Different Circumstances: Part 7A of ? by Marzee Doats

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Monday, October 30, five and a half weeks after the bombs

Heather looked up at the sound of her name.  "Emily," she greeted, trying to cover her surprise.  "What - can - hello," she decided finally, unable to come up with a question that didn't have a good chance of being misinterpreted.

"Hi," Emily returned, smiling tightly.  "I heard that the Harvest Weekend was on - sort of - and I thought I could help."  She looked back over her shoulder, pointing at the gaggle of older women gathered at 'command central' in front of the bank, and then turned back to face Heather.  "Mrs. Thom suggested that I help you with the pumpkins?"

"Well, you know, I was abandoned," Heather admitted, smiling at Emily.  "Jake and Eric helped me get everything here, and then they took off," She grumbled, shaking her head.  "Official business or so they claimed."  She paused for moment and then added, "Some help would be great."

Jericho had a long-standing tradition of a Harvest Weekend, always the first weekend in November, between Halloween and Veteran's Day.  As with all purely social civic events in need of planning, the job of organizing the Harvest Weekend had fallen on the shoulders of Gail Green as a sort of miscellaneous duty of the mayor's wife.  Gail had long ago developed a strong committee for the Weekend, and Heather had been drafted to that committee by her future mother-in-law her first year in Jericho.  This year, they were combining the Harvest Weekend with a Halloween party for the kids, in lieu of trick-or-treating.  With Gail tending Johnston at home, Mrs. Thom, the Greens' next door neighbor, and Heather had taken over the event.

"So, just putting pumpkins out?" Emily asked, as Heather pulled one from a commandeered shopping cart. 

"Pretty much for now," Heather agreed, setting her pumpkin atop a hay bale.  "Though there're still a million things to do.  Mrs. Thom has the binder," she explained, referring to Gail Green's infamous collection of notes and to-do lists for every event on the Jericho town calendar.  "And, we can't do half of what's in there," Heather admitted, making a frustrated noise.  "I know throwing a party probably seems superficial -"

"I think it's what we all need," Emily interrupted, selecting a perfectly round pumpkin from the shopping cart.  "So, anywhere?"

Heather chuckled and nodded.  "If you see an empty spot, fill it with a pumpkin.  At least it's a start."

The two women went to work in silence, working their way down Main Street, away from town hall.  Emily surprised Heather again by sticking close, rather than taking one of the shopping carts and heading off on her own.  "You know, I've always loved Halloween," Emily began after a few minutes.  "Dressing up, especially," she grinned.  "I can't tell you how many years I went as Cinderella," she joked, handing Heather a rather squat pumpkin.  "Cinderella or Tinkerbell," Emily amended.  "Cinderella's the better story, but Tinkerbell had wings and a wand."

"Tinkerbell has a wand?" Heather questioned, looking back at Emily over her shoulder.  "I thought she just had pixie dust."

Emily expression was momentarily puzzled, but then she shrugged it off, giggling.  "Well, now I don't know," she admitted.  "But when I was Tinkerbell, I had a wand."

"Fair enough," Heather agreed, laughing along with Emily.  "I always dressed up," she offered then, moving around Emily to retrieve yet another pumpkin.  "But usually pretty standard stuff.  I was Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz for two, maybe three years in a row.  I was in a phase, and after my Mom made my costume, she wasn't going to let me off with wearing it just once, not after all the effort she'd put in, especially with the shoes!"  She placed her pumpkin in an empty spot, and then turned it around, trying to find its best side. 

"I made my little brother go as the Cowardly Lion, at least the first year," she continued.  "He was two or three.  Years before I even thought of moving to Kansas, obviously.  And, I've still managed to avoid being in an actual tornado, knock on wood."  Heather looked around, but didn't spot anything wooden with in reach.  "Knock on straw?" she joked, looking at Emily. 

"Knock on pumpkin," Emily suggested, holding a fat one out to Heather.  "It's a vegetable, and a tree's a vegetable, sort of, right?"

"According to Gilbert and Sullivan, anyway," Heather agreed, tapping the pumpkin with her fist.

"Now, by the time we were, I don't know, eleven or twelve?  Jake and I had Halloween down to a science," Emily said then, placing the fat pumpkin on a still bare bale of hay.  "I was always the bag lady so I could stuff all of his costumes into my garbage bag.  I think we hit the Stevens' house, like, seven times one year," she chuckled, smiling.  Facing Heather, she held up a finger, admitting, "He did always share his haul with me."

Heather smiled at Emily in return.  Admittedly, this should have been an awkward turn in the conversation, but they'd managed to keep things light so far, and Heather was bound and determined to keep it that way.  "Like a little Bonnie and Clyde," she sighed.  "That's adorable, and so Jake."

"Very," Emily nodded.  They had emptied the first shopping cart, and so she pushed it out of the way, moving the other one closer before lifting a pumpkin out of the baby seat.  She looked at the pumpkin and then at Heather.  "This is an airplane, right?" Emily asked, pointing at the drawing on the pumpkin.  "Why is there an airplane on the pumpkin?"

"Jake," Heather groaned and rolled her eyes.  "We were all decorating last night, and unless you tell him 'you must draw a face,' he draws airplanes." 

For years, the Richmond family had donated a quarter acre's worth of pumpkins to the town for the Harvest Weekend, a tradition that Stanley had continued to observe after his parents' deaths.  He'd approached Gail while the town was helping harvest his corn and had reminded her that the pumpkins were ready for the taking.  So, the night before, Stanley, Bonnie, and Mimi - apparently feeling more adverse to the idea of being left alone at the farm than she was to having to haul produce - had shown up at the Greens with a truckload of pumpkins.  It had been Heather's idea to decorate them, and although everyone else had complained, when she'd hauled out the Sharpies, with the exception of Gail who'd headed upstairs to check on Johnston, they'd all sat down at the kitchen table and gone to work. 

"I'm pretty sure he only did three before I caught him," Heather chuckled, shaking her head.  "Just put it in the back somewhere that no one will see."  She picked another pumpkin out of the shopping cart, looking it over. "Ah, four, I see.  Though the stick-person pilot in the cockpit of this plane at least has a face," she observed, turning to hide the pumpkin behind a more traditionally drawn jack-o-lantern face.

"So, you did all of these last night?" Emily asked, sounding somewhat impressed, as she went through the basket.  The first shopping cart had held unadorned pumpkins, but there were at least thirty decorated pumpkins in the second.  "Too bad you couldn't carve 'em."

"We had help," Heather shrugged.  "And, Stanley donated them to the town, so after tomorrow night they're free game for whoever wants to take 'em home to eat.  Mimi made me give him a receipt," she laughed.  "Said it was a charitable donation, and he should've been deducting it on his taxes all along.  She's actually going to refigure his taxes based on seven years of pumpkin donations."

"Now that's funny," Emily declared, hefting the biggest pumpkin she'd found yet.  "Doesn't he owe like a hundred K?"

"I don't know.  Something like that," Heather acknowledged. 

Emily carried her pumpkin to an open hay bale and set it down, taking her first good look at it.  "Is this supposed to be Charlie Brown?"

Heather studied the drawing for a moment.  "I think so," she agreed, chuckling. "That was Eric, or maybe April, I'm not sure.  And, only because Stanley - who has apparently memorized It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! in its entirety - insisted on telling us the whole story, complete with sound effects.  Really hilarious, act - actually."  She stopped then, realizing belatedly that she'd lost Emily's attention.

"Oh my God," Emily muttered, staring at a man who had just climbed out on a dark brown El Camino that had definitely seen better days.

"What?  What is it?" Heather demanded, moving to stand next to her. 

But Emily, her hand pressed against her mouth, didn't answer.  She didn't even seem to hear.

* * * * *

The El Camino pulled to a stop at the corner of Main and Spruce, drawing Jake's attention away from Heather and Emily.  He didn't recognize the car, and he was beginning to recognize all the cars that were in town with any regularity.  The door opened and a man climbed out.  Jonah Prowse, Jake identified immediately, sitting up and then forward in his chair.  He bit back a curse, and glanced at his brother, checking to see if Eric had noticed his reaction.  He hadn't.  Jake took a deep breath, and then stood up, muttering, "Look, I gotta go."

"Everything okay?" Eric asked, frowning.  "Heather okay?"

"Yeah," Jake assured, heading for the door.  He was surprised that Eric had realized he'd been keeping tabs on his wife, though he supposed stationing himself next to window was a little bit obvious.  "She's fine," he said.  "I just forgot somethin' I was supposed to take care of."

It had been four days since they had arrested Mitchell Cafferty, and Jake had expected Jonah Prowse to show up sooner or later, though he hadn't expected to witness the other man's arrival.  Still, he told himself, it might make this whole thing go easier. 

Of course, Jake had known that Jonah wouldn't come the first day.  He'd studied Jonah's organization, inside and out, for nearly two years, and he knew it better than almost anyone.  He doubted much had changed inside West Kansas Shipping and Freight, especially since Jonah had been out of circulation for nearly five years.  His 'company' had always operated rather fluidly anyway, and most of his men - Mitchell Cafferty included, amazingly enough - had girlfriends or wives or at least women who'd let them crash in their beds for a few days.  Once Mitchell - or rather his accomplices - had delivered the food they'd stolen from the barn, Jake figured it would have taken Jonah a few days to notice Mitchell's absence, and he doubted anyone else would have been too eager to point it out either.

But now Jonah was here, and he'd come alone.  He usually didn't do his own dirty work, Jake knew, remembering that last night he'd been undercover, the night Jonah had sent five of his goons to do their worst, and they'd almost killed him.  Jake took that he'd come alone to mean he wanted to talk - that, or this was a scouting mission - but he also knew that the only way to find out for sure was to engage.

Jake left his father's office - currently being utilized by Eric in his capacity as acting mayor - and headed down the stairs, skimming his hand along the banister, working to stay as quiet as possible.  He entered the sheriff's station to find Jonah staring down Bill Kilroy, who looked like he was about to wet himself.  "... bail for a friend of mine," Jake heard, catching only the tail end of Jonah's statement.  "Mitchell Cafferty."

"Hello, Jonah," Jake said quietly then. He nodded at Bill almost imperceptibly, granting the deputy's dearest wish at the moment; Bill was more than happy to retreat into a back room.

Jonah glanced at Jake, staring at him coldly, and for a long while before finally turning to face him.  "Jake," he muttered. "So how's that ankle?  All better now?"  All Jake would grant him though was a slight nod and a hard blink in response.  Jonah's expression tightened and he continued.  "So, I understand that Mitchell's been causin' some trouble."

"Aw, c'mon, don't act surprised," Jake returned, betraying more of his own surprise than he'd intended to.  He paused, reminding himself that it was up to him to handle this; Bill was too scared, not to mention that he wasn't smart enough to know when he was in over his head; Jimmy was too nice, and he did know when he was in over his head; and Eric was too much of a bureaucrat to have any success at handling Jonah Prowse.  His father, his grandfather, they could have dealt with Jonah, but they weren't here.  This afternoon it was up to Jake.  "He doesn't get out of bed in the morning without runnin' it by you first," he sneered.

"I'm not sure that's true," Jonah dissented with a slight frown.  "But I'm here to bail him out."

"All right then," Jake agreed, shrugging. "Let's talk bail."

It had taken Jake most of three days to calm down and realize that, while stringing Mitchell Cafferty up would assuage his craving for revenge, it wouldn't serve to solve any of the other problems starting to press in on Jericho.  Most families had run completely out of food, and people were starting to notice that the shelves at Gracie's, which had been reasonably well-stocked for the last month, were suddenly bare.  Men were getting into fistfights over a gallon of gas.  They were five weeks into this mess and reality was starting to bite them all in the ass.  Jake wanted Mitchell Cafferty dead, but if it was worth something to Jonah to keep him alive, Jake figured he'd negotiate.  "First, you're gonna give back the food you stole," he announced. 

"Now hold on a second," Jonah interrupted, his voice dropping so low that if there had been anyone near enough to eavesdrop they would have been out of luck.  "I'm not sure you've noticed, but the world's comin' apart at the seams.  What belongs to who is gettin' to be a fuzzy science," he argued.  "It's not like it was, back when you had arrest warrants and wire taps to hide behind.  You're not Federal Agent Green anymore," he drawled, his tone mocking.  "But I'll see what I can do."

"You're gonna stay away from this place," Jake ground out then, otherwise ignoring Jonah's taunt.  He pointed a finger at Jonah, almost but not quite poking him in the chest.  "Not just you.  Mitch.  Joe Kelly -"

"Since when are you in a position to speak for this town?" Jonah demanded.  "I always thought your brother was daddy's little yes man," he chuckled meanly, "Not you.  Though, I suppose you are without a boss these days.  Lived in Denver, didn't she?"

"Do we have a deal?" Jake returned, raising his voice.

Mitchell Cafferty had been singing She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain for most of the last two days.  He still was, and he was getting more off-key and louder.  "Shut up, Mitchell!" Jonah bellowed, looking more annoyed than any of them who'd been putting up with Mitchell had admitted to being.  Jonah looked at Jake.  "We have a deal," he agreed.

They didn't shake hands.

Jake didn't trust Jonah even as far as he could throw him, and so he walked Jonah out, intending to get him back to his car and out of Jericho without involving anyone else.  People had already seen Jonah, so it would be impossible to keep his appearance in town quiet, but Jake figured he could mitigate the affects of Jonah's presence by hustling him along.  There were plenty of people who knew Jonah through his former business dealings or simply by reputation, but Jake was mainly thinking of Emily, the only person in Jericho who knew Jonah better than him; the only person in Jericho who hated Jonah more than him.  For Emily's sake, Jake figured he'd better run a little interference.

Stepping out into the street, Jake quickly surveyed the activity surrounding the preparation for the Halloween party and Harvest Weekend.  Automatically, he looked around for Heather, spotting her chatting with Mrs. Thom and Mrs. Crenshaw, the three of them pouring over his mother's binder, double-checking the to-do list. Next he looked for Emily, finally locating her hovering over a hay bale, rearranging pumpkins, her back to them.  Jonah, if he noticed his daughter, didn't say a thing, and he didn't react.  Jake breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"The world's changin'," Jake said as he and Jonah stepped off the curb.

"Don't I know it," Jonah answered, shaking his head.  "There's not a lot of work for a guy haulin' freight these days," he added, glancing sideways at Jake, 'Dare ya' written in his smirk.  "The old side business has sorta become a full time gig."

Stopping next to Jonah's car, Jake offered him a sour smile.  "The world's changing," he repeated.  "And, I'm not Federal Agent Green anymore," he said.  "But, I live in this town.  My family lives in this town."  Jake held up a hand, forestalling Jonah's interruption.  "I want your word," he demanded, thinking to himself, 'for what little it's worth'.  "You and your guys are gonna stay away from town."

"Already said I would," Jonah glowered at Jake, a dangerous glint in his eye.  "Ask again, a guy might think you're callin' him a liar," he warned.

"Nice car," Jake drawled, tapping the front license plate with the toe of his boot.  The vanity plate read 'BOBNLOU'.  "So who're you?  Bob or Lou?"

"There's a lotta good stuff out on the roads, waitin' for anybody to take it," Jonah explained without apology.  "Bob and Lou," he shrugged, opening the car's door, "They're long gone."  With that, he slid into the driver's seat, and started the engine.  A few seconds later, Jonah peeled away from the corner, narrowly missing Jake, who couldn't help but notice the sickly, satisfied grin Jonah shot him when he was forced to take a step back to safety.

