Chapter 17: Thank You For Flying Fresh Air

January, 2013

Jackson startled Lisa when he put his cold hands on her neck. A swift peck on the corner of her mouth and a rushed "See you later" was all she got in a fast-paced scene that denied her a moment to protest his unexpected chilly touch.

"Be careful," she called out to him as he shut the door. Lisa closed the lid to the laptop and stepped away from the dining room table. She watched out the kitchen window as Jackson got into Frank's silver Corvette and the duo drove off to the police track for some driving practice.

Jackson was back on his feet, more or less. He was not as agile or quick as he had been, but he was whole again—healthy both in mind and body, she thought. They were now to the point where he was training to be at the top of his game once more, and that involved a lot of fine tuning and patience. It must be nice to be in such an optimistic stage of transition in life.

After they had driven out of sight, Lisa ran upstairs and retrieved her cell phone. She sat on the edge of the bed and allowed herself to slide off of it and onto the floor as she pressed the screen.

She didn't have to wait long for the person on the other end of the line to answer. "It's Lisa Reisert," she said uncomfortably, not sure if the other person would recognize her voice or even know who just plain "Lisa" was. "Can you talk?"

Jackson gunned the engine a few times and Frank scrutinized him. "Been a while, huh?"

Jackson nodded. He hadn't driven a vehicle at all whatsoever since the accident and he wasn't sure if his coordination was up to par for it.

"Take it around the track a few times," Frank instructed, indicating the circular outer ring of the track. Jackson shifted the vehicle into drive and slowly moved it to the designated area.

"How are things going?" Frank inquired open-endedly. The two had shared very little contact since the Piper incident and Frank didn't want to grill the man that he was actually starting to think of as a legitimate friend.

The car accelerated up to seventy miles per hour. "As well as can be expected."

Frank waited for more, but more never came. He kept his gaze trained ahead. "Is that so?" he asked mockingly, hoping to encourage additional information from Jackson.

Jackson sighed. "I'm leaving in a few months. We're trying not to make a big deal out of it."

Frank stole a quick glance at Jackson, whose steely eyes were locked on the road. "We are, are we?"

Jackson swallowed hard. "We are." After a heavy beat, he continued. "There are too many threats out there for me to stay with her. We're better off splitting up, going our own ways."

"You said that you're leaving—that means she's staying."

"Right."

"And you're not."

"Right again."

"Why?"

"Because I'll just attract trouble."

"You're not afraid they're going to come after her?"

Jackson's mouth was going dry and he was having trouble breathing in small, shallow breaths. "My only hope is that her cover here is secure and she'll be safe without me."

Frank snickered. "You little prick. You're running. You're afraid."

Jackson slammed on the brakes and the car slid to a stop horizontally. He turned in the driver's seat toward Frank, his wrist propped on the steering wheel and his elbow on the back of the seat.

"I'm emotionally compromised by her and that's the biggest threat of all. I need to put some distance between us if I want to properly protect her," Jackson rushed out without any pauses or hesitation. "Secondly, that was the plan from the beginning. I'm a virus infecting her little by little every day of exposure. The only cure for her is for me to leave. She can be happy and healthy and just live…even if it isn't with me."

"You really do love her."

"I don't have that right. I don't deserve it." He snorted in contempt. "I don't deserve her. There was a time when I had categorized and compartmentalized everything so well that I didn't see why I couldn't just have her like anything else I might want, but now I see that the best thing for her is freedom and security. When I'm with her, she can't truly be free or safe."

"Have you talked to her about this?"

Jackson straightened in his seat, his hand still dangling over the wheel at the wrist. He huffed.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" Frank answered for him. "It's her life. She has a right to decide for herself what she wants and what risks she's willing to take."

"What about me? Don't I get a choice?" As soon as Jackson realized what he had said, he bitterly recalled hearing the same thing from Lisa.

"You do, but so far, the only choice you've made is avoidance and denying both of you the opportunity to choose." Jackson started to swell up and pout, a subtle expression that was evident only by the tightening of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyelids. Frank was astounded at how composed he could be even when he was angst-ridden. "You know, as cheesy as it is, it's still true: sometimes love is worth the risk."

Lisa added a small handful of marshmallows to her hot chocolate. It was juvenile, but it was too delicious a tradition to change. She put her stirring spoon in the sink and looked up as the school bus dropped off the newest neighbor kids down the street on the other side of Frank and Anna's house. The family had just moved in a few weeks prior and the kids were just now on a regular schedule. She and Jackson had yet to meet the family, and they certainly had no plans to go out of their way to meet them. The fewer people that were in their lives, the better.

She hated living the lie as the mysterious couple down the street, but living the lie was the law of their land. It was their existence. It was ironic that Jackson, who hated lies, was surrounded by them and that their very survival depended on it. Worse than that, she hated lying to Jackson. As she watched the kids and the normalcy of the world outside her kitchen window, she felt an ache in her heart. She longed to tell Jackson the truth about what she had done, but he would never forgive her, or, perhaps even worse than that, he would take responsibility for what she had done and would never forgive himself. It might be a lie, but it was for his own good.

When the school bus turned around and drove out of the neighborhood, Lisa was able to spot Frank's Corvette coming back to drop off Jackson.

As Jackson observed the kids shuffling about on the bus, he wondered what his life would have been like in a different world. He was not prone to such philosophical mind rambles, but the healthier he grew, the closer he came to his old routines, the nearer he approached the end of his faux-life he lived with Lisa, the more he pondered what might have been or what could be. He had a choice, according to Agent King, but according to his mind, there was no choice.

When the four neighbor kids jumped out of the bus and scurried for the sidewalk, Jackson couldn't help picturing himself staying with Lisa. It would all be happiness and rainbows until they were discovered by the Company or a different government's agency or the Mafia or a former target from an old assignment. They would go on the run, living in the woods or in abandoned buildings usually home to crack-heads and arms dealers. Their bodies would wither down into nothingness as they went for days without food or proper rest. They would be prone to illness from living in the cold, wet world. Lisa, indifferent to life, would contentedly follow his lead, looking at him like a god to be adored unconditionally. Her unwavering devotion would make him hate himself more every single day.

Maybe this was their destiny.

Or maybe not.

