Starring:
Summary: Daisy comes to work. Jackson tries to get some work. Heroic Failure.
Date It Happened: December 27, 2001
It's Not Delivery
Jackson Archer Estate
The Jackson Archer Estate. This thing's very likely been on CRIBS more than twice… and it never gets old. Jackson, though, is doing his thing in the driveway at the moment. And that thing just happens to be… standing on his steps and looking out at the cars. Not that he's admiring the fact that he's richer than ninety rich people. But he's actually just, well… waiting on the pizza man. Poor Jackson can't cook. And his kitchen is too pretty for him to ruin by trying.
And full of kegs. Don't ask.
Daisy comes up the walk, moving rather awkwardly and dressed in yet another long-sleeved turtleneck, this time layered over with a matching blazer, and then set off against black jeans. Her one arm she's clearly favouring, holding it close to her side, draped across her abdomen for support. If she drove here, she parked her car out of sight somewhere, but really, it's more that she can't exactly afford a car with the rent she's paying. All to be close to Hollywood, silly rabbit. She seems a little surprised to find Jackson hanging out in front of his house. "Um, hello Mr. Archer. Everything okay?" she asks as she gets near enough to speak without yelling.
"Huh? Oh. Hey D.G." Jackson is a little confuzzled, that much is obvious from the look on his features. Especially, well, since he has to do that thing where he looks at the diamond infested watch that he's forced to wear a lot. Mainly because, well, that's what 'actors' like him are supposedly supposed to wear. According to Needles, anyway. "Yeah. I'm cool. Just… waitin'." Not that he's trying to be cryptic, but it's probably coming across that way. After all, he hasn't even really expressed any information. Or even really looked up to see that D.G. is a bit less than perfect shape.
"Waiting? I'm not late, am I?" Daisy asks, looking slightly befuddled. Did they even agree on a time? Is it possible she's getting so used to the more lax schedule of working for Jackson (to say nothing of being a little distracted by, erm, other things) that she's forgetting about actual appointments? Oh, that won't do at all. She's already pulling out her palm pilot in order to double-check her schedule, which takes a bit of work since she's still trying to only use that one good arm to fish the device out of her pocket and turn it on.
"Not unless you're working for me /and/ Domino's." Apparently, Joss Whedon has no problem with a little product placement. Ahem. Jackson just finds his attention drawn by the fact that there is shifting and pulling and tugging and all sorts of craziness that doesn't look easy out of his peripheral. "You okay?" this is asked, with just a tad bit of distracted genuine concern. Something's off. And as a former (fictional) cop, there's a chance that Jackson is picking up on the vibes.
Daisy stops bothering with her Palm when he explains about the pizza. "You know, you can wait inside. They … do ring the bell," she explains gently, in that way where she's not quite sure whether she /actually/ needs to tell him this or is maybe ribbing him gently (very gently). So of course, now she has to put the damn thing away, but at least that's easier. "Hm? Oh. Yeah. I'm fine. Just … had a bit of an accident, that's all," she explains with a tight grin. "You sure you don't want to wait inside?"
"Inside smells like Mary Jane." Jackson rolls his eyes, because there are houseguests in there and they are smoking up a storm. Thus the tremendous amount of pizza that he's ordered and is, apparently, being forced to pay for. This whole endless money thing is taking some getting used to, in comparison to his former cop salary, but at least he's splurging for all the right reasons. "What kind of accident?" His attention keeps leaving the street where the pizza dude should be coming down and focusing on Daisy. Interrogation Mode: Begin.
"Mary Jane?" Daisy echoes, and bless her little heart, she actually thinks he's talking about a girl for a moment before the other shoe drops. "Oh. Oh! Isn't that…?" No, she won't judge. "And you … don't like that smell?" she asks carefully, sort of her way of feeling out if he's also high as a kite. It would explain some stuff, actually. She shifts a little as he turns his attention at least somewhat on her, tucking her hair back behind an ear. "Um, you know. I fell. It's stupid. I … don't really want to get into it." And she also can't quite meet his gaze, suddenly fascinated by just where that pizza dude is herself.
"Eh. When you've been a cop as long as I have, drugs kinda' lose their edge. I've seen what it can do to people." Jackson is also the first one to raise his hands up. "Not sayin' I won't blaze if I wanna'. But, it's not my favorite thing." And now he's getting right back to the subject of her. Because, well, he's too busy wanting to make sure she's okay and he's even moving his head around to try and catch her gaze. "Daisy." Uh oh. He never says that. "I've worked enough domestic violence cases to know when somebody 'fell' and when they're trying to protect some asshole that needs to get pistol whipped into the ninth circle of hell." And then he's looking more dangerous than ever before with his glaring eyes. "Who is he?"
"Okay. Good. Because, I mean, I don't judge. But I was taught that stuff was kind of … stupid." Daisy casts a glance back over her shoulder to the house, her expression skeptical, before she remembers herself and comes back slightly sheepish, "But this is me, not judging." Of course, not judging is a lot easier than what follows, of course. She can't help but meet his gaze, but just for a fleeting moment, before looking off away again. "What? No! No, it's not like that. It's … complicated. You don't … need to, uh, pistol whip anyone." Somehow the term just sounds wrong coming from her.
"Fine. I'll use the business end. But you need to tell me what's up before I go postal on this dude." Jackson is smiling, but he's not kidding. That much is obvious from the way he's pouring his attention through his eyes and to her like there's no tomorrow. After all, he's just trying to make sure she gets this problem taken care of. Especially since she's going to be working for him. "I'm not gonna' stand by while my best employee…" Okay, his only employee. "… ends up battered and bruised and it's not because I asked her to go bungee jumpin' with me."
Daisy is starting to look even more put on the spot, shifting her stance and frowning down at the ground, before looking back up. "I - I can't explain it. It's not what it looks like. And if you get involved, you're just going to get hurt. But you're not going to get involved, because there's nothing to get involved with. It was just some bad luck on my part, but it's not going to happen again." She attempts a reassuring smile at this point. "But I appreciate the sentiment, really. You kind of remind me of my big brothers a little bit." And that, well, that gets a more sincere smile, even if she's still kind of uncomfortable with all these half-truths and evasiveness.
Jackson frowns. He's really frowning. Because he was also hoping to get some action going. And there's one more tactic he can try before he has to take these matters into his own former detective hands. And he will too. Planting on the most serious face he can muster up, he just lets her say her little dodging words and then, well, decides to go along with his final tactic to get the truth. "Tell me or you're fired." Jackson remembers how bad she wants/needs this job and if he can bluff his way into getting her to spill the beans, then maybe he can get his action hero groove back.
"What?" Daisy squawks incredulously, looking at him abruptly as that at least does the trick of surprising the heck out of her! "You - You can't do that," she stammers. "Mr. Archer, I can't tell you. You wouldn't believe me if I did. And I can't even if I wanted to. I … kind of made a promise." She lets out a sigh, trying to come up with some details to give him in order to save her job. "I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all. And there was a, uh, a fight." Sort of. A very one-sided fight. "But I'm fine. And I've learned my lesson. I'm going to stay far away from … that situation."
"A name, D.G. I need a name." Jackson has returned to using her initials. Because, well, that's definitely something that probably means that she hasn't lost her job yet. So that's good. "Look. I promise I will kill the guy. Or whoever. I just can't help it. Like I said, I saw a lot of bad stuff when I was a cop and this is one of my pet peeves." Yeah. Except it's more about not having anything fun to do than anything else. Sure, there's some standing up for Daisy's honor involved, but at the same time… he hasn't shot anybody in a very long time.
"You aren't killing anybody!" Daisy insists almost sternly, starting to sound a little frustrated herself. "I'm sorry if my getting hurt bothers you, but I don't plan on letting it impact my job performance, which would be the only grounds you have to fire me, Mr. Archer." Her heart is racing, face going pink. "Just leave it alone. Jackson. Please?" she asks earnestly, taking her turn to use his first name. "I can't deal with this and you going all … renegade or whatever." Movie stars are really weird.
"Fine." Jackson drops from where he's standing and right down to the steps he was standing on. One hand goes into the palm of his hand and he's busy with the wanting to make sure that she's okay and everything and having his renegade status get rebuffed and… man, nobody likes heroes anymore. He, once again, looks bored as hell and depressed and everything that he shouldn't look like, being a rich movie star and everything. "You don't have to stay, today. Go home and get yourself all better. I'm good."
Daisy watches as her boss suddenly goes all melancholy, watching warily for further claims of killing people. When they don't come, she lets out a little sigh, giving her head a slow shake (because her neck seems to be bugging her a little too). "I'm happy to stay, Mist-uh, Jackson. I didn't mean… It's just that I can take care of it myself, okay? So you don't need to worry about me. I'm fine." There's that attempt at a reassuring smile again.
Jackson isn't budging. Or doing much of anything but shrugging at this moment. Especially because he's, well, been told that he's not needed. If he can't be some kind of hero or something, he might as well just be a bump on a log. Or steps. "S'all good. Independent woman. I get it. No worries." And there's more staring out at the road that has no pizza people on it.
Then Daisy is just going to sit herself down right beside him. It makes it easier to rest her arm, anyway. "It's not like that. But you can't… This just isn't something you can help with right now, okay?" she says gently, like she's talking to a pouting kid. Which, well. "It's not about needing to fight my own battles or anything. It's about the battle not needing to be fought."
"Uh huh. I get it." Whether Jackson is even pretending to try and be… okay, he's not. He's actually just pouting. And that's pretty much going to make him look like a spoiled movie brat. Which is what Needles has the majority of the country thinking he is in the first place. So everything kind of fits. And time to change the subject. Because he's just going to keep pouting. "Does Domino's even deliver out here?"
Daisy lets out another sigh, shaking her head in that slow careful way again. "You can't sulk every time I tell you that you can't kill someone," she informs him. But she's beginning to realize that this is one of those unwinnable situations. Plus his comment gets her thinking. "Um, Mr. Archer. Did you call for the pizza?" she can't help but ask, questioning gaze going from him and then out to the road.
"Can so." and there is the more sulking that's happening at this moment. But then, at her question, he finds himself blinking. Thinking. Blinking. Thinking. And then: "… Um." And suddenly, Jackson is hopping up to his feet and spinning around to head towards the door. Pizza Ordering Fail.
Daisy really wishes she were surprised by this point. Okay, she's maybe a little bemused that her guess was right on the nose, but it gets harder to put any of these things past him, the longer she knows him. She's in no rush to follow him into the reefer house, just staying put in her new spot on the steps, looking rather pensive. Troubled, even.
