Disclaimer: I own no part of Red Eye, and am in no way earning any profit off this story. It is fan fiction, and is written for enjoyment, not monetary gain.
"Shit! Everybody get down!"
The plane, leaking fuel and on fire, had finally exploded. Huge balls of flame and smoke rocked the area, sending pieces of the airplane scattering across the tarmac. Most of it, however, just simply collapsed in on itself, creating a ten-foot pile of flaming, twisted metal.
As the police rounded up the last of the terrorists and hauled them off to jail, others checked the number of survivors. According to the stewardesses, the entire staff crew – including the pilot – had made it out alive.
"Did all the passengers make it?" one of the officers asked a small group of survivors. The answer was undecided. A few had been killed during the flight, but no one had been on the plane when it blew, apparently.
As they were sending people off in ambulances and police cruisers, one of the officers suddenly jolted out of his phone call.
"Hang on – there's someone still buried under all the rubble!" he took off in the direction of the plane, running as fast as his legs could carry him. Though he ran jerkily, as if he wasn't used to the long strides he was capable of making.
"What? Wait!" his commanding officer did a double-take and then ran after him.
A couple of them followed the pair to the now-smoldering pile of wreckage. Most of it was scraps of twisted, half-melted blackened metal. "How could anyone have survived that? And they wouldn't be alive now…"
"She is, she is, I know she is." the officer mumbled, prying open a spot near where the rear exit was.
Quite suddenly, long wavy brown-red hair and a body came into view.
"Oh my God! Somebody get an ambulance over here!"
She had a pulse; weak and thready but it was there. She was barely breathing, unconscious as she was, she was still alive.
"Shit, Jones. How did you know?" another officer asked.
"Huh? How did I know what?" he asked, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Uh…did I fall asleep or something…?"
Lisa woke up to the bleary world of hums and beeping.
"Oooh, she's awake!" a female voice said, and footsteps hurried away across a tiled floor, clacking as she went.
Lisa blinked several times before any part of her world came into focus. She was hooked up to at least a dozen different machines, and as she turned her head to look down at her arms, she saw she was hooked up to three different stands; one was red – blood, probably. Another was clear. Plasma? Morphine? The third was a pale shade of blue, she had no idea what that was.
"Good evening, Miss Reisart. Glad to see you're still with us." said a friendly, older male voice. A large, older man with white hair and green scrubs looked down at her with a smile. "I'm Dr. Adams. You gave us quite a fright there."
She sat up in urgency, worried. "The plane! The hostages! They – "
"Hush, now, everyone's fine." he nodded. "A few people are in the hospital, but no one's injuries were as bad as yours. We've had to give you some skin grafts and a lot of blood."
She lay back, feeling exhausted. "My father…"
"I'm afraid visiting hours are long since past over, Miss Reisart. It's three-thirty in the morning. However, we'll notify him and he can see you first thing in the morning. You should get more sleep. If you need anything, there is a buzzer near your left hand." he pointed to the side of the bed, and then left.
Lisa was just about to close her eyes and drift off to sleep when she suddenly remembered.
She sat bolt upright, eyes wide with fear. What had happened to him? Was he alright? Was he gone?
A gentle, yet strong arm slowly pushed her back down again. "Leese. You shouldn't get stressed out. Doctor's orders, remember?"
"Jack?" she asked, head turning to look.
He admonished her with a wry grin. "Now, now. Don't get all excited. You'll collapse again. Just lie down."
She obeyed grudgingly, sighing as she laid her head on the pillow. "I thought you were dead."
"In case you haven't noticed, I am dead." he chuckled dryly, perusing through one of the magazines left on the table by her bed. "Dear Lord. They expect hospital patients to get better reading this shit?"
She laughed with pleasure, waves of relief washing over her. "You were worried about me."
"Well, yes." he set the magazine down with a slight sigh. "You did drag me out of a burning plane – at no small risk to your own life! You're lucky you survived at all. You're insane, woman. Stark raving mad! Emotion at its worst! Argh! Women!" he growled, crossing his arms.
She smiled, leaning back. "You're welcome, you arrogant prick."
"But I didn't say – "
They remained in silence for a few minutes.
"You didn't really have to save me, you know. Nothing would've happened to me."
"Then why did you do it?"
She laughed lightly, tiredly. "I'm going to get some more rest. Think about it for awhile. Though I doubt your 'male-driven, fact-based logic' is gonna help you with that one." she closed her eyes.
"Oooh." Jackson growled, clenching his hands into fists. He started to say something witty, but she was already asleep. "You are the most aggravating woman I've ever known."
Her face twitched, ends of her mouth curving upwards, but he didn't see this. His eyes were closed.
Sighing, he leaned back in the chair beside her, and put his legs up on the side of the bed. In a few hours, the sun would come up, and her father would come, and all her friends would come, and it would be a bustle of noise and tears and hugs and love. And he wouldn't have a place any more. He sighed.
But for now, it was just him and Lisa.
And those damned ticking, beeping, and whirring hospital machines.
Him and Lisa.
I hope everyone enjoyed this fic, I certainly enjoyed writing it! Remember, reviews show how much you love me!
By the way, I'm beginning another story for this fandom; hopefully it'll live up to your expectations. Cheers!