Maybe they could live happily ever after. Jackson would make an honest woman out of Lisa and get a nine-to-five job with a suit and tie. He'd come home to the wife and kids to find out his precious Lisa had another bruise from their demonic son who inherited Jackson's darkness. She would lie and say it was an accident, that she had unintentionally hit her head on the cabinet while doing the dishes and their son would stare at his father with the same cold, dead eyes Jackson had pierced into his own father before he murdered him. Their son would be a monster who was impossible to fight.

Maybe this was their destiny.

Or maybe not.

Maybe if Jackson hadn't killed his father, he never would have been recruited by the Company, never would have morphed into the soulless creature he was today, never would have met Lisa, and the world would have been all the better for it. Or maybe his meeting Lisa was inevitable, that they would have found each other and been better for it, healing one another's wounds without picking newly formed scabs in the process.

Maybe they would have been perfect for one another no matter what.

Or maybe not.

The bus turned and left the neighborhood, and Frank drove forward to drop off Jackson at his house.

February, 2013

Jackson grunted as he tumbled back and fell onto the floor after losing his balance to avoid Lisa's high roundhouse kick.

"You okay?" she asked, dropping to her knees and touching him everywhere from his face to his chest and arms to make sure he was still solid and unbroken.

He coughed as he tried to catch his breath. "Nothing's broken but my pride." He let himself lie down completely on the floor. He dropped his arm over his sweaty face to keep the light out of his eyes. He groaned.

"You were the one who said you were ready," Lisa reminded him.

Jackson groaned again, this time at how obnoxious her voice could be when she was perky. He groaned a third time, and Lisa laughed at his melodramatic resistance.

"Come on," she urged, standing up and tugging him to his feet. He was a little wobbly and leaned against her for a few moments as he got his senses straight. "Don't tell me you were this big a wuss when you learned how to fight the first time." She was taunting him. That little "I played every sport and led the cheerleading squad" bitch was taunting him. Lisa "Fastest Guns in Florida" Reisert was taunting him. That simply would not do.

"I guess the learning process works better after several near death experiences. Maybe if you shot me on a regular basis instead of several times every seven years, this would go a little faster."

Lisa quickly became somber at his words. "Jackson, I'm sorry…" It sounded pathetic and empty, but it was all she had. To say that she felt horrible for almost killing him was an understatement of epic proportions, but it was all she could do.

He shook his head. "Now who's being a wuss?" She smiled a tiny upturn of her lips, a sentiment that failed to reach her upset eyes. "It's okay. Let's go again."

She nodded and took a few jabs at him, and he avoided and deflected them nicely. Then she added in footwork. She was safe with him, doing nothing that was too challenging. "Step it up, Leese. I have to learn."

She repeated the same attack that she had used a few moments prior: the roundhouse kick. He blocked her leg with his arm while kicking her standing leg out from under her. As she went down, she grabbed onto him and he fell on top of her and forced out a less than dignified grunt from both of them.

"Aww," Lisa half-moaned, half-chuckled dejectedly. Jackson put his hands on the floor on either side of her to hold his weight off of her. "We should stop for tonight," she finally decreed. He made no effort to move.

They were sweaty and tired and disgusting, but he still leaned down and unexpectedly claimed her mouth with his own. His tongue danced with hers for the first time in months and the only reaction her body could come up with was a simple moan—of relief, victory at last, or merely gratification, she didn't know which. Jackson's weight came back down on her unexpectedly as he knotted one hand in her hair and let the other explore parts of her body that he had almost completely forgotten. She untangled her legs from under his and wrapped them tightly around his waist. He grunted as their most intimate regions were reunited despite being separated by their own respective clothing. Jackson momentarily broke their kiss when he pulled his head back and hissed at the sensation of himself quickly hardening from the clothed friction she was inflicting upon him. Their mouths reconnected hungrily as their bodies began to grind into each other and writhe desperately.

Jackson leaned back and dropped himself into a sitting position on the floor, and he forced Lisa along for the ride. She kept her legs wrapped around him and their mouths separated only long enough for each to jerk off the other's soaked t-shirt. He struggled with her sports bra, but his frustration was well worth the wait as he found himself rewarded with the sensitive and alert state of her newly freed breasts. His lips trailed alternating wet and dry kisses from her mouth down to her chest as he returned her to the floor beneath him so they could go to work on removing their pants. Lisa pushed him off of her, momentarily alarming him for the wrong reasons, but he was both reassured and satisfied to find out she only wanted to peel off her own pants and underwear rather than wait for him to deal with it. He shoved his own garments off and rendezvoused with her just in time.

His mouth returned to her chest, biting and licking at each nipple before he migrated southward, his tongue leaving a trail for him to find his way back should he wish to return. When he arrived at her navel, he reverently kissed the exterior of her empty womb. His action unintentionally caused her to feel overwhelmed by guilt, loss, and emptiness, the three emotions that she hoped she would never have to share with him. They were her burdens alone. She grabbed his hair, which was just barely long enough to run her fingers through, and pulled him back up to her mouth.

While he was distracted by their kiss, she reached down and did some exploration of her own. She returned her legs around his waist as she both rubbed and scratched at his back, neck, and shoulders. His body had changed since they were last together, but he felt more muscular and looked more alive than he had in months. Lisa's other hand teasingly traveled down his chest, tracing each subtle line of muscles until she finally reached an area that had to feel painfully rigid to him. When she wrapped her hands around him, he instinctively bit down on her lip until he regained his senses a few seconds later and confiscated her hands to pin them against the floor on either side of her head.

Most men wanted to be touched, to exchange oral carnalities, but Jackson resisted with a fiery resentment. Lisa could only assume it was his issues with women that caused him to refuse to do what he considered to be disrespectful to the fairer sex, no matter how consensual or pleasurable it may be for both partners. She wanted to give him so much, but he continually declined her. In so many ways, they were both sexually scarred and had to maintain control by their own means.

Jackson's full weight was upon her for a few moments before he shifted his position enough to lighten her enjoyable burden. Neither could take it any longer, so he plunged inside of her without advance warning or preparation and almost instantly drilled himself in completely. Despite the moist evidence that she was physically prepared for his presence within her, she screamed—verbal for the first time ever while with him—at the unexpected entrance and he stopped dead in his tracks, mentally cursing himself for being so insensitive, for forgetting her unique needs and considerations. His hold on her wrists was all but imaginary as she lifted her hands up and traced his face, nodding her consent and approval.

