Different Circumstances: Part 8A of ? by Marzee Doats

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

Wednesday, November 1, six weeks after the bombs

Driving past Heather, Jake threw her a grim smile and gave a last wave.  Heading east out of town on Route 40, they crossed the Tacoma Bridge, passing the sign indicating that they were leaving the Jericho town limits immediately on the other side.  A minute or so later, they passed a mileage sign, reminding them that Rogue River was ninety-three miles away.  Neither Jake nor Eric needed the reminder.  Behind them, the sun had set in the west, and dusk was starting to fall.

"Jake!" Eric warned.  It was nearly twenty minutes later, and they were about to come upon a wreck overturned in the middle of the highway.

"I see it," Jake muttered, his concentration fully devoted to road before him. 

"Slow down!" Eric commanded.

Jake shook his head, clenching his teeth momentarily.  "Not stoppin' 'til we get to Rogue River," he told his brother, veering around the vehicle and personal belongings - now trash - scattered across the highway, without slowing.

Eric looked back, spotting a woman, dead, lying beside the wreck.  In the waning light he could see a suitcase, a pet carrier, an ice chest.  "Can't just leave her lyin' there in the middle of the road," he protested.

Jake frowned, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel.  "Didja see the second set of skid marks in the road back there?" he demanded.  "Someone forced her off the road and probably robbed her and killed her."  His stomach roiled at the thought, but he took a deep breath, forcing himself to ignore it.  "For all we know, they could be waiting out there to do it again."  Jake glanced sideways at Eric for split second, before returning his gaze to the road in front of him.  "I don't like it anymore than you do," he argued, "But if we don't make it, Dad dies and we widow our wives.  We take care of our own.  Period," Jake insisted.  "It's the world we live in now," he sighed, his expression turning sour.

Eric continued to look back over his shoulder as the wreck slipped quickly out of sight.  They fell into an uneasy silence, Jake concentrating on his driving, Eric finally turning around and pulling out a map.  He studied it by the beam of a small flashlight for a few minutes, and then announced, "I've got a route to the county hospital in Rogue River.  Take Cedar Run Road -"

"No good," Jake interrupted.

"You don't even know what I was going to say," Eric complained, glaring at his brother.

"Put the map away," Jake ordered, the set of his jaw brooking no argument.  "We're takin' the back roads."

Annoyance flared in Eric's eyes.  "Jake!  Dad's on borrowed time," he reminded.  "We need to get the medicine and get back."

"I spent most of my teenage years driving these roads," Jake declared.  "We'll make up time."

"You always think you know better," Eric grumbled, glaring at his brother.

Jake ignored Eric's protest, reaching down for the rifle that was wedged between the seats.  He lifted it, and without taking his eyes off the road, shoved it at Eric.  "This thing's loaded?" he asked.

"Yes, it's loaded," Eric snapped back, aggravation coloring his tone.  He took the rifle, clutching it tightly with both hands, missing the quick, appraising look that Jake gave him.  "What're we gonna have to do, Jake?" he asked uneasily.

Glancing at his brother, Jake adjusted his hands again on the wheel.  He didn't have an answer to that question, didn't have any idea, really, what they were getting themselves into.  But if half of what Gray had reported about the world outside Jericho was true, Jake knew that they weren't getting themselves into anything good.  "I dunno," he admitted.  "But when it comes time to do it -"

"I'll be ready," Eric assured, cutting his brother off.

Jake nodded and then turned the car sharply onto the crossroad, heading south. 

Rogue River was ninety-three miles southeast of Jericho by the state highway, but this part of Kansas was laid out almost completely on a grid system that was only altered for the rare, non-compliant topographical feature such as a lake or a bluff.  Therefore, while the state highway was the most direct way, Jake knew at least ten different routes to Rogue River that simply involved making right turns on the grid to work his way south, and left turns on the grid to work his way east.  The back roads would take a little more time - a tradeoff he figured was worth the safety it earned them - and a little more gas.  Heather had solved his fuel problem, somehow providing a full tank, and if there was one thing Jake had learned driving trucks in Afghanistan and Iraq, it was to alter his route.  It had been the contracting company's official policy; you could still drive into trouble by accident, but if they didn't know you were coming, at least they couldn't plan for you.  For sheer, random attacks, the 'highways' in the Middle East had been the worst, and Jake guessed that was true now in Kansas, as the dead woman they'd seen on the side of the road confirmed.  Adjusting his seat, Jake squared his shoulders; his stood by his decision.

They'd gone another fifteen miles without talking.  Jake had made a left hand turn off of one farm road so unimportant it only had a number, not a name, and onto yet another numbered road.  They were headed east again, driving between two abandoned orchards.  The trees had dropped most of their fruit which now lay, rotting, on the ground.  Jake risked a long glance at his brother.  Eric was biting his thumbnail and staring, unseeing, out the window.  "You haven't said anything for miles," Jake charged.  "Stay sharp."

Eric started at the rebuke and Jake turned his gaze back to the road, exhaling an obviously frustrated breath.  "'Take care of our own,'" Eric quoted then.  "You said that," he reminded, "That we have to take care of our own.  That's rich coming from you, Jake," Eric accused, fiddling with the rifle that now lay across his knees, though he still gripped it with both hands, ready, he told himself, for the first sign of trouble.

"Whaddya mean by that?" Jake demanded, confused.

"You don't take care of anyone but yourself.  You got married, and three months later you were gone.  South America?  Europe?  Africa?  Who the hell knows," Eric complained. "You're gone all the time, and when you're home it's just to get ready for wherever you're goin' next.  When Gramps was sick, we all took care of him, Heather included, but you didn't show up 'til two days before he died."

"Do you really think I didn't want to be here?" Jake ground out, his jaw clenched.  "I was doing my job."

"Well, if you were doing your job, then I guess that makes it okay," Eric returned sarcastically.  "Of course, your job is pretty much professional liar, so I don't know why I expected a straight answer.  Forget I said anything," he muttered, raising the rifle so that he held it across his chest.

"You know, Eric, you're right," Jake retorted, "Working in undercover investigations probably does make me a professional liar.  Go figure," he snorted, rolling his eyes.  "And, I've lied to criminals without any regrets, and sometimes I've lied to good, innocent people because they were there and I didn't have a choice."

Jake paused abruptly.  He could feel his brother's eyes upon him, but he ignored Eric, suddenly plunged into a memory of the last good person he'd lied to.  Freddie Ruiz.  They'd been friends in Iraq - really, Jake's only friend in Iraq - and Jake had always felt bad about the lies he'd had to tell Freddie, never more so than on his last day - his last hour - in Iraq.

He'd been in his dorm room, haphazardly stuffing clothes and his few other personal belongings into his duffle bag when Freddie had appeared at the door, obviously angry, trying to force his way past Corporal Bishop, the MP who'd been assigned as Jake's bodyguard until he left Iraq.  Bishop, taking his assignment very seriously, had practically tackled Freddie, pinning his arm behind his back.

"Let 'im go, corporal," Jake had ordered.  "It's okay.  He lives here, too."

"Too?" Freddie had questioned snidely.  "I know I live here," he'd muttered, "But you sure as hell don't.  So," he'd continued, some of his initial fight flagging, "Is anything you've said or done true?  Or is everything just one big lie with you, Jake?  Hell, is that even your name?"

Jake had ducked into his bunk to pull loose the photographs he'd taped to the underside of Freddie's bunk above.  There were only five: three candid shots of Heather, one of them together, and one more formal picture of the entire Green family taken about a year before his grandfather's death.  Shuffling them together, Jake had slid off the bunk, turning to face Freddie with a grim smile.  "I'm sorry," he'd sighed.  "I didn't like havin' to lie to you, Freddie, but I was doing my job.  And, I didn't lie to you about anything important; my name really is Jake Green, and I really am married to Heather," he'd continued, holding up one of the pictures for Freddie to see.  "She does teach the third grade, and we do live in Kansas, little town called Jericho - not New Bern, which you probably don't even remember me saying, but that's okay."  Jake had paused, running a hand through his hair before squatting down to tuck the pictures into an empty pocket of his laptop case.  Standing, he'd met Freddie's stony gaze once more.  "I lied about why I was in Iraq, what I was doing here, yeah.  But I didn't lie about anything important."

Freddie had looked down at his feet.  "So Greg and Patrick?  Hell, Ellison?" he'd asked, mentioning their now missing roommates and the transportation section boss.  "They're all - They did what everyone's saying?"

"Yeah," Jake had agreed, not really knowing what was being said - he' been in a debrief for nearly eighteen hours - but figuring that at least some of it had to be true.  The arrests he'd made had emptied out a third of the dormitory he'd been living in for six months.  "Drug dealers and gun runners," he'd muttered.  "All those times we were told to drive a truck, and that we didn't need to verify the manifest?" Jake had prompted, "Well, now you know why."

"God, what a mess," Freddie had complained then, pulling the chair out from the shared desk, and seating himself on it backwards.  He'd watched as Jake checked his closet one last time, and then examined his bags.  Bishop had started making noises about Jake missing his plane, and so Jake had sent him down to their humvee with those bags.  "So, this is it, huh?" Freddie had asked, climbing back to his feet.

Jake had nodded, holding out his hand.  "You've been a good friend, Freddie.  A brother.  You saved my life," he'd reminded, "And I won't ever forget that.  Thanks," he'd murmured.  Freddie had accepted his hand finally, and then had hugged Jake quickly, surprising him. 

"Take care of yourself, Jake," he'd muttered taking a step back.

"You, too," Jake had replied, frowning.  "And, Freddie, get outta here," he'd advised.  "I know you need the money," he'd continued, cutting off his friend's protest.  "I know you wanna give Ana everything she deserves.  I understand that, trust me.  But get as far away from Ravenwood as you can.  Work for anybody else, but this company's rotten to the core, and they don't give a damn about you."

Freddie, who was rarely serious about anything, had nodded and given Jake a solemn smile.  "Yeah, I'm kinda gettin' that vibe," he'd admitted.  "And, you know, I haven't been home in seven months, so maybe it's time.  I can always sign on with somebody else."

"Good," Jake had agreed, his relief evident in his expression.  He'd reached for his computer case then, throwing the strap over his shoulder.  "I gotta go.  But hey, if you ever get anywhere near Kansas, come to Jericho.  It's a small town, and my Dad's mayor for life, so you just have to ask around.  If the first person doesn't know me, the second will," he'd grumbled, rolling his eyes.  "Like I said, small town."

Chuckling, Freddie had agreed.  "Sounds like a plan.  I'll bring Ana with me, and I'll finally get to meet your Heather."  They'd shaken hands again, and then Freddie had said, "Catch ya later, man."

"Catch ya later," Jake had echoed before running downstairs for his ride to the airport.  He'd made his transport with less than five minutes to spare, and three plane changes and twenty-six hours later he'd landed in San Diego. 

That had been just before midnight on Tuesday, six weeks before; the bombs had gone off just after six the next evening.  Over the intervening weeks, Jake had barely spared a thought for his friend, whom he had to assume was still trapped in Iraq, very likely with Ravenwood.  Now, he couldn't help but feel a strong pang of sorrow for Freddie, and an overwhelming sense of relief for himself, thankful that he'd made that plane and made it home to his family in time for the world to go to hell.

Jake took a deep breath, glancing finally at his brother.  "You know what, Eric?" he inquired rhetorically, "I may be a professional liar, but I don't ever lie about anything important.  So don't use my job as a yardstick when you're tryin' to convince yourself that at least you're better than me, and don't use me as an excuse for not getting on with your life."

"What's that s'posed to mean?" Eric demanded, glaring at Jake.

"It means I've never lied to my wife, and I've never cheated on her," he retorted. "And ya know, you wouldn't be the first guy to leave his wife, Eric."  Jake allowed the car to slow almost imperceptibly as he looked over at his brother.  Eric was quite obviously stunned, and Jake was glad for it.  He'd avoided involving himself in his brother's mess of a life for weeks now, and he really didn't want to insert himself into it now, but he didn't see that he had a choice anymore.  "Look," he continued, returning his eyes to the road, "I'm not tellin' you to leave her.  April's my friend, she's Heather's best friend," Jake reminded, frowning.  "I'm just sayin' -"

"You don't know what you're talkin' about, Jake," Eric interrupted, turning to stare out the window into the night that surrounded them.

"I'm talking about what you're afraid to say, what you're afraid to do," Jake responded.  "You're paralyzed, Eric, and you're not bein' fair to either of 'em.  Make a decision," he demanded, unable to keep his disgust out of his voice.  "Life's too short."

Eric continued to concentrate on the silent, unattended fields that slipped past them in the darkness.  "Well, don't worry about me," he muttered, not bothering to look at Jake.  "Just drive."

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

Sunday, October 28, five years before the bombs

"Jake?" Heather greeted, offering him a bemused smile as she accepted his hand, allowing him to help her out of her car.  "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," he answered with a shrug.  She stepped out of the way, and he shut her door.  Heather was hardly the first person to express surprise regarding his presence outside the Main Street Presbyterian Church, and her reaction was rather mild in comparison to some of the others.  "I'm gonna go to church with you this morning," Jake announced.

"You're what?" Heather yawned, covering her mouth with her hand.  "Why?" she added as they walked across the parking lot, toward the church, her hand still clasped lightly in his.  The bell started to ring, warning them that they were about to be late.

It was just before ten in the morning, and they had parted company eight hours before, Jake having stayed long after his clothes had dried.  He'd left only after Heather had fallen asleep practically on top of him, and he'd been forced to wake her, reluctantly, to remind her that his car was still quite obviously parked in front of her house, and that his grandfather was likely waiting up to hear him come in.  Heather, blinking blearily, hadn't said anything, settling for simply giving him a rather sloppy kiss good night.  Jake hadn't been able to help thinking that Heather Lisinski, half asleep at two o'clock in the morning, might just be the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.  At his insistence, she'd walked him to the door so she could lock up behind him, and then Jake had driven back to the ranch with all the windows rolled down and the radio blaring to keep himself awake. 

"I'm going to church with you," he repeated, offering Heather a sideways grin.  "I was starting to wonder if you were gonna show though," Jake teased.

"Hit the snooze one too many times," she admitted, yawning again.  "But why?" she repeated, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.  Heather had the logy feeling that came with not having gotten enough sleep, and she really was having trouble following.  "You - When was the last time you went to church?"

"April and Eric's wedding," Jake replied.

"Okay, that wasn't a wedding or a funeral," Heather countered.

"It's been awhile," he conceded, tugging her to a stop just before they reached the rear entrance to the church.  "But I'm not a complete heathen, you know.  I went to Sunday school when I was a kid.  I can name most of the Ten Commandments," Jake claimed.  "Seven or eight, not in order or anything."

Heather chuckled at that, shaking her head.  "Jake, seriously, you don't have to take me to church," she assured him.  "This isn't Little House on the Prairie."

Jake allowed a rather strangled cough, and then laughing softly to himself, brushed a quick, chaste kiss across her mouth.  "Okay.  The absolute, honest truth is that I'm here to protect my interests."

"Protect your interests?" she questioned, her expression quizzical.

"Protect my interests," Jake repeated, sighing.  "If you're gonna go to church with my whole family, then I figure I better be here to hear what they all say.  Gramps, always tryin' to steal my girl," he continued, winking at her, "And I know Mom's just dyin' to tell you a story about diaper rash - or worse - show you pictures."  Jake rolled his eyes.  "Like I said, protectin' my interests."

Chewing her lip in a vain attempt to prevent a giggle, Heather studied Jake closely for a few seconds.  "As much as I love your grandfather," she told him, standing on tiptoe and bracing her hand against his shoulder so she could kiss him softly, "I'm really never gonna dump you for him.  And," she continued, stepping back, "I have a pretty firm policy against looking at any and all pictures of rashes."  Heather grinned.  "There are just some things I don't need to see."

"I don't want them scaring you off," Jake said then, his tone turning serious.

"And, I don't scare easily," Heather assured him. 

The bell has stopped ringing, meaning, Jake knew, that they were now late.  "C'mon," he smiled softly, reaching for her hand.  "We better get in."

Jake led the way into the church building, then down the hallway past the office, nursery and Sunday school rooms, and finally into the narthex.  Still holding hands, they entered the sanctuary.  The congregation was singing the opening hymn.  Jake guided Heather up the left side aisle to a pew in the middle of the church. 

