Post by Lisa Rippner on Nov 2, 2005 21:33:20 GMT -5
A/N: Alrighty, here we go with another one-shot. lol. It was Halloween, and I had nothing to do, so... I came up with some L/J fluff. Woo!
--------******----------
Their routines were becoming dangerous.
Jackson, parked outside her apartment, would slump down in his seat and stare obsessively at her window. Sometimes he would fall asleep, and dream he’d actually approached her, but those unguarded moments were rare. These nighttime visits occurred every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday.
On days when his profession took priority, he would simply pack up his lab-top, and during off-time would watch her from four separate and concealed web cams he had had installed into her home. She would even look at him sometimes, unknowingly, and he would smile.
He had lain on her bed, once, just to smell her again. It was a busy day at the Lux, and he was bored, so he drove to her apartment, turned his spare key in the lock, and decided to make himself at home. He had flipped through her movies, everything from My Best Friend’s Wedding to Singing in the Rain, before giving up.
She had gone out with Cynthia to a bar, and he had followed her. While they were in the bathroom he instructed the bartender to give her a Seabreeze, and to tell her a friend bought it “For old time’s sake.” It had taken her a week to get over that occurrence.
Jackson didn’t think too much of these routines, this unprofessional stalking. While he knew this wasn’t an attempt to finish the job, or enact revenge, he would admit little passed that. Yes, it was occasionally fun. Yes, he enjoyed seeing her, even looked forward to it. So what?
Lisa’s routines weren’t unlike his. She would come home, every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and expect him to be there not long after her. She would dress for bed—black lingerie pulled tight over a dark robe—, turn out the lights, and file up to her room. Her fingertips would press lightly on the window blinds and she would spot him. He would slump down, almost too far for her to recognize him, but their eyes would meet and she would know him. She would know those crystalline eyes anywhere.
She was aware of him following her. Three or four cars back on her way to work he would be in line, staring ahead with dark sunglasses and tinted windows. Sometimes she was afraid, and she would think, “Today is the day.” But he never acted, leaving her more annoyed than unnerved.
Sometimes he phoned her, but they never spoke. She answered as a professional, and his silence would betray him. So for minutes they would stay on the line, listening to the other breathe, before one of them, usually Lisa, hung up.
She wondered often why she didn’t inform the police. He was a felon, and although she wasn’t helpless, these visits weren’t healthy. But, she argued to herself, he hadn’t attempted anything, at least not yet.
That didn’t stop him from driving her crazy.
As expected, she became fed up with him. So, Thursday evening she waited until three in the morning, when he was slumped so far back she was certain he was asleep. She took her newly bought handgun out of the drawer in the hall desk, stashed in against the lining of her lingerie with the safety lock on, and drew her robe loosely around her. Then she headed out.
The air was chilling, and the rocky cement was rough on her bare feet. As she made her way to the car door, completely visible in the lamp-lit street, there was no movement from him. She stopped, nearly pressed against his car, and looked inside. His eyes were gently shut, his hair mussed along his forehead, and lips were slightly parted. Lisa felt her heartbeat quicken, but swallowed the surfacing feelings down. She fisted her hand and tapped her pale knuckled onto the window.
Jackson shot up, searching frantically for the source of the noise. When he saw her his eyes lit up with momentarily unconcealed panic, but he stopped, letting a deep breath flow through him. When she spoke to him, her words were livid with irritation.
“Get out,” she demanded, eyes narrowed. Jackson raised his eyebrows. “Now,” she reiterated.
Jackson did as told, putting his flat palms up in a sign of willingness. When the car door opened, and he stood half hunched before stretching out, Lisa began to re-think her decision.
“Hi, Lise,” he said casually, then commented: “You’re up early.”
“Well, it’s a little hard to sleep with you parked outside of my apartment!” she shot back.
“Why? Afraid I was going to get you?” he leered, then paused to gather his eyes with pinched fingers.
“You startled me,” he admitted.
“That was the point,” she said.
“Of your visit?” he inquired.
“No. I actually came out here for an explanation.”
“Oh,” he said slowly, feigning comprehension. “So, you want to know why I fell asleep? Face it, Lise, you’re not the most interesting person.” Lisa’s irritation showed in the way she crossed her arms.
“No, I want to know why you stay out here at least three days a week, why you follow me to work, why you call me without saying anything, and why you were in my house. If you’re going to do something, Jack, I want to know why you haven’t done it already.” Her voice was vehement, annoyed, but there was a distinct, though concealed, fervor in the way she searched his eyes.
By the time she had finished her long list of inquiries, Jackson’s eyebrows were slightly raised in interest, and his mouth was barely parted. “What, didn’t you know I knew?” she asked, her eyes alight but narrowed.
“So, you want to know everything?” he summed up.
“Yes, Jack, everything,” she nodded, allowing her curls to curve against her cheeks.