"I love you," she whispered as she locked her arms around his neck and pulled their bodies completely together. Neither was able to hold back any longer, so they continued onward, meeting each other thrust for thrust, cry for cry, and release for release.

Later that night, still on the floor of the training room, Lisa was fast asleep in his arms, but sleep was not an option for him as he was too distracted by the treasure he held. He gently combed his fingers through her hair, not disturbing her even in the least.

"I love you," he breathed into her ear before closing his eyes.

March, 2013

Upon passing the house for the second time, Jackson realized his stamina didn't last as long as he thought it would. Running had been so easy before. It had become a habit as natural as breathing, but now he was panting and sweating on lap two like he did on lap five over a year ago. It was the middle of the night and, despite Lisa's protests, he was running alone around the neighborhood after midnight. He wanted to return to a sense of normalcy first and foremost, but the reason he secretly harbored in the privacy of his own thoughts was that he needed some alone time to think. Running was his time away and it provided solitude where only his own mental voice could nag at him.

Unfortunately, the voice that usually conversed (or, more appropriately, argued) with him during his runs was absent. He was a man with a conflict, a very real problem that needed to be solved efficiently in a timely manner, yet his old friends Ego, Superego, and Id didn't want to speak up for a change, those good-for-nothing, traitorous bastards. He absently ran the back of his hand over his forehead and eyes to wipe the dripping sweat before forcing his speed up a notch.

If he couldn't run toward an answer, he would settle for running from the problem.

Lisa shook her head disappointedly as she closed the curtain and stepped away from the front downstairs window. She had felt Jackson slip from bed and when she confronted him about running this late at night, he brushed her off as if none of it mattered at all—that there was no near death experience, no Piper still hiding behind every bush, no government that might wake up and decide to arrest him at any given moment. She had let him convince her that these things were not as earth-shaking as they appeared on the surface, but watching him force himself to maintain a pace up to his previous standards told her he was pushing himself for a reason. Obviously Jackson wanted to recover and return to his normal lifestyle as soon as possible in order to protect both of them, but she could tell from the way his shadow trudged exhaustedly through the night that he was bothered by the thing that weighed heavily on both their minds.

Because she knew there was nothing she could do about it, Lisa set aside all of her concerns and pulled up her Facebook account. Even though Lisa had "died" several months back, her father had told her family over the Christmas holiday that she was in fact alive. Her brothers were thrilled but angry, relieved but resentful, yet overall, simply thankful. She had set up a new Facebook account shortly after under an alias so that her family could communicate with her using their own respective pseudonyms. As she scanned through the disguised messages of her father, her brothers, and their wives and kids, she came across a message from alias "Uncle Dave": "Glad you're well, kiddo! Hope to see you soon!"

She smiled. He was like family—no, he was family. Lisa was glad her father had told Duke that she was alive and well. She hoped that she would see her family, including Duke, soon.

April, 2013

Because they had returned to the house during the onset of winter, Lisa had settled for mowing the front lawn one quick time before leaving it unattended during the long cold season. Now that the weather was warming, the grass was starting to grow again. Normally Jackson tackled the outdoor chores, but Lisa insisted that she could handle it for him while he went to the track with Frank. The front yard had been a simple enough task, but when she started mowing the unkempt wilderness that was the backyard, she learned to appreciate the importance of weekly maintenance.

As she mowed near the back fence, she encountered a large obstacle in her way. She turned off the mower and went to move the long-forgotten oak tree that Anna and Frank had given them as a welcome gift at the start of this entire fiasco. Lisa grabbed the modestly tall tree and jerked on it with the intention of hauling it out of the way, but it didn't budge in the least. She tugged again to no avail. She pushed aside the high grass that surrounded it and realized that the tree, despite neglect that stemmed from never actually being removed from the cheap plastic pot it came in, had sprouted roots that had burst out through the plastic container. It was strong and healthy, and it had deemed this place, this back spot where it had been carelessly tossed out of sight and out of mind all this time, as its home for life as it clung to the life-giving ground with all its might. Against the odds, it had struggled and won.

Contrary to Lisa's doubts and fears, she smiled. Maybe there was a chance after all.

What Really Happened in September, 2012

King was amazed at how Jackson still managed to seem imposing and intimidating despite being physically weak, battered, and in a wheelchair on top of a hospital roof. The two continued their private discussion.

"So I would run around as bait for you to catch the Company. With my consent or not, I will work for you one way or another."

King nodded proudly. "Precisely."

"Fuck that," Jackson crudely retorted. "If I want to be somebody's bitch, I'll take my chances in prison."

King raised his eyebrows. "True as that may be, I have something to offer you that prison cannot…"

"What might that be?"

"Lisa." Jackson's jaw clinched and his eyes narrowed at King's low blow tactic, but it certainly piqued his interest. Was there anyone who didn't get the memo that he and Lisa were…lovers? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Fake married couple? Whatever they were—stupid labels—it was no one's business, especially the no ones who planned on using it against them. "So I hear you're planning to leave her."

"I am. It's best for everyone."

"What would you say if I offered you a job?" he repeated his earlier prompt more officially this time.

"With all due respect, Agent King, I've turned down this job offer once already because I don't trust Keefe."

"I don't either, but this has nothing to do with Keefe. I'm offering you a job—and Keefe doesn't know about it. Keefe wants to run the investigation and take-down of the Company, but I don't trust a man who was Company and has demonstrated on several occasions that he still may have ambiguous loyalties."

Ambiguous loyalties. Jackson couldn't help admiring King for noticing that too, and secretly he was pleased that someone else thought Keefe was a little too good to be true and that it wasn't just Jackson's paranoia getting the best of him.

"But you trust me?"

"Hardly. I trust what I know and you're the devil I know."

Jackson was actually starting to tolerate, perhaps even like this guy. He smirked arrogantly, satisfied at being the devil and fiendishly curious as to how King thought he knew him so well.

"So tell me what you think you know."

