Author's Note: My first Red Eye fic and I really loved the movie, so please review and tell me how I'm doing. )
Male Driven Fact Based Logic?
He had thought about nothing but her for the entire time that he had laid handcuffed to that damn hospital bed. He had had a lot of time to think about her. He thought about the curls of her shiny auburn hair, the smooth creamy color of her skin, the seductive shape of her slender neck. He remembered seeing that scar and how he had felt when he saw it. The thought that someone had done that to her had bothered him more than it should have, so he had instinctively shaken the feeling away. Then, she had told him the story of what had caused it. Knowing that a man had violated her in that way had filled him with such a murderous rage that it had taken all his effort to keep his voice from shaking when he spoked to her.
Then she had stabbed him in the throat with a pen.
To say that that had pissed him off would be an understatement, and when he chased her through the airport and went to her house he had had every intention of killing her. Slowly. Brutally. Messily. But Lisa Reisert was a fiesty little thing and he was man enough to admit that she had kicked his ass three ways from Sunday. She had figured out his weakness and gone for the jugular. Literally and figuratively. She had know that he was there for her on a personal agenda. He had let anger fuel his thinking and it had made him act foolishly. And his punishment for his rash behavior had been a punctured lung, two shattered ribs, a pump sized hole in his thigh, and several bruises from a field hockey mallet as well as the aforementioned pen through the windpipe. Hell hath no fury, huh.
As soon as he had been well enough, he had picked the lock of the handcuffs, broken his guard's neck, and walked out of the hospital. He needed to lay low for a while and heal completely. Then, he was thinking he would go and pay Lisa a little visit. Maybe even follow through on that whole stealing her idea. Sweet little Lisa. He wondered how she was doing.
He couldn't figure out the best way to describe his feelings for Lisa. It was more than revenge. He wanted to hurt her, but he wanted to hold her just as badly. He couldn't really call it lust, though there was no shortage of that when he thought about her body pressed up against his own. He refused to even consider the possibility of calling it love. He didn't even know whether or not he believed in the word. Obsession. Maybe that was the best way to put it. He had watched her for those eight weeks. He had learned her routine, her likes, her dislikes, her pet peeves. He had been in her apartment. He knew what posistion she slept most comfortable in. He knew that she washed her sheets every three days. He knew what drawer she kept her panties in. The lacy black tango cut ones from Victoria's Secret were his favorites. Yes, obsession was the best way to describe what he felt for Lisa. He wanted her. He wanted her for himself.
He often found himself thinking back to when he had her pinned to the wall in that tiny little airplane bathroom. He could still smell her sweet perfume. If he concentrated really hard, he could still feel her soft little body squirming against him. He had told her not to fight him, but in truth, he didn't mind so much. In fact, the entire time he had her pressed against that wall he had had to reprimand himself in his mind to keep from getting...too excited. She was too beautiful, too vulnerable, and it would have been too easy. The scary part was that when he was in there with her, there was one point that she had looked at him...and he would have been willing to swear that she had been feeling the exact same as he had been. That had nearly done him in. He had had to make himself hurt her in order to get his mind back on the task at hand. There had been something in her eyes at that moment that had seemed to ask him something. What had it been that she wanted, though? Protection? Comfort? Himself? He didn't know, but what really bothered him was that he wanted to.
There was only one answer to his problems. He wanted Lisa. No. He needed Lisa. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat as the plane prepared for takeoff. Some people wouldn't be able to bring themselves to get on a plane again after an experience such as the one he and Lisa had had. He wasn't that kind of person. He shifted into a comfortable posistion and let his mind wonder to Lisa and what she was doing right at that moment.