“Alright,” he agreed, and for a moment he tensed, then stepped forward. With every foot he put slowly in front of the other, Lisa began to look more unsure, and put a foot in back of her in an attempt to move away. But Jackson caught up, and she stopped whatever move she had been intent on making.
His eyes were steady on her, and she mirrored his gaze with an anticipation, fearful or otherwise. He brought a hand out of his pocket and let his palm fall gently on the top of her auburn curls. When he moved it along her hair, however, down to the curve of her neck, she jerked away. “Don’t,” she warned.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed, and in a sudden movement he gripped her by the shoulders, flinging her roughly against the car door. The gun smacked painfully into her back, crunching into and bruising the bone. Lisa breathed in sharply, shutting her eyes briefly while the pain flooded through her. Jackson’s breath was hot on her face, warming her lips, but she could only wince at the pain.
“This is why,” he said, and leaned forward to smother her lips with his. Lisa’s hand, which had been inching up to her back, dropped loosely before inching towards his arm. This action edged him on and he pressed himself against her, nuzzling her face before moving his lips away and across her jaw. Lisa leaned her head back, but her brow was furrowed, and she whispered almost inaudibly, “Stop.” Surprisingly, Jackson did as told, repeating, “Stop?”
Lisa nodded, positioning herself against the car in a way that lessened her vulnerability. “I need you to say it,” she said.
Jackson nodded, but he swallowed in an expression of anxiety. His chest was still heaving, and he looked away, then back at her. “I’m out here…” he began, but trailed off. He took a step towards her. “I want to be with you, Lisa. I want to take you to bars, I want to laugh with you, I even want to fight with you!” His nervous eyes betrayed the laughter that followed his confused confession.
Lisa’s eyes narrowed sympathetically, and by the time his grin had faded there were unshed tears at the brims of her eyes. “Aren’t you going to steal me?” she asked softly, and there was something like amusement in her glistening eyes. Jackson smiled, but barely. He put his hands in his pockets and turned his face to the ground.
“Yes,” he said, then looked across at her. “Yes.”
Lisa stared intently at him.
“Come on,” he said, and she moved aside so he could get into the driver’s seat. “Get inside.”
Lisa stared, hesitated.
“Where will we go?” she asked, drawing her robe tighter around her thin frame.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” he sighed. Lisa nodded, climbed in next to him.
“Tex Mex?” she asked.
Jackson smiled; a real, completely charming smile. “It is our anniversary,” he admitted.
Lisa laughed. “I know.”
Jackson shifted, put the vehicle in drive, and pulled onto the street. Lisa, letting her eyes rest in a lazy, half-open stance, put her head against his shoulder.
Their routines would be different, now.
--------******----------
Their routines were becoming dangerous.
Jackson, parked outside her apartment, would slump down in his seat and stare obsessively at her window. Sometimes he would fall asleep, and dream he’d actually approached her, but those unguarded moments were rare. These nighttime visits occurred every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday.
On days when his profession took priority, he would simply pack up his lab-top, and during off-time would watch her from four separate and concealed web cams he had had installed into her home. She would even look at him sometimes, unknowingly, and he would smile.
He had lain on her bed, once, just to smell her again. It was a busy day at the Lux, and he was bored, so he drove to her apartment, turned his spare key in the lock, and decided to make himself at home. He had flipped through her movies, everything from My Best Friend’s Wedding to Singing in the Rain, before giving up.
She had gone out with Cynthia to a bar, and he had followed her. While they were in the bathroom he instructed the bartender to give her a Seabreeze, and to tell her a friend bought it “For old time’s sake.” It had taken her a week to get over that occurrence.
Jackson didn’t think too much of these routines, this unprofessional stalking. While he knew this wasn’t an attempt to finish the job, or enact revenge, he would admit little passed that. Yes, it was occasionally fun. Yes, he enjoyed seeing her, even looked forward to it. So what?
Lisa’s routines weren’t unlike his. She would come home, every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and expect him to be there not long after her. She would dress for bed—black lingerie pulled tight over a dark robe—, turn out the lights, and file up to her room. Her fingertips would press lightly on the window blinds and she would spot him. He would slump down, almost too far for her to recognize him, but their eyes would meet and she would know him. She would know those crystalline eyes anywhere.
She was aware of him following her. Three or four cars back on her way to work he would be in line, staring ahead with dark sunglasses and tinted windows. Sometimes she was afraid, and she would think, “Today is the day.” But he never acted, leaving her more annoyed than unnerved.
Sometimes he phoned her, but they never spoke. She answered as a professional, and his silence would betray him. So for minutes they would stay on the line, listening to the other breathe, before one of them, usually Lisa, hung up.
She wondered often why she didn’t inform the police. He was a felon, and although she wasn’t helpless, these visits weren’t healthy. But, she argued to herself, he hadn’t attempted anything, at least not yet.
That didn’t stop him from driving her crazy.