"I know that for years you had no allegiances or ties to hold you back, but now you have a woman you are willing to die for and almost did. That tells me you are completely faithful and true to one thing, one person, in this world, and the only type of man who would compromise himself in such a way is a man in love. A man in love is emotional, and more than that, he's selfish. I can give you what you want: your freedom and a life with Lisa. All you have to do is sign on the dotted line. The price of a happy life with the woman you love is nothing more than working for the good guys to take down the bad guys."

"Sell my soul to the government?"

"Or you could run for it as a fugitive, leaving Lisa alone and vulnerable. She's already a mark for anyone paying attention in this game, but if you leave, the target will glow in neon red. You've paid your dues for your sins with the Company, so take the high road and live the life you want with the woman you want—and serve your country with honor at the same time."

If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

The biggest lie is the easiest lie to believe.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm the only one in this world who is honest. At the end of the day, we are only as good as the integrity we demonstrate toward others. When I give you my word, it's as true as law. In this case, it's as true as the law of gravity."

Liars were usually the ones who declared their honesty the loudest, but for some reason, Jackson could believe King's Boy Scout routine was indeed sincere. He wasn't speaking in some deeply symbolic language. His intended meaning was written in plain English on the surface. The Company had to go. Someone had to destroy them. Unfortunately, only someone who knew them would be adequately qualified for the job. It was indeed as true as the law of gravity. For all these years, the Company had gone up, but—

"What goes up must come down."

"Precisely. So, what do you think?" King inquired once he had finished. Jackson remained silent, but a brooding and foreboding expression haunted his features. "Think about it. Get back to me once you've made up your mind."

May, 2013

Jackson couldn't sleep. Although it usually helped soothe all of his anxieties and doubts, Lisa's warm, soft body curled up against his seemed to be doing nothing but adding to his stress on this particular night. He peeled her arm's snug hold off of his chest, slid out from under her leg, and eased himself out of the bed. He froze mid-stance as the mattress creaked, but when she did not stir, he continued his escape. Jackson stealthily sneaked out of their shared bedroom and into his long-empty room. With careful attention and precision, he shut the door without a sound.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his head buried in his hands. He had a choice to make and the time had come to make that choice. He picked up his cell phone off of the bedside table and pressed the screen a few times until he found the number. Jackson stared at it, giving himself one last chance to talk himself out of what he was about to do. The bright light of the smart phone's screen was an eerie spotlight on his sleep-deprived face in the pitch black bedroom. It was like having the proverbial light of day, the clarity of knowledge, shining brilliantly upon him.

In the end, the choice was simple. In fact, there was no choice in the matter. It was a clear-cut situation with an easy answer. He dialed the number and sighed in resignation at the resolution that would change his life forever. There was no going back from this—no do-overs, no wishing things had turned out differently, no regrets.

Agent King answered on the other end.

Jackson hesitated before finally forcing out the words: "I've made my decision."

Jackson's eyes strayed over the top of his raised menu. He was more interested in watching Lisa examine the vast listing of Italian dishes. He liked how her eyes squinted and her brow crinkled, even though this was not a major mental exercise by any means. She took everything so seriously, even picking just the right meal. It wasn't just about what she wanted, Jackson had discovered, but it was about what she needed. Even if she wasn't in the mood for something with pesto sauce, for example, she may need it simply because it had been so long since she last enjoyed it that it would unexpectedly hit the spot at this very moment, making her dining experience even better. Jackson truly doubted that Lisa had any clue whatsoever as to what she was doing, what she always did during such mundane activities, but if he didn't love her, her adorable quirks would have ceased to amuse him long ago. Now, it was endearing. Sort of.

"What?" She sheepishly lowered her menu when she caught him staring at her.

He shook his head and smirked. "Nothing."

The subject was quickly changed when the server interrupted to take their orders. Jackson didn't like the expression on the girl's face, specifically how she had a suspicious knowing smile on her lips as she seemed to pay more attention to them rather than their orders.

"Are you strapped?" Jackson asked when he was sure the girl was out of earshot.

"You treated me to a romantic dinner in New York City. Of course I'm strapped," she deadpanned, leaning forward ever so slightly. To the casual observer, she was merely sitting a little closer to the table, but Jackson could tell she was holding her fingers against the cold metal handgun that was holstered on a strap around her thigh. Her dress may have been red and rather tight, but the weapon was perfectly hidden with a professional touch.

Lisa was momentarily startled when the waitress reappeared, this time with a plate of appetizers.

"We didn't order this," Jackson firmly told her.

"It's on the house. We know how to take care of Family around here," she insisted pleasantly. "Enjoy."

Lisa stared at the food as if it were ticking while Jackson's keen attention remained on the retreating girl. "Company?" Lisa speculated.

"No," he responded with a small shake of his head. "Much worse." He redirected his attention to Lisa. "Mafia." Jackson got up from the table and inaudibly communicated with Lisa: cover me. She pulled the gun out of the holster and concealed it with her napkin in her lap.

Jackson inconspicuously adjusted his jacket as he headed for the servers' station. Their waitress was alone and organizing wine glasses when he came up behind her and clamped his hand over her mouth. Her muffled half-screams went unnoticed amid the sound of music and conversation in the restaurant. He dragged her down the hallway and into the empty women's restroom. He locked the door and forced her to walk to the last of three stalls so their discussion would not be overheard.

She moaned into his hand and continued to futilely struggle against him, but it was hardly a fight. Even at her most emotional, Lisa had more fire in her than this girl.

"I'm going to ask you some questions and you're going to answer them on your best behavior." She nodded the best she could with him holding her steady in place. "Who do you work for?"

Jackson slid his hand off her mouth just enough for her to talk, but he could easily cover any unexpected yell for help should she decide to do something foolish.

"No one."

"Bad answer," he chastised her as he tightened his hold around her neck. She was now standing on her tiptoes to keep from completely choking herself in the crook of his arm. "Who do you work for?" he tried again.

"No one. My Grandpa knows you. He always said that we take care of Family!"

"Who's Grandpa?"

"Anthony Marconi!"

Jackson released the girl and she fell forward against the wall. She held herself a few moments while she coughed and attempted to stabilize her breathing as she clutched at her throat.

"Marconi's still in prison," Jackson stated.

