Different Circumstances, Part 10 by Marzee Doats
Summary:

What if circumstances were different, and Jake and Heather had met long before the school bus? An alternate version of Jericho in which Jake and Heather are married and expecting. A re-telling of the Jericho episode Red Flag.


Categories: Green Family, Jake/Heather, Holidays > Thanksgiving Characters: April Green, Bill, Emily Sullivan, Eric Green, Gail Green, Heather Lisinski, Jake Green, Jimmy Taylor, Johnston Green, Kenchy Dhuwalia, Robert Hawkins, Stanley Richmond
Episode/Spoilers For: 1.10 - Red Flag
Genres: Alternate Universe, Drama, Romance
Challenges: None
Series: Different Circumstances
Chapters: 5 Completed: Yes Word count: 54609 Read: 190356 Published: 26 Jun 2008 Updated: 26 Jun 2008
Story Notes:

Disclaimer: Jericho is the property of CBS Paramount Network Television and Junction Entertainment. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Acknowledgment: I've borrowed chunks of dialogue (and plot) from the Jericho episode Red Flag, written by Mike Ostrowski.

Thank you to SherryG, Nightsky80 and skyrose for their feedback and encouragement.

As always, if you are so moved, feedback is appreciated!

 

1. Part 10A by Marzee Doats

2. Part 10B by Marzee Doats

3. Part 10C by Marzee Doats

4. Part 10D by Marzee Doats

5. Part 10E by Marzee Doats

Part 10A by Marzee Doats

Different Circumstances: Part 10A of ?
by Marzee Doats

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

Monday, November 20, two months after the bombs

"What are you doing here?" Harriett Crenshaw demanded before Jake had made it two steps into Interview Room Two, the new headquarters of the Jericho Town Border Patrol and, ostensibly, their shared office, though she certainly spent more time there than he did. "It's your day off," she reminded.

"Kenchy's all moved," Jake answered, dropping into the chair across from her. "Not much to move, so I figured I come in, I dunno, check schedules," he shrugged, looking at her expectantly. "If there's a hunting trip tomorrow, I need to be on it," Jake explained. "Actually, I need to be on any hunting trip for the rest of the week."

"Okay," Mrs. Crenshaw agreed, opening her notebook. "You're the boss."

Jake, grateful that she was concentrating on her lists rather than looking at him, barely managed to suppress a snort. While technically Mrs. Crenshaw was now his assistant, it was a volunteer position, and she was still Mrs. Crenshaw. Johnston had announced the formation of the border patrol, and Jake as its leader, at the first town council meeting following the confrontation with Ravenwood. These days the council meetings were standing room only, even overflowing into the hall early in the evening before those who lived on the outskirts of town headed home so as not to be caught out alone on the roads too late. Jake hadn't even realized Mrs. Crenshaw was present that night until she'd cornered him as he and Heather were leaving in order to offer her services as an administrative assistant.

She'd explained that she and three other widows - Mr. Crenshaw having passed away the prior winter - had, as she put it, 'Set up housekeeping together'. As a result, with Mrs. Haines, retired from teaching English at the high school, in charge of things on the domestic front, Mrs. Crenshaw was looking for a job and she figured Jake could use her help. Heather had urged him to take Mrs. Crenshaw up on her offer, and he'd accepted on the spot, more to please his wife than anything else. Mrs. Crenshaw, naturally, had proven to be an invaluable asset. She knew everyone, student or parent, who'd passed through the halls of Jericho Elementary in the last thirty years which, along with what she knew from maintaining student records and her natural inclination toward gossip, meant that she'd been able to provide Jake with some very good - and very discreet - guidance on who should be accepted into the border patrol's ranks. She efficiently managed the organizational end of things for Jake, putting together all the duty and training schedules, and although he had final say, he'd never had a reason to overrule her.

"We've got a group meetin' at six-thirty tomorrow morning out at the Ash Street Bridge," Mrs. Crenshaw informed Jake. "Kevin Rowe, Dave Christopher, Martin Brooks," she read off, looking up at him. "That's it, so far, and nothing else tomorrow."

Groaning, Jake nodded. "Well, put me down, too. Hell, they need somebody with some experience," he complained.

"Don't swear," Mrs. Crenshaw scolded automatically. She wrote his name in on her list, and then looked up, offering a sympathetic smile. "Though, I was looking for someone more seasoned to go along with them," she admitted. "You've solved that problem for me, at least."

"Any parties going out Wednesday?" he asked, shaking his head absently. "I need a turkey for Thanksgiving, or Heather's gonna have to pick out one of her chickens, and that'd be a disaster."

Mrs. Crenshaw chuckled softly. "She's named 'em all, huh?"

"Heather names everything," Jake returned with a smile. "And, so far the chickens are making it pretty much on scratch, plus they're laying, so...." Jake shrugged. "If we do a chicken, I'm gonna get stuck killing it and dressing it," he complained.

"And you won't with a turkey?" Mrs. Crenshaw countered with a grin.

Jake laughed. "Well, I'd hafta kill it, sure. But, I could get my Mom to handle the rest. She's a little attached to the chickens now, too. That's what Dad and I get for marrying city girls," he joked, winking at Mrs. Crenshaw. "They make friends with the animals, and then they can't eat 'em."

"Is that so?" Mrs. Crenshaw chuckled, shaking her head at Jake. "You know, she's still upstairs," she continued, glancing up at the ceiling. "Heather. It's early yet, though there is the council meeting tonight. But your Dad's still here, and he always walks her home," she reminded unnecessarily. "Still, I bet she'd quit a little early if her husband showed up to escort her instead, seein' how it's his first day off in three weeks," Mrs. Crenshaw suggested with a grin.

A thoughtful look crossed Jake's face, and then he knocked twice on the table, forcing himself up from his seat. "Guess I'll go spring her," he smiled. "But put me on for any hunting parties that come up, okay?"

"You got it,"' she agreed. "There's already one for Wednesday, and I'm sure there will be one on Thursday soon enough," Mrs. Crenshaw told him. "You're not the only one hoping for a turkey."

"Right," Jake muttered. He was already halfway out the door when he turned back, frowning. "You're okay to get home?"

"I live two houses down from Jimmy Taylor now," she reminded. "He doesn't leave without me."

"Okay," Jake acknowledged, ducking his head. "Well, see you in the morning then."

The Ravenwood incident had wrought the biggest changes on Jericho yet. People had been scared after the bombs, but had stayed put, certain that help would arrive sooner or later. This confidence had been shaken by the EMP, but with a few exceptions, the general belief that they were at least safe in Jericho had remained. Ravenwood had changed that, teaching them that the outside world was a threat. Even the most insulated of Jericho's citizens had finally been forced to admit that things had been irrevocably altered.

Although in the first few weeks after the bombs cash had remained king, a bartering system was now firmly in place. People traded for labor, food, and fuel. Much of what had formerly been valuable was worthless now, and even Gracie Leigh wasn't accepting family heirlooms in trade for food any longer. Jake, walking to town hall from Dhuwalia's new house - funnily enough, Heather's former residence on Green Street - had run into Margaret Taylor and her children, on their way home from a winter clothing exchange at the church. Brushing Woody's too long bangs out of his eyes, Margaret had complained that he'd grown five inches and two shoes sizes from the previous winter. Luckily, they'd been able to trade for both new boots and a coat. Sally had twirled around them, insisting on modeling her new-to-her Hello Kitty ski jacket for Jake. In any case, the kids had seemed happy, and Margaret had seemed relieved. People were starting to adapt; now it was an open question as to whether or not they would adapt fast enough.

At least at the town government level, things were finally falling into place. Three weeks before, during the same town council meeting in which he'd announced the formation of the Jericho Town Border Patrol, Johnston had also pushed the council members to charter an energy and technical solutions commission. He'd surprised everyone, Jake included, by appointing Heather to head the commission whose ranks were otherwise filled by engineers from the mine. Tapping his engineers had given Gray Anderson an in at town hall, but surprisingly he hadn't taken advantage of it that often, as he was spending most of his time out in the community, campaigning for mayor. There had also been some grumbling about all the Greens in positions of power, but Johnston had quashed most of it by offering seats on all sorts of committees to anyone who wanted them. "Course, I'm not payin' anyone, and we're all out of coffee here at town hall," he'd explained. "But, we'd still be happy to have any of you join us."

Jake reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the left, heading for the conference room that the Energy Team, as they'd designated themselves, had taken over. He'd just come around the corner when he heard Harry Carmichael call out, "Hey, Heather! Your ride's here."

Frowning, Jake paused two steps outside the door. "Drivin' carpool at my age," he heard his father joke before heaving a deep sigh. "You ready to go, darlin'?"

"Sure," Heather answered, though she sounded preoccupied to Jake. "I guess this can wait 'til tomorrow."

"Unfortunately, Mayor," Carmichael informed Johnston, "We're still exactly nowhere without a governor."

"But we'll get it, Dad," Heather insisted. "We have to."

"That's a task for tomorrow," Carmichael suggested. "We've all got dinner waiting on us, and a council meeting to attend after that. Now go home, Mrs. Green, so the rest of us can get outta here," he ordered, chuckling.

Jake knew he should go into the conference room, but for some reason he couldn't make himself, and instead he listened, essentially eavesdropping, to more chatter between the men and Heather while his father helped her into her coat. He had just forced himself to take a step forward when Johnston and Heather came out of the conference room, arm in arm.

"Hey," Heather declared as she and Johnston came to an abrupt stop. She tightened her grip on his father's arm, throwing Jake a distracted smile. "What are you doing here?" she questioned.

"I thought I'd come walk you home," he answered, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "Didn't realize that Dad already was."

"Dr. Dhuwalia all moved?" Johnston asked as Jake moved to the left, out of their way. He and Heather started forward, Jake falling into step beside Heather as they headed for the stairs.

"Not a whole lot to move," he reminded. "Luckily, the prior tenants only took what they could fit in their car when they left, so he's got some furniture and other stuff." The house had been occupied by renters when the bombs had gone off, but they'd packed up, abandoning Jericho in the middle of the night, about a week after the EMP. With no chance of renting the house out now, the owners had gratefully offered it, free of charge, to Dhuwalia after he'd treated their only grandson during an asthma attack. "Biggest problem is the plumbing." Jake said, glancing sideways at Heather and flashing her a quick grin. "I'd forgotten how bad it was in that house."

Heather giggled in agreement. "Oh, the plumbing's awful," she nodded. "Did you ever take a shower there where I didn't end up scalding or freezing you in some way?" She shook her head, offering Jake an apologetic smile.

"I don't think so," Jake chuckled, shrugging in response to his father's raised eyebrow. "You always seemed to go on a plant watering, dish washing, laundry doing frenzy if I was in the shower," he teased Heather.

"Gotta say, you were lucky Gramps wanted us to live at the ranch house," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "Otherwise, you might not have survived. Seriously. That house is only safe for one person at a time," Heather sighed, tearing her gaze away from Jake to glance at Johnston, whose expression had grown more and more inscrutable as he'd listened to the two of them joke. "But, I guess Kenchy's safe from the plumbing for the time being, anyway," she added, her grin faltering slightly as she turned back to face Jake. "He's there alone, and there's no chance of being scalded these days, though frozen's pretty much a guarantee," she grumbled.

"He'll be fine," Jake argued then, reaching for her free hand. Heather was wearing red, lightweight knit gloves which abraded his chapped skin ever so slightly as he laced their fingers together. She looked up at him, surprised, but offered a pleased smile which Jake returned. "Besides," he added, squeezing her hand, "April and Kenchy really need to have some time apart."

"Ain't that the truth," Johnston snorted, observing Jake over the top of Heather's head. The two doctors had been driving the rest of the Greens nuts by bringing their work disputes home with them every night. The two of them could argue for an hour over the treatment plan for a patient who'd already been seen, cared for, and sent home. "You know, sweetheart, I promised Reverend Young I'd review his latest proposal ahead of the meeting tonight, and I still haven't gotten 'round to it," he told Heather, gently extracting her arm from his. "I was gonna walk you home," he continued, holding her one hand in both of his for a moment before raising it to his lips and pressing a perfunctory kiss on the back of her glove. "But now Jake's here to see to it, and I should stay."

"You need to eat," Heather protested, pulling her hand free from Jake while at the same time his father gently let go of the other. Hands on her hips, she turned the full measure of her most concerned glare on Johnston. "We don't want you to get sick again, Dad."

It had only been in the last few weeks that Heather has started to call his parents 'Mom' and 'Dad', and it still surprised Jake a little to hear it. He wasn't entirely sure what had prompted the change; it could have been Eric's desertion of April, who had often referred to Gail and Johnston - especially Johnston - as such since the first days of her engagement, or maybe it was simply a part of the grieving process she'd seemed to be absorbed in recently. Heather had woken Jake up crying three nights before, sobbing out that she would surely never see her father again, that he was more than likely dead, and that Joe Lisinski would never know that he was to be a grandfather for the eighth time. Nothing Jake had whispered to her as she'd clung to him in the dark had seemed to comfort Heather, but the next morning she had acted as if nothing was amiss.

"We'll bring you something when we come back for the town meeting," Jake interjected, moving next to Heather. He glanced at her sideways, taking in her anxious expression. "Mom was just takin' a loaf of bread out of the oven when Kenchy and I left for his place, so we can always put together a sandwich if nothin' else."

"That'll be fine," Johnston murmured, his gaze flicking to his son for just a second. "If you wanna bring a thermos of hot tea, that alone'd make my night," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "Hot tea'd warm me up nicely."

"I still think you should come with us," Heather grumbled as Jake once again found her hand, fitting their fingers together. "And we can at least bring back something warm besides tea," she assured. "Soup or something."

Johnston smiled at Heather and then leaned over her, pressing an affectionate kiss to her forehead. "Sounds good," he told her. "Now you go home and eat," he insisted, taking a shuffling step back. "You don't need t' be worryin' about me anymore. But," he added, grinning and holding up one finger to forestall the argument he knew was coming, "We still all get to worry about you, much as we can manage and then some."

"Exactly," Jake agreed, his arm brushing hers as he twisted around to kiss the top of her head. He waited a beat, and then, playing with her hand, asked, "You ready to go?"

Heather nodded. "Sure. We'll be back in an hour and a half," she continued, looking again at Johnston. "With your dinner and for the meeting."

"Thank you, darlin'," Johnston acknowledged, taking another step away from the couple. He turned on his heel then, heading back down the hallway toward his office.

Jake, still holding onto Heather's hand, escorted her down the stairs and out of the quickly emptying building. Monday night had long been town council night in Jericho and Jake assumed that before the bombs most people planning to attend the meeting had simply grabbed a quick bite to eat at one of the restaurants on Main Street. But those establishments were shuttered and dark these days, and so everyone rushed home for dinner. Jake smiled sourly to himself, thinking that the social commentators had to be happy about one thing; in Jericho at least, the bombs had brought about the return of the long lamented family meal time.

Outside of town hall, he stopped Heather for a moment, offering her his arm which she accepted with a grin. Taking it slow and not bothering to talk, they followed the path to the street, crossing Spruce and then making their way north down Main Street. Passing the church, they spotted Reverend Young locking up the building. They waved but didn't stop, and Heather chose that moment to break their surprisingly comfortable silence in order to tell him about her day.

It was a conversation like hundreds they'd had during their marriage, be it in person, on the phone, by instant message, or even - during those times when their schedules and locations had been at complete odds - by email. Heather, always one to include copious amounts of detail in any report she made, told Jake about the personalities on her team, and about the practical joke war between Harry Carmichael and Don Barrett, which they'd brought with them from the offices of the S&A Mining Corporation and somehow managed to keep going despite the current deprivations being felt at town hall. Jake listened, commenting on occasion, as she continued, repeating things he knew about their early success in manufacturing biodiesel and in converting vehicles to run on the fuel. She told him, too, about their frustrations and setbacks with the windmill project, where most of their efforts were now concentrated.

"So, that's my day," Heather sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment. "What about you?" she asked, looking up at Jake expectantly.

"Not much to say," he shrugged as he led her across Berge Avenue at Seventh. "Spent a couple of hours with Doc Hansen," Jake explained, naming the Greens' veterinarian, "Out at the ranch. Helped Kenchy move this afternoon. That's pretty much my day." He looked at her sideways, catching her eye for just a second. "So what do you guys talk about every day?" he asked, suddenly quite curious. "You and Dad?"

"Just stuff, really," Heather answered, her nose wrinkling as she contemplated the question. A couple of kids, no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, rode by them on bicycles, waving and calling out 'hellos' to Heather, which she returned. They watched them speed off into the falling night, and then she looked up at him, smiling softly. "Same thing, mostly," she continued, sighing. The windmill project. Though sometimes we just can't talk about it anymore, and then he tells me stories about when he was a kid, or about you."

"Oh, great," Jake groaned.

"It's not what you think," she insisted, swatting his arm gently with her free hand. "It's nice. I like talking to your Dad," Heather murmured. "Yesterday - well, Saturday," she corrected herself. Sunday was the one day of the week Heather and her team didn't work, and Johnston at least didn't go into the office. "When we walked home he told me a really cute story about the first time your Mom left the three of you all alone together overnight," she whispered dramatically, grinning up at him before once again laying her head against his arm.

Jake waited a long moment for her to continue, and when she didn't, demanded teasingly, "So let's hear it. How adorable was I? And what'd I do? Couldn't have caused too much damage," he drawled somewhat sarcastically, "Or I'd already know what you're talking about."

"Well, I can't tell you," Heather returned, lifting her head and slipping her arm out of his, though she reached immediately for his hand. "Your Dad swore me to secrecy from your Mom, for one thing."

"You know you want to," Jake prodded, tugging on her hand. He stepped sideways toward her, bumping his hip against hers as he tried to catch her eye despite the lack of light. "Especially since it was cute."

Heather laughed, smiling widely so that he could see the white of her teeth. "Well, yeah," she conceded with a sniff. "But, if I tell you, it's a secret."

"Who could I possibly tell that would care, except maybe Mom, and I promise that I won't tell her," he declared, holding up his free hand. "I solemnly swear," Jake joked.

"Okay," she agreed, obviously eager to tell someone this story. It was the sort of thing, Jake assumed, that she would have told April before, but if it involved Eric, then he knew there was no way Heather would mention it to April. "Your Dad said that he was doing pretty well with you two. You were two and a half - almost three - and he'd gotten you through breakfast by himself, and dressed and out of the house, all that. He took you out to the ranch for lunch with your grandparents, and he said they got you up on the burro for a riding lesson -"

"Becky," Jake recalled, nodding. "Becky the Burro. She ate everything. Gramps used her to clear brush, more than anything. And, she hated to be ridden," he added. "She'd bite you. That's why Gramps had to buy the pony. Legend is, Mom told him there was no way he was putting her babies up on a full-size horse," he chuckled.

"Snuffleupagus," Heather said, naming the pony that had still been in residence at the Green Ranch when she'd met Jake.

"Eric must have named him," he decided, wrapping an arm around Heather's shoulders. "Not really my style."

Heather stiffened at Jake's mention of his brother, shaking her head, but she didn't say anything about Eric. "You had a style? At three years old?" she teased.

"Of course. I've always been the cooler brother," he told Heather, feeling her tense again. "So, there's gotta be more to this story," he prompted.

"Yeah," she agreed. "After visiting your grandparents, your Dad went to the car wash, the first completely automated one in Jericho."

"We still only have one," Jake reminded, stroking his thumb back and forth over the ball of her shoulder. "Well, we did, anyway."

"Right," Heather sighed. "Your Dad said you were fascinated by the whole thing - the rollers, the jets of soap and water, the big air dryers. You thought it was a ride, and wanted to go again," she giggled. "But of course, your Dad wasn't going to do that. Now that night," she continued, clearing her throat, "Everything was going reasonably well, it was bedtime, your Dad was feelin' pretty good about his parenting skills, and then you suddenly realized that your Mommy was not there," Heather declared, quoting, Jake was quite certain, his father.

"You - both of you - were immediately in tears," she informed him. "But your Dad held it together. He knew what to do. Apparently you were a colicky baby," Heather accused, craning her neck to look up at him.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Jake dropped a kiss on her upturned mouth. "Sorry," he said, offering an offhand apology.

"Yeah, right," Heather laughed, shaking her head. "So anyway," she continued, "Your Dad loaded the two of you in the car and took you for a drive. Right past the car wash. And, since you were both still crying when he went by the gas station, he got a brilliant idea. You liked the car wash so much, he decided to give it a try." She started to giggle, and shook her head at him again. "He took you through that car wash seven times. He told me that you'd be perfectly quiet - not a peep - while going through the car wash, and it was dark, so he was holdin' his breath, just hoping you'd fallen asleep, and as soon as it shut off, and he drove out, your lower lips would come out, one of you would say, 'Mama', and then total waterworks," she chuckled, resting her head against his arm. "All he could do was drive through again."

Jake groaned and tightened his arm around Heather. "And the moral of this story is?" he muttered.

Heather laughed softly, the sound dissipating into the night around them. She didn't say anything for a long moment, instead slipping out from underneath his arm. Catching his hand in hers, she turned, stopping him in his tracks. "I think your Dad might say that the moral is that kids are ungrateful," she chuckled, standing close enough to Jake that it was the most natural thing for him to lay his free hand over hers, resting on her pregnant belly as it so often was these days. "He bought seven car washes," Heather chided gently. "Spent all the cash he had on him, and then was run off by the gas station attendant because operating the car wash so late violated the noise ordinance. And then you both fell asleep on the way home. Zonked. Out for the night," she chuckled. "But I think," Heather continued, turning her hand palm up under his and then squeezing it, "That it just goes to prove that there isn't much your Dad won't do for the people he loves. Even if he's still doesn't want your Mom finding out about it, thirty years later."

"There - there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you," Jake quietly stammered out as Heather began to pull away, twisting around so that she again stood next to him. "And our kid," he added, gripping her hand. "I hope you know that. Though, I'm kinda glad seven trips through the car wash is off the table, at least for the time being." He chuckled self-consciously.

"Thank you," Heather murmured, squeezing his hand in return.

It was definitely past dusk now and there was a nip in the air, a cold breeze that promised an overnight frost, if not this night then soon. They stood there, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk just watching one another until the rowdy sounds of an approaching pack of teenage boys reached them. They started to move along Seventh Street again, passing six boys in their late teens, including, Jake recognized, Brett and Zack Davis, who at seventeen and fifteen, were already volunteering with the border patrol where Mrs. Crenshaw would allow them. The boys all carried fishing poles and were in high spirits, joking and horsing around with one another. "Outta her way," and "Geez, watch it," they told each other, spotting Heather. "What! Were you raised in a barn?"

"Hey, guys," Jake greeted and he and Heather moved by the group. "Catch anything?" he asked, looking at Brett.

"Coupl'a," the teenager admitted, holding up his string for inspection, as did another boy. "Zack and I each got one, and so did Lance and Austin."

None of the fish were huge, but they were good size, and any protein was a welcome supplement these days. "Not bad," Jake complimented. "Hope you like fish."

Brett nodded. "Yeah," he laughed self-consciously, looking back at Jake before hurrying to catch up with the others.

"I'm glad," Heather started, only to have whatever she meant to say be swallowed up in a yawn. "Excuse me," she requested, covering her mouth with her hand. "I'm glad they can still - still be like that," she admitted, leaning against Jake. "That they can still be kids," Heather sighed. From behind them a cacophony of hoots and catcalls erupted from the knot of boys. "Well, teenagers," Heather chuckled before yawning again.

"Tired?" Jake guessed, wrapping his arm around her.

"A little," she admitted, slipping her arm under the bottom edge of his jacket and around his waist.

"So, skip the council meeting tonight," he suggested as they reached the corner of Chestnut.

Shaking her head, Heather pulled away from Jake as they turned down the street he'd grown up on. "I have to go," she protested. "I have to report on my team's progress -"

Jake caught her hand in his. "Harry Carmichael can give your report," he suggested.

"It's my team, my report," Heather countered. Jake could hear the frown in her tone. "I'd like to have heat this winter," she grumbled, "And if you want something done right, you do it yourself, right? Well, this is what I'm doing. Trying to turn the lights on - trying to heat this town."

"Okay," he muttered. They continued their trek down Chestnut in silence, passing three darkened houses. Jake knew the houses were occupied, by older folks he'd known all his life, people he'd mown lawns for when he was a teenager. But now, without the heat and light Heather wanted to restore, the houses were sealed up tight to conserve what little warmth was to be had, giving them a forlorn, deserted appearance. Finally, in front of the Thoms', Jake tugged her to a stop. "I'm - I'm not trying to tell you what to do," he told her, pulling her around so they were facing one another. "And, I don't want to fight with you. I - You're workin' pretty hard. Just don't over do."

Heather inched closer, and even in the dark, Jake could see the beginnings of a sheepish smile forming on her lips. "So you're being overprotective," she sighed.

"Not over," he argued. "Just protective. Going to the council meeting's politics, not work. If there's one thing to give up, that's it."

"I need to give my own report," Heather insisted stubbornly. "I don't tell you to have Mrs. Crenshaw give your report," she reminded, earning an exasperated snort from Jake. "And, I don't want to fight with you, either," she admitted softly, holding up one hand to forestall his response. "But this is what I need to be doing right now, 'cause I have to do something."

Jake studied her, their gazes locked, for a long moment, not saying anything. He didn't want to fight with her, but he still had to squelch the urge to debate the point with her. Some days it felt like they were still trying to get their rhythm back after the debacle of the Ravenwood incident, and some days it felt like everything was fine, but he still didn't want rock the boat. "Okay," he agreed finally, nodding. "Better get in then," Jake suggested, cocking his head at the Green house, which was as dark and lonely looking as all the other houses on the street, in the whole town.

"Yeah," Heather murmured, smiling at him shyly. "Thanks," she added, squeezing his hand.

Impulsively, Jake pulled her into a hug. "Just - Just be careful," he requested. "Don't over do," he said, kissing her on the forehead and then the lips.

Pulling back, Heather rested her hands on his chest and looked up at Jake. "Deal."

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

Monday, November 19, five years before the bombs

"Hi, Miss Lisinski," Dale Turner greeted Heather, startling her.

She glanced sideways at the eleven year old, standing at her elbow, and then after the last bus, just now turning out of the school's driveway. "Dale!" Heather yelped, panicking. "You - you missed your bus!"

"Nah," Dale replied calmly, shaking his head. "I'm goin' over to Reverend Young's to rake leaves and stuff," he explained. "I help him with yard stuff and he gives me five bucks an hour," he confided, allowing a small grin. "I'll get ten dollars at least."

Heather heaved a sigh of relief. The manse, she'd recently learned, was two blocks past the high school on Fifth Street, an easy walk from the elementary school. "And, Reverend Young will give you a ride home?" she prompted, frowning as she took in the too large jean jacket Dale wore layered over a hooded sweatshirt; it was still a month until winter officially began, but there was a definite chill in the air that called for warmer clothing, especially if he'd be working outside for the rest of the afternoon. Heather had to fight the urge to do up another button on her coat in response to the shiver that ran up her spine from looking at Dale.

"I'm gonna go to Mrs. Green's after that. My Mom had to go to Kansas City," he told her, scuffing the toe of his worn sneaker against the sidewalk. "So I'm gonna spend the night at Mrs. Green's. I'm too old for a babysitter," Dale insisted, looking up at Heather. "And, I stay by myself all the time when Mom has to work late, but...." he shrugged.

"Well, I'm glad you're going to spend the night at Mrs. Green's," Heather told him, frowning gently. She patted Dale on the shoulder, somewhat awkwardly, but it was always hard to decide how much affection to show a student, especially since she really just wanted to hug him. "When you're a little bit older, it'll be fine if you stay by yourself overnight," she continued, thinking, 'And legal'. "Besides, Mrs. Green is a really good cook," Heather smiled. "I love having dinner at her house. I had dinner there last night."

Dale grinned, nodding his head. "I talked to her this morning after Mom called her. She said we'd have spaghetti. Mrs. Green makes good spaghetti - better than Mom's," he admitted, whispering loudly. "Mrs. Green puts real stuff in, ya know? Not just from the jar. Even zucchini is good in her spaghetti."

"You're right, that does sound good," Heather agreed, smiling at him. "So, you're Mom's gonna be back from Kansas City in time for Thanksgiving? That's pretty far away," she added, one eyebrow rising.

"She promised she'd be back on Wednesday," he explained. "She has to work on Thanksgiving, but I'm gonna go with her. Millie - she works with my Mom - She's gonna make a dinner just for her and me and Mom. Maybe Dave, too. He runs the place, and doesn't have any other family either, but we're kinda family. Then Mom says we're gonna go to the movies in Fielding. She said I can have popcorn and candy both," Dale grinned, "Since it's a special occasion."

Heather forced a smile, wondering what business suddenly took Annie Turner to Kansas City, and what Gail Green thought of all this. Something sure seemed off to Heather. "Well, that'll be fun," she told Dale. "Do you know what movie you're gonna see?"

"Didn't pick yet," Dale admitted, shrugging. "But I'm s'posed to tell you for Mrs. Crenshaw that you've got a delivery in the office," he continued without pausing for a breath. "She said it's important, and to tell you to go to the office right away."

"Oh!" Heather acknowledged, her surprise at Dale's message distracting her from their previous topic of conversation. "Okay. Did she say what it is?" she asked, her forehead wrinkling. "I'm not expecting anything," she muttered to herself, glancing back over her shoulder at the school.

Dale shook his head. "Nope. Sorry."

"Did you see flowers?" she asked, almost as soon as the thought occurred to her, her stomach fluttering with hopeful anticipation. Heather could see Jake sending her flowers, especially after the hard time she'd given him the day before over the fact that - for the third week in a row - he had been leaving for Denver. Some of her initial enthusiasm dissipated though as a bitter taste flooded her mouth. If Jake had sent her flowers, she hoped it wasn't out of guilt, or because he'd promised to make it up to her. Heather crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself as she stared past Dale, frowning, remembering how disappointed she'd been, and how she hadn't even tried to disguise it.

"I thought you were on administrative leave," she'd grumbled at Jake the previous afternoon, looking up from the Sunday crossword she'd been half-heartedly working. They had been in his bedroom - only the third time Heather had ventured upstairs at the ranch house - and she'd been sitting, Indian-style in the middle of Jake's bed, watching and waiting with him while he packed for his trip. "How's it leave if you have to go to Denver every week?" Heather had asked, plucking an imaginary piece of lint off the end of his duffle bag.

"This is the last time this year," he'd reminded, dropping a handful of socks into the duffle. "Then I don't have to go back at least until January," Jake had added, turning to retrieve his shaving kit off the dresser.

Heather had nodded, already aware that the federal prosecutor was trying to tie everything up for the year so she could take the month of December off. Heather appreciated that Jake wouldn't have to go anywhere for a good long while, but right then and there, she'd been feeling a little bit obstinate, and a little bit lonely. "I miss you," she'd complained softly.

"I miss you, too," Jake had told her, zipping up the duffle bag before moving it nearer the open door. Returning to the bed, he'd sat down next to Heather, taking the newspaper section from her and setting it aside. "C'mere," he'd demanded quietly, flashing her a smile that had caused her heart to skip a beat.

Heather, her scowl replaced with a playful grin, had scooted toward Jake, leaning into him, brushing her mouth over his. He'd snaked his arm around her waist, tugging her closer. She had half fallen against him, giggling as she'd worked to unfold her legs. Before long, Heather had ended up in Jake's lap, her arms twined around his neck, as she enjoyed the sensation of being thoroughly kissed. "I still don't see why you have to go," she'd grumbled a few minutes later, sliding off of his lap and then laying back on the bed, propped on her elbows. "You'll have a much better time if you stay here with me."

"Undoubtedly," Jake had agreed, grinning at her as he'd found both her hands with his own. Knitting their fingers together, he'd helped her lay down completely, and had then joined her, their legs tangling together, his weight atop her a most welcome burden. "Though, I'm just betting," Jake had murmured, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of Heather's mouth before tracing her jaw with his lips. "I'm betting," he'd repeated in his distraction, "That somewhere on that list of requirements you have, I'd find 'gainfully employed'." He'd raised his head then and, cupping her face with one hand, had looked her in the eye. "Right now," he'd reminded Heather, his tone suddenly serious, "Goin' to Denver is my job. But," Jake had continued, his rakish grin returning, "Come Wednesday night, I am all yours to do with what you will."

"I guess if that's the best you can do," Heather had sighed melodramatically. "Then I'll just have to take what I can get. When I can get it," she'd declared, smiling at him crookedly before lifting herself up to press her lips to his.