As expected, she became fed up with him. So, Thursday evening she waited until three in the morning, when he was slumped so far back she was certain he was asleep. She took her newly bought handgun out of the drawer in the hall desk, stashed in against the lining of her lingerie with the safety lock on, and drew her robe loosely around her. Then she headed out.
The air was chilling, and the rocky cement was rough on her bare feet. As she made her way to the car door, completely visible in the lamp-lit street, there was no movement from him. She stopped, nearly pressed against his car, and looked inside. His eyes were gently shut, his hair mussed along his forehead, and lips were slightly parted. Lisa felt her heartbeat quicken, but swallowed the surfacing feelings down. She fisted her hand and tapped her pale knuckled onto the window.
Jackson shot up, searching frantically for the source of the noise. When he saw her his eyes lit up with momentarily unconcealed panic, but he stopped, letting a deep breath flow through him. When she spoke to him, her words were livid with irritation.
“Get out,” she demanded, eyes narrowed. Jackson raised his eyebrows. “Now,” she reiterated.
Jackson did as told, putting his flat palms up in a sign of willingness. When the car door opened, and he stood half hunched before stretching out, Lisa began to re-think her decision.
“Hi, Lise,” he said casually, then commented: “You’re up early.”
“Well, it’s a little hard to sleep with you parked outside of my apartment!” she shot back.
“Why? Afraid I was going to get you?” he leered, then paused to gather his eyes with pinched fingers.
“You startled me,” he admitted.
“That was the point,” she said.
“Of your visit?” he inquired.
“No. I actually came out here for an explanation.”
“Oh,” he said slowly, feigning comprehension. “So, you want to know why I fell asleep? Face it, Lise, you’re not the most interesting person.” Lisa’s irritation showed in the way she crossed her arms.
“No, I want to know why you stay out here at least three days a week, why you follow me to work, why you call me without saying anything, and why you were in my house. If you’re going to do something, Jack, I want to know why you haven’t done it already.” Her voice was vehement, annoyed, but there was a distinct, though concealed, fervor in the way she searched his eyes.
By the time she had finished her long list of inquiries, Jackson’s eyebrows were slightly raised in interest, and his mouth was barely parted. “What, didn’t you know I knew?” she asked, her eyes alight but narrowed.
“So, you want to know everything?” he summed up.
“Yes, Jack, everything,” she nodded, allowing her curls to curve against her cheeks.
“Alright,” he agreed, and for a moment he tensed, then stepped forward. With every foot he put slowly in front of the other, Lisa began to look more unsure, and put a foot in back of her in an attempt to move away. But Jackson caught up, and she stopped whatever move she had been intent on making.
His eyes were steady on her, and she mirrored his gaze with an anticipation, fearful or otherwise. He brought a hand out of his pocket and let his palm fall gently on the top of her auburn curls. When he moved it along her hair, however, down to the curve of her neck, she jerked away. “Don’t,” she warned.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed, and in a sudden movement he gripped her by the shoulders, flinging her roughly against the car door. The gun smacked painfully into her back, crunching into and bruising the bone. Lisa breathed in sharply, shutting her eyes briefly while the pain flooded through her. Jackson’s breath was hot on her face, warming her lips, but she could only wince at the pain.
“This is why,” he said, and leaned forward to smother her lips with his. Lisa’s hand, which had been inching up to her back, dropped loosely before inching towards his arm. This action edged him on and he pressed himself against her, nuzzling her face before moving his lips away and across her jaw. Lisa leaned her head back, but her brow was furrowed, and she whispered almost inaudibly, “Stop.” Surprisingly, Jackson did as told, repeating, “Stop?”
Lisa nodded, positioning herself against the car in a way that lessened her vulnerability. “I need you to say it,” she said.
Jackson nodded, but he swallowed in an expression of anxiety. His chest was still heaving, and he looked away, then back at her. “I’m out here…” he began, but trailed off. He took a step towards her. “I want to be with you, Lisa. I want to take you to bars, I want to laugh with you, I even want to fight with you!” His nervous eyes betrayed the laughter that followed his confused confession.
Lisa’s eyes narrowed sympathetically, and by the time his grin had faded there were unshed tears at the brims of her eyes. “Aren’t you going to steal me?” she asked softly, and there was something like amusement in her glistening eyes. Jackson smiled, but barely. He put his hands in his pockets and turned his face to the ground.
“Yes,” he said, then looked across at her. “Yes.”
Lisa stared intently at him.
“Come on,” he said, and she moved aside so he could get into the driver’s seat. “Get inside.”
Lisa stared, hesitated.
“Where will we go?” she asked, drawing her robe tighter around her thin frame.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” he sighed. Lisa nodded, climbed in next to him.
“Tex Mex?” she asked.
Jackson smiled; a real, completely charming smile. “It is our anniversary,” he admitted.
Lisa laughed. “I know.”
Jackson shifted, put the vehicle in drive, and pulled onto the street. Lisa, letting her eyes rest in a lazy, half-open stance, put her head against his shoulder.
Their routines would be different, now.