She nodded. "He knows about your escape and that you're out there, here, somewhere," she said with a random wave of her hand. "He told us that you're Family and if you ever come around for a slice of pizza or to ask us to slice off somebody's body part, we're supposed to take care of you, no questions, no conditions." She stopped talking and focused on her breathing again. "He really likes you. Whatever you did for him in prison turned out to be bigger and better than anything he ever expected from you, so you're in good with him no matter what. You're one of his for life."

Jackson wanted to laugh. He hated Mobsters in general and what few dealings he had experienced with them were unsavory to say the least. Now he was listening to a girl tell him that not only was he in favor with her Mobster grandfather, but that the old man owed him big time. This was hysterical.

The girl stood up straight. "I recognized your girlfriend from her picture in the news and that's how I figured out that it was actually you."

"You should have started with 'hello.'"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's not how things work around here. We don't advertise who we are and what we're doing. And all I was doing was giving you guys an appetizer that says 'Welcome to the Family.'"

Jackson slid back into his seat across from Lisa and she exhaled. He heard a few soft clicking sounds as she locked her gun securely and returned it into the holster. "Mr. Marconi is apparently our Fairy Godfather, with the emphasis on Godfather, of course."

"What?"

"He wants to take care of me—us. In prison, I revamped his entire organization, including money trails and communication formats. Apparently this led him to the point that he could successfully destroy an enemy family from the comfort of his own jail cell. Now he wants to show me his gratitude with a proverbial blank check that's good anywhere his Family happens to be."

"That's good, right?" Lisa asked just before taking a much needed sip of her wine.

He shrugged. "I'm still not terribly fond of the Mafia, but who am I to turn down a potential ally in an impending war. On a lighter note, I'm now just a little bit afraid to eat the food from this restaurant."

Lisa pondered the implications for a moment as she stared down at the stuffed mushrooms and contemplated what the stuffing might have included. "Frank recommended this place," she mused as Jackson joined her in a suspicious analysis of the food. "I mean, he was a cop and surely he'd know…"

He laughed nervously. "I doubt they hide dead bodies in the food," Jackson concluded. "But based on what just happened with our server, I wouldn't steal bites from my plate, if I were you…"

They didn't make it through the entire meal. Just before their main dishes arrived, Lisa faked an allergic reaction to the mushrooms and the duo quickly paid for their uneaten meal and left. Neither had the nerve to remain in a place where their identities had already been discovered, nor did they have the desire to eat food of a questionable origin. Jackson already knew he was getting the "spit special" after his "conversation" with the waitress, Marconi's granddaughter, in the restroom, so it was all only able to go downhill from that point onward.

They made life easy and stopped at Subway on the way back to the house. In the dim candlelight, they ate their sandwiches while sitting on the floor in front of the couch. They still wore their dinner clothes, but his jacket was off, her hair was down, and both of their shoes were tossed away hazards that they would inevitably trip over when they blindly climbed the stairs for bed.

"This reminds me," she said around a mouthful of grilled chicken on wheat, "of when we first moved in." Lisa swallowed her food and boyishly wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. "We ate take-out on the floor a lot over there," she stated, indicating the dining room with a nod. They seldom used that room anymore. It was a grave where all their theories, notes, and plans had died quite suddenly. Their chaotic ramblings remained tattooed on the walls and, as of yet, neither had a chance to paint over the mess and try to make it look a little more hospitable.

"I remember," was his simple melancholic reply. "You hate Chinese food because your fortunes always come true," he proudly reiterated for her. She smiled broadly at his recollection. She was pleased that not every memory was lost when he was injured. He poured them some more wine, filling the regular glasses all the way to the top. This was not an occasion for actual wine glasses when ordinary ones would suffice. "I'm going to miss this the most," he admitted. She gave him a skeptical, questioning look. "Our picnics where we stuffed our faces with crap food and sometimes even got a little drunk."

"Oh, that," she giggled, chugging a little wine.

"Yeah, that," he concurred, mimicking her chug with one of his own. "We've done this since the start. Remember…" he paused, trying to recall the name, "Trump Tower?"

She cackled loudly and he chuckled at her excited response. "I still didn't know if I hated your guts and wanted to kill you or if I was afraid of you and thought you were going to kill me. It ended up being a good night, though, didn't it?" Lisa's eyes were sparkling and Jackson couldn't recall the last time he had seen her with such life inside of her yearning to be free.

"It did." Jackson balled up the paper from his sandwich and tossed it toward the kitchen. As Lisa ate the last bite of her sub, she gestured for Jackson to toss her paper as well. He seemed to be aiming for distance this time judging by the satisfied look on his face when they heard it hit the dining room table.

"Have you thought about where you're going?"

He sighed. He had tried to be normal and not give it away, but Lisa had rightly sensed the end was near. "You know I can't tell you that," Jackson reluctantly insisted. He hoped she didn't press the matter because this was not what he wanted to talk about or think about, especially given that he still wasn't sold on the accuracy of his decision.

"When are you leaving?"

He shrugged and took several long gulps of wine. "I thought we weren't going to do this. I thought we were going to have normal and real up until the last possible moment."

It was Lisa's turn to sigh. "You're right. Let's do normal. Let's do real. Let's talk about anything but this." Jackson stood up and wandered off. "Or we could just watch you walk away right in the middle of—" She was cut off by the stereo playing a tune that she had heard before, yet it prompted nothing more than a lingering essence of familiarity in her: "Don't" by Elvis Presley. "Our first dance."

Jackson wordlessly invited her to join him for a dance with nothing more than a stoically outstretched arm. She took his hand and let him guide her up to stand before him. She half-expected and half-wanted him to pull her close in a sudden display of masculine aggression and dominance, but he surprised her by keeping his distance and stalking her from afar. He kept hold of her hand as he predatorily surveyed her with his penetrating ice blue eyes. His free hand slowly trailed possessive caresses over her body and paid special attention to her areas of exposed skin. When Jackson circled behind her, Lisa found herself particularly aroused by how he leaned in to inhale her. She felt like a limp, helpless doll as he manipulated her arms to entrap herself beneath the controlling grip of his own arms that held her close, her back into his chest. As he alternated between feather light kisses and desire-filled breathing against her warm neck, he began to sway them at a natural, organic pace that felt right for them. She closed her eyes and surrendered to him, allowing him to take charge of their dance and lead her blindly.