"Hi," April whispered, moving over to allow them both room.  "He found you," she smiled, handing her hymnal to Heather and leaning against Eric's arm so she could read along with him.  Eric glanced over the top of her head, nodding a greeting to Heather and Jake, before wrapping his free arm around April's waist.

"Mornin'," Heather returned quietly.  She found her place in the hymnal, and pointing it out to Jake, began to sing. 

The elder Greens were a pew ahead, and Grandpa, hearing Heather's voice, looked over his shoulder, smiling.  Spotting Jake, he couldn't disguise his surprise and, he shook his head knowingly, his grin spreading.  "Heather, Jake," he chuckled softly, turning back around.

Gail, hearing her father-in-law's greeting, stopped singing and spun around - robbing Johnston of his access to the hymnal they were sharing - to gape, open-mouthed, at her son.  Jake, continuing to sing, rolled his eyes, but otherwise refused to acknowledge her astonishment.  Johnston found another hymnal in the pew rack and leafed through it, finding the correct page just as the organist played the concluding notes of the song.

Reverend Young offered a prayer, and then invited the congregation to greet one another.  Gail whipped around, pulling Heather into a hug over the back of the pew.  "Mrs. Green!  Good morning!"  Heather laughed, obviously startled.

April, taking advantage of Heather's predicament, slipped around her to greet Jake.  She kissed him on the cheek, whispering in his ear, "Wipe your mouth.  You're wearing lipstick."  With that, she glanced at Johnston who was smirking.  "Morning, Dad," she grinned.

Eric was the only member of the Green family even attempting to exchange greetings outside of their group; whether he was successful or not was open to interpretation.  While Eric traded handshakes with Mr. Crenshaw, his wife seemed much more intent on pushing past Eric to watch and listen in on Gail's conversation with Heather.

Gail had let go of Heather though she kept hold of her hand.  "Call me Gail, please!  And, you do know you're to come to dinner tonight, right?" she asked.

April, climbing around Heather to get back to her place beside Eric, muttered, "Told you so."  She'd warned Heather the night before that she was now expected to attend the Green family Sunday dinners.

Jake coughed and covered his mouth, scrubbing his hand across his face.  Johnston, taking advantage of the fact that Heather was distracted by the female members of the family, leaned over to quietly address his son.  "Good idea.  Not really your shade," he snorted. 

"Let 'er go, Gail," Grandpa Green ordered.  "I get a hug, too.  Good morning, sweetheart," he grinned, holding his arms open. 

Giggling, Heather stepped into his embrace.  "Hi, Gramps."

"This is a bit of surprise," Johnston drawled, looking sideways at Jake.  "I'm thinkin' I like your Miss Lisinski."

"Well, I know I do," Jake returned, grinning.

The parishioners were starting to take their seats again, and Heather, moving back beside Jake, overheard his exchange with his father.  She started to blush prettily, prompting Johnston to wink at her.  "Good to have you with us, Heather," he told her before turning and re-seating himself.

Reaching for her hand, Jake laced their fingers together.  He stepped closer, pressing a kiss to Heather's temple, and then offered her a gentle smile as they settled themselves on the pew bench.  The service continued: Gracie Leigh read the morning's Bible passage to the congregation; the children's lesson was given and the kids were sent, running, off to Sunday school; the choir sang and the offering was collected; finally, Reverend Young delivered his sermon.  Jake, stroking his thumb over the back of Heather's hand, managed to pay attention for the first ten minutes or so.  His mind soon wandered though, and he started to fidget, which distracted Heather even more than his presence beside her, or the touch of his hand on hers, already had.  Jake couldn't keep from moving around, rocking the pew, and he spent a good five minutes rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, only to immediately roll them back down.   When he started to tap his foot impatiently, she laid her hand on his knee, forcing him to stop, and offered him a tight smile.  Jake mouthed 'sorry' and pressed his own hand over the top of hers, tracing the word out on her skin with his index finger.  Heather managed to stifle her giggle, but not without attracting the interest of both Eric and April.  Eric coughed to cover a chuckle, and rolled his eyes.  April, laughing noiselessly, tucked her arm through Eric's and, scooting closer, laid her head against his shoulder.  They were all quite thankful when Reverend Young pronounced the benediction.

As soon as the congregation had been dismissed, Jake was standing, tugging on Heather's hand.  "We'll see you all tonight for dinner," he announced to his family, pulling her out of the pew.  He hurried her down the aisle, and had just convinced himself that they'd gotten away with their quick escape when they ended up stuck in the line of parishioners waiting to speak with Reverend Young.  Gail and Johnston stepped into line behind them, effectively preventing Jake from changing course.  He was left with no choice but to wait with Heather for the line to advance.

"Miss Lisinski, isn't it?" Reverend Young greeted warmly, shaking her hand.  "It's nice to have you worshipping with us today.  And you too, Jake," he added throwing the younger man a questioning look.  "Here I thought we'd lost you forever over the 'omnipotence' debate we had during your confirmation class."

"Still have trouble with the whole omnipotence thing," Jake answered.  "But it's nothing personal, Reverend."

Reverend Young's lips twitched into a smile.  "Never thought it was," he assured, shaking Jake's hand.

"I'm very happy to be here, Reverend," Heather said then.  "This is all a little different from what I'm used to, but I'm getting the hang of it," she sighed.  A beat later she blurted out, "I'm Catholic!"

"Well, you wouldn't be the first that we've taken in here," Reverend Young declared, smiling at her kindly.  He reached for her free hand - noting how the other was clasped firmly in Jake's - and squeezed it.  "Isn't that so, Gail?" he asked, glancing past Heather and Jake to include his parents in the conversation.  "Jericho has always lacked for a Catholic church.  Have you been to Saint Matthew's in -"

"Fielding?" Heather filled in.  "The demographic was ... a little skewed," she decided.  The one time Heather had attended mass at Saint Matthew's she'd been the only congregant under the age of fifty.  "Besides, I kinda like going to church in my own neighborhood."

Gail stepped forward, wrapping her arm around Heather's shoulders.  "I grew up Catholic myself," she interjected.  "In Rogue River.  Lots of Irish, you know, from building the railroad.  Six of us kids in the O'Brien family, and five of us married Protestants."  She started to walk Heather away from Reverend Young and Jake, who was forced to let go of Heather's hand or risk pulling her arm out of its socket.  "The Greens and the Johnstons are a mix of everything, including Scotch.  They were Presbyterians, so I ended up one, too."

"Church of Scotland," Heather nodded.

"Exactly!"  Gail smiled at the younger woman.  "Coffee hour's downstairs in the social hall.  Let's get a cup, and maybe a cookie," she suggested, steering Heather through the narthex and toward the stairs.  "The Harvest Festival is next weekend, and I'd like you to meet some of the committee.  We'd love to have you join us."  Gail stopped and looked back over her shoulder at her husband and son.  "Johnston, Jake, come on now."

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

Wednesday, November 1, six weeks after the bombs

"What time is it?" Jake asked, breaking the deafening silence that had settled between him and his brother for, he guessed, the past hour.  Jake had given up wearing a watch, but Eric still had an analog one that worked. 

"Eight fifteen," Eric muttered, turning on the flashlight long enough to check. 

"Made pretty good time, then," Jake shrugged, glancing out the side window.  He hadn't realized immediately when they'd reached the outskirts of Rogue River.  Here on the town's edge, the houses were all on half or three-quarter acre lots, widely spaced and set back from the road.  In the darkness - in the stillness - there was nothing to distinguish the town from the surrounding countryside.  But they were definitely passing houses now.

Eric craned his neck, looking out the window.  "We're in town?" he asked, his forehead, wrinkled in consternation.  "There aren't any lights."

"The EMP got Rogue River, too," Jake reminded.  "And, we were on County Road 107, which is maybe three miles south of Route 40?" he guessed.  They'd safely crossed over Route 40 about an hour back.  "Turns into O'Dell at the city limits," Jake added, slowing the car.   He risked flicking the headlights on long enough to check the street signs at the next intersection.  "O'Dell Road and Telegraph Avenue.  Old part of town," he added unnecessarily, turning the lights off. 

"The Farrows lived on Telegraph, before they moved to Dallas," Eric recalled, naming old friends of their parents.  "And, O'Dell crosses Fremont three blocks off Main.  April's apartment was on Fremont," he muttered.  "You'll wanna turn right on Fremont."

"Okay," Jake agreed.

Less than two minutes later they were on Main Street.  Both Jake and Eric were growing more and more uneasy over the stillness, the emptiness of the town.  In the moonlight, they could see that there wasn't a car parked on Main Street for blocks, and the stores in the retail district were locked up tight.  Jake stopped the car, but didn't turn the headlights on.  Eric reached down near his feet, producing a giant flashlight.  "Look around?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," Jake agreed, frowning.  He popped open his door, and then looked back at his brother.  "Where'd you find that?" he added, gesturing at the flashlight in Eric's lap.

"Your trunk," Eric answered.  "I just hope it works."

"It does," Jake assured him.  "Appeared back there years ago, and it's never died."

They both got out of the car then, but neither was willing to take more than a few steps away from the safety of the vehicle.  Eric turned on the flashlight, aiming it at one of the storefronts.  "Everything's fine," he muttered, turning the beam on the next window.  "I'd almost feel better if they'd been looted."  He clicked off the light, turning to face Jake over the top of the Roadrunner.  "Where is everybody?"

The moonlight, though fickle, was strong enough to highlight the worry in Jake's expression.  He shook his head, unwilling to voice his own misgivings over the situation.  "C'mon," Jake insisted, opening his door.  "Let's get to the hospital."

Turning off Main at the next opportunity, Eric directed Jake through another residential district toward the hospital.  Jake knew generally how to get there, but he was willing to concede to Eric's greater knowledge of the city itself; he'd practically lived in Rogue River, commuting to Jericho, the year he'd been engaged to April.  Making a right turn onto Nineteenth Avenue - a straight shot to Hospital Road from there, according to Eric - something shiny in front of a house caught Jake's attention.  He stopped the car again.  Without saying anything, Eric cranked open the window, shining the flashlight at the house, the beam playing over an abandoned child's bicycle before coming to a rest on the front door which was marred by bright orange spray paint.

"See those markings?" Jake asked.  Eric nodded.  "These homes were evacuated ten twenty-five by FEMA."

"Ten twenty five?"

"That means they came through a month after the bombs," Jake said, thinking out loud.

"Well, if FEMA was here, at least there's still some sorta government," Eric reasoned, his tone turning somewhat hopeful.  He turned, glancing at his brother, who was staring out the other window, trying in vain to make out in the moonlight the writing on the door across the street.

"As of a week ago," Jake muttered, clearly implying that he didn't share Eric's optimistic outlook.

Eric moved the flashlight beam over the markings again before turning it off.  "What are the other numbers?"

"Zero is the number they found alive," Jake muttered.

"And the two?"

Jake released the break, giving the car some gas.  "Number of dead," he said, frowning.

Turning into the driveway of the Fillmore County Hospital, Jake pulled through the ambulance bay and into the service area at the back of the main building.  The hospital had been built during the Great Depression under the auspices of the WPA, and had then undergone extensive renovations - including the addition of a wing - during the seventies.  This was the hospital where Gail O'Brien had trained as a nurse, caring for, and thoroughly entrancing, Private Johnston Green while he'd recovered from an appendectomy.   It was on the grounds, in the memorial rose garden, that Johnston had proposed marriage, and then - thirty-four years later - on the cafeteria patio at sunset, and in front of half the hospital's residents, that Eric had proposed to April.  This was the hospital where Gail Green had given birth to her sons; the hospital where Eric's tonsils had been removed and where Grandpa Green had received chemotherapy; the hospital where Jake had spent two days after Jonah Prowse had tried to have him killed.  This was the hospital where they needed to find the drugs that would save their father's life.

Turning off the car, Jake addressed his brother.  "We're gonna go in, we're gonna get the medicine, and we're gonna get out."

"Okay," Eric agreed, and they both opened their doors, climbing out the car, each carrying a rifle.  Eric also brought along his small flashlight, pointing it at the ground.  A flyer, printed on bright yellow paper, blew by him at his feet, and Eric stooped down to pick it up.  Standing back up, he angled the flashlight so he could read the paper to Jake. 

"'The Federal Emergency Management Agency has determined that radioactive fallout from the blast in Lawrence, Kansas has contaminated the water table of this region.  Under no circumstances should water from any taps or wells be consumed,'" Eric recited, "Signed, FEMA."  He sighed.  "Well, I guess that explains why this place is empty."  He raised the flashlight, shining it in Jake's direction.  "If the water's contaminated here, don't we need to worry about that in Jericho?"

"We're a hundred miles farther from Lawrence," Jake shrugged, "And, the Geiger counters haven't -"

A shot rang out and the next thing they knew a bullet struck the driveway a few feet away.  Instinctively, Jake and Eric both ducked.  "Kill the light!" Jake shouted.

They ran for the shelter of the building.  "What the hell?" Eric demanded, panting.  "Where's that coming from?"  Jake and Eric waited against the wall of the building, both trying to take in their surroundings.  "We gotta get inside!" he urged.

Jake nodded, and then tapped Eric on the arm, figuring that his brother might not have seen the gesture in the dark.  "Stay close," he whispered.

Pressed against the building's wall, they moved quickly toward the emergency department entrance.  The automatic doors had been locked open and Jake, his rifle raised, ducked through them, followed closely by Eric.  Inside, there was a complete lack of light; the moonlight that streamed into the waiting room through the windows there didn't penetrate more than a few feet.  Jake took a deep breath, considering how to proceed.  "Turn the flashlight on.  Two seconds," he ordered Eric. 

They hardly had time to take everything in, but what they saw was enough.  Equipment and supplies were overturned and scattered all the way down the corridor.  "Oh my God," Eric muttered, clicking off the light. "What happened here?"

Jake felt the wall he was pressed up against, finding pockmark after pockmark, each caused, he knew, by a bullet.  Eric moved next to him, accidentally elbowing him in the side.  "You okay?" Jake whispered.

"Yeah," Eric answered, his voice overly amplified in the otherwise quiet hallway.  "Where d'ya think those shots came from?"

"Top floor," Jake replied quietly, inching his way along the wall, his hands brushing the bullet holes that didn't seem to end, carefully kicking things out of his way.

"Who the hell'd be shooting at us?" Eric demanded, still speaking too loudly.

"I dunno," Jake murmured.  "But," he reasoned, "If they have any Cipro, it's probably upstairs.  Two more seconds of light," he suggested, reaching back to tap his brother on the arm.

Eric's flashlight revealed that the next ten feet or so of the corridor was reasonably clear, and Jake pushed himself away from the wall, his rifle raised and at the ready.  Eric looked back over his shoulder, bringing up the rear a few seconds later.  Jake, remembering what he'd seen in the burst of light, made his way around an overturned cart, but Eric caught his foot on it and fell, sprawling into the cross-corridor.  His hand brushed across a cold face, and he knew instinctively that it was a corpse.  It took all his effort not to lose his last meal. 

Jake, reaching over Eric, forced his brother to turn on flashlight again.  In the beam they could both see that the hallway was littered with bodies.  Eric pulled back, throwing himself against the side of the counter that ran the length of the hallway.  "My God," he whispered, finally extinguishing the light.

Leaning against the wall four feet across the corridor, Jake felt the floor around him, coming up with a handful of spent shell casings.  "Hand me the flashlight," he instructed Eric, sliding across the floor toward his brother.  He knew he was risking a lot to basically stand down at this point, especially with at least one gunman upstairs, but he had to get a handle on the situation, and in the dark they were literally working blind.  Eric fumbled around, finally managing to get the flashlight into Jake's hand.  Jake turned it on, cupping his hand around the beam to block most of the light, although there was enough still escaping that he could see the panic on his brother's face.  Quickly, he examined one of the shell casings, holding it up so Eric could see.  "They're from an automatic weapon."

"Maybe they belong to these guys," Eric mumbled, his voice cracking.  He was breathing hard, and Jake was afraid he was about to have a full blown panic attack.  "I didn't know that Rogue River had a SWAT Team," he whispered, sniffling.

"They don't," Jake returned, his tone turning grim.  He moved away from Eric, examining the vest on the first body by the light reflecting off the shield of his hand.  "These guys aren't cops," Jake explained, "They're government contractors, a private army."  He ran his hand over an all too familiar patch, a bitter taste pervading his mouth as he muttered, "A firm called Ravenwood."

"What are mercenaries doing in Kansas?" Eric questioned. 