"Guess so," Jake had agreed, pushing her back down on the bed. He'd covered her mouth with his own, moaning softly and deepening their kiss when she'd opened her lips to him immediately. Jake had just slipped his hand beneath Heather's shirt, his fingers splayed over her stomach when they'd heard stomping on the stairs, followed by Grandpa Green clearing his throat loudly. Withdrawing his hand, Jake had lifted himself up, shaking his head and groaning. "Here comes the 'vice and virtue squad'," he'd joked, obviously frustrated. His grandfather hadn't said anything when Jake had taken Heather upstairs with him after lunch, but instead he'd made a point of checking on them at roughly fifteen minute intervals.

Chuckling softly, both embarrassed and disappointed, Heather had closed her eyes. Sucking a long breath in through his teeth, Jake had sat up, offering her his hand in assistance. Pulling herself up, Heather had surprised Jake by wrapping her arms around his neck and nipping at his lower lip. "I really do love your grandfather," she'd murmured, gently worrying his tender flesh with her teeth, "But my virtue really, really wishes he'd butt out."

"Heather," Jake had said, emitting a low growl.

"Well, you've gotta go to Denver, right?" she'd returned pouting, though there had been a teasing gleam in her eye. "So - for now - never mind."

Jake had captured her chin with his hand then, forcing her to meet his eye. "Babe, if you're still thinking that way when I get back," he'd informed her, leaning close to kiss her softly, "Then, we'll talk."

"Okay," she'd nodded, smiling against his mouth.

Arriving at Jake's open bedroom door approximately fifteen seconds later, Grandpa Green had found Heather once again sitting, cross-legged, in the middle of the bed, and Jake standing at the open closet door, holding up a dress shirt and two ties, asking which she liked better. "Everything okay in here?" he'd inquired, his brow puckering as he had glanced between the two of them.

Heather shook her head to clear it, smiling distractedly at Dale. She could feel the heat that had risen in her cheeks as she'd recalled the events of the prior afternoon, and had no doubt that she was blushing. "So you didn't see flowers?" she guessed.

"Just the UPS man with lots of boxes," Dale answered, his expression puzzled. "Are you okay, Miss Lisinski?" he asked a second later, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"I'm fine," she said automatically. Over the top of Dale's head, Heather watched the UPS man exit the school building, pushing a dolly ahead of him as he moved toward his truck. "Probably supplies for the book fair next week," she muttered, mostly to herself.

"Yeah," Dale agreed, picking his backpack up from the ground at his feet and shrugging it on. "I gotta go, Miss Lisinski," he reminded her. "But, remember to go to the office, okay? Mrs. Crenshaw said so."

"Okay," Heather promised with a nod. "You better get to Reverend Young's. And enjoy your spaghetti tonight," she grinned, patting Dale's shoulder before he turned, hurrying off toward the pastor's home. Allowing a deep sigh, Heather started toward the school. Inside the office, she found the just delivered boxes stacked against the wall. Glancing down she confirmed that they had been sent from the book fair vendor and were addressed to Karen Harper in her capacity as PTA president. Squelching the urge to make a face, Heather instead pasted on a smile and moved to the counter, looking around for flowers, but spying none. She decided to be grateful that Jake hadn't sent any, and also that she would be patient about this last separation until she went back to Buffalo for Christmas. Seated at her desk and seemingly engrossed in the email she was composing, Mrs. Crenshaw continued to type, not even bothering to look up. Amused, Heather called out, "Hi, Mrs. C."

Startled, the school secretary practically jumped up out of her chair, declaring loudly, "Miss Lisinski, there you are!"

"Yes," Heather agreed genially. "Dale Turner gave me your message as instructed. And, I'm here, as instructed. He said I had a delivery, but all I saw was the boxes for the book fair," she added, pointing her thumb back over her shoulder at the pile of cardboard cartons.

"Oh, that book fair," Mrs. Crenshaw dismissed with a wave. "Mrs. Harper won't let me have Lou move the boxes to the auditorium unless she's here to watch, and then when she shows up, he's supposed to drop everything and hop to," she complained, whispering. "But!" she continued, clapping her hands together, "You do have a delivery. I put it - your delivery," she practically shouted, "In Mrs. McVeigh's office for safekeeping."

"But, I'm really not expecting anything," Heather argued, frowning. She bit her lip, grimacing softly. "Is it flowers?"

"Flowers?" Mrs. Crenshaw questioned, once again enunciating loudly enough to be heard in the Kindergarten classroom across the hall. "I can't really say," she decided, glancing back over her shoulder at the principal's office. Mrs. Crenshaw looked again at Heather, forcing a smile for a few seconds before she threw her hands up in the air, grumbling, "Well, really, I think I'll just go get it." With that, she turned on her heel just in time to watch Mrs. McVeigh exit her office, followed by Jake Green, who was, in fact, carrying a small autumnal bouquet.

"You're not supposed to be here," Heather blurted out, her expression turning embarrassed as she realized what she'd said. Pressing a fist to her mouth, she stared across the counter at Jake. Acutely aware of the presence of Mrs. Crenshaw and Mrs. McVeigh, Heather chuckled nervously and corrected herself. "I mean, hey. This is a surprise. A good one," she assured, dropping her hand from her face and offering him a tentative smile. "That was a quick trip."

"Very," Jake agreed, coming through the door which separated the inner and outer offices. "Ms. Dawkins' family emergency became more of an emergency overnight," he shrugged, stopping a foot or so away from her. He could tell that his early return had unnerved her, and he was sure that had everything to do with the talk they might soon be having. Jake glanced back over his shoulder, confirming that Mrs. Crenshaw and Mrs. McVeigh were both watching them with undisguised interest. Turning back to face Heather, he held the flowers out to her. "But, I guess I could just deliver these," he decided, "Then head back to Denver, and come home on Wednesday like originally planned," he teased.

Laughing softly, Heather shook her head at him and stepping forward, accepted the bouquet. "Or, you can just hang out with me," she told him, speaking quietly enough that there was a small chance their audience couldn't hear her. "I keep telling you, that'd be a lot more fun," Heather murmured, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth, drawing audible sighs of contentment from the two older women, both of whom - unbeknownst to each other or the younger couple - took the opportunity to recall the great romances of their youths. Blushing, Heather took a step away, but not before catching Jake's hand in her free one and squeezing it.

"So, I should stay?" he grinned, earning himself an eye roll and, finally, a chuckle. Tucking her hand under his arm, Jake turned to face Mrs. McVeigh and Mrs. Crenshaw. "All right if I steal Heather away for the rest of the afternoon, ladies?"

"Well, it is Thanksgiving week, and the kids are all gone," Mrs. McVeigh smiled. "So, I think that's acceptable."

"Go!" Mrs. Crenshaw said, shooing them away with one hand. "Have fun."

"Jake, it was nice to chat with you about something other than why the history teacher's an idiot, or why setting off every type of bottle rocket known to man isn't really a science project," Mrs. McVeigh laughed.

"Hey, I took notes," he argued. "And my data was rock solid."

"Yes, I believe you mentioned that," she returned dryly. "But please, feel free to drop by any time. Next time, I'll have to pick your brain about a couple of boys I've got on my hands."

"Okay," Jake laughed, his expression bemused. He glanced at Heather. "Ready to go?"

"Sure," she nodded, allowing him to lead her out into the hall. "I just need to get my purse, I promise," Heather told him, starting toward her classroom. "I won't even look at what's sitting on the top of my desk," she assured. They started down the hallway, their fingers still entwined. "So what did you and Mrs. McVeigh talk about in lieu of the great bottle rocket experiment?" Heather grinned, looking sideways at Jake.

"Sure. Mock scientific progress," Jake joked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they continued down the corridor. He shrugged, answering, "And, we pretty much talked about you. Kinda glad you came in, because that was starting to feel like practice for meeting your Dad," he explained, allowing a relieved chuckle. "She was very in loco parentis."

"In loco parentis?" Heather questioned, throwing him a surprised look. "Way to bring the Latin," she giggled.

"Hey, I went to college," Jake protested, affecting an affronted expression. "A few things stuck."

"I don't think it's usually the Latin that sticks," she said, still chuckling. They arrived at her classroom, and Jake dropped his arm from around her shoulders while Heather fished her keys out of her coat pocket, unlocking the door. "I took three years in high school - Catholic school, so of course we had to take Latin," she reminded, pulling on the handle. "And, all that's ever gotten me is a few crossword answers and a little more amusement when I read the spell names in Harry Potter."

They entered the classroom, allowing the door to slip closed behind them. Heather carefully placed her bouquet on the nearest student desk, and then stripped off her coat, laying it over the back of the desk's chair. Smiling, she turned around to face him. "I see you took my tie advice," she murmured. He was still dressed for his meeting that hadn't happened in his black suit, a pinstriped dress shirt, and the burgundy tie Heather had selected the previous afternoon. "You look nice."

"Thank you," Jake returned, staring at her. "You look pretty great yourself," he sighed, drinking the sight of her in. She was wearing a short green corduroy jumper over a turtleneck. It was an outfit that would have done nothing for most people, but on Heather, with her hair down and the sparkle that always seemed to light her eyes, Jake couldn't help but understand why she got love letters from eight year olds. What he couldn't understand was why she didn't get love letters from eighth graders. Reaching back, he found the doorknob and pushed the button, locking it again. "So, Latin," he grinned, stepping forward so that the toes of their shoes touched and their arms brushed together. "Which I didn't take, by the way, so I'm probably getting this wrong, but pro bono habeas corpus quid pro quo?"

Heather contemplated this for a moment, laughing softly, and then somewhat nervously, as her eyes widened and she gaped at him, her mouth forming an almost perfect 'O'. "I - You're - That's a proposition," she accused, planting her hands on her hips. "At least, I'm pretty sure," she chuckled. "'Cause I'm translating that as 'For the good, show me the body, tit for tat'?" Heather asked, giggling. Sounds like a proposition to me," Heather accused, leaning against Jake.

"Maybe," he agreed, grinning at her. Jake snaked one arm around her waist, resting his hand against the small of Heather's back, holding her in place so they were touching from chest to thigh. She had to fight the overwhelming urge to press herself into him while he continued to study her expression, one eyebrow cocked questioningly, tracing small circles with his thumb in the hollow at the base of her spine. "Are you proposition-able?" Jake whispered, placing a feather light kiss on her cheek.

He felt Heather shudder against him, and then she twisted her head so she could bring her mouth into contact with his. She threw her arms around him and Jake tightened his hold on her, fighting to keep them both from falling over. They kissed passionately, furiously, their senses overloaded with one another. When they finally broke off they were both panting. Heather slumped against Jake momentarily before pulling herself together, and then pulling away.

"I do believe I am," she told him, though it took Jake a long moment to remember what in the world she was talking about. Gripping his hand tightly, she led him across the room, not letting go even when she opened the bottom desk drawer and retrieved her purse. To Jake's amazement, Heather was true to her word and didn't even glance down at her desk.

"Babe, stop," Jake commanded softly, forcing her to a halt before she could charge back across the classroom, dragging him with her. Lifting her hand, he pressed a quick kiss to her palm, and then, clearing his throat said, "This - There are no points for speed in this, okay? We have time," Jake insisted, drawing her back into the circle of his arms. "All kinds of time."

"I know," she insisted, taking a deep breath and leaning her forehead against his shoulder. "And, I'm just - I -"

"Nervous?" he guessed, letting out a rather anxious breath of his own. Jake combed one hand through her hair and pressed his lips to her temple. "Trust me," he muttered, "That's okay."

"I want to be with you, Jake," Heather whispered into his chest, her voice so quiet he almost couldn't hear her.

Every inch of her skin that Jake could see was immediately pink, and he tightened his hold on her, kissing the top of her head again. "I want to be with you, too," he assured Heather, rubbing her back. They stood clinging to each other for a long moment before Jake, clearing his throat, finally put her away from himself. He looked Heather over, taking in her tangled hair, smudged lip gloss, and the blush that still tinged her cheeks. She was gorgeous, he couldn't help but think, and he had to fight his first impulse, which was to drag her back into his arms and kiss her senseless. "Babe, I think -" Jake started, only to cut himself off and try another approach. "Do you have a mirror around here?" he asked. "You look, uh, a little mauled," Jake admitted. "Gorgeous," he added, grinning at her, "But, I don't know that you want to walk down the hall."

"Oh!" Heather exclaimed, her color brightening. She made a face and giggled self-consciously. "Right. Yes," she declared, stepping around Jake to get back to her desk. She sat down in the chair, and then rooted around in one of the drawers, producing a small hand mirror and a comb. Jake watched, openly admiring Heather as she did the best she could to tame her hair, and then used a tissue to wipe her mouth clean before applying fresh lip gloss. She glanced at Jake, smiling, and then handed the tissue to him. "You probably want to...."

"Right," he agreed, scrubbing it across his face. "Better?" he asked, watching as she returned the mirror and comb to her desk drawer and then stood up. Heather nodded, and their gazes locked again. "We better go," Jake suggested after a few seconds, clearing his throat. He really wanted to kiss her again, but knew that would end up undoing all of her efforts. Instead, he settled for offering her his hand. "Ready?"

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

Tuesday, November 21, two months after the bombs

Jimmy Taylor brought his freezing cold patrol car to a stop at the Jericho end of the Tacoma Bridge and climbed out, offering up a silent prayer request that the vehicle would start again when he returned. It was two days until Thanksgiving, and though they had been blessed with a mild fall so far, there had been frost on the car this morning and, as always these days, it was running on fumes. The last thing he wanted was to have to walk back to town once he was done out here.

Despite nearly ten years in service as a sheriff's deputy, despite the bombs that had disrupted the world two months before, Jimmy was generally known for his positive outlook. However this morning - middle of the night, more like it, he groused silently to himself - there was little evidence of his positive nature or cheerful disposition. When his alarm had gone off an hour before, dragging him from the warmth of his bed and his wife cuddled at his side, Jimmy had actually cursed the damn thing before forcing himself into the shower for an icy and eye-opening thirty seconds.

Now, awake, but still exhausted, Jimmy trudged across the bridge. He hadn't had two sips of his coffee - Mayor Green had announced there wasn't any at town hall, but Jimmy had his own stash of Folgers Crystals which he kept locked safely in his desk - before a call had come in over the radio, indicating that there was a 'situation' at the Tacoma Bridge checkpoint, and a deputy was needed to sort it all out. They had a few working radios, cobbled together from cannibalized parts, none of which were very reliable, and the transmission had cut out before they could get more information. Bill, going off duty and grumpy as all get out, hadn't been willing to stop by on his way home, or even roshambo to see who'd take the call. He'd stomped out of the station, leaving Jimmy with no choice but to grab his hat and gulp down his coffee, burning his tongue but at least warming him momentarily, before heading back out into the cold.

A gust of wind whipped up just as Jimmy crossed the halfway point on the bridge. Shivering, he raised the zipper on his jacket the last few millimeters, stuffing his hands into the pockets as he yawned. He'd been out late the night before, attending the town council meeting - in street clothes to signal that he was there as a private citizen - until the bitter end, which on this night had turned out to be nearly eleven. There had been a little excitement around ten when, with only the stalwarts remaining, Gray Anderson had interrupted Heather Green's report on the Energy Team's progress to accuse the mayor of nepotism. Gray had snidely referred to her a 'second grade teacher' whose only qualification for the position was that she was the mayor's daughter-in-law. Nearly everyone in attendance had corrected him, shouting that she was in fact a 'third grade teacher', which had the effect of harpooning his argument. Mayor Green and, surprisingly, Harry Carmichael had ably defended Heather from there, forcing Gray to back down, and he'd sat in the back of the room, glowering and grumbling for the remainder of the meeting.

Jimmy had been relieving Gail Green of the burden of his daughter, Sally, who had fallen asleep in Gail's arms when she'd taken over the task of amusing the bored and tired child for a few minutes, just as Heather had returned to her spot between her husband and mother-in-law. Lifting Sally, he'd overheard Heather, pressing her hand to Jake's shoulder, comment jokingly, "Thanks for the spirited defense, hon."

"No sweat," Jake had teased in return, reaching up to lay his hand over the top of hers. "I know what grade you teach."

"Taught," Heather had murmured softly as she'd seated herself. She'd yawned then and laid her head on Jake's shoulder. He had wrapped his arm around her, and Jimmy, who'd settled Sally limply over his shoulder, had looked immediately to his wife, offering her a wistful smile. Margaret, sitting in the row behind the Greens, the sleeping Woody's head in her lap, had nodded at him, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly.

Approaching the checkpoint, Jimmy repeated to himself the words with which he sustained himself these days - 'No matter what else, we're together' - before pushing the thoughts of his wife and children from his mind in order to focus on the task at hand. "Hey!" he called out spotting the men huddled around the barrel fire. "What's goin' on?"

"We got three guys, just drove up," Ridley Cooper supplied. Squinting, Jimmy could barely discern the outline of a truck parked about fifty feet away, off of both the bridge and the road, on the edge of the river bank. Another group of men - Clyde Davis, Brian Roth, and Steve Nolan - stood guarding three young men, who were clustered together just inside the permanent barricade that had been erected at the 'rest of the world' end of the bridge. "One of 'em claims he's Heather Green's brother," Cooper scoffed.

Jimmy was glad for the dark, hoping that the firelight wasn't enough to betray the surprise he was sure showed in his face. "Well, maybe he is," he suggested, working to keep his tone neutral.

"Well, you've met 'im, right?" Todd Krider asked. "Her brother? You're friends with the Greens."

"At their wedding four, five years ago," Jimmy agreed, resisting the urge to snort. "She's got four of 'em, I think, and she's from back east. New York," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. Jimmy's mind boggled at the thought of anyone even attempting these days to make it the fifteen hundred miles cross-country from the east coast to Jericho. Still, the eternal optimist in him couldn't help but question 'what if?' He looked around the circle of men, spotting a flashlight on Krider. "Mind if I borrow that?" he asked, reaching for it. Krider handed the flashlight over without a word and Jimmy clicked it on, striding down the bridge toward the second group, the others trailing behind him.

Nodding at Davis and the other two, Jimmy raised his light, letting it play over the faces of the three strangers. They were gaunt; not starved, but Jimmy supposed that it had been awhile since any of them had had a good meal. At first glance, none of them was familiar, and certainly none of them obviously resembled Heather Green. Taking a second look though, peering past the scraggly beards they all sported, something clicked for Jimmy, and he kept the beam of his flashlight trained on the middle one, blinding him. "I clocked you doin' a hundred down Route Ten in Jake's Roadrunner two years ago," he chuckled softly. "You're - you're the younger one, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded, shielding his eyes from the glare of Jimmy's flashlight. "I'm Michael - Michael Lisinski - Heather's baby brother," the younger man sighed, rolling his eyes. "You're Officer Taylor, right? We followed you back to the station, and Jake paid the ticket - cash - on the spot. Heather would've killed us both if she'd found out," he laughed nervously.

"Deputy Taylor. Or, Jimmy," he corrected, nodding. "I remember that," Jimmy added, pointing the flashlight at the ground. "How the hell did you get here? We heard that New York City survived, but..."

"Wasn't in New York," Michael shrugged. "I'd started med school. Yale," he chuckled humorlessly. "That was about a million years ago now. I was in Connecticut when it happened," he explained, shaking his head. "When we left, we tried to get to New York first, to Buffalo, where Heather and I grew up, but no dice. So we came here. I need to see - Is she all right?" Michael demanded then, panic creeping into his voice. "Is Heather all right?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Jimmy assured. "Sat behind her at the town meeting last night. She's fine."

"Jimmy, they're drivin' a truck with Alaska plates," Roth interjected then. "But they're comin' from the east. Alaska's west."

"I learned my geography from Mrs. Owensby, same as you, Brian," Jimmy returned, not quite able to keep the sarcasm from his tone. "I know where Alaska is."

"And, I'm from Alaska," one of Michael's companions, the big one standing to his right, explained. "The EMP killed both their cars," he continued, pointing first at Michael, and then at the third in their trio. "Mine's the only car that still worked."

"Besides, his truck was way better than my Civic," the third stranger muttered, throwing his companions nervous glances.

"You were drivin' a Scout around Connecticut?" Cooper demanded, laughing derisively. "Martha Stewart lives in Connecticut," he grumbled. "Jimmy, you believe this story?"

"Right," Jimmy returned tightly. He looked at Michael. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested, jerking his head toward Jericho.

Michael looked at the other two, and then nodded. "Okay."

They walked about thirty feet up the bridge before Jimmy addressed the younger man. "I'm responsible for the safety of this town, so I have to ask you this. You aren't being forced to bring those two here, or -"

"No, no, I swear," Michael interrupted. "Drake's my roommate, and Jeff lived across the hall. When we realized we needed to get the hell outta Dodge," he shrugged, "Well, Jeff had a working car. They're my friends," he sighed, looking back over his shoulder at them. "Like my brothers. I trust 'em with my life," Michael insisted, releasing a deep breath. "'Cause gettin' here, they've saved it."

"Okay," Jimmy nodded. He'd watched Michael carefully as he'd offered his explanation, and knew instinctively that Heather's brother was being truthful. He caught himself feeling sorry for the younger man, wondering about what must have happened to these three between Connecticut and Kansas. "Well, I guess -"

"If these weren't my friends, if I didn't trust 'em, we wouldn't be here," Michael interrupted, his expression hardening. "I wouldn't bring them anywhere near Heather if that would put her in danger. I can promise you that." He paused a moment, his forehead wrinkling, as he considered the situation. "I can prove it, too. We've all got ID."

Jimmy smiled in relief, letting out the breath he'd been holding. "Good, good," he murmured. "That'll clear it all up," he declared, leading Michael back toward the others.

"Drake can get our ID," Michael said, glancing at the shorter of his two friends. "He's the one who put it away," he explained, nodding in the direction of the two-door Scout SUV that looked exactly like the one Jimmy's father had taken hunting for years. "After about Ohio, it was better not to have it."

"What happened in Ohio?" Nolan asked, his expression turning friendly. Cooper shot him a dirty look.

"Roving National Guard," Michael's taller companion - Jeff, Jimmy deduced - muttered. "If they could prove you weren't a resident, then they threw you in the local FEMA camp," he shrugged as they watched Drake, accompanied by Davis, walk back to the truck. "No such thing as just passin' through in their book. Not that they weren't happy to throw you in for other reasons," Jeff shrugged, "But still better not to give 'em an easy reason."

"It's real bad out there, huh?" Krider mumbled, looking down at his feet.

"It's not good," Michael answered.

Davis, carrying a purple medical glove so that the fingers hung down, accompanied Drake back to the group. Chuckling, Davis handed the glove to Jimmy. "This one's from California," he said, pointing at Drake. "And, that one's from Alaska, just like he said," Davis continued, with a glance in Jeff's direction. "And, his name is Lisinski, from New York," he confirmed, looking at Michael. "Our youngest, Lindsay, was in Heather Green's class the year she was Miss Lisinski. They've all got driver's licenses and med school ID in there," he added, watching as Jimmy dumped the contents of the glove out on his hand. "Tied up, and tucked up into the coils through a rip in the upholstery under the back seat. Not a bad hiding place at all," he complimented with an absent nod. "Plus, there's a pile of medical text books on the back seat. I guessin' they're legit, and this isn't a Ravenwood Trojan Horse."

"So, can Mike come in?" Jeff asked, crossing his hands over his chest. "He just wants to see his sister, make sure she's all right."

"Yeah," Jimmy decided. He looked around at the group of men. There were always four men on duty at the Tacoma Bridge checkpoint, on six hour shifts, with pairs rotating in and out every three hours. It appeared that Michael Lisinski and his party had had the interesting turn of luck to arrive during a shift change. "Clyde, you goin' off?" Jimmy enquired, glancing at Davis, who confirmed with a nod. "Can you escort these three to the mayor's?"

"I just need to drive through town, so I can get out to the ranch," Michael protested.

"Heather's at the mayor's," Jimmy explained quickly. "The ranch is too far out to be safe, and they moved in with Mayor and Mrs. Green after the EMP. Good thing, too. Had some trouble with horse thieves about a month ago."

Drake shook his head, allowing a slightly maniacal chuckle. "Horse thieves?" he demanded. "You said horse thieves, right?" He caught the censoring look that Michael was shooting in his direction, and bristled slightly. "Hey, all I'm sayin' is, the rest of the world is all 'The Stand', but here it's 'Gunsmoke'. Horse thieves."

"We've had some other trouble, besides the horse thieves," Davis assured him. "But we do our best to take care." He glanced at Michael. "We'll open the gate, and you can bring your truck in. Then, I'll take you over to see your sister."

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

I have to confess that Heather (and I) took a little liberty in interpreting Jake's Latin. It's one interpretation, and the one that best suited our purposes.

Part 10B by Marzee Doats

Different Circumstances: Part 10B of ?
by Marzee Doats

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

Tuesday, November 21, two months after the bombs

"Jake!" Heather poked her husband in the side, trying to wake him, but he didn't stir. "Jake!" she tried again, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up. There's someone outside," she whispered urgently.

"Wha?" he groaned, turning over so that he faced Heather, trapping her hand under his arm. Jake cleared his throat, repeating, "What, babe?"

"I woke up. I heard a car stop outside, and someone's banging on the front door," she told him, pulling her hand loose. "Listen," she ordered softly.

"Stay here," Jake instructed, rolling away and pulling himself up out of bed. He padded quickly across the cold floor to the front window, and then pushed the curtain aside in order to check the street outside. An unfamiliar truck was parked at the curb. Jake's heart began to pump harder as the pounding on the door downstairs increased. He turned around, striding across the room to his dresser. Yanking the top drawer open, he retrieved his gun, checked it, and then turned around to face Heather. She was standing next to the bed, her feet shoved into her sneakers, working her arms into the sleeves of a cardigan sweater. Making a frustrated noise, he told her again, "Stay here."

"'Cause being prepared by wearing shoes is a bad thing?" she demanded, staring pointedly at his bare feet before following him to the door.

Jake glanced over his shoulder at her, shaking his head, but didn't say anything as they stepped out into the hallway. April was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, her robe pulled around her, and his parents were also awake and up, his father already heading for the stairs. "Dad," he called after the older man. "Wait, I'll go." Johnston stopped and turned around to look at Jake, who moved past him. "Just keep 'em up here," he muttered so only his father could hear.

Reaching the front door, Jake looked back to see that Johnston had managed to keep the women on the staircase, above the landing, if not actually on the second floor. Whoever was outside had stopped pounding on the door, settling now for knocking two short raps every few seconds. Jake tried to peer through the window, but it was too dark to make out much beyond the fact that there was more than one person standing on the porch. Shaking his head, he clicked off his pistol's safety and, resting his hand on the doorknob, called out loudly, "Who's there?"

"Clyde Davis," was the reply, muffled by both the steady, biting wind and the solid wood of the door between them. "I've gotta special delivery for Heather."

"What's going on, Jake?" Gail demanded anxiously from the stairs.

"I don't know, Mom," he yelled back, exasperation evident in his voice. "It's Clyde Davis. Hold on a sec." Taking a deep breath, Jake slowly and quietly undid the deadbolt and lock. "Okay," he shouted, closing his eyes for a second and hoping to high heaven this wasn't some sort of trap. "Step back," he commanded. "I'm opening the door."

As soon as Jake had the door open, Davis snapped on the flashlight he had with him, pointing it at one of the three - Jake had counted - men who accompanied him. "Mornin' Jake," he greeted cheerfully. "I believe this one belongs to you?"

"Jake!" his brother-in-law yelped just as Jake recognized that the man standing in front of him was most definitely Michael Lisinski. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, his expression one of pure shock.

"Me?" Jake practically crowed, stepping out onto the porch and pulling Michael into a bear hug that would have done Stanley Richmond proud. "What the hell are you doing here?" Relief flooded through Jake, and he actually laughed out loud as he hauled his brother-in-law through the front door and into the house, shouting for his wife. "Heather! Heather, get down here!" he yelled, "There's a special delivery for you."

"What are you talking about?" Heather muttered, slipping by Johnston who, along with Gail and April, trailed her down the stairs. Grinning widely, Jake stood in the middle of the entry with Michael, waiting for what he knew would be quite the scene. Behind him, he heard Davis shoo the other two men into the house and then close the door against the early morning cold. Heather, her foot hitting the bottom step, squeaked incoherently as she realized who it was standing with Jake. "Oh my God," she swore, covering her face with both hands. Her eyes were wide and she appeared to be rooted in place, incapable of doing anything more than stare at her brother.

"Hey, sis," Michael murmured, stepping toward her. He shook his head, grinning softly. "Wow, I guess you two really did have a good time in Hawaii," he teased, his gaze focused on the evidence of her pregnancy.

Shaking her head, Heather moved toward her brother, socking him in the arm as soon as she was within range. "Mikey!" she grumbled, fighting a giggle. However, in the next instance she burst into tears and threw herself into his arms.

"Hey, hey," Michael soothed, holding her to his chest and rubbing her back. "Lisinskis don't cry," he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Don't you remember that? You want Tommy or John callin' you 'sissy' the rest of your life?" Michael demanded, drawing a rather shaky breath.

"I - I thought - thought you were - you were dead," she sobbed out. "That you were - you were all - all dead."

"Well, I'm here," Michael assured his sister, speaking, somehow, around the giant lump in his throat. He continued to pat her back, refusing to give voice to his darkest thoughts; he was alive and she was alive, but they might very well be the last two living members of the Lisinski family. Michael hugged Heather closer, brushing against the swell of the child she carried. Chuckling, he stepped back, shaking his head. "And, hey! Look at you," he grinned. "A baby. Of all the things I thought I'd find when I got to Kansas, you pregnant and Jake home," Michael told her, looking over his shoulder at his brother-in-law, "Were really not on the list."

Heather started to laugh along with him, but within seconds her face had crumpled and she was crying again. April, looking a little weepy herself, stepped behind her sister-in-law, laying her hands on Heather's shoulders. "We'll just blame the hormones, and not any deficiency in those superior Lisinski genes," she suggested, smiling at Michael. "Hi, Mikey," she greeted.

"April," he replied, turning to offer her a hug. "What are you doin' here?" Michael questioned, not bothering to wait for an answer. "Oh, wait! These guys have been looking forward to meeting you," he declared, turning to look at the two nervous young men waiting just inside the front door with Clyde Davis. "Jeff, Drake," he motioned them forward. "This is 'A Green Doc'," he announced, pointing at April.

"'AGreenDoc'?" Heather chuckled, leaning back against Jake, who'd moved behind her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. "Your email address?" she asked, looking at April and then Michael.

"Yep," Michael agreed. "April started sending me a study tip a day, and I started passing them along," he explained. "First to Drake - this is Drake McCrary," he introduced, gesturing to the shorter of his friends. "And, this is Jeff Maguire. My sister, obviously," he continued, motioning to Heather. "Drake you've met Heather," he reminded quickly. "And Jake, my brother-in-law. Mayor and Mrs. Green," Michael said, pointing to each of them in turn. "Mayor, ma'am," he nodded, smiling tiredly. "Sorry for - for the early hour," he muttered, his eyes widening as he belatedly realized that the Greens were all still in their pajamas. "The last week or two, we've only been travelling at night," he shrugged, "Guess I forgot we'd be bustin' in on you."

Gail shook her head. "Oh, Michael," she insisted, "I've never been so glad to be scared out of my wits." She marched over to him and pulled him into a tight embrace. "You're a member of our family, and no one in this family ever need apologize for comin' home," Gail told him, kissing his cheek.

"Exceptin' of course, if one breaks a window sneaking back into the house at three AM 'round about the middle of January," Johnston drawled, throwing a significant look in Jake's direction. "Then an apology would be nice."

Jake offered his father a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Dad."

"We're very happy to have you here, Michael," Johnston continued, smiling gently at the young man. "Drake, Jeff, that goes for you boys as well."

"Thanks," Michael's friends muttered in unison, both of their expressions guarded, though Jeff managed to paste a smile on his face a few seconds later. Glancing at April, he said, "You really had quite the following back at school. Mike would forward your tips to, I don't know, four or five of us, and within a couple of weeks, I think every first and second year - and half the thirds - were gettin' copies somehow."

"What were you sending?" Heather asked, curious. Although she'd known that April and Michael had corresponded on occasion - April had proven to be a great resource for Michael during the medical school application process - Heather had had no idea that April was emailing her brother daily, or that she'd achieved minor celebrity status with his fellow students.

"Mnemonic devices, other ways to memorize things," April shrugged. "I had shoeboxes of study cards from when I was in med school. I found 'em, cleaning out a closet just before Mikey started school, and an idea was born. I was having fun doing it," she admitted with a sigh. Frowning softly at the three young men, she asked what everyone else was thinking. "How in the world did you get here?"

Taking a deep breath, Michael started to answer, but Johnston cut him off. "I'm thinkin' this might be a better topic to discuss over breakfast." He looked the three of them over, taking in how their grimy clothes hung loosely on their frames, the greasiness of their unkempt hair, the utter exhaustion, written across their faces in their ashen skin and the dark circles under their eyes. "And, after breakfast," Johnston suggested, "I'm bettin' a shower - even our cold ones - and some sleep sounds good?"