Lisa was in her own otherworld when she mentally awakened long enough to realize that he had completely circled her and that she was now leaning forward into Jackson. Everything made sense. She trusted him, at long last, completely and without hesitation. Her mind, body, and soul were all his for the creation or destruction he chose to inflict upon her. She had found clarity and in it, she found freedom. She opened her eyes and dragged herself away from the haze in which she was lost. She forced Jackson to lift his head and make eye contact with her, to see the truth that she so desperately had to share with him. He lifted her into his arms and reverently carried his beloved up the stairs.

On this last night together, they would be husband and wife.

He had gray hair. She had noticed one or two some time back, but now, one or two alone had spread to one or two here and there. It wasn't noticeable unless one paid close attention, and she was certainly paying close attention as she attempted to memorize his sleeping form. He was on his stomach, his arms under his pillow and his back exposed and uncovered. His scars were in plain sight and Lisa analyzed them as if it were the first time she had ever seen them. Fine lines and wrinkles that added character to aging men while categorizing women as worn hags were visible on his face even in the relaxation of sleep. The uneven spray of lightly-colored freckles across his face (that he would deny having with his dying breath) were less youthful.

Lisa tended not to stare too closely at the woman in the mirror, so she could only imagine what stories her appearance told about her age and lifestyle, but that didn't matter. Tonight was about remembering him, remembering the man whose face she desperately tried to forget only to accept that she never wanted to forget him.

He moaned softly and reached out toward her, automatically knowing without even opening his eyes that she would be there. His arm found her waist and wordlessly ordered her to come to him. She slid down in the bed, her body snug against his. He wasn't satisfied, so he inched over until he could cover her leg with his and completely claim her body under his arm.

She wasn't sure if she would make it very far on her own. She was weak yet headstrong, which was a dangerous combination. During all of their sparring sessions, Jackson had always trained against her defensively and she against him offensively. At first, Lisa believed this was so she could feel safe and in charge. Later, she assumed it was so he could let her win. Now, however, she comprehended that Jackson had identified her personality in her fighting style. She always took control of fights, acting offensively rather than reacting to what was done unto her. With Jackson, he was always on the defense, trying to neutralize the opponent and solve the situation. Her aggression was emotion based and she was worried that emotion would be her downfall, particularly after Jackson had moved on from her life. Would she find a way to blend logic with emotion? Would she stabilize how she felt and learn to think rather than control? Would she survive without him looking out for her and taking charge? Would she even want to survive?

She was down to a matter of hours, single-digit hours, with the man who had destroyed her life and helped her rebuild herself anew. At one time, she had hated her world for his presence in it, but now she couldn't imagine her world without him in it.

Lisa awoke to the smell of breakfast and coffee. She pulled on a large t-shirt over her tank top and underwear and followed her nose downstairs. She couldn't hide a small smile of optimism as she identified the respective aromas of eggs, toast, and bacon. She reached the kitchen and all evidence that a smile had ever graced her features faded away when she found a tray with a flower from her window box in a vase next to her full plate, glass of orange juice, and coffee.

Jackson was long gone. He didn't even say goodbye.

Lisa picked up the breakfast plate and threw it with all her might at the writing on the wall in the dining room.

Jackson turned on the radio, hoping that the obnoxious sounds of whoever was auto-tuning their way to the top of the charts would block out the mental noise that was driving him mad. He scratched the five o'clock stubble he was letting grow and then rubbed his eyes rougher than necessary. He hadn't made the right decision, that he knew, but Lisa would come to understand his decision later and she would no doubt approve of it. Jackson, however, knew that he would never approve of his own decision, but it was the only one he could make.

The highway sign said "Welcome to New Jersey."

And he kept driving.

Two weeks passed and Lisa finally decided to give up her sulking in exchange for something that would actually accomplish a purpose. She commenced her brand new day with a makeover. She took a long relaxing bath and spontaneously decided to cut her hair. It had grown quite long again, so she took the scissors to it and brought it up to just above her shoulders.

By noon, she felt clean and refreshed, and she was ready to be constructive in life. She dug up some clothes that she didn't care much about one way or another and put them on so that she could tackle her project without fear. She retrieved the paint cans and supplies from the garage and set about painting as she had vowed when they had originally moved into the house.

The first thing to go was the writing on the wall.

Jackson did what he did best: he observed her from afar. She was alone, as always. No one even walked near her. He turned his head straight and slammed it back into the headrest a few times before he looked again in her direction.

This was ridiculous. It wasn't his mother. It was a parcel of land with a marble sign on it.

He got out of the SUV and took his time strolling over to the insignificant mound of dirt that had caused him to drive all the way from Connecticut to Mississippi. He wore a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt that said "NYPD" on it. He smirked as he considered if only Frank had known the irony of the situation when he had given the shirt to Jackson well over a year ago.

Jackson stood uncomfortably by the tombstone for a few moments before slumping onto the ground in front of the grave in an almost childishly innocent way. He sat there cross-legged, leaning forward to fiddle with some grass.

"I'm here. Now what?" he asked. "Is this the part where you come to me in some miraculous vision and tell me I made the right decision and that everything will be okay? Or maybe this is the part where your vindictive ghost haunts me for what happened?" He pointed a finger at the grave. "I bet you blame me," he told her bitterly, his eyes narrow and his forced grin all-knowing. "You probably do. Jesus would have wanted me to forgive and forget, but I couldn't. I can't. I had no choice."

He huffed and pushed aside his anger. "That's not why I'm here and we both know it," Jackson said, changing the direction of the one-sided conversation. "I'm here because of her. I don't wonder about what-if's or crap like that, but I can't help wondering what you would think of her. I gave her your cross, you know. Did you roll over in your grave?" he sarcastically inquired. "Nah, not you," he answered for himself. "You're too good for that. You'd probably love her to pieces and be beside yourself that she has your necklace. She's a good person. She's better than I could ever hope to be and she deserves better than me. I've done things to her that I'm ashamed of and I'm never ashamed. She shouldn't love me, but she does. Worse than that, I shouldn't love her, but I do. I love her," he repeated, shaking his head as he lowered it into his waiting hand.

"I made a decision and it's not the right one. I acted selfishly and I am most likely going to endanger both of us with this one decision. We'll probably be joining you soon, so I suppose that's good news for you if you can manage to 'Hail Mary' a way into heaven for me. If not, maybe hell has e-mail or Skype or something." He chuckled softly. "Not that you know what that is."