Shaking his head, Jake turned around, heading in the general direction of town hall.  He'd made it two steps before a very angry Emily Sullivan appeared, blocking his path.  "Emily," he greeted tiredly.

Pulling herself up to her full height, her hands fisted in the pockets of her jean jacket, she glared at Jake, getting up into his face.  "Why're you talkin' to him?" Emily questioned angrily.

"It's okay, all right?" Jake assured her quietly, taking a half-step back.  "It didn't have anything to do with you."

"It's my father," Emily reminded, moving again so that her face was mere inches from his as she rebuked him.  "It has everything to do with me."  With that, she turned on her heel, and stifling a sob, hurried back across the street, heading for the meager shelter offered by the entrance to Gracie's Market.  Jake followed. 

"You have no idea how bad it got.  Once he earned some privileges, he was calling all the time, every phone call he earned.  Writing letters, three a week," Emily catalogued, her voice cracking.  "I couldn't go more than a day or two without something, some intrusion into my life from Jonah.  He wanted me - wanted me to forgive him for what happened with Chris."  She started to cry at the mention of her brother, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.  "I'll never forgive him for what happened to Chris," Emily vowed, shaking her head.  "And now he's out, he's back -"

"He's not back, all right?  After tomorrow, he's done.  He's gone," Jake promised her.  Emily closed her eyes, covering her face with her hand.   "Look, Em," he continued, sighing, "If there's - if there's one thing you and I still have in common, it's how we feel about Jonah," Jake muttered, clenching his jaw.  "Do you really think I'm gonna let him or his goons come into this town?  You think I'd let him anywhere near my family?" he demanded, running a hand through his hair.  "No way in hell."

Emily opened her eyes and studied Jake, her expression full of distrust.  "There's no way you can be sure.  Not with Jonah."

"Look, I'm tellin' you, it doesn't involve you," he repeated.  "Jonah's got things we need.  We've got Mitchell Cafferty.  It's just business."

"It's never just business with him," she countered, looking away.

"Fine," Jake grumbled under his breath, stepping away and starting to turn.  He stopped only when she said his name.

"Jake.  Don't go," Emily requested, moving toward him and laying a hand on his arm.  "Okay," she murmured, frowning softly.  "Okay.  Just do what you have to with Jonah and - whatever."  She took a deep breath, and then threw him a reasonably genuine if watery smile.  "Heather - Heather told me about the baby.  That's great," Emily sniffed.  "Congratulations."

"Thanks," he acknowledged, his grin suddenly unfettered.  "Little weird to think about sometimes," he chuckled, shrugging.  "Me as a dad?" he joked.  "You can say it.  Sounds crazy, huh?  But I'm - I can't wait, actually."

"It's great, really," Emily smiled gently in return.  "And, you know, with you as a dad, he'll always have someone to play with," she teased, "So that's good.  Plus, you know, you gotta be better at it than Jonah."

"God, set the bar high, why doncha," Jake snorted, rolling his eyes. 

Emily laughed, her smile widening slightly.  "Yeah, well..." she sighed.  "You'll do good.  I'm happy for you," she told him, squeezing his arm gently and then removing her hand.   "For the both of you."

He nodded.  "Thanks." 

They both turned away then, heading in opposite directions. Jake crossed the street and came up behind Heather, who was still in conference with Mrs. Thom and Mrs. Crenshaw.  He wrapped his arms around her, resting one hand on the still small mound of her pregnant belly and his chin on her shoulder.  "'Hey, babe," Jake murmured, kissing the shell of her ear.  Catching first Mrs. Crenshaw's eye, and then Mrs. Thom's, he winked at them, earning himself two delighted smiles.

Jake had felt Heather tense the moment he'd touched her, and it took her a few seconds to relax after she realized it was him.  "Jake Green, you are so lucky you're not layin' on the ground with another concussion," Heather grumbled, turning her head so she could glare up at him. 

"You see what I have to put up with?" Jake asked jokingly, kissing the side of Heather's head once she'd turned back to face the other two women.  "Such abuse."

"Poor baby," Mrs. Thom teased, laughing.  "Somethin' tells me you'll survive."

"Something tells me, he loves every bit of it," Mrs. Crenshaw added, chuckling.  "Coming to steal your wife away from us old biddies, have you?"

"I don't see any old biddies," Jake argued.  "And, this is a just a fly-by."  He let go of Heather, finding her hand with his own, and then squeezing it.  "I need to go talk with Eric," he explained.  "Then though, you can bet I'm gonna try and steal my wife back," he informed them, winking again.

This time though, there were no smiles.  "Thought that was Jonah Prowse," Mrs. Crenshaw muttered.

"Yeah," Jake confirmed, frowning.  "Sure was."  Heather had turned around, a number of questions obviously queued up and ready to tumble forth from her.  Jake shook his head 'no', and then kissed her quickly.  "Be right back," he promised.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thursday, October 25, five years before the bombs

Emily Sullivan looked up from digging through her purse for her keys, and stopped short.  She'd just exited the Jericho High School gymnasium, heading for her car, only to glance up to see a sight that took her back in time ten years.  Jake Green's car was parked next to hers, and he half-stood, half-leaned against the hood, arms folded together, waiting, she had to assume, for her.  He was watching her, too, Emily knew, despite the fact that he was unnaturally still - it had always annoyed her that Jake could do that - and wearing dark sunglasses.  She could tell from his stance, the set of his jaw, that he was watching her.

Squaring her shoulders, Emily stalked the forty feet across the parking lot to where Jake waited.  It was nearly five, and most of the other cars were gone from the small parking area behind the gym.  Certainly, there was no one else around outside, though she knew that Coach Bauer still had the football team in the boys' locker room going over the playbook for the next evening's game.  "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, coming to a stop a cautious two feet away from Jake.

"Need to talk to you," Jake muttered, offering her an obviously false smile.  He reached up, pulling off his baseball cap, running a quick hand through his hair, before putting it back on.  "It's kinda like old times," he joked sourly, kicking at the blacktop with one well-worn work boot.  "Here I am, once again, waiting for you to get out of cheerleading practice so we can have a big fight."

Anger flashed in Emily's eyes, and she took a step in the direction of her car.  "Let's not, and say we did," she muttered.

"No, sorry," Jake denied, stepping sideways to block her path.  She hadn't anticipated his move, and so she stepped forward almost running into the solid wall, dressed in a black t-shirt and blue jeans, that was Jake Green.  "Whatever your problem with me, Emily, leave Heather out of it," he commanded as she took a skittering step back.  "Stay away from her."

Emily blinked hard, once, and then crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Jake's posture.  "She told you."

"Of course she told me," Jake ground out.  He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think before he spoke.  He wouldn't give Emily the satisfaction of revealing just how much she'd upset Heather.  "Did she have a choice?" Jake asked, not waiting for an answer.  "It's not like I wasn't gonna hear about it, somehow."

Jake had woken up Tuesday morning in Denver to an email from his sister-in-law, advising him that he needed to do something about Emily, pronto.  He'd realized that her message had just come in and that she was still online, and so they'd ended up IMing for twenty minutes before Jake had had to run, late for his meeting with the federal prosecutors.  April had taken him to task for not settling things with Emily earlier, and then had told him that he'd better not screw things up with Heather - or let Emily screw things up with Heather for him.  'We all like her, Jake,' April had typed, 'And, if you mess this up, I may just choose her over you. ;-)'

Sitting in his hotel room, half-dressed, Jake had caught himself chuckling humorlessly at her threat.  'Yeah, you and Gramps both,' he'd messaged back.  'I'll take care of it.  Don't worry.'  Now, he was keeping that promise.

"April'd heard what you did within two hours, so you know that my Mom heard before that," Jake informed her.  "The whole damn town knows, Emily, so you don't get to act all indignant because Heather told me what you did."

She faced him, open-mouthed for just a second before protesting squeakily, "Jake, there are two sides -"

"And, what exactly is the positive, uplifting side of bad-mouthing me to my girlfriend?" he snapped, cutting her off.   "Where she works, I might add.   Not to mention trying to embarrass her in front of her boss?  Go ahead, Em.  Spin that," Jake challenged.  "Make it right."

Emily, obviously flustered, flinched at the biting sarcasm in his voice.  It took her a long moment to pull herself together, especially under the heat of Jake's withering gaze.  "So now you're Heather's white knight, huh?" she asked, her tone derisive.  She hugged herself then and, chin jutting out, raised her eyes to meet Jake's.  "Here to slay the ex-girlfriend dragon?  How very noble of you."  Emily took a deep, calming breath, forcing herself to speak calmly.  "I know you don't believe this, Jake," she began again, "But I went to Heather out of concern.  As a friend -"

Jake snorted contemptuously.  "A friend?  Trust me, Heather doesn't need you for a friend.  She's got plenty of real friends, plenty of people who care about her.  You have no reason to be concerned," he declared.   "Stay away from her."

"No reason to be concerned?" Emily questioned, raising her voice.  "She's gonna get hurt," she insisted.  "Heather's so far out of your league ... it'd be funny if it weren't so tragic," she muttered, shaking her head. "Heather and I, we went to this class together, and we talked - a lot.  I didn't think they made people like Heather anymore.  She's - she's wholesome," Emily argued, gesturing wildly. "Like Little House on the Prairie wholesome.  And you, Jake - you're you."

He watched her, not responding for a long moment.  Emily, having spoken her peace - or really, Jake couldn't help but think, having shot her wad - seemed to deflate a little right before his eyes.  Jake caught himself grinning.  Heather actually was wholesome, he acknowledged to himself, but she was also so much more, and the fact that Emily thought she could be summed up in one word, wielded like an insult, just proved that she didn't know one thing about Heather Lisinski.  "You know what?" he asked rhetorically, his smile widening, "Wholesome's really workin' for me."

Her expression clouded over for just a few seconds, but then she shrugged it off.  "Fine," Emily muttered. "Whatever you say, Jake.  Though we both know you'll be bored to tears in a month," she predicted, taking a step back.  She shook her head at him, smiling grimly.  "'Cause you need excitement, and you are not gonna get that from her."

"You just let me worry about what I find exciting," Jake told Emily.  It was a valid indictment, however; the best Emily had come up with so far.  After all, she was the one who'd listened to all his complaints about how boring Jericho was, how nothing ever happened in Jericho, and how he couldn't wait to leave.  But, what Emily didn't know, the problem with her accusation, was that Jake found nearly everything about Heather - from the fact that she could discuss almost any subject competently and enthusiastically, to her invariably passionate response to his every touch and kiss - to be exciting.

"How is this your business, anyway?" Jake demanded then, refocusing his attention on Emily.  "And, if you're talkin' about the danger quotient, well, I get enough of that at work these days," he reminded.  "I don't need that in my personal life, too.  Besides," he continued, "This isn't a debate.  You don't get a say anymore, Emily.  I - I care about Heather, and we're together.  That's just the way it is.  And, you need to stay away from her," he repeated.

"Fine.  No problem." Emily's words were clipped, coming out in short, annoyed breaths.  "Trust me, I've wasted all the time I plan to on Heather," she assured him, starting to inch toward her car again.  "Go.  Go spend all your time with little Miss Wholesome Goodness," Emily ordered, rolling her eyes and waving a hand that said she was through with him.  "I'm sure you'll both be very happy together," she added in a tone that clearly implied that she thought nothing of the sort.

Jake nodded, more than happy to let her go.  In the old days, when they'd had a fight in the school parking lot, he'd still had to drive her home.  This evening Jake was just grateful that Emily now had her own car.  He didn't know if he believed her when she said she'd leave Heather alone, but decided he would take her word for now. 

"I know it'd probably make you happy if I just disappeared, and you never saw me again," he began.  Emily stopped, her car door open, and looked back over her shoulder at him, her expression pained.  "But that's not gonna happen.  Sorry," Jake muttered in apology, throwing her something that was in between a frown and a grin.  "You need to move on," he advised, "Just like I needed to move on.  And, you can hate me all you need to, Em, but leave Heather out of it."

She closed her car door and turned around, already protesting what he'd said.  However, Jake wasn't interested in round two, and besides, Emily had gotten the last word when they'd done this last, at her brother's funeral.  "That's it Em, no more," he interrupted tiredly.  Jake took a step back.  "I'm gonna go spend the evening with my girlfriend," he told her, turning toward his car.  "See ya around."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tuesday, October 31, six weeks after the bombs

"Are you outta your mind?" Gray Anderson demanded, "You made a deal with Jonah Prowse?"

Jake leaned back against the office window, closing his eyes.  April had pronounced him concussion free the previous day, and he'd finally gotten a reasonably good night's sleep the night before.  He loved Heather, truly more than his own life, but he couldn't help feeling that if she was going to wake him up in the middle of the night, then he preferred it be for reasons other than asking him to solve a math problem or demanding that he tell her who'd won last year's World Series.  Four nights of getting up every two hours had been more than enough for Jake's taste.  Heather's half-teasing argument that it was good practice for their impending future had only made him groan.  And now, the headache he thought he'd put behind him was starting to return. 

"Yeah," Jake muttered, pressing his thumb and index fingers against his eyes, and the pinching the bridge of his nose.  "Mitch for the food, and Jonah stays outta Jericho." 

He couldn't help but wonder what he'd walked into, what Gray Anderson was doing here.  Jake had slept in some that morning, and Eric had been gone by the time he'd made it downstairs.  He'd arrived at town hall intending to hold a short conference with his brother, Jimmy, and Bill before heading out to meet Jonah, but instead he'd walked in on this rather suspicious meeting.  Jake glanced around the room, taking in the uncomfortable expression on Jimmy's face, the perpetually irritated look on Bill's, Eric's sheepish frown.  His gaze finally settled on Gray.  "Why?"

"Because you can't make deals with guys like that!" Gray protested angrily, lurching out of his seat.

"Wait a minute!  We talked about this," Jake argued, glaring at his father's political rival.  He had a sudden, new found respect for all that Johnston had to deal with as mayor.  Jake looked at his brother.  "We - we agreed!"

Gray, frowning, had shaken his head throughout Jake's statement.  "Look," he muttered, pressing his lips together, "I know Prowse.  He hauled materials for Stevens before I came into the mine.  He - he was stealin' five percent off the top, intimidatin' suppliers," he sputtered.  "This guy did four years at Lansing for extortion and assault," Gray reminded, throwing his hands up in disgust.  "And you wanna negotiate with that guy."

"He's got a good point, Jake," Eric murmured.

"Really?" Jake questioned, one eyebrow raised.  He took two steps into the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest.  "You know Jonah, do you Gray?" he demanded then, throwing the other man a pointed look.  "Well, I wrote the federal case file on Jonah Prowse.  I practically lived in his head for two years.  And, he spent five years in federal prison because of my testimony.  My work.  I know exactly who he is," Jake assured, "Who I'm dealing with."

"And, maybe you're just a little too close to the situation," Gray suggested, dropping back into his chair.

Jake let out a strangled noise, and turned to face Eric, squinting.  "What happened to clearing this with Dad?" he demanded.

"No disrespect to your father," Gray drawled, "But he hasn't been out there.  Neither have you.  I've seen what happens when people lose their hold on law and order."  He seemed to puff up with self-importance as he continued.  "You start strikin' bargains with the bad guys," Gray complained, practically shouting, "It's the beginning of the end."

"Where the hell do you think we are now?" Jimmy muttered, throwing Jake a supportive look, which earned him an annoyed glare from Bill.  "Jake's got a point, too."  He glanced at Gray and Eric, frowning.  "At least that's what I think."

