricade, blocking him from leaving, a one-hundred-and-thirty pound woman had decided that she wasn't going to let a hitman leave - things were not balanced.

Some part of him wanted to remind Lisa that a few days ago, despite the state he was in, he had grieviously injured a man with a car key - but he didn't say it, because he knew it wouldn't matter. Lisa knew he wouldn't do it to her, she knew that any move he made, any threat he murmured, anything he did - he wasn't going to hurt her and he could have damned himself for his honesty right then, because things always functioned more smoothly when people were afraid of him.

But Lisa wasn't like anyone else, was she?

It was at that strange moment that he realized what she was wearing; the ever-present skirt was there, but in place of her usual blouses and blazers, she wore a t-shirt and a loose sweater that was just a little too big for her, in fact she was swimming in it, and her eyes had the tired look of someone who had just recently woken up, her hair slightly mussed. From where he stood, he could feel the heat of her.

"Leese," Jackson said, wetting his lips, cocking his head slightly to the side; a few vertebrae in his neck popped audibly, the result of awkward sleeping positions; his voice had taken on a snide, sarcastic tone, "I don't know what we could possibly need to discuss at this very moment that we couldn't have discussed over horror movies and roofies, but it can't be so critical that it has to be discussed right now. Because right now? I need to leave this room."

He reached for the door handle, trying to ignore the fact his wrist had to graze her hip to do it, but it was a detail he couldn't shake; he could feel the soft press of her against his arm.

He needed to leave.
 
RE: Vertigo

"Jack... It wasn't..." She started, her eyes closing in a sort of flinch at what he'd said. She didn't roofie him, but the sarcasm in his voice told her that he knew that... Frowning, she shook her head at him, "You're not going anywhere." Her right hand dropped, catching his hand, ignoring its brush against her hip, her fingers curling up under his palm before moving between his hand and the door knob. If she'd thought he was mad before, his tone, everything, seemed to confirm that suspicion. His sarcasm was cold, enough that if she didn't know better she would have shied herself away from remaining between him and where he wanted to go, but with her against the door... He couldn't leave -- not easily anyway. "How about we start with that -- or better yet, why you're so adamant on leaving... Or what we should be doing, or what we're going to need to do," Her temper was coming through, more flustered than anything, and the hand that had been pressed against the door lifted, her palm touching gently to his chest. Eyes fluttered open as she turned and looked at him, straight at him, despite the lack of distance between them.

"We could start even with what I did to you, because you seem to be quite bothered by that -- or even the fact that you went looking for me..." Her frown deepened, "How did that feel, Jack? Waking up and wondering where I was...? You certainly seemed to have startled the boy at the desk with that," Had he not turned things into this -- into his wanting to leave, she would have thanked him for that at length... It had warmed her a little bit, knowing that, and it made her not feel quite so alone...

"Only I was right around back. Not across the city, not barely on my feet..." Her hand lifted from his chest, patting against it, urging him to stay where he was, warning him that she wasn't moving. "You tell me to 'bring the knife' next time like I'm the one who's being reckless, when look at what you're doing. Actually stop and look at yourself," He was close to her, she couldn't ignore that -- unintentional as it was. She also couldn't ignore that the door behind her made him feel that much closer -- barely an arm's length away. Maybe it was the tension brought on by that closeness, maybe it was her own frustration with him, or maybe even it was as simple as she could feel what she supposed to be his own temper driving him to needto leave, but her heart had started to flutter. Nervous maybe that he was going to lunge for the door, worried that he might try something stupid...

Either way -- she wasn't moving, and she made that clear as she leaned back against the door, her shoulders finding it.
 
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