He sighed and looked around the cemetery. A few families were walking around and some people were dropping off fresh flowers. In the distance, he could barely hear a lawn mower coming into earshot and the smell of freshly cut grass was evident with every breath he took of the light warm breeze.

"I don't know what made me come here. I don't know why I'm doing this or what I have to say. I'm rambling and I don't ramble. I also don't drive several hundred miles out of the way for no reason. I guess I wanted you to hug me and tell me that it's okay, that I made the right decision, and even though I know I didn't, I'd feel better about it because my mother said it was okay and her word is all I need. But that's not going to happen. I was a bad son and bad boys don't get good things for being bad."

Jackson stood up and roughly wiped at the back of his pants to brush off the grass and dirt.

"I'm sorry." Sorry for not saving her. Sorry for not stopping his father sooner. Sorry for being a disappointment. Sorry for not growing into a real man. Sorry for not visiting. Sorry for making the wrong decisions.

"I love you," he said, his voice cracking. Tears filled his eyes and he was eight years old again. He contorted his face, forcing the water to retreat behind his eyes and the red hue on his skin to blanch back into pale white.

He exhaled, swallowed hard, and reverted back into the apathetic man he always was. He walked away.

June, 2013

"I'm glad to see you out and about," Anna abruptly told Lisa as they rode the escalator down to the food court. The comment had been itching to come out all day as she had watched Lisa endure one reminder after another of her crushed relationship: couples holding hands in the mall, the window at Victoria's Secret promoting a new get-up that would thrill him for sure, Kay Jewelers advertising for men to shop for their ladies early in the upcoming Christmas in July sale, and so on. Lisa had held her head up high through all of these reminders, so Anna finally had to go there and compliment the girl on her composure. She also hoped her comment reassured Lisa that it was okay to think about it or even talk about it, but Anna wasn't going to force the issue.

Lisa smiled. Her managerial instincts were kicking in as she channeled just the right amount of "happy and healthy" with "I did just go through quite the ordeal, didn't I?" to make her smile seem realistic and normal. She carried no shopping bags, but Anna had a few. When they stepped off the escalator, Anna gestured with a bag at the Starbucks that was at the end of the food court.

"Let me run these out to the car and I'll meet you there?"

Lisa nodded. "I'll grab a table for us."

"Great," Anna confirmed with a big smile. "See you in a few."

The two parted ways and Lisa entered the coffee shop. Instinctively, she selected the table the farthest from but with the clearest view of the main exit. Additionally, it was just a few steps away from the emergency exit. She sat down and immediately surveyed her surroundings, eyeing people and things with great discretion.

Once she had left Lisa's side, Anna took cover behind a pillar and pulled out her phone.

"It's me. She's in position and there aren't many witnesses. She's all yours," Anna reported with a pleased grin. She returned her phone to her pocket, took one more precautionary glance around, and headed for the exit.

Lisa was about to leave in search of her friend when her phone beeped. She read the text from Anna: saw ol frn in prkg lot brb in a few ordr wo me. Lisa rolled her eyes at the sloppy internet lingo-filled text as she longed for the days when people, particularly grown adults, communicated with one another in English.

She approached the counter and placed her latte order with a fake name for them to call. After the cashier took her money, she informed her that it would be a few extra minutes because the one person in line ahead of her was buying for everyone at the store where she worked in the mall. Had Lisa known that, she wouldn't have ordered. Instead of complaining about the poor customer service, she put on a fake smile and assured them that it was alright and there was no rush. Lies, all lies.

She grinded her locked jaw several times until it popped as she hurried back to her far off seat. She wished she could be at the house, in the dark and miserable as she sat hungry, dirty, and completely self-absorbed by her wallowing in a pity festival, but no. Anna had insisted she get out of the house and build a life as a strong and capable single woman. Lisa was indeed strong and capable; she just preferred to be that way while sobbing for no logical reason during a Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman marathon in pajamas she had worn for 168 consecutive hours without change.

Time flew as she brooded in her own little world about her own little problems. "Jane. John." Lisa heard her fake name being called along with another order, so she got up without paying much attention and trudged over to the counter. She reached out to take her coffee, but was irked when "John" had claimed hers as well. "I believe that's mine," she admonished, not looking up from the coffee cup clutched in his hand.

"My apologies, 'Jane,'" a familiar voice said. She finally looked up and saw the hallucination she had been expecting to see for some time: Jackson. He was wearing one of his customary work suits, but his look was altered a bit by the thin layer of stubble he was keeping along with his still short hair that was haphazardly finger-combed. He offered her cup to her and she took it, her fingers unintentionally brushing his as she did so.

It was Jackson and her mind wasn't playing tricks on her. Damn. Apparently he was the one playing tricks and she was embarrassed to admit that she hadn't seen it coming.

"I thought you left," she commented with indifference.

"Playing it cool," he noted. He took a quick sip of his latte. "Nice," she thought he complimented her on her nonchalance, but he may have been critiquing the coffee. "We need to talk."

"This whole 'I have to leave for your protection' thing isn't going to work unless you actually leave, you know?" She nervously drummed her fingers against the side of the cup.

He didn't dignify her with an answer. Instead he opted for taking her by the elbow and guiding her back to the table where she had been sitting. She sat down with the same detachment she had maintained since she recognized it was him, and she had absolutely no intention whatsoever of letting him see her get worked up one way or another over his return. If he wanted a reaction, he would have to pry it out of her cold dead body.

Jackson sat back in his chair and kept some distance between himself and the table. His drink resided unattended on the table as steam came up from the lid-free top. His arms were crossed, not protectively, but for a lack of something better to do with himself.

"When you told me you loved me at the hospital, the nurses took me to the roof to get some fresh air. King was there waiting on me. He offered me a job."

"And to think you gave me grief about Keefe offering me a job..."

"This is different," he insisted, his head leaning forward to stress the point. "King doesn't trust Keefe and neither do I. King doesn't trust me and I don't trust him."

"Why does this sound like our marriage?" she wryly observed.

"Ha, ha," he drawled. "Anyway, with the job offer came certain terms. I didn't give him an answer for months. I went back to the house with every intention in the world on saying no to him and no to you and leaving all this shit behind for your protection. A few weeks ago, I made the call and gave him my answer."