"None of you've been out there," Gray repeated, his tone harsh.  "I have!"

"Just calm down!" Jake ordered, yelling.  He paused, taking a deep breath.  "All right, here it is.  We need food more than we need to keep Mitch Cafferty," he reasoned.  "Now, I'm supposed to make a trade with Jonah in an hour.  If I go out there empty-handed, I don't know what he's gonna do," Jake warned.

"Doesn't matter," Gray countered stubbornly.  He leaned back in his chair, his legs stretched out straight in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest.  "Because he'll know that we won't roll over for him."

Jake let out a frustrated breath, turning away for a moment, his jaw and his fist clenched.  He wanted nothing more than to hit something, the wall or - better yet - Gray Anderson, self-proclaimed expert on the world outside of Jericho.  True, he'd brought back news and information that they had needed, but that didn't prevent him from being short-sighted now. 

"Look, Jake.  We either hold this territory or we don't," Gray reasoned, sounding, at least to Jake, like the smarmy politician he longed to be.

"Eric," Jake prompted his brother, hoping, but not really expecting that Eric would come to the right decision.

Eyes downcast, Eric took a long moment to answer.  Finally, he glanced quickly at Jake, but then his gaze settled on Gray.  Jake knew what he was going to say before he said it.  "Gray's right."

"'Kay, Eric," Jake growled, grinding his clenched fist against his thigh.  "But you just remember, in a couple of months, when it's been three or four days since you last ate, that you were the swing vote."  He shook his head, allowing an irate chuckle.  "You think I don't know that dealing with Jonah is gettin' in bed with the devil?  But you keep your friends close, and your enemies closer," Jake reminded.  "And, if you think crossin' Jonah's gonna make us safer," he finished, staring down at Gray, "Well then, you're an idiot."

"Jake -"

""What's it gonna be, Eric?" Jake demanded then, cutting his brother off.

Eric opened his mouth but then closed it again without saying anything.  His expression was confused, conflicted.  He looked at Gray for a second, and then turned back to face his brother.  "I - Jake - I - I can't authorize Mitchell Cafferty's release," he stammered.  "I can't."

"Okay," Jake nodded.  His lips were pressed into a grim line.  "That's it then."  He turned toward the door.  "I've got a meeting." 

* * * * *

Chuckling, Jake looked around at the crowd.  He was having a good time despite, as Heather had complained a half hour earlier, his every intention not to.  Jake hadn't wanted to come to the Halloween party, hadn't really wanted to be around people, but Heather had to attend, and he hadn't been about to let her go alone, and so, grumbling the whole way, he'd come along. 

They hadn't been there very long before he had drifted into a conversation with Derek Hyde who, along with his father, ran the larger of the two dairies in Jericho.  Derek had been a year ahead of Jake in school, and they'd played on the baseball team together.  They had always been friendly, if not actually friends, and so it hadn't been a complete surprise when Derek had joined Jake on the sidelines while his daughters had lined up for the bean bag toss being supervised at the time by Heather.

"Jake, good to see ya," Derek had greeted, offering Jake his hand. "I hear congratulations are in order," he'd added, nodding in Heather's direction.

"Thanks," Jake had sighed, grinning softly.  As far as he could tell, half the citizens of Jericho had become aware of Heather's pregnancy in the preceding week; Derek's good wishes weren't even the first he'd received during the party.  They had reminisced some after that, and then they'd both coached Amy and Katie Hyde - often giving conflicting advice - through their turns at the game.  The girls had won plastic spider rings which they'd proudly shown off to their dad and his friend before eventually wandering off to bob for apples.  Derek's wife, Stephanie, had followed the girls, depositing their youngest, two year-old Matthew, in her husband's arms.  "A future third baseman for Jericho High?" Jake had inquired, smiling at the little boy.

"Maybe, we'll see," Derek had shrugged.  "Amy's gotta an arm like yours," he'd claimed proudly.  "We were gonna start her in a girl's softball league in the spring.  Though, right now," Derek had admitted, shaking his head, "I'll settle for gettin' 'em all through the winter, safe and healthy.  We're covered for food, I guess.  Turns out it's a pain in the butt," he'd continued with a quick glance down at his son, "To milk nearly two hundred cows by hand.  We've reduced that to about thirty - let the others dry up - and half the milk's still goin' to waste.  We don't really have the feed to get the whole herd through the winter either, so now Dad and I are tryin' to put together a plan."  Derek had looked at Jake.  "Dairy cows aren't really good eating, but we'll probably have some extra at the end of the week if you're interested."

"Can't really pay you for it," Jake had countered, "Unless you need a horse."

"We've been tradin' milk for fuel the last month," Derek had explained over his shoulder.  He'd walked to the sidewalk, Jake following, and had deposited Matthew atop a bale of hay so the little boy could toddle back and forth on it.  "But nobody has any to spare anymore.  A horse or two might be a good idea.  Seems ridiculous to let everything go to waste when there're people in town who could use it, but if I can't get it to town...."

"Yeah," Jake had agreed, "We're tryin' to figure all that out.  It's just slow goin'," he'd admitted with a frown.

Derek had nodded in acknowledgement, if not understanding.  "Yeah.  Well, we'll do what we can, but I gotta worry about my own kids first," he'd reminded, picking up Matthew and waving at someone behind Jake.

After that, they had been joined by three other former teammates, all of whom had offspring at the party that they tried to keep track of while participating in a conversation about the Jericho High baseball team's run at the championship Jake's junior year.  They were all snickering at Bryant Jackson's claim that a gust of wind had robbed him of a home run in the fifth inning of the last game, and Derek, in between snorts of laughter, had managed to choke out "Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades," when Jake looked up, his own chuckle dying on his lips.

"Aw, shit," he muttered, his mind still processing what he saw happening before him.  Mitchell Cafferty, accompanied by Joe Kelly and Randy Brauner - two of Jonah's more loyal goons - were sprinting away from town hall, and Gray Anderson, armed with a shotgun, was in hot pursuit.  Jake's first instinct, which he followed, was to glance behind and verify that Heather was safe and okay.  His second instinct was to take off after the others.

Jake had been at a dead stop, and he realized quickly that he was not going to catch up with Mitchell or his accomplices.  All he could hope for was to catch up with Gray and keep him from doing anything stupid - anything stupid like shooting after Mitchell in the pitch dark of downtown Jericho when there were at least a hundred children and nearly as many parents out in the streets.  Jake did the only thing he could think to do, and tackled Gray, shouting at him to stop.

Gray quickly wrestled himself loose of Jake, wheeling around on the younger man.  "What!" he shouted, glaring daggers at Jake.  "You're letting them go!"

"Instead of what?" Jake demanded in return, equally furious.  "Starting a firefight on Main Street?"

"I gotta go after 'em," Gray decided, wild-eyed, turning away.

Jake grabbed a fistful of his shirt, forcing him to remain in place, though Gray struggled to get away.  "Are you outta your mind?" he barked.

"This has gotta be answered, Jake!" Gray yelled, wrenching himself free.  "What?  You're gonna turn the other cheek?" he accused snidely.  "How long before you think these guys are back?"

"Look," he replied, taking a quick breath, "I can talk to Jonah."  Jake didn't know if that was true, especially now that Jonah had Mitchell back, and therefore no real reason not to shoot Jake on sight, but he knew he had to try.

"You can talk to Jonah," Gray mocked, rolling his eyes.  "You need to find him -"

"He lived up to his end of the deal!" Jake shouted over Gray.

Gray, panting, leaned back against the side wall of one of the booths that had been erected for the party.  "Why the hell are you protectin' this guy?" he questioned, still trying to catch his breath.

"I'm protecting this town," Jake snarled, throwing his hands up in the air.  He twisted around, pointing at the skittish crowd behind them.  The atmosphere had completely changed; frantic parents gathered their children to them, and a small group had formed a half-circle around Jake and Gray about twenty feet away.  "I'm protecting those people, those kids!"  He turned back to face Gray, glaring.  "And, Jonah, he can get things we're gonna need," Jake said.

"What can he get?" Gray yelled, grimacing angrily.

"He can get food!  He can get gas!  He can get ammo!" Jake catalogued, shouting in return.  "Could you get that stuff if we needed it tomorrow?" he challenged, taking a step towards Gray, who looked away, annoyed.  "Could you?" Jake repeated, "Because he can."  With that, Jake wrenched the shotgun out of Gray's grip.  "We do this my way now," he declared, spinning around and marching away without a look back.

Jake walked through a knot of people who eyed him nervously.  He pasted a grim smile on his face, and pushed his way through the crowd, looking for Heather.  He found her standing with Emily and the Hydes.  "Derek, you probably wanna get your family home, just to be safe," Jake advised.

"Yeah, good idea," Derek nodded.  He pulled his daughters closer, tucking one under each arm, and then glanced at his wife.  "Thanks," he sighed, letting go of Amy, the older girl, long enough to shake hands.  "Nice catchin' up with you, Jake.  And, congratulations.  You too, Mrs. Green," Derek added, gesturing at the hand Heather had resting on her pregnant belly.

"Thank you," she murmured, adding, "And, please, call me Heather."  She glanced at Stephanie, including her in the invitation.  "After all, I'm not Amy's teacher anymore."

"Well, I wish you were," Stephanie Hyde replied, her gaze settling on her older daughter.  "Amy really does miss school."  She let out a long breath.  "Okay girls.  Say good night to Mr. and Mrs. Green," she instructed, hefting her son on her hip.  "We're going home now."

Amy and Katie, their eyes wide, did as their mother bid them, offering their goodbyes quickly.  Heather, after glancing around at the dissipating crowd, reached into her basket, and then handed each girl a fistful of candy.  "Happy Halloween, Amy, Katie.  Just make sure you share some of that with your brother and your parents," she instructed, forcing a smile.

"Dad gets all the Mounds and Almond Joys," Amy explained, already seeming to recover from the tension that had all of the adults tied in knots.

"Yeah," Katie confirmed, making a face. "Those are so gross."

"You've heard of the cookie monster," Derek joked, resting his hands protectively on top of his girls' heads.  "Well, they call me the coconut monster."

Heather looked down, searching the basket quickly.  She pulled out two mini Mounds bars and handed them to him.  "'Here you go, coconut monster," she grinned.

"Thanks," he replied, dropping the candy in his shirt pocket.  "Okay, let's go," Derek declared, clapping his hands together.  The Hydes gathered their children up and hurried down the street to where their car was parked.

"You okay, babe?" Jake asked, looking at his wife.  Heather nodded and, after pulling off her witch's hat, moved next to him, slipping under his arm.  Jake held her close against his side. He glanced at Emily, who had a pained look on her face.  "Em?" he prompted.  "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Emily confirmed, inhaling sharply.  "What was all that?"

"Jail break," he muttered, looking up to acknowledge Bill and Jimmy, who practically tripped over one another in their rush to join the other three.  "How the hell did this happen, Bill?" Jake demanded, glaring at the deputy. 

"They came into the station!  They had guns!" Bill defended himself, holding his hands up protectively.  "They forced me to let Mitchell out, and locked me in his cell. I knew that Gray was in interview one," he continued in a rush of breath.  "He's been using -"

"Wait a minute," Jake interrupted, looking back and forth between Bill and Jimmy, who both avoided his gaze by looking down at the ground, their hands stuffed in their pockets.  "Gray Anderson has an office at town hall now?" he questioned, exasperation coloring his tone.  "Well, that's just great!"

"What do we do now, Jake?" Jimmy asked after a few uncomfortable seconds.

Jake shook his head, allowing his eyes to fall closed for a moment.  "I don't know what you do now, Jimmy," he muttered.  "All I know is I'm on the clean-up crew, right?" he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of Heather's head.  She nodded in confirmation.  Jake caught Jimmy's eye.  "So, that's what I'm gonna do.  Here," he added, handing the shotgun he'd confiscated from Gray over to Jimmy.  "I'm guessin' Gray grabbed this out of the open gun safe?  You may wanna rethink that particular procedure."   

Heather put Jake to work picking up garbage, while she and Emily loaded pumpkins into shopping carts.  The pumpkins would go back to town hall and then be distributed to whoever needed them in the morning.  Collecting litter, it turned out, suited Jake's mood; it was somewhat physical and nobody cared if he was a little rough with the trash.  He'd pulled all the bags out of the public garbage cans and was tying off the last one when his brother jogged up to him.

"What the hell happened, Jake?" Eric demanded.

Jake dropped the trash bag on the pile and glanced over his shoulder at Eric.  "Nice of you to show up finally," he muttered.

"What, I went over to Bailey's to get a drink," Eric argued.  "I'm allowed!"

"Sure," Jake shrugged.  "And, while you were getting a drink and whatever else," he drawled, "Joe Kelly and Randy Brauner busted Mitchell Cafferty outta your jail."

"You saw them?" Eric's tone was incredulous.  "Why didn't you try and stop 'em?"

Rolling his eyes, Jake grabbed two garbage bags off the pile.  "Well, since I didn't see them until they were halfway down Main Street, and shooting at them in a crowd of children didn't strike me as a viable option, I wasn't left with much to do."

Heather joined them then, her expression guarded.  "Hey, Eric," she greeted, eliciting a distracted nod from her brother-in-law.

"So what now?" Eric questioned quietly.

Jake ignored his brother and glanced at his wife.  "Where do I put the trash?" he asked, holding up one bag and then gesturing at the pile he'd made in the gutter.

"The dumpster behind town hall?" she guessed, looking back and forth between the Green brothers.  "That's all right, isn't it, Eric?"

"Sure," he nodded.  "I'll get someone to haul everything out to the dump tomorrow."

"Can't even do that yourself, huh, Eric?" Jake grumbled, throwing his brother a look of eloquent exasperation.  "Are you really that adverse to getting your hands a little dirty these days?" he demanded.  He didn't wait for Eric's answer, stepping out into the street, heading for town hall, two garbage bags in tow.

Eric looked at Heather who simply crossed her arms and stared back at him.  Emitting an annoyed sound, he grabbed two more trash bags and followed Jake, jogging to catch up.  They were behind the building, tossing the trash into the dumpster before Eric spoke.  "Look, Jake," he started, "I get that you're mad.  I'm mad, too.  What I don't get is why you're blaming me, I didn't -"

"You voted with Gray Anderson, Eric," Jake interrupted, spinning around to face his brother, his irritation plainly apparent in his features.  "Gray Anderson!  And, don't look now, but it sure seems to me like we rolled over for Jonah Prowse.  Only problem is, we got nothing out of the deal.  No prisoner, no food," he reminded, shaking his head.  "Good work there, Eric."

"Look - okay - look," he stuttered.  "Maybe we messed up," Eric admitted.  "But we can fix this.  Tomorrow, we just go out to Jonah's with a show of force.  You, me, Jimmy, Bill, whoever we can get.  We handle it."

"No, we don't," Jake contradicted.  "Unless by 'handle it' you mean getting them killed.  'Cause, if you take Jimmy and Bill out there, you will get them killed."

"Well, what do you suggest, then?  What do we do now?"

Jake faced his brother with a sour smile.  "You don't need to worry about it, Eric.  I'm handling this now.  You go back to doin' whatever it is you do."  He moved around Eric then, and headed back down the alley toward Main Street, not bothering to look back.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Saturday, October 27, five years before the bombs

Heather entered Bailey's Tavern and looked around.  This was her first time in Jericho's favorite watering hole; she only drank occasionally - had only been legally eligible to do so for a little over a year - and having butted heads with the president of the PTA almost immediately upon arriving in town, Heather had figured clean living was the way to go.  After all, it was one thing to bump into one of her student's parents at the pizza parlor or the coffee house, but meeting one of them in the bar would be awkward.  However, April had suggested that they meet at six for drinks, and Heather had agreed, so now she was here.