"Breakfast! Of course," Gail declared brightly. It had been a long time since she'd seen such hesitant yet hopeful expressions as the ones Michael, Jeff and Drake wore, and it was those faces, complete with puppy dog eyes, that stole their way into her heart at that moment. Johnston knew with one glance that his wife had adopted three more children. "Do you all like eggs?" she asked, smiling at them each in turn.

"Eggs?" Drake repeated, his eyes widening at the thought. "It's been awhile since we've had any real food," he admitted. "I don't know -"

"We'd love some," Jeff interjected. "Thank you."

"Eggs and toast then," Gail decided. "I baked a loaf of bread yesterday. Oh!" she declared, clapping her hands together as she started to lead them all into the kitchen, "French toast! A celebratory breakfast."

Jake, hanging back to speak with Clyde Davis and to see him out, smiled as Heather, linking arms with her brother, gleefully proclaimed, "We don't have butter, but I know I saw a half bottle of syrup in the back of the pantry."

"Thanks, Clyde," Jake sighed, offering Davis his hand. "I don't know what I'm gonna get her for Christmas now," he joked weakly, "But that's okay. God," Jake muttered, his forehead wrinkling, "They just showed up?"

"Tacoma Bridge checkpoint," Davis confirmed, "Just before five. Cooper Ridley and I were 'bout to come off shift, and they drove up. Jimmy Taylor came out to check them, and then I drove over with 'em. Nice to be part of somethin' good for once," he shrugged.

"You seem to get stuck out there with Ridley a lot," Jake observed.

"Mrs. Crenshaw knows what she's doin', and I know where my loyalties are," Davis told Jake. "Your grandpa helped talk my father into my going to college after my stint in 'Nam. Course it helped that your parents were both at school in Lawrence by then," he chuckled. "Pops never was above tryin' to keep up with the Greens. But going to school got me the paper, and I was grateful to EJ Green for that."

Jake nodded. Before the bombs, Davis's paying job had been as the regional sales and customer service rep for one of the large farm equipment manufacturers, but his real love, occupationally speaking, had been the Jericho Record, the town's weekly newspaper. Davis had been the editor-in-chief, which like all the other positions, was unpaid. Most of the paper's reporters had been students from the high school, though both Gail and - more recently - Heather had made their contributions over the years. Jake remembered the interview he'd given Davis about his part in the investigation into West Kansas Shipping and Freight and the arrest of Jonah Prowse before the federal judge had issued his gag order. Davis had treated Jake fairly in both the article and editorial he'd written, ultimately helping restore some of his reputation in Jericho, a favor he'd always been thankful for.

"Gray Anderson's workin' real hard to get himself elected mayor, and there's a fair number of people behind him. But I think your father's doing a decent job, certainly the best anyone could expect," Davis continued. "Ridley works for Anderson," he reminded. "Mrs. Crenshaw knows what she's doin' when she makes up the schedule."

Letting out a deep breath, Jake acknowledged Davis's declaration with one sharp nod. "I see," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Well, according to Mrs. Crenshaw's schedule, I'm supposed to be meeting a hunting party out at the Ash Creek overcrossing at six-thirty."

"Okay," Davis agreed immediately. "I'll go."

"You've been up all night, and I'm supposed to be hunting with Dave Christopher and Kevin Rowe," Jake argued, looking back over his shoulder toward the kitchen. "I really can't ask you -"

"I've got teenagers I can roust outta bed," Davis grinned. "It's good for 'em to hafta work for their supper on occasion. And, they can teach Dave and Kevin a thing or two. You should be here," he added. "Eat some French toast for me."

"Thanks," Jake acknowledged, walking the older man to the door. "I'd like to know what happened with them," he admitted. "But afterwards, go home and get some sleep. I don't need Mrs. Crenshaw comin' after me for killing you with too much work."

Davis chuckled at that, assuring Jake that he'd go home as soon as the hunting trip was over. Closing the door behind him, Jake shivered as the overnight chill easily penetrated the sweatpants and thermal shirt - a concession to the almost complete lack of heat in the house - he'd worn to bed. Passing through the dining room, Jake stowed his gun in the top drawer of the buffet, leaving it pillowed on a pile of cloth napkins and making a mental note to retrieve it before his mother found it and yelled at him. He entered the kitchen a few seconds later to find Heather seated at the table next to her brother with his friends occupying the chairs across from them. His mother and April were working at the counter next to the sink, Gail humming happily as she sprinkled cinnamon and nutmeg into a shallow bowl. Jake stopped behind Heather, laying his hands on both her shoulders and prompting her to look up at him, a wide grin lighting her face.

The backdoor opened and Johnston entered the kitchen, stomping his feet against the cold. "Here you go," he said, presenting Gail with four eggs. "All I could find."

"Thank you, honey," she smiled, accepting the eggs and placing them carefully on the sideboard. She then took the opportunity to check April's progress with the instant mashed potatoes she was mixing. "A little more, I think?" Gail suggested, gesturing at the box. "Just be sure to leave enough for Thanksgiving."

"Speaking of Thanksgiving, do you know who laid them?" Heather asked Johnston, her expression hopeful, as Jake squeezed her arm one last time before moving to the chair at the end of the table.

Shaking his head, Johnston laughed softly. "Sorry, darlin', but I'm not on a first name basis with your chickens, and I don't expect I ever will be. They're chickens," he grumbled. "You're not s'posed to be able to tell 'em apart."

Heather slumped in her seat, frowning. "But if we knew who the best producers were, that'd at least make it easier to pick who to eat for Thanksgiving," she argued. "Especially now," she added, grinning at her brother, "With three more for dinner, we should probably just have two chickens."

"Does that mean - does that mean we can stay?" Michael asked, stammering. He looked around the room, first at Heather and Jake, then at Gail and April, who frowned at him over their shoulders, and finally at Johnston. "Me, and Drake and Jeff, too?"

"Well, of course you're staying," Heather answered immediately, her tone almost irritated. "You're my brother, so of course you're staying."

"We're not your brothers," Drake reminded tiredly. "There's no reason for you to let us stay."

Jeff picked up the argument. "We've seen places like this before," he told them. "Not many. You don't have FEMA, or the Red Cross, Homeland Security contractors, or the military here, which means you're lucky. You do have food and gas and roadblocks up, which means you're really lucky," he declared, allowing a harsh chuckle. "Things looked fairly middle America drivin' through town, what we could see," he added, turning to face Johnston. "You're the mayor, right? You're not taking in every refugee that happens by, right? The men at your roadblock questioned us, so you don't just let anyone in."

"At first we tried to help everyone," Johnston admitted, swallowing hard. "But most were from Denver, and most died. Others who've come have family here. Friends." He crossed to table, taking the last free chair, opposite Jake. "Reverend Young's taken in a few people," he shrugged. "Generally, if you've got a sponsor -somewhere to live - you can stay."

"You've got a sponsor," Jake added quietly, glancing around the room at his family. "Five of 'em, really."

"Besides, you're medical students," April interjected, turning around. She continued to shape a handful of the cold, instant potatoes into a ball while she spoke. "I'll put you to work at the med center," she suggested. "We could use the help, and there isn't anyone in town, even Gray Anderson," April insisted, rolling her eyes at Johnston, "Who can argue about that," she finished, twisting back around to plop her potato ball on a plate and then smash it down into a cake.

"You've got a working hospital?" Drake asked his voice full of awe.

"It's more a clinic and less a hospital," April sighed, rotating to face them all again. "And, 'working' is a rather optimistic description. Basically, we muddle through each day, and are amazed when we get to the end of it and realize most - sometimes all - of our patients are still alive," she said, flattening another potato ball between her hands to form a pancake.

"Drake and I hadn't even had two month of school before everything happened," Michael protested. "We can help out, but we're nowhere near doctors yet."

"Mikey, you're already an EMT, and you've got to continue your training somewhere," Heather argued. "So, why not at the Medical College of Jericho, Kansas?" she grinned, looking around the table at the three young men. Under the table, she found her brother's hand and squeezed it. "May I present Dr. April Green, President, Dean and Professor," she joked, pointing at her sister-in-law with her other hand. "And of course, Mayor Johnston Green, Chair of the Board of Trustees."

Laughing softly, Johnston shook his head. "Board of trustees for a medical school? Now that might just be a step up from presidin' over town council meetings and settlin' Bill's and Jimmy's arguments." He looked at Heather and winked. "And, it sure beats judgin' the 'Mayor for a Day' essay contest and then showin' the winners around town," he muttered. "Remember last year?" he demanded. "That one kid - Corey Somethin' - threw up all over me during the tour of the east landfill."

"Corey Brooks," Heather groaned, wincing. "First through third grade winner. I am so sorry about that, Dad."

"Well, the contest is definitely cancelled for this year," he informed her, slapping the table with one hand. "I'm chartering a medical school instead." Johnston glanced over at Gail and April then, checking their progress with breakfast. Gail was slicing bread while April, her potato cakes waiting to be fried, whisked the egg batter a little more. "Who wants coffee?" he asked, looking around the table.

The three young men exchanged disbelieving looks. "Coffee?" Jeff asked. "With caffeine and everything?"

"As a rule, we Greens like our coffee fully leaded," Johnston shrugged, grinning at them. "For some reason, we're even lettin' Heather drink the good stuff. Thank God for Costco," he sighed. "If we're careful, we've got enough to get us through Christmas, at least. So, eight cups?" he asked rhetorically, lifting himself from his chair.

The group fell momentarily silent as Johnston prepared the coffee pot and got it going on the camp stove. April, finished with her prep work, took his seat at the table while Gail got the first piece of French toast going on the camp stove's other burner. Michael, letting out a deep breath, folded his arms together on the table and laid his head down on top of them. Frowning, Jake cleared his throat. "So, guys - Mike - you wanna tell us.... How you got here?"

Michael raised his head, facing his brother-in-law with a bleary-eyed stare. "What about you?" he asked. "Last I heard, you were in the Middle East." He twisted around then, looking at April. "And, you live here too? Deputy Taylor said that the ranch was too far out, but your house is three blocks away." He paused, frowning. "Where's Eric?"

April stiffened, meeting Michael's gaze with a tight-lipped smile. "My house burned down six, seven weeks ago, believe it or not," she answered. "Not completely destroyed, but certainly not livable. As for Eric, he's at his mistress's." She stared at Michael for a long moment, neither of them speaking. "Dammit," she swore, wiping at her eyes. "I always sound bitter when I say that."

"Who wants the first piece?" Gail inquired loudly, stepping toward the table with the frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. "Jeff? Drake?" Jeff motioned at Drake, and she dropped the French toast on his plate, flashing a stiff smile.

"Jake thought he'd surprise all of us, and just show up," Heather explained, reaching for her husband's hand. "Eat, Drake," she ordered when he didn't dig in immediately.

"I was gonna get Mrs. Crenshaw to call you down to the office, and tell you that you'd had flowers delivered," he grinned, lacing their fingers together. "Like the old days."

Heather laughed at that, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. "And I would've fallen for it, too, since you were supposed to be in Iraq."

Groaning, April pulled a napkin off the pile in the middle of the table, crumpled it up, and tossed it in their general direction. "You two!" she complained.

"Thank you," Michael chuckled, throwing her a tired grin.

Sighing, Jake leaned back in his chair, lifting it up onto just the back legs for a moment, and then letting it drop back down. Both Gail and Heather yelled at him, and he muttered, "Sorry," before picking up the explanation of his presence in Jericho. "My flight was delayed from San Diego, and I was about ten, twelve miles from town when I saw the cloud go up over Denver in the rear view mirror. Just my luck that I ended up in a wreck with a car coming from the other direction. Knocked me out. When I came to, I started walking toward town," he continued, "And ran into a couple of kids who'd been in a school bus crash."

"My class had a field trip that day," Heather added, "And our bus had engine trouble, so we were still on the way home when we saw the cloud over Denver. The bus driver had a heart attack, and..." she shrugged.

Michael stared at them, gaping for a moment. "Only you two," he muttered.

"They are quite the pair," Gail agreed, leaning over the table to place a piece of French toast on Jeff's plate. She dropped the spatula into the frying pan, cupping Michael's head with her free hand. "Yours will be ready in just minute," she assured him.

"From his accident, Jake had a two inch laceration to the thigh, plus he hit his head, though he really didn't show any signs of a concussion, because his head is very, very hard," April informed the three medical students. "And from her accident, Heather had a hairline fracture of the tibia."

"You broke your leg?" Michael questioned. "Heather, you're pregnant!"

"It's not like I woke up that morning thinking 'why don't I get in a bus crash and break my leg'," she grumbled. "And, what about a little thing called doctor/patient confidentiality?" Heather demanded, frowning at April.

"You're the one who put me in charge of a medical school," she reminded, chuckling softly. "These are my students, and this is a teaching... kitchen."

"Coffee's ready," Johnston announced then, lifting the pot off the stove and stepping around Gail. "Jake, will you get some cups?" he requested. Jake placed a kiss on Heather's palm - earning groans from both Michael and April - before letting go of her hand and climbing to his feet. Johnston watched as his son moved to a cabinet and began pulling down mugs. "So," he started, letting his gaze drift over the three new additions to his table. "It's pretty rough out there, huh?" he questioned gently, accepting the first mug Jake handed him. "What was it when you and your Dad drove out with Heather, Michael?" Johnston prompted, handing the younger man his cup of coffee. "Three, four days?"

Michael nodded. "I think that's right," he murmured, his expression guarded. He took a sip of the coffee, enjoying how the liquid scalded the inside of his mouth; it was the first hot thing Michael could remember consuming in weeks, in forever. "New Haven's four hundred miles from Buffalo," he reminded, looking sideways then, at his sister. "We tried to go to Buffalo first. Couldn't get there."

"I'm from California," Drake interrupted, accepting the coffee mug that Johnston passed his way. His slice of French toast was long gone, consumed in under a minute. "San Fernando Valley, outside of LA. We heard that Los Angeles was gone pretty early."

"Alaska," Jeff added, finishing his last bite. "Air Force brat. We just seemed to bounce between Elmendorf and Eielson when I was growin' up, and then my parents retired to Fairbanks." He let out a long sigh, meeting Johnston's gaze with a grim smile. "Once we knew we needed to leave," Jeff shrugged, "Well, Mike's family was closest."

Johnston nodded, stepping out of Gail's way as she carried Michael's breakfast to him. With the coffee made, she'd taken over the second burner, and the smell of the mashed potato cakes frying in beef fat filled the air. Gail touched Michael's shoulder. "Here you go, dear," she murmured, pushing the French toast out of the frying pan and onto his plate.

"So, how'd you know that it was time to leave?" Johnston asked, handing a steaming mug to April, and then one to Heather, whom he teased, saying, "Now, you're sure you're allowed to have this?"

"I'm sure," Heather told him, grinning. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring it, and then set her cup down in order to pass Jake's to him.

"Kinda figured it was time to leave when the National Guard locked us all in Sterling Hall and started handing out assignments to FEMA camps from Maine to Maryland," Jeff answered. "That was a week and a half in, maybe?" he guessed, looking between Michael and Drake for confirmation.

"Day eleven," Drake nodded, frowning. "At first, staying at the school made sense. Everywhere else was without power, but we had it, at least some of the time, and the hospital was always up. The whole town was outta control, really," he explained, studying the contents of his mug. "And, the hospital was overrun from the start, so anybody who was injured but still conscious was sent our way. We could help, at the school."

"Two days in, there were three thousand people at least living in Sterling alone," Michael muttered as Gail served Heather her French toast. She returned to the stove, retrieving the other pan and then quickly dished up potato cakes for Jake, Johnston, Jeff and Drake. "And a couple of hundred at minimum in each of the other buildings," Michael continued. "It was chaos at school, but we'd all seen the bombs over Boston and Philadelphia," he explained, frowning. "And we were hearing about the others. We knew it was bad everywhere."

"The National Guard secured the entire medical center campus after three, maybe four days, and set up a supply line of sorts," Jeff said, taking over. "So we had food and basic medical equipment and supplies coming in. The appearance of safety," he laughed derisively. He paused to eat a bite of his potato cake, smiling appreciatively at Gail, who was serving April her French toast. "The supplies all went to the hospital first though and we were still getting patients at the school by the busload. Dr. Mortimer, a real tight ass - excuse me," Jeff muttered, grimacing as he looked over at Gail, who was now frowning at him. "But, Dr. Mortimer is the bane of every first year's existence," he explained, Michael and Drake nodding in emphatic agreement. "Only he knows his stuff, and he had taken charge of Sterling Clinic as we'd been designated. He got Mike and me, some other guys together -"

"The biggest guys he could find," Drake added, interrupting. "That's why I didn't qualify."

"I shouldn't have either, but Mortimer had found out I played hockey," Michael supplied. "Turns out he had season tickets to the Whalers, and figured a hockey player'd be good to have along if it came down to a fight."

"A fight?" Heather protested, "Mikey what were you guys doing?"

"Liberating supplies from the hospital," Jeff answered. "We hadn't seen anything in two days. We had new patients comin' in all the time and we couldn't get anyone to leave. Couldn't even get the National Guard to pick up the dead when they were supposed to," he complained. "But at the hospital, somebody recognized Mortimer right away and drafted him for a consult."

"Then nurses nabbed the rest of us and put us to work," Michael grumbled, shaking his head.

"I ended up helping treat an eight year old with a high fever. Grandson of the Dean of somethin' at UMass Amherst," Jeff said. "Muckety-muck enough, anyway, that the National Guard had flown the kid, his mom and grandfather over for treatment. That's when we found out for sure we were the only trauma center - pretty much the only official hospital - up and running in two or three states. It made sense," he sighed. "You take out Boston, you take out the medical backbone of New England."

Gail tried to serve the next piece of French toast to Johnston, and then to Jake when Johnston refused it. "You take it, Mom," Jake told her, repeating his father's admonition.

"Okay," she murmured, reaching for a spare plate on the drain board. Gail plopped her slice onto the plate and then handed it to Heather, requesting, "Can you squirt a little syrup on there?"

"So what happened with the eight year old?" April asked, cradling her coffee cup in both hands.

"I don't really know," Jeff admitted. "Mortimer sprang me, and then we commandeered a truck as it was pulling into the loading dock. I was only there about a half hour. Could've gone either way for the kid. I did talk to his grandfather, though," he explained, expelling a deep breath. "Dean Muckety-Muck was freaked. He told me - told everyone in that room - as soon as the National Guard minders left that UMass was now a FEMA camp with a quarter of a million people livin' on a campus meant for thirty, thirty-five thousand students. Survivors from the Boston blast," Jeff muttered. "Lots of people crammed into every nook and cranny, lots of people goin' hungry and gettin' sick."

Silence reigned for a long, uncomfortable moment as the Greens all digested this new information. The idea of two or three hundred thousand people packed into a college campus to die of radiation poisoning or starvation was mind-boggling. Michael, Drake and Jeff could only stare down at their empty plates and wait. Clearing his throat, Johnston crossed to the camp stove and pried the spatula out of Gail's hand. He handed her plate to her, and then sent her with a gentle push toward the chair Jake had vacated for her.

"More coffee, guys?" Jake offered quietly, retrieving the pot from the counter. The three medical students nodded, and he made his way around the table, pouring for each of them. "So, you said you were gonna be farmed out to FEMA camps?" he muttered, catching Michael's eye for just a second before they both looked away.

"Almost every major city in the northeast was gone," Michael answered dully. "Manhattan was still there, but New York City - the whole state, really - rolled up the welcome mat. They'd stopped their bomb, and they were doin' it on their own. They didn't need the federal government, and they weren't in a sharing mood."

"And, outside of New York, Yale had the biggest supply of doctors, and almost doctors, and nowhere near doctors around," Drake added, speaking so quietly they all had to strain to hear. "We were all drafted -"

"Conscripted," Jeff corrected, interrupting. "Just go where you're told. Staff some non-existent clinic in some camp somewhere without - without anything. Watch the people you're supposed to help die, and probably die yourself. I told Mike and Drake no way in hell."

Gail reached out, laying her hand over the top of Jeff's, startling him. He looked at her, their gazes locking momentarily. His eyes were red-rimmed, haunted, and her heart broke again for everything these three young men - boys, really - had been through. She squeezed his hand, smiling at him gently, and then withdrew.

"How'd - How did you get away?" Heather asked, her eyes wide, as she glanced between her brother and his two friends. Jake came up behind her and dropped one hand on her shoulder. She leaned back, resting her head against his chest. "It's a miracle that you're here," she declared softly.

"Yeah, the miracle of the EMP," Michael muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

Heather stared at her brother, surprised by the hard expression he wore and the cynicism in his tone. "Oh. Well, I guess you take what you can get, right?" she chuckled uncomfortably.

"They gave us assignments to the different camps," Jeff said, throwing Michael an annoyed glare. "But, the National Guard was stretched pretty thin, and they just didn't have any way of getting us all where they wanted us in a hurry. I was supposed to go to Orono, Maine -"

"I was goin' somewhere in Delaware," Drake added.

Johnston handed Jake his plate of French toast, and then began to distribute potato cakes to those who hadn't had them yet. "Where were you supposed to go Michael?" he inquired as he deposited the last cake on the young man's plate.

"Uh, Vermont. Brattleboro," he answered, shifting in his chair. He glanced sideways at his sister. "A couple of teams had just left. The roads were a mess, and they were using helicopters to transport everyone out to their assignments," he sighed. "That's why it was taking so long, because they had a hard time getting the helicopters. Anyway," Michael shrugged, looking away, "I'd watched them take off. Ten minutes - ten minutes later," he frowned, not bothering to explain further. "Well, in the confusion the three of us were able to - to get away." With that, he stabbed his fork through the middle of his potato cake and shoveled half of it into his mouth.

"Michael," Heather murmured, laying a tentative hand on her brother's arm. He twisted around to face her again, and she offered him the weakest of smiles. "I'm glad - I'm grateful - that you're here."

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

Monday, November 19, five years before the bombs

They were four blocks from the school - three blocks from Heather's house - when she signaled abruptly and then pulled over to the side of the road, leaving just enough room between her bumper and the street corner for Jake to park his car behind hers. Concerned, he shoved his door open, practically jogging as he moved toward her car. Through the window he could see that she was on her cell phone, and that she was frowning, her free hand pressed to her forehead. Jake tapped softly on the glass to get her attention. Heather glanced at him, holding up her hand as she continued to listen intently to whomever was on the other end of the call, nodding along, but not saying anything. She chewed her lip for a moment, and then meeting his gaze, offered a tight, distracted smile before leaning across the emergency break and passenger's seat to unlock the door. Nodding, Jake strode around the front of the car and climbed in.

"How's Jess?" he heard Heather ask, her voice catching. She held her hand against her cheek, her mouth puckered as she listened to the answer. "Well, I'll call her later," she decided, licking her lips. "And Aunt Gerri. But I need to get a plane ticket first." Jake reached across the emergency break then, taking her hand in his own. Heather flashed him another preoccupied smile which quickly turned into a grimace. "Dad, I'm coming home!" she argued, grumbling under her breath. "I have to. I can't be the only one not there."

She covered her phone's mouthpiece with her hand, whispering to Jake, "My Uncle Burt had a heart attack and died this morning." Before he could respond, she was dragged back into her conversation with her father. "No, I'll try and get a flight for tomorrow. I'll have to get a sub, and that's probably not easy to do right before Thanksgiving, but -" Heather broke off, listening for a few seconds. "No, Dad," she protested. "There's no school on Wednesday, but I'll never get a ticket. I'll - I'll try for Thanksgiving Day if I have to." A moment later she frowned, sniffing, "No, I'm not home yet." Jake could see that she was fighting to keep it together. "I'm parked on Fifth Street, probably illegally," she claimed, forcing a chuckle.

She looked out her window, trying to check the signage, Jake realized, and he squeezed her hand. "You're okay. It's fine," he murmured.

"Dad, I'll call you in an hour?" Heather suggested, giving Jake a watery smile. "I'm gonna go home and see what I can find for a plane ticket on the internet, okay?" There was a short pause and then she answered softly, "I love you, too."

"I'm sorry," Jake told her quietly as he watched her thumb the 'off' button, ending the call. Heather folded the phone closed, clutching it in her fist, which she pressed to her forehead, her eyes shut. She was fighting not to cry, Jake could tell, and he didn't really know what to do. He settled for raising her hand, still in his own, to his mouth, gently kissing her knuckles.

"Thank you," she managed to force out a moment later, her voice shaking. She carefully extracted her hand from Jake's and leaned across him, opening the glove compartment to retrieve a tissue travel pack. Heather pulled one loose, dabbing it at her eyes. "I can't - I don't know -" she started, but gave up, her lips pressed tightly together.

"Unexpected, huh?" Jake guessed, mentally berating himself as an idiot as the words left his mouth. He simply didn't know what to say to or do for Heather.

"Oh, I don't know 'bout that," she argued, chuckling humorlessly. "This is my uncle with the ice rink. He practically lived there, so he ate most of his meals out of the snack bar," she sighed, dropping her phone into the cup holder. Leaning back against the headrest, Heather turned so she was facing Jake. "Never went to the doctor, as far as I know," she added. "He's probably been a heart attack waiting to happen for years."

Jake nodded, which was apparently enough to prompt Heather to continue. "Uncle Burt's married to my Aunt Gerri - my Mom's younger sister. There's only eleven months between Mom and Aunt Gerri. Irish twins except that my maternal grandparents were one hundred percent German," she murmured, rubbing one eye absently. "They were in the same grade all through school. Best friends. Aunt Ger's my second mother, really. And, Jessica," she continued, "My cousin, we're almost the same age. She's three months older, and we were best friends when we were little. Not quite as close in high school," Heather admitted, making a face. "She went boy crazy in the eighth grade and I - I didn't."

He smiled at that, reaching over to caress her cheek. "Yeah, I just can't see you chasing boys. Though they were idiots if they weren't chasing after you," he told her.

"I was a geek, Jake," Heather argued, giggling softly. She twisted her head, planting a kiss on his palm before he withdrew his hand. "Jess was - is - the pretty one," she sighed. "The boys chased her as much as she chased them. But, when my Mom got sick," she recalled, her eyes suspiciously bright, "Jess and Aunt Gerri - even Uncle Burt - did everything they could. That first time she was in the hospital, every night, one of them would show up with dinner for all of us. And, when Mom died, Jess stayed over for a week in case I needed her. I've - I've got to return the favor, at least a little bit," she declared.

"Sure," Jake agreed. "And, we'll find you a plane ticket and getcha home," he promised, letting out a deep breath. "Uncle Burt," he muttered, "This is the one who only goes to church twice a year?"

She nodded, confirming, "Yeah. And, confession once a year, on the Tuesday before Easter," Heather smiled. "Even Uncle Burt won't take communion on Easter without going to confession first. I remember when I was about ten," she continued, "There was something both Jess and I both wanted really badly. Can't remember what," Heather claimed, though the blush that tinged her cheeks suggested otherwise. "Anyway, Uncle Burt was letting us do odd jobs around the rink to earn money. We were still both short and he ran out of things he could trust us to do, so he gave us each the last ten dollars we needed for the promise that when we were grown up and got married we'd plan our weddings for two weeks after Easter, so he'd still be covered by that one trip to confession," she giggled. In the next instance though, she was frowning. "I can't believe this happened to us again."

"C'mere," Jake invited, leaning toward her, his arms open. Heather scooted to the edge of her seat, contorting herself over the emergency break in order to lay her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, muttering, "I'm sorry," against her hair.

"Thanks," she whispered, taking an unsteady breath.

"And, I hate your car," Jake groaned a moment later, loosening his hold on her.

"Ow, yeah," Heather agreed, pulling away. The operative word when it came to her ten year old Corolla was small. "But at least -"

"It's paid for," Jake completed along with her, reaching for her hand. It was ice cold, and so he folded it between both of his own, rubbing it, trying to warm it. "You okay to drive?" She nodded, and Jake leaned over, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Okay," he agreed, popping his door open.

A patrol car pulled over in front of them as Jake was climbing out, and he stood inside the shelter of the car's door to watch as Jimmy Taylor exited the cruiser. From inside the vehicle, Jake heard Heather groan. "Jimmy," Jake called out, raising one hand in greeting. "What's up?"

"Everything okay?" the deputy asked, coming around the car to the driver's side. He peered in the window at Heather, who quickly rolled it down. "Heather, hey," he greeted.

"We pulled over so she could answer the phone," Jake supplied. "Death in the family."

Jimmy's eyes widened. "Aw, man, I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Heather acknowledged. "And, I didn't think I was supposed to park here," she chuckled nervously.

"Nah, it's allowed," Jimmy assured her. "Just this curve can be dangerous at night," he explained, bending over so he was eye-level with Heather. "It's always rough when this happens around the holidays. I sure am sorry about your loss," he consoled, laying his hand over hers for a moment.

"Thanks," she repeated, offering him a tight-lipped smile. "How's that adorable little Sally doing?" she asked then, noting the spit up on Jimmy's collar but deciding against mentioning it.

"She's still perfect," he grinned, straightening. "Even when she's bawlin' her head off she's perfect."

"Of course she is," Heather agreed. "Say 'hello' to Margaret for me, will you?" she requested. "And give Woody a hug from 'Hezzer', okay?"

"Will do," he promised. "And, if you need anything, just let us know."

"Thanks, Jimmy," Jake and Heather said in unison. "Good night," Jake added, watching as the deputy stepped away from Heather's door. Ducking his head back into the car, he asked, "Ready?"

* * * * *

Jake was startled out of his doze by the sound of Heather moving around in the kitchen. Sitting up, he found the remote still in his hand and he pointed it at the TV, turning off a program he didn't recognize. He stood up from the couch only to find that his leg had gone to sleep at some point without him realizing it - much like how he'd nodded off without meaning to - and he stumbled slightly on his first step. Entering the kitchen a few seconds later, Jake found Heather standing next to the sink, gulping down a glass of water and holding a piece of cold pizza - left over from their dinner - on a paper towel in one hand. "Hey," he greeted quietly. "How're you feelin'?"

Finishing the water, Heather twisted around to set the empty glass on the counter and, after considering it for a moment, set the pizza slice down as well. "I'm - I'm okay," she answered, stifling a yawn as she turned back to face Jake. She attempted a smile, blinking tiredly.

Taking two steps forward, Jake held his arms open. That was all the invitation Heather needed; she rushed into his embrace, laying her head on his chest. "It's okay," he told her, threading his hand through her hair. His words sounded hollow - ridiculous - to Jake, but she at least seemed comforted, relaxing in his arms and nodding her head softly against him. "How's your cousin?"

It had taken nearly three hours and many more phone calls to get Heather's plane ticket purchased. After seeing her home, Jake had changed clothes and run out to The Pizza Garden to pick up dinner, only to return and find Heather near tears, having made no progress. There simply weren't any tickets available for Tuesday or Wednesday, at least not at anything like a reasonable price. Abandoning the internet, Jake and Heather had both gotten on their cell phones - leaving the landline open for her father to call in - and had started phoning the airlines directly, but again without success. Finally, Jake had forced Heather to take a break and eat a piece of pizza, which had luckily prevented her from buying a ticket on Thanksgiving Day before Joe Lisinski called with the news that the funeral wasn't until Saturday afternoon. Heather's father had advised her to keep her Thanksgiving plans with the Greens, and fly home on Friday. Within ten minutes they'd booked her ticket for Friday morning, returning - unfortunately - on Monday and, after sending Mrs. Crenshaw and Mrs. McVeigh an email requesting that a substitute be found, Heather had gone into her bedroom to phone her aunt and cousin, speaking with them for over an hour and a half.

"Stunned," Heather murmured, her breath creating a damp spot on Jake's t-shirt. She lifted her head then, shaking it. "At least with my Mom we were sorta prepared. I - I don't know. It hasn't hit her yet," she sighed, reaching back for his hand. "Aunt Ger either," Heather added, leading him out of the kitchen and into the living room. Flopping down on the couch, she looked up at Jake, patting the spot next to her. "I think I need to talk about something else," she told him. "Anything else," Heather insisted, as he sat down beside her.

"Well, how 'bout those Mets?" Jake asked, settling Heather into the crook of his arm.

"What?" she asked, looking up at him sideways, her expression one of pure confusion. "The Mets? Baseball's over, Jake," she reminded, chuckling tiredly.

"I know," he agreed, gently forcing Heather's head back to rest against his shoulder. "I was changing the subject. Stupid. It's like when my Dad needs something to say so he says, 'Sure is cold out there'," he explained, affecting a somewhat gruff tone in imitation of his father.

"Oh," she acknowledged, yawning. "Sorry. I'm so tired, and my brain isn't really working," Heather complained, resting her hand over his heart, lightly scratching her fingernails back and forth. "I'm sorry our - our plans for the evening got completely derailed," she apologized, frowning.