Lisa couldn't sleep. She hadn't slept in what felt like ages. But, it hadn't been for the reasons everyone seemed to think it was. She wasn't tormented by nightmares or delusions of Jackson Rippner coming to get her, though every time she closed her eyes she saw his. Those clear blue pools that had charmed her, seduced her, terrified her to her very core, and never lied to her. Jackson had incredibly honest eyes. He was an honest person all things considered. When she met him in the check in line, she thought it wasn't possible for someone's smile to be as dazzling as his and that they should be blessed with those eyes as well. As the evening progressed, she had learned that those pretty eyes could be just as cold as they were bright. She could still remember his face when she had opened the bathroom door. At first his expression had been what could best be described as smug, his eyes glowing with humor. Then, he had looked over at the mirror, or more accurately what she had written on the mirror. She had watched the laughter in those eyes melt away and be replaced with a rage like she had never seen before in her life.
But there had been one moment in that very same bathroom when his eyes had seemed almost...tender. She could have fallen in love with him in that moment. His blue eyes soft and compassionate, his voice low and soothing as his thumb traced gently over the scar on her chest. When he had looked up from that scar, he had looked at her with a certain protectiveness that she hadn't been expecting. But she had been unprepared for that and she said "no". She rejected his protection and soon found herself slammed into the opposite wall with his hands around her neck, cutting off her oxygen supply.
When she had found out about Keefe's family and commented on it, she had seen something clear as day on his face. Regret. He had kept his profile to her, which she had learned was something that he did not do. His unflinching stare was a weapon he had mastered and he used it with abundance. He knew that he was showing signs of weakness by showing that he had a conscience, and Lisa knew well enough to know that he was not going to just hand that kind of leverage over to her willingly.
Then there had been the moment that she had told him about that horrible afternoon and what that creep had done to her and he had stared at her with a kind of awe. His handsome face had been the picture of concern as he muttered that comforting phrase in a voice that would have hushed a baby's crying. It has been the hardest thing she had ever done when she made her next move. To be that brutal was not something that was in her nature, but especially not when the person, Jackson Rippner or not, was being so incredibly compassionate. But she had done it because she had known that it was the only thing that she could do at the time.
That had been the last softness of character she had seen in Jackson Rippner until the moment she stood over him after her father had shot him. At first, he had looked up at her with a scathing gaze that screamed bloody murder. But, as she looked down at him, his expression had changed. His face relaxed and she would have sworn on her life that he had smiled at her.
It was those four moment and the hour or so before they boarded the plane that haunted Lisa and kept her from sleep. It was the thought that if circumstances had been different, she could have easily been happy with Jackson Rippner.
It had been a year and a half since that incident on the plane and she had moved on with her life the best that she could. She had thrown herself headfirst back into her work once she had been cleared of any wrong doing and gotten herself certified to carry mace. Every other aspect of her life had stayed pretty much the same. She didn't go out and socialize, though she had started going to dinner once a week with Cynthia, who had turned out to be a pretty good friend to have around. She still woke up in the middle of the night with a craving for scrambled eggs and her drink of choice was still a seabreeze, though she would probably never let another man buy her one for as long as she lived.
What distressed her more than anything else was that Jackson had been able to get her to open up to him, which was something that no man had been able to do since her rape and no man had been able to do it again. Something about him had charmed her that day and it was still with her. She missed him. How sick was that? She missed the man who had beaten her senseless, held her father hostage, and tried to force her into helping him and whoever it was that he worked for to murder an innocent family. Issues. Issues didn't even begin to cover her and her relationships. But, in a way, she had a bond with Jackson that nobody else would ever be able to even touch.
Maybe she was truly deranged, but some nights she would just lie in her bed and think about the 'what if's and the 'might have been's that could have turned into her life had Jackson not been the sadistic assassin that he had turned out to be. What if he had been Jackson Rippner, lawyer...or cook...or accountant...something stupid and boring like that? Would she have given him her number? She thought about his charming attitude at the Tex Mex and immediately knew the answer to that question. Yes. She would have given it to him in a heartbeat had he asked. Other nights, she chided herself for being so silly and dwelling on things that would never be true. Then some nights, she wondered what she would do if she ever saw him again.
Every night ended with the same conclusion. The next morning, she would get up, go to work, stay hours longer than needed, and come home and start the vicious cycle all over again. It was her life in the day to day. That was how she had always survived. Female driven emotion based reactions to everything.