Scanning the room, Heather checked her watch.  She'd planned to be early, and she'd succeeded; it was only a quarter to.  She was just about to find a quiet corner to wait for April when she realized that the other woman was already there, waving at her from a booth in the back.  Heather let out the breath she'd been holding and headed for April's table, sliding into the opposite seat.  "Hello," she greeted, laughing softly.  "And, I thought I was always early."

"Oh, I just got here," April assured with a dismissive wave.  She closed the book she'd been reading and set it in the middle of the table.  "But then, I feel late if I'm not twenty minutes early for everything."

"Me too," Heather nodded, starting to giggle.  "And, you're not gonna believe this," she continued, reaching into her purse, "But I brought a book to read, too."  She held the volume up for April's inspection.

"Oh, geez!" April laughed, watching Heather as she placed her book, The Fellowship of the Ring, on the table, right next to April's identical copy.  "After I talked to you on Monday, I thought it would be a good idea to re-read it before the movie came out."

"My plan, exactly," Heather grinned.  "Great minds, right?"

April smiled.  "Absolutely."

A waitress appeared then, setting a glass of white wine down on a cocktail napkin in front of April.  "Here you go, Dr. Green," she smiled, and then turned to Heather.  "And, what can I get you?"

"Uh, the same," Heather answered quickly, gesturing at April's drink. "The same would be great."

"You got it," the waitress agreed.  "I just need to see some ID," she added, offering an apologetic look.

"Right," Heather muttered, blushing and reaching for her purse. 

"Well, well."  The three women all looked over in time to see Stanley Richmond, beer in hand, sauntering in their direction.  He grinned at Heather and April.  "If it isn't the two girls the Green boys stole from me!  Together."  Stanley stepped around the waitress, his hand brushing her shoulder.  "'Scuse me, Mary," he requested, slipping into the booth next to April and throwing his arm around her shoulder.  "What's up, doc?"

Mary, the waitress, rolled her eyes.  "'Nother beer, Stanley?" she inquired, returning Heather's driver's license with a smile.  "All set.  I'll get your drink."

Stanley held up his glass, which was half full.  "Oh, I'm good for another ten or so," he assured her.  "Don't worry 'bout me, Mare."

"Trust me, I won't," Mary snorted, shaking her head at Stanley.  "Good luck," she added, shooting both April and Heather sympathetic looks before walking back towards the bar.

"Sooo," April began, eyeing Heather speculatively, "I know how I'm the first girl one of the Green boys stole from poor Stanley, but how are you the second?"

"Poor Stanley is right," he sighed, leaning his head on April's shoulder and pouting.  "Did you know that I took April to the prom?" he asked Heather.  He lifted his head and leaned over the table, stage whispering, "And, we totally made out.  Second base."  He sat back, frowning when April shoved him away, trying not to laugh.  "I coulda married a doctor.  Mom would've been so proud."

"I did know that," Heather answered, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling.  "That you went to the prom, I mean."

"And the rest is just between us," April reminded, nodding her head until Stanley caught on and did the same.

"Yeah.  Good idea," he agreed.  "Eric probably wouldn't like that, huh?"  He looked down at the table, and then up at the two of them.  "Are there two books?" Stanley asked, wrinkling his forehead, "Or've I had more to drink than I thought?"

April caught Heather's eye and shook her head.  "What are you talking about, Stanley?" she questioned, affecting a nonchalant tone.  She reached for her wineglass and took a sip.  "What book?"

"Yeah, who brings a book to a bar?" Heather asked, biting her lip to prevent a smile.

Stanley frowned at Heather, glanced sideways at April, and then back at Heather.  "That book," he muttered, very deliberately bringing his index finger down on the cover of the book on the left.  "And that book," he added, pressing the index finger of his other hand to the book on the right.  "Two books!" he insisted.

Heather and April both burst out in peals of laughter. 

"You're both mean," Stanley informed them, raising his voice to be heard over their giggles.  "Mean girls!" he accused melodramatically.  "The Green boys can have ya!"
 
"They sure can.  Right, Heather?" April asked grinning at her across the table.  "Which reminds me, I still haven't heard how it is that Jake stole you from Stanley."  Very conveniently, Mary arrived at that moment with Heather's drink, setting it on the table in front of her.  "Drink!  Spill!" April commanded.

"I met Stanley first, through Bonnie, that's all," Heather responded with a shrug.  "He asked me out, we went out, and that's pretty much it."

"She told me I reminded her of her brother," Stanley sighed, taking a swig of his beer.  "Before I could even kiss her," he complained. 

"Sorry Stanley," Heather apologized with a soft smile.  "I did fix your tractor, though, to make up for it," she reminded him, reaching for her wineglass.

Stanley nodded, a resigned look settling on his face.  "True," he agreed.  "And, there was that one day.  Jake couldn't figure us out," he confided to April, pointing at Heather and then at himself.  "Quite jealous, our Jakey.  I'll have to 'member that for the toast at your wedding," Stanley muttered, mostly to himself.

Heather's cheeks turned pink, and she protested, "We're not getting married!"

"So you're just gonna live in sin?" Stanley shot back, laughing.  "Oooh!  Even better."

"Be nice, Stanley," April commanded, reaching up to pat the top of his head.  "Jake and Heather aren't getting married."  She waited a beat and then, grinning at Heather, added, "Yet.  And, when they do get married," April continued, chuckling at the slightly uncomfortable expression on Heather's face, "You'll be nice and remember the number one rule of wedding toasts: don't embarrass the bride!"

"Can I embarrass Jake?"

"Groom's always fair game," April returned over the edge of her glass.  "Only the bride is sacrosanct."  She looked at Heather.  "Don't worry," she reassured, "Stanley was very good at my wedding.  He didn't even complain when I paired him up with my sister Autumn."

"Your dippy sister Autumn," Stanley supplied with a mock shudder. "Not that I'm complaining," he added quickly.  "But at your wedding," Stanley said, throwing Heather a very credible hang-dog look, "Please, pick a good bridesmaid for me to spend the day with."

Groaning, Heather shook her head.  She reached for her glass, taking what could really only be classified as a gulp of wine.  "First, I am not getting married," she insisted, glaring at them both.  "And, second," she chuckled, grinning at April, "Your sister's name is really Autumn?"

"Yep," April confirmed.  "And, even worse, my baby sister's name is August.  Nobody knows what my parents were thinking, and my mother has since apologized," she joked.  "They were both my maids of honor, though I don't actually remember making that decision.  Just a little wedding planning warning there," she told Heather.  "And, I know, you're not getting married.  Anyway," April continued, taking a deep breath, "Stanley was best man, and then Jake was best man, too -"

"We were best men," Stanley interjected, "Both of us.  Co-best men."  April raised an eyebrow, shooting him a semi-amused look.  "Just trying to help," he muttered, finishing off his beer.

"I know," April smiled, patting Stanley's arm.  She faced Heather again.  "I had to stick poor Jake with August.  She had a crush on him when she was nine, and I swear it never went away," April admitted, chuckling.  "That turned out to be a really weird combination.  I mean, August literally didn't move two feet away from Jake for the entire day, plus he was on crutches, still had a concussion, not to mention he was taking some pretty heavy-duty painkillers," she listed.  "Let's just say, Jake's toast was a little questionable," April sighed, frowning softly.  "Though the questionable part was all aimed at Eric, and not at me," she reminded Stanley, catching his eye.  "And that's because...."

"That's because the bride is sancro - saccharin - sarco - important?"

"Sacrosanct, exactly," April declared, smiling at Stanley.  "And, you just remember that when Heather gets married," she ordered, shaking a finger at him.  This time there was no protest from Heather, and so April supplied for her, "Not that she's getting married."  Grinning, she glanced across the table at Heather, surprised to find her staring back, her expression obviously troubled.

"Painkillers?  Crutches?" Heather questioned, frowning.  "Concussion?"

"Uh, yeah," April confirmed, an almost guilty look crossing her features.  "Jake was - he had an accident - four days - well, really three days - before the wedding."

"That's when...." Heather prompted, looking back and forth between April and Stanley, not bothering to complete her statement.  They both nodded.

"Yeah," April confirmed.  "But, I shouldn't have said anything.  And, look, he was okay."  She chuckled nervously.  "Little mad that there was an open bar, and he couldn't take advantage of it, but otherwise okay."

Stanley cleared his throat.  "I think I'm gonna go sit over there with Heather now," he informed April.

She smiled at him.  "Sounds like a plan," April agreed, kissing Stanley on the cheek.  "Okay with you, Heather?"

"Yeah," she nodded.  "Okay."  Stanley slid out of April's side of the booth, and then in next to Heather, pulling her into a quick hug.  She leaned her head against his arm.  "You really do remind me of my big brother," she sighed, smiling softly.  "Thanks."

"Just what every guy wants to hear," Stanley grumbled.  "So, what are you two ladies doing out tonight, without the Green boys?" He tried to make the question sound light, but he couldn't quite manage it.

"They're off hunting," April reminded, "So we're having a 'girls' night out'.  I'm surprised that you, the third Green twin, didn't go with 'em."

"You're the third Green twin?" Heather asked, craning her neck to look up at Stanley. 

He laughed.  "That's what the teachers called me, usually when I was in trouble.  And, as for why I didn't go huntin'," Stanley shrugged, "It's bow season, and that's not really my thing.  I'll go in January when rifle season starts.  Besides," he smirked, "That's a one room cabin, and Gramps snores, Mayor Green snores, Eric -"

"Snores!" April declared, laughing.  "I'm trying to get him to see an ENT doc for that."

"Jake snores too," Stanley informed Heather, "Just so you know."

"Thanks for the tip," Heather chuckled.  "Now, I know absolutely nothing about hunting," she admitted, continuing, "So 'bow season'?  As in bow and arrow?  Robin Hood?  People still do that?"

"Bow and arrows, yes," Stanley said.  "But not those flimsy Robin Hood things.  These are ... deadly.  Have you seen the practice range out at the ranch?" he asked Heather.  She thought about it for a few seconds, recalling the open field with the bales of hay, targets pinned to them, that she'd seen the day Jake had given her the grand tour.  Heather nodded.  "It's in the middle of nowhere," Stanley reminded, "Nothing around it.  There's a reason for that."

"It's just not the archery that you and I did at summer camp," April added, smiling kindly at Heather.  "Eric bought a new bow a month ago.  It was eight hundred dollars, and that's not custom.  This is serious stuff."

Heather looked back and forth between Stanley and April.  "Poor Bambi," she murmured, starting to giggle nervously. 

This time it was Stanley and April who burst out laughing, Stanley actually guffawing and pounding his hand on the table, almost knocking over Heather's wineglass.  April recovered first, and sputtering, told Heather, "We're not laughing at you, promise."

"Oh, I am!" Stanley crowed, "Poor Bambi!"  He took a deep breath, and then let it out.  "Poor Bambi," he repeated, starting to chuckle again.

"Oh, have your fun," Heather muttered, blushing softly. 

Mary the waitress returned then, smiling warmly.  "Can I get any of you a refill?"

"Sure!" Stanley returned, stretching his arms out along the back of the booth.  "More wine, ladies?"

"Actually, we have to go," April answered.  "Sorry, Stanley, but we're late for spaghetti and spumoni."

Stanley slid out of the booth and stood up.  "Cancel that beer, Mary," he said, pulling a couple of bills out of his wallet and handing them to her. "Roma Italia, here we come!" he declared gleefully.

"Oh Stanley," April replied, cringing slightly, "Dinner is girls only.  Sorry."

Heather extracted herself from the booth and, standing on tiptoe, pressed a quick kiss to Stanley's cheek.  "Sorry, Stanley," she apologized.  "But, hey, we'll definitely call you for drinks next girls night out," she promised, chuckling softly.  Heather slipped past him then and, after grabbing both their books off the table, followed April out of the bar.

Mary shot Stanley a look that was half amused, half sympathetic.  "Tell you what, Stanley.  I'll uncancel that beer."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday, November 1, six weeks after the bombs

Jake popped the hood on the old truck and glanced over the engine.  Looking sideways at Heather, he demanded, stunned, "This is all that's working?"  For a brief moment he considered doing something - checking the oil, changing the spark plugs, beating on the radiator with a wrench, something - but he knew there was no point.  There was nothing he could do to this old truck that Heather hadn't already taken care of.  He dropped the hood, pushing down on it so that the latch would catch. 

"Eric hit something with your Dad's truck on Monday," Heather answered, eyeing him carefully, not sure he'd heard about that yet.  "It's leakin' everything at this point, plus I think the axle's cracked.  To fix it, I'd have to crawl underneath, which, on the advice of my doctor, I will not be doing," she added, pressing her hand to her middle. 

"Thank you," Jake muttered, shaking his head.  "That'd be your husband's advice, too.  I don't really need to think about a car falling on you."

"Yeah, plus I don't fit - or I won't fit in a week," she admitted with a sigh.  "Mr. Carlisle's gonna take a look at it for me, sometime," Heather explained, offering a slight smile.  "He's joking about putting up a sign that says 'Carlisle and Green Motorworks: Auto Repair for a New Era'."

He acknowledged her words with an absent grin, glancing around the open area in front of the garage.  After the incident at the ranch five days before, he'd pretty much forced Heather to move her auto repair efforts back to town.  His parents' across the street neighbor was a semi-retired mechanic with his own garage three blocks from home.  Mr. Carlisle had been more than willing to provide space for Heather, and she'd been happy to accept.  The garage wasn't as modern as Murthy's out on the highway, but that was a blessing; things still worked at Carlisle's.  It had taken a day and a half, but with Stanley's help, they'd moved four vehicles, including Jake's Roadrunner, sputtering and stalling out all the way, and all of the tools from the shop at the ranch to the garage.  Heather was back in business.      

"Gramps stopped driving this thing back when Dad was still in high school," he protested, looking over the orange and white Ford.  Jake took a step back, shaking his head.  "Thanks, Eric," he grumbled, turning to face Heather.  "Is this thing gonna die on me halfway out there?"

"Jake," she complained, frowning.  "This is what we've got."

"Sorry," Jake muttered.  He knew that impugning all of the work she'd put in on the cars over the last couple of weeks was unfair, especially when his brother insisted on undoing that hard work.  "The truck's fine."

"Well, if it does die, will you take it as a sign, and not go?" she asked, crossing her arms and studying him.

He let his head fall forward, closing his eyes.  He knew that she was unhappy with his decision to go out to West Kansas Shipping and Freight and confront Jonah Prowse.  "We talked about this last night," he muttered.  "If I don't go, Eric's gonna raid the place and get everybody killed."

"You're not invincible, Jake.  You - things can happen to you, too, ya know."  Heather stared at him for moment, and then took a deep breath.  "Luckily for you," she continued, shaking her head, "Charlotte's sturdy.  No chance she's going to crap out on you."

"You named Gramps's truck 'Charlotte'?" he asked, his lips twitching slightly. 

Heather shrugged.  "I name everything, eventually," she reminded, reluctantly giving into a smile. 

Jake chuckled and took a step toward Heather.  She stepped back, Jake following until he'd backed her into the fender of the truck.  "That's true.  You named the vacuum cleaner," he accused, kissing her forehead.  "Herbert," he snorted.