"Okay…" Lisa shrugged in confusion. "So? What's your point?"

"My point is…" Jackson exhaled and leaned forward. He put his hands on the table, cupping them together. "I took his offer. I took the job…so I could be with you. It's wrong and dangerous and completely irrational, but I picked you. Leese, I pick you."

Her brows went up in shock, then dropped down over her tightly squinted, baffled eyes. "I'm missing something here. You made me think all this time that you were leaving. Then you actually left. You walked out the door and didn't even say goodbye. That's not picking me," she slowly spelled out for him. "Were you trying to punish me? Screw with my head? What was this?"

"Even though I called King and took the job, I wasn't convinced that it was the right decision. When I left, I went with every intention of talking myself out of all of this and never coming back. I just knew that after a few days away from you, I'd be able to get my head together and understand that it was a foolish decision to side with King and that I should leave you for your own safety and just drop off the radar so King couldn't find me and interfere with my efforts to protect you. But the longer I was gone, the more I realized that I didn't care what the right thing was. I wanted to do what I wanted to do, and that was to stay here. I was already on the road and I didn't see a resolution in sight. Next thing I knew, I was in Mississippi."

He grimaced uncomfortably and pulled his chair closer to the table so he could lean over his folded arms. "I went to visit my mother." Jackson stopped for a few moments. He didn't know what to say next and she didn't know what to say at all. "After everything, I had to talk to someone and I think it had to be her. It's childish and stupid and—"

Lisa reached out and put her hand atop his. "It's not childish or stupid," she stated firmly, squeezing his hand and then rubbing it soothingly.

He smiled awkwardly as he had trouble making eye contact with her, something that he never had difficulty doing with anyone for any reason. "I tried to talk myself out of going back to the house and I tried to convince myself that it was for the best if I just disappeared and took on the Company by myself with you out of the crossfire, but all I could think about was how I was responsible for the death of a woman that I once loved and I couldn't do it again. I think I wanted permission or for someone to say that it was okay to be selfish, even if it gets us killed."

"First of all, you aren't responsible for your mother's death," she reminded him yet again. "And secondly, there was only one person you had to ask if you wanted permission."

"You don't count. You're biased."

"Jerk."

"Woman."

They snickered at their own little bickering session before they became serious again. Jackson turned his hand over so he could join it with hers. He gazed down at their linked hands rather than look at Lisa.

"You were a shameful fantasy to me for so long, but now you're real. You're here. You touch me of your own free will and mean it." He scoffed softly to himself. "Leese, you're my only weakness. Being with you makes me vulnerable, but if we weren't together, I don't think I would have a reason to even bother fighting."

"When I first met Jackson Rippner…" Jackson cringed at the direction Lisa's words were taking the conversation. "I thought he was a sweet guy and that maybe we could have something, but then he…changed. I hated him and I thought it was because of what he did to me, but it was actually because of what he made me see in myself. Then I met Jackson," she said with a slightly more optimistic voice. "He seemed about as damaged as I was, but it's hard to say given how he interprets life and processes things with clinical precision. I realized that we were right for one another and that seemed so twisted and sick for the longest time. But now," she said, changing her tone for a third time. "Now I can't imagine my life without him, both the man I've gotten to know and the man he has become. Without him, I don't want to bother fighting."

They both watched their linked hands as an alternative to seeing the naked raw truth in one another's eyes. "So, what do we do about this?" Lisa hesitantly asked.

Jackson's free hand disappeared from the table and returned seconds later with a black box. He pulled his hand from Lisa and opened the box, revealing a set of wedding bands. The gold was higher quality than the fake rings they had worn, and they sparkled as bright as the sun. "I know we've done everything totally backwards for two years, but I'd like to go forward from now on. I'd like to try 'normal' with you."

He was correct. They tried to kill one another. They hated each other. They got a house. They became a fake married couple. They had sex. They became friends. They liked each other. They "dated" at the end of their time together. They fell in love somewhere amid it all. The road had ended at Starbucks as they grabbed a couple of lattes after he had stolen her, and now they stood at the starting line of a new road, a road Jackson wanted to drive down together with the proverbial car going forward rather than in reverse. He wanted to do whatever it was they were doing except he wanted to do it the right way. She did too.

It wouldn't be an easy road to travel. The Piper wanted to kill them. The Mafia families that weren't fond of Jackson were still out and about. Lisa had a secret that he could never know. They were legally dead and technically still in hiding. Jackson now worked for the government. They were huge liabilities to one another's safety and lives. Their story that had started on an airplane in 2005 was far from over.

Lisa shyly bit her lower lip and the smile she was attempting to suppress lit up her face with rosy color. "We'll never be normal." She pulled the man's ring from the black box and slipped it onto his finger.

"What we are is so much better than normal," Jackson replied, taking out the woman's ring and sliding it onto her finger.

"What now?"

"Let's go home."

THE END

Author's Note: I want to say thank you to all of this story's loyal readers, reviewers (signed, anonymous, and regulars), and everyone who has marked this story as a Fav or a Follow. Your support means the world to me. I wrote this story simply to get it out of my head so I could have peace in my little corner of the fandom, and I'm thrilled that others have enjoyed reading my vision for what could have happened to our favorite dysfunctional couple.

And now, because I feel I owe you an explanation...

Some of you are probably wondering if there will be a sequel/continuation to this story and the answer is there is more to tell. A few chapters back, I asked if there was any interest. Only five people voted in the poll on this topic and no one expressed interest to me via any other means. In addition, immediately after posting the chapter where Jackson "dies" in the end cliffhanger, readership for this story dropped from triple-digit views daily down to single-digit views daily. Reviews decreased from several per chapter/week to one or two per month. Some people actually "un-favorited" the story. Readership never really returned, so apparently people think Jackson really died and they aren't coming back for more. I've never asked for reviews, nor have I held chapters hostage like some authors do ("I'll update when I get X number of reviews!"), but when I look out into the dark cyberspace auditorium and hear crickets chirping, I know that no one wants to hear me sing and it's time to exit the stage with my remaining dignity intact.

Again, thank you to all of you who supported me and this story. Best wishes to you all and with fondest regards-

Evelyn Benton