The name 'Ravenwood' obviously had no meaning to him, as it hadn't for Jake a year before.  He'd first heard about Ravenwood in December, two weeks after Thanksgiving, and two weeks before Christmas.  Gretchen, his boss, had taken him to lunch - polish sausages from the wiener wagon outside the federal building where the DEA's field office was quartered - and informed him that it was time to put his truck driving skills to use again.  The Pentagon was suspicious of one of their contractors, an outfit called Ravenwood out of Boulder that provided logistics, transportation and security services in both Afghanistan and Iraq.  "You've gotten a little too comfortable as the wealthy American with a wad of cash and his own private plane," Gretchen had informed him. "And, maybe a little too well known.  This is a good place to put ya." 

Jake had balked at the assignment, even threatening to quit, which had earned him one of Gretchen's rather derisive chuckles.  "One day you're gonna quit on me," she'd conceded with a shrug.  "Probably sooner rather than later.  But, not yet."  In the end she'd been right, and he'd taken the assignment, presenting himself in the interview as a down on his luck rancher from Kansas with some past experience as a long-haul truck driver - thanks to his time with West Kansas Shipping and Freight - and a strong desire to earn some money quickly before the bank could foreclose on him.  The Ravenwood recruiter had thought he was a perfect fit, and he'd been promised a position on a crew being sent to Afghanistan at the beginning of February. 

A month into his assignment in Afghanistan, Jake had enough evidence to convict two or three low-level managers for distribution of both illegal drugs and weapons, but not enough to go after anyone higher up the food chain, and especially not after anyone in Boulder.  On the phone with Gretchen at three AM, Jake had shared his suspicions that Afghanistan was just the tip of the iceberg, and that if they really wanted to get this group, then they needed to start investigating in Iraq.  Gretchen had agreed, ordering Jake to do whatever he needed to do to get himself transferred to Iraq.

"I 'ppreciate everything you've done for me," Jake had told Frank Montrose, the contracting boss in Afghanistan five hours later.  "I do.  But, I need money, and you make it faster in Iraq," he'd argued.  "I've got the bank off my back for now, but they still own half my ranch, and my wife wants kids," Jake had confided, frowning.  "A year in Iraq is worth eighteen months, here, and I don't wanna be doin' this for the rest of my life," he'd muttered, adding a quick "No offense," that Montrose had waved off with a put-upon snort.  "I've done a good job for you here," Jake had reminded.  "If you recommend me, they'll take me."

A week later, Jake had been on a flight to Iraq.  He was assigned to a dorm room, sharing it with three other truck drivers, including Freddie Ruiz.  He'd hit it off from the beginning with Freddie, less so with the other two, Patrick and Greg, whom Jake quickly came to suspect were well aware of, and involved in, Ravenwood's more elicit activities.  In the end, Jake had spent nearly six months on his investigation in Iraq, managing to keep his anniversary date with Heather in Hawaii only by killing his grandfather off for a second time and then claiming the need to return home for the funeral.  In the end, his instincts about Patrick and Greg had been proven right, and he'd arrested them and ten other contractors along with a nearly equal number of military personnel. 

If there was one thing Jake knew about Ravenwood, it was that they were the most mercenary of the military contractors, and their people were as corrupt as any he'd ever met.  He didn't want to think about what they were doing in Kansas, and he really didn't want to tangle with them.  He turned off the flashlight, handing it back to Eric, and then lifted his rifle, aiming it down the body strewn corridor.  He couldn't see a damn thing but, irrationally, it made him feel safer.

"Same thing they've been doin' in Iraq and New Orleans," he explained, glancing at where his brother was, barely able to make out his profile despite the fact that less than foot separated them.  "The military's been stretched so thin the past few years, mercenaries became a commodity.  The real question is," Jake muttered, staring down the corridor into the darkness, "Did they kill these people?"

In the stillness, Jake could hear Eric panting, though he seemed to be getting his anxiety under control.  "Look," he suggested, taking a deep breath, "Let's just get the drugs and go."

"You're right," Jake agreed quickly, nodding.  "You ready?"

"Yeah," Eric mumbled.

Jake had Eric turn on the flashlight just long enough so they could determine a path down the corridor.  The center of the hallway was mostly clear - at least of bodies - and they hurried along, Jake sweeping his foot back and forth across the path to clear it of debris.  Reaching the stairwell door, he pushed it open, halfway, with the barrel of his rifle.  Holding his breath - feeling Eric's breath on his neck from behind - Jake waited an endless ten seconds, straining to hear anything from inside the shaft.  Finally, exhaling softly, he slipped through the doorway.

Moonlight filtered in through windows that were placed in the outside wall at four or five foot intervals for three stories.  Jake sighed, grateful for even that weak light after the horrors of their trip through the emergency room.  The stairwell, thankfully, was free of bodies, but otherwise it was in worse shape than the suite they'd just left.  Equipment had been spilled and shoved into the small space making it an accident waiting to happen.  Jake could see now that an empty linen cart had been wedged into the corner, and it was that which had stopped the corridor door from opening completely.  Climbing over abandoned equipment, Jake led the way to the stairs.  "All right, stay close to the wall," he advised Eric, mounting the first step.

He didn't look back until he'd reached the relative safety of the mid-floor landing.  Eric seemed rooted to his spot on the first stair, and annoyed, Jake motioned him forward with his hand.  "C'mon," he whispered, "C'm'ere."  Finally, his brother began to carefully climb the stairs.  On the landing, Eric moved next to Jake, pressing his back into the wall.  Jake fished his keys out of his pocket and tried to hand them to Eric.  "Here.  If somethin' happens to me, get in the car and go, all right?"  Eric was not handling their situation, and Jake didn't figure he'd come across a safer place to stash his brother than this.  "Find another town, search house to house if you have to."

Eric shook his head, pulling his hand back from Jake's.  "Jake, nothing's going to happen to you," he insisted, muttering, "Nothing ever does.  Besides, no way in hell am I goin' home and telling Heather I left you behind."

"She knew this was dangerous," Jake contradicted, forcing the keys into Eric's pocket.  "She won't blame -"  He cut himself off at the sound of something metallic striking the steel of one of the steps.  There was a flash of sparks above them, on the next flight, and then the ominous clink-clink of something rolling down the stairs.  Jake shoved Eric ahead of him, back toward the first floor.  "Go!" he shouted, "Move!"

Somehow they managed to get to the bottom of the staircase, and then to shelter somewhat effectively beneath it, before the device went off.  There was a bright flash and a deafening noise that left them both seeing stars and with ringing ears, but at least they were relatively unharmed.  "You okay?" Jake whispered to his brother a long moment later.

"You say something?" Eric replied loudly.  His expression was pained, and he pointed to his ear, adding rather unnecessarily, "All I hear is ringing."

"It'll pass in a minute," Jake assured, looking up through the three inch gap between the parallel flights.  But, the moonlight was fickle, and he was still seeing spots, making it next to impossible for him to make anything out.

"Who's down there?  Freeze! Drop your weapons!" 

Jake, still peering up the stairwell in vain, shouted back.  "No!  We're here for medicine," he continued.  "It's an emergency.  We don't want any trouble."

"There's no medicine here," the man called back.  To Jake's ears he sounded stressed, almost as if he were crying.

Taking a deep breath, Jake yelled up, "We wanna look for ourselves.  We can trade'ja for food." 

The man wasn't interested.  "We have everything we need.  Go away!" 

Shaking his head in frustration, Jake tried to maneuver around his brother and get out from underneath the stairs, but Eric grabbed his arm.  "Jake!"

"What!" he snapped in return, tugging loose.

"Are you crazy?" Eric demanded, stumbling after Jake.

"Didn't you hear 'im?" Jake whispered urgently, pointing up the stairwell.  "He's scared."

Eric expressed his displeasure with a tight-lipped frown.  "He threw a grenade," he complained.

"That was a flash bang, not a grenade," Jake countered, exasperated.  "It's just loud and bright to scare us," he explained quickly.  "If he wanted to kill us, he would've."  Jake took a step out into the open.  "We're puttin' our weapons down and comin' up," he called out, propping his rifle against the far wall. 

"You come up and I'll shoot you!" the man yelled back.  He sounded more in control of himself.

Jake, taking a deep breath, mounted the first step, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.  Behind him, he heard Eric sigh, and then a scraping sound as he leaned his own weapon against the wall.  The two climbed the first flight quickly, slowing as they passed the second floor and then proceeded up to the third.  The stairs continued up to the roof, but Jake turned, pulling open the corridor door and stepping through.  He found himself facing an automatic weapon, the red laser guide light bouncing across his chest.  Sensing Eric step into place next to him, Jake raised his hands up higher. 

"That's far enough!" 

The man was in his mid-twenties with close cropped hair, dressed in what Jake knew to be standard issue gear for Ravenwood Security Services personnel.  His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like hell.  Realizing that Jake was studying him by the moonlight seeping in through the hallway door, the man stepped back, into the shadows, still holding the automatic weapon on them, switching nervously between Jake and Eric.

"You're with Ravenwood," Jake said slowly, modulating his voice so that is was as calm and inoffensive as possible.

The man let out the breath he'd been holding, asking, "How'd ya know?"

Jake waited a moment, considering what he could say.  He had to win this man's trust, and he just didn't know what would do it.  He decided to go with a close approximation of the truth, telling him, "I spent six months in the Green Zone, runnin' a supply rig up and down Route Irish to BIAP."

Brow furled, he took a step forward, back into the diffuse moonlight.  "You were in Iraq?  Soldier?"

"I just drove a truck," Jake shrugged.  "Transportation division, but I met a lotta guys from Security Services.  In housing, and they'd ride along sometimes."  Jake could see that he was losing his audience as the man glanced left, squinting into the darkness.  "Where were you?" he asked, regaining the man's attention.

"Fallujah," he offered reluctantly.

"Man, I thought I had it bad," Jake said, making a sympathetic noise.

"Thought it was the worst thing I ever live through," he admitted, his voice shaking.  He took another step toward Jake and Eric, wincing.  His leg was bandaged around the thigh.  "'Til now," he sniffed.

Nodding slightly, Jake gestured at the weapon.  "Mind puttin' that thing down?" he asked, still holding his hands up.  "We're just here for medicine," he explained slowly.  "We don't have a lotta time."  The man's expression softened slightly and Jake sighed, pointing to his left.  "This is my brother, Eric.  I'm Jake."  The man didn't respond, and Jake vented a little of his anxiety, demanding, "Come on!"

"Randy Payton," he mumbled, finally lowering his gun.  He limped across the space that separated them and made a half-hearted attempt at checking both Jake and Eric for weapons.  He faced Jake, his eyes, lifeless.  "I'll take ya to see the doc."

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

Sunday, October 28, five years before the bombs

"Hey," Jake murmured into Heather's ear, coming up behind her and laying a hand on her arm.  It had been fifteen minutes since his mother had absconded to the basement with her, and this was the first time Gail had left Heather alone long enough for Jake to get anywhere near her. 

Heather shivered slightly at his touch, but when she turned around a second later she was all smiles.  "Hey," she returned.

"So, is it just me, or is this coffee really bad?" he asked, holding up a paper cup with one hand and reaching for hers with the other.

"Church coffee," Heather pronounced authoritatively.  "Bad the world over in my experience.  And, really, not even worth it, 'cause it's always decaf."

Jake made a face.  Pulling her along with him, he wound his way through the crowd to a garbage can, tossing his cup away.  "There," he proclaimed.  "Ready to blow this joint?" he inquired, his tone quietly teasing.

 "Sure," Heather nodded, grinning.  "Where're we gonna go?"

"Pizza Garden?" Jake suggested.  "This is Mindy's last weekend in town for awhile.  I'd like to say good-bye."

"Sounds good," Heather agreed.  She and Jake started for the stairs but had only made it three or four steps when twenty-four pounds of two and a half foot boy ran into them, tangling between their legs.  Heather watched in dismay as the little boy fell backwards, landing on his bottom, though luckily not on his head.  The child's lower lip immediately began to tremble.  "Oh, sweetie," Heather declared, scooping him up.

"Lose something, Jimmy?" Jake asked, one eyebrow raised, when Deputy Taylor rushed up to them a few seconds later. 

"I am so sorry!" Jimmy gasped out.  "I - He just took off on me.  Are you okay, Miss Lisinski?" he inquired, reaching for his son.  "How 'bout you, buddy?  You okay?" he murmured, lifting the little boy from Heather's arms.

"I - I'm fine, Deputy Taylor, thanks," Heather stammered out.  She hadn't seen him since the night he'd caught her and Jake at town hall, and she couldn't help but remember that he knew that she and Jake had been out - illegally - at Bass Lake on Wednesday night.  She certainly hadn't expected to run into Deputy Taylor at church.  "I think he just scared himself," Heather explained, touching the little boy's leg.  "You're okay, aren't you, sweetie?" she asked then, offering him a gentle smile.  He stared back at her with big eyes, his thumb finding its way into his mouth.

"Please, call me Jimmy.  And this little bruiser's name is Woody," Jimmy explained, kissing the little boy on the top of the head.  Woody twisted in his father's arms, burrowing his face against Jimmy's shoulder.

"Well then, call me Heather, please," she returned, frowning sympathetically at Woody.  "Poor baby," she crooned.  "We embarrassed him."

"Jimmy, is he okay?"

Woody perked up as soon as he heard that voice.  "Mama!" he cried out, reaching for the extremely pregnant woman who had waddled up next to Jimmy.

"Oh, baby," she sighed, catching and then kissing one chubby little hand.  "Let Daddy hold you, please."  Woody returned to sucking his thumb and laid his head back down against Jimmy's shoulder.

"Margaret, this is Heather," Jimmy introduced quickly.  "Heather, my wife Margaret."

"Well, it's very good to meet you, Heather," Margaret Taylor smiled, holding out her hand.  "Not only did you dust off our boy," she said, glancing fondly at Woody, "But you actually got Jake Green to come to church."  Her gaze shifted to the subject of her statement.  "You know, Jake, it's not nice to give a pregnant woman such a shock.  You could've sent me into early labor."  She chuckled softly, pressing her hand to the top of her pregnant belly.  "Of course, I would've probably thanked you for that."

Jake's lips twitched as he fought a grin.  "I'm sorry?" he responded, drawing another breathy chuckle from Margaret.

"It was a complete shock to me, too," Heather offered as Jake's arm snaked around her waist.  She looked up at him, teasing, "He didn't say a thing about it last night.  I thought I was imagining things when I drove into the parking lot this morning, and there he was, waiting for me."

Jake shrugged, not bothering to argue.  "Supposed to be a surprise," he told her, their gazes locking for a few seconds.  Jimmy and Margaret exchanged their own significant look and smiles.

"Hi!" Woody exclaimed then, startling all four adult as he pushed off his father's chest with one hand and leapt at Heather, his arms out-stretched. 

Instinctively, she stepped forward and caught the little boy under the arms.  Jimmy still had a good grip on his waist, but Woody was wiggling, obviously intent on getting to Heather.  "Is this okay?" she asked, just as Jimmy let go and she found herself holding Woody. 

"If you don't mind, we don't mind," Margaret answered with a sigh. Heather lifted Woody against her chest, and his mother moved next to them so she could brush his bangs out of his eyes.  "I think he's feeling neglected.  Having a Mom who's nine and a half months pregnant is no fun for any of us, huh?" she asked smiling tiredly at her son.  Woody chose that moment to press a very slobbery kiss to Heather's cheek. Margaret groaned an apology.  "I'm sorry," she said, producing a tissue from her purse.

"Not necessary," Heather assured, accepting the tissue but not bothering to wipe off her face.  She adjusted her hold on Woody, moving him to her side so she could see his face.  "Well, aren't you just the little charmer?" she asked.  "And, you've got your Mama's beautiful brown eyes, doncha?" she added, grinning at the little boy who grinned back, happy for the attention.  Heather glanced at Margaret next, inquiring as delicately as she could manage, "You're not really nine and a half months pregnant, are you?"

Margaret chuckled, shaking her head.  "Thirty-seven weeks, though it's starting to feel like forever at this point.  Luckily," she continued, "This baby's a girl, so I never have to do this again."

Heather nodded.  "Congratulations," she laughed softly, starting the bouncing sway that anyone who has spent any time with small children knows well.

Jimmy Taylor had been married for five years, and he'd witnessed the birth of his son; he was now immune to any embarrassment over the subject of pregnancy.   Still, he recognized the uneasiness in both Jake's eyes and his stance over the turn in conversation.  "Looks like you've got some competition there, Jake," he joked, nodding at Woody, who was now content to rest his head on Heather's breast.