"Horses, cars, chickens, appliances," Heather listed.  She snaked her arm around his waist and laid her head against his chest.   "Anything's fair game," she added as his arms came up around her.

"So," he asked, looking over the truck at the Roadrunner which sat with its hood up in the garage's right hand bay.  "Does my car have a name?"  She giggled nervously.  Jake's eyes narrowed, and he looked down at the top of her head.  "Heather," he said gruffly, "What'd you name it?"

"Um, don't you have somewhere to be?" she countered, glancing up at him, the slightest of blushes tingeing her cheeks.  "Deals to make?  Messes to clean up?"

"Yeah," Jake agreed.  "What'd you name it?"

"Uh-uh.  A girl's gotta have some secrets," Heather informed him.  "Well, that's one of mine.  But, hey," she said, a hopeful gleam in her eye, "Don't go and I'll tell you." 

"I have to go, babe," he murmured, cupping her chin and pressing a chaste kiss to her mouth.

 Heather sighed, frowning softly.  "I know."

"People are starting to go hungry," he told her, his sense of frustration, never long at bay these days, returning.  "If I don't work this out, we're gonna go hungry," Jake stressed, letting her go and taking a step away.  "I have to try."

She nodded.  They'd had this discussion the night before.  Jake had explained what he thought Jonah could do for them, for the town.  That Jonah, more than anyone else they had access to, could supply the food and fuel they would need in the coming months.  He'd told her also about his discussion with Derek Hyde, and his realization that they needed to set up some sort of exchange, a system of distribution.  Heather, in turn, had reminded Jake of the realities of Jericho the community: a twelve percent poverty rate in the county, higher for families with children; a fifth of her students on food stamps and the school lunch program.  There were already plenty of people in desperate circumstances.

The children that had attended the Halloween party, Heather had admitted, those had been the kids whose parents were well-off.  They were the children of parents who could still find and afford gas, the parents who could still assemble a Halloween costume from what was laying around in their attics and basements, the parents that could still muster the energy to take a few hours to have some fun and forget.  There were a lot of other parents and children in Jericho who had not been at the party, she'd explained, and Jake, armed with another piece of the puzzle, had become even more resolute.  He knew that he had to go to Jonah; he had to try.  Reluctantly, Heather had agreed to his trip, but that didn't mean she was happy about it. 

"Okay," she murmured, reaching for his hand.  She gripped it tightly for the three seconds it took for Jake to yank open the trucks door and slide into the seat.  Letting go, she stepped back, pushing the door closed while at the same time he pulled it closed from the inside.  They offered one another weak smiles.   "So, ah, be careful," Heather sighed, leaning through the open window.

"Only going ten miles," he argued.

She shook her head.  "I meant with him.  I was at that trial."

"Yeah," Jake acknowledged, sucking a deep breath through his teeth.

"I love you," Heather tried to smile then, brushing one errant curl off his forehead with her hand.  "Please don't get yourself killed."

"I love you, too," he returned, capturing her hand as she withdrew it, and pressing a kiss to her palm.

Heather couldn't help but laugh.  "You have no idea where that's been this morning."

"Thought I detected a hint of grease," he chuckled, making a face.  Jake took another deep breath and then turned the key in the ignition.  The truck rumbled sluggishly to life. "Home in time for lunch, I promise."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Different Circumstances: Part 7B of ? by Marzee Doats

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday, November 1, six weeks after the bombs

The way to West Kansas Shipping and Freight, even five years later, was still as familiar to Jake as the back of his own hand or his wife's silhouette across a crowded room.  He drove on autopilot, his eyes on the road but his brain engaged in a review of his plan of action.  Jake's plans were never very detailed; he'd always been a person who had had more success operating by the seat of his pants than was truly fair.  His boss had once called him 'lazy but lucky', and he'd had to admit that the description was fair.  The problem was that he'd learned early in life that the best laid plans were only as good as your ability to improvise at the first sign of trouble.  Jake could improvise with the best of them, and that meant that, though he usually knew where he wanted to get and had a general idea of how to get there, he didn't usually bother to think more than two or three steps ahead.

Today, though, Jake did have the semblance of a plan, enough of a proposal for Jonah Prowse to hopefully keep from getting himself killed.  That much Heather had insisted on, keeping him on this particular subject for much longer than he would have preferred, the evening prior.  It had been her idea - one he'd initially resisted - that he offer up Gracie's Market as the 'retail outlet' for Jonah's operations.  After all, Heather had argued, Gracie had already been working with Jonah, whether she knew it or not, thanks to Dale's misguided decision to go to Sean Henthorn and Mitchell Cafferty for help.  He'd been surprised by Heather's pragmatic view of the situation, the fact that she didn't recoil at the idea of forcing Gracie Leigh into partnership with a man who was, for all intents and purposes, a gangster.  But Heather, Jake realized, as much as any of them, was adjusting to their new reality, and that reality was that it took more than a trip to the grocery store or a favorite restaurant to put dinner on the table now.

Jake turned into the driveway of West Kansas Shipping and Freight, proceeding slowly up the narrow concrete lane, bringing the truck to a stop between what he knew were the two main loading docks.  It looked like half of Jonah's 'staff' were on hand to meet him; Jake stopped counting after ten.  Pushing open his door, he climbed out, coming around the front of the vehicle, a smirk plastered firmly on his face. 

Mitchell Cafferty was seated on an upturned crate, pencil in hand, going over something on a clipboard.  Jake caught his eye.  Mitchell, accompanied by two men Jake didn't recognize, hopped down from the dock, all three grinning malevolently.  "Quite the runner, Mitch," he called out, loud enough to attract the attention of everyone in the vicinity.  He was immediately surrounded by eight or nine men, one of whom - Vince McMahon - grabbed Jake's arm and, grunting, threw a punch. 

His defensive instincts took over, and Jake ducked, struggling against the grips of the men who had grabbed him from behind.  Jake didn't have time to think about what was likely to happen, only time to react, pulling away and kicking, before Jonah Prowse strode out of the warehouse, whistling loudly for their attention.  "Knock it off," he shouted, annoyed.  "Let him go!"  Jake continued to fight off his attackers, backhanding one of them - he didn't know who - before finally breaking free.  Jonah approached, waving the men away with an irritated "Break it up, break it up!"  He grabbed Jake's arm, pulling him out of the knot of men who melted away on command.  "All right, all right," he grumbled, glaring sideways at Jake.  "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Lotta people in town who aren't just gonna let this stand," Jake growled, eyes narrowed, not looking away even when he pointed at Mitchell.  "They're angry, talkin' about comin' out here to get 'im," he continued, snarling as much at his absent brother as he was at Jonah.  "By force, if necessary."

Jonah actually grinned at the threat, and chuckling, glanced back at Mitchell.  "Didja ever in your life think anyone'd care this much about Mitchell Cafferty?" he snorted, turning back to face Jake.

"You don't want it to come to that," Jake argued, not bothering to acknowledge Jonah's amusement with the situation.  "I don't want it to come to that," he continued, plowing on.  "I'm here to negotiate."

"The last time we negotiated," Jonah responded, wiping his hands clean on a rag, his grin gone, "It didn't work out so good for me."

Jonah's allusion to the previous day's events was enough to throw Jake off for just a few seconds.  When they had met Halloween morning, and Jake had been forced to admit that the town - or at least Gray and Eric - had refused to broker a deal with Jonah for Mitchell's release, Jake had only been surprised that Jonah hadn't tried to run him over after walking away without a word.  Jake hadn't really expected him to bring it up now.  "Keep Mitch," he conceded with a sigh.  This particular compromise wasn't strictly a part of the plan he'd hashed out with Heather, but Jake knew that no one had a bigger beef with Mitchell than he did, unless of course you counted Bill's, Gray's, and Eric's now wounded pride.

"Keep Mitch," he repeated.  "Keep the food, and sell it back to the town through Gracie Leigh's Market," Jake suggested, launching into the proposal.  "Take your cut off the top in supplies that we have, and you don't.  Fresh water, crops, salt from the mine," he listed, noting with relief the spark of interest in Jonah's eye.

"I'm listening," Jonah muttered.

Jake took a deep breath.  "In exchange, you'll guarantee that your ... your business," he decided, biting back his sense of distaste, "Stays away from town.  And, we'll send a trailer to pick up supplies," he added quickly.  "You don't come to us."

"I'll think about it," Jonah replied, prompting a sharp nod from Jake.  "Now, let's talk about what I need," he continued, frowning.  "I wanna talk to Emily."

"She doesn't want to see you," Jake returned immediately.  His association with Emily was superficial at best these days, but Jake knew that hadn't changed, and that knowledge had been heavily reinforced by their conversation two days before.  He'd promised Emily that Jonah wasn't back; there was no way a visit with her father was on the bargaining table.

Jonah's expression hardened.  "She blames me for Chris's death," he surmised, a slight hitch in his voice.  Even this small betrayal of feeling surprised Jake; in his experience, Jonah's entire emotional range could best be described as miffed to enraged.  Jake couldn't recall ever witnessing anything which might be construed as true affection for his children from Jonah.  In the next second however, he was able to convince himself that he'd imagined it all.  "Things might be different if she realized whose fault it really was," Jonah accused.

"Mine?" Jake snorted rhetorically.  "Don't worry, Emily tried to blame me for that too," he muttered, shaking his head.  "Maybe she still does.  But I figured that one out in a bar in Denver five years ago.  Chris got killed doin' the only thing he could think of to get your attention, your approval."

"Chris had my attention," Jonah countered with a grumble.  "We were friends."

"He didn't need a friend," Jake snapped in return.  "He didn't even need a boss.  He needed a father!"

As the accusation left his mouth, Jake couldn't help but feel grateful for the father he had in Johnston Green.  His father wasn't a perfect man, and they'd been butting heads probably since Jake had learned to talk, definitely since he'd announced his first independently attained opinion.  But still, through all the disagreements and disappointments, Jake had always known that all he ever had to say was 'Dad, help,' and Johnston would have found a way, perhaps gritting his teeth the entire time, to assist his son.  Jake and Eric had certainly never starved for their father's attention in the way Chris Sullivan had starved for Jonah's. 

"I was his father," Jonah growled, his voice pitched low in warning.  "And, I am Emily's father, and I wanna see her," he added, repeating his earlier demand.

Jake shook his head, clenching his fist against his thigh.  "I told you, she's not interested."  The mid-morning sunlight glinted off the ring he wore, catching Jonah's eye. 

"You got married?" he mumbled, gesturing carelessly at Jake's hand. 

"Yeah," Jake agreed, his tone cautious.  He wouldn't have guessed that Jonah hadn't already known that, but he supposed it was possible.  If he was digging for information though, Jake wasn't going to be providing any.  He glanced down at his wedding ring, a plain gold band that, to his surprise, Jake had come to feel naked without.  "Not to Emily," he continued, touching the ring with his right hand.  "So what does it matter to you?  Hell, even if it was Emily," Jake added, "It wouldn't be your business.  She doesn't want you around."

"Emily's my daughter," Jonah retorted.  Jake didn't respond, and Jonah continued, allowing an annoyed bark of laughter.  "Huh!  You, married," he mumbled.  "That cute brunette...." he guessed then, nodding to himself.  "Sat with your mother all through the trial, looked sick any time you mentioned gettin' a hangnail." 

"My wife has nothing to do with you," Jake countered, unwilling to confirm that the woman Jonah remembered was in fact Heather.

"S'pose," Jonah shrugged.  "Does explain why you don't care that Emily never forgave you."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Jake refrained from repeating that what had happened to Chris wasn't his fault and there really wasn't anything for Emily to forgive.  "I don't know whether she ever forgave me or not.  It doesn't matter," he argued.

"But it does," Jonah returned, his voice hardening.  "'Cause you're gonna get her to see me, or I'll do business wherever the hell I please," he threatened.

"I can't," Jake answered, frustration bleeding into his tone.

Jonah frowned.  "Then I guess we don't have a deal," he muttered, already turning away.

A sour taste pervaded Jake's mouth.  He turned back toward the truck, taking a deep breath that he didn't release until he was safely back in the cab.  He started the engine, and backed out of the loading dock.  When he reached the road, he stopped the truck, and slammed his hand on the dashboard, muttering a string of curses.  Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the steering wheel for a moment before restarting the truck, and turning onto the highway.

* * * * *

Jake sat alone on a barstool at Bailey's nursing a drink.  It was just after four in the afternoon, and he'd been at the bar for an hour, mainly because he'd had nowhere else to go.  After the debacle at Jonah's, he'd kept his promise to Heather, arriving back at Carlisle's Garage a good hour and a half before lunchtime.  He'd offered her the barest of explanations regarding how the conversation had gone and why the deal had failed.  Recognizing his rather foul mood for what it was, Heather hadn't questioned him on anything, instead putting him to work as her assistant.  She'd still been working on the Roadrunner, and it still wasn't looking good.  Finally, lunchtime rolled around, and Jake had walked her home. 

The house had had the closed up, stuffy feeling that indicated serious illness.  Jake had wanted to walk out as soon as he'd stepped inside.  Gail had appeared briefly when she'd heard them come in, and again when April arrived five minutes later.  Johnston wasn't feeling up to making the trip downstairs today she'd told them all, and since he was cranky that was probably a good thing, she'd added, forcing a weak smile.  April had promised to spell Gail as soon as she'd had something to eat, claiming that there wasn't anything going on at the clinic that needed her attention anyway. 

They'd eaten a rather bizarre soup, made from pumpkin and (as far as Jake could tell) chicken bouillon cubes.  Heather and April had joked about how a year ago pumpkin soup would've been a delicacy on some fancy restaurant's menu, and then they'd spent a good ten minutes debating how much the soup would have cost, and what garnishes would have been offered with such a soup, deciding finally on sour cream swirls and sprigs of mint.  They'd ignored Jake during most of their conversation, which had been more than fine with him, and he'd sat silently next to Heather, all of his concentration devoted to choking down the meal.

Once lunch was over, April had disappeared upstairs and Heather had announced that she was going back to the garage.  Catching Jake's hand in her own, she'd squeezed it and invited him along.  He'd kissed her on the forehead and, admitting that he didn't want to inflict his black mood on her any further, had offered to at least walk her back.  With Heather seen safely back to work, Jake had headed downtown, though he'd had no real destination.  He couldn't bring himself to go to town hall, not with Gray and Eric firmly ensconced there.  He wasn't ready to tell either of them that his plan for dealing with Jonah Prowse had failed.

With nothing to do, he'd settled himself on a bench in the park for awhile, reviewing and re-reviewing his conversation with Jonah in his mind.  Jimmy Taylor had walked by on his way back to the sheriff's station, and Jake had called him over, asking if he knew Emily Sullivan's new address, or could explain how to get to her house.  Everything he thought or felt always showed on Jimmy's face, and there was no way he could have hidden his surprise at Jake's request, but he hadn't said anything about it, just given Jake the street name and a description of the house. 

Jake had gone to Emily's.  She'd invited him in which he'd declined and so, making an obviously annoyed noise, she'd joined him on the porch, facing him squarely, her arms crossed over her chest.  Jake had told Emily even less than he'd told Heather about his meeting with Jonah, warning her only that the deal breaker had been Jonah's demand to see her, before turning on his heel and leaving her standing, gaping, on her front porch.  He'd returned downtown and, after making a meandering patrol of the streets in the immediate vicinity of town hall, had ended up in Bailey's, nursing a rather questionable drink, in the middle of the afternoon.

