for [lreisert]

[factbasedlogic]

It's been a long and trying recovery, but he's finally back in the game, so to speak. He has scars from his last little encounter with Lisa, but what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Or whatever tripe Dr. Phil would dish out in a situation like this

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[lreisert]

"So, he's fine, then?" Lisa questioned softly

[factbasedlogic]

"In case you haven't noticed, Leese, I haven't done anything. I'm just making friends with my new neighbours." He smiles and raises his glass in Mrs. Kinsey's direction, earning himself a smile and a wave in return. "My higher-ups saw it fit to move me out here, so here I am."

Jackson sips at his cheap wine, eyes never moving away from Lisa. "I heard you checked in on me. That was real sweet of you, Lisa. As you can see I'm almost one hundred percent better, with a few minor changes." He rubs a thumb over the circular scar at the base of his throat. There are more scars, in his shoulder and side where he got shot, and on his thigh where he'd been stabbed. But what bothers him most of all is that it's much easier for him to get short of breath these days, and his voice gets hoarse so easily. By the end of the day it's all but a whisper.

He clears his throat and sips at his drink again. "They say it's lucky it was a good, clean entry or I might not have been able to speak again."

[lreisert]

"I don't believe you," Lisa retorted, a little louder than she'd intended, so her eyes made a quick sweep around them to see if anyone other than Jackson had heard her, but, thankfully, there was so much activity and conversations going on with the other guests, that none of them heard or even took notice of the troubled expression the auburn haired woman hadn't successfully managed to keep away. "Why here? Why my neighborhood, Jackson? I know this isn't

[factbasedlogic]

"You might've aimed for anywhere but my throat. For someone who's such a humanitarian, you didn't show much compassion," he hisses, his own voice not much above a whisper after chitchatting to party goers all evening. "Like my thigh, maybe. Oh wait, you got me there, too. And the chest. And you barely missed my liver. You sure did a bangup job of it.

And then you checked up on me. Let me tell you, that caught me by surprise. So then I thought, maybe you do care. Maybe somewhere in there you actually feel bad about what you did to me."

Jackson scoffs a little at her question, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm in Miami for reasons that don't involve you -- or Keefe for that matter -- at all. But I thought while I was here, since you were nice enough to check in on me, I'd return the favour."