Jake studied her profile for a long moment, realizing she was too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to even blush per normal. An overwhelming feeling of protectiveness washed over him then, one that caused his heart to beat a little faster and made him tighten his hold on Heather. "Hey," he laughed softly - shakily - "My original plan for this evening was to get a burger and a beer in the hotel bar and then see how fast we could kill my cell phone."

Heather giggled at that, her eyes falling closed. "Well, you gotta check in on your favorite waitress," she decided.

"Gotta," he agreed quietly, still watching her closely. It occurred to him then that he loved her. Abstractly, all along he'd known it was happening, that this was where they'd been heading. Jake had been intrigued by Heather Lisinski from the first moment they'd met. He remembered his amusement at how she had kept insisting she could change her own tire, and how she'd blushed nearly every time she'd looked at him. He adored her determination, her independent, can-do spirit, and even her sense of modesty. He recalled, too, their conversation as they'd toured the ranch that first day and their discussion at dinner with his grandfather that first evening. Everything excited and interested Heather. Jake loved her passion for her job, for what she knew was right, for life, for him, for everything. He loved her.

"Well, we killed your cell phone, so that part of the plan was fulfilled at least," she murmured, curling her fingers into the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

"Nah, it's still goin'," he argued, glad for the distraction of needing to respond. He pressed a kiss to her hairline. "Besides, being here with you, in person, beats talkin' on the phone any time."

She pulled herself up, looking him in the eye. "Jake, I really am sorry. This is so not how I wanted tonight -"

"Babe," Jake interrupted, cupping her head with both hands and then kissing her softly, "It's okay, I promise. I mean, you don't turn into a pumpkin at midnight, do you?" he teased, offering her a gentle smile. "'Cause unless you do, well, I'm hoping we'll have other opportunities. Many of them," he sighed, kissing her again. "Opportunities where all we've got to think about is each other."

Heather giggled, returning his smile. "I don't turn into a pumpkin or anything else at midnight," she assured, reaching for his hand. "And I look forward to those - those opportunities," she finished primly.

Afraid he would confess his feelings for her, and nowhere ready to do that, Jake did the only thing he could think to do, and kissed her again. When Heather finally pulled away from him moments later she was yawning and apologizing. Jake shook his head at her. "You're exhausted," he admonished. "We need to get you in bed," he told her, quickly adding, "Alone. To sleep."

"Probably a good idea," Heather agreed, chuckling and blushing. "I have to pretend to teach tomorrow," she reminded with a sigh. "Thank heavens it's the last day before break, and I already had six kids out today."

Jake forced himself to his feet then, offering Heather his hand to help her up. "Walk me to the door, and then go to bed," he ordered, brushing his lips across her forehead.

"Yes sir," Heather declared. She gave Jake a mock salute and then leaned against him, standing on tip toe in order to kiss him.

Groaning, Jake pulled away from Heather, reaching for both her hands to steady her. "C'mon," he muttered, tugging her along with him. At the door, he hugged her close, pressing a chaste kiss to her mouth. "Good night," he told Heather, gently pushing her away. "I'll see you tomorrow. Five minutes after school's out," he promised, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Better make it fifteen," Heather yawned. "Sorry," she added, blinking rapidly. "I've got perpetual bus duty," she reminded with a shrug and another yawn.

"Fifteen it is," he nodded, laughing at her softly. He studied her tear-stained, utterly exhausted face for a long moment, and then gave into the impulse to kiss her one last time. 'I love you,' he thought, trying the words out in his mind. He couldn't tell her yet, but he knew without a doubt that it was true. He was in love with Heather Lisinski. Jake took a deep breath and stepped back, reaching for the doorknob. "Night, babe."

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

Thursday, November 23, two months after the bombs

"Thank you," Gail Green said, smiling automatically at Karen Harper as she accepted the other woman's donation to the food drive. Gail, having volunteered at the food closet every other Wednesday afternoon for nearly fifteen years, knew her as a regular contributor. The former PTA president had always been good for a case each of canned green beans, cling peaches and tomato paste, dropped off on her way home after every trip she made to Costco. Gail looked over the six cans Mrs. Harper had placed on the table. Even the apocalypse couldn't alter this woman's routine, she thought to herself, knowing it wasn't exactly nice, but not really caring. "Thank you, Karen," she declared warmly, assuaging the slight pricking of her conscience. "This is very generous of you." And, it was generous, Gail reminded herself. She was still rather surprised by the food drive's success.

"Well, it's important to be aware of those who are less fortunate," Mrs. Harper replied. "Especially at this time of year," she sighed. "The holidays and all. That's what I tell my Ryan," she added, looking back over her shoulder at her gangly thirteen year old son. "It's important to have a charitable spirit."

The boy looked as cowed as ever, Gail thought, but he did manage to grin at her, saying almost inaudibly, "Hi, Mrs. Green," at his mother's insistence.

"Hello, Ryan," Gail returned, and this time her smile was completely genuine. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving," both the Harpers echoed before turning and hurrying down Main Street, Mrs. Harper clinging to her son's arm.

"Do you think she knows about the bombs?" Drake, Gail's assistant for the morning, asked staring after the departing pair. "I mean, seriously?" he continued, grabbing the canned peaches off the donation table and placing them with the other fruit products on the table behind them. "The less fortunate? That's pretty much the whole world right now. She is one of the less fortunate. We all are."

"Drake," Gail scolded gently, handing him the cans of tomato paste. "It's a beautiful day," she reminded opening her arms as if to take in the sunshine and crisp air and hug it to herself. "And, it's Thanksgiving -" she continued, breaking off when her eyes met his. Drake's expression was haunted, and she remembered belatedly that this poor young man had seen too much and lost a lot more. A shower, shave, haircut and clean clothes had gone a long way to improving his outer appearance, but fixing the rest would take time. "Well," Gail sighed, offering him a weak smile, "Karen's heart is in the right place. Though, Heather and Jake would agree with you," she admitted. "They both dislike her immensely."

"Heather?" Drake questioned. "She's too nice to dislike anyone."

"She's nice, but she's human, too," Gail smiled, patting his arm. He flinched at her touch, taking a half-step back. "Like the rest of us, not perfect," she continued, willing herself not to frown at his reaction. Allowing a sigh, Gail passed the last two cans to Drake, telling him, "There are a few people Heather doesn't care for, trust me. And, you haven't seen Heather and April in action yet. Those two just feed off one another, and then no one's safe," Gail chuckled. "Funny, as long as you're not the poor specimen being dissected. And," she added, "I can't say that I blame her for how she feels about Karen Harper, either."

"Huh," Drake muttered, considering this revelation as Gail turned around to accept the next donation, smile firmly in place.

"Thank you!" she declared warmly, picking up the single can. She turned, handing it to Drake and then caught sight of Emily Sullivan approaching out of the corner of her eye. Hey!" she called out in greeting.

"Hey!" Emily returned. She dropped an open cardboard box on the table and began to pull out boxes and cans.

"Whoa!" Gail protested even as she accepted a package of crackers from Emily, "You sure you want to donate all that?" She peered into the top of the box, noting that if Emily gave everything she had to the food drive, she'd easily quadruple Karen Harper's donation, perhaps quintuple it.

"Lotta folks need it more than I do," Emily shrugged, watching Gail as she grabbed a package of spaghetti off the top of the box. "Some of my students are so skinny I barely recognize them," she added, gazing past Gail at Drake. "Speaking of skinny," Emily whispered, leaning closer to the older woman, "Should I know him?"

Laughing softly, Gail shook her head. "I doubt it," she assured, patting Emily's hand. "Drake, dear, I'd like you to meet Emily Sullivan," she invited, motioning him over from the storage table where he was carefully rearranging cans by size and contents.

"Hey," he greeted cautiously, crossing his arms over his chest as he stepped toward the two women.

"Hello," Emily returned, holding her hand to him. Drake hesitated a moment and then pulled his hand loose, shaking hers quickly.

"Emily, this is Drake McCrary," Gail said, ignoring his breach of etiquette. She felt him tense the second she laid her hand on his elbow, and withdrew it quickly, explaining, "We have had a bit of a miracle. Tuesday morning, Heather's younger brother Michael arrived in Jericho with two friends, Drake here, and Jeff, who's out on patrol with Jake this morning."

"Jeff's good at that kind of thing," Drake mumbled, hugging himself once again.

"All the way from Connecticut," Gail continued. "Michael's around, too. He's been sticking close to Heather, so they're over at town hall working this morning. But it does give us a real reason to celebrate for Thanksgiving."

Nodding, Emily offered Drake a bright smile. "That's great. Amazing. Welcome to Jericho."

"Thanks," Drake replied.

"I've known Emily since she was an itty bitty thing. You remember?" Gail chuckled, "You took the wrong bus on the first day of first grade and ended up following the boys home," she recalled, pulling a pair of soup cans out of Emily's donation box. "She went all through school with Jake. April too, in high school for that one year."

"Actually, Jake and I dated in high school," Emily added quickly. "All through high school and then some."

Drake watched Emily with a dull stare, not bothering to respond. He reached for her donation box. "I'll - I can sort this stuff?" he asked.

"Of course, dear," Gail agreed, helping him pull the box across the table. She glanced into it one last time as it passed beneath her nose, and then looked up at Emily, her smile tight. "Where'd you find all that?"

"The garage," Emily admitted, pursing her lips. "Roger was such a planner you'd think we already had five kids," she explained, chuckling self-consciously.

The tension in Gail's smile eased as she questioned, eyebrow cocked, "You wanted to have five kids?"

Emily shook her head. "He wanted five kids," she clarified, twisting her fingers together. "I said I was good for two and after that he was on his own," she laughed.

"I don't quite know what I'm serving for Thanksgiving this year yet," Gail admitted with a sigh. "Jake's still sure he can get a turkey this morning. He'd do about anything to keep Heather's chickens off the chopping block," she confided with a pleased smile. "So he asked me to wait. But we'll pull something together," Gail chuckled, shaking her head. "And always know that you're welcome at our table, honey."

"Thanks," Emily responded, though 'But no thanks,' was quite evident in her tone. "I - I usually go to my aunt's," she explained.

Gail nodded and smiled but didn't say anything. She picked up a box of oatmeal, turning to hand it to Drake.

"Do -" Emily began, hesitating for a moment. Her face had clouded over, and she was chewing her lip. "Do you guys still have that football game before dinner?" she asked

"Of course," Gail confirmed, making a dismissive noise that could have been a snort. "There's some things the apocalypse can't change," she assured, passing Drake a pair of soup cans. "And this year of course, we have three new contenders," she declared looking over her shoulder and smiling at the unresponsive young man. "Heather and April won't be playing this year," Gail added, turning back to face Emily. "But Kenchy's joining us if things stay quiet at the clinic. And, well," she sighed, tossing her hands up in the air, "How's your throwing arm?"

"Still better than Jake's," she laughed, her smile returning. She was obviously reconsidering. "And, I've never had wild turkey," Emily added, joking, "Well, not real wild turkey, anyway. I've had the other once or twice," she admitted with a sheepish grin.

"I'm sure," Gail chuckled, clucking gently at the younger woman.

Drake actually met Emily's gaze then, though she found it impossible to tell what he was thinking. Discomfited, she crossed her arms over her chest, watching him as he returned to his sorting project. Turning her attention to the street, she caught sight of Gray Anderson leading a contingent of stone-faced men carrying ballot boxes toward the church. "Gray's finally getting that election, huh?" she asked, glancing at Gail.

"Yeah, next week," the older woman confirmed, her lips pursed.

"Is the mayor nervous?" Emily asked, frowning softly.

"Not as nervous as he should be," Gail murmured, her expression guarded. "But Emily," she continued a few seconds later, pasting a smile on her face. "Do come. You know me. The more, the merrier, and the apocalypse can't change that either," she declared.

"Okay," Emily acknowledged, "I'll think about -" The noise of a jet breaking the sound barrier reverberated in the distance, cutting her off. "What the hell?" she demanded, shading her eyes and looking up at the sky along with nearly everyone else on Main Street.

"It's a plane," Drake answered, head down. He alone continued to work as an airplane passed overheard, casting its long shadow over them all.

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

Part 10C by Marzee Doats

Different Circumstances: Part 10C of ?
by Marzee Doats

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

Thursday, November 23, two months after the bombs

Heather was returning from the restroom when she heard the utterly familiar - yet utterly foreign-sounding - drone of an airplane passing over town hall. Holding her hand over her pregnant belly she began to hurry down the hallway, almost at a jog. The members of her team who'd come in this morning - they were at about half-strength because of the holiday - were already pouring out of the conference room, Michael and Harry Carmichael bringing up the rear. "Was that what I think it was?" Heather demanded as her brother took her arm, dragging her toward the stairs.

"Sure sounded like an airplane to me," Carmichael answered, his tone a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

There were a surprising number of people in town hall this morning and now they were all flooding into the hallway. Heather spotted Johnston at the front of the crowd. He made eye contact with her and with Michael, nodding at them both, before taking charge and leading the mass exodus from the building.

"I guess we're done for the day," Heather decided a minute or so later, surveying the chaos on Main Street. Townspeople were standing around, staring up at the sky and pointing, despite the fact that there was nothing left to see. Those who'd actually witnessed the planes - and the parachutes, Heather realized, overhearing one particularly animated conversation - were describing the sight to those who'd been indoors when everything had happened. Shaking her head, Heather turned to Carmichael, offering him a weak smile. "Happy Thanksgiving, Harry."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Heather, Mike," Carmichael returned. "I'll see you in the morning." They watched as he moved over to join the knot of S&A Mining Company engineers who were discussing this latest event.

With nowhere else to go, Heather and Michael started to wander down the street toward where Gail and Drake had set up for the food drive. Just before they passed Gracie's Market, a truck with a rather mottled paint job turned onto Main Street, and the driver laid on the horn in an attempt to disperse the crowd. Coming parallel with the food drive table where Johnston stood with Gail, Drake, and Emily Sullivan, he rolled down his window and stuck his head out, shouting to Johnston, "It's a food drop!" Everyone within hearing distance became instantly twice as agitated, and Michael tightened his hold on Heather's arm, dragging her back from the curb until they were almost pressed up against the building.

Johnston guided the truck to a stop right in front of the market. Derek Hyde hopped out of the cab shaking his head. "Mayor!" he called out. "I saw the planes, and then a parachute, and this landed just off the road, 'bout ten feet," he explained in a rush of breath, pointing at the pallet wrapped in green canvas that took up nearly the entire truck bed. "Dad and I packed it up, and brought it here," Derek continued as Heather forced her way through the crowd of curious onlookers, Michael trailing reluctantly behind her.

"Thank you, Derek," Johnston nodded. "George," he added as the elder Hyde came around the back of the truck. "Let's get this unloaded, and see what we've got." With that, he pointed to a few men in the crowd, Michael included, deputizing them for the job.

Gail, trailed closely by Drake, joined Heather, wrapping an arm around her daughter-in-law's waist. "You okay, honey?" she asked quietly.

"I'm fine," Heather assured, laying her head against the older woman's shoulder for a moment.

Derek Hyde, spotting them together, hurried over to speak with them. "Mrs. Green - Mrs. Mayor," he clarified with a chuckle, "I was bringing in some milk for the food drive. We figured you could see that it got to families with small kids or pregnant women," Derek explained softly, obviously wary of the press of anxious people around them, though the crowd's attention was all on the men working to lift the pallet off the truck. "Steph sent some especially for you," he added under his breath, looking directly at Heather.

"Thank you," she nodded. Stephanie Hyde had taken a particular interest in Heather over the preceding month, and the Hydes delivered milk and sometimes meat to the Green residence whenever one of them came into town.

Derek jerked his head toward the cab. "I've got it behind the seat, if you wanna take it?" he suggested.

"Drake, dear," Gail said, glancing at the young man beside her. He was only a half head taller than her, and for once she wasn't straining her neck to look up at him, the way she did with her husband and sons. "Derek's gonna give you a box?" she asked, looking at Derek for confirmation.

"Crate," he returned quietly. "Two crates."

"Can you take a crate into town hall?" Gail prodded. "Heather will go with you."

"Yeah," she smiled at him encouragingly, noting his rather wild-eyed appearance and his suddenly shallow breathing. She was fairly certain he was near to or already experiencing a panic attack, thanks to the swarm of anxious people around the truck. "We'll take it inside and find a nice, cool place to store it, okay?"

Gail squeezed Heather's shoulder, relief evident in her expression. "Sounds good. We'll figure out how to distribute it all later."

Derek pulled the old-fashioned wooden crate out of the tight space behind the truck's bench seat. A piece of burlap was tucked in over the open top in order to hide the contents. "It's heavy," he cautioned, handing it off to Drake, who only barely managed not to drop it.

"Come on," Heather encouraged, taking a step towards town hall. "Let's go." Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw the canvas-wrapped pallet come down off the Hydes' truck. Ten or twelve people rushed it, ripping down the heavy green material which protected the contents, and Johnston started to bellow at them to hold up. Heather touched Drake's shoulder then, causing him to jump, sloshing the milk around. "Come on."

Pulling the second crate from behind the truck's seat, Derek followed them, catching up with Heather and Drake as they were crossing Spruce Lane. "Usually we share and trade with family and friends," he explained as they mounted the steps at town hall. "I've been trading the extra with Gracie Leigh, but I'm pretty sure that means it all goes to Jonah Prowse and his gang," he muttered, shaking his head. "Dad, Steph and I, we figured that for the holiday we could afford to give some away, but we had three more cows go dry this week, so it's not that much," Derek sighed. "About eight gallons. Enough for fifteen families, maybe?"

"Well, if we divide it into quarts, that's enough for thirty families," Heather countered, stopping for a moment in the foyer. She looked around, and then finally turned toward the sheriff's station. "Mrs. Crenshaw," she decided. "Her office is in the back, so it's pretty cool, temperature-wise, and she'd be willing to make a list of candidates for us, I'm sure."

"Well, she does know everybody," Derek chuckled, looking almost as relieved as Drake to be off the street and out of the crowd.

Mrs. Crenshaw, it turned out, was holding down the fort in the sheriff's station, and quite possibly for all of town hall. She was desperate for news of what was happening outside - Were they being invaded? How much food was there? Was it enough for everyone? Did this mean that the government was up and running again? - but neither Derek nor Heather could answer her questions so that she was truly satisfied. They hid the crates in the border patrol's small office, and Mrs. Crenshaw agreed to compile a list of families for the milk to be given to later in the day. "Is it all right if I put the Taylors on the list?" she asked Derek. "Woody's seven and a half, nearly eight, but Sally's just turned five. Or were you lookin' for families with younger kids?"

"The Taylors are fine, Mrs. C," Derek assured her. "We trust your judgment. Just don't give away Mrs. Green's milk," he joked distractedly, flashing Heather a quick grin. "It's in its own container," Derek explained, "And Stephanie put her name on it."

"Well of course not," Mrs. Crenshaw replied. "And, I do happen to know of one, maybe two pregnancies that aren't common knowledge yet," she confided, walking them out of the station. "I'll put them on the list. Those bombs may end up causing a bigger baby boomlet than the last big blizzard."

Heather nodded. It made perfect sense to her. The first week after the bombs had been hell, with the fallout, with half the sheriff's department turning up murdered, with dead and dying refugees from Denver, with simply the uncertainty of their situation. But by the second week, things had calmed down some, or at least had gone into a holding pattern. She and Jake had even taken the opportunity for a few lazy days - alone - out at the ranch. They'd done chores, working in the garden, cleaning spoiled food out of the refrigerator, taking inventory of the pantry. They'd taken inventory of each other, too. Heather had no doubt children had been conceived in those days when everyone had believed there was nothing to do but wait for the help that had never come. "Bomb babies," she mused, offering Mrs. Crenshaw a wry smile.

"Bomb babies," Mrs. Crenshaw confirmed, parting from them at the door.

Out in front of the building, they ran into Michael, who'd come after Heather and Drake. Derek took his leave of them then, impatient to get back to his father and his truck. "It's crazy, the food's from China," Michael told them as they started back towards the market. "And I saw blankets, drums of something - fuel, maybe cooking oil."

Heather saw a familiar copper colored truck rumble to a stop a little way's down and across the street. A second pallet, much like the one the Hydes had retrieved sat in the back. "That's Stanley," she told the two young men, pointing. "Jake and Jeff should be with him," she added, turning toward the street.

"I think we're gonna hang back here," Michael decided, frowning at his sister. "But you go ahead."

Heather looked back and saw that Drake once again looked like he was in the middle of an anxiety attack. It had become clear over the previous two days that all three young men had been profoundly affected by their experiences since the bombs. At times, Michael, suddenly cynical and seemingly all hard edges, was barely recognizable to Heather as the happy-go-lucky baby brother she adored, and she mourned that loss as much as she rejoiced for his safe delivery to her. But it was Drake who seemed the most scarred, though that fact hadn't been truly apparent until this morning when he'd been forced out of the house and into contact with general society. "Okay," Heather agreed, offering Drake a sympathetic smile. "You know, the park's nice," she suggested, pointing to the lawn that peeked out from behind town hall. "Nice place to just sit and - to sit."

"Thanks," Michael nodded.

With one last look back over her shoulder, Heather made her way across the street, meeting Stanley as he climbed out of the cab. Grinning widely, he threw his arm around her shoulders, giving her a sideways hug. "Hey, Mama," he teased.

"You know, you guys have brought some interesting things back from your hunting trips," Heather told him, watching over the truck as Jake and then Jeff exited the cab, "But this may take the cake."

"Yeah," Stanley chuckled, rolling his eyes. "I thought it was a bomb, but your husband pointed out that it's kinda stupid to put a parachute on a bomb. Thanks, Jake," he called out, waving at his best friend.

"Hey, no sweat," Jake returned, coming around the back of the truck with Jeff.

"Turns out we've got Chinese food fallin' from the sky," Stanley explained, shaking his head. "'Only they forgot the moo shu pork, and they definitely forgot the extra plum sauce."

"So what did we get?" Heather inquired.

"Stanley says fish crackers and dried seaweed," Jeff replied. "I found a lotta rice. Somethin' that looks like Cup o' Noodles," he catalogued. "Is that Mike and Drake over there?" he asked, squinting past Heather.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Drake - Drake seems to need a little space this morning."

Jeff nodded, muttering, "Okay," before he headed off to join his two friends.

"Well, I need to get back," Stanley announced as Jake moved toward the back of the truck and lowered the tailgate. "Bonnie and Mimi must be freakin' out," he decided, dropping his arm from around Heather's shoulders.

"Be nice to Mimi," she ordered, shaking a finger at him.

"I'm always nice to Mimi," Stanley protested.

Jake, who was listening closely to their conversation, couldn't keep himself from laughing at that. "Didn't you tell her she'd have to sleep in the barn?" he questioned, not expecting an answer. Two men he knew by sight from the border patrol approached, and he ordered, "Give 'im a hand," before walking back around the truck and coming to a stop in front of Heather.

"Hey," he greeted, reaching for her hand. "C'mere a minute," he requested, leading her onto the sidewalk and safely out of the men's way. "I'm sorry," Jake began, expelling a frustrated breath. "We tried, and we were close, but we didn't get a turkey."

A soft smile bloomed on Heather's face, and she squeezed his hand. "Is that all?" she sighed. "Jake, it's okay. Really. I've been resigned to giving up a chicken or two for a couple of days now. But it was very sweet of you to try," she insisted, gripping his forearm for support as she leaned against him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

"I didn't want you to have to," Jake grumbled.

"I know," Heather acknowledged. "And I love you for that. But it's okay, really," she repeated. "Actually, I think I'm going to try my hand at setting eggs, believe it or not," she told him, taking a half-step back. "I think that's how you say it? 'Setting eggs'?"

"No idea," Jake admitted. "That's what my Gram called it, but she used an incubator. You're gonna hafta use a real hen. I guess it's the same."

"Well, I'll figure it out," she decided, releasing a long breath. "I'm gonna take Mikey over to the high school on Sunday and see if we can break into the 4-H office and find some literature. Find out if it's even feasible to try and build up the flock this time of year."

"Okay," Jake acknowledged, stroking the back of her hand, still held in his, with his thumb. "But you know, if you're gonna break into the high school, there's no reason to introduce your brother to a life of crime when you've got me," he reminded. "After all," Jake chuckled, winking at her, "I might just have some experience breaking into that particular high school."

Heather giggled. "Oh right. How can I forget that episode in 'The Adventures of Jake and Stanley'?" she teased. 'But, really, it's okay," she assured, glancing back over her shoulder to check what progress had been made on unloading Stanley's truck. "You're busy. I can -"

"We're all busy," he interrupted, an unintentionally harsh note in his tone. "You're busy," Jake continued, forcing himself to speak gently. "I'm busy, Mom and Dad are busy. That's just the way it is right now. But I'm not too busy for you, when you need me for something." Heather's only response was to stare at him, and in his next breath, laughing uncomfortably, Jake added, "Besides, it would be fun to see if I could still do it."

"Well that I believe," she chuckled, "Absolutely." Jake frowned, and Heather recognized, though she didn't completely understand, the hurt in his expression. "Hey," she declared, shrugging, "If you want to break into the high school with me, then it's a date."

"Sure," he agreed, allowing one quick nod. "Just know -" Jake broke off having spotted Robert Hawkins across the street, examining one of the other retrieved pallets. Tightening his grip on her hand, he requested, "Come with me for a minute," before hurrying her across the street, calling out, "Hawkins!"

"Hey," Hawkins returned, walking slowly around the pallet, examining it. He squatted down and then looked up at them. "Jake, Mrs. Green," he greeted.

Heather had met Robert Hawkins a few times, but only in passing in and around town hall. She smiled at him, inviting, "Call me Heather, please."

"So, I'm guessing 'Mrs. Green' is your mother-in-law," he teased, offering a genuine - if slight - smile, surprising Jake. After two months of knowing Hawkins, he'd assumed the other man's suspicious smirk was the closest he got to expressing amusement. "That's what my wife always used to say, anyway," he continued, standing up. "'Mrs. Hawkins is my mother-in-law.'"

"Well, I like my mother-in-law," Heather chuckled. "But since I'm not the mean third grade teacher in town anymore, I can just be 'Heather'."

"Fair enough," Hawkins answered, still smiling. He offered her his hand, saying, "Call me Rob." They shook and then he bent down again, picking up a cardboard box.

"What's it say?" Jake questioned, frowning. He took a half-step toward the other man, peering down over the top of him.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Hawkins shrugged, flipping the box over.

Jake snorted. "I doubt that. Only one of us speaks Chinese," he reminded.

Hawkins looked up at him, all traces of good humor gone from his expression. "What're you talkin' about, Jake?" he demanded, his voice a low, almost dangerous rumble originating deep in his chest.

"The broadcast," Jake returned, reaching blindly for Heather's hand. "When it came over the satellite, you knew it was Mandarin."

"Hey, ya know," Hawkins answered, holding up both his hands, "You can know when somebody's talkin' German, but that doesn't mean you can speak German, right?" He looked at Heather then, offering her a tight smile, completely devoid of its former warmth. She nodded slightly.

"That's not was I meant at all," Jake protested. He followed Hawkins, pulling Heather along with him, as the other man turned away, moving over to examine the next pallet. "What I'm sayin' is -"

"Jake!" Johnston called out, jogging to catch up with his son, Eric right behind him. Hawkins, taking advantage of the younger man's distraction, made a beeline across the street, and Jake gave up the chase, as much for Heather's sake as to allow his father and brother to catch up. Johnston fell into step beside him. "Didja get a good look at those planes?" he questioned.

"Yeah," Jake nodded, noticing how Heather turned toward him, literally giving his brother the cold shoulder as he came up alongside her. As far as he knew, Eric and Heather hadn't spoken at all in the three weeks since Eric had moved out of their parents' house and in with Mary Bailey. "The jets were MiG Nineteens," Jake answered as they walked toward the pallet his mother seemed to be monitoring. Hawkins stopped to join her, flashing Gail a distracted smile. "The bombers, they looked like Antinovs," Jake finished.

"You know your planes," Hawkins observed as Jake stepped around his mother.

Heather squeezed his hand and then tugged her own loose, moving to stand next to Gail. Jake glanced back at her, offering a quick smile, and then circled around the pallet. "My grandfather made sure of that," he answered, catching Hawkins eye briefly.

"So they were Russian," Hawkins decided.

"Yeah," Jake confirmed, his gaze flicking over the other man again, unable to completely hide his surprise at Hawkins tacit admission to a gap in his knowledge. "Except the Russians stopped making them in the seventies," he added, frowning and wondering if Hawkins was actually testing him.

"Since when do we let foreign jets fly through our airspace?" Eric interjected, frowning in consternation.

"Happened only once," Hawkins responded, crossing his arms. "Italy patrolled the border after Nine-Eleven. But that was it."

"And Italy's an ally," Johnston ground out. "Russia? China?" he questioned rhetorically. "I imagine the last contact we had with them were those missiles we saw flyin' a few weeks back."

Jake looked over at his wife and mother and then back at the pile of food and other necessary supplies before him. Pursing his lips, he started to speak and then stopped, shaking his head. "We can't give out this food," he announced a second later, his forehead wrinkling with concern.

"What are you talking about?" Eric snapped, insisting, "The people are hungry, Jake!"

Glancing around at the crowd, Jake shook his head again. People were wandering down the street, looking the piles over, obviously interested, obviously anxious. He moved toward Heather then, reaching for her arm, forcing her to take a step back. "I don't care," he barked out in return.

Gail glanced between her son and her husband, frowning. "We can't have this conversation here," she murmured, her voice quiet and commanding.

Johnston nodded. "Inside." He turned on his heel then and, joined by Gail, hurried toward town hall. Eric took off after them trying to catch up, Hawkins following behind at a more sedate pace. Jake and Heather brought up the rear.

"Try to look nonchalant, people," Jake muttered, affecting the tone that he used when he imitated, usually mockingly, his father. Heather could see his point; there was nothing subtle about their retreat indoors.

She frowned, glancing sideways at him. Jake caught her eye, forcing a grim smile that he couldn't maintain. "Jake, do you really think there's -"

"Inside," he reminded in his normal voice, squeezing her hand.

Surprisingly, they all made it into town hall without interference. Johnston held the door for them all, and they filed past him, Eric leading them to form themselves into a small circle right outside his office door. Gail pounced first. "Jake, the people need that food," she argued. "The food drive is a stopgap measure at best. It just moves what we already have around. People with a little more give to people with a little less, and a month from now we're all out of food."

"Exactly," Eric agreed. "We all could use that food."

Jake faced his brother with a hard stare. "How do we know it's safe?" he demanded.

"Well, if the Chinese are trying to hurt us they sure picked a funny way to do it," Gail answered, rubbing her arm across her forehead.

Dropping Heather's hand, Jake clenched his into fists, growling in frustration. "What if this is the second wave of attacks?" he suggested, glancing around the circle. "They wait until we're hungry and then they poison our food supply." His gaze settled on Heather for a long moment and then he turned to face his mother again, throwing her a pointed look. "Are you willing to take that chance? I'm not. Not yet."

Gail's eyes widened as she caught his meaning. Heather's baby, and April's, too - her grandchildren - would be especially vulnerable to any toxins introduced through the food their mothers consumed. She covered her mouth with her hand, croaking out, "Who would do that?"

"A smart enemy," Johnston supplied, his expression thoughtful.

"If they invade," Jake muttered through clenched teeth, "We'd have no one healthy enough to fight them."

"It's like what the British did to the Indians," Hawkins said softly. "Gave 'em blankets for the winter but forgot to mention that they were infected with smallpox."

"Good old Lord Jeffrey Amherst," Heather added, threading her arm through Jake's. "The smallpox blankets," she clarified, frowning at Hawkins. "He probably wasn't the first or the last to do it, but he's certainly the most infamous. And," she continued, "Warring factions have been poisoning wells with fungus or herbs, and catapulting the corpses of plague victims over the walls of cities under siege since the beginning of time. Poisoning food seems kinda expeditious." Heather paused, chewing her lip and she looked around the group. "Sorry," she sighed, leaning against Jake's arm. "It's - It's easier to think about if I keep it academic."

"Well, I don't even want to think about this," Gail declared, throwing her hands up in the air. She glanced at Johnston and then at Jake. "Do you really think the Chinese are trying to poison us?" she questioned, her voice turning husky.

"I don't know," Jake returned sharply. Heather could feel the tension in his arm - in his whole body - and she let go of him, taking a half-step away. He missed the comfort of her touch immediately. Looking over at her, Jake grabbed her hand, squeezing it. "Sorry," he breathed, offering a slight smile, before turning to address his mother again. "But, whoever it was, they had no problem blowing us up."

"Check with April," Johnston ordered, clearing his throat. "Maybe there's a way we can test the food."

"Well, what if there isn't?" Gail demanded, her head still swimming with the dilemma they found themselves in. Morally, how could they withhold the food from the hungry townspeople? And morally, how could they possibly distribute it, not knowing if it would harm - even kill - them?