"Hey."  Jake, taking another sip of his drink, glanced sideway in time to see his brother slide onto the barstool next to him.  "Where's Mary?"

Setting his glass down on the bar, Jake contemplated Eric's question, unsure of whether he should be disgusted by the fact that Mary was the first thing Eric asked about, or simply grateful that Eric didn't already know and had to ask.  "Ah, Wednesday," he shrugged, "Night off."

Eric's expression was one part disbelieving and two parts tired.  Jake shrugged again; he hadn't known that Mary Bailey ever took time off either, certainly not since she'd inherited the bar from her father after his untimely death two years before.  But Eric didn't comment any further on Mary, instead pointing at Jake's glass.  "What're you drinkin' there?" he inquired.

"I dunno," Jake confessed, allowing a short, soundless chuckle.  He cleared his throat, guessing, "I think it might be kerosene."  He picked the glass up, examining the dregs of his drink as he swished the contents around.  "Haven't quite figured out the still yet."

"So, how'd things go with Jonah today?" Eric asked then, folding his hands on top of the bar, and looking straight ahead, refusing to meet his brother's eye.

Jake blew out a tired and somewhat defeated breath.  "I think I mighta gotten us into a fight we don't wanna be a part of," he admitted.

Eric glanced at his brother finally, apparently to gauge whether or not he was being serious.  "Nice," he muttered, recognizing the grim set of Jake's mouth.  He looked away.

"How 'bout you?" Jake questioned in return, studying Eric for a second.  He really didn't want to get into the whole Jonah Prowse issue with his brother at the moment, and although he wasn't feeling at all social, he figured talking about Eric was better than talking about himself.  "How was your day?"

"Well, I think I'm becoming Gray Anderson's 'yes' man," Eric answered, meeting his brother's gaze for a just an instant.  "Worse part of it is," he continued, looking away, "I'm not sure that's a bad thing."

Throwing Eric a hard look, Jake considered and then discarded the idea of telling his brother what he thought of Gray Anderson in general and becoming his 'yes' man in particular.  But now - tonight - he just couldn't work up the energy to beat that dead horse.  Besides, Jake had to admit, he had his own problems and he'd made his own mistakes, and he couldn't worry all the time about Eric's.  Sitting up, he reached over the bar to retrieve a glass and a mason jar from the counter.  "Big day for the Green boys, huh?"

"Yeah," Eric agreed, a conflicted smile twisting his mouth.  "You avoiding going home, telling Dad?"

Jake unscrewed the jar's lid.  "Hell yeah," he grinned.  He'd been relieved when his mother had said Johnston would be remaining upstairs for the afternoon, knowing it bought him a few more hours to figure out what to say.  Unfortunately, in the intervening time, Jake had come up with exactly nothing.  "You?" he inquired.

"Same," Eric admitted with a sheepish grin.

"Hey," Jake began, carefully pouring Eric a half glass of the home brew.  "Remember that time we set the carpet in Dad's office on fire?"  He was grinning now at the memory.  "All you hadda do was stick to the story, we'd've been fine."

Eric's expression turned incredulous.  "You wanted me to tell Dad I'd had a seizure and knocked over his desk lamp."

"Desk lamp," Jake said along with Eric, both of them chuckling.  Jake couldn't help but think that it was that particular childhood incident that had shaped his feelings about planning and taught him the art of improvisation.   Of course, there had been no getting out of being punished on that particular occasion, despite Jake's creativity with excuses, once Eric had broken down and confessed everything that had happened that day, not to mention a few things that they'd gotten away with in the preceding weeks.  Still, for some reason, Jake found himself grinning as he recalled the whole ridiculous situation.

"Any other brilliant ideas to get us outta this one?" Eric asked, taking a drink.

"Not at the moment," Jake acknowledged, his tone and expression turning serious. 

"Well," Eric sighed, "Whaddya say we finish these drinks, go home, and try to explain all this to Dad in a way that won't kill 'im?"

They were both grinning softly now, and for the moment Jake found he could put away all the disagreement and distrust that currently stood between his brother and himself.  At least they could agree on a strategy of not killing their father as they attempted to explain what they'd managed to do to his town while he was ill.  Jake caught Eric's eye and held up his glass.  "I'll drink to that," he murmured.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Saturday, October 27, five years before the bombs

It was after nine when Heather turned onto Green Street, spotting Jake's car parked in front of her house from a block and a half away.  She felt herself starting to smile.  She'd had a great time at dinner with April, and she could see the other woman quickly becoming a very close friend.  Now, with Jake waiting for her, she couldn't help but think that her evening was complete.  Driving past Jake's car as she pulled into her driveway, Heather realized that he wasn't inside, and so she assumed that he was waiting on the porch.  She couldn't see him however, and although she remained in her car a good half minute after she'd parked, he didn't appear from wherever he was hiding.  Frowning, she climbed out of her car and walked back to his to verify that he really wasn't there.  Confused and somewhat concerned, she hurried up the front walk, finally spotting Jake as she mounted the first porch step and the motion activated flood light her Dad had insisted on installing before he'd left Jericho came on.

Jake had pulled the narrow bench at the far end of the deck out a few inches from the rail and was lying on his back, sacked out and snoring softly.  He was also filthy, having come, apparently, straight from his hunting trip.  Heather approached cautiously, calling his name quietly, but it wasn't enough to wake him.  She knelt next to him and brushed an errant lock of hair back off his forehead, which along with the rest of his face, she realized giggling softly to herself, was about the only part of his body that wasn't completely mud splattered.

"Wake up, Jake..." Heather called, raising her voice just a notch.  He didn't stir.  Grinning, she got up on her knees and leaned over him, careful not to actually touch any part of him but his head, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "Wake up, Jake," she tried again.  "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."

His eyes fluttered then, and she moved back, still smiling, and waited for him to rouse.  Yawning, Jake propped himself up on his elbows.  He grinned at Heather.  "Hey, babe," he greeted, reaching out with one hand to cup her face.

"Hey," she returned, catching his hand before he could touch her.  She examined it, and decided that there was a second part of Jake that wasn't covered in mud.  Heather squeezed his hand, and then let go.  "So, why in the heck are you sleeping on my porch?" she teased, leaning into his touch as his fingers brushed her cheek.

"Wasn't sleepin'," Jake protested, raising himself up, and then swinging his legs around so that he was seated on the bench.  He brushed the spot next to him clean - mostly - and offered it to Heather.  "Just restin' my eyes."

"So, I guess chivalry's dead, huh?" she joked.  "Well, it was a nice while it lasted," Heather said, emitting an exaggerated sigh.  She took her own swipe at the bench before seating herself next to Jake, leaving a good six inches between him and her own unsoiled, dry clean only dress.  "'Cause I had to get out of my car all on my own!"

A sheepish expression stole over Jake's still sleepy features.  "Okay, maybe I dozed off for a minute," he conceded.

Heather smiled at him shyly.  "That's all right.  I wasn't expecting to see you tonight, so this is definite bonus material," she said.  Looking him up and down, Heather took in Jake's clothing beneath all the mud.  He was wearing an olive green t-shirt over a black thermal top, camouflage pants, and a bright orange vest.  "You know, where I come from, a guy dressed like you is usually the dangerous, loner type getting ready to blow something up that all the moms and nuns say to avoid like the plague," she informed Jake, her grin widening. 

"Not a lot of hunting going on in Buffalo, huh?" he teased.

"Not in my neighborhood, anyway," Heather shrugged.  "But you know, except for the safety cone orange vest, you do look pretty darn hot."

"'Safety cone' orange?" Jake repeated, a note of indignation sounding in his tone.  He let out a put upon sigh, grumbling, "City girl." He couldn't quite maintain his affronted posture however, and chuckling, he tilted her chin up with one finger and kissed her softly. 

"How 'bout neon orange then?" Heather murmured as she pulled reluctantly away.  She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around Jake, but he really was a mess.  "Though," she continued, arguing, "That is the color of safety cones.  Actually," Heather teased, her eyes dancing, "That vest looks just like the one the flag guy on the highway wears.  'Stop'," she intoned, holding up her hand.  "'Slooow'," she added, signaling him 'forward' with a wave of her hand.

Laughing, Jake shook his head and decided to follow her direction, pressing another kiss to her mouth.  "Hunter orange," he corrected.  "It's hunter orange, and it helps keep everybody else from accidentally shooting me," he explained even as he moved to take the vest off.  "There," Jake declared, tossing the offending garment onto the deck a few feet away.  "Better?"

"Yep, better," she agreed, grinning.  "But when you're hunting, definitely wear it.  I prefer that people not shoot you."  Heather looked him over again.  "You're still muddy, though," she told him, wrinkling her nose.  "Hot," she repeated, '"But muddy."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he answered.  "Rained last night, so everything was still pretty swampy today," Jake explained.  "But, I'm not staying.  I just wanted to see you for five minutes, and then I'll go.  You look fantastic, by the way," he added next, his gaze appreciative.  "Sure you only went out to dinner with April?"

"Well, we ran into Stanley, but we didn't invite him along, even though he tried," she admitted with a laugh.   "So yeah, it was just April and me.  You do realize," she continued, "That half the reason women dress up is to impress other women, right?  I mean, half the time, men don't notice."

'Trust me," Jake said, his eyes roaming again over her petite form, "I noticed."  She was dressed in a burgundy jumper which was almost stereotypically schoolmarmish except for the sheer blouse Heather wore beneath it, and the fact that the dress was short, showing her legs off to great advantage. 

She started to blush under his admiring scrutiny, and was grateful when the floodlight turned itself off, leaving them with only the dim glow of the original porch light.  "Guess we need to move around a little more," she joked, a hint of nerves in her tone.

"I think it's telling me that it's time to leave," Jake shrugged, starting to stand. 

"You really don't have to," Heather argued, laying her hand on his arm, ignoring the dried mud that flaked off.

Jake shook his head.  "I'm a mess," he reminded, "And, I haven't had a shower since yesterday morning.  I just wanted to see you," he repeated, shooting her a lopsided grin. 

He felt stupid.  He and Eric had helped their father and grandfather clean up their gear and stow everything away at the ranch, at which point Eric had grabbed his keys from the kitchen and, throwing a black trash bag over the driver's seat of his Explorer, had bid them all goodnight, smiling as he said he wanted to get home to April.  Jake had planned to call Heather once everything had settled down, but something about the expression on his brother's face, the hitch in his voice when he'd mentioned his wife, had left Jake needing to see Heather, just for a minute, he'd told himself.  He'd grabbed his own keys from inside the house and had headed for his car, telling his Dad and Gramps that he'd be back in a little bit.

"You know, she'd probably 'preciate it if you showered first," Grandpa Green had snorted, exchanging an amused look with his son. 

"I'm just gonna say 'hi' and 'goodnight'," Jake had argued, not wanting to waste the fifteen minutes it would take to follow his grandfather's advice.  Now, standing on her porch, he realized just how much he'd been lying to himself.  He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than say hello and goodbye to Heather, and he should have taken that shower.

Jake leaned over to kiss her quickly.  He'd gotten himself into this predicament, and he'd get himself out of it.  "I'll call you tomorrow," he promised, straightening.

"I know that a movie is a ridiculous precedent to cite, but you remember the scene in Top Gun?" she asked then, scrambling to her feet.  "Where Tom Cruise played volleyball, and then went to dinner at Kelly McGillis' house, and wanted to take a shower?"  Heather took a deep breath; she really couldn't believe that she was about to say what she was going to say.  "Well, you can take a shower," she declared.  "Here."

"The way I remember it, she was annoyed with him, and he didn't take a shower," Jake reminded, starting to step away from Heather.  The sensor on the floodlight picked up his movement and flashed back on.

"Only because he presumed," Heather argued, facing Jake under the harsh glare of the floodlight.  "You're not presuming," she murmured, holding his gaze even as her cheeks started to color.  "I'm offering."

"What, exactly, are you offering?"  Jake questioned raggedly.  He was tired, and knew that he could very well be misreading her.  He told himself that he'd be happy with whatever her response was, even if it was to kiss him goodnight and send him on his way.  That didn't mean, however, that he wasn't interested in more; hell, he was interested in everything when it came to Heather.  "I don't have spare clothes in the car tonight, Heather," Jake told her.  "And - and if my car's sittin' outside your house in the morning when your neighbors wake up to go to church," he continued, watching her face as his words sunk in, "Then you better believe we'll be the hot topic on the Jericho grapevine."

Heather sat back down on the bench, releasing a breath she hadn't meant to hold.  "Tom Cruise didn't spend the night," she muttered, blushing deeply now.

"Not that night, no," Jake acknowledged, not quite able to believe they were discussing this particular topic through the lens of a movie he hadn't seen in ten years.

"I don't even like Tom Cruise," Heather groaned.  "I'm totally on Nicole's side," she sighed.  "Look," she continued, squaring off her shoulders, and glancing at Jake briefly.  "My brother left some clothes here this summer, and I'm still trying to put together a care package for him to send 'em back in.  My Mom spoiled Mikey, never made him do laundry, so I've tried the last two years to get him to do his own, but even when he was here this summer, he snuck his into mine."  Heather was speaking quickly now, not bothering to stop to take a breath, not meeting Jake's eye.  He didn't interrupt. 

"I talked to my Dad last night and he said that Mikey was doing his laundry at school, and he ran out of soap.  Before I left home, I got him ready for school.  I bought him some liquid detergent, and I typed up instructions for him and taped them to the bottle," she explained.  "Well, he finished off the bottle, and apparently he panicked.  Some girl who was in the laundry with Mikey told him to untape the directions from the bottle, and put 'em on the next one, which is exactly what I'd told him to do, but whatever," Heather grumbled, looking up quickly at Jake, and then back down at her hands. 

"Dad says Mikey's dating her," she continued, shaking her head.  "Now, Mikey told me he had a girlfriend - Caitlin - but he didn't tell me that he met her doing his laundry.  Probably knows I'd try and call her to tell her she's under no circumstances allowed to do his laundry for him," Heather joked weakly.  "The other three are hopeless cases, and really they're their wives' problems now, but I still have some influence over Mikey."  She took a deep breath, and looked up at Jake.  "That is a very long, very roundabout way of saying that you can stay, you can take a shower, you can borrow my brother's clothes, and I'll wash yours for you - something I'd kill Mikey for expecting his girlfriend to do.  But you didn't ask me to - I'm offering.  And, when everything's clean and dry in about two hours," Heather shrugged, "I'll kick you out, like always."

"Okay," Jake answered softly, stepping towards Heather, holding his hand out to her.

She took his hand, allowing him to pull her up.  Standing not quite a foot back, Heather faced Jake, taking another deep breath.  'Some night, some time, I'm not gonna kick you out, Jake,' she thought, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks again.  But, there was no way she could tell him that, and she couldn't think of anything that she could say.

Jake, recognizing the turmoil in her expression, smiled at her gently.  He hadn't really thought that Heather was ready to take any big steps tonight, and he realized that he didn't mind.  He wouldn't rush her, because the last thing he wanted was to mess this up.  Heather Lisinski, he knew, would be well worth waiting for.  Jake raised her hand, still held in his own, to his mouth and kissed her palm.  Then, he bent down and began to unlace his grimy, mud-caked hiking boots.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday, November 1, six weeks after the bombs

Heather stopped on the first step and looked back over her shoulder at the sound of the front door opening.  Jake entered, pulling off his jacket, closely followed by Eric.  "Oh, thank God!" she cried, turning to face them. 