"Trust me, he's not the first," Jake grumbled good-naturedly, leaning over to tickle Woody's tummy, which got the little boy giggling and squirming.  "Heather's got more than a few admirers," he teased, winking at her.

"Jake was at school the other day and found, ah, shall we say, an admiring note from one of my students on my desk," Heather explained, rolling her eyes. 

"It was a love letter," Jake interjected.  "Short and misspelled, but definitely a love letter."

"It was from an eight year old," Heather argued, chuckling.

Both Jimmy and Margaret laughed.  "Well, what did it say?" Margaret questioned.

"That she's pretty and nice and fun, and that she's the best teacher ever," Jake supplied.  "All points I absolutely agree with," he added, throwing Heather a look that left her blushing. 

She took a deep breath before jutting her chin out challengingly.  "So, you memorized the letter?"

Jake shrugged, his gaze never wavering.  "It was short, easy to memorize."

Margaret and Jimmy shared another significant glance.  They had both grown up in Jericho, and had both known Jake since elementary school, but neither had ever seen him like this.  He was quite definitely pursuing Heather Lisinski, and it was a sight to behold, to say the least.

* * * * *

Halfway across the church hall, Gail Green, well aware of the quality of church coffee, stood with Johnston and Grandpa Green, nursing a cup of fruit punch. She was carefully observing Jake, Heather, and Taylor family, noting how little Woody Taylor had taken to Heather immediately.  And earlier, Gail recalled, while she'd been introducing Heather around, Gail had seen how easily she interacted with two of her students, little girls who had been excited and surprised to realize that their teacher actually existed outside the confines of Jericho Elementary.  Gail glanced up at her husband.  "Heather's really quite wonderful with children," she murmured taking a sip of her punch.

"That's not exactly surprisin'," Grandpa Green observed dryly, startling his daughter-in-law.  His hearing was better than Gail ever credited it as being.  "Her chosen profession is the teachin' of children," he reminded.

Johnston shook his head.  "Don't go trying to imagine that girl pregnant, Abigail," he warned with a snort, popping the last bite of his macaroon into his mouth.

"That's not what -" Gail broke off as her eyes met her husband's knowing gaze.  "It's too soon to be thinking babies," she claimed, though neither man believed that she meant it.  "They should get married first, for one," she decided.

"They've known each other for two weeks," Johnston reminded.  "Little early to be plannin' a wedding, doncha think?"

"I'm not!" she protested, earning disbelieving smirks from the two men.  "Besides," Gail continued, "You proposed to me six weeks after we met, Johnston Green."

"That's true," Grandpa confirmed, apparently switching allegiances.

"Well then, give it a month," Johnston suggested, rolling his eyes.  He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her close so he could press a kiss to the top of her head.  "And, no pushing," he advised gently.

"They'll get where they're goin' in their own time," Grandpa assured.  "And it sure looks to me like they're headed exactly where you'd like," he chuckled.

Gail shrugged, leaning against Johnston.  "Who's pushing?"

* * * * *

Woody rubbed his eye with one hand and then reached for Heather's necklace, a plain gold chain with a pendant cross.  "No Woody!" Margaret and Jimmy gasped out in unison with Margaret adding, "Don't touch."

"It's okay," Heather murmured her eyes on the little boy.  "Gentle," she instructed. Holding Woody's gaze with her own, Heather waited until he gave her a solemn nod, and then she smiled at him, repeating, "Gentle."

"Gen'le," he agreed, letting go of the chain.  He giggled and grinned at Heather, patting her clumsily on the shoulder before laying his head back down.

Openly gawking at her, Jimmy demanded, "How'd you do that?  What'd you do?  It's like you hypnotized him," he said, his tone full of awe.

"I didn't do anything, really," Heather argued, rubbing her hand in circles on the little boy's back.  "I just have years and years of babysitting and camp counseling experience.  And, of course, the teacher voice," she joked.

"Still," Margaret muttered, "That was amazing.  How soon can we invite you over for dinner?" she asked.

Woody, who was facing Jake, yawned and rubbed his eyes with one pudgy fist before sticking his thumb in his mouth and closing his eyes.  "I think we're losing someone here," Jake observed, nodding at the little boy, who truth be told, Jake couldn't help feeling a little envious of at this moment.

"Yeah," Margaret agreed with a sigh, "Time to get him home for his nap."

"Probably a good idea," Heather responded, a hint of reluctance in her tone.  She kissed the top of Woody's head, and then slid him into Jimmy's arms.  "We wanted to get over to the Pizza Garden before Melinda Henry leaves for school, anyway."

"Great idea!" Eric declared, clapping his brother on the shoulder.  None of them had noticed Eric's approach, but now he stood next to Jake, grinning.  "April wanted to know if you two were interested in going to lunch," he explained, glancing between Jake and Heather.  "The Pizza Garden's perfect."  Eric turned around and waved April over.  Then, for good measure, he waved at his parents and grandfather.  "We can all go."

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

Wednesday, November 1, six weeks after the bombs

Jake jumped down the last half flight of stairs, amazed that he managed to avoid stumbling on something unseen in the weak moonlight.  He'd sent the other three on ahead, staying back to lay down cover until the weapon that Payton had supplied had run out of ammunition.  Now, it was wedged in the third floor stairwell door, a last ditch effort to slow down the Ravenwood goons.  Jake felt along the wall at the foot of the stairs, quickly finding - incredibly - the rifles that he and Eric had left there less than an hour before.  He picked one up, cocked it, and fired a shot blindly up the stairwell, hoping he wouldn't be so unlucky as to have it ricochet back at him.  He grabbed up the second rifle and headed back into the emergency department corridor.

Jake's memory of the floor's layout proved, thankfully, to be true, and he jogged along, kicking, he knew, the occasional corpse in the process, but otherwise without incident.  Within a matter of seconds, he came upon the admissions desk, now bathed in the faint light of the rising moon.  Payton was there, crouched in a defender's stance, his weapon trained on the corridor Jake had just traversed.

"It's me," Jake declared, skidding into Payton's line of vision.  He ran past the other man, calling back over his shoulder, "Hey!  Let's go!"

"Go on!" Payton shouted back, his voice echoing through the otherwise silent space.

Jake spun around and yelled for Payton again.  "C'mon!" he urged, "Car's out front!"

"No!" the other man denied, shaking his head.  He glanced at Jake, momentarily abandoning his self-appointed surveillance task.  "No!  This is on me."

Annoyed, Jake ran back to him, grabbing his arm and tugging on it roughly.  "Hey!" he barked out, "They'll kill you.  C'mon!"

"I can't," Payton argued, shaking his head again.  With mere inches between them, Jake got a good look at the other man's eyes. 

When he'd heard Payton's voice from the top of the stairwell he'd determined that the other man was scared; soon after, when Jake had gotten his first good look at Payton, the only adequate description of his expression had been lifeless.  But later, when Payton had declared, "You wanna live?  Stand up and fight!" it had seemed to Jake that a spark of something had come back into the man.  Now though, he realized, standing in the middle of the Fillmore County Hospital emergency room, that it hadn't been life that had reanimated Randy Payton; instead it had been a hunger for death.

"I deserve this," Payton gasped out, his eyes flooding with tears.  "I emptied my gun up there, too," he confessed. 

The admission tore at Jake, and he wanted to argue that Payton couldn't take this on himself, that there were others who were responsible, that Ravenwood - the entire, corrupt, corporate entity - was responsible.  But Jake also knew there was no taking that pain away.  He wouldn't stop Payton from making things right in the only way he had left to him, and in the only way he knew how.

"Now go," Payton ordered, taking a fortifying breath.  "Let me do this."  He turned away and began to watch the corridor again, his gun ready, his companion forgotten.

Jake ran from the building.  Outside in the cool air he couldn't help but gasp for breath, inhaling deeply.  The air in the hospital was stale and, on the upper floors, rank with the telling scent of the slaughter that had taken place there.  Eric roared up in the Roadrunner then, headlights blazing, catching Jake in their glow.  He jogged forward, yanking open the door.  Doctor Dhuwalia squeezed over as far as he could in the bucket seat, and Jake forced himself in next to him, wrenching the door closed.

"Where's Payton?" Eric demanded.

"He's not coming!" Jake yelled in return.  From inside he thought he could hear the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire, and he closed his eyes, saying a silent good-bye, a silent thank you, a silent prayer to and for Randy Payton.  "Go!" Jake screamed when Eric didn't immediately drive off.  "He's not coming," he repeated.  "Go!"

It was nearly a half hour before they stopped.  Jake had told Eric to kill the lights, a dead giveaway of their location if Ravenwood was following, and then, after a minimum of discussion, Eric had picked a circuitous route out of town, one that they hoped would convince anyone they might happen to pass that they were headed southeast toward Wichita rather than northwest to Jericho.  Within fifteen minutes Jake had been sure that they weren't being followed, but he'd waited another ten before finally telling Eric to pull over.  Now they found themselves outside of Rogue River on another deserted farm road which offered at least the illusion of safety.

Jake popped open the passenger door while the car was still rolling to a stop and, disentangling himself from Doctor Dhuwalia, climbed out.  "Usually, I have to be dating someone to sit that close," Jake muttered, stretching his arms over his head.  Dhuwalia, stepping out of the car, didn't even crack a smile.  "Of course, my wife doesn't really approve of my dating these days."

"Funny," the doctor told him, flatly, after an awkward ten seconds of silence.  "Or it would be if things were different." In the darkness, Jake could barely make out that Dhuwalia was frowning.  "He was the only one that I was able to save," he mumbled, staring past Jake and into the night.  "And now he's dead anyway.  What's the bloody use?"

"Yeah," Jake sighed.  There was no point in telling Dhuwalia that he'd saved the wrong man, and that Randy Payton's fate had been sealed the moment he'd turned on his compatriots, or perhaps even earlier, in the moment he'd signed his contract and pocketed his bonus.  "When - When did it happen?" Jake asked then, not really sure why he wanted to know.

"Do you mean the massacre of one hundred and forty-two patients and thirty-seven staff at the Fillmore County Hospital?" Dhuwalia questioned harshly.  "Floor by floor?  Forty minutes of hell?  You would like to know when that occurred?"

Eric had come around the front of the car and now stood next to Jake.  The Green brothers faced the doctor with matching grim expressions.  Jake nodded, his lips pressed tightly together.  "Yeah," he said, clearing his throat.

"I don't remember," the doctor admitted with a sour chuckle.  "Yesterday?  The day before, perhaps.  Does it matter?"

"No," Jake conceded, letting out the breath he'd been holding.

Next to him, Eric shuffled his feet.  "We need to go, Jake," he reminded.  "Dad needs the -"

"Okay, yeah, we're goin'," he answered, his attention still focused on their new companion.  "It'll be fine.  What time is it?" Jake asked, glancing at his brother.

"Just after ten," Eric replied, clicking his flashlight on long enough to check his watch.  "We gotta go," he repeated.

"How far is it?" Dhuwalia inquired softly. 

"Another two hours, a little more, maybe," Jake shrugged.  "April said he had twelve hours.  It'll be seven by then."

Dhuwalia threw his shoulders back, and although the moonlight was fickle, Eric and Jake both witnessed the transformation as his expression went from defeated to determined.  "Well, we can still save your father," the doctor announced.  With that, he turned back toward the car, and yanking the door open and the seat forward, climbed into the back.

Jake looked at his brother.  "Here," Eric muttered, holding up the Roadrunner's keys.  "No way in hell was I telling Heather or Mom that I left you behind."  He dropped the keys onto Jake's palm.  "You drive."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, his fist closing around the keys.  "Let's go home."

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

Different Circumstances: Part 8B of ? by Marzee Doats

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

Wednesday, November 1, six weeks after the bombs

"Wow, this is quite the production line," April murmured.  She'd stopped for a moment in the archway between the living and dining rooms to survey the ice-making efforts which had taken over the table and then some. 

"Thanks," Heather sighed, turning a pie tin over and then hitting it with her fist to pop out a perfect nine-inch ice pie.  "Once I figured it out," she continued, transferring the ice chunk to the cooler she'd dragged in from the garage, "It was pretty easy.  And for that, I've gotta thank Emily Sullivan.  Betcha never thought you'd hear me say that," Heather joked, dropping the ice chest's lid into place and then looking up at April.

"You'd be right," April yawned.  She found a chair that was free of ice-making paraphernalia and sat down.  "Though - as generous of spirit as I'm feeling towards Emily tonight - I have a hard time believing she knew how to make ice with fertilizer when you didn't."

Emily Sullivan had arrived at the Green house a little after eight bearing what Heather had estimated to be nearly ten thousand dollars worth of antibiotics and the news that her father was taking Jake up on the deal he'd offered that morning.  She'd heard from Jimmy Taylor that the mayor was on his deathbed, and she had known that Jonah's desire to see her had been the deal breaker, so she'd gone out to West Kansas Shipping and Freight for a visit.

 "The mayor took me to the eighth grade father-daughter dance.  I was the only girl not going, and Jonah was in prison," she'd confessed to Heather and April, handing over the cardboard box filled with pill bottles.  "We were so... awkward with each other," she had recalled, "But it was sweet of him to do it.  Every time I vote for him, I think of that."  She'd looked down at her feet and shrugged.  "All I had to do was talk to Jonah for a little bit.  It's worth it, especially if I can help him."

They'd poured the box out on the coffee table and quickly sorted through the bottles.  Much to their disappointment, there hadn't been any Cipro amongst the medication from Jonah, but April hadn't been about to turn down an infusion that would bolster her dwindling pharmacy and keep the clinic - hopefully - in operation for a few more weeks.  Emily had donated everything outright, much to April's surprise, and then she'd stuck around for another hour, helping Heather start her ice-making endeavor before finally taking her leave.

"It didn't work at first," Heather shrugged, pouring more water into the pie tin and then placing it back in the bowl of cooling solution.  "I was doing it wrong," she admitted, yawning.  "Emily talked me through it, helped me realize what I needed to do."

April smiled and let out a deep breath.  "Well, it worked.  And, I'm happy to report that Dad's fever's down two degrees.  We've got some wiggle room until the guys get back," she declared.

"They'll be back, April," Heather assured, reaching across the table to squeeze her sister-in-law's hand.  "Any time now, don't worry."

"I worked in that hospital for three years, and it was always creepy at night," April confided.  "Now, with no electricity and in the dark?"  She shook her head, shuddering softly.  "I just can't imagine."

"They've already been and gone," Heather reminded.  "Everything's fine,"' she insisted.  "They're already on their way back."  April nodded, and Heather withdrew her hand.  "How's Gail doing?" she asked softly.

"I finally got her to lay down for a bit," April explained, covering her mouth with her hand as she yawned again.  "She won't leave him alone though, and if she actually falls asleep she'll probably roll right off the edge of the bed."

Heather chuckled tiredly.  "She's not gonna sleep 'til he's out of the woods.  You wouldn't.  I wouldn't."

"Yeah," April agreed, frowning slightly.  She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up.  "I think I'm going to make a pot of coffee."

"Now you're just being mean," Heather complained.

"You can have some too.  One cup," April said, emphasizing her point by holding up one finger.  "As a pregnant woman you need to limit yourself to no more than three hundred fifty milligrams of caffeine a day.  A cup of coffee's 'bout a hundred," she explained, leading a suddenly very interested Heather into the kitchen.  "We just needed to wean you off it first, Ms. Ten-cups-a-day."

"Three," Heather contradicted.  "Okay, four.  Sometimes five on weekends."  She waited a moment and then asked, a hopeful gleam lighting her eyes, "So I can have coffee every day?"

"Can you limit yourself to one cup?" April returned.  "And, I mean a normal person's cup, not one of your giant, 'gimme the biggest cup you got' cups."

"Absolutely," Heather yawned, still grinning softly.  She took a seat at the kitchen table, watching as April, working by lantern light, started coffee percolating on the camp stove.  Fuel for the camp stove was a precious commodity at this point, but the stove was much easier to control than the fireplace, and so they tended to save it for the activities deemed most important, like brewing coffee.  It was an open question as to whether their supply of ground coffee - and they used the grounds two or three times now - or the fuel for the camp stove would run out first.

"I told Johnston he needed to make it, that the baby needed a grandfather," April began, taking a seat at the table.

"Jake said the same thing before they left," Heather offered, stifling yet another yawn.  Now that they were in a waiting game, her energy was starting to flag.  "Well one thing about having been on the wagon," she joked weakly, "That coffee might actually wake me up."

"Yeah," April nodded, though she was obviously distracted.  She took a deep breath.  "I didn't mean - well, I didn't just mean your baby, though," she said slowly, catching Heather's eye across the table.  "I meant my baby - our baby - too."  A smile slowly crept onto April's features, animating her weary expression.  "I'm pregnant too.  Amazingly."

Heather stared, open-mouthed, at April.  "Seriously?" she demanded, her voice squeaking, as she lifted herself out of her chair and went around to the other side of the table to hug April.  "But how?" she asked next, answering herself in the next second.  "I mean, I know how, obviously.  But the last thing I knew, you were going to ask Eric to move out.  Before the bombs, I mean," Heather completed.

"Well, this was just before the bombs," April murmured, shrugging.  "I'm at six, seven weeks, so not quite three months behind you," she reasoned, watching Heather as she returned to her seat.  "And, I never got around to asking Eric to leave, but I did have divorce papers drawn up."

Nodding absently, Heather sat back in her chair, laying one hand on her abdomen.  "Wow," she muttered.  "I didn't - You never told me that things were that close to - to final."

"They were and they weren't," April replied, clearing her throat.  "Things were better for a few days," she sighed.  "We were getting along - we actually enjoyed ourselves at Eric's law school reunion.  Then we came home and had another bad week."

"Right," Heather murmured.  She remembered running into April and Eric at the market that Monday night after they'd first gotten back from Lawrence.  It was the first time she'd seen them together outside of a family event in months, and she'd been surprised by how lighthearted they had been with each other.  Eric had teased April about her coupon clipping habit, especially given that Gracie Leigh, having once read a news article on coupon fraud, was notorious for arguing about each and every one that found its way into her store.  Laughing, April had kissed him on the cheek and sent him off to find paper towels before flashing Heather a pleased smile.  But by that Wednesday, a week before the bombs, when Heather had stopped by their house to drop off a book and pick up a bag of old magazines destined for collage-making at the elementary school, it had been more than obvious that they were in the middle of an argument.  Eric had taken advantage of her arrival by leaving.

 April frowned, clearly trying to marshal her thoughts.  "I wasn't trying to keep things from you," she assured Heather.  "It's just that Jake was gone, and you didn't know when he was coming home.  Then, I told you that you were pregnant."  April held her hands up in a gesture of helplessness.  "I didn't want - You had enough going on already.  I didn't want to drag you into my problems, too.  Besides, 'drawn up' doesn't mean divorced," she declared, straightening in her seat.  "And, that's the last thing I want now."

They both fell silent for a long moment, and then April got up to check the coffee.  She poured them each a cup, taking a sip from her own before carrying Heather's to her. 

"This is a miracle!" Heather exclaimed, accepting the mug.  She smiled brightly at her sister-in-law before savoring her first taste of coffee in over a month.  "A genuine miracle," she repeated.  "April, you have no idea how happy I am for you."

"It is a miracle," April agreed, giggling softly.  A beatific smile graced her lips and she offered a contented sigh.  "Who knew?  I mean now, after a year of not exactly trying, followed by a year of trying, and fighting about trying, and all those doctor's visits that got us nowhere.  We should have just given up two years ago, saved ourselves some trouble," she joked, though there was no humor in her eyes.

Heather nodded and took a long sip of her coffee.  Wrapping her hands around the mug to warm them, she faced April with a guarded look.  "You have no idea how guilty I felt when I got pregnant so easily," she confessed, glancing away.

"Why?" April questioned, genuinely surprised.  "I was always happy for you," she assured, stretching across the table to place her hand over Heather's.  "I've been jealous of lots of other people," she admitted, her expression turning momentarily sheepish.  "Every time in the last year, year and a half, that I told someone that she was pregnant, especially if she didn't want to be," she sighed, shaking her head.  "But if I couldn't have a baby, then getting to be 'Auntie April' to yours was the next best thing."  She smiled then and explained, her tone teasing, "I had grand plans for spoiling your kid rotten on a regular basis and then giving her back."

"Her, huh?" Heather smiled softly, contemplating the possibility.

"Well, I already have a nephew," April shrugged. 

The sudden reminder of their family outside of Jericho - the Lisinskis in New York and April's sisters in Washington State and New Mexico - put a momentary damper on their conversation.  They sat, both frowning, both nursing their coffee in silence until Heather sighed, pushing her mug away.  "I think a little girl would be good for this family.  Two little girls, even.  Let's both have girls," she suggested, a grin materializing on her face.  "And then they can grow up together as cousins and best friends."

April smiled in return.  "Sounds like a plan," she chuckled.  "I'm sure their grandmother would love it.  Two little girls she can make frilly dresses and sweaters for."

"And, 'Grandpa' too," Heather argued.  "They'll double-team him and turn him to absolute mush," she predicted, giggling at the thought of Johnston Green as the grandfather to two little pig-tailed girls. 

"Definitely," April agreed.

"So, how excited is Eric?" Heather asked a few seconds later. 

"Ac - actually, he doesn't know yet," April admitted, her expression turning embarrassed.  "I was going to tell him tonight," she explained quickly, "And then....  I'll tell him as soon as I can, once he's home.  It's hard to find a minute alone, you know?" she complained, letting out a frustrated breath.  "I didn't plan on telling Johnston, but it just came out.  Besides, he's in and out of consciousness, he won't remember."  April paused to finish off her coffee.  "Gail heard though," she admitted, "And I've told you, so I do need to tell him.  I will, first chance I get."

Heather nodded.  "Just let me know when he knows," she instructed.  "I don't want to congratulate him too soon and ruin the surprise.   Or!  Better yet," Heather reasoned, "Just make an announcement at dinner some night soon, and we'll all act surprised, and he'll never know."

That'll work," April agreed, relief evident in her tone.  She peered then at the face of her watch, trying to make out the time in the inadequate light given off by the lantern.  "It's just now midnight," she murmured, lifting her head and meeting Heather's eye.

"They'll be home soon," Heather reminded.  "Any minute now."

"Yeah," April acknowledged with a sigh.  She forced herself up out of her chair, Heather following suit.  "I better go check on my patient."

"You mean 'Grandpa'," Heather corrected with a smile.  She moved toward April, pulling her into another hug.  "Congratulations."

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

Sunday, October 28, five years before the bombs

Grandpa Green took one look at Jake and decided that this was perhaps not the best time to antagonize his grandson.  Instead of approaching Heather, as was his original intention, he turned and offered his arm to April, who laughed and accepted it willingly.  Leading her forward, he slipped his free arm through Gail's, effectively hijacking her from Johnston, and then struck out toward The Pizza Garden.  Eric fell into step with his father, the two of them picking up in their running discussion of town business, leaving Jake and Heather to bring up the rear.

The restaurant was a block from the church and they had only a few moments to enjoy the bright sunshine and crisp air of the fall day before they were indoors again.  Grandpa Green strode forward through the waiting crowd.  "Maggie, m'dear!" he greeted, grinning widely, "How're you today?"

Mags Henry preened, fluffing her hair and returning Grandpa's big grin.  "Well, I'm doin' just great!" she declared.  "How 'bout yourself, EJ Green?" she inquired, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"Good, good," he assured her.  "So," he continued, peering at the book on the hostess's stand, "I believe you have a reservation in there?  Green family, party of seven."

"Why - why, yes, of course," Mags agreed, nodding.  "Here you are!" she smiled, crossing something out in the book with a fat, black marker.  "You're just a few minutes early," she told him, playing along.  "We're getting your table set up right now."  The rest of the Greens and Heather exchanged concerned and amused looks.  The after church lunch crowd could be cutthroat and they all knew that Grandpa Green - former beloved mayor or not - was playing a dangerous game trying to jump the line.

"We don't mind waiting," Grandpa declared magnanimously.  "And, we would like to request a certain Miss Melinda Henry as our waitress, if that's all right?"

Laughing, Mags nodded.  "I'm sure that can be arranged.  I'm gonna go check on your table," she added, drawing groans from many of the others waiting to be seated.  Mags headed into the dining room and collared a busboy, putting him to work on clearing a couple of tables for the Greens.

Jake pulled Heather off to the side.  He stood behind her, not quite touching her but close enough that he could whisper in her ear.  "I'm sorry," he muttered.  "I wasn't planning a triple date plus Gramps," he complained.

She chuckled softly, reaching back to lace her fingers through his and twisting her head so she could look up and meet his gaze.  "It's okay.  And to be fair," she reminded, "I'm the one who told Eric where we were going.  I like your family, Jake," she smiled.

"Well, after this, we're definitely ditching all of them," he promised.

"Sounds like a plan," Heather whispered, leaning back against Jake.  Gail and April, standing together on the other side of the cramped waiting area, couldn't help but observe this moment, and exchanged pleased grins.

Their table was soon ready, and enduring the somewhat nasty looks being thrown in their direction by the other patrons, they followed Mags into the dining room.  She led them to a hastily assembled table that was somewhat off to the side in the main room.  Here the tables were close together, and diners had to put up with bumping their chairs with those at neighboring tables, and bashing elbows and knees with those at their own table.  The booths at the back of the restaurant, such as the one Jake and Heather had shared on their first date, were definitely the premium seating at The Pizza Garden. 

Johnston pulled Gail's chair out for her with a flourish, seating her on the corner, before taking his own seat at the end of the table.  He watched with barely concealed amusement as the rest of the family scrambled for their seats.  When the dust had settled, April had ended up next to Gail with Eric on her right, and Jake was seated across from his brother, with Heather between him and Grandpa Green.  Jake had already had to apologize twice to the Carmichaels who had the table behind them, first when he'd knocked into the back of ten-year old Joey's chair trying to seat Heather, and then again when he'd bumped Mrs. Carmichael with his own chair.

"Mindy'll be right out," Mags promised once they were all seated.  She handed out menus, withholding Eric's when she reached him, inquiring brusquely, "And when will you be putting your mother out of her misery, and making her a grandmother, young man?" 

Clearing his throat, Johnston was forced to hide a smile behind his hand when Al and Junie Thompson, sitting at the next table, turned to listen for the answer.  "Mom!" Eric protested, groaning, "We only got married three months ago."  He glared ineffectively at Mags.  "I don't believe you two."

"Four months ago," Gail corrected, smiling.  "And I didn't say a thing."

"It's true," Mags confirmed, finally handing Eric his menu.  "She hasn't said one word to me, though I do know that you agree with me," she argued, glancing at Gail.  "I just can't help thinking what beautiful babies you two would make," she sighed, returning her attention to the newly wedded couple.

Eric grinned at April then.  "Well, sure, that's a given," he agreed, lifting her hand to his lips and brushing a kiss across her knuckles.

"I need to finish my residency at the very least," April added, her eyes never leaving Eric's.  "Establish my practice.  Then we can talk."

Mags looked across the table at Jake, catching his eye.  "Well then, what about you?" she inquired, her hands on her hips, grinning at him.

"Wh - what?  Me?" Jake stammered, his eyes widening.  Next to him, Heather was already blushing bright red.

Mags studied Jake for a long moment.  He squirmed a little in his chair and then she saw his arm shift slightly, and she knew that he'd reached for Heather's hand under the table.  Mags' smile widened.  "Well, I suppose we'll let you off the hook for the time being," she chuckled, winking at Jake.  Placing her hands on April's and Eric's shoulders, she gave them both a squeeze.  "Guess it's up to the two of you, after all."

Gail placed her menu on the table and then folded her hands primly on top of it.  "I look forward to being a grandmother of course," she said, addressing Eric and April who both turned to look at her.  "But there's no rush."

Immediately, Johnston and Grandpa Green both started to snicker.  They looked around the table, catching the eyes of the other four and soon they were all laughing, even Heather.  The restaurant, packed as it always was on Sunday afternoons - the after church crowd was actually a bigger business than either Friday or Saturday night - was filled with noise, but their boisterous laughter still drew the attention of those seated at many of the tables nearest their own.  "Well, really!" Gail protested, straightening in her seat. They all just laughed harder.

"Of course, whatever you say, sweetheart," Johnston said after a few seconds, patting his wife's hand.  He exhaled and then took a deep breath, still struggling against the urge to chuckle. Looking around the table, he asked, "So what are we ordering?"

"I vote Hawaiian," Eric announced from the end of the table.

Jake groaned, shaking his head.  "No way!  That's - that's just wrong," he argued.

"I like Hawaiian pizza," Heather interjected.  Gaping, Jake turned to look at her, his arm grazing hers.  "I like pineapple," she shrugged.

"I like pineapple, too," Jake claimed.  "But not on pizza!  It's a fruit, it doesn't belong, it's not supposed to be hot," Jake said, crossing his arms, a stubborn expression settling on his face.  "It's not traditional."

Heather faced him, her head cocked to one side, fighting a smile.  "Well, yes," she conceded, "But it's the exception that proves the rule.  I wouldn't want apple slices or grapes on a pizza, but I do like Hawaiian," she informed him, giving into her grin.

"Jake, you're such a pizza - a pizza Luddite," April complained, shaking her head.  "There's a whole world beyond pepperoni and sausage," she insisted.  "Join us in it."

Grandpa Green snorted and peered around Heather, trying to catch his grandson's eye, but Jake's gaze was firmly settled on her alone.  They were both now smiling - Heather sweetly, Jake somewhat crookedly - and were locked in some sort of staring contest.  "You are a bit of a fuddy-duddy when it comes to pizza, Jake," Grandpa added, rolling his eyes.

The others all chuckled at the accusation, stopping abruptly a few seconds later when Jake leaned over and pressed his lips to Heather's.  It was a gentle, lingering kiss, one that earned approving sighs from Gail and April.  There was certainly nothing inappropriate about the almost chaste way in which he kissed her, but the Greens were still surprised by the very public display of affection, and they were all left with the distinct impression that their presence had been completely forgotten by the couple.  Jake and Heather finally pulled apart when a little boy, one of her students, walking past the table with his family declared loudly, "Mom!  He's kissing Miss Lisinski!"  This announcement was, once again, enough to draw the attention of nearly half of The Pizza Garden's customers.

Heather, turning instantly crimson, reared back, hitting her head on Grandpa's shoulder.  "David, Mrs. Cornett," she greeted, taking a deep breath and rubbing the back of her head.  The little boy, his mouth hanging open, stood with his mother right behind Gail and Johnston, while his father and older sister waited a few feet away.  Heather flashed them a tight smile, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

Mrs. Cornett looked nearly as embarrassed as Heather.  "Miss Lisinski, very sorry to bother you," she mumbled.  "We'll leave you to enjoy the rest of your day."  She forced her son forward toward the exit without waiting for a response.  They could hear her whispering furiously at her child about the things that should and should not be said when out in public.  Around them, the diners at the other tables slowly turned back to their conversations and meals.

"Well, I'm going to vote for Hawaiian pizza too," April announced after a long moment, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over their group.  She offered Heather a quick smile, prompting Heather to begin breathing once more.  "So, Jake, if you can live with it on the table," she continued sarcastically, "Along with whatever boring pizza the rest of you choose, then Heather, Eric and I can go the non-traditional route, even though I'm pretty sure Hawaiian pizza's been on the menu longer than you or I've been alive, and therefore isn't exactly a radical choice."

Under the table, Heather had a death grip on Jake's hand.  He risked a glance at her, and was grateful to see that her blush had subsided.  Still watching her, he squeezed her fingers.  "Sure thing, April," Jake agreed.  Slowly, he turned his head to face his sister-in-law.  "I can live with it."  April smiled at him, chuckling soundlessly.

"Well, hello Greens," Mindy Henry greeted approaching their table with a tray of water glasses.  "And, Heather," she added, throwing her a quick smile.  "Good to see that Jakey hasn't given you a reason to dump him yet."

"Oh, she may have had a reason or two, Melinda," Grandpa suggested, giving her a sideways hug as she placed his water glass in front of him.  "Lucky for Jake, Heather seems to like him."

Everyone laughed at that, and then Heather surprised them by teasing Jake, saying, "So far, I've got no complaints."

Mindy, wearing the same amused expression as the rest of the Greens, placed the last glass of water in front of Gail and tucked her tray under her arm, retrieving an order pad from her apron.  "What can I get you all to drink?" she inquired, standing next to Johnston who was beginning to collect menus from the rest of the family.  "Though, as it is Sunday, and no alcohol may be sold or served within the Jericho town boundaries on Sundays," she reminded, "I can't offer you our beer and wine list today."

"Mindy," Johnston practically growled, throwing the teenager an exasperated look, "I'll tell you the exact same thing I've told your grandmother each of the one thousand and -"

"Better not let Mags hear you refer to her as my grandmother," Mindy interrupted.  "Little bit of a sensitive subject with her," she warned.

"As I was saying," Johnston continued, raising his voice slightly, "If Mags objects - if you object - to the ordinances of this town, then she - or you, for that matter - should just get yourselves elected to the town council, and then browbeat everyone else - instead of just me - into changin' the law!"

Gail patted Mindy on the arm.  "Bit of a sensitive subject with the Mayor," she sighed, offering her husband a gentle smile.

"Rii-ight!" Mindy agreed, stepping behind Johnston's chair to allow another waitress, carrying a large pepperoni pizza, to pass.  "Well, somehow I don't think Mags is ever gonna run for office," she told Johnston.  He looked back at her and she gave him an apologetic smile.  "I think she just prefers to complain," Mindy admitted patting him on the shoulder.

"Her, and everybody else in this town," Johnston grumbled.  "I think a pitcher of root beer will suit us just fine, right?" he asked then, glancing around the table to collect nods from everyone else.  "Good," he declared.  "A pitcher or two of root beer, one medium Hawaiian pizza, and one medium Jericho's Favorite combination pizza," Johnston ordered, handing the menus he'd collected to Mindy, before turning to look up and down the table again.  "Anything else?"

"Perhaps a couple of baskets of breadsticks to tide us over," Gail suggested.  She looked around the table and, shaking her head at her sons, advised, "Better bring both marinara sauce and ranch dressing with those."

"Got it," Mindy declared, noting the addition on her pad.  "Jake and a Hawaiian pizza at the same table," she giggled, "This I gotta see.  Heather, you're a good influence on him," Mindy declared, smiling.  "Keep up the good work."

Jake looked like he was about to say something, but then Heather laid her head against his shoulder and, laughing softly, promised, "I'll try."  Jake settled for rolling his eyes at Mindy, and putting his arm around Heather.

"So, Heather," Grandpa Green inquired, "What exciting little task did Gail and the rest of the ladies strong arm you into doin' for the Harvest Festival?"

"No strong arming involved," Heather assured quickly, noticing Gail's incensed expression.  "I'm looking forward to it," she continued, lifting her head.  "It'll be fun.  And, I'm on face-painting detail."

"Well, I'm sure Jake's relieved that Mom didn't talk you into working the kissing booth," Eric joked, smirking at his brother.

Heather's eyebrows rose.  "There's a kissing booth?" she asked, her tone incredulous.  "Seriously?"

"We eliminated the kissing booth twenty years ago, as you well know," Gail reminded, throwing Eric an annoyed look.  "The liability issue got to be a nightmare," she explained to Heather.  "And besides, even if we still had one, I wouldn't ask you to staff it."

"Good thing," Stanley Richmond laughed, pausing behind Gail's chair.  He'd come into The Pizza Garden to pick up a to-go pie before retrieving Bonnie from her slumber party, and had detoured to say 'hello' when he'd spotted the Greens.  "Jake would punch out anyone who tried to kiss her," he announced.  "Trust me," Stanley grinned, winking at Heather.  "I've been threatened."

April laughed at that, twisting in her chair so she could look up at Stanley.  "That or he'd have to buy up all the tickets." 

"Well, I'm much more qualified for face-painting, I assure you," Heather interjected then.  "Lots and lots of years workin' Catholic school carnivals and summer camp field days."

"So, Jake," Stanley said, clearing his throat.  "You're awfully dressed up," he observed, amusement quirking his smile.  "Unless it's that you went to church this morning," he accused with a dramatic gasp.

"And made his mother very happy," Gail informed Stanley. 

"Noticed you weren't there, Stanley," Jake shot back.

"How's your head today, Stanley?" Heather asked.

"Little dehydrated there?" April added, breaking into giggles.

Much to his relief, Stanley was saved from answering any of these questions by Mindy's timely arrival.  "Here," she said, handing Eric a stack of still warm from the dishwasher plastic glasses.  Unloading her tray, she placed two baskets of breadsticks and a pitcher of root beer in the center of the table.  "I owe you a root beer," she informed no one in particular, and then scowled at Stanley.  "Your pizza's takin' up room on the counter.  Go get it!" Mindy commanded.

"Gotta get my pizza," Stanley shrugged, pointing over his shoulder at the take-out counter.  "But, good to see you all," he continued, inching away.  "So have a nice day," he finished, turning on his heel and heading into the back of the restaurant.

"Stanley had a bit of a night last night, I take it?" Johnston inquired glancing between April and Heather.

"He was having a good time all right," April agreed.  "But, it's good for Stanley to cut loose every once in awhile."

Around the table, everyone nodded.  Johnston, clearing his throat, reached for the glass of root beer Gail had poured for him.  "Everybody got a glass?" he asked.  Gail poured two more root beers and passed them to Jake and Eric.  "Okay then," Johnston continued, lifting his glass.  "To the lovely day, and to the lovely company," he toasted.  "Cheers!"

"Cheers!" they all echoed, tapping their plastic glasses together. 

Heather took a sip of her soda and then replaced the glass on the table.  Beneath the table she found Jake's hand and squeezed it.  He leaned over and kissed the tip of her ear.  "The very lovely company," he murmured. 

* * * * *

With obvious relish, Mindy placed the Hawaiian pizza down right between Jake and Eric.  "Looks good, doesn't it Jakey?" she said, flashing him a devilish grin.

Jake scowled.  "You know, I was planning to leave you a big tip," he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at her.

"Actually this is worth getting no tip," Mindy giggled. 

"Don't worry, Min," Eric joked, "This is completely worth tipping for."  He pulled a slice off the tray, waving it at his brother before placing it on the plate April held out for him.  He leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth.  "All yours, doc," he grinned, winking at her.

"Thanks," April chuckled, setting the plate down on the table.  She held up another one.  "For Heather," she instructed.  Eric pulled another slice off the tray and plopped it on the dish.  April handed it to Heather, and then passed a slice of combination pizza to Jake for Gail.  "Sure you don't want some of ours, Jake?" she asked sweetly.

"You're all just too hilarious for words," he complained.  "Just eat your fruit pizza."

"You know," Grandpa announced then, "I think I'll try a piece, if you don't mind."

Eric pulled another slice loose.  "Sure thing, Gramps.  There's no fuddy-duddy in you," he declared, throwing his brother a pointed look.

"Jake," Heather murmured, leaning against his arm.  He turned toward her, only to be confronted by a chunk of pineapple, slightly pink from the pizza sauce, which she held between two fingers.  "Want some?" she giggled, moving the pineapple chunk toward his mouth.

"You're crazy," he snorted, barely managing to clamp his lips shut before she could get it in his mouth.  Instead, the still warm pineapple chunk brushed his lower lip.  He grabbed her wrist to push her hand away, but let go almost immediately, not wanting to hurt her.  "No th -" he started to say, only to have her pop the chunk of pineapple into his mouth. 

Jake's lips puckered as he grimaced in distaste, and for a second Heather almost expected him to spit the pineapple out.  Gail laughed, shaking her head.  "I haven't seen that look on your face since you were a year old and had a strong objection to strained peas."  Chuckling, Johnston nodded his agreement and reached for his wife's hand.

"Sorry," Heather murmured so quietly that, despite their close quarters, Jake was fairly certain he was the only one who heard her.  She looked very unsure of herself all of a sudden, and Jake couldn't help himself; he swallowed the pineapple chunk whole and then leaned over to kiss her again.

"I'll live," Jake mumbled against her mouth before pulling back.

Heather offered him a tentative smile.  "Not so bad?" she questioned hopefully.

Jake shook his head, shuddering slightly.  "Awful.  Worst thing that's happened to me today," he claimed, finding Heather's hand in her lap and lacing their fingers together. 

"You're just a big baby, Jake," April accused lightly.  "But a reasonably good sport," she added with a sigh, catching Heather's still somewhat stricken expression.

Gail swallowed the bite she'd taken and then cleared her throat.  "So, Heather," she started, smiling when the younger woman glanced at her.  "Do you have plans for Thanksgiving yet?"  Gail looked at her son.  Mentioning Thanksgiving was a calculated risk, but it was ridiculously obvious that they were a serious item.  Gail supposed that Jake might have wanted to ask Heather to Thanksgiving himself, and that he might be annoyed that she was stealing his thunder, but she hoped not.  He gave her a small smile, and she let out the breath she'd been holding, inquiring, "Are you going home to visit your parents?"

"No, I'm just gonna stay here," Heather answered.  "School's off for three days at Thanksgiving and three weeks for winter break, so it makes more sense to go home for Christmas."

"Then you're definitely spending Thanksgiving with us," Gail declared.  "Unless you already have plans?"

"Mrs. Crenshaw invited me back when school first started but -"

"Harriett won't mind if we steal you," Grandpa said, interrupting Heather. "Do you play football?"

"Uh, not really," she replied, her forehead wrinkling.  "But I'm sure I could if necessary," Heather chuckled uneasily.  "We have to play football on Thanksgiving?"

"Long-standing Green family tradition," Eric explained.  "You wanna eat, you gotta play."

"Okay," Heather nodded, leaning back into Jake's arm which was now draped across the top of her chair.  "I guess I'm in then," she grinned.

"You can be on my team," Grandpa proclaimed.  "Jake, too, of course," he added, catching his grandson's suddenly suspicious expression.  "Johnston can have April and Eric, and Gail you can pick where you want to be."

"Thanks, Dad," Johnston and Gail said in sarcastic unison.

Johnston cleared his throat.  "We'd be very glad to have you join us, Heather," he invited.

"Well, I'd love to," she declared, offering Johnston a shy smile.  "Thank you."

"And, the next day," April said, motioning for Gail to pass her a piece of the combination pizza, "We hit the mall in Rogue River.  First time in three years I have enough seniority to get out of working Thanksgiving weekend."

Heather laughed, picking up her own abandoned and cooling slice.  "Now that I'm definitely in for," she agreed.

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

Thursday, November 2, six weeks after the bombs

After April had returned upstairs, Heather had cleared off the kitchen table, washing their coffee mugs and then leaving them on the sideboard to dry.  The coffee had helped to wake her up some, but she was still tired.   However, Heather knew if she were to lay down that she wouldn't be able to sleep.  As she'd told April, there was no way any of them would truly be able to sleep until Johnston was out of danger. 

Heather grabbed the lantern off the counter and returned to the dining room to check on her ice.  She was disappointed, but not surprised, to find that the endothermic reaction had stopped working, and all she had from her last round was slightly cooler water sitting in pie tins and cake pans.  Heather put herself to work cleaning up the remains of her ice-making efforts, taking the bowls of cooling solution through the kitchen and out into the backyard to dump it on the remains of Johnston's summer vegetable garden.  She didn't really know if it would do any good, but she figured it couldn't hurt.  She'd just returned to the dining room when she heard her mother-in-law calling her name from upstairs.

"I'm here, I'm coming," Heather yelled back, already moving toward the foyer.

"No!" Gail practically wailed from the top of the landing.  "Is there more ice?  We need more ice!" she demanded.  "His temperature's spiked again!"

Turning around, Heather hurried back to the cooler and lifted the lid, breathing a sigh of relief when she found that the ice inside was still frozen solid.  In three hours, she'd managed to almost fill the picnic-sized cooler, and with the ice packed in like it was it hadn't started melting.   She grabbed a bowl off the table and knelt next to the insulated chest, quickly scooping chunks of ice into it.  Her hand burned slightly where one piece froze momentarily to her skin, but she shook it off and, gripping the edge of a dining chair, pulled herself up.  "I've got it!  I'm coming!" she shouted to her mother-in-law.

Her foot had just hit the first stair when she heard someone struggling with the locked front door, shaking it in frustration as they searched for the keyhole.  Heather turned around in time to see Eric burst into the house.  Spotting her by the glow of the lantern in her hand, he asked, "Is he -"

"Barely," Heather admitted, surprised at the slightly hysterical note she heard in her own voice.  "Just hurry!" she ordered, stepping out of the way as Eric, and then a man dressed in blue scrubs, rushed past her.  Jake flew through the open door behind them.  "Jake!" she sobbed out, tears flooding her eyes.

"God!  Babe!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening in horror.  "Dad -"

"No, no, he's, he's alive," she assured him quickly.  Sniffling, she forced herself to take a deep, calming breath.  Jake was standing next to her now, and she turned to set the bowl of ice and the lantern on the pillar at the bottom of the staircase.  "He just - we got his fever down, and then it spiked again," Heather told him, her lip trembling though she managed, somehow, to keep the hysteria at bay.  "I was worried," she admitted, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I know, I know," Jake crooned, cupping her head with both hands.  "I was worried, too," he admitted, expelling a deep breath.  He reached for her hand, finding it without looking.  "C'mon," he said, helping her start up the stairs.

They entered the master bedroom in time to hear April ask, "Did you get the Cipro?"

"This is Levaquin," Dhuwalia answered, pulling a vial out of the container of medicine Eric had handed off to him.  He found a hypodermic needle and inserted it into the bottle.

Jake, moving with Heather to stand next to his mother, saw April's eyes close.  A second later, she nodded.  "Oh, God!  I didn't - I was only thinking of the drugs we keep here at the clinic," she admitted.

"Are we in time?" Gail inquired then, her voice husky.  She glanced at Johnston, gasping a little, even now, at the sight of her husband dripping with sweat from his fever and laboring for each breath.   Next to her, Heather grasped her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.  Gail returned the gesture, but her eyes never strayed from Johnston.

"Well, if his body is strong enough," Dhuwalia replied, handing the loaded hypodermic needle to April, "We'll know by morning."  Silently, she added the drug to Johnston's IV.

"He's strong enough," Gail murmured, studying her husband, willing him to recover.

Jake stepped behind Heather and his mother, wrapping his arms around them both.  Watching his father over their heads, he spoke softly.  "You're gonna be all right, Dad."

Gail reached out, touching Johnston's hand with the tips of her fingers.  "It's gonna be okay, sweetheart," she sighed.

No one said anything else for nearly half a minute, all their concentration devoted to Johnston and their prayers for his recovery.  Eric stepped closer to his father, and April moved to join him, though he ignored her presence at his elbow.  Dhuwalia glanced around the room, taking in each of their hopeful expressions, the raw need for this man's recovery that was so starkly evident in their eyes.  "It may take a few minutes," he informed them dryly, "Even a few hours."

April allowed the shakiest of laughs.  "That it will," she agreed, twisting to face Dhuwalia.  "Thank you, Doctor Kenchy," she sighed.

"It is Doctor Dhuwalia," he corrected, "But you may call me Kenchy, which is my first name, Doctor Green."

She smiled at him tiredly.  "April, please."  She looked at her mother-in-law.  "This is -"

"Our mother, Gail Green," Jake completed for her.  "And, this is my wife, Heather," he added, resting both hands on her shoulders.  "Kenchy was working at the hospital, and decided to come back with us," he told them, pressing his lips against the back of Heather's head.

"The hospital!" April exclaimed.  "How is everything - how is Doctor James?  And, Doctor Brunson?" she asked, looking expectantly between Dhuwalia, Eric and Jake.

"April, the hospital's no longer operational," Jake explained quickly before either of the other two could answer.  "Rogue River's been evacuated.  The water table's contaminated, and everyone's been moved -"  He paused and took a deep breath, tightening the arm he had around Heather.  "They've been moved to a FEMA-operated camp."  Jake didn't want to tell them, at least not yet, about the massacre at the Fillmore County Hospital, and he struggled to figure out what to say.  "The group - the company - hired to evacuate the hospital, they missed Kenchy," he finished, catching Dhuwalia's eye in the dim light.

"It's true," he agreed, offering Jake a slight nod.  "I had only been at the hospital a few days.  I was sent by the Red Cross as a volunteer," Dhuwalia chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head.  "I wasn't there for a week, and when Ravenwood came to evacuate, in the confusion, I was missed," he said, deliberately choosing the same word as Jake.

"Ravenwood!"  Heather twisted around, looking up at Jake.  "Not -"

""Yeah," he sighed.  "Not the same people of course, but the same company," Jake confirmed, his lips pressed tightly together.  "Same ethics," he muttered. 

Gail seated herself on the edge of the bed, Johnston's hand clutched in her own.  She glanced up at her son.  "What's Ravenwood?" she asked dully.

"Military contractor," he shrugged.  "I was investigating them.  Since February," Jake explained, hoping this was enough information to satisfy her curiosity.  "They came back to the hospital tonight, just after we got there, to loot the place.  Didn't seem to like finding us there."

"That's what you were doing in Iraq?" Eric questioned, scrubbing his face with his hand.  "You told Payton you were in Iraq."

Jake cringed at the mention of Randy Payton; he was definitely not ready to talk about the unfortunate man who had saved their lives, likely at the expense of his own. Nodding tiredly, he rested his head against Heather's.  "In Iraq, and in Afghanistan.  Ravenwood's corporate headquarters are in Boulder.  That's how I got involved.  Ten thousand employees, big sole source contracts with the Pentagon and Homeland Security," he listed.  "Nobody you want to have much to do with, trust me."

Heather really didn't know much about Ravenwood beyond her standard assumption that if Jake was investigating the company then they had to be up to no good, and the little bit she'd gleaned from the internet news articles - mostly boring business page blurbs about quarterly earnings or fluctuations in the company's stock price - which she'd signed up to receive whenever 'Ravenwood' was mentioned.  The company had taken her husband away from her for nearly eight months, and that alone was enough to convince her she wasn't a fan.  Jake had never said much about Ravenwood either, both because he didn't talk to her about the specifics of his job, and because, although he'd incorporated their marriage into his cover story so they could communicate freely, Jake had also told her they had to assume his email and phone calls were monitored by Ravenwood at least on some level.  Also, she couldn't help but remember the almost haunted look in his eyes the first few days they had been in Hawaii, or how it had taken him nearly a week to get into his typical sleep pattern.  Heather blamed all of it on Ravenwood and, she decided, they were the last thing she wanted to be talking about at nearly one in the morning while they waited for some sign that Johnston was going to recover.

"Well, I think -"

"Kenchy, my guestroom is always made up," Gail started, interrupting Heather.  She threw her daughter-in-law an apologetic look and continued.  "Old habits die hard, you know," she mumbled.  "And it's yours."

"I'll show you," Heather added, extracting herself from Jake's arms.  "Or - are you hungry?  I could get you something to eat first," she offered.  "Eric?  Jake?" she asked, glancing at her brother-in-law and then over her shoulder at her husband.

"I don't remember when I last ate," Dhuwalia admitted, frowning.  "I don't remember when I last did anything."  He faced April.  "I return our patient to your obviously more than capable hands."

Jake reached for Heather's hand, gripping it.  "I'll come with," he murmured.

She looked over at Eric.  "Nah, Heather, I'm good, thanks," he told her yawning.  "Not a comment on your cooking, either.  I promise," Eric said, attempting a smile.  He scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to wake himself up.

"Even I can't mess up eggs," she joked, rolling her eyes.  "If that's all right with you?" she inquired, glancing at Dhuwalia.

"Eggs?" he repeated, his eyes lighting.  "Real eggs?  I've been eating - I don't know what I've been eating."

"Well, these are real eggs," Heather smiled kindly.  "I collected them straight from the chickens this evening."  Jake hadn't exactly been thrilled by her demand that they move the chickens - Grandpa Green's evil, homicidal chickens which Heather had inherited - from the ranch to his parents' house in town, but even he had to admit that having an egg every once in awhile had made it worth the effort.

"Sounds perfect," Dhuwalia agreed, following Heather and Jake from the room.

At the foot of the stairs, Heather handed Jake her abandoned lantern and then picked up the bowl of ice.  Jake shot her a questioning look, but didn't say anything until they entered the dining room.  "What's all this stuff?" he questioned, holding the lantern up so he could survey the table. 

Heather returned the contents of the bowl to the ice chest and then set the empty bowl on the table.  "Your Dad's fever was really high.  April wanted to get it down.  She said we needed ice, and I remembered a science experiment, a way to demonstrate an endothermic reaction," she explained, shrugging.  "Ammonium nitrate fertilizer dissolved in water to make a cooling solution.  It'll suck the heat right out of a bowl of water, freezing it.  Well, as long as you use a metal bowl and not a plastic one," she qualified, "Since plastic is an insulator."

Jake chuckled and reached for her hand, drawing her into an embrace, unmindful of Dhuwalia's presence.  "You say ammonium nitrate fertilizer to me, and I don't think ice," he told Heather, kissing her gently and then resting his chin on her shoulder.  "I think you're gonna try to blow somethin' up."

"Yeah," she agreed, burying one hand in his hair.  "But that's the difference between you and me," Heather reminded, kissing his jaw.  "You arrest people, and I supervise the science fair."  She glanced at Dhuwalia then, catching his eye.  He was apparently trying to not watch them, but with little success.  He also looked dead on his feet. 

She stepped back, pointing Jake at the ice chest on the floor.  "Can you put that out on the back porch for me?  It's cooler outside, and we might as well keep it as long as possible.  Your Dad might still need it, right?" Heather guessed, looking at Dhuwalia, who nodded a silent confirmation.  "And, if he doesn't we'll find some way to use it tomorrow," she decided.  "We can make fresh, iced lemonade, if nothing else."

"Okay," Jake acknowledged, hefting the ice chest.  He followed Heather and Dhuwalia into the kitchen, continuing on to the back door.

Dhuwalia took a seat at the table, watching Heather by the lantern's light as she found a frying pan in a cupboard and then retrieved three eggs from a bowl of cold water on the counter.  "You may very well have saved your father-in-law's life with your ice," he observed, noting that fleeting look of embarrassment that crossed her face at his - in his own opinion - weak praise.

"I'm not a doctor like April, or a nurse like Gail.  I did what I could do, that's all," she shrugged.  "I love my father-in-law, and I want our child to know his or her grandfather."

"Of course," he agreed quietly, folding his hand on the table in front of him.  "When are you due, Mrs. Green?" Dhuwalia asked a few seconds later, surprising even himself with the question.  "It is only professional interest," he clarified, laughing at himself under his breath.  "Though, before everything ... happened," he decided with a sigh, "I should tell you that I was a plastic surgeon."

"First, please call me Heather," she invited, looking back over her shoulder at him.  "And, I'm due in April," she continued, cracking an egg on the side of the frying pan.  "That's according to Auntie April," she joked, breaking another egg.  Heather took a deep breath and, frowning softly, turned to face Dhuwalia.  "Are you married, Kenchy?" she inquired cautiously. 

Jake re-entered the kitchen in time to hear Heather's question, but didn't say anything.  Quietly, he locked the back door, listening for Dhuwalia's answer.

"No," he responded, shaking his head.  "If I were, I would not have gone with the Red Cross," Dhuwalia explained.  "My parents are rather traditional.  They would not accept me marrying any woman who was not Indian, and I happen to prefer blondes," he chuckled softly.  "I was in Las Vegas, in a surgical residency at University Medical Center.  None of my family lives in the States," he added with a shrug.  "So, I am not sure where I will go now."

"Is this coffee?" Jake inquired checking the pot, still warm to the touch, on the camp stove.

"April made it about an hour ago," Heather confirmed, starting to scramble the eggs with a fork.  "She says I can have one cup a day now," she grinned.

"Made your day, I'm sure," he teased, removing the coffeepot from the burner.  He turned, and almost ran into Heather who was carrying the frying pan to the camp stove.  Smiling wearily, Jake stepped around her to grab the two mugs that were sitting next to the sink.  "Want some?" he asked Dhuwalia, taking a seat at the table.

"No thank you," Dhuwalia replied, shaking his head.  "I would like to sleep tonight," he admitted.  "If that is still possible," he qualified so quietly that Jake wasn't entirely sure he hadn't imagined the words or just thought them himself.

Jake poured a cup for himself and then, out of habit, placed the coffeepot on the trivet in the middle of the table.  "You don't need to make any decisions yet," he informed Dhuwalia.  "You're more than welcome to stay here," he added, not mentioning that April would likely appreciate his help at the understaffed clinic.

Dhuwalia acknowledged the invitation with a slight nod.  "You are an investigator, Jake?" he questioned.  "A police officer?  FBI?"

"I was with the DEA," Jake returned, with heavy emphasis on the past nature of his employment.  He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee.  "Now I work for my family's survival."

"Yes," Dhuwalia sighed in agreement.  "That is all there is to work for now, I suppose.  But that does explain it then," he continued, his expression bordering on amused.  "You did not like it when I suggested that you should take the morphine to sell," he clarified. 

""I've busted up a coupl'a underground pharmaceutical distribution rings," he conceded, his words muffled by a yawn.    "And, you were right that Cipro doesn't have much of a street value," Jake added, forcing himself out of the chair.  In his exhaustion, he half stumbled across the kitchen to retrieve salad plates and then cutlery. "Except, maybe, during the anthrax scare," he shrugged, returning to the table with the dishes.  "No desirable side effects."

"True," Dhuwalia allowed, standing to help Jake set the table. 

The task was accomplished easily and then Jake, remembering his mother's propensity for saving unopened condiment packets, turned toward the junk drawer.  He pulled it open, and felt around inside, finding the squishy plastic packets - mixed in with capless pens, rubber bands, twist ties and all the other discarded yet potentially useful household paraphernalia - more by touch than by sight.  Once he had a handful of them, Jake returned to the table, placing them in the center.  "I like ketchup on my eggs," he explained to Dhuwalia as he started to sort the packets.

Heather brought the frying pan over to the table and began to dish up the eggs.  It was soon apparent to Jake that she wasn't planning to take any for herself, and so he grabbed the plate he'd set out for her and held it out.  "Join us."

"I'm fine, I've eaten," she countered, shaking her head.

"You cooked three eggs," Dhuwalia reminded.  "More than enough for us all."

She snorted softly in response, but dished some of the egg onto the plate after Jake insisted, somewhat grumpily, "Heather, have some."  She placed the frying pan in the kitchen sink and then took a seat at the table, picking up a few of the condiments packets that were still sitting in the middle of the table.  Jake had already squirted ketchup on his eggs, and Dhuwalia, she noticed, had doused his in taco sauce.  Heather found a mustard packet and, dropping the others back on the table, tore it open, squeezing the contents over her eggs.  "You are not," Jake protested.

"Why not?" Heather shrugged, reaching for the pepper shaker.  "It's kinda like making egg salad."

"For egg salad you need mayonnaise," Jake argued, though she could see a grin starting to manifest itself beneath the exhaustion in his expression.  He dug around in the pile of packets and, somehow, managed to produce one marked 'Mayo!'

"Yuck," Heather declared, making a face.  "I know mayonnaise in the jar doesn't have to be refrigerated until it's opened, but that," she said pointing at the mayonnaise packet Jake waved in front of her, "Is not natural.  Who knows how many years that thing has been floating around, suffering who knows what kinda temperature extremes!" she argued.  "It definitely falls under the category of dairy products and other things that they say don't need to be refrigerated even though we all know they really should be.  And I have a -"

"A phobia of dairy products that don't require refrigeration," Jake completed for her, stifling his urge to chuckle.  "I know.  Though," he added, "I hafta wonder if there's really any dairy in Cheez Wiz."

"Exactly!" Heather declared, peppering her eggs and then mixing the mustard in by breaking them up with her fork.

Shaking his head, Jake tossed the mayonnaise packet back into the pile.

Dhuwalia lips twitched as he fought a smile.  "Is it rude if I ask how long you have been married?"

Heather grinned, giggling softly.  "Yeah, we kinda sound like it must be forever, huh?" she returned.

"I assume you must've been a child bride," he said, giving into his smile.  "Now I am simply trying to determine to what extent."

Jake groaned at that, while Heather laughed outright.  "I can't wait 'til the day I stop being accused of robbing the cradle," he complained good-naturedly. 

"Well, that'll be a sad day for me," Heather countered with a laugh.

"I'm five years older," Jake informed Dhuwalia.  "It's not like I was driving or eligible to vote when she was born."

"But he does make the occasional pop culture reference that I just don't get," she teased, laying her hand over Jake's, squeezing it.  Heather looked at Dhuwalia.  "And, to answer you question, our fourth anniversary was in July."

"Then you were at least of age," Dhuwalia observed, chuckling, as he stabbed together a forkful of egg.

"And a little more," Heather confirmed, yawning.

Their conversation petered out then, and they finished the small meal in silence.  Heather stacked her empty plate on top of Jake's, and he reached for Dhuwalia's adding it to the pile.  Pushing back from the table, Jake carried their dishes to the sink.  "I'll show you to your room, Kenchy," Heather offered.

"Thank you," Dhuwalia murmured, standing.  He turned and walked into the dining room.

Heather faced Jake, smiling at him gently.  She reached for his hand.  "Time for bed," she told him, lacing their fingers together. 

Jake drew her into his arms, tilting her chin up so he could kiss her.  "Just remembered that I said I'd see you for breakfast," he said, his chuckle turning into a yawn.

"Why do you think I made eggs?" she asked, laying her head against his chest.

"Good thinkin'," he agreed, hugging Heather more tightly to himself for a moment before releasing her.  "You go upstairs," he instructed, caressing her cheek.  "I'm gonna clean this up," Jake explained, motioning at the dishes in the sink, "Then check the locks.  I'll be up in a few."

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

Sunday, October 28, five years before the bombs

Johnston raised his hand, signaling to Mindy who detoured to their table as she was making her way across the dining room.  It was nearly one in the afternoon and things were finally beginning to calm down at The Pizza Garden; finally there was no one waiting to be seated, and there were even a few empty tables ready to be cleared.  Johnston held out the pleather portfolio containing their bill.  "Here you are," he informed her.  "There's a tip in there for you to share with the busboy -"

"And, this is just for you," Eric added, passing a couple of bills, folded in half lengthwise to April, who handed the money to Gail, who then gave it to Mindy.  Gail had insisted that she and Johnston were picking up the tab for lunch, but if the rest of them wanted to give Mindy 'a big tip' she'd told them, she was happy to endorse their largesse.  "We'd've let Jake give it to you, but he's pretending that he's not speaking to you," Eric winked.  "That's for your pizza and beer fund."

"Eric!" Gail protested, "Melinda's only eighteen."

"Don't worry," Mindy laughed.  "Growing up here," she reminded, glancing around the restaurant, "I'm a little overdosed on pizza, and if I want beer it's pretty easy to get for free.  College boys in Kansas are so willing to share," she explained, rolling her eyes.

"That's pretty much college boys everywhere," Heather told her. 

Jake leaned back in his chair, staring at her, one eyebrow raised.   He was clearly trying not to grin.  "Now, the story I heard was that you're always the designated driver," he reminded, teasing.

She glanced at him, their gazes locking momentarily.  "Hey, I went to college," Heather shrugged.

"You've just blown Jake's mind," April declared, smirking at her brother-in-law.

Heather offered him a bemused smile.  "Well, I didn't say I ever took them up on the offer," she laughed.  "Just that they were offering."

"Well, thank you all," Mindy interjected, grinning widely.  "All right if I put it toward the textbook fund?" she questioned.

"I guess if you insist on being responsible," Eric joked. 

Jake stood up then, Heather following, their fingers loosely entwined.  When he got around the end of the table he dropped her hand, holding his arms open to Mindy.  They exchanged a quick hug.  "Take care of yourself," he ordered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"You, too, Jakey," she returned, smiling, before stepping out of his embrace. 

"It's great to see you again, Melinda," Heather added softly.

"We're gonna go," Jake announced, glancing at his family who were all still seated.  He reached for Heather's hand again, adding, "See you at dinner."

"Six o'clock," Gail reminded and Jake nodded. 

"See you all tonight," Heather said over her shoulder, following Jake to the door.

Jake actually breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they were out on Main Street, and none of his family had found a reason to join them.  He looked back at them through the picture window which was done up with The Pizza Garden logo in the middle of the pane, and paintings of seasonally appropriate pumpkins and autumn leaves along the bottom and in the corners.  The Greens were all still seated and chatting amicably with Mindy.  Grandpa waved at Jake.  "Let's go," he snorted, groaning at himself.

"I'm sorry about the pineapple," Heather said in a rush of breath, pulling Jake to a stop after just a few steps.  "I don't know what got into me," she admitted, looking down at her feet.

Turning, Jake positioned himself in front of her so that they were almost toe to toe.  Cupping her chin, he forced her to look up at him.  "It's okay, I promise," he told her.  "It was funny.  Would've been funnier if it'd happened to someone else," Jake chuckled, kissing the tip of her nose quickly, "But still funny."

Heather frowned softly, her uncertainty evident in her expression.  "You're sure?"

"I'm starting to think that you and April are gonna be a dangerous combination," he joked, "But, yeah, I'm sure."  He looked back down the street toward the restaurant, surprised yet again that no one had come out of the restaurant.  "C'mon," he insisted, tugging on the hand he still held in his.  Nodding, Heather started to follow.  "But next week?" Jake continued, throwing her a lopsided grin, "We'll do something that my family can't horn in on.  Maybe we'll go for a hundred dollar hamburger," he suggested.

"Why in the world would you pay a hundred dollars for a hamburger?" Heather asked, looking up at him, her expression quizzical.  "And, even so," she added biting her lip, "I kinda agreed to do face-painting all next weekend."

Jake groaned as they started across the street.  "The Harvest Festival, right," he sighed, resting his hand gently on the small of her back.  "And the weekend after's Veteran's Day," he chuckled in frustration.  Perfectly in step, they mounted the curb, Jake glancing at Heather.  "I'm guessin' you want to go to the parade?"

"Gramps is marching with the Kansas state flag," she reminded, shrugging.  Grandpa Green was a past president of the local VFW and had been telling anyone who would listen of the honor being afforded him this year.  "And, your Dad's a veteran too, right?  I don't think I've ever gone to a Veteran's Day parade, and if I did, then I sure didn't know anyone in it.  I love that about Jericho," Heather said, smiling shyly.  "But the parade's on Monday, so my Sunday afternoon should be free."

"Right," he nodded.  They'd reached the corner of the church's lawn.  Jake looked down, checking Heather's shoes which were fairly dressy one and a half inch navy blue pumps to match the rather demure - but to Jake's way of thinking, still tantalizing - navy print dress she wore.  "We can cut across the lawn," he told her, pointing out the route, "Or walk up to the corner -"

"Lawn's fine," Heather agreed as she stepped onto the grass. 

"So, a hundred dollar hamburger is when you fly into a small airport, have lunch, and then fly home," Jake explained, leading her across the lawn, their hands joined.  They came upon a low-lying muddy patch and detoured around it, skirting the side of the church building.  "It's a hundred dollar hamburger because of what you spend on fuel and airport fees.  The hamburger's still regular priced.  I thought I'd take you flying," he said quickly, glancing at her to gauge her reaction.  "You know, if you want to."

Heather's nose wrinkled as she fought a grimace.  "How small of a plane?" she asked, her tone hesitant.

"It's Gramps' plane, a four-seater, five in a pinch," he described, studying her wary expression.  "You get airsick?" Jake guessed, surprised by the pang of regret that settled in his chest.  He'd only thought of taking her flying as they'd left the restaurant, and he'd hoped that Heather would be as interested in going with him as he was in taking her.

"I prefer bigger planes," she countered, frowning.  "That doesn't make much sense, I know, because why should a big airplane do a better job of staying up in the air than a little airplane, right?" Heather continued nervously.  "Plus, the smallest plane I've ever flown in is a twenty-seat prop plane between JFK and Buffalo." 

"We don't have to," Jake decided then.  They'd reached the sidewalk that ringed the church parking lot, and he pulled her to a stop.  "I just - I try to get some flight time in when I can.  Haven't been since September, after they grounded everything for that week," he reminded with a shrug, though Heather could see his disappointment in the set of his mouth.  "But, I can do that on my own," Jake assured her.  "I was doing crop dusting in July and August, really just to fly.  I'll find something."

"Any chance you were the crazy crop duster that scared the bejeebers out of me out near Stanley's, oh, the second week of August, probably?" she demanded, squeezing his hand and starting to giggle.  "I'm driving along, minding my own business, and suddenly there's this plane!"

"I spent most of two days on Stanley's place in August," Jake admitted, his grin sheepish.  "And, the second week sounds about right.  Didn't go to Denver at all that week.  C'mon," he invited, chuckling.  Heather threw him a somewhat disgusted look, though she couldn't really maintain it, and they crossed the nearly empty parking lot to her car, both laughing softly at their discovery.

"I - I don't know where my job is going," Jake sighed.  They were standing next to her car, and he'd stepped abruptly in front of Heather, startling her.  His tone was suddenly, almost painfully, serious, and he wouldn't meet her gaze.  "I'll stick with it through however this prosecution goes, and then I don't know."  Jake paused and unbuttoned the left cuff of his white dress shirt, rolling it twice.  "I always wanted to be a pilot, from the first time Gramps let me sit in the cockpit of one of his planes," he confessed.  "The first time he let me take the controls," Jake murmured.  "Well, that's what I thought I was gonna be."

"And, ten years ago, there was no way I ever thought I'd end up living home in Jericho," he laughed softly before expelling a shallow breath.  Jake stopped again, working on his other sleeve, his eyes downcast.  He had seen in her expression that she was surprised by his admission, and for that matter, Jake was too.  It was unusual for him to open up to anyone really, but from that first day they'd met, Jake's inclination had been to confide in Heather.  Looking up, over the top of her head, he focused on a stained glass window, high in the wall of the church, sparkling where the sunlight hit it.  "School breaks, fine," Jake continued, "And once I graduated, holidays to make my Mom happy, sure.  But nothing permanent.  Even last year, that wasn't really coming home, it was just doin' my job." 

Jake's eyes met Heather's briefly and he offered an obviously anxious smile.  "But since then - the way things have gone with work, the way things have gone the last few months in general, I -"  He stopped, folding his hands behind his back, only to change his mind and bring them forward.  Jake moved closer to Heather's car and concentrated for a moment on trying to straighten the slight bend in the antenna.  "I like being in Jericho.  Living in Jericho," he admitted, glancing at her again.  "Turns out everyone I - I care about," Jake explained, clearing his throat and smiling softy, "They're all here.  Even the ones who annoy me," he chuckled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his charcoal slacks. 

Heather laughed along with Jake, a little self-consciously, before taking a deep breath and then releasing it immediately.  She recognized all of this as a delaying tactic, one that she desperately needed as she tried to digest everything that Jake had said.  Heather knew that his openness with her was a rare gift, one that she needed to cherish.  And, she knew that he was telling her that he cared about her, and maybe more.  Heather felt the same for Jake, although it seemed ridiculous to even think about it that way.  Everything she felt for Jake was so different than anything else in her experience that she didn't know how talk about it, especially to him.

"I know I haven't lived here any time at all," she started, biting her lip.  She studied Jake as he pulled one hand out of his pocket and ran it through his hair, wondering if she was saying anywhere near the right thing.  "And, when I moved here, I wasn't really thinking - I don't know - I wasn't thinking permanent," she decided, repeating the word Jake had used.  Heather looked down, examining the nails on her left hand.  "But I - I can imagine myself living here now.  For a long time."

She groaned then, blushing.  None of what she'd said had come out right, not the way she'd wanted it to.  Heather took a step toward Jake, capturing his free hand in her own.  "Jake," she sighed, all other words failing her for the moment.  Giving into an impulse, Heather pressed herself against him.  Jake stepped back, drawing her with him, and ended up sitting against the hood of her car.  She kissed him softly.  "So, when we go for our hundred dollar hamburgers, where do we go?" she asked with a shy smile.

"Wyoming," Jake chuckled, letting out the breath he'd been holding.  He gathered her to him, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face against her neck.  "Rock Springs, Wyoming," he explained, pressing a kiss to the skin at the collar of her dress. 

"Wyoming?" Heather questioned, her tone skeptical.  Jake raised his head, reluctantly allowing her to step out of his embrace, though she held onto both his hands, their arms swinging between them.  "Isn't that kinda far?" she laughed.  "More like two hundred dollar hamburgers?"

"Maybe," Jake shrugged, tugging Heather close enough to kiss her again.   "Doesn't matter,"' he assured her.  "And, it's about a two hour flight.  There's a diner - not quite the truck stop, but still good - in walking distance of the airport. We fly up, have lunch, maybe walk around a little, and then come home."

"In time for dinner at your parents," Heather nodded.

"Might be ten, fifteen minutes late, but yeah," he agreed.  "So, it's a date," Jake decided, grinning at her.  "We'll leave right after church in two weeks."

"Uh, Jake," Heather began, an almost guilty expression settling on her face.  "About that.  I think I have a new requirement."

He laughed at her, his forehead wrinkling.  "You mean your requirements list for your boyfriend?" he teased, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth.  "Am I in trouble all of a sudden?"

"You're not in trouble," Heather protested, pulling away from Jake and throwing him a mock glare.  "Well, except, that you annoyed the heck out of me in church today," she explained, rolling her eyes.  "I can't do that again, Jake," she informed him.  "Seriously, I couldn't concentrate with all your fidgeting, and I've sat with my nieces and nephew in church.  So that's my new requirement.  Irregular church-goer."

"Irregular church-goer?" he questioned.

"Special occasion church-goer, then," Heather said, correcting herself.  "Like my Uncle Burt.  Uncle Burt only goes to church on Christmas and Easter.  Sometimes during Advent and Lent," she explained.  "You can come for Christmas, Easter, and Mother's Day, 'cause your Mom would like that," she decided.  "Weddings, funerals, baptisms.  Really, any special occasion," Heather clarified, "But not every week."

"So, basically, your requirement is that I should sleep 'til noon on Sundays," he joked.  "I think I can live with that."

"Church is out by eleven-thirty," Heather reminded.  "Get up a little earlier, and that way I'm all yours by noon," she flirted, leaning against him.

Jake laughed, enjoying the sight of the soft blush which touched her cheeks.  "All mine, huh," he murmured, pretending to consider the situation.  "Whatever will I do with you?" he rasped out, wrapping his arms around her.  Ever so gently, he massaged her lower back with the tips of his fingers.  "What to do, what to do," he sighed, tracing her hairline with a series of soft kisses.

Surveying the parking lot over the top of Heather's head, Jake spotted his mother's LeSabre, then Eric's Explorer, and finally Gramps' F-250, reminding him that his family would show up sooner or later.  He let go of Heather, clearing his throat.  "So," he began, grinning at her, "Since it's after noon, and we've established that you're all mine on Sunday afternoons," Jake teased with a playful leer, "What do you wanna do?" he asked.  "We could go riding out at the ranch for a coupl'a hours," he offered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Hmmm."  Heather pursed her lips and stared, silently, at Jake for a few seconds.  "I'd like to," she agreed, "But Jake, I haven't been on a horse in years, and -"

"Hey, it's a nice, easy trail," he assured with a shrug.  "And, our horses are well-trained.  It's a chance to get out in the fresh air, see some of the area.  But only if you want to," Jake quickly qualified; he still wasn't completely sure he hadn't pushed her into agreeing to going flying with him.  "I just -"

Smiling, Heather nodded.  "I finished all my grading yesterday, and wrote out a week's worth of lesson plans," she told Jake, digging her keys out of her purse.  "So, I really am all yours today," she smiled, "I'd love to go riding with you."

"Okay then," Jake agreed, stepping out of Heather's way so she could unlock her car door.  "I'll follow you to your house, you can change, and then we can head out to the ranch."

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

Thursday, November 2, six weeks after the bombs

Jake had just finished washing the last dish when his brother stumbled into the kitchen.  "Hey," Eric greeted, yawning.

"Hey," Jake returned, shaking the plate in his hand to dry it before placing it on the sideboard and calling it good enough.

Eric dropped into the chair that Dhuwalia had vacated a few minutes earlier.  "Pickle relish?" Eric asked, fingering the stray condiment packet he'd spotted on the table in front of him.

"Didn't go with eggs," Jake shrugged, crossing from the sink to the table.  He started to pick up the unused packets, glancing at his brother.  Eric looked spent, and Jake couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't just gone to bed.  Maybe, like Dhuwalia, Eric was afraid he wouldn't be able to sleep.  "How you feelin'?" he asked, carrying the handful of condiments back to the junk drawer.

"Honestly?" Eric replied, his voice scratchy, "Couldn't tell you."

Jake moved back to the table.  He gripped Eric's shoulder tightly before taking the seat next to him.  "It'll be okay," Jake comforted flatly, letting out a deep breath and reaching over, clumsily, to cup the back of Eric's head.  "All right?" he demanded, catching his brother's eye.  Eric nodded.  Jake sighed, nodding along with him.  "You'll get through this.  You're a good person, by any yardstick," Jake assured, "So I know you'll be fine."

"I don't know how good of a person I am," Eric answered, his voice catching.  For a second, Jake almost expected him to start crying, and he shut his eyes, knowing, on this night especially, that was not something he'd be able to handle.  Eric didn't say anything for a long moment, fighting for control.  Finally, clearing his throat he started again, refusing to meet Jake's gaze.  "I'm in love with Mary Bailey," he murmured.

"God," Jake swore.  He didn't know what else to say, and certainly not once Eric turned to face him, his expression begging for understanding.

"You knew that, didn't you?" Eric chuckled sourly.

Jake didn't respond at all this time, settling for simply staring at his brother while he considered the situation.  He hadn't known, not for sure, that Eric loved Mary; he'd hoped, actually, that whatever was happening between them was some sort of meaningless dalliance.  He'd told Eric to make up his mind, to get over his paralysis, but the whole time Jake had been silently willing his brother to choose his wife.  Climbing out of his chair, Jake moved back to the sink and flicked on the tap, allowing the cold water to pool in his hands.  He splashed the water on his face, a futile attempt to wake himself up from the nightmare of the last twenty-four hours.  Finding a kitchen towel, he dried off, and then turned back around to face his brother.

"I'm gonna tell April," Eric announced, nodding to himself.  Jake couldn't help but think he'd been waiting for an audience.  "Life's too short, right?" Eric asked rhetorically.

"Whatever you do," Jake mumbled, "I'm sure it'll be the right thing."  It was a throw-away comment, one that Eric could take as he wanted, and Jake had no doubt it would be as an endorsement.  He also knew that there was no way in hell that his brother realized what he was about to do.  Eric might love Mary instead of April now, but he'd made April a part of their family when he'd married her, and that was going to be much harder to undo.  "Why doncha get some rest?" Jake advised, wondering idly if there was any chance a good night's sleep might change Eric's mind.

"You should too," Eric responded, standing.  "Cmon," he prompted.

Nodding, Jake dropped the towel he'd used back on the counter and followed his brother into the dining room.  Eric clapped him on the shoulder, offering him a relieved, almost pleased smile that did nothing for Jake's peace of mind.  They had just started up the stairs when Eric checked his back pocket and then his shirt pocket.  He stopped in his tracks.  "Where's my jacket?" he demanded.

Shaking his head, Jake faced his brother bleary-eyed.  "I dunno.  Did you leave it in the car?" he asked.

Eric drew a sharp breath, his eyes widening with dismay.  "Jake, I left my jacket back there," he confessed, the words tumbling out of him in a jumble.  "The wallet's in the jacket - the address."  He clenched both his hands into fists, mumbling, "What if those guys come here?"

"Nah, those guys are dead," Jake declared, immediately denying the possibility of a problem.  He didn't want to think about Ravenwood coming to Jericho.  He shook his head emphatically.  Payton took care of it," he insisted.  "Don't worry."

"I'm sorry I screwed up," Eric muttered, looking down at his feet.

Jake shook his head.  "You did great out there," he told his brother, surprised to find that he actually meant it.  Eric had been scared - they'd both been scared - but in the end he'd held it together, and they'd survived.  Any day that ended with everybody he loved alive and unharmed had to be considered a good day, these days, Jake figured.  "Get some sleep," he instructed.  "We'll worry about it in the morning."

The brothers studied one another for a long moment, Eric clearly struggling to believe Jake's assurances.  Doubt appeared to win out in the end, though he didn't voice it, nodding instead.  "Night," he mumbled.

"Goodnight," Jake returned softly, watching as Eric turned and, ploddingly, climbed the stairs.  He waited, listening as Eric entered there parents' bedroom to check on their father, and to bid their mother and April goodnight.  Only after he heard the snick of Eric's bedroom door closing did he move.

Jake checked the front door, locking it, and then, in the darkness, located one of the rifles they'd taken to Rogue River.  Entering the living room, he went to the window seat, adjusting the shutter so he could see out.  He surveyed the empty street.  Moving around the couch, he checked the rifle's safety and then clicked it off.  All thoughts of sleep forgotten, Jake took up the task of protecting his family.

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