Johnston shook his head. "Well in the mean time, we tell everyone who's handlin' this stuff to put gloves on," he decided. "And we don't hand out anything to anybody 'til we're sure it's safe." He looked around their circle then, collecting nods of agreement from them all. "Okay then."

The sounds of an argument filtered in from outside then, growing louder as they all paused to listen. 'That's mine!' and 'Hey, gimme that!' and 'C'mon!' echoed through the still agitated crowd. Gail pushed past Jake in order to get a better look. Standing at the door, she turned around and, a sob catching in her throat, announced, "We may not have that choice."

The Greens all followed Gail to the door and then out onto the steps at the front of the building. The scene playing out before them was one of complete chaos. People were ripping into the pallets, grabbing what they could, fighting over a single package when it would have made much more sense to simply take the next one. Jimmy, Bill, and a few members of the border patrol were trying to hold them off, but the people were irate and willing to fight. Someone shouted, "We have a right to it!" and Jake noticed his parents' next door neighbors, the Thoms, standing on the sidewalk out front, gaping at the melee taking place. "This is crazy!" Mr. Thom declared.

Johnston and Eric took off jogging. Jake dropped Heather's hand, throwing her what he hoped was a reassuring look. She started to move after him, but Gail grabbed her arm, and Jake paused long enough to order, "Stay back." Biting her lip she nodded, and he ran after his father and brother.

"Folks! Let's calm down," Johnston demanded.

"Hey! Hey!" Eric shouted, two steps behind his father. He headed after a group of people trying to make off with a few boxes. "Back it up! Right now!"

A gunshot rang out. Instinctively, Gail dropped back into the building's entrance, crouching down and pulling Heather with her. Jake's first impulse was to duck too; his second was to find his wife and mother and make sure they were okay. Twisting around, he let out a shaky breath, relieved to see them safe - if obviously frightened - and together.

"Everybody! Drop what you have and take a step back!" Bill shouted, his gun pointed up at the sky and his finger still on the trigger.

At that moment, Jake saw red, as did his father. Johnston charged toward the errant deputy, yelling, "Bill! Put that damn gun away! Get this area cordoned off!" Looking like he was about to wet himself, Bill lowered his gun and stepped down off the pallet he was standing on. Johnston took this for compliance and began to walk through the crowd, exhorting them to calm down. "Don't do this people," he demanded. "This is Jericho. This is not some third world village."

"We got no power, no phones, no gas," Gray Anderson countered, stepping out from behind a knot of people, still clutching boxes of food to their chests. He advanced on Johnston. "It may not be the third world, but we're getting' there," he claimed. "We need food now."

Johnston shook his head and, ignoring his mayoral rival continued to address the people. "Folks, we don't know what is safe and what is not safe."

"The only people I've seen tryin' to hurt us have been out on that road," Gray continued, shouting. "And they look a lot like you and me."

Gail and Heather could hear people around the edges of the crowd muttering their agreement, essentially throwing their support behind Gray. "Why - What don't they get?" Heather grumbled, glancing sideways at her mother-in-law.

"They're scared," Gail murmured in return, her lips pressed together in a tight, thin line. "Gray confirms their fears and they like him for it." To herself, she thought, 'And they may elect him for it, too,' though those were words she would never say aloud.

The two women watched as Gray pulled a package of something - biscuits or cookies, Heather guessed - out of torn box on top of one of the pallets. He broke the plastic open, extracting and then examining one piece. His actions were slow and deliberate, everything calculated to show the nervous citizens of Jericho that he was a strong leader - the perfect mayor for the apocalypse.

"Mrs. Green, Heather," Jeff called out softly, running up the steps, taking them two at a time. Gray Anderson bit into his biscuit, and those watching held their collective breath, but Gail, Heather and Jeff all missed it. "I - Drake's not doing too well right now," he admitted, studying his feet. "I think we need to take him home - back to your house," he amended quickly.

"Do you know if something - if something specific happened?" Gail inquired. "He's very ... prickly," she decided.

"Everything," Jeff chuckled derisively. "It's nothing specific, just everything. I don't think he's slept," he disclosed with a sigh. "Mike and I talked about it. There wasn't much chance to sleep, but we don't think he's slept in two weeks at least. Maybe he doesn't know how to go to sleep anymore. I don't know. We don't know what to do," Jeff confessed.

"We'll figure it out," Gail declared, "All of us. We'll take care of it. Take care of Drake," she added, frowning softly. "We'll talk to April, see if she has something to give him to help him sleep. Work from there."

Jeff nodded. "Yeah, okay," he agreed, though his tone was not hopeful. "Mike and Drake are waiting by your truck," he informed Heather.

"Okay," she acknowledged, releasing the breath she'd been holding and smiling at him encouragingly. "We'll take care of him, I promise," Heather assured, laying her hand on his arm. Jeff offered her a thin smile. "Mrs. Crenshaw has the Hydes' donation," she said, glancing at Gail. "She's putting together a list."

"I'll take care of it," Gail promised. "You two go take care of Drake."

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

Thursday, November 22, five years before the bombs

For the first time, Jake led Heather into his parents' house by the back door, the entrance family and friends used more often than not. Heather took this as a sign of something, though she couldn't articulate to herself exactly what, and she was secretly pleased. Jake, resting his hand on her back - her hands were full with the casserole dish she was carrying - quietly steered her up the driveway and to the rear of the house.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Gail and April greeted the two of them in unison as they entered the kitchen.

Hurrying across the room, Gail pulled Jake into a hug. "Happy Thanksgiving, Mom," he answered with a grin, obviously in a good mood.

Gail smiled widely. She couldn't help but think that Jake's good humor had everything to do with the young woman standing next to him, and she heartily approved. "I'm glad you're here," she told him, patting his cheek and remembering the previous year when Jake, supposedly in the employ of Jonah Prowse, had missed Thanksgiving dinner both because he'd been in Nebraska and because he and Johnston hadn't been on speaking terms. He'd phoned her from a truck stop somewhere along I-80, and they'd talked for two minutes; afterwards, she'd sat in the swing on the back porch, quietly crying, for fifteen.

"And, Heather, we're very happy you're joining us," Gail said a few seconds later, clearing her throat and turning her smile on the younger woman. She relieved Heather of her burden, handing it to Jake, and then surprised Heather by embracing her as well. "Thank you," Gail whispered before letting her go and taking a step back.

"Well, I'm glad to be here," Heather assured her. "April," she added turning to smile at her friend, who was peeling potatoes at the sink. "This is a surprise. Happy Thanksgiving! But I thought you had to work 'til two?"

"Somebody took a bazooka to the schedule," April answered, groaning. "They offered me last night and today off, but I have to go in at midnight tonight and basically work the entire weekend. I'm not even sure what I've agreed to do in exchange," she laughed, wiping her forehead with her arm. "I'm missing the day after Thanksgiving rush on the malls, but I think Eric's happier that way, anyway," she joked.

"Well, I'm sorry you have to work the weekend, but I'm glad you're here," Heather answered.

"Thanks," April smiled. "And, I see that you did make the green bean casserole," she observed, watching as Heather took the dish from Jake and carried it to the refrigerator. "I heard a rumor. Eric's gonna love you," April laughed.

"You don't say?" Heather responded, closing the refrigerator door, and turning around, her hands on her hips to glare at Jake. Their eyes locked as they stared at one another across the kitchen. "Jake tried to convince me this morning that none of you liked it," she told them, chuckling softly, her gaze never straying. "He said I should make peanut butter rice krispie treats instead."

April and Gail exchanged grins, and laughing, Gail apologized to Heather. "That would be my fault. I didn't try to curb his peanut butter habit when he was a little boy, and now he's a bit of a fiend."

"You're actually comparing me to a drug-seeking crack head?" Jake accused with a snort. "Thanks, Ma."

"Don't worry, you'll get over it," Gail assured, squeezing his shoulder. She moved to the sink and, working around April, washed her hands quickly.

"Hey, I just figure that for a Green, eating a green bean's a little cannibalistic or fratricide or something," he teased, his eyes still on Heather, who laughed appreciatively as she walked over to stand next to his mother. Gail had moved back to the table and was beginning to knead the dough she'd abandoned when they had come in.

"Except, by that logic," Heather replied, "'Green' is a first name, so 'Green Bean' is actually a member of the 'Bean' family, and a distant cousin of Mister and L.L.," she joked in return. "Not a 'Green'."

Gail, having moved to the table, glanced back at April, seeing her own surprise and delight over Jake's playful attitude mirrored in her daughter-in-law's eyes. Certainly, Jake had seemed happier since he'd met and begun dating Heather, but it had been a long time since they'd seen him so jovial, silly even. Gail was almost certain she'd never heard him purposely make a pun. Heather's influence on him was quite obvious.

Setting her purse on a chair, Heather began to slip out of her coat and Jake crossed to help her. "Thank you," she murmured, looking back over her shoulder before turning to face Gail. "I baked the casserole this morning, so we just have to nuke it for a minute or two before we eat," she explained. "Now, what can I do to help?" Heather asked, wiping her hands on her jeans.

Looking around the kitchen, Gail shook her head. "Nothing, so far," she replied. "April's peeling potatoes, jello's made, we'll do the gravy later, and I've got this under control," Gail said, looking down at the bowl of dough she'd started to knead. "Unless you want to peek in on the bird for me? We don't eat until four," she admitted, laughing. "And football's at three, but April and I can only take so much televised football, so we're hiding out here and pretending to make dinner."

"You gotta understand, the Green family football game doesn't have a whole lot in common with actual football," April interjected, giggling.

"What we lack in skill, we make up for in enthusiasm," Gail declared, punching her dough. "Have a seat," she suggested, motioning Heather toward a chair. "And, you will find the rest of the men in the living room," she informed Jake, who had just draped both his and Heather's coats over the back of another chair.

He crossed his arms over his chest, smirking at his mother. "You're actually kicking me out," Jake complained with a chuckle.

"This is a girl talk zone, Jake," April informed him, setting her potato peeler down on the counter. She moved to the table, taking the seat across from Heather. "And how can we talk about you if you're here?"

"Exactly," Jake agreed, rolling his eyes. "Fine," he conceded a few seconds later, looking between his mother and April. "But I better still have a girlfriend when you're done with your girl talk," he warned jokingly, dropping his hands on Heather's shoulders and squeezing them. She tipped her head back, and he leaned down to kiss her. "Only believe the good stuff they tell you about me," he ordered, grinning against her mouth.

"I always only believe the good stuff anyone tells me about you," Heather assured him, reaching up to lay her hand over his.

"Oh, good Lord, where's a blood sugar monitor when I need one," April groaned.

Before either could respond, the door pushed open and Johnston walked into the kitchen. "Heather! Jake!" he declared, smiling at them both. "Happy Thanksgiving! Grandpa didn't think we'd see you two for another hour at least."

Jake crossed his arms over his chest again. "Yeah, well, apparently I really want to watch football."

"We've got the U of Illinois game on right now," Johnston told him over his shoulder as he headed for the pantry. "That Kittner kid's pretty damn good." They could hear him rooting around inside the small space. "Jake, grab a couple of bowls down from the cabinet," he shouted, just as Jake picked up his and Heather's jackets, resigned to his banishment from the kitchen.

"Sure," Jake answered, as Johnston appeared in the doorway with a can of chili in one hand, a jar of salsa in the other and a bag of tortilla chips hanging from his teeth. Jake set their coats down over the back of the chair again.

The three women watched in silence as Johnston joined Jake at the counter, handing him the bag of chips. "Pour those in there," he ordered pointing to one of the bowls Jake had retrieved. Johnston went to the refrigerator and pulled out a block of cream cheese and a bag of Mexican Fiesta! shredded cheese.

"I'm glad you remembered to wear jeans, Heather," Gail said, smiling at the younger woman but still keeping an eye on her husband. She threw a clean dishtowel over the bowl of dough and, detouring by way of Johnston and Jake in order to peek over their shoulders, carried it closer to the oven to rise.

"Well, Gramps called to remind me this morning that I would be playing football," she explained, chuckling and exchanging a quick look with April, who shrugged in return.

"We're a little more formal at Christmas, but the football game's been a tradition since EJ was in the Army," Gail continued. "Legend is, his unit played a three hour football game somewhere in Luxembourg on Thanksgiving Day 1944, and so he's insisted on a Green family game ever since."

"Belgium," Johnston corrected, dumping the can of chili into the bowl, over the cream cheese. "Dad was in Antwerp for Thanksgiving."

"Fighting the Battle of the Bulge for Christmas," Jake added.

Nodding, Johnston tore open the package of shredded cheese. "Exactly. Belgium."

"It's why we play football on Thanksgiving, anyway," Gail declared with a dismissive wave, seating herself next to Heather. "I'm very sorry about your uncle," she sighed, laying her hand over the younger woman's.

"Thank you," Heather murmured. "It was a shock and all," she added, flashing Gail a tight smile, "But now I just want - I just want to be there for my aunt and my cousin."

April, sensing that Heather would be grateful for any subject change, inquired, "So what time's your flight?"

"Quarter to eight," Heather answered, making a face. "That doesn't sound too bad until you factor in that they tell you to get there an hour to an hour and a half early because of all the new security restrictions, plus it's a three hour drive to Wichita. We've decided that we need to leave at three in the morning, just to be safe."

April twisted around in her seat to stare at Jake, who was now leaning against the counter, picking at the bowl of tortilla chips he was in charge of. Johnston edged past him, carrying his concoction to the microwave to heat it. "So, you're telling me that Jake Green is willingly getting up at two-thirty in the morning to take you to the airport. Interesting," she declared, grinning widely at Heather.

Jake shook his head. "It's not like I've never been up at two-thirty in the morning before," he grumbled.

"And, I'm bringing plenty of coffee along to keep us awake," Heather interjected.

"Well, I'm telling you," April chuckled, still smiling at her friend, "Jake's only up in the middle of the night if he just didn't go to bed. Definitely not a morning person. But, you know," she suggested a moment later, "You two should just drive down tonight and stay at a hotel."

Heather turned immediately pink and even Jake looked embarrassed, gaping at April for a moment. "I don't - I don't sleep well in hotel rooms," he argued lamely just as the microwave dinged.

"Plus, I - I haven't packed," Heather managed to stammer out then. She tried to meet April's eye, but quickly returned her attention to her hands, folded together on the table.

"Right," April agreed quickly. She glanced at Gail, who looked like she couldn't quite decide whether to be horrified by April's suggestion, or amused by the couple's response. Looking over her shoulder, April watched Johnston pull his chili-cheese dip out of the microwave and, carefully keeping his back to them, stir it. His shoulder twitched almost imperceptibly and she realized he was laughing silently to himself. "Well, it's probably for the best. Just take lots of coffee," she chuckled self-consciously. "That's a flat, boring drive, and the dark's not gonna make it any more interesting."

"Dip's ready," Johnston announced them, clearing his throat. "And, halftime's over, I'm sure." He picked up the bowl with two potholders and cocked his head toward the door. "After you, Jake."

"Sure," Jake muttered. He set the bowl of chips on the counter and then moved behind Heather's chair. Stooping, he pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Heather, her blush subsiding, twisted around to look up at him. Their eyes locked and she found his hand, squeezing it. "I'm okay," she smiled softly.

Gail, from her seat next to Heather, couldn't help but overhear their exchange, and more than anything, it gave her a good feeling to have such tangible evidence of their affection and concern for one another. "Stop worrying, Jake," she laughed softly, reaching out to touch his arm as he stood back up. "We've got no plans to scare Heather off. We like her," she said, including the younger woman in the smile she offered her son. "Now go away."

"Yes, ma'am," Jake conceded with a soft grin. He touched Heather's shoulder one last time and then retrieved the bowl of chips from the counter. Johnston, balancing the dish of chili-cheese dip in one hand, held the door open, waiting on his son.

"And, Johnston, Jake," Gail called after them just as Jake set foot outside the kitchen. "Dinner's at four. Don't let that ruin your appetites," she warned.

"I was wondering when you were going to say something," April declared, snickering, as the door, after swinging back and forth a few times, settled back into place.

Allowing what could only be classified as an impish grin, Gail said, "Well, I've found with my gang, timing is everything."

Heather and April laughed in appreciation. "And you handle them very well, Mom," April smiled.

Chuckling, Gail forced herself to stand. "Self-defense," she assured them, walking to the oven. Her hand on the door, she paused, looking back at the two young women sitting at her kitchen table. "I've been completely outnumbered around here for quite awhile," she reminded. "But, we're starting to even that out, aren't we?" With that, Gail pulled the oven door open, and began to check on her turkey.

Flashing Heather an embarrassed smile, April leaned across the table and whispered, barely audibly, "I'm so, so sorry."

"It's okay," Heather mouthed in return, shaking her head. "I - I'll explain later," she promised quietly, bending toward April. Wrinkling her nose, she offered her friend a sheepish grin. "I don't know," Heather murmured, "For some reason, with Jake, I'm always blushing."

"Gee, now, I wonder why that is," April joked, smiling at Heather gently.

"Well, it looks like the turkey's right on schedule," Gail announced, closing the oven door. April and Heather both sat back in their chairs, facing Gail with identical semi-guilty smiles as she walked back toward the table.

Just as she passed in front of the door, it pushed open and Grandpa Green barreled in, followed closely by Jake. "Gail, m' dear," he called out, catching her in his arms and spinning her around. She laughed and shook her head at him. "April, darlin'," he added throwing his granddaughter-in-law a smile as he walked around the table, coming to a stop in front of Heather. He offered her his hand and then pulled her to her feet. "I realized as soon as I saw Jake, that you'd snuck by me, sweetheart," he scolded. "Now, where's my Thanksgiving hug?"

"Sorry, we came in the back door," Heather admitted, giggling. She stepped into the older man's embrace. "Happy Thanksgiving, Gramps."

"Happy Thanksgiving, kiddo," Grandpa echoed, kissing her on the forehead.

"Supervising, Jake?" April teased, shooting her brother-in-law a knowing look.

Jake rolled his eyes. "I just came in to get something to drink," he insisted, turning toward the refrigerator. He made a big show of opening the door and finding a beer.

"So, ready for the big game?" Grandpa asked Heather, releasing her.

Laughing nervously, she took a half-step back. "Ready as I'll ever be. You do remember that I've never actually played football," Heather reminded. "I'm game, but I might do it all wrong," she warned, frowning softly.

"It's not hard at all," Grandpa assured, "And you must've seen football."

"On TV," she agreed. "But that's pretty much it. And, honestly, once we saw 'Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man' - the X-Files episode - my Dad, Mikey and I - we all decided that there really was no way the Bills would ever win a Super Bowl, and we kinda gave up on them."

Grandpa stared at Heather blankly. She glanced at April and Gail, only to find similar, non-comprehending expressions on their faces. Jake, preoccupied with opening his beer bottle, smiled at her distractedly. "You do know the X-Files, right?"

"I never could get into it," April admitted, shrugging. "Sorry. Eric used to watch it, but I don't think he does anymore."

"That's 'cause it's not any good anymore," Heather grumbled. "But this was a funny episode. The Cigarette Smoking Man - he pretty much secretly controls the world - he gets to make all of these decisions on the day before Christmas, I think, and he picks a Super Bowl winner, and says 'Buffalo will never win while I'm in charge,' or something like that. I remember my Dad just threw his hands up in the air and said, 'Well, that explains everything.'" She looked at Grandpa, and then at Gail. They both smiled at her kindly, but didn't say anything. "We thought it was funny, anyway."

"I remember that episode," Jake interjected. "It was funny. Had that whole twist on the 'life is like a box of chocolates' thing," he added, throwing Heather a grin before taking a sip of his beer.

"Right, exactly," she agreed, smiling brightly at Jake in return. Heather stepped around Grandpa, moving over to where Jake leaned lazily against the counter. He straightened, snaking one arm around her before pulling her close for a kiss. Grandpa shook his head, grinning at them, and at the table, Gail and April exchanged an indulgent look.

"He knew everything that was gonna happen in the world," Heather continued a moment later, turning around to face the rest of them. "But he still couldn't do what he really wanted to do, which was write the next big thriller novel, and it all just made him grumpy," she recalled. Jake nodded his agreement.

"Didn't realize you were such a big X-Files fan, Jake," April teased.

"Some of the guys I worked with in California were obsessed," he shrugged. "I started watching just so I could follow the conversation. It was a pretty good show, though I can't really swallow the whole 'vast government conspiracy' thing," Jake snorted, taking a sip of his beer before setting his bottle down on the counter next to him so he could wrap both his arms around Heather. "I work for a government agency," he reminded. "No way we could coordinate an alien invasion, let alone keep it secret for fifty years."

"That's probably why they call it fiction," Heather decided, leaning back against Jake. "But, if you're from Buffalo, and you've seen that episode, then you either think the line about the Bills is really funny because it's as good an explanation as any for how they could get to the Super Bowl four years in a row and not win," she said, emitting an exasperated noise. "Or you think it's really depressing, because the Bills actually went to the Super Bowl four years in a row and somehow managed to never win!" she declared, groaning. "I stopped even paying attention to football after that, not that it was ever really my sport."

"Can you run for our end zone if Jake or I getcha the ball?" Grandpa asked, his lips twitching with a smile. "'Cause, if you can do that much - and avoid Johnston, 'cause he was pretty good on the football field growin' up - then you'll do just fine."

Heather twisted her head around, looking up at Jake, their eyes locking. "That I can do," she said, answering Grandpa's question though all of her attention was concentrated on Jake. "I think so. Probably. I hope," she giggled, turning, somewhat reluctantly to offer Grandpa a wry smile.

Everyone laughed along with Heather, and Jake kissed the shell of her ear, assuring her quietly, "You can do it."

From the living room, they heard Johnston and Eric shouting, "Run! Run! Run, run, run!" before they dissolved into a series of unintelligible hoots and grunts.

Gail shook her head. "I think you two better get, if you're planning to watch any of that game," she said, looking between Jake and Grandpa.

"Throwing us out of your kitchen, Miss Abigail?" Grandpa teased, earning himself a dirty look. "Jake, I guess we better skedaddle," he advised, chuckling.

"Yeah," Jake agreed, grinning. "Girl talk zone," he murmured, kissing the top of Heather's head. She twisted around again, tilting her head up, and he took prompt advantage of the opportunity by dropping a chaste kiss on her mouth. "Okay, fine, I'm leaving," he muttered, throwing his mother a mock glare before smiling at Heather. "I'll see you later," he told her, hugging her around the waist one last time before letting her go.

Heather half stumbled toward the table, almost running into Grandpa as she watched Jake over her shoulder. "Careful there, sweetheart," Grandpa laughed, catching her by both arms. She blushed and nodded, moving around him. "C'mon Jake," he said, sighing deeply. "We'll leave the womenfolk be." With that, Grandpa headed for the door, with Jake, dragging his feet slightly, following behind.

"And you wonder why you're always blushing," April laughed at Heather, rolling her eyes. She got up, crossing to the refrigerator. "Soda?" she asked over her shoulder as she opened the door.

"Please," Heather nodded, "And, thank you."

"Don't let us embarrass you," Gail told Heather then, laying her hand over the younger woman's.

"I'm not," she protested quickly. "Really. I feel right at home, I promise," Heather said, smiling softly.

"Well, good," Gail acknowledged, smiling in return. "We're just all talk anyway, and I have no doubt you can keep up."

"Oh, she can," April grinned, setting three soda cans down on the table before passing them each one. "Heather's definitely one of us."

More cheering erupted from the living room then, and they could clearly hear both Grandpa and Jake yelling along with Eric and Johnston. Chuckling, Gail stood up, saying, "Sounds like the men's attention is back on the game. I think I can get out our little snack now," she decided. "I made spinach dip."

"Don't we need to worry about our appetites?" Heather asked, her forehead wrinkling.

"Nah, we've got self-control," April argued. "Besides, we're not eating until four. We need something to tide us over."

"Exactly," Gail agreed, opening the refrigerator door. "There's a baguette in the breadbox," she told them, retrieving a red plastic container. "Grab a cutting board and the bread knife, and then we can have some girl talk."

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

Thursday, November 23, two months after the bombs

"So are we after whoever it was that snatched the genny?" Hawkins asked once it was evident no one from West Kansas Shipping and Freight was giving chase. His tone was maddeningly neutral, though Jake, easing up on the gas so he could glance at his passenger, recognized genuine interest in the other man's expression.

"Nah," Jake said, shaking his head and returning his full attention to the road. "Em'll take it straight back to town. She's with us."

"I see," Hawkins muttered, looking back over his shoulder to check the position of Jimmy's truck, bringing up the rear of their retreating column. As soon as they'd realized what was happening, the men from town had scrambled for their vehicles, eager to get away before Jonah and his men regrouped or just got it into their heads to start shooting. Johnston and Eric were in the lead, and getting farther and farther ahead. Hawkins smirked softly, laughing under his breath. Apparently Jake Green had come by his lead foot honestly, inheriting it from his father. "Thought I'd seen that blond head before," Hawkins added. "This Em, she's a professional car thief?"

Jake grunted, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Hardly. she's a high school teacher," he contradicted with a snort. "English. And, she's Jonah Prowse's daughter." He spared Hawkins a quick glance. "They're not really on speaking terms."

"I see," Hawkins repeated. "Guess that explains why he wouldn't shoot her."

"Let's hope it explains why he's not comin' after us, too," Jake murmured.

Hawkins nodded, checking the road behind them in the side mirror. "Let's," he agreed.

Ten minutes later, Jake turned onto Main Street, allowing a relieved sigh when he spotted the flatbed parked right outside town hall, the generator waiting to be unloaded. His father's truck was behind the flatbed and Johnston and Eric were already at work pulling the ropes off the machine.

"So, what's the plan?" Jake asked a minute later as he and Hawkins climbed up on the truck to help.

"Get it unloaded and running," Johnston answered. Jimmy squealed to a stop, abandoning his truck in the middle of the street, parallel to the flatbed, as he and Bill piled out. Johnston shook his head at them. "Bill! Jimmy! Get over here," he yelled, jumping down off the truck bed. "Mr. Hawkins," Johnston continued, looking up at the other man, "You know something about getting this working?"

"Little bit," Hawkins nodded. "You wanna get power to town hall?"

"That'd be nice," Johnston agreed. "But how 'bout we start with just gettin' some lights up on Main Street?"

"We can do that," Hawkins promised.

"So what do we do with the truck?" Eric asked, coiling a rope around his arm as he came around from behind.

"Jimmy, you and Bill help Mr. Hawkins and Jake with the generator," Johnston ordered. "When it's unloaded take the truck over to the corporation yard, then give the keys to Mrs. Crenshaw," he instructed. "Eric," he continued, "I need you inside."

"Hey," Jake interrupted, "You see where Emily went?"

"She's in - over there," Eric said, jerking his head toward Bailey's Tavern. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Right," Jake acknowledged with a sharp nod. He watched as his father and brother headed inside, and then went to work, letting Hawkins take charge of the operation. The generator quickly drew a crowd, though it was nowhere as big as the mob they'd handled earlier in the day after word of the airdrops had spread through town. Soon there were twelve men working on getting the generator off the truck. Jake moved over next to Hawkins. "There's something I need to go take care of," he explained quietly, and distracted, Hawkins waved him away. "Thanks," Jake muttered.

He spotted Emily, playing pool, her back to the door, as soon as he walked into the bar. She took her shot, shaking her derriere unerringly in his direction. The hair on the back of Jake's neck stood up; he had no doubt that she knew he was there, and that she'd been waiting for him. He took a deep breath and stalked across the twenty feet that separated them.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, skidding to a stop behind her and clenching one hand into a fist.

Emily stood up, arching her back. "That you coulda gotten killed, and that Jonah wouldn't've hurt me," she answered, smiling at him over her shoulder. She took two steps sideways, sliding past Jake, almost but not quite touching him, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

"What?" Jake snarled, taking a half-step back. "What about Mitchell?" he demanded. "He almost shot you. Hell, we almost shot you!" Jake barked at her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"But you didn't, Jake," she replied calmly. "God," she chuckled, leaning on her pool cue, "When we were in high school you woulda been right there with me."

"Well, we're not kids anymore," he retorted through clenched teeth.

She was flirting with him, Jake realized, and he realized that had as much to do with the success high she was on as with any real affection she still felt for him now, more than a decade after their last and final break-up. Jake knew that feeling, the feeling that you were invincible and that world was, for the moment, perfect. He also knew that that feeling was fleeting, and that those who sought it time and again ended up getting themselves killed. For her own good - for his own good - he needed to shut her down.

"Why don't you just say 'good job'?" she demanded softly, frowning at him. She walked around to the other side of the pool table, putting its solid bulk between them, eyeing him warily.

Jake allowed an eloquent growl of frustration. "What?" he snapped, shaking his head. "No!"

One eyebrow cocked, Emily moved back toward Jake, taking slow, catlike steps. Stopping in front of him, she laid one hand on his arm, squeezing his bicep gently. "I know it's what you're thinking."

"You have no idea what I'm thinking," he told her, shaking her hand off his arm. "But, you wanna know what I think about?" Jake continued, taking a deliberate step away from her. "What I was thinking about out there, at Jonah's? I was thinking about my wife, and our kid, and our family. You never even crossed my mind, not until you pulled that stupid stunt," he practically spat out. "I'm not getting myself killed because you're an idiot," Jake informed her, pressing his lips into a grim line. "High school?" he chuckled harshly a second later. "High school was a lifetime ago, Em. What you did was stupid, and you're just lucky it worked."

Something Jake identified as fear flashed across her face and, pouting softly, she objected, "You don't mean that."

"Yeah, I do," he contradicted, shaking his head. "Do you know how what you did today makes me feel?" he asked rhetorically. "It makes me feel sorry for Roger."

"Jake -"

"I'm only here because somebody needed to tell you that what you did was stupid. Now, that should be Roger, but he's not here, so I'll do that much for him." He paused for a long moment, trying to decide whether or not to say anything else. She looked deflated, and he knew that what he was going to say would only wound her more, but he had to be sure she knew where they stood. "I love Heather, and nothing's ever going to change that."

Jake turned on his heel and left the bar.

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

 

Part 10D by Marzee Doats

Different Circumstances: Part 10D of ?
by Marzee Doats

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

Thursday, November 23, two months after the bombs

"It's not fair," Jake heard Heather complain as he slipped in the back door. "I understand the scientific principles at work," she continued, grumbling, "But actually applying it in real life, and cooking something? It's never gonna happen."

Johnston chuckled kindly, easing the oven door closed. "We're gettin' it, darlin', we're gettin' it."

"Besides," Gail reminded, "Cooking's more art than science."

Heather threw her hands up in the air. "Great. Well, that leaves me out."

Jake laughed then, pushing the door closed with his shoulder. The other three all glanced back at him, Heather and his mother both smiling. "Aw, we all know I married you for your peanut butter cookies," he teased, crossing his arms and winking at Heather. "Who cares if you can't cook, you can bake."

"Oh, that's why you married me, huh?" she laughed, skirting the table as she maneuvered her way across the kitchen. She stopped six inches in front of him, her hands clasped over their baby, her expression expectant. "Hey, you," she greeted softly.

"Hey," he returned, pressing himself against Heather, his hands finding their way to her hips. "It's one of the reasons anyway," Jake murmured before kissing her. "In the top twenty." He brought his hands up, cupping the sides of her belly and stroking his thumbs over the soft flannel of her purloined shirt. "So, everything's good?"

"Everything's good," Heather assured, smiling at Jake. "Even if I can't be trusted to cook a chicken by myself," she joked, finding Jake's hand with her own and lacing their fingers together. "But hopefully we got the fire hot enough, and then we'll be able to eat in an hour or two," she explained, leading him toward the oven.

"So, who're we eating?" he asked.

"Jake!" Gail scolded immediately, though the effect was somewhat diminished when Johnston let out a loud guffaw, and Heather giggled. "Well, really," she muttered, looking at each of them.

"Well, you hafta admit, it seems kind of callous to not acknowledge that we're eating ... individuals... with names," Heather shrugged, grinning at Jake. "And, I really am okay with this. I didn't want to watch the - the process," she decided, drawing a snort from Jake. Two months before, Heather wouldn't have even attempted to do anything with chicken that hadn't come boneless and skinless from the store; he had no doubt she'd avoided watching the butchering of two of her flock. "So, thank you for handling that, Dad," she said, glancing at Johnston. "Besides," Heather confessed, "I'm really looking forward to having meat."

"I think we're all lookin' forward to the meat," Johnston declared. "We thought about bathin' them in barbeque sauce, but your mother wouldn't let us," he told Jake, earning himself a harmless smack on the arm. "But I have to admit, Jeff did most of the work. From what he said, he grew up hunting the same way you did. He offered to take care of things, and I didn't see any reason to turn him down."

Jake nodded. "He seemed to know what he was doing when we were out this morning. Said he'd join the border patrol, too."

"I'm just glad someone else did the dirty work," Heather announced, making a face. "And for the record, we're eating Henny-Penny and Pippi," she informed them. "I went with recognizable female names in children's literature. Well, for the hens. The rooster is Rocky."

"So, if you get another rooster out of your chicken breeding project, can I name it Bullwinkle?" Jake teased throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side.

Heather chuckled, grinning up at him. "Sure. It's actually Rocky Balboa, but we can call the next one Bullwinkle."

"You're gonna try your hand at setting eggs, huh?" Johnston asked, scratching his chin.

"Yeah, I think so," she nodded.

"That coop's not near as solid as the one out at the ranch," he reminded. "We should move it to the garage," Johnston decided, nodding to himself. "Hafta find feed, too. Soon as it snows, we can't just leave 'em in the yard and hope they get by."

"I guess - Maybe I should wait 'til spring?" Heather frowned.

Jake, watching Heather's profile, could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she processed his father's input and began to doubt her plan. Johnston cleared his throat. "Darlin' -"

"We brought in all the feed from the ranch," Jake interrupted. "We just need to figure out how to do this."

"Exactly," Gail agreed, patting Heather's arm as she moved around them, crossing to the sink. "It'll work out."

"Jake's right," Johnston nodded. "We'll get it squared away. I think we're all enjoyin' the eggs, and I know we're gonna enjoy these chickens."

"Okay," Heather acknowledged, her frown giving way to a distracted smile. "Guess I really do need to get that pamphlet from the 4-H office," she chuckled, "Then figure out what I'm doing."

Smiling, Gail turned around and made her way back toward them, carrying a half gallon-sized plastic container. She screwed the top on as she walked, handing it to Johnston when she was done. "Shake, please," she requested, shooing Heather and Jake with her free hand. "We've got everything under control," Gail assured. "Jake, get your pregnant wife off her feet."

"I want to help," Heather protested, pursing her lips when her mother-in-law shook her head.

"You've been working all day, you need to take care of yourself," Gail argued. "And no reason you shouldn't have Jake pamper you for a bit," she smiled. "Football's in a half hour, so take a break."

"What am I doing this for?" Johnston grumbled. He stopped shaking the bottle and peered at it, trying to discern the contents through the textured plastic.

"Shake!" Gail insisted, grabbing his wrist and moving his arm up and down in demonstration. "It's powdered milk."

"Powdered milk?" Johnston questioned, distaste curling his upper lip. "What in the world do you need powdered milk for? Be better off just usin' plain water," he muttered.

"I've been trying to figure out something for dessert all week," Gail explained, an impatient note ringing in her tone. "We're having pudding. And, for pudding, I need four and a half cups of milk if there's going to be enough for everyone. I'm not using real milk for that, not when it'll taste just fine made up with the powdered. Keep shaking," she ordered.

"Pudding?" Johnston frowned.

Frustration flared in Gail's eyes, and she planted her hands on her hips, glaring daggers at her husband. "Yes. Pudding. Pistachio for Heather and butterscotch for April," she emphasized, eyebrows raised. "And now if you will just shake that up for me, then you may pick between chocolate and vanilla for the last batch."

"And on that note, we're leaving," Jake announced, tugging on Heather's hand. He knew it was time to beat a hasty retreat, and he hurried her toward the door.

"Well, can't we at least have lemon?" Johnston complained as the door swung closed behind them.

Jake and Heather, both snickering softly to themselves, were careful to avoid making eye contact as they walked through the dining room, Heather leading the way. They only looked at one another as they entered the living room, bursting immediately into laughter. "Promise me we will never argue about how to make pudding," Heather demanded, leaning against Jake's arm, still giggling. "It's pudding!"

"You definitely have a deal," he answered, grinning at her. Heather started toward the couch, but he stopped her, pulling on her hand and cocking his head toward the stairs. "How 'bout we get away from everybody else for awhile?" Jake suggested.

"Okay," she agreed, allowing him to guide her to the staircase. "But football's in a half hour."

"I'll take a half hour," Jake replied, squeezing her hand. They walked upstairs and to their bedroom without saying a word though the glances they exchanged said more than enough. Stepping behind Heather, Jake dropped his hands on her shoulders, steering her through the door and straight to the bed. "One moment," he muttered distractedly, moving around her. Heather watched, bemused, as Jake carefully fluffed three pillows and then reached for her arm, gently forcing her to sit down.

"Two is sufficient," she joked, pulling one of the pillows out from behind her back. "But nice job on the pampering," Heather complimented with a grin.

"Well, I had my orders," he reminded, frowning as he studied her for a moment. "Maybe you should lie down," Jake suggested, taking Heather's hand in order to assist her.

"I'm fine. I'm not tired," she protested. "And believe it or not, I actually can still lie down all on my own when I want to."

"Okay," Jake conceded, holding his hands up in surrender. He walked around the foot of the bed and then sat down on the other side before stretching out along side Heather.

She watched in silence as he scooted closer and began to play with the hem of her shirt. "We've got all of twenty-five minutes before your Mom starts rounding everybody up for football," Heather reminded, running her hand through his hair.

Jake laughed at that. "Get your mind out of the gutter," he grumbled even as he undid the bottom button on her shirt, and then the one above it.

"Don't," Heather practically whined as he separated the ends of her flannel shirt, exposing her pregnant belly to the cool air. The fireplace in the living room, the only constant source of heat in the house, was carefully fed all day and carefully banked at night, but the warmth it gave off certainly didn't penetrate the second floor. They were lucky that the weather had remained mild but that still hadn't kept Heather from feeling an almost constant chill. "Jake, it's cold," she complained, allowing a soft sigh a moment later when he splayed his surprisingly warm hands gently over her tummy. "Okay," she conceded, "Keep doing that."

"What? Keep doing this?" he teased, skimming his hand over the mound of their child. "Or should I keep doing this?" he suggested, circling her belly button with one finger.

"Not that," Heather argued, reaching for his hands and then pressing them down over her stomach. "That," she directed, frowning. "I hate always being not warm," she admitted, her expression turning guilty. "I know that it's not important - we're not freezing, we're not sick, we've got food to eat - but I would really just like to be warm, too."

"No, it's important," Jake assured Heather, smoothing her shirt back into place before re-buttoning it. "Wanna steal a sweatshirt?" he offered, grinning at her, though his eyes betrayed his own frustration with their situation. "We got the generator back, and we've got some extra fuel now," he continued without waiting for her answer. Jake glanced at Heather, releasing an aggravated breath. "If the food turns out to be okay... I don't know," he finally admitted with a shrug.

Their eyes locked then, and they watched one another, recognizing their unspoken fears in each other's gaze. "It's all gonna be okay," Heather declared finally, nodding once, decisively. "Because it has to be, right?" she added, laying a hand over his on her belly.

"It does," Jake agreed, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Heather waited a few seconds and then, after squeezing his hand, removed hers. Jake began to massage her abdomen again, and then she felt him poke her lightly in the side. "He's sleeping," she informed him, chuckling softly.

Jake threw her a grin and then scooted down the bed until he was able to press his lips against the side of her flannel-covered tummy. "Hey you, wake up," he whispered.

"Stop," Heather grumbled, trying not to giggle, but failing. "You get him going like you did yesterday," she complained, "And I'm gonna have bruises on the inside."

"Yesterday you were sayin' 'her'," Jake reminded, drawing a circle around their baby with two fingers.

"Well, I'm expecting either a 'him' or a 'her'," she sighed. "I don't know. Some days I think 'she' and some days I think 'he'. But as long as she's healthy," Heather teased, smiling at Jake, "Who cares?"

Jake returned her smile. "Not me," he agreed, letting his hand still against her belly.

"So, if the offer still stands," she decided, "I think I will steal a sweatshirt."

"The offer still stands," he agreed, sitting up. Jake cupped her chin and kissed her quickly before rolling away and off the bed. He crossed to the dresser and retrieved two zippered sweatshirts, holding both up for her to choose between.

"I'll take the green," she decided, laughing softly. "It matches my shirt, and I have this thing for green," she teased.

He snorted at her, shaking his head. "Babe, we've got twenty minutes 'til football," he reminded, tossing Heather the green sweatshirt. "And, you're puttin' clothes on, not takin' 'em off," he added, dropping the other sweatshirt, a grey one, on the dresser top.

"True," she chuckled, a slight blush tingeing her cheeks. "So, I guess we need a change of subject."

Nodding, Jake moved back to the bed, settling himself next to Heather. "Think I've got one. April's pregnant?" he said, glancing at her sideways. "And, we're talking about it now?" he asked. "I mean, the look Mom gave Dad over the butterscotch pudding? I take it he knows."

Mouth open, she stared at him for a few seconds while she finished zipping up the sweatshirt he'd given her. "You of course figured that out all on your own," Heather muttered, rolling her eyes at him.

"When she's not at work, she's sleeping or crying. The bathroom smells like vomit half the time, and you're not sick anymore, right?" he questioned, reaching for Heather's hand. She nodded. "You and Mom always have some excuse if she has to leave the room," Jake added, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "And, Mom plans meals around April as much as she does around you. That was a big clue," he laughed uncomfortably. "Plus, Mom could literally wring Eric's neck. I'd expect her to be mad, but she's way beyond mad. There had to be more goin' on than the world's absolutely worst-timed divorce."

"She was gonna tell him, only he told her he was in love with Mary Bailey first. Kinda threw a monkey wrench into the works," Heather frowned, exhaling deeply. "April swore us to secrecy while she tried to decide what she was doing. I didn't think that your Dad knew though," she murmured, shaking her head.

"He knows," Jake answered, "Trust me."

"This whole situation is such a mess," Heather grumbled softly. "I'd like to wring Eric's neck, too."

"Yeah," he acknowledged with a sigh. "But I don't think it'd do anything to change his mind. He says he loves Mary."

Heather tensed immediately, withdrawing her hand from Jake's and clenching it into a fist which she ground against her leg. "So he'll throw away a marriage - eight years with April - his family, for that?" she demanded, glaring at Jake. "I think - I think we better change the subject again," she muttered, looking down.

"I'm not Eric," Jake reminded, cupping her cheek with one hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. "We disagree about something, I don't walk away, okay? We work at it 'til we've driven each other crazy," he demanded, recalling the conversation he'd had with April the night after Eric left and the confrontation with Ravenwood. He and Heather had had this discussion already, more than once over the intervening three weeks, but he'd have it as many times as she needed, he decided, silently cursing his brother for the millionth time. "We don't give up," he told her, running the pad of his thumb over her slightly chapped lips. "Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, offering him a watery smile.

"How 'bout that new topic of conversation?" Jake suggested a few seconds later, dropping his hand from her face. He leaned back against the headboard, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer once he felt some of the tension leave her frame. Heather laid her head against his arm and, smiling, Jake pressed a kiss to her temple. "You know, I'm pretty sure you were supposed to tell me what you named my car."

"Actually, the deal was I'd tell you if you didn't go out to Jonah Prowse's," Heather argued, tracing a circle around his heart with the nail of her index finger.

Jake held his breath, waiting for whatever she was going to say next but it never came. Finally, he broke the silence. "I had to go today. We had to get the generator back, there wasn't any choice," he said, massaging her neck.

"I know," she nodded against his arm. "'I got your note. Zack Davis brought it by." Heather tilted her head back, catching his eye. Jake was relieved to realize she wasn't angry, and in fact, she was giggling softly. "He told me he was my 'Z-mail' provider," she laughed, shaking her head. "And, I know you had to go out there," she sighed a moment later. "I just - thank you for letting me know what was happening."

"You're welcome," Jake murmured thickly, brushing a kiss across her forehead. He cleared his throat and asked, chuckling, "'Z-mail'? Zack Davis was never in your class, was he? One of the admiring throng?"

"Nah. I had his little sister my first year. Lindsay. But that's it," she replied. "He's a cutie though. Nice kid." Heather pulled away from him then, twisting slightly in her seat so that she faced Jake sideways, her expression suddenly serious. "I'll admit that it's persnickety of me -"

"Persnickety?" he interrupted, laughing gently, "Not you."

Heather snorted, socking Jake harmlessly on the arm. "Yeah. Me. It's persnickety, but on principle - even though I understand and acknowledge that you had to go out there - I can't tell you. Not when Jonah Prowse could've killed you today," she told him, frowning softly. "Ask me tomorrow, and we'll see."

"Hey. I'm not gettin' myself killed by Jonah or anybody else," Jake promised. He reached for her hand and pressed it to her abdomen, laying his larger hand over hers. "I know what's at stake, babe," he declared, kissing the tip of her nose. "I love you Heather, and when I'm not here I'm still thinkin' about you, and about how to get back here. To you," Jake added a second later, kissing her mouth this time.

"Good," she agreed, pulling back, her eyes suddenly bright. Heather freed her hand from beneath his and quickly wiped her nose and eyes before shifting over so that she ended up in his lap. Jake immediately wrapped his arms around her, holding her against his chest. "I love you, too," she whispered against his neck, her breath tickling him. "And, I want to argue about pudding thirty years from now, if that's what we want to argue about."

Jake groaned. "Anything but pudding," he chuckled, pressing his lips to the sensitive spot just behind her ear. "Please." She giggled in response while he concentrated on tracing her jaw with kisses and, at the same time, snaked his hand up beneath her shirts, letting it rest on the bare skin of her rounded belly.

"Football's in ten minutes," Heather reminded, laughing and twisting away from him to place her own kiss on his jaw.

"Aw, you're no fun," Jake complained jokingly, rubbing circles against her stomach.

"Am too," she teased in return, letting her head fall back against his shoulder.

They sighed in unison, and then laughed at themselves in unison, too. "So, speaking of fun things," Jake began a few seconds later, "Your new friend, Rob, is hooking up the generator to get lights goin' on Main Street."

"I just officially met him," Heather replied. "He's your friend, not mine."

"We're not exactly friends," Jake countered. "And, I don't get to call him 'Rob' like you do," he added, tickling her bellybutton and making her squeal.

She clamped her hand down over the top of his. "Don't you dare!" Heather warned, glaring at Jake. "And, you can call him 'Rob'. He calls you 'Jake'."

"I'm pretty sure I can call him 'Hawkins'," Jake snorted, slowly withdrawing his hand. "But, after football and dinner, if you want, we can bundle you up and walk over, gawk at the pretty lights," he joked, knitting his fingers with hers, "And then you can take a look at the generator and tell 'Rob' everything he did wrong. That's the part that'll be fun for me," Jake added, chuckling softly.

"You want me to grade his generator mobilization skills?" Heather laughed, shaking her head. "What'd he ever do to you?"

Before he could respond though, Gail knocked on the door, calling out, "Jake, Heather! Football!"

"C'mon," Heather murmured, slipping off of Jake's lap. "Time for football."

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

Thursday, November 22, five years before the bombs

"Eric, I am so, so sorry," Heather declared, not for the first time. She trailed Jake and Johnston, carrying Eric between them, into the house. Inside, April directed them into the living room, and Heather followed, hovering, as Jake and Johnston deposited the injured man on the couch. "I am so sorry," she repeated, her expression stricken. Somehow, she ended up with the football, and now she hugged it to her chest, grimacing as she caught sight again of Eric's bleeding nose.

"Head back," April instructed, forcing Eric to sit back. "Pinch your nose there, Ricky," she teased gently, combing his hair off his forehead. "We'll getcha fixed up," she promised, glancing over her shoulder at Johnston and then at Gail who, along with Grandpa Green, had come in behind everyone else. "First aid kit, maybe a couple of towels and some ice?" she suggested. Eric groaned, and April looked down at him, shaking her head. "Maybe you just better lie down."

Johnston headed for the bathroom and Gail for kitchen. Grandpa moved next to Heather and put his arm around her. "He'll be okay, sweetheart," he comforted, shaking her gently. "He's a Green. He's got a hard head."

"I dink by ankle's broken," Eric muttered, gingerly lifting one leg and then the other onto the couch. "Ow."

"Oh God," Heather moaned, dropping the football and covering her mouth with both hands. The ball bounced off of Grandpa's shoe and then rolled to a stop a few feet away. "Eric, I am so sorry," Heather repeated, her words muffled by her fingers. "I didn't see you, and then I turned around and - Oh God."

Jake stepped around April and then the coffee table to join Heather and his grandfather in the middle of the room. He pulled her into a sideways hug, dislodging Grandpa's arm. "You're a bruiser, Lisinski," he joked, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Grandpa glared at him and Jake rolled his eyes in return. "Don't worry. He'll be fine," he assured Heather, pulling her in front of him and then wrapping one arm around her shoulders from behind. "Besides," he reminded, kissing her ear, "Eric tripped over you."

"It was all just an accident," Gail declared, coming through the dining room from the kitchen. April was kneeling now, examining Eric's ankle, and Gail hurried over, offering the towels and ice she'd collected to her daughter-in-law. "Here you go."

"Thanks," April replied distractedly. "Here," she said, handing Eric one of the towels. "Clean up a little so I can take a look. And, your ankle's not broken, just sprained. Guess you're off KP later," she joked, carefully easing his shoe off his foot. "Rest, ice, compression, and elevation, my friend," April informed her husband, glancing up to check his progress. "That's our plan for the rest of the day," she smiled, patting his knee.

"Here's the first aid kit," Johnston announced, re-entering the living room. He carried it to April, continuing, "We've got a coupl'a pairs of crutches out in the garage, if you think we need 'em."

"I am so sorry," Heather groaned, resting her head against Jake's chest, prompting him to tighten his hold on her.

"It was an accident," Gail repeated, helping April wrap Eric's ankle in an ice pack. "Okay, twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off, so, hmmm...." She checked her watch, deciding, "So we'll need to pull it off at three thirty-five."

"Heather, we hardly ever get through a Thanksgiving without some sort of injury," Johnston assured, bending over to retrieve the football off the floor. "Usually, scrapes and bruises," he allowed, tucking the ball beneath his arm before moving to stand next to Jake, "But when he was fourteen, Stanley Richmond went long, ran right into the front of my mother's Cadillac, and broke his leg in two places. Coach Bauer was fit to be tied. Stanley was only a freshman," Johnston explained, offering her a sympathetic smile. "But he was a starter. Team lost out in the first round without Stanley."

Eric's ankle seen to, April had turned her attention to his nose and eye. "That's gonna be one impressive shiner, my friend," she decided, frowning softly. She carefully checked his nose with one hand. "Not broken - again - either, so at least your snoring won't be any worse."

"Ouch," Eric yelped, grabbing April's wrist. He scowled at her, almost pouting. "It still hurts, eben if it's not broken. 'Sides, I dought you lubbed by snoring," he joked weakly, settling back against the couch's arm.

"I love you," April snorted in reply. "And, I wear earplugs so I can coexist with your snoring." She grinned at him, pressing two fingers gently against his lips. "How 'bout some ibuprofen?"

"Danks, doc," Eric sighed.

April sat down on the coffee table and pulled the first aid kit into her lap. She opened it, and found a pill packet which she opened and handed to Eric. "Do you want some water?" she asked, smiling at him gently.

"Nah," he replied, 'I'b good." He shook the tablets out on his hand and then threw them into his mouth, swallowing them dry.

"Okay," April acknowledged, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "I didn't actually see it," she admitted a moment later, looking over her shoulder at Heather. "What happened?"

"I didn't see him," she began, pulling out of Jake's embrace and taking two steps toward coffee table and couch. "I didn't see you, Eric," Heather squeaked, grimacing softly. "Gramps said if he or Jake got the ball to me, I should run for our end zone. I got the ball, and I turned around, and I didn't know you were there until -" She cringed, covering her face again. Jake moved behind her, dropping both hands on her shoulders. He began to massage her neck with his thumbs and Heather leaned back into his touch, sighing. "I'm sorry."

"Here, honey. This'll help, too," Gail said, passing a second towel-wrapped ice pack to her son.

He placed it diagonally over both his injured eye and nose, grunting at the initial sting. "It's okay," he muttered. "I'll - I'll lib." April leaned over Eric and adjusted the placement of the ice pack before stroking his forehead. He smiled at her and let out a deep sigh. "I was trying to tag you out, Header," he explained, holding the ice pack to his face so he could turn his head and look at her with his good eye. "You just got be first. I just - I dought you said you didn't know how to play football."

"This was my first time," Heather confirmed. "My family's into hockey more than football."

"Hockey?" all the Greens except for Jake repeated in surprise. "Like Wayne Gretzky hockey?" Grandpa asked, a smile twitching his lips. "Well, that explains the black eye and the bloody nose."

Heather giggled self-consciously. "Yeah. That's what we play on Thanksgiving. And Christmas, New Year's, Fourth of July, even, sometimes. Street hockey if there isn't too much snow or it's not too cold. Or we can always head to my Uncle Burt's ice rink. My brothers all went to college on partial hockey scholarships, and John's was full ride," she told them, looking between Grandpa and Eric. "Plus I was varsity field hockey in high school. We all get out on the ice. My Dad too, couple other uncles and some cousins," Heather continued becoming more and more animated. "My sister-in-law, Kerry, plays. She was on the same pee-wee team as John when they were eight," she told April and Gail. "Hated each other then, but fifteen years later they were dating, and they got married last September. We have a good time."

"You know this, Dad?" Johnston chuckled. "Seems you picked a ringer."

"I guessed," Grandpa laughed in reply, winking at Heather.

"Please tell me you injure each udder and I'm not just a wimp," Eric groaned, lifting the ice pack off his eye for a moment to peek at her.

"Scrapes and bruises, mostly," she answered, wrinkling her nose. "Sometimes a little ice burn. Though, last year, actually, someone did end up needing stitches," Heather admitted, looking up at Jake. "New Year's Day morning after game, not Thanksgiving. Seven AM at the ice rink. My nieces and nephew come in their PJs to cheer us on, and then we all head back to my parents' for this massive brunch."

"Who in the world gets up to play hockey at seven in the morning ever, let alone on New Year's Day?" Jake complained, shaking his head.

"Fanatics," Heather giggled softly. "We're fanatics. Besides, my uncle opens the rink to the public by ten, so we have to go early. Or he did, anyway," she shrugged.

Not saying anything, Jake pulled Heather into a quick hug, kissing her temple. Gail exchanged a smile with April and then forced herself to stand up. "Well, Doctor Green, I assume our patient's going to live?" she joked, throwing Eric a fond look.

"Yeah, he's gonna make it," April agreed, perching herself on the edge of the couch next to Eric. She lifted the ice pack off his eye and nose, clucking sympathetically. "Poor baby."

"I need some help in the kitchen," Gail announced, looking at her husband expectantly. "Johnston, the turkey needs to be carved. And, Dad, you can taste test the mashed potatoes for me."

Grandpa grinned. "I suppose if I must."

"Can we help?" Heather asked, holding up Jake's hand to include him in her offer.

Gail shook her head. "No, but thank you, sweetheart," she smiled, linking arms with Johnston. They started toward the kitchen, Grandpa following a few steps behind. "Dinner's in a half hour," she advised, looking back over her shoulder.

Jake waited until the door had swung closed behind his parents and grandfather before he tugged on Heather's hand, cocking his head in the direction of the staircase. "C'mon."

"Oooh! Gonna sneak Heather upstairs, huh, Jake?" April teased. She pulled the coffee table closer and dropped a throw pillow on top of it before helping Eric prop his injured ankle. "Scoot over."

"Uh-oh," Eric said, dislodging his ice pack as he adjusted his seat. "Bake sure you leeb de door open," he joked. "An' one foot on de floor - each - at all tibes."

"Yeah, we'll be sure to do that," Jake muttered, rolling his eyes.

"You think we're kidding," April snorted, allowing Eric to draw her back into his arms.

"Seriously, Jake," Eric began. "Last Chrisbus, April fell asleep up in by old room -"

"I'd worked a thirty-six hour shift, and then added Gramps' eggnog on top of that," she interrupted, giggling. "I never even made it to dinner. Finally woke up at three AM and snuck downstairs for something to eat. Your Dad was already there, and he made me a plate of ham and scalloped potatoes," April recalled. "Made me drink three or four glasses of water, too. Said he had a lot more experience with Gramps' eggnog than me," she chuckled. "It was sweet."

"Yeah, well, when you fell asleep and I didn't wanna wake you, Bom said I had to go back to my place for de night," Eric grumbled.

"Sorry," April chuckled, kissing him softly.

"She gabe be dis whole speech about how she couldn' hab April and be stayin' togedder, unbarried, in the same bedroom obernight, dat it wouldn't be proper," Eric told them, shaking his head. "So, unless you two got barried yesterday, don't say I didn't warn you," he grunted. "It'd be really e'barrassing to hab Bom bust in on you awake."

"She can't be any worse than Gramps," Jake muttered. "I'll think we'll risk it?" he decided, throwing Heather a questioning look.

"Oooh la la," April teased, grinning from ear to ear. "What'd he catch you two up to?" she demanded. Heather's immediate blush was all the answer she needed. "Oh, man," she giggled, snuggling back into Eric embrace and shaking her head.

"Okay," Heather answered Jake, smiling at him softly. "Eric," she added, looking back as Jake started to drag her toward the stairs, "I'm really, really sorry."

"Don' worry," he returned. "De ice and de drugs are helping."

"Well, you may want to stop talking 'til the swelling goes down some," Jake suggested, stopping in the archway to glance back at his brother. "Right now you sound like a cartoon character."

"Yeah, better put this back on, Ricky," April agreed, replacing the ice pack Eric had removed from his eye and his nose. "Sorry I can't kiss it and make it all better," she joked quietly, pressing her lips to his cheek.

"C'mon," Jake grinned at Heather, leading her up the stairs and then across the hall. Stopping in front of the door, he turned around and pulled her against him, kissing her gently.

"So," she murmured, snaking her arms around his waist, "Jake's old bedroom."

"Yeah," he nodded, reaching behind him to turn the door knob. He took a step backwards into the room, drawing Heather with him. "We can check out the baseball trophies and, believe it or not, the junior rodeo belt buckles. I'm pretty sure they're around here somewhere."

"The junior rodeo gives out belt buckles?" she giggled.

"Yeah," Jake snorted. "It's the rodeo." He stepped around her to close the door, leaving it open just a crack. "So, where do you wanna start?"

Heather surveyed the room. "That's the famous window with the tree and the sticker bush?" she asked, pointing across the room.

"Uh-huh," he agreed stepping behind her and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Baseball trophies are over here," he explained, steering her to the dresser.

There were nearly a dozen trophies lined up on the bureau top, all recently dusted, Heather realized. Gail Green obviously kept the room in order, a commemoration of her son's childhood. She picked up a trophy at random, reading, "'Western Fillmore County Little League - AAA Baseball Champions - 1983 - The Angels'." Heather chuckled, glancing sideways at Jake. "So you were an Angel, huh?"

"Two years, and don't laugh," he confirmed, smiling at her. "I was also a Giant, a Cub, and a Twin. Ironically, Eric was an Angel, a Giant and a Cub, and gave up baseball just before I went onto the Twins," Jake shrugged. "And, then in high school of course, I was a Jericho Raider. Pitcher. All four years on varsity," he told her, a note of pride in his voice.

"Very cool," Heather acknowledged, laying her head against his shoulder, prompting Jake to kiss her. "This is cute," she said a moment later, reaching for a picture that was wedged into the corner of the mirror. "May I?" she requested, looking back at him.

Jake nodded. "Sure," he murmured, pressing himself against her back and gathering her hair up in one hand, lifting it off her neck. "High school graduation," he explained unnecessarily, kissing her below the ear. With one eye, he watched Heather work loose the photo of Eric, Stanley and himself in their caps and gowns. Nipping at her earlobe, Jake saw a second picture fall out from behind the first and flutter to the dresser top. In an instant, he recognized it and, sucking a deep breath in through his teeth, Jake stretched past Heather, picking it up before she could really see it.

"Hey, what was that?" she asked, reaching for the photo, but he held it away from her. "Oooh! Embarrassing picture?" she laughed, trying again to get it from him.

"You don't want to see that one," Jake argued. "It's not important, just a stupid high school picture," he told her, folding it in half and shoving it into his back pocket.

"What's wrong? Bad haircut? Please tell me you did not have a mullet," Heather teased, giggling and turning around in his arms. "Or, are you wearing baggy jeans, or - worse - those pants where the legs rubbed together and made the 'sh-sh-sh' sound when you walked?"

"Eric had a mullet, not me," Jake returned, rolling his eyes. "Plus I think he lived in wind pants for some reason. And you know, April witnessed all that, and still she married him," he chuckled.

"Well that just proves that love really is blind," she joked, tilting her head up to invite his kiss.

Smiling, Jake brushed his mouth across Heather's. "That it does," he agreed, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He took a deep breath, beginning, "Babe. Heather -"

"But I still want to see what's so embarrassing about this picture," she interrupted, reaching around Jake, fumbling to pull the wrinkled photograph out of his pocket. Heather spun away from him then, banging into the dresser. "Whoops, sorry," she giggled, putting her free hand down to steady herself. She unfolded the picture and looked at it. "Oh."

"Yeah," Jake acknowledged. "I - I didn't know that was there. I'm sorry," he muttered, looking over her shoulder at the photo of himself with Emily Sullivan. "I - I've always stayed in this room when I was home, visiting. I stayed here when I first got back to Jericho, and then after I got out of the hospital, before I moved out to the ranch. But it's pretty much the way I left it when I - when I went to school." Jake forced Heather to turn around and face him, flashing her an uncomfortable smile. "I really had no idea this was here," he sighed, taking the picture from her hand and crushing it into a ball.

"Jake," Heather protested, grabbing his hand. "You - you don't have to do that. I'm well aware that you and Emily Sullivan used to be a - a thing," she decided, unconsciously making a face. "Your mother has pictures of you and Emily in her albums, and I don't think she's gonna get rid of 'em just because you and I - we're together. You don't have to get rid of this either," she told him, trying to smooth the photograph out.

"I don't want it," he retorted, his expression turning annoyed. "I woulda gotten rid of it a long time ago if I'd known it was there. I don't need or want any reminders about - about that." Shaking his head, Jake took the picture back from Heather and studied it for a moment. Emily was sitting in his lap, and he had his arms around her, his chin resting on her shoulder. They were both grinning at the camera. He offered Heather a tight smile. "Senior picnic out at Bass Lake, two days before graduation. Not our picnic spot," Jake assured her quickly. "Completely on the other side of the lake. And for the record, we broke up two days after graduation," he offered, expelling a short breath. "Then we broke up three weeks after graduation, followed by a week before I left for school, and then, for good, really, halfway through my Christmas break." He threw the photo down on the dresser and reached for both of Heather's hands, gripping them tightly. "Do you kinda get the picture that it was inevitable?"

Heather nodded, squeezing Jake's hands in return. "Yeah, I do," she agreed, smiling at him weakly. They stared at one another for a long moment before she finally let out a deep sigh, and continued. "Look, I know you didn't spring up, full grown, just in time to meet me," she laughed a little nervously. "You played baseball and went to the junior rodeo, and to the prom and to college. You did all of these other things that made you into the guy in a suit who stopped to help me change a tire. That includes dating Emily," Heather shrugged. She tugged on his hand, leading him over to the foot of the bed where she sat down. Jake stared at her for a few seconds and then joined her, sitting so that their legs were pressed together. "You're not dating her now, so I think I win here."

Jake cupped her head with both hands and brought his mouth down upon hers, hard. "I think I'm the winner here," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers moments later. Heather, I - you're the one I want to be with," he told her, chickening out at the last second. He'd been trying to work up the courage to tell her how he felt about her, that he loved her, for the past three days. He'd almost managed it a few minutes before, but then she'd grabbed the picture out of his back pocket, completely derailing him. "You're - You're the only one I want to be with," he stammered, kissing her again, the words he truly wanted to say catching and then dying in his throat.

She smiled at him like he'd given her a long-desired gift. "You're the only one I want to be with, too," Heather declared softly, finding his hand again and lacing their fingers together. She opened her mouth, intending to continue, but then closed it without saying anything, instead leaning into him, pressing her mouth to his. Drawing back a few seconds later, Heather expelled a quick breath, her expression suddenly serious. "At the New Year's hockey game last year, the person who needed stitches?" she began again, her eyebrow rising in question.

"Yeah," Jake acknowledged, tightening his grip on her hand, his sixth sense telling him there was something about this he wasn't going to like.

"Mark Metzger," she informed him, pressing her lips together into a thin line. "I usually do New Year's in my pajamas in front of the TV with my parents and Dick Clark, maybe Mikey. But, we went to a party, 'cause that's what you do for New Year's, right?" Heather shrugged. "But I was still home by a quarter to one. I invited him to come to the game. He hadn't played in a few years, but it wasn't like he'd never been on skates before."

"No, that'd be me," Jake chuckled somewhat derisively. "Heather, you don't -"

"Hold on," she ordered, laying one finger against his lips, smiling at him softly. "There is a point to all this. Maybe," she giggled. "Okay, so if Jess or Kerry or I play with the guys, my Dad and Uncle Burt always disallow body checking along with anything else that's dangerous. It's not like anyone really suits up for the family games, anyway, so it makes sense. My brothers will tell you it makes the game boring, but those are the rules. That day though, I don't know, about halfway through the game, Mikey rammed Mark into the boards," Heather said, frowning. "I still have no idea why. And, Mark cut his head open."

"Well, seeing how he turned out to be a world class -" Jake broke off, noting the way Heather's expression had clouded over. "Can I at least say that I think I like your little brother?"

A hint of a smile touched Heather's lips, reversing her frown. "Sure," she agreed. "But I was mad at him. It was embarrassing. I have no idea why he did it, not that it matters anymore, I guess. I had to take Mark to the emergency room. Eight-thirty in the morning on New Year's Day is not a good time for that, trust me," she grumbled. "And, as for my point, well, sometimes Emily is gonna come up in conversation, and I'm okay with that. Sometimes Mark is gonna come up in conversation -"

"Well, I'm not okay with that at all," Jake interrupted, obviously over-reacting for her benefit. "Not unless I get to call him your prick ex-boyfriend."

Shaking her head, Heather smiled at him, bringing her hand up to cup the side of his face. "You might want to say 'jerk' if your Mom's around or she'll wash your mouth out with soap," she predicted, eliciting a concessionary nod and laugh from Jake. "I'm with you," she told him, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "And I trust that, Jake. I believe you when say that you want to be with me. It's a ten year old picture," she shrugged, allowing her hand to fall back into her lap. "It can't hurt me, okay?"

"Okay," Jake agreed, letting out a long breath. "You know, Mom always had a pretty strict 'no girls upstairs' rule," he grinned then, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger.

"Apparently still does," Heather teased, brushing her mouth over his.

Jake laughed. "It sure sounds like it," he acknowledged, wrapping his arms around her, trying to drag her onto his lap.

Heather resisted though, instead lying back on the bed, propping herself on her elbows. She caught Jake's eye, and blushing prettily, told him, "For the record, I was never once in a boy's bedroom during high school. You probably guessed that," she sighed, her nose wrinkling. Jake nodded and, taking a deep breath, lay back himself, turning on his side to face her. "I did end up in a coupl'a classmates' dorm rooms in college," Heather admitted, scooting toward him. "But only on a platonic basis. Which I guess means," she informed him, reaching for his hand, "That I maybe have some lost time to make up for?"

With a groan, Jake rolled halfway on top of Heather, covering her mouth with his. He swept his tongue along the seam of her lips, demanding entrance, which she immediately granted. Within moments, he'd inserted his leg between hers, wedging his hands beneath her, cupping her buttocks, vainly trying to draw her closer. While their mouths continued to mate, Heather's hands began to roam too, up and down his back until finally she found her way underneath his t-shirt, pressing her palms against the bare skin at his waist. The sensation of her flesh against his drew another groan from Jake and he lifted himself up just enough so that he could yank her blouse free from her jeans.

"Babe," he croaked out, his eyes locking with her own passion-filled gaze. "God, what you do to me," Jake muttered, resting his hand on her stomach before he again lay over her, trapping his own hand between them, as he returned his attention to her lips.

"What you do to me," Heather breathed into his mouth, while her hand clutched at his head, her fingers tangling in his hair. "No one - no one ever has," she confessed, her voice shaking as he kissed his way along her jaw.

It was then that they heard the distinctive noise of Grandpa Green stomping his way up the stairs. They pulled immediately apart, Heather's blush darkening by at least three shades, though certainly, Jake realized looking at her, there was already ample evidence of what they had been doing. One glance in the mirror confirmed that his hair was just as messy as hers, his clothing just as rumpled. With nothing else to do, Jake cupped her chin and kissed her softly. "It'll be okay," he promised her.

Grandpa knocked perfunctorily on the door, sticking his head in two seconds later. Jake and Heather were sitting on the end of the bed, his arm around her, watching one another. Grandpa let his gaze sweep over them, recognizing immediately what they'd been up to. He shook his head, offering them a thin, not entirely approving smile. "You'll wanna wash up now," he instructed. "And then it is requested that you set the table."

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

Thursday, November 23, two months after the bombs

Jake and Heather were the last members of family to report to the living room for football, walking downstairs together, his hand resting against the small of her back. At the foot of the staircase, they ran into Gail, who forced her son to stop, grabbing his arm. Heather proceeded into the living room, throwing Jake a distracted smile over her shoulder.

"Ready to rumble, Dad?" she teased Johnston, who was sitting in a club chair, retying his shoes.

He looked up from his task, offering her a gentle smile. "As ever," Johnston agreed. "Too bad you're not playing this year. You and I could teach these young whippersnappers a thing or two," he joked, winking at her before nodding at Michael and Jeff, sprawled out on the couch with April.

"Well, April and I are going to incubate and cheer," Heather joked in return. "And in a couple of years, we'll have the next generation out there, playing with the rest of us."

"You're not playing?" Jeff asked April, sitting forward on the couch.

She glanced between him and Michael. "No, this year I'm just gonna cheer." April crossed her arms over her chest, taking a deep breath. "Like Heather said, we're incubating," she chuckled nervously. "I'm - I'm pregnant, actually. Nine, almost ten weeks."

"Seriously?" Michael demanded, obviously surprised. "April - congratulations!" he grinned at her. "I - I get to be an uncle. Twice," he realized, pulling her into a sideways, one-armed hug.

"You do," April agreed, her smile relieved. "I mean that's the deal. I get to share Heather's brothers, and she gets to share my sisters," she reminded, exchanging grins with her sister-in-law. "I love my sisters, but I've always thought I got the better end of that deal," April joked. "You get to be an uncle too, Jeff," she said, turning to face him. "If you'd like. I think this baby is going to need all the uncles she can get."

Jeff nodded. "Sure. I can - I can do that."

Across the room, Johnston grunted. April glanced over at him, meeting her father-in-law's gaze. His smile was grim, but she recognized the concern and affection in his eyes. She'd been dreading telling him - for real - that she was pregnant and that he was going to be a grandfather not once, but twice over, and so she'd been relieved when Gail had pulled her aside earlier in the day and informed her that Johnston now knew. April loved her father-in-law dearly, and she'd chafed under what she knew was his disappointment over the failure of her marriage. "Seems we're gonna have babies comin' out our ears around here soon," he chuckled softly. "Or at least that I'm gonna have one for each arm."

"Something tells me you're still going to be fighting 'Grandma', 'Grandpa'," Heather joked, looking back and forth between Johnston and the three on the couch. "Even with two to share."

"No doubt," Johnston nodded, allowing a quiet sigh.

Heather took a deep breath, and then asked, "So, how's Drake? Did you ... ?"

"Sleeping," April confirmed. "Like a baby, speaking of babies," she laughed somewhat uneasily. "But it was easier to convince him than I expected. I let Mikey and Jeff do most of the talking," she admitted, shrugging. "I just gave him the ProSom after he agreed to take something."

"We were ready to hold him down and force it down his throat," Michael muttered, shaking his head. "But I think he's going to be okay."

"We'll just have to make sure he is," Johnston said, clearing his throat.

Jake had been about to follow Heather into the living room when his mother had grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Hey, listen," she'd murmured, handing him the football, undoubtedly the same one they'd used for the annual Thanksgiving game since his childhood. "Your father's not a hundred percent, so no roughing the passer."

Distracted by the conversation going on in the other room, he'd stared at her, unblinking for a few seconds before he'd finally asked, "Are you kidding?"

"What?" Gail had returned, frowning at Jake.

"All of it," Jake had complained then, allowing some of his constant sense of dread and frustration to surface, if just for a moment. "I mean the football, the Thanksgiving dinner. I mean -"

"What about it?" she'd interrupted, staring at Jake as he fidgeted with the football, tossing it back and forth between his two hands.

"We're just holding onto these - these traditions like nothing happened out there?" he'd questioned, anxiety lending a harsh note to his tone.

Gail had squeezed his arm then, her eyes full of understanding. "We're holding onto these traditions because of what happened out there," she'd corrected. Glancing into the living room, she'd cocked her head toward Heather, who was nodding along in agreement with what Johnston was saying. "Besides," Gail had concluded, "We still have things to celebrate, Jake. Things we can be thankful for. We really do."

"Okay, let's get this show on the road," Heather declared, clapping her hands together. "Everybody up."

From his spot sprawled out on the couch, Michael rolled his eyes at his older sister and complained, "You know, we're not third graders."

"The sooner we play football, the sooner we get to eat," she reminded.

"And there's pudding for dessert," Johnston added, forcing himself up and out of his chair. The front door creaked open then, and Eric slipped into the house. "Oh! Son!" Johnston greeted, apparently the only person not surprised by Eric's sudden appearance. "Good to see you made it."

Jake tossed the football, under handed, to his brother. "Yeah," Eric muttered, taking a tentative step into the house. "I'm not staying." With that, he returned the ball to Jake, before glancing over the group now assembled in the archway between the living room and the entry. He did not make eye contact. Finally, quietly, he asked, "I was wondering if I could talk to April."

April, standing between Jeff and Michael, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, couldn't quite manage to hide her shock at his request. Gail and Heather both studied her for a few seconds, and then glanced at each other, exchanging troubled looks. "Sure," Gail answered, her tone and expression guarded, beating out Heather's 'no' by a split second. April blanched, pressing her lips into a thin, hard line.

With no other choice open to her, Heather hugged April quickly before following her brother out of the living room. Eric stopped Michael, offering him his hand. "Mike, I - It's great you're here," he muttered, shaking the younger man's hand once.

"Eric," Michael acknowledged with a neutral nod.

Heather stepped past Eric, giving him a wide berth and glaring at him. Jake, holding the door open for everyone, reached for her hand, catching his brother's eye for just a moment over the top of her head, flashing him a vaguely sympathetic smile. They exited the house, and Jake pulled the door closed behind them. April and Eric faced one another across the five feet that now separated them, alone for the first time in three weeks.

"So," she began, wrapping her scarf around her neck in order to distract herself. "It's over," April declared, a hint of a sob catching in her throat.

"Yeah," Eric agreed, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. She stared at him, biting her lip, looking very much like she was about to cry. He closed his eyes, for a second, against the sight. "When were you planning on telling me about the baby?" he demanded quietly, looking down at his shoes.

Hugging herself tightly, April stared at her husband for a long moment, not speaking. "When I knew it wouldn't affect your decision," she told him finally, clearing her throat. "I didn't want you to stay with me because of the baby, Eric," she said, her voice cracking.

"Well," he snapped in return, "I think we're the only two people who agree on that."

Her lips trembling, April fought to get her emotions under control, her expression sour. "Great," she ground out eventually, staring at Eric, her eyes suddenly bright. "Why did you come here?"

Eric took a breath. "I came here to tell you I'm sorry for what I did," he muttered. "But I can't live a lie anymore," he added, his voice rising.

"Well, no of course not," she agreed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "We wouldn't want you living a lie," April chuckled derisively, shaking her head. "Though, I have to admit that the one thing I never expected from my straight-laced, politician husband is that he'd ever cheat on me. You were gonna run for mayor," she reminded. "And in a few years, you'd've probably moved on to the state legislature or the county board of supervisors," April predicted, pressing her fist to her mouth. "Hell, I was half expecting you to run for Congress in ten or fifteen years. I would've supported you in all of that, Eric, because it was important to you." She paused for a moment to study him, and then gasped suddenly. "God," she realized, her eyes widening, "You never would have done this if it hadn't been for the bombs. I mean, what were you gonna do? Campaign with your barmaid mistress at your side?"

"She - She's a business - a small business owner," Eric contradicted, sputtering.

"She knows how to mix drinks, and she inherited the bar from her father," April countered. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, and she forced a bitter smile. "Does she know?"

Eric sucked a breath in through his teeth, his expression hardening. "I'll do whatever it takes to take care of that baby," he said. "I want you to know that."

A sob escaped April then, and she demanded, "Why should I believe you?"

"You don't have to believe me," Eric grumbled. "I'll just be there."

They stared at one another for a few seconds before he looked away and then started to back up, turning toward the door. "Eric," April said loudly, following him into the entry.

He stopped just as his hand touched the doorknob, taking a deep breath before rotating around to face her. "What?" he groaned, closing his eyes for a moment.

"This baby - my child," she emphasized, folding her hands tightly together over her still flat abdomen, "Is going to be raised here, in this house, surrounded by her family. And, if you want to go play house with Mary Bailey, well, no one's stoppin' you. But do not think I will allow you to make my child a part of that."

Eric turned without responding, yanking the door open and stumbling out onto the porch. Heather was sitting on the middle step, her back to him, watching the always loosely organized annual Green family Thanksgiving football game. At the sound of the door, she turned around, using the handrail to pull herself to her feet. They faced one another, the perpetual scowl that Heather now wore whenever Eric was around firmly in place. "Heather," he began tiredly, "Just - not now - don't -"

"Just you don't, Eric," she barked in return, shoving past him. He watched her as she opened the front door and then slammed it closed behind her.

"Wonderful," he mumbled to himself, scrubbing a hand over his face, trying to clear his spinning head. On the lawn, the football game had come to a stop and the five participants stood around in a knot, watching him. Gritting his teeth, Eric moved off the porch, surprised when Jake tossed the ball in his direction. More by luck than anything, he caught it, handing it back to his brother when Jake jogged over to join him. "Did you know that April's pregnant?" Eric asked.

Jake nodded. "Yeah," he agreed, his lips pressed tightly together.

"And you didn't tell me," Eric complained angrily. "How long?"

"How long have I known?" Jake asked rhetorically, juggling the football between his two hands. "Just about as long as I knew you were sleeping with Mary Bailey and didn't tell April. That almost makes you two even."

Frowning, Eric shook his head. "See you later, Jake."

"Later," Jake acknowledged, watching his brother as he stalked down the walk. Sighing, he ambled back across the lawn to where his parents stood with Michael and Jeff. "So are we playing?" he asked.

"Hey!" they heard Heather shout. They all turned to see her walk down the porch steps with April. "We're ready for some football," she joked, drawing a shaky smile from April.

Johnston wrapped an arm around Gail, calling back for the group, "We're playing."

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

Part 10E by Marzee Doats

Different Circumstances: Part 10E of ?
by Marzee Doats

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

Thursday, November 23, two months after the bombs

"Pull," Johnston ordered unnecessarily, tugging on his end of the dining room table. Jake yanked from the other side and the table separated with a moaning creak. They dragged the ends apart, exposing three feet of wooden crossbars and air.

"Really think we only need the one leaf?" Jake asked as he helped his father retrieve the insert from where they'd left it against the wall. "We've got nine for dinner, right? That's four on one side."

"April says Drake's out for the night at least," Johnston reminded as they dropped the leaf into place. "We've only got eight, so three on each side. There's plenty of room."

Jake walked around to his end of the table and waited for Johnston to do the same. "It's nine, if Kenchy comes," he argued as they pushed the table back together. "Kenchy, Mike and Jeff. You and Mom. Heather and me. April."

"And that's eight," Johnston reminded holding up five fingers on one hand and three on the other.

"Right," Jake muttered. "I think I was counting Eric still," he admitted a few seconds later, frowning, as he and his father each moved around to the sides of the table, reaching underneath to lock the leaf into place.

"Yeah," Johnston acknowledged, grumbling. "Did you know about all this?" he asked a moment later, staring at his son across the table. "Eric and Mary?" He shook his head, adding immediately, "You don't have to answer that."

"I knew a little," Jake admitted with a grimace, drumming his fingers somewhat nervously on the bare wood of his mother's antique table.

Johnston swallowed hard, stepping over to the buffet to retrieve the tablecloth that Gail had put out. Unfolding it once, he handed one end to Jake, over the table. "Think it'll work out?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

Together they unfolded the tablecloth, laying it over the dining table. "He says she makes him happy," Jake shrugged, eyes down as he concentrated on pulling the sides even. He was pretty sure that wasn't the answer his father was looking for.

"You mother says they were having - having fertility issues," Johnston said next, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle out of the tablecloth. "They were trying, but April couldn't get pregnant."

"That's what Heather says, too," Jake confirmed, not bothering to mention the other problems Heather both knew and suspected had existed between Eric and April.

"April used to make Eric happy," Johnston argued, more to himself than to his son. Jake could tell from his father's expression that Johnston was thinking out loud as much as anything, trying to come to grips with what had gone wrong right under his nose. "They were still happy enough together for her to get pregnant," he continued, "Even though they - they thought she couldn't. And, what about when Mary doesn't make him happy," he complained, finally making eye contact with his son. Jake recognized the disappointment, sorrow and - most telling - the sense of failure in Johnston's expression. "Is he gonna leave her, too?"

"Dad, it's not your problem," Jake protested dully, well aware that there was nothing he could say that would make Johnston Green feel better about what had happened. Like the rest of them, he was simply going to have to work through it all on his own, and at his own pace.

"I know, I know," Johnston dismissed, staring past Jake. He shook his head as if to clear it, and then moved back to the buffet to pick up a stack of dinner plates. Taking his cue from his father, Jake grabbed forks and knives - the good silver, he noted - and began to follow behind Johnston as he worked his way around the table. "It's just," Johnston began again, clearing his throat, "My one goal when I was raising you boys was that even when things got tough, you made the right choices. I don't - How does any man leave his pregnant wife and then look himself in the mirror each morning?"

"I dunno that Eric's looked at himself since he found out," Jake reminded, sighing. "And, I don't think April'd take him back even if he changed his mind."

Johnston nodded in acknowledgment, the set of his jaw betraying the conflict that rested heavy on his mind and in his heart. "Shoulda put the napkins down first," he muttered, returning to the buffet and picking up the stack of cloth napkins Gail had laid out earlier. He waved them at Jake as he moved back to the table. "Here," Johnston said, handing his son half of the stack before picking up a knife, putting a napkin down, and then laying the knife on top of it.

"How's things with you?" he asked quietly a moment later, moving onto the next place setting. Johnston looked back over his shoulder at the kitchen door. April had gone upstairs after the football game, saying she wanted to lay down for a bit, though they'd all rightly suspected that, more than anything, she needed a few minutes to herself after her conversation with Eric. Gail and Heather, however, were in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner. "You and Heather?" Johnston clarified gruffly. "I know you two were, uh..." He trailed off, looking up at his son, his expression grim.

Jake snorted. "Well, I'm sure you've always thought - between me and Eric - if one of us was gonna get divorced -"

"I didn't say that," Johnston interrupted, annoyed. "And I never thought it either. I just - I just won't stand by and watch -" He stopped, shaking his head. "It's probably too late for Eric and April. I don't want it to ever get too late for you and Heather, that's all."

"It's not going to," Jake argued, putting his last knife back into place. "We had a fight," he admitted, frowning, "But that's all it was, Dad. Just a fight. We're - we're fine. I love Heather," he declared, smiling softly as he added, "She makes me happy."

Johnston exhaled deeply, some of the worry leaving his expression. "Good," he affirmed.

The door from the kitchen swung open and Gail, followed by Heather and Jeff, entered the dining room, each carrying a dish which Gail directed them to leave on the buffet. "You two didn't have to do all that," she said, surveying the set table. She moved next to Johnston, wrapping one arm around his waist. "I just wanted you to add the leaf, but thank you."

"You're welcome," Johnston answered, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. He kissed the top of her head, adding, "Happy to do it."

"Well," Gail began, "You saved Heather and me some work, so thank you." There was a knock on the front door then, and she craned her neck, glancing toward it. "That must be Kenchy," she predicted.

"I'll get it," Jeff offered, already heading into the hallway.

* * * * *

Emily Sullivan turned her car onto Chestnut and then drove the one and a half blocks to the Green house, parking at the curb out front. These days, with her SUV still abandoned somewhere between Jericho and Wichita and Roger's car fried by the EMP, she was driving her little brother's two-door hardtop 1973 Toyota Land Cruiser. It had seen better days, but at least it still ran, and for that she was grateful.

Her father had been nearly fifteen thousand dollars in arrears on his child support when Chris had turned eighteen and their mother had finally given up on ever collecting; Jonah hadn't seen any reason to pay after his ex-wife's disastrously short second marriage to Dwight Sullivan. Dwight, a mechanic from Fielding, was a kind and unassuming man who'd truly loved his wife and stepchildren, but he'd been no match for the fury Jonah Prowse had directed at him, and the marriage had only lasted a little over a year. But while Jonah didn't pay his child support, he'd still always been good for over the top gifts that had left Carol Sullivan fuming and muttering under her breath about health insurance and orthodontist bills and the cost of shoes and new winter jackets.

Jonah had given Chris the Land Cruiser for his sixteenth birthday. For her birthday, Emily had received a 1989 Cabriolet - her choice - which was long since gone, driven into the ground, but Chris had still been driving the Land Cruiser when he'd been killed. Emily had taken it, storing it in the garage at the small house she'd inherited from her mother. Roger had told her she was crazy when she'd insisted on keeping it after they'd purchased their own house in The Pines, but they'd had a three-car garage, and he'd thrown a cover over it and had promptly begun ignoring what he'd thought of as just another item in Emily's sentimental collection of artifacts from her life in Jericho.

A knock on her window startled her. Emily yanked the keys from the ignition, and looked up recognizing her drinking partner from her non-wedding day. She popped the door and he stepped back, pulling it open with a flourish. "Hey," she greeted.

"Hello. If it isn't my favorite Jericho blond," he teased.

"Your favorite Jericho blond?" she asked, giggling softly. "Am I supposed to be flattered?"

"That's up to you," he shrugged. "I'm merely expressing my appreciation for a beautiful woman who shared her bourbon with me."

"Hmm. I'll have to think about it," Emily told him, stepping out from behind the car door. He closed it for her. "I'm here for Thanksgiving dinner with the Greens. You?"

"The same," he answered, pointing her toward the front walk. "I moved out on Monday, but it's so much easier to get fed when I'm at Mrs. Green's for some reason."

Emily giggled again. "I ate here three times a week when I was a kid. You're Ken, right?" she asked, glancing at him sideways.

"Kenchy," he corrected. "Kenchy Dhuwalia. But you may call me Ken, if I can call you Barbie," he joked.

"How 'bout I call you Kenchy?" she returned, stopping him just before they mounted the front porch steps. "And, I'm Emily Sullivan," she added, offering him her hand.

"It is good to meet you officially, Emily Sullivan," Dhuwalia replied, shaking her hand. He held onto it, rather than let go, leading her up the steps and across the porch. Glancing at her sideways, he dropped her hand finally, and then rapped loudly on the door.

The door opened fifteen seconds later to reveal a tall, blond young man in his mid-twenties. "Hey," he greeted, "We've been waiting for you, Dr. Dhuwalia." He glanced at Emily. "I don't think we've been waiting for you, but I think we'll take ya," he grinned.

"You're not Heather's brother, right?" Emily asked, fighting a smile.

"Well, she says I'm like a brother," he answered, shrugging. "Only I think that means obnoxious like a brother, and Heather'd know. I'm Jeff," he said, taking a step back in order to admit them to the house.

"Hey, Emily," Gail called out, spotting the younger woman as Jeff led her and Dhuwalia into the dining room.

Emily smiled. "Hey. I hope the invitation to dinner still stands?"

"Of course," Gail agreed. "Glad you could make it. You missed the football," she chided, coming around the table to offer the younger woman a hug.

"I didn't want to show Jake up," Emily joked, extracting herself from Gail's embrace and then sidling over to stand next to Jake.

"Really?" he laughed, stepping away from Emily and moving around the table to join Heather. "I don't know that I'm that bad at football."

"Hey, you led your team to victory this year," Heather offered, grinning at Jake over her shoulder as he wrapped both arms around her. "Very impressively," she added, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth.

"You guys only won because you had three to our two," Jeff complained. "And Mrs. Green got every one of your touchdowns. It's not like I can tag her out."

"Dad can," Jake returned, resting his chin on top of Heather's head. "And has. That's the way this game goes. You can't be intimidated by a girl," he joked.

"She's not a girl," Jeff argued, "She's a mom."

Everyone laughed at that, Gail loudest of all. "Well, thank you, dear. I think," she chuckled. "And, I must say," she declared, exchanging grins with Jake, "It's a sweet victory." Johnston and Jeff - both of whom had played football in high school - had formed 'Team J' against Gail, Michael and Jake, 'Team GMJ'. Although 'Team J' had scored first, Jake had figured out Jeff's aversion to going after Gail pretty quickly, and 'Team GMJ' had used that to their great advantage. Jake and Michael had switched to a strategy of getting the ball to Gail and then keeping themselves between her and Johnston, eventually winning the game twenty-four to twelve.

Still smiling, Gail turned to greet Dhuwalia. "I'm glad you were able to get away for a bit and join us, Kenchy. Happy Thanksgiving."

"I must admit, I've missed your cooking Mrs. Green," he smiled. "I'm rather lost on my own without a microwave. I've been having lots of ramen," Dhuwalia admitted, affecting an exaggerated grimace.

"Well, we're having a veritable feast tonight," Gail announced, looking around the room at each of them. "We'll need another place set, though," she decided, looking down at the table. "Johnston, would you," she said, pointing him toward the dishes sitting on the buffet. "And, Jake could you get another chair from the den?"

Heather caught his hand as Jake started to turn away. "I'll help ya," she told him, lacing her fingers through his.

"Okay," he agreed, raising her hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it. "C'mon," Jake added, leading her out of the dining room.

"What in the world is she doing here?" Heather demanded as soon as they were in the den. She pulled her hand loose from Jake's and turned to close the double doors. "Seriously, she's got family in town," she continued, facing Jake, her expression one of pure frustration. "They're pretty much required to feed her on Thanksgiving."

"Babe, I dunno," Jake shrugged. He hadn't told Heather about his conversation with Emily at Bailey's earlier in the day, and he certainly wasn't planning to. As far as he could see, Emily was crazy or a glutton for ... something. "I didn't know Mom had invited her. She was probably just trying to be nice."

"I have had it up to here with Emily Sullivan," Heather declared, holding her hand about three inches above her head. "And - And I don't want her eating any of my chicken," she added, crossing her arms over her chest. Jake was half-surprised when she didn't stomp her foot.

Turning away to hide his grin, Jake crossed to the closet. He opened the door, spotting a folding chair at the back. "You're not jealous of Emily," he reminded, pulling the chair loose and rotating around to face her.

"This is not jealous," Heather insisted, pointing a finger at herself. "I just don't like her."

"Fine by me," he returned, this time allowing her to see his grin. Exhaling softly, Jake shook his head. "Look," he continued, opening the chair so he could set it down before moving toward her, "This doesn't exactly make my Thanksgiving either." He stopped in front of her and reached for her hand, pulling her against him. "You do that," Jake declared, resting his other hand over their child. "But I don't think Mom's gonna kick her out, so I say we just get through it. Okay?"

Heather made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I say we make a very early night of it," she grumbled. "If she's still here five minutes after dessert, I'm goin' to bed."

Gripping her shoulders, Jake gently pushed her a few inches away. "So, skip our walk downtown?" he asked, lifting her chin with one hand before pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

"Actually, that'd be fun," she admitted, smiling softly against his mouth. "Five minutes after dessert, we're outta here," she amended taking a half step back, "And your Mom can entertain Emily."

Jake grinned. "Deal," he agreed.

She made another irritated sound then, shaking her head. "I just - I don't have the time or energy to put up with her anymore," Heather declared. "The last time - the last time I talked to her, it was really the last straw."

"Wait a second," he interjected, frowning. "What happened?" She made a face, but otherwise didn't respond. "Heather," he prompted, staring at her.

"It's a long story," she dismissed with a sigh. "I'll - I'll tell you later. I just - It solidified my thinking, that's all."

"Oh, yeah," Jake snorted in complaint, "Nothin' ominous about that."

She offered him a somewhat forced smile, and then pressed herself against Jake, kissing him again. "It's fine. Just completely melodramatic and not worth getting into," Heather grumbled. "We better go," she suggested a few seconds later, cocking her head toward the door, "Before they come looking for us."

"Right," he agreed, turning around to retrieve the folding chair. Tucking it under one arm, he offered Heather his hand. "C'mon. We'll give Mom two hours, and then we're outta here," he promised, winking at her.

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

Thursday, November 22, five years before the bomb

Grandpa didn't wait for a response. Leaving the door open, he turned around, heading back toward the stairs. Jake let out a deep breath. Squeezing Heather's hand, he stood up, pulling her with him. "I think we better go." She nodded.

Out in the hallway, Heather started to follow after Grandpa, but Jake tugged her toward the bathroom instead. "Oh good Lord!" she exclaimed a few seconds later, gaping at her reflection in the mirror. Jake, standing behind her, offered a sheepish smile. "I think you called this 'mauled'?" she asked with a groan that turned into a slightly hysterical giggle as she began to finger comb her hair back into place.

"Sorry," Jake grinned at her in the mirror before pressing his face against the back of her head, inhaling the apple scent of her hair.

"Sure you are," she laughed in return, shaking her head at him as she reached to pull a tissue from the box on the vanity. Heather wiped it across her lips, and then turned around, dabbing the tissue at his mouth. "You know," she joked, "You're wearing more of my lip gloss than me."

Jake pushed her hand away from his face, and cupping her chin, pressed his mouth to hers. "Tastes good," he teased, grazing her lower lip with his teeth before running his tongue over it to take away the sting. "Cinnamon-flavored Heather."

"And here I thought Gramps meant we needed to wash our hands," she giggled, pulling away a few seconds later. Heather let out a big sigh, smiling at Jake shyly. "Something tells me your mother's rule definitely applies to the bathroom," she added, attempting to smooth his tousled hair back into place.

He grabbed her hand as she finished patting down one wayward lock, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Probably," Jake agreed with a lopsided grin. "Maybe we better go down before she comes lookin' for us."

"Okay," Heather nodded twisting around between Jake and the vanity. "Let me just wash my hands," she said, turning on the tap. She raised her head, her eyes locking with Jake's in the mirror. Wrapping himself around her, he inserted his hands into the stream of water, prompting Heather to slap the back of one lightly. "We're gonna get in trouble," she argued.

"Yeah, probably," he murmured, kissing her ear.

Laughing softly, Heather closed her eyes. "You are incorrigible, Jake Green," she informed him, affecting her best teacher voice. "If you were in my class, I'd keep you in from recess," she teased.

"Hey, sign me up," he returned, shutting off the water before taking a step back. Without looking behind him, he pulled a hand towel off the rack on the wall and handed it to Heather. "Detention with Miss Lisinski. I bet that's real popular."

"Knew that would get you," she grinned, wiping her hands quickly. She returned the towel to him, waiting while he also dried his hands. "Okay, let's go," Heather commanded as soon as he'd replaced the towel on the rack. "C'mon," she added, reaching for the door knob.

Jake behaved - mostly - as Heather led him down to the first floor. Eric was alone in the living room, lying on the couch, his ankle wrapped in an ace bandage and elevated, an ice pack draped across his injured nose and eye. He appeared to be sleeping, and April was nowhere in sight. Jake held a finger up to his lips and cocked his head toward the dining room. Heather nodded, trying to keep quiet as she followed him across the room. "Tol' you so," Eric called after them just as they stepped into the dining room.

Gail and April came out of the kitchen, saving Jake the trouble of having to come up with a reply when he really didn't have one. "There you two are," Gail declared. Standing behind her mother-in-law, April offered them both a knowing smirk. "Your father's almost got the turkey carved," Gail continued, "So I need the table set."

"We're on it, Ma," Jake assured, standing behind Heather, his hands on her shoulders.

"I'll help you guys," April decided, stifling a chuckle. She set the relish tray she was carrying on the buffet and picked up a stack of dinner plates.

"Thank you," Heather acknowledged, slipping away from the shelter of Jake's body. He grabbed her hand, playing with her fingers as he followed her around the end of the table. Smiling at Jake, she handed him a pile of napkins, grabbing the salad plates for herself.

"Good," Gail decided, nodding at them distractedly before turning around and heading back into the kitchen.

Heather followed after April, placing a salad plate above each of the larger plates her friend had set out. Jake stayed right behind her, putting a napkin down at each place and taking advantage of every opportunity to touch her in some manner. These caresses didn't go unnoticed by April, and she laughed at them outright, rolling her eyes but smiling, when Heather surprised Jake by turning around and, throwing her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly. "Yeah, you're on it all right," April snickered.

"Go pry your husband off the couch," Jake grumbled, glaring benignly at his sister-in-law. He returned his attention to Heather, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her against him. He slipped his hand underneath her still untucked blouse, stroking the bare skin of her back just above the waistband of her jeans with his thumb. "We've got this under control," Jake smiled, pressing his lips against Heather's.

"Sure you do," April chuckled, shaking her head. "Remember, the rest of us wanna eat, so forks on the left, knives and spoons on the right." With that, still grinning, she turned around and headed into the living room.

"We really should finish," Heather sighed, extracting herself from Jake's arms. Tangling her fingers with his, she dragged him over to the buffet and handed him a fistful of forks. "On the left," she joked, shoving him gently back toward the table.

Grandpa Green marched into the dining room, whistling off-key and carrying a pair of wooden crutches. "Your mother says dinner's in two minutes," he informed Jake, looking back and forth between him and Heather, smiling at her kindly. He paused, letting the crutches rest on the floor. "These yours or Eric's?" he asked as his grandson placed the last fork on the table.

Jake looked up, frowning. "I think they're Dad's," he answered. "Remember, maybe ten years ago, he and Mom got bikes," Jake snorted, taking a half step back so that Heather could squeeze in front of him and set out the last of the cutlery. "First time out, he fell over and twisted his ankle? Really bad case of road rash too," Jake recalled, capturing Heather in a hug.

"Right, right," Grandpa chuckled. "Well, we're gonna see if these help Eric out," he said, hoisting the crutches and starting toward the living room.

"If he really needs 'em, mine from last summer are still out at the ranch," Jake reminded. "They're better - lighter - aluminum, not wood." Heather laid her head back against his shoulder, and he looked down at her, noting the troubled look that had settled on her features. "Broke my ankle," Jake told her, brushing his mouth over hers. "No big deal."

"Kind of a big deal," Heather contradicted, combing her hand through his hair.

Gail, carrying mashed potatoes and rolls, and Johnston, bearing the turkey meat on a platter, entered the dining room. Johnston cleared his throat, prompting Heather to pull out of Jake's embrace, blushing. "Time to eat," he told them, trying to swallow his amusement.

"The green bean casserole?" Heather asked, starting to move around the table.

"I've got it in the microwave," Gail explained. "And, I'll get it," she added, waving Heather off. "You two put the glasses on, and then have a seat," she instructed, smiling at the young couple.

Johnston went to work moving serving dishes from the buffet to the table while Heather and Jake set out wineglasses and water goblets. Surveying their work a few moments later, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into another quick hug. "C'mon," Jake smiled softly at Heather, leading her around to the far side of the table. He seated her in the middle chair, taking the one to her right for himself.

They were both just settled when Eric, on crutches, limped into the dining room followed closely by April and Grandpa. Heather jumped up immediately, pushing her chair back. "Eric, I am so sorry," she apologized again. "I - I made green bean casserole."

"S'okay," he groaned as April helped him into the nearest chair. Grandpa pulled another chair out from against the wall, moving it over so Eric could prop up his injured leg. "An' danks. I like green bean casserole."

"Told ya," April grinned, kissing Eric on top of the head before she took the crutches from him, leaning them against the wall. "I don't know, though," she continued, taking the chair next to her husband, "I may have to leave you here for the weekend - let your Mom take care of you - since I'm gonna be at work."

"You can leave him here," Gail returned, coming in from the kitchen with Heather's casserole and the stuffing, "But I'm going shopping tomorrow."

"Trust me, you don't want to be stuck home alone on crutches," Jake advised. "One time, I was home by myself - right after you guys got married - and I got the brilliant idea to make a frozen pizza. I couldn't carry it anywhere on crutches. Had to eat the whole thing standing up, over the stove."

Everyone laughed at that as Johnston escorted Gail to her seat, holding her chair for her. Grandpa took the seat on the other side of Heather and Johnston moved to the head of the table, opposite his wife. "Well, I probise I won't bake any pizza," Eric declared, finding April's hand and lifting it to his mouth to brush a kiss across her knuckles. "But I dink I'll be okay at hobe."

"Okay, sweetheart," Gail acknowledged, "But you're welcome to stay. Your Dad's just gonna be watchin' football anyway," she reminded. "So, Johnston," she said, allowing a contented sigh as she surveyed her family, gathered together around the table, "Will you say grace, please?"

"Why don't we join hands?" Johnston requested, reaching for April's and Grandpa's hands. He cleared his throat and began, first expressing thanks for the meal and those who had prepared it, and then asking for a blessing on each person at the table. Continuing, he prayed for family and friends not with them that day, but still close to their hearts. Finally, allowing a deep sigh, he prayed for their country and those affected by the terrorist attacks two months before, asking for comfort and healing for the many families who found themselves, unexpectedly, with an empty chair at their table this year. "Amen," he completed, and in unison, everyone else echoed, "Amen."

"Thank you, son," Grandpa murmured, blinking hard. "This country's come through difficulties before, and is stronger for it. Likely, we'll face hard times in the future," he added, "But we will persevere."

"Very true, Dad," Gail smiled softly, "Very true. Now," she continued a moment later, "Before we eat -"

Eric and Jake interrupted, groaning loudly. "Mom," Jake complained, reaching for the basket of rolls, "We don't have to do this every year."

"Jake, put that down right now," Gail ordered, glaring at her son until he set the basket back down on the table. "There is nothing wrong with taking a few moments to reflect on the things we are thankful for. I'll go first," she decided, sitting back in her chair. "I'm thankful that the whole family is together this year."

"An' I'm dankful dat April is by wife," Eric offered immediately. "An' dat by nose an' by ankle aren't broken," he joked.

"And that you can almost talk," Jake suggested with a snort.

"I am so sorry, Eric," Heather apologized once more.

"Hey, you got be oudda washin' dishes," he shrugged, smiling at her kindly. "Besides, now we'll always remebber dis Danksgiving for sure."

Heather nodded, her stricken expression easing. She offered Eric a soft smile and then glanced at Gail, promising, "I'll wash dishes. Happily."

"And, I'm sure Jake will happily help you," April laughed.

Jake glanced sideways at Heather. "I'll wash," he offered, his hand settling on her knee under the table. "And you can dry, or -"

"Or, how 'bout I wash and you dry," she suggested.

"Even better," he grinned, starting to trace something out on her leg.

Heather looked down at her lap, but couldn't see his hand, which was hidden by the tablecloth. She raised her head, their eyes locking, and concentrated on the movement of his finger against her thigh, though all she could make out was the end of his message, a 'U' or maybe an 'O' followed by what Heather guessed was an exclamation point or possibly an 'i'. She smiled at him and reached under the table, finding his hand and squeezing it.

"So, who's next?" Johnston inquired then, breaking the charged silence that had settled over the dining room. "I'm sure we all wanna eat."

"Well, I do," April declared. "So I'll go, even though Eric stole mine," she chuckled, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "I'm very glad to be married to Eric, and I'm very thankful that the end of my residency is in sight and I won't be driving ninety miles each way to Rogue River four times a week anymore. Seriously," she sighed happily, "I'll get fifteen hours back a week just on driving."

"I also happen to be thankful that April and Eric got married," Johnston announced, "'Cause after more'na year of wedding planning, I've got my den back. No more boxes of candles and bubbles and Jordan Almonds piled everywhere," he practically crowed, eliciting guilty giggles from Gail and April. "And none of that - that fluffy stuff -"

"Tule?" Gail guessed, her forehead wrinkling. "Kinda lacy netting?"

"That's the stuff," he confirmed, shaking his head. "There were bolts of that stuff in there for months. Never did see where it all ended up, really, but I know I couldn't hardly sit down in there without endin' up on top of some." Johnston smiled at April, laying his hand over hers. "But the wedding was nice, the party was a real good time," he continued, grinning and winking at Gail, "And I've got my den back. Plus, I got a smart, talented and lovely daughter outta the deal, so that's somethin' to be thankful for too," he decided, squeezing April's hand before withdrawing his own.

Beaming, April half stood up, leaning over to kiss Johnston on the cheek. "Thank you, Dad," she said, "I'm thankful for you, too." She sat back down, chuckling softly. "And thanks for the use of your den. Though don't get too comfortable," April teased, casting a sly look in the direction of Heather and Jake. "You never know when it'll be pressed back into service."

Gail, Johnston, Grandpa and Eric all snickered in appreciation, startling Jake and Heather out of the private moment they seemed to be sharing. "What?" Jake grumbled, looking around the table at his family. They all laughed harder.

"Well, I do believe it's all up to this side of the table now," Gail reminded, pointing at Jake, Heather and Grandpa. "Johnston," she added, looking down the table at her husband, "Would you get the wine? And, you can dish up," she told the rest of them, watching as Eric picked at a piece of french-fried onion that had spilled over the side of the green bean casserole. "But no eating yet."

"I'm gonna have to go along with Johnston," Grandpa said, smiling across the table at April. "Always wanted a granddaughter. And, I'm thankful too, of course," he continued, glancing sideways, "That Heather's joining us this year. Hope you're here next year, too, sweetheart," he told her.

"Thank you," Heather acknowledged, giggling softly. "I'm very glad to be here."

Jake, still holding her hand, squeezed it as he scowled at his grandfather over the top of Heather's head. "Get your own girlfriend, Grandpa," he groused, fighting a grin, "And stop tryin' to steal mine."

"Are you steal-able?" Grandpa teased Heather, one eyebrow raised.

She shook her head 'no', laying her head against Jake's shoulder momentarily. "Nope, sorry."

"Too bad," Grandpa returned, shrugging.

"You know, Gramps, I think there's a couple of widows at church who'd be happy to be your girlfriend," April joked. "Mrs. Dolan and Mrs. Zimmermann."

"Ellie Moreno," Gail added with a laugh. "Every time I talk to her, she asks after you."

Grandpa, shifting in his seat, actually looked discomfited by their teasing. A few seconds later, he snorted, suggesting, "I s'pose I could always marry Maggie Henry. We get along like a house afire," he grinned.

Johnston groaned, pouring wine for Heather. "Lord, please save me from Mags Henry as my stepmother," he mumbled, casting his eyes heavenward. "She'd argue me to death."

"Now, now. Maggie and I go way back," Grandpa explained. "You know, she had a bit of a crush on me when she was little girl. Helen, Maggie's older sister was your mother's maid of honor at our wedding," he told Johnston, "And, Maggie and your Aunt Judy were best friends all through school. Used to catch the two of them, followin' me around, gigglin' away."

"Gramps, I dink you just need to play de field," Eric suggested, dishing up cranberry sauce for himself. "Why limit yourself to jus' one widow?"

"Eric," April complained, socking him lightly on the arm. "Play the field?" she laughed.

"I'b injured," he frowned in return, rubbing his arm.

"Not there, you're not," she shot back. A second later, though, she leaned over and gave him a peck of a kiss.

"Well, the fact of the matter is," Grandpa sighed, "I was married to the love of my life for fifty-one years. Couldn't ask for more than I've already had. Besides," he declared, forcing a smile, "All those widows are good cooks and bakers, and I don't wanna offend a one of 'em."

Everyone chuckled in response, and then Gail shocked them all by picking up a roll and lobbing it down the table at her father-in-law. They all stared at her, open-mouthed. Johnston was the first to recover, and laughing, he pointed an accusing finger at his wife. "Abigail Margaret O'Brien Green," he joked, "There is no throwin' food in this house."

"Yeah," Eric and Jake agreed, nodding vigorously as they stared, wide-eyed at their mother.

"What?" she argued, straightening in her chair. "That was for poor Ellie Moreno," Gail insisted, folding her hands primly in front of her. Everyone burst into laughter once more.

"Can we eat?" Eric requested as they began to settle down. He stared at his plate longingly. "I'b hungry an' da food's gettin' cold."

"We've got two more," Gail insisted. "Heather, Jake?"

"Be quick," Eric commanded.

Jake draped his arm over the back of Heather's chair, cupping her shoulder with his hand. She glanced sideways at him, smiling, and then they both started to speak. Surprised, she stopped, nodding at him to continue. "Well," Jake said, his eyes on Heather, "Since Gramps stole mine, I guess I'll just have to say that I'm thankful for a blown tire and Jericho, Vermont."

"There's a Jericho, Vermont?" April asked.

"Yeah," Heather nodded, reluctantly tearing her gaze away from Jake. "I thought - I thought I was applying for a job there, and it turned out I was applying for a job here."

"Well, Vermont's loss is our gain," Johnston smiled.

"Thank you," Heather nodded, beginning to blush. Jake withdrew his arm from around her shoulders and everyone knew it was so he could take her hand underneath the table. "I - I guess it's my turn," Heather decided, inhaling deeply. "Well, it was my blown tire, so I suppose I can be thankful for it, too," she chuckled before taking another long breath. "And I'm thankful that Jericho, Kansas," she emphasized, "Really - really feels like home."

Gail smiled widely at her family. "Now we can eat," she announced.

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

Thursday, November 23, two months after the bombs

Jake and Heather returned to the dining room to find that April and Michael had joined the rest of the family. A fourth place had been set on one side, and Jake unfolded the chair, fitting it underneath the table. "There you go, Mike," he said, grinning at his brother-in-law.

"Thanks," Michael muttered, rolling his eyes. "You know, they used to stick me with a folding chair at the kids' table, too."

"And you used to flip it back so you'd fall through," Heather accused, chuckling. "Dad always had to unfold you. You were a menace."

"That did not happen," Michael insisted, his tone entirely too defensive.

Heather shook her head at him, allowing Jake to wrap one arm around her. "Oh it did," she giggled. "I remember, you were probably about four, and there you were, stickin' out of that chair, olives on every finger, screaming 'Daddy!'"

"Aw, man, Mike," Jeff snickered, giving everyone else assembled around the table permission to laugh out loud.

"One time, maybe," Michael conceded with a groan, "But not always."

"It was more than once," Heather replied, a sad smile settling on her face. Her eyes locked with Michael's and she realized they were thinking the same thing: would they ever see their father and the rest of their family again? "You know," Heather began again a few seconds later, clearing her throat, "I was thinking that next year we should put you in charge of the kids' table. We might actually need one. But I don't know that I trust you to behave, Uncle Mikey," she teased.

"No thanks," Michael declared, holding up one hand. "You're just trying to trick me into doing diaper duty. I don't babysit until they're toilet-trained."

"Oh, you know how to change a diaper," Heather argued, throwing her husband a significant look. "It's Jake I'm gonna have to train."

"All I remember agreeing to is having a kid, not to changing any diapers," Jake protested.

"That part was implied," Heather returned, smiling sweetly.

Everyone laughed again, harder this time, though Gail noticed that it was a moment before Emily, smiling uncomfortably, joined in. "Good luck with that, sweetheart," Gail told Heather as she continued to watch Emily, noting that she was also the first to stop laughing. "Why don't we all sit," Gail suggested a moment later, taking a deep breath. "The food's getting cold, and I know we're all hungry. Kenchy," she said, turning to address the doctor, "Would you mind pouring the wine? My brother Dennis moved to Napa thirty years ago, and he always sends me a case for my birthday. I've got two bottles left, and tonight seems like a good time to finish them off," she decided.

"Here you go, babe," Jake murmured, seating Heather in the chair next to the folding chair, which Michael accepted with a minimal amount of grumbling. He took the seat on the other side of his wife for himself.

Gail frowned, watching as Emily started toward the still-open chair on Jake's right. "Emily, why don't you sit here," she requested, laying one hand on the back of the middle chair on the other side of the table. "With Kenchy and Jeff."

"Of course," the younger woman agreed, pasting a smile on her face. She moved past Jake, drawing her hand across his shoulders, and then walked around to the other side of the table. "Thank you."

"Seven for wine, I assume?" Dhuwalia asked, uncorking the first bottle and looking around the table for confirmation.

Johnston also surveyed the table, standing behind April as he helped her into the chair next to Jake. "Yes, thank you Kenchy," he agreed, seating Gail at the end of the table between April and Jeff before moving to his own chair, opposite.

Dhuwalia moved around the table, pouring wine for everyone, save Heather and April, before finding his chair between Emily and Johnston. With everyone seated, Gail caught her husband's eye. "Johnston," she prompted.

He nodded and cleared his throat. "Shall we pray?" Johnston suggested, bowing his head. "We - We thank you, God," he began a long moment later, a hesitant note sounding in his voice. "We thank you that we are together this evening, with food and friendship to share," he declared. "And, never far from our thoughts, we ask for Your continued protection of our families, both - both those who are with us and those who are absent from us," Johnston sighed. "We pray for - for our town, and for our state, and nation. And, lastly," he concluded, "We ask for the continued blessing of safety and health. Amen."

"Amen," everyone else said in unison, raising their heads. Gail, facing Johnston across the table, smiled understandingly and mouthed 'Thank you' before announcing, "We can eat."

"But - But we haven't done our 'thankful fors'," April protested, frowning as she looked back and forth between Gail and Johnston.

"We really don't have to do this every year," Jake groaned.

Gail looked flustered. "Well - I just thought - I suppose -" she broke off, taking a deep breath before facing her daughter-in-law with a weak smile. "Of course, we should do it, I just wasn't sure anyone would want to."

"Well, I want to," April murmured, smiling in return. "I - I think I need to, this year especially." She looked around the table, including everyone else in her announcement. "The rest of you don't have to," April decided, "But I want to."

"Of course, sweetheart," Gail repeated, laying her hand over April's. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jake's head drop. He was studying his still bare plate, and he looked a little frayed around the edges. Gail doubted he'd eaten anything since breakfast; she was well aware that the 'box of protein bars down at town hall' were long gone, despite her sons' continued references to them when they thought they couldn't take the time to let her feed them. "Let's eat while the food's still warm though," she suggested, watching Jake. "And, April you can start us off?"

Pursing her lips, April nodded. "Sure," she agreed, distracted momentarily by the dishes being passed around. "I - I'm thankful that my child will be raised here, in this family," April declared, smiling softly as she looked around the table. "With grandparents and her aunt and uncle. Uncles, I should say," she corrected herself, glancing down the length of the table at Michael. "And a cousin," she added, accepting the bowl of instant stuffing Gail passed to her. "I'm just really thankful for that."

"You're - You're pregnant?" Emily asked, staring across the table at April, her wineglass held, forgotten, mid-air.

"I am," April confirmed a few seconds later. She remembered then - too late - that Emily and Mary Bailey were friends. She felt a twinge of guilt followed by an overwhelming wave of anger; it would serve Eric right if Emily broke the news of her pregnancy to Mary before he did. It was, she reminded herself, feeling inexplicably sad, no longer her responsibility to worry about Eric. "I am," she repeated, meeting Emily's gaze evenly. "Nine weeks."

"That certainly leads nicely into what I'm most thankful for this year," Gail interjected before Emily could respond. "Which is that I'm going to be a grandma," she declared, smiling at April, Jake and Heather. "I've always tried not to -"

"Push!" the rest of the Greens present proclaimed in unison, laughing, with the other four - even Emily - joining in a few seconds later.

"Well, it's not pushing when there are already babies on the way," Gail chuckled, starting to blush. "And, besides," she concluded, helping herself to a small portion of chicken breast before passing the platter to Jeff, "I've been waiting a very long time."

"One might even say patiently," Johnston said, grinning at his wife from the other end of the table. He raised his wine glass to her and toasted, "To your patience, Mrs. Green."

Gail smiled in return, relieved to see that some of the strain that had seemed to weigh so heavily on Johnston all day had finally left his expression. She lamented Eric's choices as much as her husband did, but she'd also decided to let all that go for the night, and concentrate on celebrating those assembled around her table. Gail hoped that Johnston would be able to do the same. "Well, that's mine. I'm thankful to be a grandma-to-be. And for the record," she added, glancing at her daughters-in-law, "I do change diapers."

"Good to know," Heather acknowledged with a grin. "More importantly, can you train him?" she asked pointing at Jake.

Jake rolled his eyes. "You all think you're so funny," he complained before snaking one arm around Heather and leaning over to kiss the side of her head.

"Am I supposed to go next?" Jeff asked a few seconds later, his expression turning nervous as he realized that everyone was looking at him expectantly. "This goes counter-clockwise?" he guessed, cringing slightly.

"We're not really that organized with this whole thing," Johnston answered after swallowing a forkful of canned peas. "And unless you're anticipatin' becomin' a grandpa sometime soon, I think I'd like to go next."

"Sure," Jeff agreed, letting out a relieved breath.

"Don't worry, Jake," Johnston began, grinning at his son over the top of his wineglass, "I'm not gonna start by outlinin' my stance on diapers. Though I hafta say, I've changed my share, and a lot of 'em were yours," he snorted. "I will say what I'm thankful for though, and that would be the promise I think we all find in these new children our family's waiting to welcome with open arms." Johnston smiled widely at Heather and April. "I got daughters rather late in life and they came full grown, so I'll just add that I think I'd enjoy havin' a little girl 'round here. Maybe even two."

Heather and April glanced at one another, sharing somewhat watery smiles, both issuing a sniffly "Awwwww!"

Stuck in rather close quarters between Jake and Michael, Heather tried to shove her chair back, accidentally bumping her brother. "Oh I see how you are," Michael accused jokingly, "Trying to fold me up like when we were kids."

"Sorry," Heather apologized distractedly over her shoulder as Jake offered her his hand to help her stand. April also vacated her chair, following Heather around the table to Johnston's side. Smiling gently at her father-in-law, Heather bent over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "We'll see what we can do," she promised before moving aside so April could kiss Johnston on the cheek as well.

"Johnston Green always has been a bit of a silver-tongued devil," Gail informed the table, chuckling.

"It got you to marry me, didn't it?" he returned, grinning at her. Gail conceded the point with a nod, laughing harder.

"I thought we were saying 'he' today," Jake teased a moment later, helping Heather back into her seat.

"We were," she confirmed, kissing him quickly before laying a finger over his lips to prevent a response. "But 'Grandpa' says 'she'." Heather scooted her chair forward a half inch, looking around the table for a few seconds before deciding, "I guess I'll go next. And, believe it or not," she sighed, "My 'I'm thankful for' doesn't include a mention of babies." This statement earned her a few chuckles, and Heather smiled, clarifying, "Not that I'm not thankful for babies, but we used to have rules against repeating someone else's 'thankful for' around here."

"Never had rules," Johnston contradicted, winking at her, "Just lots of accusations of theft."

"True," Heather acknowledged with a giggle. "Still, I'm goin' with something new," she decided. "And, what I'm thankful for is Jake's good timing and Mikey's sense of direction."

Jake, swallowing a bite of chicken, threw her a surprised look. "My good timing?"

"Hey, you made your plane in Iraq," she shrugged, laying her hand over his on the table. Jake immediately turned his palm up, threading his fingers through hers. "You're not still in Iraq - you're here. That was pretty good timing," Heather said, squeezing his hand.

"Yeah, and I was even almost home before -" Jake started to joke, stopping when he caught sight of Heather's suddenly bright eyes. "Well, I got home. I guess that's good timing," he murmured.

Heather took a deep breath, forcing a smile as she looked around the table. "I'm thankful that I have my husband, and now my brother, with me."

Emily finished off her wine in one large gulp, prompting Dhuwalia to reach for the remaining bottle, which was still about half full. "More?" he asked, beginning to pour for her even before she managed an emphatic nod.

"Aw man, Heather," Jeff chuckled as her gaze slid over to him, "I hate to break this to you, but Mike's sense of direction isn't that good. He got us lost a coupl'a times."

"Hey, we're in Kansas, aren't we?" Michael snorted, fighting a grin. "What more d'ya want?"

"Finally had to make Drake the official navigator," Jeff explained, rolling his eyes at his friend. "He can at least read a map. But, I guess that's what I'm thankful for," he shrugged, swallowing hard. "My two best friends, and that we actually got here. We're eating Thanksgiving dinner," he laughed, shaking his head, "That's pretty unbelievable, to be honest. And, oh!" he declared a beat later, grinning across the table at Heather, "For the record, I've never in my life changed a diaper."

"Another one for your training class, Mom," April laughed, stabbing together a forkful of chicken and stuffing.

Next to her, Jake groaned. "Yeah, yeah, let's just keep floggin' this particular dead horse."

"Oh, it's not dead, hon," Heather teased, throwing him pointed look. "Trust me."

"I think - I think I'll go next," Emily decided, setting her utensils down on her plate. She flashed a tight smile before taking a breath. "I'm thankful for good friends - all of you - to share Thanksgiving with," she said before reaching again for her wineglass.

"And, we're glad to have you with us, Emily," Gail replied graciously.

The younger woman smiled brightly at her hostess. "Thank you, Gail."

A momentary lull fell over the table as everyone concentrated on the first truly substantial meal any of them had eaten in weeks. Dishes were passed back and forth, each person taking a small bit of this or that, no one wanting to be the one who polished off the potatoes or the peas or the stuffing.

"It was your chicken," Jake argued, dividing a piece of breast meat in two before plopping half of it on Heather's plate. "Just take it," he insisted, turning to deposit the second piece on April's plate. There were two wings and a leg left on the platter, and he looked around the table, offering these pieces up with a glance. "Mike? Dad?" he asked, "Kenchy? Jeff? Em?" Johnston, Jeff and Emily all shook their heads 'no', but Michael took the leg, and Dhuwalia reached for the smaller of the wings, leaving Jake with the last piece. "Mom?" he said, holding the plate out to her.

"You take it, Jake," Gail smiled. "But I'll take the stuffing, if no one wants it," she decided.

"This is my first official American Thanksgiving," Dhuwalia announced suddenly, his grin uncharacteristically hesitant. "I've seen it on television of course," he admitted with a soft chuckle. "The Brady Bunch and The Waltons. And my mother, she always liked to watch Who's the Boss? for some reason."

Emily laughed at that, letting her hand rest on Dhuwalia's forearm. "I think I know where you get your preference for blonds," she told him.

"Oh, I'm quite certain my interest in blonds is a reaction to the childhood trauma caused by my sisters' refusal to let me anywhere near their Barbie dolls," Dhuwalia returned, smirking.

"Is that it?" Emily giggled, leaning closer.

"And, your mother was probably just enjoying the fantasy of a male housekeeper," Gail suggested with a laugh. "A man who cooks and cleans."

"Perhaps," Dhuwalia acknowledged, nodding at Gail. "My father always called it 'that horrid Tony show'," he recounted, "And I never thought that was just because of the plots and the acting. So I do know what Thanksgiving looked like on television," he continued, sighing. "And, it wasn't exactly like this. There are supposed to be leftovers, for one thing, yes?"

"Turkey leftovers," April sighed, closing her eyes momentarily as she savored the idea. "Gorge yourself on Thanksgiving and then eat turkey sandwiches on spongy white bread with mayo for the rest of the weekend."

"Craving much?" Heather teased, looking around Jake to catch her sister-in-law's eye.

April laughed, wrinkling her nose in return. "Oh, be quiet," she commanded with a joking grumble.

"I believe I'm glad to have experienced my first Thanksgiving here in Jericho with all of you," Dhuwalia said then, sitting back in his chair. "For some reason I doubt Thanksgiving in Las Vegas would have been like Thanksgiving on television either," he chuckled.

Everyone smiled or laughed along with him, and Jake and Johnston both shook their heads. "Uh, no," they confirmed, almost in unison.

"What I am thankful for - this is how I do this?" Dhuwalia asked, interrupting himself. Gail nodded. "Then, I am thankful for the brothers' Green," he declared softly, looking across the table at Jake. "And, for Randy Payton," he added, lifting his glass to toast his fallen patient, protector and friend.

Jake frowned, fumbling slightly as he reached for his own glass. "To Randy Payton," he echoed, "May he rest in peace." Both men drank and then, after setting his glass back down on the table, Jake felt Heather lay her hand over the top of his. He glanced at her, losing himself for a few seconds in her open, sympathetic expression. Jake had only ever shared the bare minimum of information regarding what had happened in Rogue River with Heather, but she knew that Payton had probably saved their lives at the cost of his own. Gripping his wife's hand tightly, Jake faced Dhuwalia, exchanging grim smiles.

"I'm thankful, too, for a colleague who allows me to share her clinic," Dhuwalia continued, clearing his throat. April met his gaze with a surprised look that drew a genuine, if slight, smile from him. "I'm sure the staff would find that hard to believe," he admitted with a dry chuckle. "But just because we disagree on almost every point -"

"Medical and otherwise," April interjected with an almost light-hearted laugh that brought grins to the faces of the rest of the family.

Dhuwalia nodded, agreeing, "Medical and otherwise. But please know, despite our differences, I understand and respect your dedication."

"And I respect yours," April declared, raising her water glass to Dhuwalia.

"Now see, children," Johnston teased, looking back and forth between the two doctors, "Was that so hard?"

April made a noise somewhere between a groan and a giggle. "Tell you what, Kenchy," she sighed, "I promise not to disagree with you on any course of treatment for the next forty-eight hours."

"A noble gesture," Dhuwalia laughed, "Especially as I thought you weren't planning to work for the next three days unless we suffered a dire emergency," he reminded.

"I worked this morning," April countered, "And do you know how many years I have been trying to get Thanksgiving weekend off?"

"As long as I've known her," Heather explained helpfully, folding her hands over her pregnant belly.

"We have dessert," Gail announced then, "Pudding, not pie, but at least it's something sweet. I'll bring it out as soon as our last two go," she prompted. "Jake? Michael?"

"I thought this was optional," Jake argued, sitting back in his chair. "You said we didn't all have to do it," he grumbled, glaring softly at April.

"It was," Gail agreed, "But now it's not, at least not if you want pudding."

"And that makes me thankful for pudding," Michael declared with a grin. "Or do you wanna go first, Jake?" he asked, glancing sideways, past his sister, at his brother-in-law.

"Hey, knock yourself out," Jake replied with a smirk, draping his arm across the back of Heather's chair.

Michael considered his answer for a moment, frowning softly. "I guess - I guess I'm thankful that I'm alive," he began tentatively. "And, I'm here, and it's safe. I've got friends who are like - like my brothers, and I still have a family," Michael shrugged, offering his sister a slight smile. "I'm gonna be an uncle again."

Heather, her eyes once again suspiciously bright, nodded and reached for Michael's hand, squeezing it tightly. "We still - very definitely - have a family," she confirmed, smoothing her shirt down over her rounded belly with her free hand. "And you do get to be an uncle again -"

"Twice," April interjected, her tone husky.

"Yeah," Michael agreed, clearing his throat. "Plus, now I get pudding," he attempted to joke. "So, Jake, you're up."

"Sure, make the girls cry why doncha," Jake grumbled, dropping his arm around Heather's shoulder, hugging her awkwardly. A second later, he scooted toward her, kissing her temple and asking quietly enough that only she could hear, "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she assured, twisting around to meet his gaze. "I'm great," Heather amended, beaming, though her eyes still glistened with unshed tears. She peeled his hand off her shoulder and lifted his arm back over her head to press his hand to the side of her abdomen. "Baby woke up," Heather explained to the table. "Apparently she enjoyed her grandparents' cooking as much as the rest of us," she laughed. "Not to mention Uncle Jeff's butchering efforts, thank you very much," she added, grinning across the table at the young man.

"Well, that I know how to do," Jeff reminded with a shrug. "Easy."

"So, you're feeling a lot of movement now, or just a little?" Dhuwalia asked, affecting what Heather thought of as his 'professional face'. "It's a good sign that you are, especially given the circumstances."

"At first, it was just little flutterings, like when it tickles because the wind blows your hair across your face," Heather answered. "It's gotten steadily stronger. And, Jake's been able to feel her for the last four, five days?" she guessed, looking sideways at her husband for confirmation.

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice curiously thick. "And, him," Jake corrected, clearing his throat.

"Him, her, I have no idea," Heather confessed, shaking her head. "All I know is when Jake pokes him," she emphasized, grinning at Jake, "He pokes back. I'm starting to feel a little pummeled," she sighed, rubbing her palm in slow circles over the mound of the child she carried. "I'm a little scared about what this is gonna feel like in three or four months."

"That's the Green genes," Gail laughed. "Active babies that just seem to want out. I swear Jake and Eric didn't let me sleep a wink the whole last month. Of course, I didn't realize there were two of them, and they were fighting over space."

Heather groaned, giggling softly. "Now you tell me! And," she added with a sigh, glancing sideways at her husband, "One is entirely sufficient."

"Oh, you can tell this kid's got some Lisinski genes in 'im," Jake grinned, stroking the side Heather's tummy with his thumb. He looked over her at Michael. "Kid's throwin' elbows like you wouldn't believe."

"Elbows?" Dhuwalia repeated, his expression turning confused. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Emily poured more wine into her glass. She studied the bottle closely for a moment and, with a shrug, poured the last few drops into his glass, offering him a shaky smile. 'Thank you," he murmured.

"Ice hockey," Johnston explained, drawing Dhuwalia's attention away from his neighbor. "Official sport of the Lisinski clan."

"That's right," April nodded. "You better watch out Heather," she warned with a smile. "You're never gonna see that kid. Jake's gonna have her out on the diamond all summer, and Mikey'll keep her out on the pond all winter."

"Probably," Heather agreed, smiling in return. "But don't think yours won't be right out there with 'em."

"No doubt," April returned, wrapping her arms around herself.

"This is what I'm thankful for," Jake announced then, laying his hand over the top of Heather's. He glanced around the table, making eye contact with both of his parents before turning to face his wife again, their gazes locking. "I'm thankful that I'm here, with my family. And I'm really grateful," he added, squeezing Heather's hand, "That in four, four and a half months, I'm gonna be a dad."

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