"Babe, what's wrong?" Jake demanded, shrugging back into his jacket.  Heather's expression, along with the panic in her tone, caused a sudden sense of dread to claw at his chest.

"I just got home, and ...." Heather's faced crumpled, and she glanced away, taking a deep breath.  "Hurry!" she commanded, starting back up the stairs.  "Hurry!"

"What?" Jake repeated.  However, she was already on the landing and making the turn, disappearing from sight.  He took off after her, taking the steps two at a time, Eric right behind him. 

They caught up with her at the top of the stairs, in the second floor hallway.  "He went into shock or something," Heather explained, fighting back a sob.  Almost jogging, she led them into the master bedroom, halting just inside the door.

Catching up with his wife a few seconds later, Jake stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders, horrified by the scene before them.  He felt Eric brush his arm as he moved passed them into the room, but Jake didn't even glance at him, too transfixed by what was happening on the bedroom floor: Johnston Green was unconscious, and apparently not breathing, as Gail and April worked together to perform CPR.

Jake's assumption was confirmed for him an interminable fifteen seconds later when his mother, sounding both exhausted and a hair's breadth away from bursting into tears, raised her mouth from her husband's, gasping out, "He's not breathing."

Heather stepped forward then, and Jake followed.  She led him to the bed, and then pushed him to a seat on its corner.  Still standing, she leaned against him, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, needing something - anything - to hold onto.  Heather's hand found its way into his hair.

"Okay, one more breath," April ordered her mother-in-law.  Jake could barely hear her words through the fog he suddenly found himself in, but he recognized that she at least was holding it together.  He closed his eyes, desperately thankful for her professional training. 

Gail complied, breathing once more into Johnston's mouth.  April glanced back at Eric, Jake and Heather, her own fears reflecting in her eyes.  Then she turned back to her patient and began compressions.  This time, April didn't count aloud, and so they waited in silence, holding their collective breath, each straining to hear the sound of Johnston's breathing which did not come.

They waited.

Jake had just turned his head, pressing his face against Heather's side and the swell of their child when they all heard it; finally and blessedly, Johnston gasped for air, and then continued moaning and thrashing around, reassuring them all that, for now, he would continue to breathe. 

"Let's get 'im over on his side," April commanded, back in doctor mode.  "C'mon," she urged Gail, and the two of them worked to roll him over.  She checked his breathing again, and then sat back, taking a deep breath.  She started to climb to her feet, and Eric stepped forward, holding out his hand in assistance.  April smiled weakly at him, murmuring, "Thank you." 

"Thank you," Eric muttered in return, his voice tight.  He squeezed her hand, and then let go, offering it to his mother to help her get up. 

April turned around, facing Jake who was now standing, his hand firmly clasped in Heather's.  She glanced back at her husband.  "Eric, Jake," she said, looking again at her brother-in-law.  "Let's get him back into bed, okay?"

Johnston Green's two sons immediately moved forward and, under April's direction, soon had their father resting once more in his bed.  His breathing was labored, and if it weren't for the fact that minutes before he hadn't been breathing at all, this fact would have worried them all greatly.  For now, they were simply grateful for the rasping sound of air going in and out of his lungs.

"Gail," April began, resting her hand on her father-in-law's forehead.  "Can you get a cool cloth?" she requested.  "I'm just going to take some vitals," she added with forced cheerfulness.  Waiting until her mother-in-law disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, April looked around the room, catching each of their eyes for a moment.  Fitting her stethoscope into her ear she addressed them quietly and grimly.  "We all need to talk."

Twenty minutes later, the four 'children' of Johnston Green were assembled in the living room, Eric and April sitting together but apart on the couch, and Heather in a club chair.  Jake had perched himself on the arm of her chair initially, but he was too restless to remain in any one place, and had moved almost immediately to the center of the room where he now stood, arms crossed, bouncing every once in awhile on the balls of his feet.

"I've given him three courses of antibiotics," April explained.  "It must've been too much for his system.  He's become septic," she admitted softly.

Eric, fiddling with his wedding ring, stared at his hands.  "How do we treat it?" he asked.  April studied her husband, watching and waiting until he finally glanced in her direction.  They'd known one another too long and too well for him to not recognize the sorrow and defeat in her expression.  "Wait a minute!" he protested.  "April, how do we treat it?" Eric demanded again.

Unable to face her husband at just that moment, April looked away, her eyes meeting Heather's across the coffee table.  A giant, discomforting lump seemed to form instantly in Heather's stomach; she understood what her sister-in-law was trying to tell them, and she knew why April had called them together for this conference, what she was asking them all to do.  Johnston was dying, and April couldn't bring herself to give Gail that news on her own.  She needed them - Eric, Jake and even Heather - to stand with her while she delivered that news to the woman who'd been married to Johnston Green just shy of forty years.

Heather had always appreciated the fact that she'd married a man who was the product of as strong and as stable of a marriage as that of her own parents.  They had both grown up with good examples, and Gail and Johnston had continued to provide a model of marriage that, while she hadn't necessarily wanted to emulate completely, Heather had always been grateful for.  They loved one another so strongly, and they supported one another always.  Her mother-in-law had from time to time made allusions to a rocky patch, and while she accepted Gail's word that it had happened, Heather had only seen evidence of their devotion to one another.  She couldn't imagine Gail without Johnston; she couldn't imagine her own life without his steady and reassuring presence, certainly not on top of everything else that had already happened.  Heather offered April the slightest of nods and the feeblest of understanding smiles before covering her face with her hands, trying in vain to block out everything that she knew would be coming.

April took a deep breath and, bolstered by the support she'd found in her sister-in-law's gaze, faced Eric, beginning again.  "If the Med Center was operational, maybe," she murmured, enunciating each word slowly and carefully.  Through her fingers, Heather saw April's eyes flood with tears.  "If we could medevac him into County Hospital in Rogue River, maybe," she continued, the pitch of her voice rising as she fought a sob.  "If we had any heavy duty meds left in the pharmacy, maybe. Without that," she paused and looked up at Jake, who frowned uncomfortably, obviously beginning to comprehend what she was saying.  "Twelve hours," April declared, sinking back into the couch.  "Maybe a day," she conceded, her voice softening.  Eric stood up, moving away without looking back at April.  "I'm so sorry," she finished, watching his retreating back.

"What kinda meds?"

"What?" April's head jerked around, and she met Jake's eye, clearly thrown off by his question.  He wasn't sure she'd even really heard him.

"You said heavy duty meds," Jake clarified, raising his voice.  "What kind does he need?"

She blinked quickly, twice, pulling herself together.  "Something strong enough to blow out the infection," April explained, her tone once again that of the professional Doctor Green, rather than that of the stricken daughter-in-law.  "Let his body heal itself.  Cipro, probably," she sighed, "But we ran out weeks ago."

"They'd have it in Rogue River, though," Jake muttered, drawing all of their attention.

"Jake!" April protested, "That's ninety miles away."

He nodded, obviously having come to a decision.  "We'd better get going, then," he declared, reaching for the jacket he'd abandoned on the arm of the rocking chair.

"Wait a minute," April protested, scrambling to her feet.

Jake was already heading for the door.  Eric grabbed his own jacket and started to follow.  "I'm going too."

"Eric, no!" April cried.  "If Gray's right about how dangerous -"  She stopped when she felt Heather grip her arm, and looked sideways at her sister-in-law, who was shaking her head 'no'.

Jake and Eric stood in the foyer facing their mother now.  Heather had wrapped her arm around April's, forcing her to stay back, but they could both still hear Gail's anguished command to her sons, their husbands.  "Go!  Go now!" she managed to get out before giving in to her tears.  Jake and Eric turned and left the house without another word.

"Why?  How?  We're just supposed to let them go?" April demanded of Heather, starting to weep.  "How do you do that?"

Heather frowned, pulling April into a hug.  "Practice," she sighed.  "This isn't the first time I've watched him leave, not knowing if he was gonna come back," she murmured, taking a step back, allowing April to see that she wasn't the only one afraid for Eric's and Jake's safety.  "It's not even the first time today."

"I'm sorry girls," Gail croaked out.  She'd moved into the living room and stood next to them, gripping both their arms for support.  "But I can't -"

"It's okay," Heather interrupted, wrapping one arm around her mother-in-law.  "We get it.  We understand," she assured, kissing her on the cheek.

April closed her eyes, nodding.  She looked as pale as Heather had ever seen her.  She took a deep breath, and the opened her eyes, her expression resolute.  "We - we all want the same thing here."

"Exactly," Heather echoed, flashing them both a weak smile before taking a step back, out of the circle they'd formed.  "Excuse me," she said, and then turning, headed for the front door.

Outside, she hurried down the front steps, and then turned to the right.  Holding her hand over her stomach, Heather jogged across the lawn to the driveway, and then walked back toward the detached garage where Jake was loading supplies into 'Charlotte', Grandpa Green's old truck, which she'd claimed for herself after the EMP.  "Jake," she called out breathlessly, coming up next to him. 

He reached over the side of the truck, placing a red ten gallon gas can on the bed.  "Only half full," he muttered, shaking his head.  "God, I hope Eric can find some gas at town hall."

"That where he went?"  Heather asked, trailing behind him as he headed back into the garage. 

Jake nodded, pointing her to his father's workbench.  "Grab that crowbar and throw it in, okay?"  He moved a stepstool in front of a bank of shelving and climbed up onto it, retrieving a thermos jug off the top shelf.  They headed back out into the driveway, Jake detouring to fill the jug at the spigot. 

Heather placed the crowbar in the truck bed, and turned around to wait for Jake.  He moved passed her, smiling at her distractedly, though it didn't reach his eyes.  "I don't think this is such a good idea," she blurted out, reaching out to catch his free hand.

"Babe, I've got no choice," he answered, frustrated, setting the jug in the back of the truck.  "My Dad -"

"I know you have to go," Heather interrupted, "But at least let me do some work on the car, Jake.  God," she sighed, frowning.  "Give me an hour.  Or -"

"There's no time.  I have to go now," he countered, glancing at her.  "And, wait.  You said it was sturdy," Jake reminded, studying the conflicted expression that had settled on her features.

"Sturdy, yeah," Heather muttered, biting her lip.  "But what if you need to outrun something?" she demanded, pressing her hand against her mouth.

Jake stared at her for a long moment.  "Why?" he choked out.  "How fast will it go?"

Heather shook her head, her frown growing.  "I really don't know, Jake," she admitted, letting out the breath she'd been holding.  "Thirty, maybe forty miles an hour, best case, downhill, and not for very long."  Jake's expression was incredulous, and Heather felt herself starting to tear up.  "I got it running for myself, for trips around town," she reminded, her voice strained.  "See, this is what I'm saying.  Maybe you should go on horseback."  She glanced at Jake, who now looked pained.  "Seriously," she murmured.

"Horse's slower than that," he reminded, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand.  "Even if that made sense, we've only got twelve hours.  You heard April.  A hundred and eighty miles roundtrip on horseback -"

"I know, I know," she acknowledged, rubbing her hand together nervously.  "Still.  A horse is less likely to explode," Heather tried to joke, but neither of them found it to be funny.

He grabbed a pistol off the bed of the truck.  "I'm gonna have to take my chances," he decided, turning toward the open truck door.

Following, Heather offered some last minute advice.  "Okay," she breathed, "Well, at least open her up easy."  Heather watched him duck into the cab, securing the gun beneath the seat.  "Make sure you've got enough car left in case you need to ask for a lot in a hurry," she continued, finding her groove.  Heather knew, if she concentrated on giving advice, she wouldn't be thinking about everything that could go wrong, if only for the moment.  She waited while Jake pulled off his jacket and stowed it inside the truck.   "And remember!" she declared, her words tumbling out, rapid-fire now.  "The gas tank in this thing is on the left hand side, so if somebody - if somebody decides to start shooting at you," Heather sputtered, "Make sure it's not on that side."

 His back was to her, but she could see him nodding at everything she said, and then she heard him let out a long breath.  Jake turned to face her, asking, "Anything else?"

Her answer was to launch herself at him, kissing him with a fervor that staggered Jake.  He caught her - barely - wrapping his arms around her, trying to keep them both from falling over as he stumbled, slightly, backwards, into the open truck door.  Heather poured everything into the kiss she gave him: her hopes and fears, her passion for him, her trust, her love.  Jake drank it in, returning it in equal measure, the two of them clinging to one another, until finally she began to pull slowly away.  For a second, he held her tighter, cupping the back of her head, before reluctantly allowing her to put a few inches between their mouths, if not the rest of their bodies. 

Heather's eyes were closed.  "Come back in one piece," she commanded, her tone ridiculously matter-of-fact. 

Jake studied her for a long moment, memorizing the way the tip of her tongue rested against her lower lip, just inside her mouth, and how her lashes fluttered as she slowly opened her eyes.  Exhaling, he chuckled softly.  "I will, I promise," he assured her with a half grin before pressing his mouth to hers again.  "I love you," Jake breathed against her lips.

Her hands were braced against his chest, his right arm wrapped around her waist, forcing her to remain in place.  Reaching down between them, Jake splayed his left hand over her pregnant tummy, stroking her lightly with his thumb.  He smiled at her gently and then looked down, clearing his throat.  "I love you, too, Junior," he murmured, addressing her stomach. 

"Junior?" Heather questioned huskily, her eyes bright.  "I thought we agreed ages ago - no Trips, no Treys."

Removing his arm from around her waist, Jake allowed Heather to take a half step back, as he placed his other hand over their child.  "Could be a Heather Junior," he suggested, starting to write with his finger on her still small belly.  She watched him draw 'I ♥ U 2'.

"I don't think he or she can quite read yet," she teased, giggling softly.  "But, I'm sure he or she shares the sentiment.  I do," Heather sighed.  "I love you, too."

"Not reading yet?  Whaddya mean?" Jake grumbled, grinning.  Leaving his left hand in place, he reached for hers with his right, tangling their fingers together and squeezing.  "Our kid's gonna be smart."

"Well, I stand corrected then," Heather chuckled, laying her hand over Jake's and looking down.  "Read away, baby.  Your dad thinks you're a genius."  Raising her head, she met his gaze, offering a wobbly smile.  "No Heather Junior, though," she sighed.  "If it is a girl, I'm still thinking Abigail Renate, after her grandmothers."

"That's the plan," he agreed, nodding.  Jake closed his eyes for a second, not quite able to look at her while he forced the next words from his mouth.  "Babe, I gotta go," he muttered, his fingers playing tenderly over the swell of their child.  "Baby needs a grandpa."

"Baby needs a dad and an uncle, too," Heather reminded, her throat tightening.

Jake pulled her back into his embrace.  "Trust me," he sighed, kissing her hairline.  "That's the plan."

"And, what's the rest of the plan?" she asked, burrowing her face against his shoulder.

"Take the back roads," he muttered.  "It'll take longer - two and a half, three hours - but it'll be safer, and I know 'em all, thanks to my misspent youth," he joked, putting her gently away from himself.

"Well, thank God for your misspent youth," Heather chuckled.  Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away, forcing a smile.

Jake pressed the back of his hand to her cheek, and then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.  "Feel free to mention that to Dad when he's better," he told her, taking a step back.  He turned around then, climbing into the truck's cab. 

Heather helped push the door closed, leaning in the open window.  "Will do," she said, giving him a quick kiss.  "I promise."  Letting out a shaky breath, she took two steps back, watching Jake as he turned the key in the ignition and the truck started up.  "Hey.  Jake," she called out, catching his eye.  "Watch out for giant irradiated ants."

He met her wan smile with one of his own.  "Always do," Jake answered, putting the car into gear.  "See you at breakfast."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Saturday, October 27, five years before the bombs

Heather had pointed Jake to her bathroom, providing him with a towel and her brother's clothing, before she had really allowed herself contemplate the situation.  He was in her bathroom - in her shower - she realized, staring at the closed door and blushing at the thought.  Her things were in there: her shampoo, her loofa, her razor and shave gel, bubble bath and scented shower gels.  Heather groaned.  There was no avoiding the fact that Jake now knew that she was a closet consumer of frou-frou bath products.

Biting her lip, Heather knocked on the door.  "Jake?" she called out, uncertainty ringing in her tone.  "I - I forgot to tell you.  There's a bar of good old Ivory soap -"

"Found it, thanks!" Jake shouted in return, over the sound of the water.  "I'm good.  I promise."

"Okay," Heather murmured, knowing there was no way he'd heard her. 

She stepped away from the door, and walked the four steps to her bedroom.  Changing out of her dress quickly, Heather donned jeans and a lightweight emerald green sweater, and then headed into the living room.  She knew that the World Series had started earlier that night, and she tuned in the game, which was now in the eighth inning.  The Diamondbacks were ahead of the Yankees, nine to one.  Heather smiled at that; she might claim a certain amount of loyalty to the Yankees, but she knew Jake would be rooting for Arizona.

Heading into the kitchen, Heather started a bag of popcorn in the microwave, and sliced up two apples.  When both snacks were prepared, she carried them into the living room and left them on the coffee table.  Jake was still in the shower, and Heather found that she couldn't sit still, or concentrate on the game.  Grabbing an apple slice, she returned to the kitchen, and started to wash up the dishes sitting in the sink.  Thirty seconds in, she recalled just how bad her plumbing was, and gasped, horrified at the thought that Jake's shower had likely turned to ice water. 

Slapping off the tap, Heather backed away from the sink, listening for some indication of distress from the bathroom.  He didn't scream, but then again, Heather supposed that Jake was really more the type to grit his teeth and bear it.  She waited another moment and, figuring the hot water had to have been restored, heaved a sigh of relief.  Deciding that she could only wreak havoc in the kitchen, Heather forced herself back into the living room.

Jake found her sitting on the couch, working on the crossword puzzle from the Wichita Eagle, and keeping one eye on the game.  She looked up, smiling, and then started to chuckle.  "Hey," she greeted.  "Feel better?"

"Yeah," he agreed, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious under her appraising gaze.  "All of a sudden, I remind you of your brother, don't I?" Jake asked, looking down at his clothing.  She'd loaned him a baggy pair of cargo shorts and a navy hoodie with a giant pocket across the front.

"No," Heather declared, dropping her paper on the coffee table.  She unfolded herself from her seat and then crossed the few feet that separated them, standing on tiptoe so she could kiss him.  "It just became very obvious to me that my kid brother is barely eighteen," Heather explained, pressing her lips to his jaw, his stubble pleasantly rough against her skin.  "And, you are not," she grinned, pulling him with her toward the couch.

"I do feel a certain urge to find a skateboard," Jake joked, squeezing her hand.  "And, that was really never my thing."

Heather giggled appreciatively.  "Give me those," she instructed, reaching for his muddy clothes which he carried, balled up, in the crook of his arm.  "I'll put these in the wash, and you can watch the game," Heather added, pushing him gently to a seat on the couch.  She leaned over, kissing him quickly.  "It's the last inning, and I'm pretty sure your team's gonna beat the snot outta mine."

He caught her hand, stopping her departure.  "You really don't have to," Jake argued.

"It's fine, I want to," Heather assured with a smile.  "My mother would be so pleased," she joked.  "This almost qualifies as domestic.  And besides," she continued, "Now you can't leave until you get your clothes back." 

Laughing, Jake let go of her hand.  "Okay," he exhaled.  "But trust me," he called after her, "You don't have to steal my clothes to get me to stay."  Heather was back within two minutes, and he pulled her down on the couch next to him, holding her close.

They watched the end of the game, Jake's arm wrapped around Heather, her head resting on his shoulder, their bare feet propped on the coffee table.  The game ended on a fly ball to center field, though the Yankees had actually lost innings before.  Heather sighed, smiling at Jake.  "Sorry," he murmured, grinning down at her.

"No you're not," she returned, laughing.  "But that's okay," Heather told him as his mouth descended upon hers.  "So, how'd you do?" she asked when they pulled apart.  They had finished off the popcorn watching the game, but there were still a few apple slices, and she reached for one, watching him expectantly.

"How'd I do?" Jake repeated, confused.

"Hunting," she prompted, extracting herself from his arms.  "How'd you do, hunting?" she repeated, turning to sit sideways, her legs crossed, facing him.  "Or, am I not supposed to ask that?  I'm not really up on the etiquette for 'my boyfriend just got home from a hunting trip'," Heather shrugged, biting into her apple slice. 

Jake stole the last bite of apple from Heather, the tips of his fingers grazing her lips, and popped it in his mouth.  She rolled her eyes at him, while he grinned at her.  "Well, first rule, don't make fun of the hunting safety vest," he murmured.

"See, you said safety," she interjected.  "So, it really is 'safety orange'."

"'Hunter orange'," he countered, pressing his mouth to hers.

Heather pulled back for a second, eyeing him speculatively.  "Interesting," she declared, tracing a finger over his lower lip, giggling when Jake nipped at it.  "You don't usually need to be right.  Unlike me," she admitted, offering a sheepish grin.

"Not as much as you do," he agreed, kissing the palm of her hand.  "I only need to be right when I am," he teased, starting to play with her hair.

"But, I'm always right!" she argued, laughing.

"'Bout everything but this," Jake insisted, kissing the tip of her nose to take out any sting she might feel at his words.  "I'm tellin' you, it's 'hunter orange'."

"If you say so," Heather finally conceded.  "I guess you would know."  She reached for the last apple slice and then leaned back against the sofa's arm, unfolding her legs and planting her feet in front of her, knees bent.  Jake moved closer and, tapping her foot gently, communicated that she should lay her legs across his lap.  He reached for her hand, clasping it in his own and then raising it to his mouth to brush his lips over her knuckles.  "So, how was it?" Heather sighed.  "How was the trip?"

"Been a long time since I spent that much time with Dad and Eric," Jake admitted with a shrug.  "It was fine.  Didn't get much sleep last night, 'cause the three of them all snore like buzz saws," he joked, rolling his eyes.  "The hunting cabin's just one big room.  It might be time to partition.  I had a good time."

"So, did you bag Bambi?" she asked then, drawing a groaning laugh from Jake.  He didn't think he'd ever heard anything that sounded stranger coming out of anyone's mouth than Heather Lisinski asking if he'd 'bagged Bambi'.  "That's right, isn't it?" she asked, uncertainty and amusement warring in her expression.  "When you go hunting you 'bag' things, right?"

"Please don't say 'bag' again," Jake chuckled, shaking his head.  "I shot a deer, okay?  Just say that."

Heather nodded, inhaling deeply.  "Okay.  So, you shot a deer?"

"I did," he confirmed.  "So did Dad and Eric, which is kinda unusual.  Gramps wasn't actually hunting," Jake explained.  "He can't anymore, not with his tremors, and he doesn't have the strength, especially for bow hunting.  But he comes along anyway."

"Green male bonding," she declared, grinning, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.  "And, I knew about the bow hunting.  Stanley explained that part."

"C'm'ere," Jake said then, tugging on her hand.  Heather's expression was questioning, but she did as he asked scooting a few inches toward him, ending up, eventually, in his lap.  He cupped her chin, kissing her quickly.  "This is weird for you," he declared.  It wasn't a question.

"I don't know," Heather replied, shrugging.  She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair that lay against the nape of his neck.  "I'm not against hunting, it's just outside of my realm of experience.  Everyone I know, how I grew up....  It was cars, hockey and football."

"It's the same, really," he assured her.  "We go hunting a couple times a year, more when I was a kid.  It's just what Dad and Gramps taught us to do.  It's more about the hunting than the shooting, if than makes sense."

"It does," she agreed, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment.  Heather caught herself thinking ahead twenty years.  Jake and Eric, along with Grandpa Johnston, would undoubtedly have their weekends away in the woods, teaching their own sons to hunt.  And she, Heather allowed herself to contemplate for the first time, might very well be the mother of Jake's sons - and his daughters.  She took a deep breath, hoping to arrest the heat she could feel flooding her cheeks.     "So, what happens to the, ya know, the deer?" she asked, pressing an absent kiss to his neck.

"Oh, we eat Bambi," Jake proclaimed.  "Every little bit, all winter long.  Dinner tomorrow night in fact," he told Heather, looking down at her, his tone and expression completely serious.  "Mom makes a mean venison stew," Jake added, watching her closely.

It was obvious to Jake that she wasn't completely sure what or how much to believe.  What she said next, though, surprised him.  "So, is deer a traditional or non-traditional pizza topping?" Heather inquired, fighting a grin. 

Jake chuckled and made a face.  "Non-traditional, though I don't think anyone's thought of that yet.  And, let's hope they don't," he groaned.  "Okay, so what really happens," he continued, cupping her cheek with his hand, "Is that Gramps and Dad'll smoke the meat and freeze it, maybe make some jerky.  We'll keep some of it - not a lot, 'cause frankly we all prefer a good steak - and the rest'll go to the food bank in Rogue River."

She lifted her head, craning her neck to meet his eye.  "Really?"

"Uh-huh," he confirmed.  "My grandmother helped found the regional food bank, and Mom's on the board.  Everything goes to Rogue River, and then gets parceled out to food closets in all the smaller towns in three counties," Jake explained, resting his chin on her shoulder.  "It's a tradition.  We go hunting, and anything we can't use, we give away."

Heather caught herself drifting deeper into her fantasy of the future.  In her mind's eye, she could see Jake standing with their sons.  They were dark-haired, like the both of them.  Heather understood genetics well enough to know that there was no guarantee that two brown-haired parents would produce brown-haired offspring, but the odds were still good, and she figured that she could at least pick her children's hair color in her own day dream.  They'd be tall and lanky, like Jake, Heather decided.  The men in her own family were built more like fireplugs, shorter and stocky, but she thought, grinning softly, she'd let the Green genes take over in this instance.  Chuckling to herself, Heather put them in 'hunter orange' safety vests and sent them all off to experience one of the many traditions of the Green family.

"Well, that's cool," she murmured distractedly.  She smiled at Jake, but he couldn't help thinking that she was looking past him. 

"Babe?  You okay?" he asked, touching her hand.  Sighing, Heather shook her head and focused her gaze on him.  She tilted her head up so he could kiss her, which Jake did.  "It is cool," he agreed, his breath warm on her cheek.

The buzzer on the washer sounded then, and Heather sighed.  "I'm being summoned," she joked, sliding off Jake's lap.  She stood up, pushing him gently on the shoulder when he tried to follow.  "Be right back," Heather promised with a smile.  "Save my spot."

Jake reached for her hand.  "No worries," he told her, their gazes locking.  "It's your spot," he grinned, squeezing her fingers and then letting go.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday, November 1, six weeks after the bombs

Jake had parked the truck across the street from town hall to wait for Eric.  It was nearly six, and they needed to get on the road.  At this rate they wouldn't make Rogue River until nine or later.  Jake wasn't looking forward to traveling at night, in the dark, but they didn't have a choice.  Without the medicine he needed, Johnston Green only had one more night in him, if that.

Grumbling to himself, Jake began to fuel the truck from the gas can he'd brought along from the house, mostly to have something to do.  Jake didn't realize that Eric was approaching until his brother protested their vehicle.  "Aw, what the hell!" he complained, shaking his head, "This is what we're driving?"

"Yeah," Jake replied, glancing at Eric.  He shook the gas can trying to force just a little more out of the container and into the tank.  "I mean it's not actually a... Yeah," he muttered.  "This is what we're taking.  The axle on Dad's truck is cracked," he reminded, "So this is what we have."  Eric at least had the good grace to look embarrassed, and he didn't say anything else as he loaded the rifles and duffle bag he was carrying into the back of the truck.

Jake gave up trying to wring anything more out of the gas can, and pulled the nozzle out of the tank.  Looking up, he spotted his own supposedly inoperable car turning the corner.  "What in the world?" he demanded of nobody in particular, dropping the empty gas can in the truck bed.  The Roadrunner came to a stop directly behind the truck.  Heather was driving, and Jake hurried to the car in time to open the door and help her out.  "What did you do?  How?" he questioned, not quite able to fight the hopeful grin that spread across his face.  Jake pulled her into a quick hug.  "It wasn't working at noon," he argued, taking a step back, though he held her hand firmly in his. 

"It wasn't working at two, either," Heather muttered, blowing out a deep breath.  "But then, I don't know.  I've been going over it for days, and finally something I did actually did work," she shrugged.  "I wasn't sure, and I didn't have any time to test it really," she continued quickly.  "I was going to do that in the morning, hope everything stayed working overnight.  It should," Heather insisted, rolling her eyes.  "I've touched every damn part of that engine in the last week.  But, I did test it just now.  Only ten minutes, but I got it up to fifty on Granville, no problems.  Well, I did almost run over Mrs. Crenshaw's poodle," she admitted, making a face.  "But no problems with the car."  Heather finally stopped to breathe, looking up at him.  "Take it, Jake.  It's good to go."

"You're absolutely sure?" he asked.  "We can -"

"If it's my call, I say take the car," Heather interrupted.  "It'll make it.  And, you need a fast car."

He smiled at her, exhaling in obvious relief.  "Well, it's definitely your call," Jake told her.  "Eric," he yelled, looking back over his shoulder, "Load up!"

"Way ahead of you," Eric called back, carrying his duffle bag, the water jug and both rifles to the Roadrunner.  He grinned at his sister-in-law as he walked past her.  "You're a miracle worker, Heather."

"Trust me, completely my pleasure," she told him, smiling in return.  Heather looked at Jake again, holding up the keys to the Roadrunner.  "Trade ya," she offered.

"Gladly," Jake chuckled.  He took the keys from her hand, and then clasped it in his free one, pulling her along with him as he walked back to the truck.  Ducking into the cab, he pulled the truck's keys out of the ignition and then presented them to Heather.  "God, I love you," he informed her.

"Well it better be for more than fixin' your car," she joked, watching as he retrieved his jacket from the seat beside him, and then reached underneath the seat for his pistol.  He tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans, before shrugging into the jacket. 

Taking a step toward Heather, Jake cupped her face in both his hands, pressing a passionate kiss to her mouth.  "Trust me, I love you for a helluva lot more than that," he assured her.

Heather walked him back to the Roadrunner.  Eric had just transferred the last of the supplies to the trunk, and he dropped it closed, pressing down on the hood to ensure that the latch had caught.  "Be careful," she instructed them both, impulsively hugging her brother-in-law before he could move around the car to the passenger door.  "April's freaked, and she needs you," she whispered to Eric, who nodded and then pulled out of her embrace, walking around the car. 

She turned around then to face Jake.  "Come back in one piece," she told him again, biting her lip.  This time when she threw herself at him he was ready, catching her against his chest, trying so hard to gather her closer, hold her closer, that his arms immediately began to ache.  "I love you, Jake," she sighed against his shoulder.  Then, taking a long breath, she pulled herself loose, looking up at him.  "Go save your Dad."
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *