Different Circumstances: Part 11A of ?
by Marzee Doats

Author's Note: One of the many things I take issue with when it comes to Jericho is the very screwy timeline the producers and writers have given us. For example, I object to the fact that the episodes Heart of Winter and Winter's End don't really appear to take place in winter, although there is plenty of time between Thanksgiving at the war with New Bern for them to do so. Since Different Circumstances is VERY alternate universe at this point, I'm stepping away some from what appears to be the official timeline. I figure if you're still with me, then that's a very minor detail that shouldn't bother you too much. I'm a purist who happens to think that elections should always be held on Tuesdays, and it suits my purposes better to have a long weekend between the end of Red Flag and the beginning of Vox Populi, so that's the first (small) timeline change I'm making. Rather than Gracie being murdered on Thanksgiving night, she was murdered on Sunday night, and our story opens on Monday morning....

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

Monday, November 27, two months after the bombs

"Hey," Emily Sullivan called out, climbing onto the small rise of balding lawn and overgrown ivy that ran along the entrance to Jericho's town hall. She walked toward Jake and squatted down beside him, offering a friendly smile when he looked up at her a few seconds later.

Jake returned the smile, though his was distracted, disappearing in an instant. "Putting a hand pump on this well so we don't have to waste generator power for water," he explained. He continued to turn his screw driver, loosening a brass plaque that was bolted down over a small patch of concrete.

Emily's grin also faded, and she inquired, surprised, "There's really a well under there?"

Shifting over, Jake started to work on the next bolt, laying his screw driver aside in favor of a plumber's wrench he'd liberated ten minutes earlier from the tool shop in the basement of town hall. "First well in Jericho, according to the sign," he confirmed, making a quiet chuffing sound. "Gramps was president of the historical society for five, six years. Think he'll forgive me for desecrating this official historical marker?"

"Probably," Emily shrugged, obviously not at all interested in whether or not EJ Green would have approved of his grandson's current activities. "You know, I remember the first that happened right there," she declared, pointing across the way at the small ornamental fountain, no longer in operation, that had been installed on the town square in honor of the one hundredth anniversary of Jericho's founding. She looked back at Jake, catching his eye and grinning.

"Oh-ho-ho," he chuckled, shaking his head. "You shouldn't have dared me," he told her. Jake paused in his efforts, taking a moment to study the woman next to him. He hadn't seen her since Thanksgiving night, four days before, when he and Heather had announced after dinner that they were walking downtown. Emily had been a little tipsy by that point, and his mother had insisted that she stay for a bit and chat, but she'd been gone by the time they'd come home two hours later. "So, what's up?"

She ignored his question, and instead refuted his earlier claim. "No one had to dare you," Emily laughed.

Grunting softly, Jake shook his head. He wasn't embarrassed, exactly, over that incident - one of the milder indiscretions of his youth - but he also had to acknowledge that he was grateful not to be sixteen anymore. Even with all of the challenges they now faced, Jake was coming to realize, as his mother had kept insisting all weekend, they had plenty to be thankful for still. He was happy with his life now, with Heather. He glanced at Emily again, finding himself a little annoyed by her amused, knowing grin. "Yeah, well I remember one of your finer moments," he challenged, putting his wrench down and picking up the screwdriver, which he used to point down the street. "Right over there behind Bailey's."

"Yeah," Emily groaned, making a face, "Let's not talk about that. I could get sick right here," she admitted.

"Well, some people can't hold their apple wine coolers," Jake teased, relieved to have the upper hand for the moment.

"Yeah, well...." She protested lamely.

Grinning at his memory of that night, Jake couldn't help but rub it in a little more. "You kept singing that depressing song by that uh ... bald girl," he decided.

"Sinead O'Connor," Emily supplied, wrapping her arms around herself. "And - And that was our song."

"Our song?" Jake snorted, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. "I never got a vote."

Emily didn't respond immediately, instead sitting back on her heels, still hugging herself, to study Jake. If he was aware of her scrutiny then he hid it well, returning to work on his project, tackling the fourth and final bolt. "You and Heather have a song?" she inquired, affecting a nonchalant tone that didn't quite ring true.

"Yeah," he nodded, setting his wrench down. "It's kind of a requirement to get married after all," Jake joked, shrugging. "Band has to have somethin' to play for that first dance. And, I don't know that there was ever a vote, but at least I understood the selection process," he told her, retrieving his screwdriver. "And it's not depressing."

"What's the song?" Emil asked, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

"The first song we ever danced to," Jake returned. "Before we got married, I mean."

"But do you know the name of the song?" she demanded, her tone exasperated.

Jake snorted. "Yeah, I do," he admitted, "And, Stanley's been givin' me grief about it for four years," he told her, meeting her gaze long enough to roll his eyes. "You didn't come to our wedding, you don't get to know."

"Wasn't invited to your wedding," Emily reminded. Jake raised his head again, throwing her a pointed look, and she looked away, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "So," she began a long moment later, watching with genuine interest as he finally forced the last bolt loose and then pried the plaque up to reveal a four-inch in diameter wellbore. "What was it? Eighties power love ballad?"

"Worse," Jake chuckled. He grinned at her, but there was a far off look in his eyes which Emily knew meant that he was thinking about Heather even as he was facing her. "Late nineties - country - power love ballad."

"You?" Emily asked, her tone incredulous. She giggled softly, repeating, "You? Seriously? A country song?"

"Yep," Jake confirmed, holding his screwdriver and wrench out to her. "Put these over there," he ordered, gesturing to a scrubby patch of grass that was out of the way of his project. "This too," he added, handing her the bolts, tied up together in a rag. "Maybe we'll get to put this all back the way it was before too long," Jake suggested, wiping the plaque off with his hand before placing it safely off to the side.

"So you're not gonna tell me, huh?" Emily realized. She sat back on her heels, her lips pressed tightly together, to study Jake. "You know, I can always ask Stanley," she threatened a few seconds later, though her heart obviously wasn't in it.

"I'll take my chances," Jake returned, shrugging. He stood up then, moving around Emily to retrieve the body of the hand pump. "So -"

"You - you two, you really do work, somehow," Emily murmured, looking up at him. She frowned softly, continuing, "I - It doesn't make sense, but you do."

"We do," Jake agreed, checking the fit of the hand pump in the well casing. "Not bad," he said softly to himself, pleased. "We fit," he added, looking at Emily. "Heather and I, we fit," Jake declared, pulling the pump out of the wellbore. "And it makes perfect sense."

He turned then, laying the pump body down before moving over to look through the toolbox he'd brought with him. Jake found a ball of twine and placed it behind him, continuing to look through the case, finally selecting a lightweight washer. "So, were you on your way somewhere?" he asked, tearing a strip off a rag he found in the bottom of the toolbox. He knotted the piece of rag around the washer and then reached for the string, tying the end to the washer as well. "'Cause if you're not, I'm thinkin' this is really a two person job."

"Oh," she returned, looking both surprised and disappointed at the same time, "Sure. I don't have anywhere to be really," Emily admitted. "I was just - just out walking."

"What do you do most days?" Jake asked, glancing at her for just a second before he squatted down next to the well. "I mean, there's no school," he reminded, unrolling a foot of string, threading the washer into the hole. "So, what do you do?"

Emily watched as he let the twine play out, no more that an inch or two at a time, keeping it taut as it ran through his hands. "I - I've got lots to do," she argued, "Like everybody. We're all just trying to survive, right?"

"Yep," he agreed, nodding.

"What're you doing?" she demanded, desperate for a change of subject.

"Gotta find water," he explained, obviously preoccupied with the string he continued to let down the well. "And, I think we've got it," Jake announced, smiling. Quickly, he fished the twine back up, checking the rag to confirm that it was wet. "Okay," he muttered, "This'll work. So, hey," Jake said his gaze focusing on Emily for a moment. "Do you still have keys to the high school?"

"The high school?" Emily questioned, her expression puzzled. "Sure. I mean I wasn't fired, we just never - never resumed. What in the world do you need keys to the high school for?" she chuckled.

"Heather needs to do some research in the 4-H office," he explained. "We went over yesterday, tried her keys - just in case the JISD was cheap enough to use the same master key at both schools - but no dice."

"Well, why didn't you just break in?" she asked, "It's not like you don't know how. And the 4-H office," Emily smirked. "Now I know the world's comin' to an end," she teased, "Jake Green tryin' to get into the 4-H office."

"Not the end of the world," he argued, shrugging. "Heather's just trying to figure how to raise more chickens. Where do you think Thanksgiving dinner came from?" Jake inquired rhetorically, stepping around her. "I don't have enough pipe," he told Emily, "But there's more in the basement. Stay here and make sure nobody falls down the well," Jake ordered. "We really don't need a Baby Jessica incident around here."

Thirty minutes later, with Emily's assistance, Jake had a drop pipe installed in the well and the hand pump mounted over the top of it. She'd helped, but he couldn't keep himself from thinking that he should have let her continue on her walk and gone to get Heather, who was working upstairs with her team, instead. Emily had had no real interest in the project, and while she was good for handing him tools or following orders like 'hold this' and 'stand there', she didn't throw herself into their task with the enthusiasm he was accustomed to when he worked with his wife. Even when he pumped the well's new handle and the first water spilled out, Emily didn't do anything more than smile politely.

"Hey! It works!" Jake turned around to find Heather standing behind them on the sidewalk, grinning at him. "I knew it would," she laughed, delighted with his accomplishment. "We've got water."

"We've got water," Jake agreed, jumping down off the hill to join her. "Hey," he greeted, wrapping one arm around Heather and quickly brushing his lips over hers.

"I've been monitoring your progress from upstairs," she admitted, pointing to a window in the far corner of the building that he knew was in the conference room she'd acquired for her team. "Waiting for you to be all done so I could make my entrance," Heather teased, kissing him in return. "I brought cups, if we want to test," she announced, holding up a set of four or five nested plastic cups. Finally, glancing over at the other woman, she acknowledged her with a perfunctory nod. "Emily."

"Hello," Emily replied. "You're out and about early this morning," she observed, attempting a smile.

Handing her stack of cups to Jake, Heather smoothed her maternity blouse over her stomach, rubbing her hand in circles over the baby she carried. They had run into the Taylor family on Thanksgiving night, and Margaret had clucked over the fact that Heather had been reduced to stealing clothes from Jake. She and two other women had shown up at the house on Saturday morning with three bags of maternity clothes, earning Heather's undying gratitude - and April's too, as she'd confessed her own pregnancy to the visitors.

"Well, I'm pretty much out and about by this time every day," Heather said. "I'm working with a group of the guys from the mine, trying to find a way to build a windmill," she explained, shaking her head. "But, uuhhhh!" she groaned, "They're driving me batty today. Six middle-aged men who've spent their whole careers underground," Heather laughed, rolling her eyes. "I was really glad to see the pump go in. Gave me an excuse to leave, and now I think I'm gonna keep going straight to the clinic. There's some equipment I've been meaning to check out in the basement."

"I'll walk you over," Jake offered immediately. "But first, we need a taste test. Wait here," he instructed, kissing the tip of Heather's nose before climbing back up onto the hill, moving past Emily to get to the pump.

"I think I'm gonna get going," Emily decided, stepping down onto the sidewalk. "But first," she murmured, pulling a set of keys out of her coat pocket, "I hear you're looking to get into the 4-H office," she told Heather, working to pull two keys off the ring. "This one gets you in the building," Emily said, holding the key out to Heather. "And this is the passkey, should get you into any room, just not the individual offices."

Surprised, Heather could only nod at first. "Tha - thank you," she stammered out a few seconds later, her hand closing around the keys. "I'll go over today, and get 'em back to you tomorrow."

Emily shook her head. "No rush."

"So it tastes safe," Jake announced, joining the two women on the sidewalk. He handed a cup to Emily and then took a sip from a second before handing it to Heather. "Careful, it's really cold."

Heather took a drink, nodding in agreement. "That is cold," she confirmed, grimacing softly. "Makes my teeth hurt," she giggled. "But - still - good job," Heather declared, threading her arm through Jake's.

"Yeah," Emily concurred, handing her cup back to Jake. "Think I'll stick to the water at home. It's a little closer to room temperature. So I'm gonna go," she repeated, already backing away.

"Okay," Jake acknowledged. "Thanks for your help." He smiled at Heather, requesting, "Gimme a sec," before moving over to a neglected flowerbed to pour out the water remaining in the two cups.

Staring at down at the keys in her hand, Heather shook her head. She looked up at Jake when he returned to her side, brushing her arm with his own. "What's gotten into Emily all of a sudden?" she asked, her expression truly puzzled.

"No idea," Jake shrugged, holding out his hand. "Ready?"

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

Friday, November 23, five years before the bomb

"Hey," Heather greeted, opening her front door just as Jake's finger touched the doorbell. Waiting in the living room, everything ready to go, she'd heard a motor in the driveway and had rushed to the door, almost beating him there. "Come in," she invited as the bell's final note dissipated.

Jake reached out, catching her hand in his own before she could move away. "Hey," he returned, pulling her against himself and brushing his mouth over hers.

"Good morning," she giggled a few seconds later, wrapping her arms around Jake's waist. She stepped back into the house, dragging him along.

"Ready to go?" he asked, twisting away to shut the door against the pre-dawn chill. He followed Heather, who walked backwards holding onto both of his hands, into the living room. "Something smells good," he added, pulling her against him so he could press a kiss to her forehead.

Heather grinned. She hadn't really ever gone to bed, having finished her packing after midnight and then setting her alarm for two AM so she'd have time to brew coffee and bake a surprise for their breakfast on the road. "I made a little something," she admitted, her gaze locking with his.

Never one to sleep well the night before a trip, Heather had procrastinated both packing and going to bed, finding a recipe in the cookbook of family favorites Renate Lisinski had put together for her daughter, painstakingly copying out two generations worth of recipe cards onto the pages of a new book. She'd completed the project the first summer she was on dialysis, and although Heather had hated walking into the treatment center to find her mother working at that particular task, convinced that it was a sign that she'd given up hope, Heather certainly treasured the gift now. She'd sat at the kitchen table after Jake had left her house at ten, mixing up muffin batter to be baked in the morning and reading the recipes - most far beyond her abilities as a cook - enjoying the chance to look at and trace her finger over her mother's handwriting.

"Peanut butter and banana muffins, just out of the oven," she told him, smiling shyly. "My mother's recipe, slightly adapted," Heather explained, leading him into the kitchen. "Hers was a chocolate and banana recipe, made with melted chocolate chips. But I think it worked."

"Wow," Jake nodded, spotting the slightly steamy plastic bag containing a dozen muffins, two travel mugs and a thermos waiting on the table along with Heather's purse and backpack. "I just figured we'd go through a drive-thru on the way," he admitted, squeezing her hand, "But this is definitely better."

"Couldn't really sleep," Heather yawned loudly, covering her mouth with her hand. "Excuse me," she sighed. "Usually can't sleep before I fly," she confessed, waving her hand dismissively. "But I'll sleep on the plane."

When she'd finally gone to bed, she'd lain there, staring up at the ceiling, replaying in her mind the day she'd spent with Jake and his family. She'd had a truly wonderful time, Heather had decided, hugging herself and smiling in the dark. Despite the disastrous early end to the annual football game, things had turned out almost perfectly. She'd even had a good time washing dishes of all things! Eric had sat at the table while April, shooing Gail from the kitchen, had put food away and Heather, assisted by Jake, had loaded the dishwasher up before tackling what remained by hand. The four of them had had a great time, joking around, during the almost hour they'd worked together in the kitchen. Jake and Eric, his speech closer to normal after the swelling in his nose had gone down some, had entertained Heather and April with stories of legendary Green family holidays past, and April had shared a few of her more interesting hospital stories. Heather, having apologized to Eric for the umpteenth time had finally accepted his forgiveness, shaking hands on his offer of "Friends?"

She'd even joined the elder Greens for a few minutes in their efforts to complete a jigsaw puzzle before Jake, taking advantage of April's and Eric's departure, had decided it was time for them to leave, too. Heather had gone over all the details in her mind, analyzing the day as she watched ninety minutes go by on her clock radio only managing to doze off for a few minutes before the buzzing of the alarm had dragged her from bed.

"You can sleep in the car," Jake told her, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't mind."

"I hafta stay awake so I can keep you awake," Heather argued, trying unsuccessfully to stifle another yawn. "April says it's a long, boring drive."

"I'll stay awake, don't worry," Jake snorted, smiling at Heather. "I'm not gonna get you into some fiery wreck with a narcoleptic truck driver, okay? Besides, the coffee's fully leaded, right?" he asked, pointing at the travel mugs on the table.

"Chock full of caffeine, yes," she confirmed, giggling.

"So, ready?" he asked, glancing over the items on the table again. "Is this all you're taking?"

"My bag's still in the bedroom," Heather admitted, moving around Jake. She turned to head down the hall, throwing him a surprised though not unhappy look when he followed her. Jake caught up with her after three steps, taking her hand in his. Outside the door, Heather suddenly spun around, blocking his path. "Um," she began, her expression turning embarrassed, "I - I didn't make my bed. And - And my clothes are on the floor," she confessed. "I didn't even think -"

Chuckling softly, Jake reached for the doorknob, pulling on it to ensure that it was latched, his eyes never straying from hers. He took a step forward, pressing Heather into the door, pressing himself against her. "I didn't make my bed either," he murmured, brushing his mouth over hers. "It's three in the morning," Jake breathed, starting to nibble at her lower lip while he cupped her neck with both hands. Heather deepened their kiss then, and it was long moment before Jake pulled away, panting softly. "It's okay," he assured her, leaning his forehead against Heather's. "But I can stay out here if you want me to."

Shaking her head, Heather grasped the door's handle, pushing it open. She backed into the room, eyes closed, drawing Jake with her. They stopped two feet into the room, Jake laughing at her silently as he took advantage of his first opportunity to observe Heather's private space. "I like it," he told her quietly a few seconds later, stroking his hand up and down her arm.

Heather opened her eyes, meeting Jake's gentle grin with a shy smile. "You do, huh?" she questioned, watching his face as his gaze drifted across her room.

"Yeah," Jake confirmed, taking in the dresser top, crowded with photographs and a few small knick knacks. He recognized, too, the clothes she'd worn the day before laying on the floor not six inches from the hamper. "Yeah, I like it," he repeated, his eyes settling on the rumpled covers, shoved down to the foot of the bed.

She looked over her shoulder, following the path of Jake's gaze. "Good," she said almost inaudibly, turning back to face him, a soft blush tingeing her cheeks.

Jake lifted her chin with one finger and placed a chaste kiss on her mouth. "We better get goin'," he reminded, dropping his hand. "This it?" he asked, pointing at the compact red suitcase standing in front of the dresser.

"Yep," Heather answered, watching Jake as he moved to pick up the bag. "I'm only gonna be gone for three days," she continued in a rush of breath. "And I want to carry it on the plane so they don't lose it."

"Okay," he acknowledged, lifting the suitcase.

"Uh, Jake," she said, fighting a grin. "It's - It's got wheels," Heather explained, pointing at the bottom of the bag. "It rolls."

"I knew that," he claimed, his expression turning sheepish. He continued to hold the suitcase up and, gesturing for her to lead the way, directed, "After you."

Snickering softly, Heather turned toward the door. "C'mon," she giggled, looking back over her shoulder at him. Jake followed, catching up with her in two strides, still carrying rather than rolling the suitcase. She smiled, continuing to watch him, glancing away whenever their gazes met.

In the kitchen, Heather busied herself with donning her coat and trying to gather up everything else she was taking with her: purse, backpack, and all the parts of their breakfast. After watching her struggle for a few seconds, Jake moved toward her, reaching for the thermos and bag of muffins. "Gimme those."

"But - Okay," she conceded, letting go of the two items. "You can put the suitcase down, you know," Heather told him, slinging her purse and backpack over her shoulder. Then, with keys in one hand, she picked up the travel mugs with the other.

"I'm fine," Jake assured, shaking his head. "Wheels are for wimps," he grinned, winking at her.

"That so?" Heather chuckled as she led the way to the front door. "I suppose I should be impressed by this display of manly strength, huh?"

She looked back at him in time to see his grin widen. "Damn straight," Jake agreed.

Out on the porch, Jake waited while Heather locked the front door and then dropped her keys in her purse. Turning around, she offered him a sweet smile which quickly dissolved into a yawn. "All set," she informed him.

"C'mon," Jake said, tilting his head toward the driveway.

"What's that?" Heather demanded as she stepped off the bottom porch step and onto the walk. Sitting in the driveway behind her own car was EJ Green's tan F-250. "You stole Gramps' truck?" she asked, giggling softly.

"I borrowed it," Jake corrected with a snort. "With his permission," he added, leading her toward the vehicle. "Look, it's got heat that actually works, and it's just a little more comfortable than my car. All things Gramps pointed out when I asked if I could use it."

"Aww," she sighed, offering him a pleased smile. "That's so sweet. Of him, and of you. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Jake muttered, finally setting her suitcase down so he could open the front passenger door. He deposited the thermos and bag of muffins on the seat before popping the back door. "If you want, you can sack out back here," he suggested, pointing to the second row bench seat.

Heather shook her head 'no'. "We're not gonna see each other for three days," she reminded, shrugging. "And, I can sleep on the plane."

"Okay," Jake acknowledged, letting a breath out slowly. He picked up her suitcase and turned to stow it between the seats. "D'ya need your backpack?" he asked, facing her again. Shaking her head again, Heather placed her purse and the travel mugs on the front seat and then shrugged out of her backpack, handing it to him. Jake dropped the bag on the back seat and then shut the door. Turning around, he narrowly missed stepping on Heather's foot, surprised to find her standing so close.

"Hey," she grinned, clutching his forearm for a second before she threw her arms around his neck and, standing on tiptoe, surprised him with a kiss. Jake responded eagerly, wrapping his arms around Heather, trapping her against himself as his mouth moved hungrily over hers. They broke apart too soon for either of their satisfaction, Jake pressing his lips to her forehead. "I need to go," Heather sighed, "And I know that. I'd hate myself if I didn't, but I really don't wanna," she admitted, pulling back just enough that she could look him in the eye.

"It's only three days," Jake reminded, hugging her tightly. "We'll survive," he chuckled, tucking her head under his chin. He didn't want to let her go, and her admission of her own reluctance didn't help. He just wanted to hold onto her. "Okay," Jake declared, gently putting her away from him a few moments later, "All set?"

"Almost," she agreed, reaching for his hand. She squeezed his fingers and leaned against him once more, tilting her head to place a peck of a kiss on his mouth. Stepping back she exhaled softly. "Now I'm ready."

Jake helped Heather into the truck then, waiting while she rearranged things - putting their mugs in the cup holders and stowing her purse and the thermos at her feet - before he shut the door. Climbing in on the driver's side, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to lean over and exchange a quick kiss before starting the truck. "Ready?" he murmured against Heather's lips.

"Ready," Heather confirmed as he pulled away. Still watching her out of the corner of his eye, Jake clicked in his seatbelt and started the engine, backing out of the driveway. Within five minutes they had left the town limits and were on the interstate. "Muffin?" Heather offered as Jake engaged the cruise control.

"Please," he answered, throwing her a quick grin as he reached for his coffee. "I've been wanting one of those ever since I heard 'peanut butter'," he joked.

Heather peeled back half the paper wrapper around a muffin and handed it to Jake before taking one for herself. A few minutes later she handed him a second without needing to be asked, earning herself an appreciative smile. At Jake's suggestion, Heather tried to find something on the radio but couldn't, and she ended up turning it off within ten minutes. "We could play a game," Heather proposed then. "How 'bout 'I went on an airplane'?"

"'I went on an airplane'?" Jake repeated throwing her a funny look.

"It's three-thirty, three-forty in the morning," she reminded, yawning. "There really aren't any other cars, so we can't play the license plate game."

"Right," he acknowledged. "Airplane's promising, at least. So how do we play 'I went on an airplane'?"

She glanced at him sideways, offering him a pleased smile. "Well, for example, if I started, I'd say, 'I went on an airplane' - Oooh! I know. I'd say, 'I went on an airplane to Wyoming with my boyfriend and I brought an apple,'" Heather teased. "And then you'd say, 'I went on an airplane to Wyoming with my' - well, you'd say girlfriend -"

"That I would," Jake chuckled, rolling his eyes. "So, I went on an airplane to Wyoming with my girlfriend and -"

"You'd say I brought and apple and a banana," Heather explained. "And from there we take turns, each adding a word, in alphabetical order, building a list."

"So when you go on a field trip, I guess this game's 'I went on a school bus to the museum', huh?"

"Yeah," Heather shrugged. "Hey, it passes the time, and keeps us awake," she yawned. "Now you go first."

"Love to," Jake snorted. "Okay," he continued a second later. "I went on an airplane to Wyoming with my girlfriend and I brought the airplane."

Heather giggled at that. "Well, it's true, so I'll let it go. Okay. I went on an airplane to Wyoming with my boyfriend and I brought an airplane and a book."

"Also true," Jake reminded, laughing. "So, I went on an airplane to Wyoming with my girlfriend and I brought the airplane, and she brought a book and a camera."

"I went on an airplane to Wyoming with my boyfriend and he brought the airplane and I brought a book, a camera, and ..." She paused, frowning softly. "I didn't bring anything that began with a 'D'," Heather admitted, "So we went to Dolly Doolittle's Diner."

"Okay, I'm pretty sure that's cheating, Miss Lisinski," Jake accused with a smirk. "But I'll let ya get away with it," he decided, winking at her, though he wasn't sure she saw him. "I went on an airplane to Wyoming with my girlfriend and I brought the airplane, and she brought a book and a camera, and we went to Dolly Doolittle's Diner, and I found out she'd packed extra socks."

"This is quite the story we're building," she decided, stifling another yawn. Heather lay her head down on the back of the seat, twisting so she was facing Jake. "Anyway, I went on an airplane to Wyoming with my boyfriend," she said, "And he brought the airplane, I brought a book and a camera, we went to Dolly Doolittle's where he found out I'd packed extra socks, and I used the last of my film."

Jake glanced at Heather, smiling at her and squinting in the dark so he could study her face for a long as he dared to look away from the deserted highway. He swallowed hard. "Your camera's digital," he reminded gruffly. "But I went on an airplane to Wyoming with my girlfriend and I brought the airplane, she brought a book and a camera, we went to Dolly Doolittle's Diner, she had extra socks and used the last of the film in her digital camera," he joked. "And, it was Gramps' airplane."

Beaming at Jake, Heather lifted her head and then reached around to undo her seatbelt. Sliding over on the seat, she pressed a kiss to Jake's cheek, declaring, "I think that's really stretching it, but that's okay." Yawning, she let her head fall against his shoulder for a moment.

She started to pull away just as he moved to wrap his arm around her. "Stay," he muttered thickly, pressing his palm against her hip. "There's - There's a middle seatbelt," he added, anticipating her protest. "Somewhere."

"Okay," Heather smiled tiredly. She sat slightly forward on the seat so she could dig around for the purported seatbelt. "Here it is," she announced quietly, securing it around her waist. "So, I went on an airplane to Wyoming with my boyfriend," she began, settling back and leaning her head on his shoulder again. "And he brought the airplane, and I brought a book and a camera, we went to Dolly Doolittle's, I had extra socks and I used up the film for my digital camera. Plus it was Gramps' plane, and I brought - I brought -"

"I brought Heather," Jake filled in for her, turning blindly to kiss the top of her head and ending up with a mouthful of her hair. "And, I think we may have killed this game."

He felt her nod against his arm. "Yeah, prob'ly," Heather yawned loudly. "Sorry, excuse me," she requested. "But with third graders, I have to tell you, we always get to the end of the alphabet."

"There are more of them," he grumbled. "And what do they say for 'X'?" Jake questioned teasingly. He glanced sideways, trying to catch her eye, but quickly realized that she'd closed hers. "Xylophone, I bet," he answered himself softly. "That's the only 'X' word I knew in the third grade."

"Yeah, pretty much," Heather murmured, not bothering to open her eyes. "On a - On a day camp field trip a couple of years ago," she yawned, sitting up for a moment to adjust her seat. "I had a sixth grader say 'Xanax'," she snorted, before resting her head on his shoulder once more. "But she was one of those kids who -" she broke off, giving into another yawn. "Who liked to shock people," Heather concluded.

"Why don't you lie down?"" Jake suggested a little bit later, kissing the top of her head again. "Take a little snooze," he cajoled. "C'mon. Scoot over and lie down," he said, patting his leg.

"It's not safe," she argued, lifting her head and pulling a few inches away. Jake immediately missed the warmth of her body against his.

"There's no one out here," he contradicted, grabbing the steering wheel with the hand she'd freed up so he could gesture out the window at the empty road with the other. "It'll be fine. C'mon."

Jake risked a glance in Heather's direction, catching her blinking sleepily as she considered the situation. "Well, okay," she agreed, undoing her seatbelt once more. She slid over about eighteen inches, adjusting the belt so that it was still long enough to go around her waist. Turning on her side she lay down, drawing her knees up and carefully resting her head on his leg. Jake could tell that she wasn't letting herself relax completely and he pressed his hand against the side of her head, urging her to do so. "Jus' for a little bit," she sighed, her eyes falling immediately closed again.

Smiling to himself, Jake threaded his hand through her hair, stroking her scalp gently. Heather made a contented sound, burrowing against his leg, and he continued to rub her head, murmuring, "It's okay, babe." Jake risked a glance down then, studying the profile of the woman he loved by the fickle light cast off by the setting moon, the only light there was available out on this barren stretch of interstate. She trusted him, he realized at that moment. Heather had said the words more than once, but now he believed it; she trusted him enough to go to sleep in his lap, and to depend on him to keep her safe and to deliver her to the airport on time. Jake cleared his throat, trying to rid it of the lump that had suddenly formed there. Tracing the shell of her ear with the pad of his thumb, he let out a heavy breath and found himself smiling again. "Go to sleep."

* * * * *

He was forced to wake her up just over an hour later. It was still dark, but there was traffic now, which Jake began to understand when he spotted a Walmart Supercenter, complete with a packed parking lot, just off the interstate. For the first time since they'd gotten on the road he needed to brake, slowly and just pumping the pedal at first, but it was enough to worry him as he pressed his palm down over Heather's head to hold it in its place against his leg.

"Babe," he murmured, shaking her shoulder. He was almost past the exit, and every other vehicle was pulling off, but Jake was still nervous enough to wake her. It had suddenly occurred to him that if he were to brake unexpectedly she'd end up hitting her forehead on the steering wheel. "Heather, babe," he repeated, combing his hand through her hair. "You need to wake up," Jake told her. "Can you wake up for me, sweetheart?"

Heather groaned. "Are we there yet?" she yawned, her hand brushing his leg as she rubbed her eyes.

"Nah, we're maybe ten minutes outside Salina," he answered, "But there's traffic, I'm sorry."

"You're apologizing for traffic?" Heather chuckled as she made herself to sit up. "Ugh," she muttered, pressing the heel of one hand to her eye. "Man," she declared, obviously surprised, a moment later. "There's a lotta traffic. But it's - it's all going the other way," Heather pointed out, her gaze concentrated on the steady stream of cars headed west on the other side of the median.

"I forgot what the Friday after Thanksgiving meant," Jake snorted. "We just passed a Walmart, and apparently that's the place to be."

"Ah, shopping, right," Heather yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. "Never underestimate the lure of the twenty-five dollar microwave," she giggled, tightening her seatbelt before letting her head fall back against the seat.

"Think I'd rather sleep in," Jake returned dryly. Realizing how that sounded, he quickly corrected himself. "Not - Not today. Just most Thanksgivings."

Smiling, Heather leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I promise we can sleep in next year," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "No airport run."

"Okay," Jake acknowledged, glancing sideways at her. In the dark, he couldn't tell if she was blushing, but there was something about the set of her mouth that told him she was embarrassed. He smiled at her quickly, reaching up to lay his hand over hers as he returned his eyes to the road. "I'll - I'll take that deal."

"Do you want another muffin?" she asked, affecting an overly chipper tone. Heather pulled away, undoing her seatbelt when she couldn't quite reach the bag of muffins she'd left on the passenger's side floor. She slid over a few inches until she was able to retrieve their breakfast. "Got 'em," she grinned, securing her seatbelt before unzipping the bag. "Here," Heather said, handing him a halfway unwrapped muffin. Peeling the paper off her own, she let her head rest against Jake's arm.

Ninety minutes later, Jake turned the truck into the short term parking at Mid-Continent Airport. Half of the first two rows of parking, those spaces nearest the terminal, had been cordoned off - a security measure enacted after the terrorist attacks two months prior - reducing the parking by about twenty percent. The lot was nearly full, too, despite the early hour, and Jake finally settled for a spot in the corner at the back. "We're here," he announced unnecessarily, turning off the engine and glancing sideways at Heather.

"That we are," Heather grinned in return. "Thank you, kind sir." She'd stayed up after he'd awoken her, and they'd passed the time talking about a number of things, none of which were very important, none of which Heather would have thought to talk about with anyone else. Jake had listened to her, contributing to the conversation without judging her, even when their opinions didn't completely coincide. Heather had enjoyed herself, as she always did when she was alone with Jake, but this time together had been ... special, she decided. Still smiling, she leaned over, closing the four inches that separated them, and kissed him. "You taste like coffee," she told him, giggling softly, when she pulled away a long moment later.

"So do you," he informed her, chuckling, his hand finding its way into her hair. "And peanut butter," Jake added, pressing his mouth to hers again. "We better get going," he decided, taking a ragged breath as they drew apart.

"Okay," Heather agreed, undoing her seatbelt and sliding across the seat to the passenger door. She held up the bag of muffins so Jake could see it. He'd eaten four to her three, and there were still five left. "These are yours," she told him, "Though you might want to share with Gramps," Heather suggested, "Since he loaned you the truck and all."

"Fat chance of that," Jake replied, grinning at her. "I'm not sharin' this time. Besides, that's my snack for the trip home." He winked at her and then opened the door, climbing out of the cab. Coming around the back of the truck, he met Heather on the passenger's side, and took advantage of the opportunity for another kiss before getting her suitcase and backpack out of the backseat.

Heather took the backpack from him, pulling it on before fitting her purse diagonally across her torso. Jake set the suitcase down on the asphalt and surprised her by pulling out the handle. Holding onto it with one hand, he offered her the other. "You're gonna use the wheels, huh?" she joked.

"Makes it easier to hold onto my girl," he said, a hint of huskiness deepening his voice. With that, Jake tugged her toward him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He pressed his face into her hair, inhaling deeply, before sighing, "Let's go."

They made their way across the parking lot toward the terminal without speaking. Heather, enjoying the warm and comfortable feeling she got from being in Jake's embrace, glanced up at him, and was startled by the serious expression he was now wearing. The sun hadn't yet risen, but it was light out now, and she could clearly see each wrinkle on his forehead, and the way the corners of his mouth curled just slightly downward. "Hey, I'm only gonna be gone for three days," she reminded, smiling at him and reaching up to lay her hand over his. "Just long enough to miss me," she teased, eliciting a distracted and obviously forced smile from Jake. "Or did you just realize that now you have drive home three and a half hours, only to do it all again on Monday?" Heather guessed.

"I'll be here on Monday," Jake assured, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. They paused at the curb, waiting for a taxi to pass before they crossed the street. "Don't worry," he told her.

"I'm not worried," she responded, a little puzzled by his answer.

In the terminal, Heather was relieved to see that the line for ticketing wasn't too awful, and she decided that she had time to use the restroom before getting in line for her boarding pass. Handing Jake her backpack, she left him waiting for her outside the restroom's entrance. She looked over her shoulder, waving at him just before she went in, laughing softly to herself at the slightly incongruous picture he made, standing there with her bright red luggage.

Exiting a few minutes later, Heather was startled to see three National Guardsmen, all carrying submachine guns, one with a police dog, walk past on patrol. "Hey, it's the Wichita airport," Jake argued, finding her hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "There's a grand total of, I think, twelve gates. Nothin' to worry about."

"It's just weird," she replied. "I knew about it from the news and everything," Heather admitted, taking her backpack from Jake and threading her arm through his. "But it's different to actually - actually to see it," she decided, looking up at him.

His only answer was to smile reassuringly at her, dropping a quick kiss on her mouth before leading her back toward the ticket counter, where he insisted on waiting in line with her for her boarding passes. Jake held her hand in his own, playing with her fingers and shuffling from foot to foot. Heather could feel his intent stare on her, but whenever she caught his eye, he smiled at her, further confusing the situation. There was no way around it; he was making her nervous. "Uh, Jake?" she prompted, looking up at him.

"Yeah, babe?" he answered with yet another smile, tightening his grip on her hand. The ticket agent called the next customer up and they moved forward with the rest of the line. "Something wrong?" he asked his brow furrowing slightly.

"Not with me," she sighed, still studying him closely.

Jake smiled at her gently. "Good," he murmured, brushing his lips across hers.

Heather extracted her hand from Jake's rather clammy one, reaching up to cup his cheek. "You okay?" she asked him, her expression betraying both her confusion and concern.

"Me?" Jake laughed, snaking his arm around Heather and pulling her to him so they stood chest to chest. "I'm fine," he insisted, though there was a strange, quivering note in his voice that did nothing to quell Heather's worry.

Before she could respond, the ticket agent called her up, and holding onto Jake's hand, Heather led the way to the counter. "Picture ID, please," the woman requested, flashing them a distracted smile. "Where are you going today?"

"Buffalo, New York by way of Chicago," Heather replied as she handed the agent her brand new Kansas driver's license and her e-ticket print out.

"Just you?" the agent grumbled, looking over Heather's itinerary. "With the new security restrictions, you know you can't go up to the gate, right?" she questioned Jake, exasperation bleeding into her tone.

"Well, am I still allowed to walk her over to security?" Jake asked forcing himself to be - mostly - pleasant.

"Sure," the agent dismissed with one hand. "How many bags are you checking, Ms. Lisinski? And have your bags been in your control since you packed them?" she recited by rote. "Has anyone given you anything unknown to you to pack or carry on?"

"No bags, completely in my control, and nothing I don't know about," Heather responded. The woman peered over the counter at Heather's suitcase. "I'm gonna take it on board with me," she explained quickly.

"And, you've checked to make sure it meets the size requirements?" the agent asked, glancing in the direction of the display that invited them to 'Make Sure It Fits!'

Jake picked up Heather's bag and walked over to the display, inserting the suitcase into the box without any problems. He looked back to make sure the ticket agent was watching. "Just be careful putting this in the overhead," he told Heather when he rejoined her at the counter, pulling her into a sideways hug. "It's heavy."

"What, I haven't impressed you with my displays of womanly strength?" she teased, kissing him quickly.

The ticket agent cleared her throat loudly, drawing Heather's attention away from Jake. "You're at Gate Seven on the East Concourse," she said, handing Heather her boarding passes. "You'll need to check the monitors in Chicago for your connecting flight. Anything else?"

"No, thank you," Heather answered, gathering up her things. She looked sideways at Jake, smiling and accepting the hand he held out to her. "And, thank you," she told him, squeezing his hand.

"My pleasure," Jake snorted. They walked, still holding hands, toward the security line. The airport, while reasonably busy, wasn't overly crowded and there wasn't much of a line. Jake stopped Heather, pulling her to the side. "So, I'll meet you right here on Monday, okay?" he said with a gentle grin.

"You better," Heather replied, leaning into him.

"Hey, it's only three days," he reminded, his tone suddenly gruff, brushing a wisp of hair off her face. "Now, you've taken the nail clippers out of your purse, right?" Jake teased. "No scissors, pocket knife, nail file, anything like that?"

Heather socked him on the arm. "Stop!" she complained, giggling. "You're gonna curse me with getting my suitcase searched. And - Oh..." she groaned, starting to dig through her purse. She extracted her keys from the bottom of her bag, showing Jake the two inch mini-Swiss Army knife he was already quite aware she carried with her. "Here," Heather groaned, finding and then working one key off the ring. "This one I need," she told him, "But the rest only work back in Jericho."

"Okay," Jake acknowledged, smiling at her softly. Looking down at the keychain she'd deposited in his hand, he laughed. "Do you have a key to everything in Jericho? Seriously, there are twenty keys here," he guessed, going through them.

"There are not," she argued, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. "Two keys for my house, firebox, a car key, school keys ..."

"Well, I'll keep these safe," Jake promised, tucking the key ring into the inside pocket of his coat. "Give 'em back on Monday," he added, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I better get in line," Heather said a few moments later, taking a half step away.

"Yeah," Jake agreed, his voice suddenly gruff. "C'm'ere," he demanded, holding his arms open to her. He hugged her tightly, kissing the top of Heather's head and then cupping her chin, tilted her head up so he could bring his lips down on top of hers. "Monday," he reminded, breathing into her mouth.

"Two-fifteen," she confirmed, combing her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. "Meet ya right here."

"Right here," Jake echoed, frowning at Heather when she squared her shoulders and stepped backwards, out of his embrace. She tried to reach for her suitcase, but Jake steered it out of her range. "I'll walk you over," he told her.

Heather smiled at him, nodding. "Okay," she said, holding her hand out to him. Twenty seconds later they were standing next to the starting point of the roped off security line, though this morning it could hardly be called a line; there were only eight people ahead of her, and they were all in the process of being screened. "I think I should take that now," she sighed, reaching for her bag which, this time, Jake surrendered to her.

They faced one another, their gazes locking. Jake found her hand, squeezing it quickly before letting it go so he could instead cup her cheek. "Heather," he began, flashing an anxious smile, "I - I love you." The words left his mouth in a nervous rush of breath and then, before she could respond, he'd pulled her back into his arms, crushing his mouth to hers.

Reeling from the glorious shock of Jake's announcement - he loved her! - as well as the delightful sensation of his kiss, Heather gave herself up to the moment, only to be rudely jarred out of it a few seconds later when someone - something - caught against her hip and then dragged across her rear end. Instinctively, she pulled away from Jake, protesting this assault on her person. "Hey!" she complained, glancing back over her shoulder.

A portly and balding middle-aged man stared back. "Out of the way, girlie," he practically shouted, hefting his overstuffed bag, knocking it into Heather once again.

"Hey, watch it," Jake growled, taking a step toward the man, one hand clenched into a fist.

"You watch it!" the man yelled in return. "And - And get a room! This is an airport for Christ's sake."

Jake, about to take another step toward the man, stopped when a hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder. Something brushed his leg, and he looked down, recognizing the German Shepherd that had been patrolling with the National Guard. "I would suggest not, sir," the man standing behind Jake warned.

"Hey, no trouble here," Jake claimed, holding up his hands. He caught Heather's eye, forcing a reassuring smile. "I'm just sayin' good-bye."

"I think you've pretty much covered good-bye," the soldier told Jake. The other traveler snorted in agreement before finally shoving past Heather and stalking toward the security checkpoint. "Ma'am, you're ticketed?" the guardsman asked, looking at Heather. She nodded. "Please proceed to security," he ordered.

"It's okay, babe," Jake added. "I'll see you Monday."

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

Monday, November 27, two months after the bombs

Not quite two hours after he'd kissed Heather goodbye in the clinic's basement, Jake found himself striding back into the building, hoping to locate Dhuwalia before the full ramifications of what he was doing hit him. After leaving Heather, already wholly involved in her inventory of cast-off equipment, Jake had returned to town hall, running into Jimmy Taylor on the street outside. Jimmy had informed him of Gracie Leigh's murder, adding that - no real surprise - Jonah Prowse was the prime suspect. Jake had hurried into the sheriff's station, and ended up in a debate over the election as much as the murder with his father and brother. Dale Turner had been there as well, insistent on joining the hunt for Jonah, though Gail wouldn't allow it, and had finally forced the boy from the room. Facing his sons, Johnston had suggested reluctantly that their best option was to beard the lion in his own den, and the three Green men had agreed that, again, they would need to make the trip out to the armed camp that was West Kansas Shipping and Freight.

Agreeing to meet up with the other two a quarter mile from the compound as soon as possible, Jake had gone to collect Robert Hawkins, who'd seemed almost relieved by the summons, and hadn't even bothered to ask what was up until they were in the car and on their way. Hawkins had asked, too, if there was anywhere else that Jonah might be, if he had family or friends in town, and Jake had hit the steering wheel with his hand, quickly executing a U-turn. From there, he'd driven straight to Emily's.

At Emily's, they'd run into a group of armed men led by Gray Anderson, who'd insisted on the right to search Emily's home for her father. Bill Kilroy, in uniform, had come around from the back of the house then, facing Jake's hard stare with a defiant look of his own. Somehow, Hawkins had managed to get them to back off, suggesting that they patrol together. Once they'd left, Jake had turned on Emily, demanding that she tell him where Jonah was. Emily had feigned ignorance at first, but he'd pushed his way past her and in the front door, only to find himself facing the business end of Jonah Prowse's gun.

Jonah had argued with Jake, holding the gun on him until he'd collapsed from loss of blood. Jake had tried to convince Jonah to surrender and come into town with him where he'd be in protective custody at town hall, but Jonah hadn't trusted that his own men wouldn't break in just to kill him. Emily had gotten hysterical at that point, demanding that Jake get a doctor, which is why he was here, back at the clinic and beginning to get a very bad feeling about how everything was going down.

"Jake!" he heard his wife call out, surprised, before he'd made it ten feet in the door. She hurried toward him, leaving April and Drake with whom she'd been speaking, back at the desk. "Are you all right?" Heather demanded as she reached his side. She grabbed the arm of his jacket, raising it up and examining it closely.

"I'm - I'm fine," Jake assured quickly, spotting for the first time the long, dark streak of blood - Jonah's - on his sleeve. He pulled his arm out of her grasp and then cupped her face with both hands. "It's -It's not my blood," he told her, crooning softly. "It's not my blood. I'm okay, promise," Jake added, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth.

"Gracie Leigh?" April guessed, joining them. She folded her arms over her chest, throwing Jake a grim look. "We just had Gray Anderson and Bill Kilroy come through here, demanding to search the building for Jonah Prowse."

"What?" Jake growled, dropping his hands from Heather's face, clenching them both into fists. "Where are they?"

"Gone already," Heather explained, shaking her head. "I asked him if he really thought we'd hide Jonah Prowse, but -"

"Gray's an idiot," April interjected with a snort. "And so's Bill. They were only here for about ten minutes," she continued, sighing, "But we heard about what happened to Gracie, and everyone's freaked."

Jake nodded. "Yeah, it's a mess out there, too," he confirmed, drawing Heather into a sideways hug. "You should just hang out here until it's all died -" He stopped, flashing an annoyed smile. "Until it's quieted down," he corrected. "I'm lookin' for Kenchy," Jake added, "I need him to help with - with the investigation."

"You're doing an autopsy?" Drake asked, his expression confused. "Those other guys said she was stabbed and bled out on the floor."

"He's at his other office," April said, saving Jake from having to answer Drake's question. "And it's about noon now, so there's pretty much no chance he's sober," she warned, rolling her eyes. "Not that I should complain," April sighed, pressing the back of one hand to her forehead. "He let me have the whole weekend off, and he's a good doctor when he's not bellied up to the bar."

"April," Jake frowned, "You don't - you don't know what it was like for him in Rogue River. It - it was bad. You should cut him some slack." Heather caught his hand in her own, squeezing his fingers in what Jake correctly interpreted to be a warning not to say anymore. April had turned pale and she held herself stiffly, covering her mouth with her hand as she fought for control. "Look," Jake began, "I'm -"

"No," she interrupted, shaking her head and closing her eyes. "You're right. I have no idea what he's been through," April agreed. "But couldn't - couldn't he at least find somewhere else to drink?" she demanded, sucking a shaky breath in through her teeth. Drake, surprising them all, reached over to pat her on the arm, smiling at April shyly. A grin fought its way onto her face, and she leaned over, giving him a one-armed hug. "Thank you," she sighed.

"Doctor Green!" a nurse shouted down the hallway.

Taking a calming breath, April forced a smile. "C'mon, Drake," she mumbled, tugging on the young man's arm. "Let's go do our job."

"He's good to be here?" Jake questioned quietly, as soon as he was sure the pair were out of earshot.

Catching his eye, Heather shrugged. "He says he's better, and he's tired of sleeping all the time. April's keepin' an eye on him, and so are Mikey and Jeff. What do you do?" she sighed. "Can't lock him in the basement forever."

"Right," Jake snorted in agreement. "Look, I better go find Kenchy," he said a few seconds later, pressing a kiss to her temple. "But stay here, okay? For the afternoon."

"I've got things I can do here," Heather allowed, offering him a smile. "B.G. and I will be fine, don't worry," she added, resting her hand over her pregnant belly.

"B.G.?" he grinned in return, guessing, "Baby Green?"

"Yep," she confirmed with a soft giggle. "It's a nice, gender neutral nickname. Keeps everybody happy."

"That kid just better not come out singing Stayin' Alive," Jake joked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Definitely no disco for this B.G.," Heather agreed.

He kissed her then, murmuring "I better go," against her lips. Heather nodded. "I'll see you and B.G. later," he added, and squeezing her hand one more time, Jake turned, heading back toward the main entrance. He needed to get Dhuwalia and get him to Emily's before Jonah did anything stupid - like leaving - or inconvenient - like dying in her living room. Behind him, he heard someone ask Heather a question, and he checked over his shoulder to see that she now had her back to him. Stopping five feet from the exit, Jake glanced right. There was a supply closet down the corridor, he knew, and Dhuwalia was going to need something to work with. Looking back one last time, Jake ducked into the hallway.

"Jake," Michael and Jeff greeted in unison, turning the corner at the other end of the passage. "You come to join all the fun and excitement too?" his brother-in-law drawled, rolling his eyes.

Holding up a hand to quiet them, Jake jerked his head toward the supply closet. Jeff nodded, pushing the door open and gesturing for them to precede him. "Fun and excitement?" Jake questioned, facing the two younger men. Like April and Drake, they were both dressed in scrubs, each with a stethoscope hanging around his neck; it took Jake a moment to recall that they'd been in Jericho exactly six days.

"Yeah," Jeff confirmed. "Apparently Jack the Ripper's on the loose, and Graybald Anderson and Deputy Kill Joy are going to subdue him." He glanced sideways at Michael, who settled for smirking in agreement.

"Graybald?" Jake repeated, his lips twitching.

"Hey, I just don't get how a guy with that little hair gets the nickname 'Gray'," Jeff muttered. "How can you tell?"

"April was spittin' mad," Michael reported. "Heather too. I didn't remember, really, who Jonah Prowse was until she called them both imbeciles." He waited a beat before adding, "But he's supposed to be injured, so they thought he might be here."

"Right," Jake acknowledged with a grunt. "Look, guys, I need a suture kit and whatever else I need to fix up an arm that someone took a steak knife to."

Michael and Jeff exchanged a look. Clearing his throat, Michael faced his brother-in-law with an incredulous stare. "You know where Jonah Prowse is? And, you're helping him? Didn't he try to kill you?"

"I'm just trying to bring him in," Jake argued, his jaw clenched. "He's injured, and there're idiots with guns running around out there who'll kill him if they see him. He says he didn't do it, and -" He broke off, taking a moment to consider the situation. "I don't know if he killed Gracie. I don't know if he didn't. I don't care," he snapped, frustrated. "But I have to make sure this gets done right."

"Frontier justice," Jeff muttered, grimacing. "Everybody thinks they're John Wayne."

"We've seen it," Michael admitted, looking down at his feet for a second. "Too much." He raised his head, facing his brother-in-law with a serious expression. "Trust me, when it comes down to it, nobody's John Wayne but John Wayne."

Jeff turned around and began searching the shelves. "Here," he said handing Jake a sealed package. "Everything you need to stitch him up. Plus..." he looked around, bending over to pull gauze and alcohol off another shelf. "This and this. But if it's as bad as you say, he's gonna need some serious painkillers," Jeff reminded, "And we can't get you that."

"April's got the only key to the drug cabinet," Michael filled in. "About all we can give you Tylenol."

"As long as it won't kill him, I can live with Jonah Prowse in pain," Jake grumbled as he shoved supplies into a plastic sack marked 'Jericho Medical'.

"Okay then," Jeff nodded. "You need one of us to come along?" he offered. "I mean, can you really stitch him up yourself?"

"No, I'm gonna go by Bailey's and get Kenchy," Jake explained. "And as long as Gray Anderson's runnin' around town with a shotgun, it's better you're here, with Heather and April," he told them, yanking the door open, "Just in case."

Jake stepped out into the hallway, turning left toward the exit, and found himself face to face with his wife. "Babe," he greeted, stopping short so that Jeff and Michael both narrowly missed running into him as they also exited the supply closet.

"Sis!" Michael practically squeaked, looking very much like a deer caught in headlights.

Jeff grabbed his arm, pulling him around Jake. "Heather," he mumbled as they scurried past her.

Heather glanced back over her shoulder, watching her brother and his friend until they disappeared, hurrying around the corner. "Okay," she said, turning around to face Jake. "What's with them? And, what's going on?" she demanded, hands on her hips, her tone betraying genuine confusion as well as a touch of amusement. "What's all that?" Heather added, gesturing at the bag Jake carried. "I thought you were leaving."

"I am," he admitted, frowning softly. "I'm on my way out." Jake allowed the bag to fall to the floor as he reached for Heather's hand. "Medical supplies," he explained, looking down for a second before meeting her gaze. "I - I located Jonah Prowse -"

"Jonah Prowse," Heather choked out, her eyes widening. "Jake -"

"Babe, he's injured, and unless I can get him patched up -" He stopped, shaking his head. "I've gotta bring him in somehow. Without Gray Anderson shooting him first."

"Jake, this is crazy," she protested, her voice cracking. "It's dangerous, and - and he tried to kill you."

"I know," he acknowledged, letting out a frustrated breath. "But he says he didn't do it, that Mitch Cafferty set him up. I don't know what to believe. Hell, they both could've done it together - that I could believe." Pressing his lips together in a grim line, Jake looked up and down the hall, verifying that they were alone. He stepped toward her, lowering his voice. "But I can't - I have to try. I can't just let the vigilantes running around out there kill him."

Her eyes flooded with tears, and Jake couldn't help but close his own against the sight. "You're - you're gonna risk -"

"No," Jake contradicted emphatically, pulling her against him, the bulge of their baby nestled between them. "I will not put myself between Jonah Prowse and any gun. Trust me," he ground out, pressing his face into her hair. "But if we get him stitched up, and then we can get 'im to the jail, maybe we can still do this right - the right way. Figure out if he did it before we execute him."

"You promise?" Heather demanded, taking a half-step back so she could look him in the eye. "Promise me."

He cupped her face with both hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. "I promise you - you and B.G., okay?" Jake said, smiling at her gently. "This'll all be over in a few hours, one way or the other, and we'll be fine. Promise," he repeated. With that, Jake let go of her, stooping slightly to retrieve the dropped supplies. "I need to go," he reminded, standing.

Heather nodded, fighting for a moment her trembling lower lip. "I love you," she declared, taking a step toward Jake. "And, thank you," she added with a sigh, attempting a smile. "For telling me."

Jake pressed a quick but unrestrained kiss to her mouth, his hand splayed almost possessively over Heather's smaller one, resting atop her rounded belly. Drawing away, he squeezed her hand and then stepped back, breaking all contact between them. "I love you, too," he croaked out.

He moved past her, already at a jog. Heather closed her eyes, concentrating on the sound of the hard soles of his boots striking the linoleum, until - too soon - the echo dissipated, leaving her standing alone.

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

Different Circumstances: Part 11B of ?
by Marzee Doats

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

Monday, November 27, two months after the bombs

"Here you are!" April exclaimed as she entered her office. Juggling two bowls - she'd managed to open the door with her elbow - she moved across the cramped space, setting them both down on the desk. "Now I feel bad," she confessed, dropping into a guest chair. "I sent Drake down to the basement to get you," she told Heather. "And, that's after he made lunch for us. You okay?" April asked finally, peering across the desk at her sister-in-law.

Manufacturing a smile, Heather nodded. "I'm fine," she insisted, sniffing and blinking rapidly. "Really," she claimed, starting to get up. "And, I'm sorry, I needed a few minutes alone," she continued, emitting a sigh. "Here," Heather declared, stepping out from behind April's desk. "Thanks for the loan."

"Sit, sit," April argued, waving Heather back into the chair she'd just vacated. "Mi oficina es su oficina," she joked. "Though I'm not usually over here," she admitted with a wry smile, "View's a little different." April paused, frowning softly, and studied the younger woman for a moment. "So, seriously, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Heather denied, shaking her head. She swiped her arm across her eyes quickly and took a deep breath. "You said I was in the happy hormone stage," she grumbled, "But I don't know, I'm not feelin' it today. And, hey," Heather declared, clearing her throat and squaring her shoulders, "What's got you so happy?"

"Oh, God," April groaned, slumping in her seat slightly. "If you're buying this as me, happy, just -" She stopped, groaning again. "I'm trying a positive attitude, that's all," she explained, leaning forward to pick up one of the bowls. "Lunch. Strawberries and cream oatmeal, which I'm pretty sure is nasty stuff, or I'm thinkin' it wouldn't still be in the break room."

"It's hot, that's enough for me," Heather returned, accepting the dish.

"Hot's good," her sister-in-law agreed with a shrug, spooning up her first bite. She tasted it, and then made a face. "Positive attitude," she repeated mushily, forcing herself to swallow. "Before I alienate all of you who have to live with me, I figured I better find one. But happy?" April murmured, "I'm gonna have to work up to that." She took another bite, watching Heather as she choked down her first mouthful. "So, spill. You're not getting off that easy. What's wrong?"

Heather closed her eyes, fighting the trembling of her lower lip. Setting her bowl down, April reached across the desk, laying her hand over her friend's. "Jake," Heather began and then she paused to breathe. "Jake - He's got Jonah Prowse. He's - Jonah's injured, so that's what Jake needed Kenchy for, for real. To get Jonah some medical treatment and then bring him in."

"Well that's just crazy," April complained, sitting back in her chair. "He tried to kill Jake. I was there, in the emergency room at four o'clock in the morning," she reminded, shaking her head. "And Gray's hot to get Jonah. Why not just let 'im?"

"Jake says Jonah says he didn't kill Gracie," Heather reported dully. "He - He wants to get Jonah to the jail so they can take a step back and sort things out, I guess." They both took bites of their cereal, neither speaking for a few seconds. "I've been sitting here - I dunno, the last twenty minutes - trying to decide what's better for Dad, for the election," Heather admitted, looking down at the bowl cupped in her hands. "Jake bringing Jonah in, or Gray Anderson shooting him dead in the street."

April grimaced. "Those are the choices? I don't think - the way that people are talking..." She didn't bother to complete the thought. "You know, I don't even know what Jonah Prowse looks like. He could've walked in here this morning and asked for treatment, and I wouldn't have known any better."

"You would've still treated him, even if he introduced himself," Heather argued. "You're a doctor. Hippocratic Oath and all that."

"Yeah," April acknowledged softly, stirring her oatmeal absently before taking another bite. "And you wouldn't want Gray Anderson shooting him dead in the street."

"Well, I wouldn't want anyone shot dead in the street," Heather agreed, shrugging. "Because I don't want to live in that kind of world. I don't want to bring a child into that kind of world," she added, making a face. She set her bowl down and sat back in her chair, wrapping her arms around herself. "That's why Jake's doing this, I guess. I just wish it didn't have to be him," Heather admitted, "As selfish as that is."

"Hey, in my office you can be as selfish as you want," April assured her, offering a lopsided smile. "And, I guess it's not so crazy after all. Jake, I mean," she explained, spotting the question in Heather's gaze. "I don't think he wants to bring a child into a world where people take the law into their own hands like that either."

Pressing one hand protectively over her baby, Heather nodded. It occurred to her at that moment that this was a good part of what Jake had been trying to tell her for the past month, ever since their blow-up over the Ravenwood incident. He'd been loathe to explain any of what had happened in Rogue River, but she'd gotten enough out of him that she knew it had been bad, that things had gone wrong in every way possible. Jake, she realized, was hell bent on shielding her and their child from everything awful the world had to offer these days. But she'd fought his protectiveness, seeing it as an indictment of her own abilities rather than as an indication of his love for her, and their baby, too.

She was guilty, Heather admitted to herself, of thinking that she was more invested in the life they were building together than he was. After all, she'd been the one who'd decided that it was time to have children, and she was the one who was pregnant; but Jake had agreed - perhaps a little reluctantly - that they were ready, and he certainly showed his concern and devotion every day. Heather recalled the way he'd rested his hand over her belly not an hour before when he'd promised her - and their baby - that he'd be careful and that everything would turn out fine. She remembered, too, his declaration on Thanksgiving, that he was thankful for his family and for impending fatherhood. She'd been happily surprised by his public pronouncement of his feelings and she decided now that all she could do was hold onto the trust and love she and Jake had for one another - and believe it was enough.

"True," Heather sighed softly. She met April's gaze with a wry grin. "And he did promise me - me and B.G. - that he wouldn't get between Jonah and any gun, so I suppose I should just be grateful for that."

"B.G.?" April laughed, guessing, "Boy - girl? That's one way around the whole gender debate."

"Baby Green," Heather explained, "But boy - girl works, too. As long as it's not one of each," she chuckled. "I'm not ready for that, and Jake really isn't ready for that."

"Jake wants this though," April said, reaching across the desk to lay her hand over the younger woman's. "We all heard him on Thanksgiving. He loves you, and he can't wait to be a dad," she reminded, unknowingly reading Heather's thoughts. "Boy or girl, I'm guessing, no matter how many times he says boy," April smiled.

"He really doesn't care," Heather confirmed. "We've just been having fun debating it," she admitted, smiling to herself as she recalled those moments - always too short - which they'd shared over the past week, ever since Jake had first felt their baby move, arguing over its sex.

Well, just hold onto that, okay?" April instructed, withdrawing her hand.

Heather reached for her oatmeal, nodding in agreement. "Okay."

Spotting something out of the corner of her eye, April stood up, taking two steps across the small office. Frowning, she pulled a magnet off the side of her filing cabinet and turned, dropping it into the wastebasket. "Something Eric gave me," she admitted, returning to her seat.

"What was it?" Heather asked, her voice full of sympathy.

"It's stupid. Sappy," April answered, shaking her head. She picked up her own half-finished bowl, contemplating it for a moment before placing it back on the desktop. "Just a magnet he gave me back when we first started dating," she explained. "We'd been together three, four months?" April guessed, "And we were on our way here to Jericho, actually, for the weekend. Harvest Festival of all things, because Eric got it into his head that I'd really liked it when I'd lived in Jericho before," she continued, chuckling softly at the memory. "I'd mentioned it once," she stressed, rolling her eyes, "As in 'Does Jericho still have the Harvest Festival?' But anyway, we stopped at this gas station to fill up and we went inside for snacks or soda or something and it had this really tacky little gift shop. I went to use the restroom while Eric paid, and when I came out he handed it to me." April paused then, grumbling as she moved her chair over a few inches so she could retrieve the item from the trash. She looked at it for a moment, reading it again for herself before she handed it to her sister-in-law.

The magnet had a picture of Snoopy on it, sitting atop his doghouse and looking a little ill. "'It's either the flu or love. The symptoms are the same,'" Heather read, laughing quietly at the sentiment.

"Yeah," April acknowledged, letting out a held breath. "He gave me that and said, 'I'm pretty sure it's not the flu, doc.' That's how he told me he loved me," she admitted, pressing her lips tightly together for a moment. "Who knows?" she muttered, taking the magnet back from Heather in order to throw it away again. "He probably did just have the flu."

"He didn't have the flu," Heather contradicted immediately. "You know that, April. You do. When I first met you two," she said, a note of sadness ringing in her tone, "You were both so obviously in love."

April's eyes flooded with tears and she faced Heather across her desk without speaking. Finally, wiping her eyes, she muttered, "Well, we were never as obvious as you and Jake."

"We were a little out of control at times, I'll admit," Heather chuckled, blushing prettily. "Too much, maybe." She stopped for a moment, studying the top of April's desk while she considered what she wanted to say next. April had never kept as many photos around as Heather did, and so there was an obvious bare spot where she'd removed two - a wedding portrait of herself and Eric, and another candid of Eric alone - from one corner of her desk. All that remained was the last formal picture taken of the Green family, including both Grandpa and Eric, a photo of April with her sisters and mother, and a snapshot of April's nephew in Seattle. Heather frowned softly, aching once again for her sister-in-law and friend. "I think - I don't think you should throw this away," she said, wheeling the desk chair around so she could pull the magnet out of the waste basket.

"This is part of your baby's heritage," Heather told April, studying the item for a few seconds before holding it out to her sister-in-law. "No matter how things have turned out, your baby was conceived in love and this - this is proof of that fact," she sighed, glancing once again at the reduced cluster of framed photos on the right hand side of the desk.

"Top drawer," April explained, closing her eyes. "I didn't get rid of them, I just - I needed to put them away." She allowed a derisive snort then, blinking rapidly before her pain-filled gaze locked with Heather's. "And, don't think I don't know that Gail's hidden her copy of our wedding album. Which was never in any danger from me, anyway, I swear."

"I know," Heather soothed, "And so does Gail. She just didn't want you to - to come across it and be hurt," she claimed, deciding that, since she truly didn't know otherwise regarding their mother-in-law's motivation in removing the album from the den, it wasn't really a lie.

April studied the metallic plaque for a long moment, shaking her head again. "Fine," she decided grudgingly, handing the magnet to her sister-in-law. "You can put it in the top drawer."

"That works," Heather smiled softly, pulling the desk drawer open. She placed the magnet on top of the wedding photo and then looked up, catching April's eye again. "And you know, you can think of this a little differently now," she suggested. "I mean, when you were first pregnant, before you knew for sure? 'It's either the flu or love'," she quoted, "'The symptoms are the same'."

"The flu is respiratory, not intestinal," April argued, fighting a grin. Her hand settled over her abdomen, where she at least - if no one else - had noticed the early changes in her body that signaled the new life she carried. "But I think I get your point, as twisted as your logic is."

Heather's only response was a slightly wider smile. She picked up her bowl, and applied herself to it again, scraping the sides to come up with a heaping spoonful which she quickly swallowed. "If you eat it without breathing, it's not half bad."

April started to giggle at that, and then tried it herself, ending up laughing so hard that she almost choked on her mouthful. "Ouch," she complained, trying to catch her breath while Heather, giving into her own giggling, could only wave one hand in what April assumed was supposed to be an apology. Then both ended up laying back in their chairs, spent, panting softly. "Well, at least it's all gone now," April decided, allowing an amused sigh as she sat up long enough to put her bowl down on the desk. There was a knock at the door, and she called out "Come in," as she again slumped backwards in her seat.

"Are you okay?" Jeff demanded, pushing the door open and stepping into April's office. "I heard you laughing practically on the other side of the building. And, here you are!" he declared, spotting Heather behind April's desk. "We've been looking all over for you," he complained, glaring at her gently. "Drake couldn't find you downstairs, and the three of us have all been looking for you. There's a crazed killer on the loose, you know."

"I know all about Jake and Jonah Prowse, and that he's injured, and that you and Mikey helped Jake out," Heather returned, rolling her eyes and hiccupping through one last giggle. "So I really don't think there's a crazed killer on the loose," she informed Jeff, clearing her throat. "Though I guess Jonah's saying he didn't do it, so maybe there is a crazed killer on the loose."

"Well, either way, there's still a crazed mayoral candidate on the loose," Jeff offered, moving into the room and taking the chair next to April's.

She snickered at that. "Gray Anderson, crazed mayoral candidate," April chuckled, shaking her head. "God, that's so true," she groaned.

"Has he always been such a nut job?" Jeff questioned, looking back and forth between the two women. "Seriously, every time I've seen him, he's totally foaming at the mouth."

"This is the third time he's run against Dad," April explained. "And he knows this time he's got a chance."

"Too good of one," Heather muttered.

"Well, that's stupid," he frowned. "Mayor Green's done a great job around here as far as I can see, and you'd think people would know that you don't change horses midstream." Heather and April both snickered gently, and Jeff grinned in return. "Hey, that's the sort of thing you Greens are always sayin'. Tough row to hoe 'til the cows come home, but don't cry over spilt milk, and all that," he joked. "Me? I'm just trying to fit in."

"Yeah," Heather agreed, exchanging an amused look with her sister-in-law, "We Greens are all very down home like that."

"And he never even met Gramps," April chuckled.

"That's exactly what I was thinking," Heather declared, giving into a giggle.

There was a sharp knock at the door before it was shoved open again, and Michael and Drake piled into the office. "What's this?" Michael demanded, glaring at his sister. "Did you decide we were playing sardines without telling the rest of us? We've been lookin' for you for the last fifteen minutes!"

"I couldn't find you downstairs," Drake added, "And, I got worried."

"Jake told us to keep an eye on you two," Jeff admitted then.

"Of course he did," Heather sighed, fighting a smile. "And, I'm sorry," she apologized, rubbing her forehead. "I've been hiding out in here since he left, actually."

"It's my fault, really," April added, glancing over her shoulder at the two young men standing behind her. "I just figured you'd come find me first," she told Drake, her expression turning sheepish, "Before you called out search and rescue."

Drake surveyed the desk, taking in the two empty bowls. "It's okay," he decided. "You needed to eat, and at least everything's all right." He stepped forward, holding out one hand. "I can take those if you want."

"Oh! Thank you," April agreed, stacking their dishes together. "And, I really am sorry. We just got to eating and chatting, and ..."

"And, that's our cue to leave," Jeff announced, standing up. "I kinda busted in on them," he told his friends. "They were laughing pretty hard, so I'm pretty sure it was girl talk," he teased with a mock shudder. "I have an older sister. I remember slumber parties."

"Yeah, so do I," Michael groaned. He faced his sister, his expression grave. "Just - just don't leave without one of us, okay? You, too, April," he added, glancing quickly at the other woman.

"Okay, Jake," Heather teased, standing up and coming around the desk to give her brother a quick hug. "But I promise," she told him, kissing his cheek, "I'm gonna stay right here. You can check up on me."

"And me," April said, moving behind her desk. "I need to take care of a few things, and then I'll be out."

Jeff saluted. "Yes ma'am, Dr. Green," he grinned, "We'll get back to work now."

With that, he herded the other two out of the office. Heather, taking the seat her sister-in-law had vacated, watched April as she studied one of the photographs, the Green family portrait, on the end of her desk. She picked up a small sticky notepad and peeled one off, pressing the paper over what Heather realized was Eric's head in the picture. April met her sister-in-law's gaze with an embarrassed look which eased some when Heather flashed a sympathetic smile. "You need this?" she asked, holding up the legal pad Heather had been making notes on earlier.

Heather nodded, accepting the item. "Thanks."

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

Friday, November 23, five years before the bomb

Jake's cell phone trilled, pulling him back into the here and now - yet another lonely stretch of I-70 - and out of his reverie. He'd been thinking about Heather of course; she was never far from his thoughts these days, and especially not now after what had happened at the airport. He'd finally managed to get the words out, he'd told her he loved her - and Heather loved him, too, he'd seen it in her eyes - and then they'd gotten into an altercation with the only business traveler actually traveling on this Friday after Thanksgiving.

Shaking his head, Jake reached for his phone, lifting it out of the cup holder. He checked the number and smiled. It was her. He flipped the phone open and pressed it to his ear. "Hey," Jake greeted, surprised at the hitch he heard in his own voice.

"I love you, too," she said quietly - shyly, Jake thought - before exclaiming, "And, oh my God, are you okay? You didn't get arrested, did you?"

"That's a relief," Jake chuckled, checking his mirrors and finding no other vehicles in sight. "I don't know what I would've done if you'd said 'I really, really like you a lot, Jake,'" he teased, settling back in his seat. "Because I happen to love you, babe," he completed, his voice turning husky.

"You couldn't have possibly thought I didn't love you," Heather protested. "Jake!" she groaned before giving into an anxious giggle. "It was so obvious," she insisted, pausing for a few seconds before adding quietly, "I was so obvious."

"Not that obvious," he complained, letting out a long breath. "Though I was pretty sure you liked me," Jake admitted with a grunt.

"I do like you," Heather returned, and Jake could hear the smile in her voice. "A lot," she declared loudly. In the next second, though, she was whispering into the phone, the rasping sound of her voice causing him to tighten his grip on the steering wheel. "I like talking to you. You listen to me, and I can - I can say anything and it's okay," she confessed. "And, I like hanging out with you, stargazing with you. I like going to the lake with you, dancing with you, playing the 'X' game with you," Heather teased, chuckling softly. "I even like flying with you," she admitted with a sigh.

"Babe -" Jake tried, but she cut him off.

"I like not talking to you, too," she murmured, pulling a soft moan from Jake. "And, I love holding your hand and being in your arms. I love kissing you," Heather practically purred, her voice dropping another half octave. "And more."

"Heather," Jake ground out in warning. "I'm trying to drive here," he told her, his tone strangled. His head was swimming and the muscles in his stomach actually quivered, all at just the sound of her voice. "And aren't you in an airport?" he demanded hoarsely.

"Yeah," she confirmed with a shaky laugh. "Gate C-23. Not a lot of people around yet. Flight's not for another hour. Where are you?"

"Middle of nowhere, Kansas," he answered, letting out his own less than steady breath. Jake spotted a mileage sign up ahead and squinted at it until he could make it out. "Not quite halfway home."

"Jake!" Heather exclaimed. "Seriously, what happened? I was kidding about getting arrested," she told him.

"Hey, I wasn't arrested," he assured quickly. "More like detained," Jake added a beat later, "But that was still only for ten minutes, at most."

She groaned. "I'm so sorry. And that jerk was in the seat ahead of me on the plane," Heather complained, making a frustrated noise. "I kicked his seat accidentally-on-purpose a number of times, if that makes you feel better. Made me feel better," she muttered.

"Defending my honor, Miss Lisinski?" Jake chuckled gently. "Here I thought that was my job."

"We can share," she decided. "I'll defend yours, and you can defend mine," Heather suggested, the warmth of her tone and the sentiment soothing Jake. "But you're sure you're okay?"

"Not a scratch on me," he swore, smiling to himself. In the past, if someone - even his mother - had questioned him more than once like that, Jake would have bristled at the inquiry, seeing it almost as an invasion of his privacy. But with Heather he could hear the love and concern in her voice, and it disarmed him. "I'm okay," he promised. "I love you, and I miss you already," he added a few seconds later, almost inaudibly.

Despite the guardsman having ordered her to continue on, and Jake's assurances that she should go, Heather hadn't hurried into the security line, and instead had walked slowly, checking them more than once over her shoulder. The soldier, too, hadn't seemed to be any rush and had allowed Jake to remain where he was until after she had gone through security, including having her bag searched and - Jake thought - something confiscated. He'd dismissed the other two guardsmen, sending the German Shepherd with them, but had left his meaty hand on Jake's shoulder as a reminder of who was in charge. "Your wife?" he'd asked at one point.

"Girlfriend," Jake had replied, not at all interested in starting a conversation with the other man.

To add to the confusion, a thirty person tour group had filed into the security line, little old ladies eyeing Jake and his companion with alarm as they'd marched past them, following their tour guide who urged, almost continually, "Keep together, Sunflower Travel! Keep together!"

"I need to see some ID," the soldier had informed Jake as soon as Heather had been allowed through security and onto the concourse.

"Right," Jake had muttered. He'd pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, asking, "All right if I turn around?"

"Sure," the guardsman had agreed, his tone annoyingly neutral.

Rotating around, Jake had gotten his first good look at the other man, who was his same height, though stockier and - he'd guessed - a few years younger. His expression had been stony, betraying nothing, as he'd examined Jake's driver's license. "Sergeant Douglas," Jake had begun, quickly checking the name patch on the guardsman's uniform. "I'm a Federal Agent. DEA."

Douglas looked up. "Is that so, Mr. Green?" he'd inquired, returning Jake's wallet to him.

"My badge is in my jacket, left hand pocket," Jake had offered then, figuring - hoping - that would be fastest way to clear up the matter.

"Okay," the sergeant had said, nodding once, sharply. "Slowly." Jake had reached into his jacket then - slowly, as ordered - while Douglas had watched him like a hawk. Jake had wisely opted to say nothing, remaining silent as he'd handed over his credentials. "Well then, Agent Green, how 'bout you come with me?"

Three minutes later, Douglas had ushered Jake into the airport security office, a small interior room, overcrowded with desks. After quickly explaining the situation to his commanding officer, a captain who looked like he was all of two minutes from retirement, Douglas had turned Jake over to him and had left the office to return to duty. From two desks away, the rent-a-cop security guard, who was manning a telephone that appeared to never ring, had watched the proceedings with undisguised interest. Grunting, Captain Costas had offered Jake a seat, throwing the security guard a dirty look that did nothing to dissuade him.

"Agent Green, is it?" Costas had inquired, examining Jake's badge and ID as he'd dropped back into his seat. He'd looked up, apparently comparing Jake to his picture. "Agent Johnston Green," Costas had muttered to himself, returning Jake's DEA credentials before making a quick note on a legal pad.

"It's Jake," he'd corrected, accepting the badge and tucking it back into his jacket.

"Do you have a supervisor, someone who can vouch for you?" Costas had continued.

"And if I don't, are you planning to arrest me?" Jake had returned, fixing the older man with a hard stare.

"This would all go easier, if you'd just cooperate," Costas had countered. "You caused a bit of an altercation out there," he'd grumbled, "And I'd like to get this resolved as quickly and painlessly as possible."

"I didn't cause the altercation," Jake had snapped, "The asshole who tried to mow down my girlfriend did that."

Costas had elected to ignore Jake's outburst. "Are you on duty at the moment, Agent Green?"

"No." Jake's reply had been clipped, his tone, aggravated.

"And, do you have a supervisor I can contact?" the captain had requested again, pushing a legal pad and pen at Jake.

Jake had given in, providing Captain Costas with Gretchen's name and cell number. He'd been hoping for a little 'professional courtesy' and his ploy had clearly backfired on him. He hadn't been anywhere but Jericho and Denver since June, and even in Denver he'd stuck to a very few haunts: the federal prosecutor's office, his hotel, Coors Stadium when the Rockies had been in town. That morning, sitting in the stuffy airport security office, it had started to become clear to Jake how much the world had changed and was changing.

"But it was no big deal, babe," he continued, shifting in his seat. "I showed the sergeant my badge, we went by the security office," he explained, purposely glossing over the more humiliating details. It had occurred to him about mid-sentence that Heather wouldn't necessarily approve of his using his position that way. "And - and then they called Gretchen to verify that I really work for the DEA," Jake completed.

"They made you prove your identity?" Heather gasped out. "That's so unfair! They didn't stop that - that jerk!"

"Well, you took care of him," he reminded, grinning at the mental picture he now had of Heather - his sweet, wonderful, indignant Heather - kicking the crap out of the other man's seat. "Better than the National Guard could've or would've."

"Maybe," she conceded reluctantly. "But it doesn't seem fair, and I'm sorry."

"Nothin' to be sorry for, babe," Jake assured. "They called Gretchen and she told them I wasn't a terrorist. I was outta there in ten minutes. Bought a cup of coffee on my way out, and watched your plane take off."

"Really?" Heather asked, sounding rather pleased by this information.

"Yeah," he confirmed, recalling how he'd first headed back to the truck, but then, after grabbing one of Heather's peanut butter banana muffins, had wandered back to the terminal. Jake had stood outside, at the end of the sidewalk, his cup of coffee in one hand, the muffin in the other, to watch her airplane - a Canadair Regional Jet, a CRJ-100, he'd identified - back out of the gate and taxi out onto the tarmac. Within just a few minutes it had sped down the runway and taken off toward the east. At one point, he'd started to raise his hand, spilling his coffee. He'd been about to wave good-bye, Jake had realized, groaning. "Man, you've got it bad," he'd laughed at himself, setting the cup down on top of a concrete barrier so he could shake the extra moisture from his skin and then wipe his hand clean on his jeans.

Once the plane was airborne, Jake had finished off the last of his coffee, throwing the cup and muffin wrapper in a trash can as he'd walked back toward the short term parking lot. Five minutes later he'd been on the highway, driving away from the airport, feeling decidedly out of sorts. He'd tried the radio, hoping to distract himself, but the Wichita stations had all been doing 'Black Friday' remotes from the malls and running obnoxious shopping spree contests that had seemed designed for the sole purpose of producing inhuman screeching from the women competing in them. Punching off the power, Jake had caught a whiff of Heather's shampoo, the scent having lingered behind in the truck's cab though she was gone. He'd been forced to admit to himself then that the ache in the center of his chest and his foul mood were all because, for now, they were separated.

A half hour down the road, his cell phone had rung. Working one-handed, Jake had extracted the phone from his inside jacket pocket, thumbing it on just before it went to voicemail. "Hullo?" he'd answered not bothering to check the number.

"Do you have any idea where I am, or what I was doing when a Captain Costas of the Kansas State National Guard called to tell me that an employee of mine had gotten into a fight in the middle of the Wichita airport, and needed me to attest to his upstanding character and moral virtue?" Gretchen Tolliver had demanded, finishing with a put-upon sigh.

"No," Jake had answered truthfully. "And for the record, I didn't get into a fight. This complete jackass bumped into - into a woman, and then he started yelling at her -"

"Some woman?" Gretchen had interrupted, laughing at him softly. "Not your new girlfriend by any chance?" she'd inquired with a snort. "Captain Costas mentioned that you were coming to the defense of your girlfriend," she'd reminded, "Which I assume you know, since you were there to hear him. Who is she?"

"Gretchen -" Jake had started to protest, but again she'd cut him off.

"Where I am is at my niece's home, outside of Seattle," she'd informed him. "For Thanksgiving. It is just now six AM. The baby - and my grandnieces are the closest I'll ever get to having grandchildren, so do understand, I love them dearly. But, the baby was up at two and then again at four. And, I had just fallen back asleep when my cell phone rang, and what do you know but Captain Costas of the Kansas National Guard wants to know if Jake Green is a dangerous criminal who should be locked up," Gretchen had groused loudly. "I almost told him 'yes'!" she'd claimed. "'Lock him up, and send me the key!'"

"I'm sorry, Gretchen," he'd muttered. "I didn't want to involve you. I told him that."

"But given that you did involve me," she'd returned, her tone suddenly overly sweet, "You can at least tell me about your new girlfriend. We had lunch a week ago and you never said a thing," Gretchen had accused.

"I don't talk to you about my love life, Gretchen," Jake had replied, exasperated.

"Now, now," she'd chided, chuckling huskily. "Indulge an older woman," Gretchen continued, emphasizing the 'er' in 'older' rather than the 'old'. "And allow her to live a little vicariously for a bit. Especially the one who saved you from an embarrassing arrest. So, what's her name?"

Jake had grumbled at her, complaining wordlessly. "Heather," he'd answered after a ten second's pause.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" she'd questioned cheerfully. Jake who'd learned to be suspicious of any sign of enthusiasm in Gretchen caught himself clenching his teeth. "Blond?" she'd guessed next. "Most Heathers seem to be blonds for some reason."

"Brunette," he'd corrected.

"Ahhh," Gretchen had acknowledged. "And what does she do?"

Shaking his head, Jake had waited until he had passed a big rig to answer. "She teaches third grade."

"So, she knows how to handle you," Gretchen had laughed. "That's good."

He'd caught himself smiling at that - and agreeing. "Yeah, probably," he'd muttered.

"Well, I'll let you go," Gretchen had announced after another long pause, yawning. "Just do try to avoid causing any more security incidents for the rest of the weekend, if you please."

"Sure thing," Jake had sighed. "Luckily, she doesn't come back 'til Monday."

"Then let's say the rest of the month," Gretchen had amended with a snort. "Ending up on the FAA's 'no fly' list would really torpedo your career," she'd suggested, chuckling softly. "And, I'm going to try and go back to bed now."

"'Kay," he'd replied. "See what I can do. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Jake," she'd echoed. "Give me a call the next time you're comin' to town," Gretchen had ordered then. "It's past time we had a little chat about that career of yours," she'd reminded, her tone turning serious.

Jake had allowed a frustrated sigh. He knew she was only looking out for his best interests, and she'd been more than patient with him, allowing him to stay on indefinite administrative leave though it left her a man down when she was already short-handed. He knew, also, that Gretchen was itching to get him back out in the field, either undercover or at least doing investigatory work. There was plenty that Jake missed about his job, too, but also plenty that he didn't - and there was Heather. Right now, the idea of three days apart from her drove him crazy, so how were they going to handle the two or three week separations - or longer - that his job would require when and if he went back?

"January," he'd muttered finally. 'I'll be in Denver sometime in January."

"So you're not bringing Heather to the office holiday party, then?" Gretchen had teased, yawning again.

"We've got other plans that night," Jake had lied easily. He'd seen the email Gretchen's assistant had sent out to the entire staff, but he actually had no idea of the date the party had been scheduled for.

"Hmmm," she'd murmured, "We'll see."

He'd laughed at her, recognizing that, for Gretchen, this wasn't a dead issue. Well, Jake thought, it was; he wasn't going. "I'll talk to you later," he'd told her.

"Good-bye, Jake," she'd returned. "Stay out of trouble."

"Will do," he'd sighed. "Bye, Gretchen." Jake had folded his phone closed, shaking his head, still chuckling under his breath at his boss. He'd always refrained from telling her that when she really got going - when she got personal - her pushiness reminded him very much of his mother. He doubted that she'd see it as a compliment - though it really was - and selfishly, if he ever did tell her, he wanted to do it in person so he could see her reaction. "Stay out of trouble," he'd reminded himself as he'd deposited his phone in the cup holder next to him.

"You watched my plane take off?" Heather asked. "That's so sweet!" she declared, giggling softly and drawing Jake's attention firmly back to the present.

"Sweet?" he questioned, allowing a shaky laugh. Holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, Jake reached over for a muffin. "Watching your plane take off is sweet?" He asked, peeling off a few inches of paper before taking a bite.

"Yeah," she confirmed, with a contented sigh. "It's sweet that you'd wait for that. For me. So," Heather continued, teasing, "Did you wave?"

"Actually, I did," Jake admitted, snorting at himself. "Well, I started to. But then I spilled coffee all over myself."

"Oh, no," Heather groaned sympathetically. "You can't go wasting good coffee!"

Swallowing a mouthful of muffin, Jake laughed at that. "Don't worry, babe. It wasn't that good. Hot though," he told her, popping the rest of his snack into his mouth and then catching his phone in his now free hand.

"You keepin' awake?" she asked, her voice turning husky again. For Jake, it was a verbal caress across the distance that separated them.

"I am," he agreed, clearing his throat, "And not a single narcoleptic trucker in sight. Actually, I keep getting phone calls. Gretchen called to ream me out, though she doesn't ever yell, just makes you feel all of two years old," Jake grumbled.

"Why'd she get mad at you?" Heather questioned, sounding annoyed. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yeah, well, Gretchen doesn't like to look bad, and she thinks that what I do reflects on her," Jake explained. "She can be as bad as my Dad that way. Plus, she was in Seattle, so they woke her up when they called. Five, five thirty in the morning. I promised to avoid causing security incidents," he offered. "Everything's fine, promise."

"Okay," Heather acknowledged, somewhat reluctantly, a moment later. "It doesn't seem fair, though."

"I can handle Gretchen," he claimed, "Don't worry. But I do love how you defend me," he told her, betraying himself with a nervous chuckle.

"So, that's what you love about me, huh?" she teased in return, an equally anxious note creeping into her tone. "I - I said what I love about you," she whispered so quietly he had to strain to hear her over the ambient noise of the road and their cell connection.

Ahead of him, the highway curved slightly and for no obvious reason, giving Jake an excuse to tighten his one-handed grip on the steering wheel. "Everything," he mumbled, his voice not much more intelligible than hers. "I love everything about you." It was true, Jake insisted to himself, but it was also a bit of a cop out, and he knew that, too. He'd tell her, he promised himself, tell her all the reasons he loved her, but he just couldn't quite articulate them, not now.

"Everything about you," Jake repeated. "'Cause you're perfect. Though, I did notice that they stopped you goin' through security," he teased, grateful for the chance to change the subject. "So, what'd they get you for?"

Heather groaned into the phone, and in his mind Jake could picture her slumping down into the uncomfortable airport lounge chair she sat in. "They found my emergency sewing kit," she admitted, grumbling. "Apparently those two needles that I thought were really only good for sewing on a loose button are actually cleverly disguised weapons."

"Yeah, I'm sure you could bring down a plane with 'em," Jake agreed, chuckling. "You terrorist."

"I've come down in the world, let me tell you," she complained cheerfully. "Two weeks ago, private plane, my own personal pilot. Now I'm back to the cattle call, three ounces of bad coffee and a bag of peanuts," Heather sighed. "Not even the honey roasted kind."

"You want me to come rescue you?" he offered, half-joking, but also - Jake realized suddenly - half-serious. "I could fly up to bring you home," he suggested. As a pilot, he'd never flown east of the Mississippi, and it certainly wasn't as easy as getting in your car and following a map, but -

"And, what would you do if I said yes?" she asked, somehow reading his mind.

"Study a navigational chart for starters," he replied. "I'd have to do some research, and ask Gramps to borrow a plane - on top of the truck," Jake joked, groaning at the thought. "But I would," he added, softly, a beat later.

"I love you, Jake," Heather murmured. "And you're trying to spoil me," she giggled. "And while it's fun to think about, I'd never sleep again if I let you. I can't even imagine how much that would cost," she continued, her tone turning quite characteristically practical. "I think I better just stick to good ol' United Airlines."

"Okay," Jake acknowledged. "'Cause you know, if something's keepin' you up at night, it sure shouldn't be guilt," he told her, affecting a wolfish tone.

Heather's giggle was immediate and contained the slightest hint of hysteria. "Well then," she declared between titters, "We'll have to discuss good reasons to stay up all night. But not now," she added, declaring primly, "This is not a conversation we should be having by phone."

He knew she had to be blushing, especially when she punctuated her statement with a completely inarticulate squeak. Jake found himself grinning widely in anticipation of what was to come. "It does seem to qualify as more of an in-person discussion," he agreed. "In depth. So we can table it for now, if you'd like."

"We should table this phone call," Heather sighed. "You're driving, and it's not safe," she chided softly.

"I can drive and talk at the same time," he assured her, deciding against mentioning that he'd been eating and had finished off a large coffee while driving as well. "But 'gas two miles,'" he read from a roadside sign, "'Next gas thirty-seven miles'." Jake glanced down at the fuel gauge. "I could probably make it, but then again, I might not."

"You need to stop for gas," Heather ordered. "And you should never talk on a cell phone at a gas station," she argued, "That's really dangerous!"

"You don't actually believe that myth, do you?" he laughed, shaking his head. "I see somebody on a phone every time I'm at a gas station."

"It's not a myth," she contradicted. "The first cell phone I ever owned, I read the manual, and it said that the phone should not be used in any potentially explosive environment, particularly anywhere that you would turn off your car's engine like a gas station," Heather insisted. "Hopefully they're designing safer cell phones these days, but I still wouldn't use one at a gas station."

Jake smiled, teasing gently, "You actually read your cell phone's manual?"

"Well, not the whole thing, cover to cover," she giggled. "But the important parts, yeah."

"I love it," Jake crowed, chuckling. "You want my phone's manual?" he joked. "I'm sure it makes for scintillating reading."

"Uh, no thanks," Heather grumbled in return, though he could tell from her tone that she was fighting her own laugh.

"Aw, c'mon," he continued to tease, "If you read it, I never have to. Something goes wrong, I'll let you figure it out."

"Your cell phone's probably only ever gonna break because you've abused it talking to me for four hours straight, and then I wouldn't be there to fix it," she reminded. "You're just going to have to read your own manual."

"That happens, it's time to buy a new phone," Jake decided as he steered his way onto an off ramp. "But, hey, I'm almost to the gas station, so in the interest of not blowing myself or anyone else to kingdom come -"

"Thank you," Heather interjected. "I would appreciate it if you didn't blow yourself up."

"Definitely on the list of things to avoid," Jake agreed, distracted, as he guided the truck through the intersection and toward the gas station on the opposite corner. "For you, I'll turn off my phone at the pump. I love you, babe."

"I love you, too," Heather replied almost before he'd finished his own declaration.

"I'm gonna hang up now," he continued. "Call me when you get there, okay?"

"Absolutely. Love ya," she repeated, sighing happily.

"Love ya," Jake echoed. Turning into the gas station's driveway, he snapped the phone closed, cradling it in his hand and smiling to himself. "Love ya," he repeated, dropping the phone back into the cup holder before climbing out of the cab.

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

Monday, November 27, two months after the bombs

"You're harboring a criminal, Jake," Eric interrupted his brother less than three sentences into his report.

Jake turned to face his twin, shaking his head. "I'm not harboring him," he argued. "For all intents and purposes, he was holding Emily hostage, and me too, when I walked in on it. At least until he passed out. He's hurt," Jake reminded, glancing at his father. "He needed a doctor, so I got one, and then I came to you. We need to find a way to bring him in."

"Well, we have got us one hell of a problem, Jake," Johnston snarled, throwing his hands up in the air. "Because if anyone knows you've been hiding Jonah Prowse while the whole town's been out looking for him, they'll throw us all in jail."

"So you think the problem here is that I'm hiding Jonah Prowse?" Jake questioned, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Which, by the way, I'm not," he added, glaring at Johnston. Jake took two steps toward Eric and the window, pointing out at Main Street. "Do you know what is going on out there?" he demanded, fully aware that his father had been watching Gray Anderson's latest campaign rally from the steps of town hall when he'd shown up a few minutes earlier.

"Gray Anderson formed a posse this morning, and Bill Kilroy's his new right hand man," Jake continued, speaking through clenched teeth, forcing himself not to shout. "Which is funny, 'cause without a sheriff, I thought Bill worked for you," he practically sneered, glaring at Johnston.

"Jake," Eric tried to interrupt, but his brother ignored him.

"They went through the clinic," Jake ground out, looking back and forth between his father and brother. "Heather and April were both there. Mom is there most days. If they'd found Jonah there, you think Gray and Bill woulda cared who else was in their line of fire?" he demanded, unconsciously balling his hands into fists. "They would've busted down Emily's door and gotten into a gunfight in the middle of The Pines if Hawkins and I hadn't stopped 'em." Jake paused, pressing his lips tightly together, fighting for control. Taking a deep breath, he gestured toward the window again. "And, he's out there right now, turning this into a campaign issue -"

Johnston, glowering, took two steps toward his son. "This is not a campaign issue," he barked. "We are not discussin' that damn election here," he insisted quietly.

"Not a campaign issue?" Jake questioned, his tone turning incredulous. He scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. "So what? You think Gray's out there talkin' up her murder because he and Gracie were such good, close friends and he really misses her? He's makin' this a campaign issue, and you can't just say it's not."

"Gray Anderson will be Gray Anderson, but I will not go there with him," Johnston insisted stubbornly. Frowning to himself, he recalled his last disagreement with Gracie, over her business dealings with Jonah. But through it all, she'd never taken down the 'Re-Elect Johnston Green Mayor' sign that had hung in her store's front window, just as it had during four previous elections. Gracie Leigh had been his friend and he took her murder personally.

The Leigh family was as old of a Jericho family as the Greens, the Richmonds, the Stevens, and the now defunct Johnstons. Gracie Leigh's great-grandfather had founded Jericho's first general store, and the family had served as the town's leading merchants for over a hundred years. Gracie, an only child, had been a year ahead of Johnston in school and had been friends with his first girlfriend, Susannah Lawson. She'd been married briefly and disastrously in her twenties to an out-of-towner more than ten years her senior who'd turned out to be nothing more than a drunk. He'd hit Gracie once, which had been enough to send her home to her parents late one Saturday night. Johnston had been in Vietnam at the time, but he'd heard the whole sordid tale later; how his father and the sheriff had found Gracie's ne'er-do-well husband passed out behind the feed store on Sunday morning and had urged him to disappear, going as far as to drive him to Fielding and to put him on the only bus coming through before noon. It wasn't that EJ or the sheriff wouldn't have liked to have locked him up, but in 1968 there hadn't been much they could charge him with, and both were longtime friends of Richard Leigh, whom they feared might take the matter into his own hands if he discovered his errant son-in-law was still in town.

Gracie's father had paid for a very expensive, very quiet divorce, and there were plenty of people in Jericho who didn't realize or didn't remember that Gracie Leigh had ever been married. She'd taken back her maiden name, living in her parents' home with them until they died, and taking over management of the store when they were both too frail to work any longer. The whole experience had embittered Gracie, and left her highly suspicious of outsiders, including Gray Anderson who, having lived in Jericho a mere seventeen years, she'd still considered too new to the town to be one of them. She'd had her disagreements with Johnston over the years - many of them - but in the end she'd always supported her old school chum politically, which made Gray's use of her murder as a campaign issue stick in his craw more than Johnston was willing to admit, even to his own sons.

"Look," Jake said then, letting out a slow breath, his tone turning conciliatory, "Jonah says Mitchell killed Gracie and then set him up."

Eric, eyeing his father and brother warily, asked Jake, "What do you think?"

Jake shrugged. "He might be telling the truth, and he might not. Hell, they coulda done it together for all I know," he admitted, running a nervous hand through his hair. "But Jonah says that Mitchell led a mutiny and put him off his own place," Jake explained, "And somebody sure did a number on Jonah's arm. If Mitch really is in charge now, we've got other problems," he advised, shaking his head. "Jonah Prowse is a sonofabitch, no question, but Mitch Cafferty's psychotic and he's got half the parolees in the county workin' for him now."

"Well, that's not a problem we can solve right now," Johnston growled, "And, you are not a judge or a jury, thank God. First order of business is Jonah," he declared. "So we're gonna go get him, and we're gonna bring him in."

Nodding, Jake acknowledged his father's decision. "Good," he said, "That's what I came here for."

Eric and Johnston reached for their jackets and then moved to follow Jake from the office. Out in the hall, there were sounds of a scuffle. Before Jake could reach the door, it was shoved open and Emily Sullivan pushed her way past Jimmy Taylor, trailed closely by Kenchy Dhuwalia. Licking her lips, she faced Jake, her expression grim. "He's gone."

Jake gaped at Emily for just a second before he exploded. "What the hell? All you had to do was watch him, keep him there!" he shouted at her. "How can you mess up watching somebody!"

Emily flinched and took a step back into Dhuwalia, who draped one arm around her shoulders. "It was my fault," he insisted, his voice strident. "I wanted to wash my hands. There is no need to yell at her."

Groaning angrily, Jake threw his hands up in undisguised disgust. "This is perfect. Well, whatever happens now, Jonah did it to himself. You've got some father, Em."

She made a frustrated noise. "You think I don't know that?" Emily demanded before covering her face with her hands. Dhuwalia tightened his hold on her, glaring at Jake.

"Look, we don't have time to argue about this," Johnston announced, stepping around his son. "Jake, Eric, Jimmy," he said, looking at each of them in turn. "Let's go."

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

Throwing Kenchy in at town hall was slightly gratuitous I'll admit, but I skipped his actual scenes from the episode, and besides I think he likes Emily. ;)

Different Circumstances: Part 11C of ?
by Marzee Doats

Author's Note: I have to admit that I didn't care much for the episode Vox Populi (not a big Jonah fan) and then they went and skipped the most interesting part as far as I was concerned when they didn't show us anything of how the election worked. Okay, I'll admit that it probably wouldn't have made good TV, and some of you will probably be bored to tears by all the gory details made into fanfic, but I couldn't resist. So, for your Different Circumstances reading pleasure, I give you my concept of how you hold an election after the bombs. That, and you get to meet the Lisinskis. :-)

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

Tuesday, November 28, two months after the bombs

Election day dawned bright and clear, though there was a definite nip in the air that served as an unwanted reminder that winter was just, inevitably, around the corner. Johnston Green, up at first light and ahead of the rest of his household, stepped out onto the front porch, shivering at the remnants of the overnight chill, to survey the street.

Jericho was his town. Although he'd grown up at the ranch, his parents had maintained a house on Bauer Avenue, within the town limits, to fulfill the residency requirement that had allowed EJ Green, with a wink and a nudge, to serve as Jericho's mayor for more than two decades. Johnston could remember his parents hosting parties at that house, his father had maintained an office at the house, and they'd even stayed there occasionally when storms had cut off the power to the outlying properties that surrounded Jericho. He'd had the run of town hall as a child - just as his boys had - and the run of Main Street as a teenager. He'd been a regular at The Pizza Garden after Mags Henry had opened the restaurant, needing to support herself and her young son after the untimely death of her husband, and he'd cruised Main, Seventh, and Berge - before the interstate had gone in - with Susannah Lawson nearly every Friday and Saturday night, convinced that he was James Dean.

Johnston had been away from Jericho of course, in the military and then at school in Lawrence. He'd finally brought Gail, by that time his bride of six years, home to Jericho to stay in 1973. He'd taught history at the high school for a few years - and had been good at it - until his father and some political allies had convinced him to stand up for mayor. He'd faced only token opposition in that first election, and had been inaugurated in January 1977, a week before Jake's and Eric's third birthday. After that, Johnston had run unopposed in the next two elections. Gray Anderson had moved to Jericho, buying into the S&A Mining Company in 1989, and had thrown his hat into the ring for mayor in 1994. Johnston had won that election easily, Gray receiving only a few hundred votes, not even equal to the number of paychecks he'd been signing each week out at the mine at the time. The next election, in 2000, had been closer. Jake had been back in town, and ironically - given the events of the previous day - working for Jonah Prowse, or so they'd thought. Gray had tried to use this to his advantage, though the election's outcome had never truly been in doubt. But now - today - Johnston knew, this election would be a nail biter.

The whole situation seemed unreal to Johnston as he stood there, rubbing his arms to warm himself, staring out at the deserted and quiet street. He was facing the potential end of a thirty year career - one he'd been willing to give up two months before - and he wondered idly what he would do with himself now, in this new world, if he wasn't mayor of Jericho Kansas. European travel, he reminded himself with a snort, was out. But he still had a family - oddly, a growing one - to lead and care for, and grandbabies to look forward to. Besides, Johnston knew, even stripped of the title of mayor, he would still be working for the good of Jericho. It was his town.

The wind picked up, cutting through Johnston like a knife. He shivered again, and giving up his solitary observation of the neighborhood, turned to re-enter the house, figuring he might as well start the coffee as stand around worrying about things he couldn't control. Closing the front door quietly behind him, Johnston heard the overhead squeak of a floorboard and water running in the kitchen. The fire in the living room had been coaxed back to life, he realized, and he could smell cornbread baking in the dutch oven. The household was waking up.

He ran into Drake coming through the door between the kitchen and the dining room. The 'boys' had been comfortably installed in the basement, in what had been the rec room, and was now - according to April, who'd alternated between snorting and snickering when she'd been given the tour - one swinging medical student bachelor pad. Drake greeted him with a 'good morning' that was mostly swallowed up by a yawn. Shaking his head, Johnston smiled to himself as the young man, still more than half asleep, trudged past him on his way to the bathroom. The cold shower he was heading for would certainly open his eyes.

Gail was in the kitchen, slicing mushrooms. A week or two before the bombs, Heather had started a mushroom kit as a classroom experiment and now, if there was one thing they were in no danger of running out of - as Jake had said more than once - it was fungi.

"I'll put on the coffee," Johnston told his wife as she started to ask, detouring around the table to give her a good morning kiss.

"Thank you," she smiled at him, distracted. "I thought we could all use a hearty breakfast this morning," Gail explained over her shoulder as Johnston moved toward the camp stove to retrieve the coffee pot. "Omelets with mushrooms and zucchini. Well, eggs with mushrooms and zucchini, though we've got a little milk left over from the Hydes," she sighed. "And the cornbread, if it's done in time."

"Whatever we have, it'll be fine," he reassured her. "Our gang's willing to eat near anything these days," Johnston tried to joke, though it fell mostly flat. "Even Jake," he sighed.

"Even Jake," Gail agreed, scooping up a handful of mushrooms and dropping them into a bowl before turning her attention to a small zucchini. "You know," she began softly, "Whatever happens.... Well, it wouldn't be the end of the world." Gail snorted and dropped her paring knife, pressing the heel of her hand to the bridge of her nose. "I can't believe I said that," she groaned, shaking her head.

Johnston carried the coffeepot over to the sink, setting it on the drain board. Turning, he reached for Gail's other hand and pulled her close. "Whatever happens, it really won't be the end of the world," he repeated, pressing his lips to her hairline. "Though, I don't know, Mrs. Green," he continued, allowing a slightly exasperated chuckle, "I don't think we're gonna get to travel much."

"I'll admit I was looking forward to Paris and Florence and Rome," Gail said, tilting her head up to invite his kiss. "But grandchildren are a nice trade-off."

"Once you knew, I never woulda got you on that plane," Johnston grinned, brushing his mouth over hers.

"Probably not," she conceded, smiling at him. "Now," she declared, patting his chest as she pulled away, "Breakfast. Before the hungry horde descends."

"Right," he nodded, swatting her playfully on the behind. "Back to work."

The hungry horde did in fact descend upon the kitchen within a few minutes, Michael and Jeff stumbling up from the basement to stand in the middle of the room, blinking at them blearily. Gail assigned them to set the table, and within ten minutes everyone else, including the wet headed, shivering Drake, had filed into the kitchen. They settled in around the table which was short two seats, leaving Gail to perch herself on the stool in the corner and Michael to lean back against the counter, waving the rest of them into chairs. Their breakfast, divided eight ways, was nourishing but hardly enough to fill any of them up. There were no seconds, though Gail did come up with an extra clump of egg, which she quickly distributed between Heather and April, to the unanimous - if silent - approval of the men in the house.

In spite of the deprivations of the meal and the lack of heat in the house, everyone worked to keep the conversation lively. Johnston suspected some of his family's cheerfulness was forced for his benefit, a plot - spontaneous or planned - to keep his mind off that day's election. Dealing with the recapture of Jonah Prowse the night before had kept them from having dinner together, Jake and Johnston not making it home until after nine. They'd each grabbed a small bowl of leftover soup before heading straight to bed, and now they were being caught up on the events of the previous day. April updated Johnston on the situation at the clinic, as she always did, and Heather admitted sheepishly that she'd played hooky from the windmill project. Gail explained the terms of Gracie Leigh's will - a surprise to everyone but Johnston - and then spoke about the plans for Gracie's funeral before requesting a lighter topic of conversation.

Drake and Michael were able to supply one, revealing that Jeff had woken them up the night before, singing in his sleep. "He asked if we liked piña coladas," Michael snickered, setting his salad plate aside, having inhaled his breakfast. He pushed himself up off the counter, crossing to stand behind his sister at the table. "Man, you have the weirdest playlist in your head," he continued, chuckling. "Seriously, we've had the Madonna incident, The Motley Crue incident, the -"

"The Coolio incident," Drake interjected, laughing quietly.

"You're livin' - livin' in a - a Gangsta's Paradise, huh, Jeff?" Jake managed to sputter out between gasps of laughter.

Grinning, Heather started to hum The Piña Colada Song. April took this as a cue to sing the chorus, Heather, Michael and Drake all joined in immediately, and Jake and the beet red Jeff coming in just in time to sing, "If you have half a brain!"

Gail and Johnston, though amused by the younger generation's antics, opted against participating. Once the serenade was over, with the meal already finished, everyone went their separate ways to finish getting ready for the long day ahead. Twenty minutes later, April and her three escorts were ready to head for the clinic. Gail, having checked the cornbread and found it cooked through, sent them each out the door with a piece, urging them to eat it now while it was still hot. The remaining four sat down again at the table to enjoy their slices, Johnston grabbing the plastic honey bear - almost empty by now - from the pantry. Once they were done, they set off together on foot for downtown and the election.

The Greens arrived at the church, the site of the only polling place that would be opened for this election, at just after eight in the morning. Gray Anderson was already there, waiting at one end of the narthex, accompanied by Harry Carmichael and Ridley Cooper. The Greens approached as a group so that Johnston could exchange a perfunctory handshake with Gray. The two greeted each other only by first name, saying nothing else. Carmichael at least smiled, saying, "Good morning Heather, Mrs. Green." Cooper glared at him, and with the pleasantries out of the way, the Greens retreated to the other end of the long vestibule.

It had turned out that putting on an election wasn't as easy as it had sounded when Johnston had first agreed that they would hold one. Elections were county government functions, and they had soon realized that the Town of Jericho didn't even possess a copy of the voter roll. Also, without a registrar of voters - and no one was volunteering to go to Fielding to try and find one - there wasn't anyone with the authority to compile a voter roll, or to count and certify the vote when it was taken. It had taken two days of arguing just to reach agreement on appointing Sandra McVeigh, the elementary school principal, to head a hastily commissioned elections board. The board was then completed with the addition of Percival Gerhardt, the high school principal, and Clyde Davis. Gray had ground his teeth over Clyde, sure he was secretly for Johnston, but he also recognized that it wouldn't be wise to question the neutrality of the newspaper's editor, and the sole representative of the press in Jericho.

Mrs. McVeigh had begun her task by consulting with Connie Gireaux, the town treasurer and director of finance, hoping the other woman could provide her with a list of properties that were being billed for town services and their owners. But the Town of Jericho had 'gone paperless' four years before, Connie had explained, and they'd outsourced the billing for water, sewer and refuse collection even before that. Her office had still collected payments of course, but she didn't have access to the records of those payments, which had always been posted directly to the computer during the day with all checks then deposited nightly at the bank. "In five years it never even occurred to me to print off a list of accounts in case of a catastrophic system failure," Connie had admitted, frowning at the useless lump of computer that still sat on her desk at town hall.

"It's okay," Mrs. McVeigh had consoled, patting the other woman's hand. "I'll - I'll find a way somehow," she'd assured.

The elections board had then turned to resources they were more familiar with, and had begun to put together a voter roll by going through school registration cards, church directories, and two years' worth of the police log as printed in the Jericho Record to build a list of residents and their addresses. There was of course an issue with the town boundary lines, and proving whether or not someone lived within them; the schools taught students who lived far beyond the town limits, church membership certainly wasn't restricted to Jericho's residents, and the sheriff's department took calls outside of town.

Eric Green luckily still had copies of the town lot maps - easier than trying to look things up on the computer, he'd said - and he'd loaned these to Mrs. McVeigh. The board had utilized these in conjunction with their other sources as they'd built the roll, but as Eric had pointed out, some of the maps were decades old, and not completely reliable. Another problem was the small but significant set of people who had moved into town, both from the surrounding area and from farther afield, since the bombs. It had quickly become apparent to Mrs. McVeigh and her fellow commissioners that their task was going to be difficult to nearly impossible to accomplish. Left with no other choice, they'd requested a meeting with the two mayoral candidates.

They had met in the mayor's office ten days before Thanksgiving. Mrs. McVeigh had outlined the situation and the points of concern. Johnston had listened carefully, acknowledging her frustrations with the occasional sympathetic nod. He'd studied his opponent, watching as Gray processed what they'd been told and then considered how to react. Predictably, he reacted almost immediately.

"Well you certainly can't let anyone vote who wasn't both a resident of Jericho proper and a registered voter on the day of the bombs," Gray declared, draping one arm over the back of his chair. "That should be obvious."

"I can't?" Mrs. McVeigh inquired sweetly, though there was just a hint of acid lacing her tone, one that - Johnston thought - any married man would have recognized, but Gray Anderson, unfortunately for him, hadn't seemed to have learned much from his two brief marriages or the long, drawn out divorces which had followed. "Kansas state election law states that a voter may register up to fifteen days prior to the election," she'd reminded. "By the original date of this election, that would have been October twenty-third, and for the date of the rescheduled election, fifteen days before would be today, actually." Mrs. McVeigh had glanced at Principal Gerhardt. "Percy, Mr. Houghton is rather a fanatic about voter registration, isn't he?" she'd asked, mentioning the history teacher at the high school. "All year long, as the seniors turn eighteen, he hounds them, tells them if they don't vote, they can't complain. He was still passing out voter registration cards on the day of the bombs, wasn't he?"

Principal Gerhardt had thrown Mrs. McVeigh an exasperated look, still smarting from having been passed over in her favor as chair of the elections board. He acknowledged that she'd been principal at the elementary school for twenty three years to his fifteen at the high school but his was the upper school, and that should have counted for something. "That's true, he was," he'd admitted finally, crossing his arms over his chest.

"As I thought," she'd nodded. "Well, I suppose we should go see if there are any voter registration cards laying around at the high school, waiting to be forwarded on. As for knowing who else in town was registered, short of travelling to Fielding and breaking into the registrar of voters' office, we really don't have any way to determine that. I personally know that I was registered to vote, and so was my husband. I assume that both of you were registered, and likely Gail," Mrs. McVeigh had continued. This time she looked at the man sitting on her right. "Clyde?"

"Shannon and I were both registered," he'd agreed.

"And Percy? You and Janet were both registered to vote, I assume?"

"We were," Principal Gerhardt had acknowledged.

"Then, providing we're all willing to trust one another's word here, we know of nine voters who were registered to vote on the day of the bombs. At least with that list - one that's as well verified as we can hope to get - we shouldn't have a tie. Are you willing to accept that voter pool, Mayor Green? Mr. Anderson?"

"Whatever my esteemed opponent prefers," Johnston had answered, stifling a snort.

Gray had glared at him and then at Mrs. McVeigh. "I'm not some fifth grader in need of a civics lesson, thank you. You're the elections commissioner now, so why don't you tell us your plan instead of takin' us through this idiotic charade."

"Every adult resident of Jericho, having lived within the town limits for at least two weeks prior to November twenty-eighth will be eligible to vote," she'd decreed. "Now, I'm confident that we have a complete list of addresses, but not necessarily of residents. This is a problem," Mrs. McVeigh had admitted, frowning. She'd paused for a moment, glancing between her two fellow commissioners. "Therefore, we have decided that each candidate will be allowed to select two representatives, or advocates. These representatives will be allowed to observe each voter as he or she comes into the polling place, and if an advocate has reason to believe that the voter is not qualified under these rules, then he or she may bring a challenge to this board. Additionally, your advocates will be allowed to observe," she'd emphasized, "Though not participate in, the tabulation of ballots. Are these terms acceptable?"

"And if they're not?" Gray had snarled.

"The board will entertain any suggestions toward the improvement of this process that you may have," Mrs. McVeigh had offered with a smile. Gray had stared at her, gaping, unable to articulate his protest.

Johnston had returned her smile. "Sounds good," he'd declared, standing up. "I believe we're done here?"

"Yes," Mrs. McVeigh had agreed. "Let us know the names of your two advocates as soon as you've selected them," she'd requested, following Johnston's example, and standing up. "Gentlemen?"

Shaking his head, Johnston let out a deep sigh. Leaving that meeting two weeks before, he'd been able to convince himself that he still had the upper hand in his running battle with Gray Anderson. But Gray had seemed to find in that meeting the impetus to redouble his campaign efforts. A day hadn't gone by when Johnston hadn't at some point walked past or otherwise witnessed Gray campaigning. The first few days, he'd never been able to find more than three or four listeners at once, but after the Thanksgiving food drop and their very public argument over its disposition, more and more people had been interested in what Gray had to say, nodding along as he'd detailed his vision for a safe Jericho and exhorted them to vote for him come election day. Finally, yesterday, after Gracie Leigh had been discovered murdered, it had seemed that everyone in town suddenly had the time to stand around and listen to Gray Anderson pontificate.

"This is gonna be a long day," Johnston muttered, glancing sideways at his wife.

Gail offered a wan smile, threading her arm through his. They both watched as Jake stepped behind Heather, catching one of her hands in his own. He whispered something in her ear, and she leaned back, letting her head fall against his chest. Reaching up, she cupped his cheek with her free hand, murmuring something in return. "We'll get through it," Gail sighed, letting her own head rest against Johnston's arm.

Mrs. McVeigh came out of the sanctuary then, accompanied by Reverend Young, Principal Gerhardt and Clyde Davis. "Good morning, Johnston, Gail," she greeted, obviously distracted. "Clyde, would you get our other candidate?" she requested, forcing a smile. She glanced down toward the other end of the building, shaking her head. "This is going to be a long enough day as it is. I'm not going to begin it by shouting in a church."

"Happy to, Sandy," Clyde replied, turning around.

"Jake and Heather," Mrs. McVeigh continued, her smile blooming genuinely. "Oh, Heather," she clucked, "You're going to be so tired if you're planning to stand around here all day."

"I'm not," Heather assured her former boss quickly. "I'm - I'm just here to vote, and then I'm going to go work on windmills. Happily," she declared. "There's a fireplace in our conference room, and Dad found me a nice cushy chair to use and everything."

"Okay, dear," Mrs. McVeigh sighed, allowing a relieved nod. "Well then, in my first act as elections commissioner this morning, I say the line starts behind you."

"You're gonna let her vote?" Ridley Cooper demanded, walking up, along with Gray and Harry Carmichael, to join the group. "'Cause you know, technically, she's not a town resident. The Green Ranch is ten, fifteen miles outside the Jericho town line."

Heather stared at the other man for a moment. She didn't really know Cooper; he and his wife had moved to Jericho about the same time she had, and their two children were not yet school age. He was a manager at the mine - but not an engineer - and the mine's managers tended to socialize only amongst themselves. Johnston, however, had explained the rules the election would operate under more than once, so she knew that she and Jake were well within their rights. "My husband and I have resided at one-nineteen Chestnut Street since October the twelfth," she returned, meeting Cooper's scowl with a rather bland expression of her own. "Within the town limits," Heather stressed. "And - for the record - the ranch is only eight miles out."

Mrs. McVeigh's smile was once again full of tension. "You might want to ask your advocates to pace themselves, Mr. Anderson," she suggested, throwing a pointed look in Gray's direction. "Or this is going to be a very long day."

He glared at her for a moment, his expression of distaste mirrored perfectly on Cooper's face. At least Carmichael's nonchalant stance betrayed neither his loyalty to Gray, nor his growing friendship with Heather. "I've no problem with Jake or Heather voting in this election," Gray conceded with a huffed breath. "Though, those refugees your family took -"

"You mean my brother and his friends?" Heather guessed. She stared at Gray, inviting his argument, all the while rubbing her hand in gentle circles over the mound of her pregnancy.

"All I'm sayin' is, we can't just take in everyone who wanders into town, no matter who they're related to," Gray argued obstinately.

Jake had his hand on Heather's shoulder, and he felt her tense at Gray's statement. He started to massage the back of her neck with his thumb, facing his father's rival with a hard stare. "They're all workin' at the clinic, Gray, more than earning their keep," he reminded.

"And, they know they're not votin'," Johnston added with a snort. "Everyone's real clear on the rules of this election, and they know they don't meet the residency requirements."

"I'm glad to hear that we all understand how things are going to operate today," Mrs. McVeigh announced in her best 'I am the principal' voice. "There are a few other things that we need to discuss with the candidates," she continued, glancing left at Principal Gerhardt and then right at Clyde Davis. "Reverend Young has graciously loaned us his study for the day. Shall we adjourn there?"

The mayoral candidates and the elections board returned twenty minutes later to find a hubbub of activity taking place in the narthex. Mr. Houghton, the history teacher from the high school, had been recruited to run the polling place, and had in turn drafted eight of his now former students to work for the day on the promise of two hot meals and a half pound of rice each, which was nearly a third of the budget allotted for election staff by the town council from the airdrop supplies. The rest of the "budget" had gone toward providing those meals - Reverend and Mrs. Young, along with the Women's Auxiliary, were busy making soup downstairs in the church's kitchen - and to pay their impromptu security force. It had become apparent the night before that Jimmy and Bill would be needed at town hall to guard Jonah Prowse, and a last minute decision had been made to hire the football team to provide security. This had been Principal Gerhardt's contribution, and while Mrs. McVeigh had her misgivings, she'd agreed to the scheme, seeing no other viable solution.

In Reverend Young's study, Mrs. McVeigh, assisted by her fellow commissioners, had explained the day's procedures - and their recent alterations of those procedures - to the candidates once more. Ballots had been run off on a ditto machine, salvaged from the bowels of the Jericho elementary school basement. A box of ditto masters had been located, but any of the solvent needed for the actual printing process had dried up long before. Clyde Davis, in charge of printing ballots for both the mayoral and town council elections, had taken Eric Green with him when he'd gone to inform Mary Bailey he needed use of her still for a few days in order to manufacture the alcohols required to produce the ballots. She'd resisted initially, but Eric had pulled her aside, and whatever he'd said had done the trick. It had taken a few tries to get a working formulation, but in the end, Clyde had been pleased with how the ballots turned out, not to mention relieved as he'd watched his oldest son crank the machine's arm for the last time in the wee hours of the morning, producing the three thousand, two hundredth ballot.

Johnston and Gray had looked over a copy of the ballot - Gray, quite pleased to see that his name was listed first - and had approved it, both well aware that there wasn't time to alter it if they'd objected anyway. After that, Mrs. McVeigh had explained that each voter's hand would be stamped - "We're borrowing that from the Iraqi elections," Clyde had interjected helpfully, "Only, over there, we had them dippin' their fingers in permanent ink," he'd reminded - as they turned in their ballots. Principal Gerhardt had placed a shoebox full of stamps and stamp pads on Reverend Young's desk and then had taken out a set, marking a piece of scrap paper. Johnston had smiled softly, recognizing the image - the Jericho Red Raider - as one that had been stamped onto the back of his own hand innumerable times after he'd paid for his ticket to a football or basketball game.

"We're hoping the combination of our voter roll - incomplete though it is - a single polling site, and the hand stamp will discourage any 'vote early and often' impulses," Mrs. McVeigh had added.

The polls were opened officially at nine AM. True to Mrs. McVeigh's word, Heather Green was allowed to vote first. Under the careful scrutiny of the four advocates - Johnston's having arrived while the candidates were in their meeting - Mr. Houghton took the opportunity to offer three of his giddy poll workers, all sophomore girls, a little more training. He exchanged a quick smile with Heather, prompting one of the girls to ask for her street address. Another girl found the 'A - C' binder on the table behind them and then located the piece of lined note paper which had '119 Chestnut Street' printed across the top, and underneath the names of the six Greens: Abigail, April, Eric, Heather, Johnston Jr., and Johnston Sr. The third girl directed Heather to print and then sign her name on the bottom half of the page.

Shaking her head, Heather accepted her ballot and carried it over to a voting booth. There were three fat, black markers laying on the small desk, and she picked one up, uncapping it and quickly marking her votes: Johnston Green for mayor, and Caroline Doyle and Ron Mortimer for town council. She closed the marker, wrinkling her nose as the strong scent of both ditto paper and the marker ink assaulted her nostrils. Heather carried the ballot back to the check-in table, folding it in half as she went. Her X's were completely visible through the thin paper, she realized, snorting softly at the idea of a secret ballot. It didn't matter though, Heather decided, dropping the paper into the locked metal box at one end of the table; everyone had probably already guessed whom she had voted for. Brett Davis smiled at her and held up a stamp. "It's the law, Mrs. Green," he joked, pressing it against the back of her hand. "That's our version of the 'I Voted' sticker," he added, watching as she blew on her skin to dry the ink.

Moving to the center of the narthex where Jake stood with his parents and brother, out of the already long line of voters, Heather held up her hand for her husband to see. "I voted," she grinned, "And I've been branded. This is pretty much the closest I'll ever come to getting a tattoo," she sighed.

"Raider Rafe in the original red," Jake smiled, examining the stamp. "Very nice. Fight, fight, Raiders, fight!" he teased, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. "That's all I remember," he admitted.

"For the pride of the Red and Black, the Jericho Raiders attack! Attack! Attack!" Eric supplied. "For the pride of the Black and Red, the Jericho Raiders will fight 'til we're dead! Fight, fight, Raiders, fight!"

"I never understood why it had to say ''til we're dead'," Gail complained. "Why not ''til the end'?" she suggested. "It's poetic, and not so... so dead."

"Raider Rafe never did strike me as the kinda pirate to sit down with a good book of poetry for some reason," Jake returned, glancing at his mother. He squeezed his wife's hand, offering her another smile. "I'll walk you to work."

Jake saw Heather upstairs to her conference room at town hall and kissed her goodbye, eliciting a series of friendly whistles and catcalls from the members of her team who were already there. This was followed by some good-natured teasing about her sudden disappearance the morning before. Blushing brightly, Heather rolled her eyes at Jake, waving him out of the room before turning to face her team. "All right children," she grumbled, "Let's get to work."

Heading downstairs to the sheriff's office, Jake checked in with Jimmy and peeked into Jonah's cell to assure himself that the other man was still there, safely locked up. Wandering into the empty border patrol office, Jake pulled the schedule clipboard off the door, glancing it over without actually taking anything in. Mrs. Crenshaw was serving as one of his father's advocates today, and wouldn't be in, though as she'd assured him more than once, she always had the schedule firmed up at least a week out.

Mrs. Crenshaw had been selected as an advocate for both her long friendship with the Greens - Gail and Heather especially - and her encyclopedic knowledge of Jericho's residents. The fact that she'd worked for Sandra McVeigh since the other woman's first day as principal was also a point in her favor, one that Gray had objected to, aggravating Mrs. McVeigh, who'd demanded to know if he really meant to question her integrity. Gray had quickly backpedaled. Johnston's second advocate was at least without controversy. Peter Thom, the Greens' friend and neighbor of over thirty years had been chosen simply for his loyal friendship.

Feeling restless and with nothing to do in the office - not that he ever really had anything to do in the office - Jake left town hall ten minutes later, returning to the church. Johnston and Gail were outside in the line that snaked out the door, already more than fifty people long, waiting for the chance to vote. Members of the football team, dressed in their warm-up suits, stood around the edge of the crowd, trying to look official. Jake had had a hard time maintaining a straight face when Principal Gerhardt had explained the players' role for the day, sure that it would cause more problems than it would solve to have the football team in charge of 'security'. But, more than half the team were taking shifts with the border patrol - they were issued guns for that duty - and when it came down to it, Jake didn't figure there were too many people in town who'd argue with Duncan McNerny, the Jericho Red Raiders' two hundred plus pound linebacker, if he told them what to do.

Jake cut across the church's lawn, waving at his parents, though he didn't bother to stop, and then continuing on into the building. Eric was sitting by himself at the far end of the narthex, away from the voting. Taking a deep breath, Jake moved toward his brother. He wasn't looking forward to delivering the message he needed to deliver, but it was still better than standing around with his parents trying to pretend that his father wasn't a hair's breadth away from losing this election.

"Hey," Jake greeted, dropping into a seat on the hard bench two feet away from Eric. "You just gonna sit here all day?" he asked, throwing his brother a quick, sideways look.

Eric shrugged. "I'll vote, when the line goes down," he muttered, looking at Jake for just a second before returning his attention to his hands. "You gonna sit there all day?"

"I'm gonna vote when the line goes down," Jake answered. "Then I'll go out to the checkpoints, make sure things are okay."

"Right," Eric answered so quietly that Jake almost missed it. He waited for a long moment and then jerked his head at line of voters. "You know, that's my job, too. Hell, it's your job. You think Gray Anderson's gonna need Johnston Green's sons for deputy mayor and head of the border patrol?"

"My job?" Jake snorted in reply. "It's not like we're gettin' paychecks, Eric. And, who's Gray gonna put in charge of the border patrol? Ridley Cooper? The man's in charge of risk assessments, cost benefit analysis, whatever," he dismissed with a wave of his hand, "At a salt mine. Even Gray's not that stupid. So maybe he appoints Hawkins," he suggested. "That's fine. I can work with Hawkins. And besides that, maybe Dad'll still win."

"'Yeah," Eric acknowledged with a single nod. He sat back, letting his head rest against the wall. "I was - I was gonna run for mayor," he admitted, glancing at his brother again, smiling sourly.

"Better you than me," Jake mumbled, rolling his eyes.

"No, you don't understand," Eric began, "I was -" But he cut himself off, shaking his head again. "Never mind."

"You say so," Jake returned, studying his brother for a moment. "Look, Eric," he began, taking a deep breath. "You need to - you need to not be here between, say, lunch and two, okay?"

"What?" Eric questioned, staring at Jake. "Why?"

Jake exhaled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "April would like to vote," he muttered in explanation. "She doesn't want a scene. She doesn't even want people thinking there might be a scene," he continued, raising his voice to talk over Eric when his brother began to protest. "Look," Jake demanded through clenched teeth, "She just wants to come and vote for Dad, without all the gossip, and she was hoping you'd stay outta her way." He waited a beat and then added, "Mary too."

Lips pressed tightly together, Eric nodded tiredly. "Sure," he agreed. "We'll stay out of her way."

"Thanks," Jake returned. He watched as across the room Joe Bentner shuffled up to the check-in desk. The line was moving slowly - Johnston and Gail still weren't in the building - but it was moving. Jake stood up and looked down at his brother. "I'm gonna get in line," he told him, shaking his head. "It's gonna be a long day."

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

Saturday, November 24, five years before the bombs

"Need a baby fix, Heth?" Tommy Lisinski, Heather's twenty-eight year old brother inquired as she exited the first floor bathroom in their aunt's house. He held his eight month old daughter, Hannah, out to her. "Look at her," he demanded, jiggling the baby. Hannah stared unblinkingly at her aunt, completely unperturbed by her father's manhandling; the Lisinski clan tended to be rough and tumble and Lisinski babies quickly became used to it. "Isn't she cute?" Tommy cajoled.

"Don't take that baby, Heather!" Tommy's wife, Mandy, screeched, coming around the corner at top speed. She skidded to a stop and pointed an accusing finger at her husband. "Tommy Lisinski, so help me -"

"Sorry, Tommy," Heather giggled, holding her hands up to form a 'T' for 'timeout'. "But I'm not changing any diapers for you," she told her brother. Squeezing Hannah's chubby leg, she stepped around him. "Stinky baby," Heather cooed, smiling brightly at her niece. "Pew!"

"Can't blame a guy for tryin', Mandy May," Tommy argued, turning to flash his most winsome smile at his wife.

Mandy shook her head, fighting to keep from grinning. "Sure I can," she told him. Moving past her sister-in-law, Heather rolled her eyes and Mandy shrugged in return. "Change the baby, Tommy," she instructed in her severest tone before turning to follow Heather back down the hallway and into the family room. Mandy paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame, to watch her husband. "Tommy!" she shouted, catching him attempting to con Aunt Heidi into changing Hannah's diaper.

Climbing over her brother Michael, who was sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch, Heather reclaimed her seat between her cousin Jessica and another sister-in-law, Deborah, her oldest brother Andrew's wife. Deborah's and Andrew's daughter, six year old Rebekah, was sitting in her mother's lap, her head tucked under Deborah's chin. Heather smiled at her niece and then turned to face Jessica, resting her head against her cousin's shoulder for a moment. "You doing okay?" she asked, frowning gently.

"Yeah," Jessica claimed unconvincingly. "I'm - I'm tired, that's all," she sighed. "And, I'll be glad when it's just us."

Heather nodded. "Yeah." Over a hundred fifty people had attended Burton Reinhardt's funeral mass and most, at some point during the afternoon, had come to pay their respects, filing through the small brick home he'd shared with his wife and daughter. The crowd was down to about forty people now, mostly family, though there were still a few friends and neighbors visiting in the living and dining rooms. "Everyone loved your Dad. I mean, the whole Saint Mike's hockey team was actually crying," Heather reminded.

Jessica took a deep breath, attempting a smile. "They were," she agreed. "And he was easy to love, like your Mom." The two young women shared a look and a sigh before Jessica straightened in her seat and, patting Heather on the leg, announced, "Okay now. Mikey's been tellin' us all about his conversation with your boyfriend, Heth. We need details. More, better details."

"The boyfriend," Michael corrected, sitting up and then laying his head back on Heather's knee. "He's 'The Boyfriend'," he teased his sister before glancing sideways at their cousin, grinning. "Trust me."

"Right," Jessica agreed, reaching over to hit him lightly on the top of the head. "'The Boyfriend'." She looked to her left, at Kerry, John's wife. "We wanna hear about 'The Boyfriend'."

"Boyfriend Jake," Kerry reminded, leaning around Jessica to catch Heather's eye. "Your Dad told us you were spending Thanksgiving with the fam'. Sounds serious," she practically sang.

"Oooh, Ja-ake," Deborah said, drawing his name out into two syllables. She pretended to swoon, sending Rebekah into giggles. "Sounds very cowboy."

"Who's a cowboy?" Andrew asked, overhearing his wife as he came into the family room, carrying their three year old son, Kyle, piggyback.

John, following two steps behind, his four year old niece Alison - Tommy's and Mandy's oldest - clinging to his back, frowned. "You meetin' a lot of cowboys out there in Kansas, sis?" he inquired, his tone suspicious.

"Just the one," Kerry assured, getting up from the sofa and moving to join her husband. "C'm'ere, Ali, before Uncle Johnny drops you," she scolded, working to loosen the stranglehold their niece had on him. "'The Boyfriend'. Jake."

"He's not a cowboy," Heather protested. "Well, not really," she corrected herself. "I mean, his family owns a horse ranch and he rides and he won the junior rodeo once -"

"The rodeo? Did you hear that, Tommy?" John hooted, grinning at his brother as he came into the family room carrying the freshly changed Hannah, already starting to fall asleep against his shoulder.

"Give me my baby," Mandy demanded, taking their daughter from her husband.

"Heather's new boyfriend's a rodeo star," John snickered, hitting Tommy on the arm. "Can you believe that?"

"He's not a rodeo star," Heather groaned. "He won an event at the junior rodeo when he was nine, that's all."

Andrew swung Kyle around off his back, setting the little boy down on his feet. "Now I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure they limit rodeo competition to cowboys."

"And, cowgirls," Deborah corrected her husband, smiling at him over their daughter's head.

"Right," Andrew agreed. He got a devilish look on his face, and then started to sing. "I wanna be a cowboy," he belted out, leering at his wife playfully, "And you can be my cowgirl."

"Oh, good Lord," Kerry muttered, shaking her head and fighting a grin. With Alison settled on her hip, she moved toward the couch. Michael grabbed his niece's ankle as they passed by, making her squeal. "You know, Andy," Kerry announced raising her voice over Alison's slightly hysterical giggles, "I think you've got your next karaoke number."

"Yeah!" Tommy and John declared in unison.

"Please tell me you're kidding," Heather moaned. "Kyle, come sit with Auntie Heather," she invited holding her hand out to her nephew. "We need to shield you from your Dad's insanity," she grumbled, glaring at her oldest brother as she settled his son on her lap.

"He's kidding," Deborah assured, patting Heather on the shoulder and then combing Kyle's bangs out of his eyes. "Drew's been banned from karaoke."

Frowning, Andrew stared at his wife. "I have? Since when?"

"Since the last time," Deborah grumbled, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry, Heather, he won't be singing that - or anything else - at karaoke."

"Thank you," Heather sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of Kyle's head.

Jessica wrapped an arm around her cousin, giving her a sideways hug, almost lulling Heather into a false sense of security. But then, she kicked Michael lightly in the arm, urging, "Tell 'em what you told us about 'The boyfriend' and 'the date', Mikey."

"'The boyfriend' took Heather on a date to Wyoming," Michael reported dutifully, frowning and rubbing the spot where Jessica had kicked him. "That's not right next to Kansas, by the way," he continued, correctly interpreting his older brothers' expressions as they tried to decide where Wyoming was in relation to Kansas on their spotty mental maps of the world west of the Mississippi. "Long drive, except 'The Boyfriend's' a pilot, so he flew them up to Wyoming for lunch, in his private plane."

"Yeah, right," Tommy snorted. Mandy had settled herself and Hannah in Uncle Burt's recliner, and Tommy moved over to join them, taking care to test the chair's arm before perching himself on it. "Good one, Mikey," he chuckled, tickling his daughter's foot. "Heather's dating Richie Rich."

"Jake's not rich," Heather protested, her tone indignant, "His family's - they're well off, I guess, but he has a job, and it's not his plane," she added, sitting forward to let Kyle off her lap, "He borrowed it."

The little boy only made it a step away from her before Michael grabbed him, pulling him down onto his lap and wrapping him up in a bear hug. "Gotcha! Mwhahahaha!" Michael declared, setting Kyle off into a round of uncontrollable giggles.

"Wait. The plane thing's real?" Tommy asked, allowing a surprised chuckle. "I mean, you just got in a plane and flew with some guy to Wyoming?" he demanded, frowning at his sister.

"And who knows someone they can just borrow a plane from?" Andrew demanded. He socked John on the shoulder. "You know anybody who'd loan you an airplane for the day?"

"Gramps - Jake's grandfather, I mean -" Heather corrected herself, blushing softly, "He's part owner in a small aviation company. Jake sometimes works for the company, he can borrow a plane," she shrugged.

"Yeah," John agreed, nodding at Andrew, "Nobody I know owns a plane. I need to get better friends," he laughed, "And stop hanging out with you losers."

"Doncha think we should be worried that our baby sister's just gettin' into airplanes with strange - strange cowboys?" Tommy suggested, scowling.

John and Andrew both nodded. "Good point," John agreed.

Flinging herself back against the couch, Heather groaned loudly. "He's not a strange cowboy. He's -"

"Heather, how'd you meet Jake?" Deborah interrupted, throwing her sister-in-law a sympathetic look.

"I know this one," Jessica answered before Heather could. "I got that email," she said, patting her cousin on the shoulder. "Her tire blew out and Jake stopped to change it for her, and then they went out to his grandfather's ranch - they were there for hours - and when she finally went home he followed her all the way back to town - like ten miles - to make sure she was okay, and then...." Jessica paused, grinning as she looked around the room, catching the eye of each of her three older cousins in turn. "And then... Heather really, really wanted him to kiss her. And he didn't."

"Jess!" Heather protested, gaping at her friend and cousin. "I can't believe -"

"I can't believe you duped this poor guy into changing your tire," Andrew interrupted. "You can change a tire in a blizzard, in your sleep."

"Hey! Andy! We don't like 'The Cowboy'," Tommy reminded.

"I was in a skirt," Heather mumbled, slumping in her seat.

"You were in a skirt?" John repeated. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"It was a short skirt," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "And he insisted," Heather shrugged, "So I let him."

"Yeah, except you're leaving out that he was in a suit," Jessica interjected with a grin. "He had to change into jeans right there on the side of the road," she informed the group.

Heather, now crimson, hid her face behind her hands. "It was not like that!" she grumbled through her fingers. "He was being nice. It was - it was chivalrous," she decided, letting her hands fall into her lap.

"Did you watch, Heth?" Mandy asked, scooting forward, Hannah balanced on her knee, to watch for her sister-in-law's response. "He's cute, right?" Tommy jerked his head around, gaping at his wife. "Hey, I'm allowed to live vicariously," she grinned.

"I'd just met him!" Heather protested, her voice squeaking. She struggled to her feet, tripping over Kyle, who had chosen the same moment to stand up. "I'm sorry, Ky," she frowned, cupping the little boy's head. She could feel angry tears pricking behind her eyes. Swiping her hand across her eyes, Heather plowed forward, heading for the door.

"Aw, c'mon, Heth!" Tommy called out.

"Don't be like that!" John threw in.

Eyes bright and flashing, she turned around, meeting her brothers' suddenly faltering grins with a death glare. "It's not - This is not funny," Heather practically shouted before shoving her way through the half open pocket door that led into the kitchen. On the other side she pushed it closed with a satisfying and jarring 'thunk'.

Looking around the room, Heather was relieved to see that she was alone, though she could hear her Uncle Larry's booming laugh from the dining room next door. That made her smile. Uncle Burt and Uncle Larry had married into the family in the same summer, thirty one years before, and once introduced to each other, had become fast friends. They were the family jokesters and extremely competitive - legend had it that at the behest of their fiancées, Heather's Aunts Geraldine and Ava, they'd arm wrestled to determine their wedding dates, Burt winning June, leaving Larry and Ava with August - and Heather had no doubt that Uncle Larry was amusing his audience with some tall tale from their long friendship. Still smiling, she crossed to the sink and turned on the tap, quickly splashing water on her face. Letting out a deep sigh, Heather pulled a paper towel loose, and was patting her cheeks and forehead dry when her high school principal, Sister Patricia, came into the kitchen, carrying a pair of empty platters.

The two women washed the trays, leaving them on the sideboard to dry. Sister Patricia asked Heather how she liked teaching, smiling as she listened to her former student describe the highs and even a few of the lows she'd experienced in her first few months at Jericho Elementary. Heather followed Sister Patricia out of the kitchen and into the dining room, where she grabbed a can of soda out of the cooler in the corner and the next to last of Aunt Heidi's double fudge brownies off the nearly bare buffet table. She took a bite of the brownie, glancing over the crowd of people who sat in groups or stood around in the living room. Her father was talking to her cousin Adam and his wife, and they waved at one another before she turned around and headed back into the kitchen. Andrew was at the sink, getting himself a glass of water.

Heather stopped, two steps into the room, meeting her brother's gaze as he turned around to face her. She'd been on her way back to the family room, having calmed down enough that she figured she could face her cousin, siblings and their spouses once more. It wasn't that she'd been mad at them, not really, but she had been oddly sensitive to their teasing, mostly Heather realized, because it felt like they were belittling her relationship with Jake. "Hey," she murmured, biting her lip.

"Look, sis, I'm sorry," Andrew apologized, studying his water glass. "We were just having a little fun. And, you know," Andrew shrugged, meeting her eye for just a second, "It's just that we worry about you."

"Okay," Heather acknowledged softly. She hadn't really expected an apology, though if any of her brothers was going to apologize, it would be Andrew. He'd always taken his role as the oldest seriously, and was always the one to switch sides, defending and protecting Heather or Michael from Tommy and John when he realized they had gone too far. "But you don't need to worry about me," she assured him.

Andrew snorted at that. "You move all the way across the country and get big time involved with some guy who flies you to Wyoming for a date. Sorry, but that's gonna make us worry," he told her. "Seriously, John and Tommy are in there plotting out our road trip," he muttered, jerking his head toward the family room.

"I don't need checking up on," Heather grumbled. She shoved the rest of her brownie in her mouth and dropped into a seat at the table. Chewing quickly, she swallowed hard, shaking her head. "And Kansas is only halfway across the country."

"Well, that makes the road trip shorter, at least," Andrew chuckled nervously, taking the chair opposite her. "We don't want you to get hurt, Heth. Not again."

Frowning, Heather looked back over her shoulder, checking the doorway to make sure they were truly alone. "You - you all had your part in my getting hurt last time," she reminded softly, facing him over the table. "That's not blaming you," she added quickly, holding up a hand to cut off his protest. "It worked out. And now, everything with Jake, it's just completely different than it was with Mark," Heather explained, a soft smile lighting her face. Sniffling, she took a sip from her soda and then, setting it down on the table top, began to bend the can's tab back and forth.

"You know, Jake didn't take me to Wyoming to impress me, or at least mostly he didn't," she continued, looking up at Andrew. "He loves to fly, and he wanted me to go with him so he could share that with me," Heather sighed. "And he has to go to Denver for work sometimes," she added, her smile widening, "And when he's there, every night, we talk on the phone, three, four, five hours. Sometimes we talk about the stupidest things, just to keep talking." The tab broke off the can then, and Heather giggled. "He - He corrects math homework for me," she continued, "Just so he can spend time with me. You just have to get - you have to understand. This is so completely and totally the opposite of Mark Metzger," she insisted.

"Okay," Andrew acknowledged, somewhat reluctantly, letting out a long breath. "But if he hurts you.... We reserve the right to beat him up, Heth," he teased gently.

Heather groaned, fighting a grin. "Okay," she agreed finally, "But I should warn you, he's got a gun and a badge and he can arrest you. So, no road trip. I mean it. I'll get him to do it."

You're kidding, right?" Andrew started to chuckle, cutting himself off when Heather didn't join in, meeting his laughter with a bright, 'I know more than you' smile. "Seriously, your boyfriend's a cowboy/pilot/police officer?"

"He's not a police officer, per se," she shrugged. "He works for the DEA, so he's a federal agent, technically. With a badge," she repeated, "And a gun. Well, I haven't actually seen his gun," she admitted a moment later, absently catching the lip of her soda can between her teeth before she took a drink. "But I know he has one."

"Well, he sure as hell better not be showing you his gun," he muttered, eyeing his sister closely.

She frowned at him, intoning his name in the way he'd always thought only his mother could say it. "Andrew," Heather warned.

He continued to study his sister without speaking, the import of this moment hitting him almost as a physical blow. The Lisinski family had always been close knit, and Heather, along with their mother, had long been at their center. She had certainly never put her ... her loyalty, he decided, to anything or anyone else ahead of their family. Andrew understood then, with certain clarity, that things were now different - that Heather was different - and he suspected that her long unclaimed heart had been claimed. He forced the slightest of smiles, blowing out a nervous breath. "Just - just be careful, okay, Heth?" he requested, drumming a finger nervously on the tabletop. "Don't - You're my baby sister and I don't want you to get hurt."

"Jake wouldn't hurt me, Andy," Heather assured, smiling again. She stood up and came around the table, leaning down to give him a hug. "And, I accept your apology," she added, stepping back as Andrew scrambled to his feet. "You're a pretty good big brother, Andy."

He frowned at her softly, not speaking for a long moment. "Hey, I'm the best big brother you have," he said finally, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

"Well, yeah," Heather giggled, her eyes dancing, "But look at your competition!"

Laughing, he followed Heather as she started back toward the family room. "I'm telling them you said that," he threatened lightly, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

"You do that, I'll have to promote Tommy to first place," Heather teased.

"John, maybe," Andrew joked in return, sliding the pocket door open. "But Tommy?"

"But Tommy what?" Tommy demanded as Andrew followed Heather into the family room. "What about me?"

"Can't hit Meat Loaf's high notes in karaoke," Andrew replied, impressing Heather with his quick thinking. "I'll Do Anything for Love," he cringed, "That was bad."

"I could do it," John threw out with the confidence of a person who knew he wouldn't have to prove himself anytime soon.

"That's what we should do tonight," Jessica announced, startling John. Glancing sideways at Heather as she squeezed back into her place on the couch, she continued, suddenly animated, "Karaoke Night at Ike's."

"We can't go to karaoke, Jess," Heather chided. "Your Mom needs you here, and there's too much going on."

"Yeah," Michael agreed, slapping Jessica's calf with the back of his hand. "Besides, pick a place we can all go to. I wanna see John humiliate himself as much as the next guy."

"I've banned Drew from karaoke anyway," Deborah reminded. Rebekah and Ali were now playing with Jessica's old dollhouse - the same dollhouse that had amused Jessica and Heather for hours when they were little girls - and now Kyle was in his mother's lap, thumb in his mouth, threatening to drift off to sleep. "And we couldn't get a babysitter this late, anyway."

"For four kids?" Mandy piped up, "No way."

"You know what we should do, though?" Tommy declared, his voice full of excitement. "I think we need to play for the Burt Reinhardt Memorial Cup tomorrow. The rink's still closed, right?" he asked, looking at Jessica. "Tomorrow morning. We should do it."

Biting her lip, Jessica nodded. Heather put her arm around her cousin, hugging her tightly. "That's - That's a great idea," she sniffed a few seconds later. "Rink's closed 'til Monday," she confirmed, wiping her hand across one eye. "Thanksgiving weekend, so most of the leagues were cancelled anyway," Jessica shrugged, clearing her throat. "Bill opened up for the three that weren't this morning, and there's nothin' tomorrow. I think we should. Dad'd love it."

"So we're all in?" Tommy demanded. "Andy, John? Mike? Heth, Jess, Ker?" Everyone nodded, and Tommy called over to his daughter, still playing in the corner. "Ali-Cat, you gonna come watch Daddy play in Uncle Burt's hockey game tomorrow?"

"Okay!" Alison yelled back, grinning at her father.

The decision made, Andrew and Tommy hurried off toward the living room to recruit more players for the game. Mandy got up from her spot in the recliner, moving to deposit Hannah with her Uncle Mikey. "Don't worry," Mandy assured her brother-in-law, grinning, "Tommy really did change her diaper, so she's good for awhile still. I'll be right back," she promised, "It's always such a thrill these days to go to the bathroom alone."

"My dream!" Deborah laughed, covering her sleeping son's ears in the hope that she would avoid waking him. "See what you have to look forward to Kerry?" she joked, her gaze concentrated on the boy in her arms. "You two, too, Heather, Jess," Deborah sighed, throwing them a quick smile.

Kerry groaned softly, shaking her head. "We just got married," she reminded, looking over at her husband. "Give us another year."

"You got married a year ago," Deborah argued, "And, besides, it takes almost a year to have a baby."

"Heather and I will not be joining the rest of you all in your big childbearing experiment any time soon," Jessica interjected. "But go for it Ker, John."

"What I want to know is what Jake looks like," Kerry replied, leaning around Jessica to grin at her sister-in-law. "Got a picture on ya, Heth?"

"Ye-eahh," Heather admitted, drawing that one word out into multiple syllables. She was already beginning to blush. "In my - In my purse," she muttered, scooting forward on the couch.

Both Deborah and Jessica laid their hands on her arms, stopping her. "Johnny'll get it for you," Kerry offered helpfully. "Right, John? Please?" she cajoled, "For me?"

John rolled his eyes as he pulled himself up from his chair. "Sure," he muttered. "What's it look like?"

"Black leather, medium size, just the one long shoulder strap," Heather described, pantomiming the shape of her purse for her brother.

"'Kay," John acknowledged, frowning softly. "I'll see if I can find it." He was back three minutes later carrying nine purses - Heather counted - and glowering. "Every purse in that bedroom is black," he complained, dropping them all at his sister's feet. "And there are twenty-one of 'em in there. Nineteen are leather, and nine of those are medium with one long strap!"

"Well it is a funeral," Heather reminded, meeting John's annoyed look with a sheepish smile. "We're all wearing black," she added as she sorted through the handbags at her feet, locating her own. "Found it," she announced quietly.

Deborah pointed to a purse next to Heather's foot. "That's mine. The Tignanello." Heather handed it to her sister-in-law, earning a smile and a thank you.

Kerry reached over Jessica, plucking another bag from the pile. "Mine, but you should know that, Johnny," she scolded gently, settling back into her seat.

"I knew it," Michael laughed, though it turned into a squeal at the end when Hannah grabbed his nose, accidentally shove her tiny thumb up one nostril. "Ow, no," he said, frowning at the baby. "Hurts," he told her. Michael looked up at his brother. "Doing a lot of standing around in the mall, holding Kerry's purse?" he joked.

"He thinks my purse is his own, personal ATM machine," Kerry answered for John, rolling her eyes.

"Well, you better make sure that one's yours," John advised, sitting down next to her on the arm of the couch. "I actually do know what yours looks like, but there were two in there, absolutely identical."

"Yeah, Kerry," Heather agreed, pulling loose a second purse that was an exact copy of the one sitting in her sister-in-law's lap.

Kerry unzipped the top of her purse, declaring "Whoops," once she'd seen inside. "Not mine," she confirmed, zipping the bag back up and then trading with Heather. She looked at John, once again offering him the smile she knew he was still powerless to resist. "Can you put the rest back? Please?"

Letting out a put-upon sigh, John stood up, moving around Michael to take the purses that Heather handed up to him. "Any of these yours, Jess?" he asked, slinging two bags over his left shoulder.

"Mine's upstairs," Jessica answered, shaking her head 'no'.

"'Kay," John nodded, heading for the hallway door, where he ran into Mandy, returning from the bathroom.

"Hey, John," she greeted, giving him a puzzled smile as she peeled a purse off his arm. "Uh, thanks," she giggled.

Mandy stepped past John, revealing Sister Patricia, who stood in the hallway, frowning at John. "I went to get my coat..." she began. Hanging his head, John held out both his arms, five black leather, single-strapped handbags hanging from them. Sister Patricia selected the most utilitarian of the bunch, disentangling it from two others. "Thank you," she murmured, obviously unsure of what to make of one of the Lisinski boys turning out to be a ... purse thief?

"Heather needed her purse, Sister," he explained quickly, looking back over his shoulder to glare at his sister. "And all the purses looked the same." He met the nun's unblinking gaze with a chastened frown. "I'll put the rest of these back," he muttered, stepping past her.

Laughing softly, Sister Patricia stepped into the family room. "I have to go now," she informed them, "But I did want to tell you, Jessica, dear, what a good man your father was. I know he didn't darken the church door very often, but I could always call on him, and he loved you and your mother dearly. I remember one day when you were both still at school," she continued, smiling at Heather and Jessica, "I'd phoned to ask if he could come replace the glass in a broken window, which he did. He was in my office afterward and noticed that I had books in piles and not on shelves. Books are a vice of mine," she admitted with a wry grin. "A week later he arrived with three bookshelves he'd built himself. More than I needed, but he said that now I had room to grow. Your father wasn't perfect," Sister Patricia sighed, "He told awful -"

"Sacrilegious jokes," Jessica supplied. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she was smiling. "I'm so sorry, Sister," she apologized, covering one eye with her hand. "We told him and told him he shouldn't -"

"I never minded, not really," Sister Patricia interrupted. "He did always look embarrassed after he'd told me one, and then he'd ask me to keep him in my prayers, which I did," she assured. "He doesn't need them now, of that I'm certain, but I'll be keeping you and your mother in my prayers."

"Thank you," Jessica sighed, letting her head rest against Heather's shoulder. "And, Sister Patricia," she called after the nun as she turned to leave the room, "When you need something, leave the rink on your list of calls. I'm not handy like Dad, but I can always send Bill."

Sister Patricia smiled. "Thank you, dear, I will. My condolences to you all," she added before stepping out the door which John, returning from the guest room, held open for her.

"Didja hear that the Pope's letting nuns go out on dates now?" Michael asked as John closed the door behind Sister Patricia. The women in the room groaned, recognizing one of Uncle Burt's favorite sacrilegious jokes.

"Yeah, as long as they wear Cross-My-Heart bras and No Nonsense panty hose," John grinned, supplying the punch line.

From the corner they heard twin gasps. Rebekah and Alison were on their feet, hands on their hips, identical expressions of outrage furrowing their brows. "Nuns can't go out on dates!" Rebekah declared, stomping her foot. "Uncle Mikey! Uncle Johnny!" she scolded before looking to Deborah for support. "Mom?"

"You are absolutely right, my girl," Deborah agreed, "Uncle Mikey and Uncle Johnny shouldn't have told that joke. They certainly know better," she added, throwing a pointed look in their direction.

John and Michael had the good grace the look contrite, and Michael quickly apologized to his niece. "Sorry, kiddo."

"But, Auntie Heather does get to go on dates," Deborah continued, smiling brightly. "And we wanna see who she's goin' out with. Hand 'em over," she demanded, turning a bright smile on her sister-in-law.

"Oh, yeah," Jessica, Kerry and Mandy all said in unison, chuckling at themselves.

Heather ducked her head, emitting a groaning giggle. "Fine," she muttered, opening her purse. She had an envelope of pictures with her, having, on impulse, gathered up some of the prints that had been sitting on her desk when she'd gone to get her e-ticket off the printer. She'd felt silly, wanting these pictures of Jake and herself with her, and even sillier the night before when she'd been in bed, talking to Jake on the phone and going through the envelope. After all, it wasn't like she'd forget what he looked like in three days!

"Here," she sighed, extracting the envelope from her purse and then pulling the four prints loose. Heather handed the first picture - one of the pictures of Jake and herself in front of Gramps' plane at the airport in Rock Springs - to Deborah. She passed a photo of Jake alone, checking the plane's engine, to Jessica, and one of the two of them in front of Dolly Doolittle's, to Kerry.

Heather tried to put the fourth picture - the one of Jake kissing her in front of the diner - back into the envelope, but Mandy caught her. "Ooh!" Heather's sister-in-law giggled. "I get the one she doesn't want us to see. Hand it over!" she demanded, getting up from the recliner and stomping across the room, hand outstretched.

Blushing crimson, Heather turned the photo over to Mandy with obvious reluctance. "I - I didn't even know Mr. Doolittle took that picture until we got home," she muttered. "I just wanted a picture of the sign, and then he and the actual Dolly Doolittle came along, and they offered to take our picture for me -"

"Yeah, Heth, I'm not really looking at the sign," Mandy laughed, shaking her head. "Whatever you do, don't let Tommy see this picture," she advised, "Or your Dad. Wowsa!" she teased.

"Trade ya," John insisted then, snatching the picture Kerry held out of her hand and holding it out to Mandy, who somewhat unwillingly exchanged photos. "God, Heather," he complained a second later, staring down at the photo laying on his palm. "Didja count his fillings?"

Kerry and Jessica immediately lunged for the picture. "No fair," Deborah complained, chuckling, as she watched the melee. "I'm pinned down," she pointed out, running her hand through her son's hair. She pressed a kiss to his temple, whispering, "Come on, Ky, wake up."

Michael twisted around, sitting up on his knees, jiggling Hannah in his arms, demanding his turn. "Man, Heather," he snorted, "Tell us, does he still have his tonsils?"

"Ix-nay on-way e-thay, uh, onsils-tay and-way illings-fay alk-tay," Deborah told Michael, nodding at the two little girls in the corner. "Do you know what I'm gonna have to do to make sure the nun joke doesn't end up the talk of All Saints's first grade next week?"

"Sorry, Deb," Michael apologized, leaning over Heather to hand her the incriminating photo. "But seriously. Take a look."

"Boy, you two've got it bad," she grinned, clucking softly over the picture. "But I like this one," Deborah added, holding up the photo of Jake and Heather in front of the plane for everyone to see. "You guys look good together, and he's cute."

"He's more than cute, he's hot," Jessica contradicted. "I think I need to go to Kansas."

Heather's fading blush bloomed again, though she was at least able to smile and nod her agreement with their assessment. "You can come," she told her cousin, giggling softly, "But his brother's married and his best friend reminds me way too much of Andy."

"Oh," Jessica returned, disappointed. She collapsed back against the sofa's cushions, shooting her cousin's wife a guilty look. "No offense, Deb."

"Well, all I have to say is, thank you for not marrying Mark Metzger," Mandy announced, finally taking Hannah from Michael. "And, sorry about the baby barf on your collar," she apologized, backing away quickly.

Michael pulled his dress shirt to one side, groaning at what he saw. Heather dug into her purse, producing a tissue pack, which she handed to him. "I liked Mark - until he proposed - but there wasn't any chance I was gonna marry him," she insisted.

"And Jake?" Kerry asked. "We know you like him," she reminded, gesturing at the picture which Deborah was still holding. "But are you gonna marry him?"

"I've only known him two months," Heather argued, exaggerating the length of their acquaintance by two weeks; she sucked down a deep breath, crossing her fingers behind her back. "We're not anywhere near talking about that yet. You guys dated for three years before you got engaged."

Kerry laughed at that, wrapping her arm around John's waist. "Well that's because we were still in college, and besides, it took your brother six months just to admit that, maybe, he loved me."

"And it took you a week to say it back," John complained.

"I wasn't sure I was ready to be in love with the school hockey star," Kerry answered. "Then it turned out my opinion didn't matter," she smiled, leaning against his side, "I already was in love with you."

"Well, I think I speak for us all," Mandy smiled, glancing down at the photo of Jake alone, working on the airplane, which Jessica had passed to her, "When I say those are the kind of new genes this family could use. You definitely have my permission to marry him," she decided, hefting her daughter on her hip.

"He also wears those jeans very nicely," Jessica giggled, prompting grumbles from her male cousins. "You've got my permission too."

"Rebekah, Ali," Deborah laughed, calling the two little girls over. She hid the picture of Jake and Heather kissing behind the one of them in front of the plane. "What d'ya think?" she asked the girls, showing them the photo. "This is your maybe, someday Uncle Jake. Cute, huh?"

"Uh-huh," Alison nodded, her expression completely serious.

"You should marry him, Auntie Heather," Rebekah added. "You match."

Kyle, waking up, blinked and pointed at the picture. "Airplane," he announced.

Deborah smiled at Heather. "See?"

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

Tuesday, November 28, two months after the bombs

Jake pulled his house key from his pocket and fitted it into the lock, glancing sideways at his wife, throwing her a smile he wasn't completely sure she could see in the dark. His father had presented Jake and Eric with keys to this house when they were eight, and he'd had one - the same one - ever since, but he'd never needed to use it until the last month. They'd never needed to lock up before the bombs.

The door creaked open and Jake reached back, capturing Heather's gloved hand in his own. "C'mon," he urged, well aware of how exhausted she was. Heather had worked the morning at town hall, but the atmosphere in the building hadn't been conducive to getting anything done. She hadn't even bothered trying to work in the afternoon, instead dividing her time between the church and the sheriff's office, spending way too much time on her feet. Heather took a step forward, almost stumbling, and Jake wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Should've let me get the car," he murmured, kissing her ear.

"Waste of gas," Heather answered, yawning, as they stepped into the house. "I just wanted to leave, and I'm fine," she insisted, pausing in the entry to wait for Jake to secure the door. "But I'm dying to get by that fire," she admitted, leading him into the living room.

"Hey!" Michael greeted, sitting up, as they came into the room. He'd been laying in front of the fireplace, both for warmth and for light by which to read the medical textbook he was studying. "Heather, you look awful!" he exclaimed, frowning at his sister.

"I'm just tired," Heather claimed, waving off his concern. "And freezing," she added with a yawn, pulling away from Jake and shuffling gingerly toward the fire.

"Actually she's ready to fall over," Jake contradicted, dragging a club chair closer to the fireplace for Heather. "She's been on her feet for hours. Here," he said, moving the chair into place. "Sit."

"Heather, what were you thinking?" April demanded from her spot on the couch. "You can't run yourself into the ground like that," she sighed, concern flashing across her face.

Abandoning his solitaire game at one end of the coffee table, Jeff shoved the ottoman he'd been sitting on toward Heather. "Feet up," he muttered.

Drake got up, the candlelit game of cribbage he'd been playing with April forgotten. Without saying a word, he lifted the teakettle off the mantle and checked it for water before putting it on to heat. "Good ol' orange pekoe, Earl Grey, peppermint, and Constant Comment," he informed Heather, rifling through the canister of tea bags that now lived on the mantle. "Which do you want?"

"Peppermint," she answered sleepily, undoing the first button on her coat. "My legs really hurt," Heather admitted with a groan, her expression sheepish.

"Wonder why?" Jake muttered, pushing her knit cap off her head so he could comb his fingers through her hair, cupping a hand over the chilled flesh of her ear.

"Jake?" Drake prompted, clearing his throat, "Which do you want?"

"Same's fine," Jake answered, distracted. "I'll just use her teabag after." Heather was already falling asleep. He squatted beside the ottoman and began to massage her calf.

"Ooohhh," Heather moaned gratefully, "That feels good. Don't stop."

"You need to go to bed," April said, wrapping her sweater more tightly around herself as she moved to join the others in front of the fire. She knelt down next to Jake, fingering the cuff of Heather's other pant leg. "God," she swore, trying to shove the jeans material up as far as it would go, which was not nearly as far as it should have. "You're apparently turning into the elephant woman, Heather, because that's what your legs look like. Elephant legs. You need to be in bed," April repeated, shaking her head. "Ten hours at least."

"After - After I warm up," Heather countered, yawning. "Promise."

April glared at Jake. "I'm puttin' you in charge of making sure it happens. Where were you today?"

"Border patrol," he grumbled in return. "Guarding Jonah Prowse. Doin' my job."

"Well, looking after your wife's your job, too," April reminded sourly.

"I'm on it, April, okay?" Jake replied, his tone defensive. "And, what about you? You're workin' nearly every day, twelve, fourteen hours."

"You don't need to worry about me," she snapped, tugging the leg of Heather's jeans back into place. "I'm not your job. I'm not anyone's job," April muttered, glaring at her brother-in-law through a haze of unshed tears which she quickly blinked away.

"Well, maybe I inherited you," he argued, almost belligerently. "'Cause two pregnant women is exactly what I need."

"Knock it off," Michael interrupted, his voice both hushed and urgent. "We're all just - just takin' care of each other," he muttered, "Best we can. Okay?"

Nodding, April started to stand, bracing herself against the ottoman, only to find Jeff there, taking her arm. "Okay," she sniffed, throwing back her shoulders.

"Okay," Jake agreed finally, not looking up. Heather had fallen asleep, but he moved into the space April had vacated anyway and started to massage her other leg.

"You know, when we were kids," Michael began, peeling the glove off his sister's hand, "My Mom always made us make up like we meant it."

"Don't push it, Mike," Jake warned, catching his brother-in-law's eye. "We're fine, right?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder at April. "Besides," he admitted, letting out a heavy breath, "It's been a bad night."

The teakettle started to whistle, and even that wasn't enough to wake Heather. The rest of them glanced around the loose circle they'd formed, not saying anything, instead settling for exchanging grim looks. Finally, Drake moved to pull the kettle off the fire, pouring the hot water into mugs that were lined up atop the mantle. "Two extra," he announced unnecessarily. "April?"

"Sure," she agreed. "I actually like the Constant Comment."

"So do you, Drake," Jeff snorted. "You take the other."

Again, they all fell silent, watching Drake as he prepared the first two mugs of tea as if the process was the most fascinating thing they'd ever seen. Jake tried to wake Heather up, shaking her shoulder gently and opening her coat, extracting her from it. She fought him a little, grumbling at him in her sleep, finally rousing when he snaked his hand under her blouse and sweater, tickling her side. "Drink up," Jake ordered, handing her the mug that Drake had passed to him. "It's not a piña colada," he teased, "But it'll warm you up."

"Oh, gee, just what we needed," Jeff complained, "Another piña colada joke."

Jake looked back at the younger man. "Turns out there's two piña colada jokes. Yours and Heather's. She thinks she's pregnant because I ordered her a second one at dinner one night in Hawaii."

"I had three that night, actually," Heather murmured. She took a sip of her tea and then, wrapping her hands around the mug to warm them, balanced it carefully on her rounded belly. "I miss pineapple," she declared huskily, her eyes falling closed. "And bananas," she whispered completely unaware of the amused smiles on everyone else's faces. "I wanted to get pregnant," Heather added a few seconds later, her eyes still shut but sounding surprisingly lucid. "I just didn't think I would," she concluded, muffling a yawn.

"T...M...I," Michael ground out, emphasizing each letter.

Neither Jake nor Heather responded; she was starting to drift off again, and he was concentrated on rousing her. "C'mon, babe," Jake coaxed, "Wake up. You need to finish your tea, and then you're goin' to bed."

"Okay," she sighed, not bothering to open her eyes as she raised the cup to her mouth, blowing on the liquid before taking a drink.

April, who'd been forced into the other club chair by Jeff, sipped at her own mug. "So, bad night?" she questioned, staring the back of Jake's head. "That means Gray - ?"

"Is the mayor," Jake admitted, letting out a resigned breath. He seated himself on Heather's ottoman, his free hand settling on her leg. "Three thousand twenty two votes," he continued, swallowing a mouthful of tea. "Fifteen hundred twenty six for Gray, fourteen hundred ninety two for Dad, and four write-ins. One for Oliver Bruce and three for Clark Kent."

"Don't you mean Bruce Wayne?" Jeff asked. "I mean, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne? Superheroes?"

Jake shook his head. "Oliver Bruce is the town conspiracy theorist. Now, no way he'd actually vote -"

"He didn't," Heather confirmed from behind Jake. He looked over his shoulder at her, relieved when she shot him a tired but somewhat revived smile. "At least he didn't while I was there," she clarified, before taking a sip of her tea.

"Well, somebody voted for him," Jake shrugged, turning back to face the others. "And as for Clark Kent ... it is Kansas. Local boy does good, I guess."

"Imaginary local boy," Jeff complained, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I can't - I can't believe Dad lost," April said, her tone subdued. "How?" she demanded a second later, chewing her lip. "What happened? How?"

"Thirty four votes," Drake muttered. "I mean, that's the - the margin."

"And Gray's takin' it as a mandate," Jake snorted. Grinding his mug against his knee, he shook his head. "The people have spoken."

Frowning, April straightened in her seat. "Where - Where is he? Dad?" she asked. "Why didn't he and Mom come home with you guys?"

"They had to stick around for the last of the formalities," Jake explained, studying the inside of his cup. "Certify the count, all that."

In the end, the vote had been counted three times. The voter roll was counted too, and the totals were compared. Three ballots were discovered to be missing as a result, and they were then found stuck in a metal seam inside the ballot box, despite the fact that - as all four advocates later testified - Principal Gerhardt had practically climbed inside the contraption to clear it out after two football players had carried it into Reverend Young's study once the polls had officially closed at eight. One of the ballots had torn as Principal Gerhardt pulled it loose, prompting gasps from all those present. Mrs. McVeigh had solved the problem with scotch tape.

The second tabulation - including the three missing ballots - had changed the count by five, bringing Johnston Green up to fourteen hundred ninety two from fourteen hundred eighty seven, causing Gray Anderson's advocates no end of consternation. By this point, Mr. Houghton and the five students who had still been in the building had been brought in to assist, and had been put to work sorting ballots into batches of ten based on candidates selected. The elections commissioners had then spent their time auditing the batches. The third count had matched the second exactly. Gray Anderson, it was announced three and a half hours after the polls closed, had been elected mayor of Jericho.

"We stuck around 'til Mrs. McVeigh announced the results," Jake continued, "But I guess she has some paperwork to do, and they need to box everything up in case the county ever wants to look at it."

"In case the county still exists," Michael grumbled.

Throwing his brother-in-law a sour grin, Jake nodded. "Right. Anyway, Mom and Dad stuck around for that." Taking a deep breath, he faced April. "The inauguration, swearing in, whatever you want to call it, is tomorrow morning," he informed her. "Ten o'clock."

"What?" April practically yelped, sitting forward in her chair. "Why? That - That just doesn't make sense."

"Gray pushed for it," Jake shrugged, "And - I don't know - Dad didn't see much point in dragging it out, I guess."

"Jericho finally broke his heart," she sighed, shaking her head at the thought. "He always said that one day they would."

"Yeah," Jake agreed. "Okay," he continued, squeezing Heather's leg as he looked back over his shoulder at her, "How're you doin' on that tea? You're not falling asleep on me, are you? Ready for bed?"

Heather sat up, stretching her free hand over her head. "Ready," she yawned, looking around blearily for somewhere to set her now empty mug.

Jake got up and took the cup from her, placing it on the mantle. "C'mon," he smiled, offering her his hand. "And, hey, you get to sleep in," he reminded, helping Heather stand and take her first few steps toward the entry. "Handy excuse for missing Gray's big day," he muttered. She stumbled again, betraying how exhausted she really was, and Jake wrapped an arm around her waist. "Okay, why don't you just hold onto me?" he suggested.

"Here, Heth," Michael said, coming up on her other side. "If you need me," he added.

She glanced over at him, smiling softly. "Heth?" she yawned, "No one's called me that in ages. You know, I worked really, really hard to lose that nickname when I moved to Jericho," Heather admitted, threading her arm through her brother's.

"Hmm," Michael grinned, first at Heather, and then at Jake over the top of her head, "I'm pretty sure I know all your nicknames, Miss Bossy Heather."

"Well, that's a good one," Jake chuckled, earning himself a harmless elbow in the ribs as they tried to negotiate the first stair as a three person wide unit.

"I was four or five," Michael explained. "Heather always made me play school, and she wanted me to call her 'Miss Heather'. 'Miss Bossy' was my rebellious act. She kept me in from recess," he complained, laughing quietly. "At pretend school. Think about it."

"Not Sister Heather, huh?" Jake asked, leaning over to kiss the top of his wife's head. He'd heard hundreds of stories of the Lisinski children's school days over the years, and they'd always featured a Sister Somebody.

"Never wanted to be a nun," Heather replied, letting Jake help her mount the next step. "Now, when you were really little," She told Michael, looking sideways at him, "You called me 'Hezzer'. Couldn't say the 'th' sound."

Michael nodded, smiling. "That's like Rebekah," he reminded. "Remember, when she first learned to talk? She didn't call Andy and Deb 'Dada' and 'Mama' like a normal kid, she called 'em 'Dew Dew' and 'Dubbah'."

"Yeah," Heather giggled. "She couldn't say her Rs. Remember? She called herself Bub-bekah."

"Because Andy always called her his 'bub' when she was a baby," Michael said. "He'd come into a room and say, 'Where's my bub?' or 'How's my bub today?'"

"That's right," she sighed, catching her brother's eye. "Bub."

The three reached the landing and turned, mounting the second half of the staircase, disappearing from the sight of those still in the living room. April, setting her empty mug aside, shook her head. "I can't believe it," she told Jeff and Drake. "As long as I've known anything about Jericho, Kansas - all the time I've lived in Jericho - Johnston's always been the mayor."

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

For the record, the song catalog for this part is:

• Escape (The Piña Colada Song) / Rupert Holmes
• Gansta's Paradise / Coolio
• I Wanna Be a Cowboy / Boys Don't Cry
• I'll Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That) / Meat Loaf
• (The Jericho High Fight Song / Me)

Different Circumstances: Part 11D of ?
by Marzee Doats

Author's Note: Well, I'm at it again, inventing more history for our characters. This time it's Emily. I didn't really think that the way she let Jonah off the hook at the end of Vox Populi rang true, given her obvious earlier antipathy for him. Since my own dislike for Emily is rather well known, I hope I've done a decent job representing her case.

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

Wednesday, November 29, two months after the bombs

The swearing-in ceremony - inauguration was too grand of a word for what had happened, Gray Anderson's attempts at oratory notwithstanding - was over and the crowd had dispersed. Johnston Green was back in his street clothes and free of the suit and strangling necktie that Gail had made him wear. She'd been right though, he knew, to insist that they approach this transition with as much dignity as they could muster. His heart was breaking as anyone who bothered to look him in the eye could see - few did - but his upper lip remained stiff. Johnston Green would burn no bridges, nor would he vent his spleen as he left office.

Gail and Eric were upstairs packing thirty some years' worth of his personal effects under the watchful eye of Bill Kilroy. Johnston had tried to enter his office... but it wasn't his any longer, and he had been unable to step over the threshold. Recognizing his tenuous grasp on composure, Gail had kissed him on the cheek, and whispering that she'd find some way to maintain civility around Eric without him, she'd sent him away. Johnston had gone for a walk around the building, ending up here, where he always did, at the entrance. But this time, he didn't mount the steps, didn't enter town hall as Jericho's mayor. Instead he stood back, viewing everything through new eyes.

The crowd was gone, but people still hurried by, on their way to receive their allotment from the airdrop supplies. This was the second wave; those who had attended the swearing-in were the first to receive their portion, and now their friends and neighbors were coming for theirs as word spread. Johnston couldn't help but wonder if there would be anything left when the news finally made it out of town and to the farmers and ranchers who were so much a part of Jericho, and yet were still separate.

"Dad," Jake called out, breaking into Johnston's silent musings. He found that he was staring, unseeing, at the eagle monument to Jericho's World War I dead. 'A War to End All Wars' the plaque read; but the veracity of that statement was something to wrangle over on another day. Jake jogged down the steps, coming to a stop beside his father.

"We're gonna have to take down all these posters," Johnston began before Jake could voice the empty platitude Johnston knew was coming. He stared for a moment at a 'Gray Anderson for Mayor' yard sign. "Get this place back to normal," he muttered.

"Think normal's where we're headed?" Jake asked, his tone only somewhat sarcastic. He waited a beat before quietly adding, "I, uh, I'm sorry."

Johnston looked his son squarely in the eye, heartened by the sincerity he recognized in Jake's gaze. "So am I," he muttered gruffly.

Before Jake could respond, Dale Turner came running toward them, shouting for Johnston. "Mayor!" Dale gasped out, "Mitchell Cafferty did it!"

"What?" Jake asked, frowning at the teenager.

Letting his voice drop so only the two Green men could hear him, Dale explained. "He killed Gracie."

"What're you talking about?" Jake questioned, grabbing Dale's arm.

"He said," Dale began, breathing hard, "That if I refused to give him - give him a cut of the store, he'd do to me what he did to Gracie."

Jake and Johnston exchanged a look, both coming to the same unsettling realization. Whatever else Jonah Prowse was guilty of, it didn't appear that he was guilty of Gracie Leigh's murder. "Let's find Gray," Johnston decided.

They found him at the back of the sheriff's station, outside Jonah Prowse's holding cell. Bill Kilroy was inside, his gun drawn, trying to force Jonah to stand. "What're you doing, Gray?" Johnston demanded, the small hairs on the back of his neck standing up. "Bill?" he ground out. "No longer worried I'll steal some priceless piece of town property like, I dunno, a stapler?"

"I'm - I'm just doin' my job," Bill replied, backing into the corner of the cell, his gun still pointed at Jonah. He clutched the weapon so tightly it shook in his hand. "Followin' - followin' orders, that's all."

Clearing his throat, Johnston fought the urge to educate Bill on what history had to say about those who just followed orders. Taking a step back, he allowed Jake to move into the small space. He watched Gray as Jake's gaze swept over him, taking in the scene, feeling the slightest twinge of morbid amusement at the new mayor's disconcerted expression.

"We're - uh - we're moving him to a - a more secure location," Gray stammered out, eyeing Jake suspiciously as the younger man pushed his way into Jonah's cell. "There's lots of folks who want to rip him apart after what he did," Gray continued, his tone turning indignant as he gained some confidence.

Johnston was distracted for a moment by the sight of his son standing not three feet from the man who five years before had ordered him beaten and left for dead. Jonah Prowse had long been a boogeyman in Johnston's mind, one of the very few people he truly hated in this world, but here and now Jonah looked ... pathetic and scared. "We don't know what he did," Johnston growled, his gaze narrowing. "He hasn't had a trial yet."

"Well, these are special circumstances, Johnston," Gray began, suddenly all bluster and bravado. "We don't have a judge," he puffed, "And as mayor, I formed a tribunal, and he was found guilty."

"You did what?" Johnston barked, taking an instinctual step toward the other man, wanting nothing more than to wring his neck. 'Two hours,' he thought, the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat, 'And it's already come to this.' Gray had promised that justice would be 'swift and sure' in his acceptance speech, and something in his delivery had set Johnston's teeth on edge, but he still hadn't expected this ... this kangaroo court.

"Mitch just told Dale that he would do to him what he did to Gracie, if he didn't go along with him," Jake protested, nodding at the teenager lurking in the doorway.

"Well, did anyone else hear him say that?" Gray questioned, turning his glare on Dale.

Shrinking back, Dale mumbled, "No..."

Gray continued to glower at the boy. "Well, that's hardly proof," he declared.

"What?" Dale argued, gaining some measure of courage from Gray's easy dismissal of his story. "You - You think I'm lying?" he sputtered.

"He was trying to intimidate you," Gray claimed, the derision in his tone raising Johnston's hackles. He realized then that this is how it was going be; there would be no contrary opinions in the Anderson administration. "It doesn't mean he actually did it," Gray sneered. With those words, he landed his intended blow, a gleam of victory entering his eye as Dale shrank back.

"This is unbelievable," Jake interjected angrily, striding across Jonah's cell towards Gray. "You don't even care who killed her," he accused, incensed. "You just want Jonah."

Johnston watched as Gray turned to face Jake, eyeing the younger man suspiciously through the cell bars that separated him. "I've got Jonah," Gray declared, swaggering, somehow, in place.

"He's innocent," Jake barked out, frustration bleeding into his tone.

Gray's response was immediate and contemptuous. "He's far from innocent," the mayor argued. "He's been preying on this town for years. From -"

"Of this crime, he is innocent," Jake insisted, interrupting, his hand clenched into a fist, his voice now a low growl in the back of his throat.

Fury flashed in Gray's eyes at that, and he shouted over Jake, refusing to acknowledge the other man's argument. "From now on, guys like him go away," he declared, pointing an accusing finger at Jonah as he strode forward, blocking the cell door. "We don't coddle them," he scoffed, throwing a look over his shoulder at Johnston, "And, we don't make deals with them."

However, Johnston did not see the scathing indictment in his successor's gaze. He was studying Jonah, the subject of their conversation and of so much consternation, as he sat on the cell's hard bunk, for once looking subdued - even cowed - by the situation he found himself in. Jonah, in turn, was watching Jake, his expression equal parts surprise and confusion, a perfect reflection of Johnston's own feelings. Johnston hadn't expected to find in his son such an ally against Gray's tactics, especially not in defense of Jonah Prowse, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Turning his head he tried to catch Jake's eye, but his son ignored him or didn't see him, and instead plowed ahead, laying into their new mayor.

"What are you planning to do Gray?" Jake demanded, starting to shout. "You gonna kill him in cold blood? Say he tried to escape while trying to move him to a secure location?" he guessed. "Who's going to do it? Bill?" he questioned, turning his glare on the nervous deputy. "Hmm?" he challenged, looking between Bill and Gray. "You gonna put a bullet in Jonah's head when Gray tells you to?"

Bill's eyes widened with panic, and he threw the mayor a nervous look. "I'm - I'm not shootin' anybody," he argued.

An eerie moment of silence fell over the jail, broken when Jake pulled his own gun loose and offered it to Gray. "It's up to you, Gray," he declared. "Huh. No?" Jake lunged at Jonah, taking him by surprise and pulling him off the bunk and onto the floor. Holding him by the collar of his t-shirt, Jake pressed the gun to back of Jonah's head, forcing him onto his knees. "This is what you want, right?" he asked Gray, his tone chillingly calm. "You make the rules, decide who lives and dies?"

"Go ahead and do it," Jake ordered, watching the color drain from Gray's face. "But you do it here," he insisted, "In front of me and Dale, in front of everyone. Not in - not in some back room with your buddies." He held the gun out to Gray again, who ignored it.

Alarm crept into Gray's expression, and under less dire circumstances - though, unfortunately, those were the only type of circumstances they seemed to have these days - it would have secretly amused Johnston to witness his successor so obviously in over his head. But Johnston didn't trust Gray to react wisely to Jake's goading, and he found himself grinding his fist against his leg and holding his breath once more.

"Don't let someone else do your dirty work for you, mayor," Jake began, his voice low, though his volume increased until he was shouting at Gray. "You want him dead, you take this gun and blow his brains out!"

Gray hesitated, frowning and starting to turn away. But in the next instance he shocked Johnston and even caught Jake unawares when he grabbed the gun from Jake's hand, cocked it, and forced his way into the cell, leveling it at Jonah.

"Gray, no," Johnston choked out.

"You better be damn sure he's guilty," Jake barked, making the argument his father seemed unable to give voice to. "Because, if he's not, you're a murderer," he declared. "And justice will be swift."

At first, Jake's words seemed to have no affect on Gray who kept the gun trained on Jonah Prowse. Dale, and then Johnston looked away, unable to leave, but also unable to fully witness the execution. Even Jonah closed his eyes, grimacing. He'd lived by violence his entire life, and he'd always known he would die violently, but he still wasn't ready. Finally though, Jake's words seemed to penetrate the haze of fear and power and hatred under which Gray was operating. He lowered the weapon, and without protest, allowed Jake to disarm him.

* * * * *

The mayor's office was almost stripped bare, with only a few knickknacks remaining on the desktop and the credenza. After the confrontation in Jonah Prowse's jail cell, Jericho's two living mayors, the current and the former, had trooped upstairs to finish in private their negotiations over Jonah's fate. Eric, steering a hand truck loaded with boxes of books had been exiting the office as they'd arrived, and Gail had been working on the desk. Johnston had sent her with their son, promising to pack the last box himself, and Gray had thrown himself down on the couch in the corner, content to simply watch.

"So, Jonah agrees to leave town, and not come back," Johnston said, summarizing the agreed-upon terms as he wrapped a small tabletop clock in newsprint. The clock had been a wedding gift from his Johnston grandparents, one that Gail had never cared for. He remembered the glee with which she'd deposited that clock on his desk, not quite thirty years before when they had moved him into this office. 'A piece of your heritage,' she'd called it, though they had both known she'd been nothing short of ecstatic at the prospect of getting it out of her house.

"Exile," Gray muttered. He seemed to be testing the word, tasting it, trying it on for size, and - Johnston recognized - he seemed to like it.

"Worked for the Greeks," Johnston agreed, turning around to retrieve off the credenza a lopsided piece of pottery, barely recognizable as a duck, that Eric had presented to him as a Father's Day present when he was seven. He wrapped up the small sculpture and then reached for Jake's offering from the same year - somewhat more easily distinguished as an airplane - and secured it as well. "Town gets rid of Jonah Prowse," Johnston reasoned, "And you get to save face."

Gray nodded, clapping his hands together, the deal made. "All right."

"What about Mitchell Cafferty?" Johnston inquired cautiously after a short pause. "Not only did he murder Gracie -"

"Allegedly," Gray muttered, interrupting.

"Fine," Johnston acknowledged the correction with a single, sharp nod. "Not only did he allegedly murder Gracie, but he's also in control of Jonah's operation now. That's a problem."

"Sure doesn't leave Jonah much of anywhere to go, does it?" Gray chuckled, smirking rather unpleasantly. He cleared his throat and sat forward on the couch. "Why don't you let me handle all that," he requested. Gray's tone was relaxed enough, but there was no mistaking the underlying message of 'butt out'. "Look - um - Johnston," he continued, folding his hands together, "I love this town. I just want to keep it safe, like what it always was."

Johnston bit his tongue to hold back the retort he really wanted to make. He loved this town - it was his town - and he was terrified for her future now that Gray was at the helm. But it wouldn't do to lose what little access he now had to town hall. Swallowing a snide comment, Johnston settled for a not entirely friendly warning. "What it always was is a democracy," he proclaimed, reaching for the top to the carton he'd finished packing. "That's easy when things are going all right," he declared, fitting the top over the box, "But when you're scared or mad, it gets a lot harder."

Gray's genial mask slipped away, his face contorting with anger at the affront of receiving a lecture from Johnston Green. "I'll try and watch out for that," he returned brusquely.

It occurred to Johnston then that he and Gray resembled nothing so much as two bucks in rut fighting over a doe. That doe, of course, was Jericho, and they both stood likely to lose their racks if this stand-off continued, to further stretch the simile. But Jericho didn't need two wounded mayors. Rather, she needed a strong leader, and whether or not that was Gray, her citizens had still chosen him for the job. It was time to back off - though not to back down. Johnston picked up his box, moving around the desk and toward the door. "I think we'll all be watching," he warned, exiting the office.

Jake was waiting for him at the head of the stairs, as apparently was Emily Sullivan, who sat on the bench outside the Parks and Rec office, playing with the buttons on her coat. She stood up as soon as she spotted him, taking a hesitant step in his direction. "So?" she inquired anxiously, glancing sideways as Jake when he moved in from his sentry position to join the conversation, leaving about two feet between them.

"Gray's agreed to exile," Johnston reported, hefting the box in his arms in order to get a better grip on it. "Jonah's not welcome in Jericho past five tonight. Ever again," he added a beat later.

Her lips pursed, Emily shook her head, acknowledging that she understood. "Okay," she mumbled, taking a deep breath before finally meeting Johnston's eye. "Thank you."

"Emily," Johnston began slowly, trying to find the appropriate words. "If - if you have anything you want to say, anything you want to talk about or ask," he suggested, "Now's probably it. Gray won't - he won't provision Jonah, not so much as a bottle of water."

"Oh." He watched her as the import of his words sunk in. "Oh," Emily repeated, licking her lips. "Well, uh, can I - can I give him a few things?" she asked softly.

"Yeah, anything but a weapon," Johnston answered, relieved that she understood what he'd been suggesting. "No guns or knives," he clarified, sliding past her to deposit his box on the bench. He noticed then, for the first time, that a poster advertising senior computing classes at the community center was still tacked to the bulletin board outside the office door. Shaking his head, Johnston turned around. "Any chance Roger likes to fish?"

"No, not even a little bit," Emily sighed, "But I still have all of Chris's fishing gear. I'll - I'll see if he wants it. What - what do I do now?" she asked.

"Talk to Bill," Johnston advised. "His orders are, at five o'clock, to drive Jonah three miles out past the end of the Tacoma bridge and leave 'im. You'll have to negotiate with him."

"Okay," she nodded, and stepping toward Johnston, she surprised him with a hug. "Thank you, mayor," Emily whispered into his ear before letting him go.

"I'm not the mayor anymore, Emily," he corrected, but she was already hurrying toward the stairs. Johnston turned an appraising gaze on his son. "You were awful quiet through all that," he observed.

Jake shrugged. "What's to say? Jonah's a cockroach, we both know that," he muttered, shoving his hands into his jacket's pockets. "The odds are still way in his favor, no matter how Gray tries to stick it to 'im. There was all this money we never found," Jake admitted, allowing a humorless chuckle. "He coulda used it for anything. There's gotta be houses, businesses - something - that only Jonah knows about. Hell, even if it's just a storage unit somewhere, he'll survive."

"I see," Johnston murmured, moving to take a seat on the bench. He felt a little naïve, having never considered the possibility the Jonah would have other resources available to him. "I thought he went to Emily," he said, looking up at Jake, "Because he didn't have anywhere else to go."

"He was injured and she was probably closest," Jake argued. He stepped toward his father and then joined him on the bench. "I dunno. Maybe he is alone in the world without a thing to his name, but I doubt it. That's not the Jonah Prowse I know, the Jonah Prowse I studied." He looked sideways at his father. "Like I said, cockroach."

"Cockroach," Johnston repeated, nodding slowly. "That's what I can't - what I don't understand, why - how - you could defend Jonah, after everything he's done?" he questioned, expelling a frustrated breath. It always came back to this; Johnston could talk to anybody - had made a career out of it - but always with Jake, he couldn't seem to talk to his son. "What he did to you ... and you fought for his life."

Jake's expression was unreadable. "It wasn't about Jonah," he muttered, looking away, his gaze fixed on a water stain left over from a burst pipe twelve years before. All the repairs had been made and the wall had been repainted three times, but still the blemish bled through. "It was - it was about what's right," Jake declared softly. "It's that we can't be a town that 'disappears' people like some South American military dictatorship. And, you know, we let Gray start formin' tribunals every time he wants to get rid of someone," he laughed sourly, "Then all he has to do is recruit the right coupl'a teachers from high school, and I'm gone."

"You never killed anyone, Son," Johnston reminded. Jake flinched and then tried to cover by stretching his hands over his head. Frowning, Johnston continued, trying to maintain his train of thought, not wanting to consider what Jake's reaction meant. "And, I'm pretty sure the statute of limitations on gluing - gluing all the classroom doors shut during finals week is up."

"Right," Jake agreed, chuckling distractedly. He forced himself up off the bench, walking a few steps away. "The look on Principal Gerhardt's face," he said, more to himself than his father, "Classic."

"I wanted to throttle you," Johnston admitted. "And then your grandfather reminded me about a certain sheep attending my senior prom."

Turning around, Jake eyed his father speculatively. "No kiddin'," he muttered, the ghost of a grin touching his lips. "And, you know, it wasn't just me and Stanley. Half the boys in the senior class were in on it."

"Which is the only reason they let you graduate," Johnston grumbled. He leaned forward, peering down the hallway in the direction of his former office, and then got up, shaking his head. "I better get. Your mother's waitin' downstairs for me in the truck," he explained, picking up his box. He stepped toward Jake, clapping him on the shoulder. "Good job today."

"You think?" Jake snorted, one eyebrow raised. "'Cause I don't know. After - After the bridge and everything, I promised Heather I'd try to keep from getting myself killed," he confessed. "That I'd think about her, first, before I did anything."

Johnston let out a relieved sigh. "Well, your mother will be glad to hear it," he told Jake.

"Sure," he acknowledged with a nod, catching his father's eye. "But you know, I get the feelin' that promise is gonna get harder and harder to keep, especially with Gray in charge around here." Johnston, not trusting himself to respond, grasped his son's shoulder again, squeezing. "But I also don't know that I trust what the rest of you would teach my kid about me if I'm not here while he's growin' up," Jake offered, only half-joking, "So I guess I better make sure I stick around."

"Way things are goin'," Johnston returned, his expression tightening grimly, "You need to be here just to make sure your child gets to grow up."

"Yeah, that too," Jake agreed, distracted. "Hey, you better go," he reminded, "Mom's waiting. I need to stick around, I think, just in case," Jake decided, running a hand through his hair. "And, April stayed home with Heather today, but, uh...."

"I'll check up on her," Johnston offered. He and Gail had both been concerned about how tired Heather had been the night before, even more so when April had explained at breakfast that she'd ordered her to sleep in. But April had assured them Heather was fine, and that she'd just overdone a little. Johnston, recognizing the warring concerns in his son's eyes, decided that Jake wouldn't be here now if he thought his wife was in any real danger. "I would've anyway."

Jake nodded. "Thanks, Dad."

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

Saturday, November 24, five years before the bombs

Heather slipped out the back door of her aunt's home and onto the enclosed sun porch. "Sorry Buster," she apologized, blocking the more active of the Reinhardts' two ancient cats from entering the house. "Trust me," she advised the feline when he meowed plaintively, "You don't want to go in there. It's crazy." The sun porch was well sealed, and while it was certainly warmer within the space than it was outside, it was still chilly compared to the house. "How 'bout a little heat?" Heather offered as a compromise, turning on the space heater. "How's that?" The old cat meowed his approval and settled down in front of the heater, while Rosie, his sister, stretched and then hopped down off the wicker rocker, moving to join him. "Well, thank you," Heather chuckled, taking Rosie's seat.

By rights, Heather should have been inside helping to clean up. It was nearly eight, and the house had finally cleared out except for the closest of family. Jessica had convinced Aunt Gerri to go upstairs and lie down, accompanying her mother to her room, and everyone else had gone to work washing dishes, putting away food, and returning furniture to its rightful place. Heather had started to follow her sisters-in-law into the kitchen, but Kerry had stopped her. "You've been playing with your phone for the last half hour," she'd smiled, pointing at Heather's purse, sitting on the couch, her cell phone shoved in the side pocket. "Even after we stopped torturing you and took on Mikey instead."

It was Heather who'd started that line of conversation, looking for anything besides her own love life to talk about. Out of desperation, she'd asked about Michael's girlfriend Caitlin, only to learn that the rest of the family had already met her when they'd gone to see his inaugural college hockey game a few weeks before. Everyone liked Caitlin, but having wrung all the fun out of teasing Heather that they were likely to, they'd been happy for a new target. Heather had enjoyed the time with her brothers and their wives, and she'd even finally gotten her baby fix, playing with Hannah for twenty minutes before she'd gotten fussy and had ended up back in her father's arms for a bottle. But through it all, Heather had been thinking about Jake and she had been playing with her phone, just itching to call him.

"We can handle this," Kerry had assured her, giving her a little push toward the couch. "We've got ten people to put away food. You wanna call him," she guessed, "So just go do it."

"Kerry, I can't," Heather had protested, pulling a soft chuckle from her sister-in-law.

"Sure you can," Kerry had grinned. "Just do it. Go hide in the guest room or somethin'," she'd advised. "You know, about a month after my first official date with John - hockey team after party, of course - it was time to go on the annual Burke family ski trip. I was miserable, and I couldn't tell anyone why," she'd confessed, smiling at the memory. "It had only been a month, and I'd hated John Lisinski with a passion since the first grade. And, of course this was about three months before everyone in the world got cell phones, though Dad did have a car phone," she'd giggled. "It didn't work too well in Vermont. But I tried, every night, for as long as I could stand to sit out in the parking lot. Dad almost killed me when he saw the bill," Kerry had sighed, still smiling softly. She had handed Heather her purse and given her another shove. "Go call him."

Heather had given her sister-in-law a big smile and an impulsive hug before heading to the guest room. She'd found the bed still covered in coats and purses, and so she'd grabbed her own coat and had headed back into the family room, sneaking out the back door and onto the sun porch. Now, settled in the rocking chair, she smiled to herself as she thumbed '*5' - the 'JKL' button - her speed dial number for Jake.

He answered on the third ring with "Hey, babe," the husky quality of his voice sending a shiver up Heather's spine that had nothing to do with chilly air of the sun porch.

"Hey, yourself," she sighed happily. "Where are you?" Heather asked a moment later, letting her head fall back against the chair, causing it to rock gently. She could hear all kinds of background noise that she couldn't quite make out.

"Bailey's," Jake answered. "Stanley and I decided we better walk Eric," he explained, chuckling. "Beer and Buffalo wings," he continued. "The wings are in your honor. Stanley's idea."

"Well, I'm touched," Heather giggled. "You can tell Stanley I had some corn chips earlier in his honor," she instructed. "You had to walk Eric? That doesn't sound good. How is he?"

"Still on crutches," Jake admitted, "You did quite a number on him. But we're pretty sure he'll live. Of course," he continued, raising his voice, undoubtedly in a bid to get a rise out of his brother, "He's two-thirds through his beer, so that means he'll be passin' out here any minute."

"Ha, ha. Very funny," she heard Eric protest.

Stanley came to his friend's defense - sort of - claiming loudly, "Nah, come on now. Eric's good for a beer and a half these days."

Heather groaned, fighting a chuckle. "Now you're just causin' trouble 'cause you can," she accused lightly. "But tell Eric that I'm sorry about his ankle, okay?"

"Aw, babe, it's okay," Jake murmured. "Here," he declared, and then his voice was muffled as he held the phone away from his mouth. "Heather wants to talk to you," she heard him say.

"Hey, Heather!" Eric greeted a few seconds later. "What's goin' on? I mean, besides the obvious, uh, the funeral," he corrected himself, clearing his throat in embarrassment.

"Well, the funeral's over," she replied, "But we still have the memorial hockey game in the morning."

"Of course you do," Eric agreed, allowing a small chuckle.

"Yeah," Heather acknowledged, exhaling softly. "Anyway, I just wanted to say, again, that I'm really sorry about your ankle."

"It's okay," he assured. "Totally forgiven. But, do me a favor," he requested, whispering into the phone, "Convince Jake he should buy tonight. He'll listen to you."

Giggling, she promised, "I'll see what I can do."

"And, I'll make sure he behaves," Eric offered, his volume returning to normal. "Remind him he's got a girlfriend if need be."

Heather, pulling her envelope of pictures out of her purse once more, shook her head. "I'm not worried," she told Eric.

On the other end of the connection she heard scuffling noises and unintelligible arguing that was punctuated by a rather wimpy 'Ow!' from Eric. Heather assumed that Jake had gotten his phone back in the melee, so it was a surprise to hear Stanley's booming voice in her ear. "Heather!" he declared cheerfully. "How are ya?" he asked. "Sorry to hear about your uncle."

"Thanks, Stanley," she sighed. "I hear you're having Buffalo wings in my honor," she giggled, "So I had corn chips in yours."

"You callin' me corny, Lisinski?" Stanley demanded, chortling.

"I'm sayin' you grow corn," Heather returned, making an exasperated noise.

"True," Stanley agreed. "And you know," he continued, "Not everyone's cut out for farming."

"Well of course not," Heather acknowledged, taking the picture of Jake checking the airplane's engine out of the envelope. She examined it, smiling at his serious expression.

"So, now that you're back home with your brothers and everything," Stanley began, clearing his throat, "I hafta ask. Do I still remind you of them?"

She groaned, dropping the picture in her lap and covering her face with her hand. "You really don't want me to answer that question!" Heather told him, giggling softly. "They just spent the last hour torturing me about Jake," she complained, slumping in her seat. "You know what? Tell him I need some sweet talk so I can recover," Heather requested.

"Sweet talk?" Stanley crowed, necessitating that Heather hold her phone away from her ear for a moment. "Jake?" he laughed, "You sure he's capable?"

Heather fished the picture of Jake kissing her - and her kissing him back - in front of Dolly Doolittle's out of the envelope. "You'd be surprised," she told Stanley, chuckling huskily.

"Okay then," he declared, actually sounding a little flustered. "And, on that note - and with loverboy givin' me the evil eye - I'm gonna give you back. See you in a couple of days."

"Thanks, Stanley," Heather sighed, "See you soon."

She heard Stanley tease Jake, saying, "Your girl's been traumatized. Says she needs some sweet talkin' from her Jakey."

"Gimme that," Jake grumbled, but in the next second his voice was warm and soothing in Heather's ear. "So, babe," he murmured, "You need some sweet talk, huh?"

"I do," she agreed, another shiver running through her body. Heather knew she had to be grinning like an idiot. "Ugh. My brothers," she complained, laughing softly at herself. "And their wives, and my cousin. They're all very interested in you, and they interrogated me for an hour. I need comforting."

"Poor baby," he murmured, his voice full of affection. Heather closed her eyes, picturing him smiling at her as he said it. He'd reach out and touch her hair she knew, curling a strand of it around his finger, tugging it ever so gently before finally letting go. His next words, though, brought her back to the present, and she reluctantly opened her eyes. "Hold on a sec. I'm heading for the car," Jake explained, and she could hear the snatches of conversation changing as he moved through the tavern. "I think we're gonna need some privacy."

"Privacy's good," Heather replied, giggling softly. "I'm guessin' an audience might be a little inhibiting, and we wouldn't want that."

"Yeah," Jake drawled, and Heather could imagine the smirk on his face. "We wouldn't want that. So," he continued a few seconds later, clearing his throat, "How're your aunt and cousin doing?"

"My aunt seems pretty wiped out," she sighed, "And Jessica is trying really hard to hold it together. She wanted us to go do karaoke tonight," Heather groaned. "We talked her into hockey in the morning instead. The Burton Reinhardt Memorial Cup."

"Hey," Jake greeted someone in passing, chuckling. "Sounds about right," he told her, "From everything you've said, I think your uncle would approve."

"I think he would," Heather agreed. "Of course, he also approved of karaoke," she giggled softly. "However, since he and my brothers aren't actually blood relatives, I guess it's not some weird recessive gene on the 'Y' chromosome."

The background noise from the bar was suddenly cut off, and Jake announced, "Okay, almost there. You don't like karaoke?" he asked next, sounding surprised.

"You do?" she returned, sounding even more surprised.

Jake let out a loud snort. "You wouldn't catch me dead anywhere near karaoke," he informed her. "But I think you'd be good at it. You've got a good voice, and you like to sing."

"Really? You - You think I have a good voice?" Heather squeaked, sitting up in her chair, causing it to sway slightly. She glanced down, her gaze once again focusing on the photographs in her lap. Jake smiled up at her from in front of the diner and she caught herself smiling back.

"I love your voice," Jake replied quietly. She heard him pull his car door shut and then a sigh escaped him. "You sing to yourself when you forget you're not alone. I like listening to you. You should sing when you remember I'm there, too, if you want."

"Oh. Okay," she whispered, picking at a small speck of white lint on her black skirt. "I will," she added, allowing a nervous giggle. "But just at home, you know. I so don't have the karaoke gene," she groaned. "Now, Andy had his song all picked out," Heather informed him. "And, it was in your honor."

"What could he possibly wanna sing in my honor?" Jake asked, his tone dubious. Heather giggled again, louder this time, her answer unintelligible. "What?" he demanded, starting to laugh. "Now you've gotta tell me."

"Uh, 'I Wanna Be a Cowboy'," she replied. "See, Mikey was calling you 'the boyfriend'," Heather continued in a rush of breath. "Which - actually - he's been calling you that all along, but anyway he was calling you that, and then Deb said 'Jake' was a cowboy name, and then... well, it just went downhill from there," she sighed, shaking her head.

"I see," he chuckled, though it was clear from his tone that he really didn't. "I guess all I can say to that is, 'and you can be my cowgirl'," Jake teased.

"I'll take that deal," Heather murmured, her attention settling on the picture - the other picture - of the two of them in front of Dolly Doolittle's. Their heads were together, his arm around her, and they were both smiling widely. She loved his smile. "I miss you," she sighed.

Jake allowed a resigned chuckle. "I miss you, too. How long 'til you come home?"

"Forty two hours," Heather guessed, checking her watch. "Forty three, with the time difference."

"Too long," he complained grumpily.

Heather caught herself nodding. "Definitely too long."

"So what else did your brothers do?" Jake asked, letting out a long breath. "Or should I just skip to the sweet talk?"

"They threatened to come out to Jericho to check you out," she groaned, shaking her head. "I told Andy you had a gun and a badge, and that you could arrest him."

"Babe, I can't arrest your brother for visiting you," he laughed, "Or for bein' protective. I can pretty much only arrest him for growing, manufacturing, transporting or selling illicit substances. No matter how much I love you."

Twirling a lock of hair around her finger, Heather licked her lips, "Well," she began quietly, "How much do you love me?"

She held her breath, waiting for him to respond. Jake seemed to be holding his breath, too. "More than - I love you more than you could possibly know," he choked out finally, his voice cracking on the last word.

"That's how much I love you, too," she whispered, wiping her suddenly sweaty palm on her skirt. Jake's breathing was loud in her ear, and Heather caught herself once more holding her breath. They were both anxious, she knew, terrified of being too exposed, and in the end she'd gotten the reassurance she'd been fishing for. She could let him off the hook for anything more, for now. "So, I guess I can forgive you for refusing to abuse your power and arrest my brother for being annoying," she told him, the words tumbling out of her in a nervous giggle.

"Thanks," Jake murmured. "But, you know," he suggested, allowing a relieved chuckle, "You don't have to tell 'em I can't arrest them."

"Sneaky," Heather declared, laughing. "I like it."

"So, what else happened?" he rasped out, his tone once again sending tingles up Heather's spine.

"They asked if I had a picture of you," she told him, stacking the photos together, the 'kissing' picture on top. "Well, not my brothers," Heather clarified. "Jess, Deb, Mandy and Kerry. They knew, just by looking at me, I swear. John got my purse for me, and I had to show 'em."

"Which picture do you have with you?" Jake asked. "God, I hope not the vampire picture from Halloween," he muttered. "They see that, your brothers will all be on that plane with you."

"I dunno, the vampire picture might have been okay," Heather informed him, the pitch of her voice rising so that she ended her sentence with a squeak. "I can explain Halloween. But I - I had some pictures from the trip to Wyoming with me. They, um, were all very interested in the one that, uh, Hank Doolittle took. The one of us kissing."

"Oh," Jake muttered.

"Yeah," she sighed, drawing that one word out for three or four syllables. "Mikey saw it. He thought he was being funny and asked if you still had your tonsils."

"Well, I do," he confirmed, clearing his throat.

"I know," Heather admitted. "Or, I figured. I mean, it's not like -" Feeling the heat rise in her face, she cut herself off, covering her eyes with her free hand. "Oh, God, never mind," she swore, giving into an aggravated chuckle.

"Babe," Jake began, his voice in her ear an instant balm for her mortified sensibilities. "Don't be embarrassed," he commanded gently. "I like that picture, and I like - love - that I get to kiss you. So, no being embarrassed."

Her blush subsiding immediately, Heather caught herself nodding in agreement. "I - I love kissing you," she murmured. "And, actually, Mikey and John objected to that picture, but the girls kinda liked it," she giggled. "Deb says you're cute, and Jess says you're hot," Heather admitted. "But don't let that go to your head."

"I won't, promise," Jake chuckled. "It's flattering, but what I really wanna know is if you agree with them," he challenged, though a question rang in his tone as well.

"Well, I agree with at least one of 'em," Heather teased in return, earning a piteous groan from Jake. "Actually, what I liked best was what Rebekah said. Deb wouldn't let the kids see the one picture, of course," she emphasized, "But she did show them the one from the airport. Rebekah said we matched," she murmured, shuffling the photographs one handed until she was staring at the picture her niece had commented on. "She's six, so she just means we both have dark hair and were both wearing red shirts and jeans. But, I agree with her. I think we - we match in lots of ways."

"Definitely," he agreed. "We definitely match. And when we don't it's -"

"Complementary," she completed for him. "Though, I'm still not gonna read your cell phone manual for you, Tom Sawyer," Heather joked.

"So, you think I'm tryin' to get you to paint my fence, huh?" he kidded in return.

Heather found herself pondering the hidden meaning - if any - of 'paint my fence'. She started to giggle, softly at first but she quickly lost control, ending up snorting, and finally gasping out an apology. "I'm - I'm sorry," she snickered.

"Get your mind out of the gutter," Jake grumbled, fighting his own laugh. "I know what you're thinkin' and that's not what I meant. This isn't supposed to be that kind of conversation," he reminded.

"Well, what'd you mean?" she inquired her voice lilting, thoroughly enjoying herself.

"That I got it," he answered. "I even know it's Mark Twain."

"Very good," Heather pronounced. "I think you deserve extra credit for that, hon. April said you had ... issues with Huckleberry Finn," she decided, laughing softly.

Jake made a strangled sound. "Adventure story, I'm tellin' ya," he joked. "Two guys on a raft. But extra credit, huh?" he asked, his voice so warm in her ear she found herself imagining she could feel his breath on her cheek. "That's got possibilities," he drawled. "One of the hidden perks of dating a teacher, I think. So, are there, uh, rewards to go along with this extra credit?" he teased, his tone turning husky.

"You never know," Heather breathed into the phone. "But I do usually come up with somethin'," she reminded. "Though I thought this wasn't that kinda call," she added, giggling.

"Yeah," he acknowledged with a sigh. "So.... Forty two hours."

"Forty two hours," she confirmed.

"Come home," he ordered softly. "Just make sure you come home. Even - even if I have to watch you grade book reports all night, that's fine," Jake told her. "It's fine. You can read me the funny parts," he suggested. "I'm - I'm just happy when I'm with you, whatever we're doing." He paused, exhaling deeply before saying, "You make me happy."

"You make me happy, too," Heather replied. Her heart seemed to be beating faster and she laid her hand over it. "I -" The door from the house creaked softly signaling someone's arrival, and she completed her statement in a rush of breath. "I love you," she told him, glancing over at the door to meet her father's surprised - shocked was more like it - gaze across the twelve feet that separated them.

"Love you, too," Jake returned.

Heather smiled at that, and then, watching her father as he pulled the door shut behind him, caught his eye again, offering him a distracted version of the same smile. "Jake, I - I better go."

"Okay. I love you," he repeated.

She gathered up the photos in her lap, tucking them back into her purse without bothering to find the envelope. "I love you, too," she answered, zipping the bag closed. "Call me. After you're done walking Eric, and you get home," Heather instructed.

"Coupl'a hours," Jake agreed. "Eric's probably under the table already anyway," he joked.

"Jake," she chastised him half-heartedly. "But, oh!" she declared, suddenly remembering her promise, "Eric wanted me to convince you to pick up the tab tonight. So, you know," Heather chuckled softly, "You should pick up the tab. There. I tried."

"I'll keep that in mind," he laughed. "Bye, babe."

"Bye," she murmured, thumbing off her phone.

Joe Lisiniski cleared his throat. "Michael and I are ready to go," he told his daughter, offering her an inscrutable smile. "I didn't know if you wanted to stay the night here with Jess, or...."

"No, I'm gonna go home with you guys," Heather answered quickly. "With hockey in the morning and everything, it's easier," she explained, tucking her phone back into her purse and starting to lift herself out of the rocker.

He waved her back into her seat. "Hold on a minute, sweetheart," Joe requested. "We haven't - we haven't gotten a chance to talk yet, really."

"I know what you're gonna say," she said, balancing her purse on her knees. "But, Dad -"

"How can you know what I'm going to say?" Joe interjected, settling on the wicker loveseat to the left of the rocker. "I don't know that I really know what I'm gonna say," he admitted, his smile transforming into the accepting and comforting expression that Heather had relied on for her entire life. He reached across the foot that separated them, enfolding her hand in his own and squeezing it. "In the last hour, each of your brothers has come to me, and in strictest confidence, told me that this boyfriend - Jake - is serious. They all seemed to think I needed to be warned," he tried to joke, though his gravelly tone betrayed the conflict in his heart.

"It is serious," Heather agreed, winding the strap of her purse around the fingers of her free hand. "And, I'm sure it seems way too fast to you, but -"

"You love him," he - very uncharacteristically - interrupted for a second time.

"I do," she confirmed.

He opened his hand loosening his grip on hers for a second before gently pressing her hand flat between both of his, holding it in place. "When you were born," Joe sighed, "Your hand was so tiny - so dainty - in mine. The boys' hands were small when they were babies, I'm sure, but I can only remember yours. I remember holding your hand against mine, like this," he explained, adjusting their hands so that they held them up, their palms pressed together. "And, I just couldn't get over how small it was." He caught her eye then, smiling. "You're thinking I don't know, or that I don't want to admit, that you're an adult now," Joe guessed. "But I do know that," he assured. "I've watched this hand grow," he told his daughter, wiggling his fingers against hers, "And I've watched you grow up and into, I must say, an exceptional young woman."

Joe stopped, his lips pressed together, and Heather could see the warring emotions in her father's eyes and behind the smile he continued to force for her benefit. "Dad," she said, wrapping her fingers around his. "Dad," she tried again, standing up, and then stepping toward him. He moved over, allowing her room to sit, which she did before turning and pulling him into a hug. Her father returned the embrace, clutching her to him and pressing a kiss to the top if her head.

"I just - just didn't plan on losing you to Kansas, sweetheart," Joe admitted, allowing a shaky laugh.

"You're not losing me to anything," Heather protested.

"I'm losing a little bit of you," he contradicted, sitting back and blinking rapidly. He held up his hand, illustrating an inch or so of space with his thumb and index finger. "Which was always going to happen, I knew that," Joe sighed. "I just hope that he's worthy of you and of your heart."

"He is," she promised, laying her head against her father's shoulder. "Jake is."

"Okay," Joe acknowledged gruffly, turning his head so he could kiss her temple this time. "Shall we go?" he asked a long moment later, finding Heather's hand again and squeezing it. "I believe you're expecting a phone call?"

Heather smiled at her father, nodding. "I am."

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

Wednesday, November 29, two months after the bombs

Emily held Roger's old pea coat open for her father, helping him thread his injured arm into the sleeve. "These will keep you warm," she told him, referencing the coat, but also the wool socks, new shirt, hat, gloves and hiking boots, worn only once, she'd found for him. "There," she sighed, patting his shoulder.

Jonah had turned down the offer of Chris's fishing equipment, but he'd taken a backpack stuffed with supplies. He hadn't said anything as Emily had shoved her last half box of energy bars into the bag, though he had smirked at the slogan - 'Perfectly Balanced Nutrition for Women' - emblazoned across each wrapper. She'd continued searching her pantry for lightweight items, grabbing Cheez N Crackers snack packs - Roger's secret vice, nothing she'd actually yet deigned to eat - before stopping to consider whether a small jar of peanut butter was too heavy or not, given the six bottles of water she'd already packed along with a change of clothes. Rummaging through her kitchen junk drawer, Emily had located a spare box of matches which she'd then thrown into the pack, along with the medical supplies Jake and Dhuwalia had inadvertently left behind.

She'd scoured the house, looking through each closet, desperate to send him off as well-prepared as she possibly could - obsessed with the task, really - as she tried to work up the courage to take Johnston Green's advice and address her father. But in the end it was Jonah who took the first step.

"Emily," he began, turning around to face her. "When Chris was born...."

"Don't," she cut him off, taking a step back, and then another toward the dining room table, intent on checking the backpack one more time. This was all happening too fast for Emily; she wasn't used to complying with anyone else's schedule, least of all Bill Kilroy's or Gray Anderson's. Her whole adult life, she'd worked to arrange her relationships so that she had the upper hand, so she was the one in charge. Everything was better - easier - when she was in control.

Moving behind her, Jonah laid a hand on her shoulder. "When Chris was born, you were four years old," he reminded, tightening his grip when she tried to shrug his hand off. "Your mother said she wanted a clean break. I was into some bad stuff, and she didn't want you and Chris growing up in it."

"Some bad stuff?" Emily repeated, her tone incredulous. Quickly wiping one eye, she turned around, forcing Jonah to take a step back. "A -"

"What I've done isn't important, here," he dismissed, shaking his head. "I - I let her go," he explained, "But I didn't want to."

She crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing her father closely. "God, she never got over you, even -"

"We loved each other," Jonah claimed, allowing a small grin.

"Yeah," Emily acknowledged, frowning as she hugged herself tighter. Jonah was half right, that much was for sure. She'd always known that her parents both loved and hated one another with equal passion. Emily had despised that ... that weakness in her mother's character, the fact that she'd allowed herself to be Jonah's doormat, continuing to love him even as she'd cussed him out, and always, always nursing the wounds from their last encounter. "It was like -"

"It was like you and Jake," he interrupted again, his grin widening. "I never did get what you saw in that boy," Jonah added, emitting a wheezing chuckle, "But, I hafta say, he still loves you."

"I was gonna say it was like a train wreck," Emily muttered, staring down at her shoes. She'd surprised herself and Jonah too, if the warning grunt he'd emitted was anything to go by. But she wouldn't take it back, Emily decided, looking up and meeting her father's now hard stare. "What do you expect me to say?" she demanded, worrying her lower lip. "My mother hated you as much as she loved you. And, you never let her alone long enough so she could get over you. You - you always showed up, picking at the scab," Emily accused. "You loved her?" she snorted, adding sarcastically, "That's great. You tortured her. And, you certainly didn't take care of her."

Reflexively, Jonah clutched one hand into a fist. "Watch it, little girl," he ground out.

Emily, though, having gained the courage to question her father's version of history, wasn't going to give up now. She glanced toward the living room, where Bill Kilroy waited, sprawled out on her couch, reading - of all things - Roger's last issue of Forbes. Bill looked up from his magazine, blushing so that she knew he'd been listening to their conversation. He raised an eyebrow in question, and she shook her head, turning back to face Jonah. She didn't need the deputy's assistance - his presence was an intrusion, she reminded herself - but at least it was a comfort to know he would help, if it became necessary.

"My mother never saw a doctor, not in twenty years," Emily informed Jonah with a glare. "She couldn't afford to. She went into the hospital on Tuesday and she died on Saturday," she said, shaking her head. "She didn't know she had cancer. I don't have my mother because of you."

Anger flared again in Jonah's eyes. "Carol made her choices. The mechanic," he practically spat out. "It wasn't -"

"My stepfather?" Emily questioned, shouting over Jonah. "You drove him off," she charged. "We were - we were a normal family," she sighed, her voice cracking. "For just a little while, we were like everybody else."

Emily had run into her stepfather, Dwight Sullivan, out with his family in Fielding just over a year before. She and Roger had gone to the movies, Roger complaining as he always did about living in a town that didn't even have its own movie theater. Emily had kissed him as he'd handed her into the car, teasing as she always did that it made going to the movies an event, as it should be. Waiting in line at the theater, she'd laced her fingers through his, cajoling him into a better mood by whispering silly, flirty things in his ear. Roger had been smiling by the time they'd walked into the theater, his arm wrapped around her. And then she'd seen Dwight with his wife and daughters.

Dwight had seen her, too, staring at him. It had taken him longer to recognize her - she wasn't ten years old anymore - but he had realized, finally, who she was. A smile had blossomed on his face, and he'd strode across the lobby, greeting her warmly and then pulling her into an awkward embrace. Roger had just stared. Dwight's family had joined them and introductions were made, Emily chuckling nervously as the middle girl - ironically her name was Emma - had asked if Emily was her stepsister. Clearing his throat, Dwight had answered, "No, not really, Emmers," before hugging her.

It was the same nickname he'd called Emily by when she was little, and she'd had to force herself to breathe and to smile through the rest of the conversation. Finally though, Dwight had said something about dinner at McDonald's and the girls and their mother had started toward the exit. "I was - I was sorry to hear about your mother and Chris, Emily," Dwight had told her, one eye on his departing family. "But it's good to see you," he'd smiled before muttering, "God, you look so much like her. Take care of her, Roger," Dwight had instructed, shaking the younger man's hand.

"I will," Roger had agreed, putting his arm around Emily once more. They'd watched Dwight walk off to join his family, Roger commenting, "Seems like a nice guy." Emily had only been able to nod, not trusting herself to speak as she'd watched Dwight hold the door open for his wife and daughters, laughing at some joke the youngest had made. "So, ready?" Roger had asked a moment later, leading her away. "You want popcorn?"

It had been a tantalizing glimpse of what her home life - her childhood - could have been like if only Jonah had kept his promise to her mother, and had walked away. Only now, with the memory of that night still fresh in her mind's eye, did Emily wonder about the fate of the Sullivan family. She hoped that they were okay and together.

Her expression hardened as she refocused her attention on her father. "You took that away from me - from me and Chris - and now I have no one left," she told him. "Not my mother, not my stepfather, not my brother, all because of you."

"I s'pose you blame me for the bombs, too," Jonah decided, snarling. "Sorry to disappoint you, little girl, but your old man's not quite that powerful," he admitted with a caustic laugh. "But, hey, if you need someone to blame, have at me, kid," he invited, pointing his thumb at his own chest. "'Cause in an hour, I'm gone. Then, if you're alone, it's because you're not doin' anything about it. You gotta nice, big house here," he reminded, waving his hand at the room around them. "You were gonna get married. You obviously get what you want. If you're alone," Jonah repeated, "That's on you."

"Roger was in a plane crash," Emily bit out. "I didn't have any control - any say - in that."

"Boo-hoo," he muttered. "You don' wanna be alone? Do something about it. Jake -"

"Jake doesn't love me," Emily interrupted, emphasizing each syllable. "He doesn't," she squeaked, looking away, into the living room, once again meeting Bill's most interested gaze. She glared at the deputy before turning back to face Jonah. "I thought he was working for you, and then Chris died, and I was so mad," she grumbled, shaking her head. "I hated him, and I let him know it. And then he fell in love with somebody else. He loves his wife," Emily admitted quietly. "And they're having a baby, and he can't wait to be a - to be a father. So don't think you can make yourself - make yourself feel better about leaving again, thinkin' Jake's here. He's not," she declared, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "Not for me."

Jonah stared at her for a long moment, his left eye twitching a few times. "So whaddya want me to do?" he argued. "Take you with me? Well, that's too damn bad, little girl," Jonah growled. "You're just gonna have to take care of yourself, 'cause I sure as hell can't do it for you."

"So, what else is new?" she flung back at him, her voice angry and taunting.

"You watch your mouth," he snapped in return, clenching his fist against his leg again.

Emily flinched instinctively, closing her eyes. Jonah had never hit her, but she'd seen him hit her mother, more than once, and she couldn't look, not now when her heart was pounding and she was expecting his hand against her face any second.

"Okay, time to go, Jonah," Bill declared, hurrying into the room, his hand on this gun. Emily opened her eyes, meeting his. The deputy nodded, clamping his free hand down on her father's shoulder. "Let's go," he repeated. "Gimme the bag, Emily," he instructed, "And we'll get outta your way."

She picked the backpack up off the table, handing it to Bill without saying a word.

"Say goodbye now," the deputy ordered, his tone gruff.

"Goodbye, Emily," Jonah intoned emotionlessly, shaking Bill's hand off as he took a step away from his daughter. "Take care of yourself."

"Yeah," she agreed with a jerk of her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "You, too."

Emily followed them to the front door, shutting and locking it after them. Turning around, she leaned back against the door, slumping, feeling thoroughly unsatisfied. She closed her eyes and let the tears come, rolling silently down her cheeks. She'd taken Johnston Green's advice, assuming as you had to these days that she would never see her father again. She'd wanted closure, though did the mayor of Jericho - no longer mayor she remembered belatedly - believe in closure? It seemed like much too much of an Oprah concept for him. And, it hadn't worked, whatever Johnston had meant to have happen, Emily was forced to acknowledge, a bitter taste pervading her mouth. It hurt more to have even a few of Jonah's answers than it had to have a lifetime of unanswered questions. It turned out, there was no such thing as closure.

"Okay," she breathed, pushing herself off the door. Emily wiped her eyes quickly. "Okay." She moved into the living room, replacing a throw pillow that Bill had moved and then returning the magazine he'd been reading to the top of the stack on the coffee table. Next, she crossed the hall, entering the dining room. Emily tucked a chair back into place before trying to pull the tablecloth straight. "Okay."

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

Different Circumstances: Part 11E of ?
by Marzee Doats

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

Wednesday, November 29, two months afterf the bombs

Jake jogged down the stairs, pulling his jacket on. Heather looked up from the old issue of Popular Mechanics she was reading, her attention drawn by the noise. She was sitting next to the fire in a club chair, wrapped up in a quilt inherited from Jake's grandmother Betsy. "Hey!" she called out, setting the magazine down, open, over her pregnant belly. "Where're you going?"

"I'm, uh, I need to talk to Eric about somethin'," he admitted, his pace slowing as he moved into the living room. Johnston was at one end of the couch, looking through a military history book, and Drake, seated at the opposite end, was shuffling a deck of cards, apparently waiting for April so they could finish their cribbage game. Both men wore identically dubious expressions, Johnston raising one eyebrow in question. "Just - just border patrol business," Jake insisted, stopping next to his wife's chair.. "But I need to talk to him. I'll be right back, promise," he told Heather.

"Bailey's?" Heather inquired, grimacing in distaste. "Jake -"

"It's border patrol business," he interjected, making an annoyed noise. "Besides, he's my brother, Heather. I'm allowed to talk to him."

Pressing her lips tightly together, she nodded. "I'm not arguing that, Jake," Heather grumbled in return. She stared at him for a moment, their gazes locked, before sitting forward in her chair so she could grab his hand. "It's just that," she sighed, playing with his fingers, "I was thinking we could make an early night of it." Heather smiled at him sweetly, dropping the volume of her voice to just above a whisper. "Tonight."

"Okay," Jake grinned in return, relieved more than anything that, after a day of rest, she seemed to be feeling as good as new. "You've got yourself a deal," he joked gently, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. He glanced at his father and Drake, his grin transforming into a smirk as he noted the rapt concentration they both now had for their respective activities. It was dark in the living room, with only a few candles and the fire for illumination, but Jake was pretty sure that the tips of Drake's ears were now pink. "Lookin' forward to it," he added, leaning down to brush his mouth across hers.

"I think I finally understand why Grandpa always refused to get a hearing aid there at the end," Johnston drawled, not bothering to look up from his book.

"Sorry, Dad," Heather apologized, giggling, her expression turning sheepish. "We'll behave now," she assured, meeting Jake's gaze with a severe frown.

"We will?" he inquired, folding his arms over his chest, his expression completely unrepentant. It was a challenge, living in a house with - now - seven other adults. Privacy was hard to come by, and Jake was sure they'd all, at one time or another, overheard things they wished they hadn't. He could remember, too, how everyone had thought he and Heather were crazy to live out at the ranch with Grandpa Green after they were married, though that arrangement had worked out well. Grandpa had insisted on moving into the first floor guest room, leaving the entire second floor to the newlyweds, and - as Johnston had pointed out - EJ had never bothered to get a hearing aid. With Jake and Heather in the house, Grandpa had been able to stay, even at the end, with the help of in-home nursing care. They'd had their awkward moments to be sure, but compared to their current living situation, sharing the ranch house with Grandpa had been a breeze.

"We will," Heather confirmed, picking up her magazine. "Besides," she added, looking up at Jake, "You're gonna go talk to Eric, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded, taking a step toward her. "I'll be back. Half hour, forty-five minutes, tops," Jake swore. He cupped her head with both of his hands, pressing a kiss to her mouth. "And, I promise I won't have any fun," Jake joked, laying his hands over the swell of their child, smiling as the baby rewarded him with a small shove in return. "B.G. can be my witness. But," he sighed, "I gotta do this, babe."

"Just hurry," Heather instructed, catching his hand and squeezing it quickly before letting go.

Not quite fifteen minutes later, Jake strode into Bailey's Tavern, intent on talking with his brother and then getting home. Tonight, between the lanterns that hung from the rafters and the candles scattered across every flat surface, the bar was better lit, Jake couldn't help but think, than it had ever been before the bombs when they'd had a ready supply of electricity. He shook his head, scanning the crowd for Eric, finally spotting him behind the bar, locked in a rather intimate embrace with Mary Bailey. Rolling his eyes, he moved toward them.

"Hey, hold on." Jake stopped and looked down, surprised by the hand that had suddenly clamped down on his forearm. He looked up, noticing Emily Sullivan for the first time, perched sideways on a barstool. "They're having a moment," she told him, shrugging, "So let them have their moment."

"I just need five minutes of Eric's time," Jake insisted, pulling loose of her grip. His brother chose the same moment to drape his scarf around Mary's neck, tugging her close. Jake shook his head again and then glanced at Emily, who was smiling softly. "I can't believe you approve of this," he grumbled, watching the couple's antics.

"Well, Eric wouldn't be my choice," Emily giggled, leaning toward him and whispering, "Too boring. But," she continued, sighing, "She loves him. He makes her happy." She patted the empty barstool next to her. "Sit. Have a drink. Give 'em thirty seconds to pretend everything's normal and the bombs never happened. Then you can - whatever."

Frowning, Jake took the seat. "I really just need to talk to Eric," he told her again, his mind on Heather, waiting at home for him.

Mary and Eric broke apart then, though he held onto her hand. "Mary," Emily called, waving at her friend. "Jake needs a drink," she proclaimed, pointing at her companion. "Unfortunately," she confided with her next breath, tracing the rim of her glass with one of her still perfectly manicured nails, "They're fresh out of apple wine coolers."

"Yeah, that is unfortunate," Jake agreed, not quite able to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. Mary placed a glass, three-quarters full, in front of him. The liquid was clear, and gave off a pungent aroma much too close to that of paint thinner for Jake's comfort. "Thanks," he muttered, catching his brother's eye. "Eric, I need to talk to -"

"In a minute," Eric said, cutting him off. He pulled Mary back against his chest, wrapping both arms around her and kissing the shell of her ear. "Wanna dance?" he invited.

It was then that Jake recognized the other change in the bar's atmosphere. Music. Aside from catching Heather humming or singing to herself on occasion, he hadn't heard any in over two months. Tonight though, the jukebox was up and running and, he confirmed, looking over his shoulder, there were plenty of people happy to take advantage of this new development. He'd seen the packed dance floor when he'd come in, but it hadn't really registered. "This is what we stole the generator back for?" Jake asked, watching Eric follow Mary as she threaded her way into the crowd, both of them disappearing.

"I stole the generator back," Emily reminded, taking a sip of her drink and making a face. "By myself," she declared, letting out a deep breath. "From Jonah. All by myself," Emily repeated. "And, besides," she added, shrugging, "Mary already had a generator. Now she's got gas... she can use it how she wants."

"Right," Jake acknowledged, surprised to realize that he didn't completely agree. He'd always had a 'live and let live' personal philosophy, but now, with scarce resources only getting scarcer, he wondered at Mary's choices. He couldn't help but think of Heather, back at the house, huddled under a quilt for warmth when the next day was only the last day of November, and not even winter yet. "So," he muttered, looking sideways at Emily. "How'd it go? You know. With Jonah."

She stiffened, responding flatly. "He's gone."

"It's the best thing for now," Jake argued, finally trying his drink. The flavor was ... unique, Jake decided, gasping quietly, as the alcohol burned its way down his throat, bringing tears to eyes which he blinked away.

"Yeah," she muttered. They both fell silent for a long moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly, Emily sat up straight, throwing back her shoulders. "You come alone?" she asked, "No Heather? No three musketeers?"

Jake stared at her for a long moment, his expression incredulous. "Heather's boycotting," he told her, turning his head to look over his shoulder, trying to find his brother and Mary, but he couldn't spot them in the sea of people. "They're all boycotting. Heather, Mom, April, of course," he listed, rolling his glass back and forth between his two hands. "The Green women stick together."

"Right," Emily nodded, her reply clipped. She looked away, lifting her drink to her lips. "And the musketeers?"

"All work for April," he reminded, glancing sideways, at the back of her head. "And, they've got names."

"I know," Emily declared brightly, facing Jake with a forced smile. "Uh, Jeff, right?"

"Yeah, Jeff," Jake confirmed, peering at her over the rim of his glass. "And?" he prompted.

"Mike," she decided, her forehead wrinkling as she tried to recall the three young men's names. "Jeff and Mike and ...."

"Drake," he supplied. "Rhymes with Jake, so that should make it pretty easy for you to remember. Does seem to trip my Mom up when she's yelling for one of us," Jake joked, "But other than that, it's not hard. Jeff, Mike and Drake."

"Jeff, Mike and Drake," Emily repeated, "Got it. So, uh," she began a long moment later, "I'm - I'm sorry your Dad lost the election."

Jake didn't answer right away, waiting until she looked over at him. "Don't be," he shrugged. "People spoke, and they got exactly what they wanted."

"Yeah, fifty percent of the people," she agreed, frowning as she fiddled with her drink. "What about the forty nine percent of us who still wanted the mayor?" Emily asked, losing control of her glass and bumping it into the nearest votive candle holder, almost knocking it over. She caught it - barely - yelping as the tender flesh at the heel of her hand touched to heated glass. "Ow," she giggled, "Whoops!"

"How much of this have you had?" Jake questioned taking her drink away from her. "And, where's a fire marshal when you need one?" he complained half-heartedly, looking up and down the bar. There were at least fifteen candles lining the counter on just this side, all dangerously close to someone with a drink. He set her glass out of reach, and then finished off his own, coughing as the alcohol hit the back of his throat.

Another somewhat awkward pause ensued, and Jake was grateful when the song playing on the juke box ended, and a new one began. He concentrated on the first few notes, noting the slower tempo and the melancholy quality of the song. Turning in his seat, he saw many of the couples on the dance floor draw instinctively closer together, their movements slowing. The vocals began, and Jake groaned, rotating back around to roll his eyes at Emily. "The bald girl," he muttered, shaking his head. "It really is depressing, you know."

"I swear, it wasn't me," Emily defended herself, though her expression still betrayed her sudden embarrassment over the situation. "I haven't been anywhere near the jukebox all night."

"So that means there's actually two people in town who like this song," Jake snorted, shaking his head.

"It's a good song," Emily argued, frowning at him. "I like it," she insisted, "And when I was sixteen...."

"Well, none of us should be held responsible for what we did or said or thought when we were sixteen," he muttered, meeting her gaze. Her grimace deepened, and Jake tried to clarify. "You know what I mean," he argued. "High school was fun, but it wasn't the best years of my life. It wasn't the best years of your life, either, right? I mean, what about Roger?"

Emily nodded. "Yeah - yeah, of course," she acknowledged softly, though, to Jake, she looked almost startled by the idea. "Roger. Since I met Roger. Those have been my best years," she agreed. "At least until now... everything that's happened." She paused, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile. "And for you, it must be Heather."

"Since the day we met," Jake confirmed, completely unaware - Emily thought, experiencing a jealous twinge - of how his grin widened and how the light in his eyes warmed at the mere mention of his wife. "And getting better," he added, surprising her. "Even with things the way they are now."

"Well, yeah," Emily murmured, standing up so she could reach past him for her glass. Jake didn't try to stop her. "You're gonna be a dad," she declared quietly. "And that beats everything else - everything happening out there," Emily said looking toward the door.

"Yeah it does," Jake smiled, his gaze unfocused as his thoughts once again drifted to Heather. Clearing his throat a few seconds later, he turned in his seat, scanning the crowd for his brother. "Where the hell's Eric?" he grumbled quietly. "I need to talk to him, and I promised -"

"But I can't -" Emily interrupted, breaking off when Jake stopped talking, looking at her questioningly. She closed her eyes, shaking her head at herself. "I can't believe you told her about - about when we were sixteen... when I thought I was pregnant," she finished with a whisper.

Jake swallowed hard, staring at her for a long moment before finally drawling sarcastically, "Why's that, Em? Because you were really looking forward to telling her yourself? Some day when you were drunk off your ass in a bar? Sorry, but I prefer my method."

"She told you," Emily muttered, studying her glass for a moment before lifting it to her mouth and tipping it back, finishing it off with a wince.

"Yeah." Jake's confirmation was short and clearly annoyed. "We talk. Though, I'm surprised you remember," he snorted.

"That I remember. It was still early," she giggled nervously. "But pretty much after that," she confessed, "It's a blur."

"You can't -" he began and then changed his mind. "We're not sixteen anymore," Jake reminded, his tone hardening. "All that's ancient history - literally half a lifetime ago," he declared. "So don't try to hurt my wife," he ordered, "And don't try to come between us."

Emily, her face burning, didn't respond. Staring straight ahead, she willed Jake away, but he didn't go. She looked down at the bar, noting how he clenched his hand around his empty glass so tightly she was surprised he hadn't managed to break it. Mary appeared before them - from where, Emily didn't know - and she let out her breath, grateful for her friend's presence.

"Who needs a refill?" Bailey's proprietress practically sang, beaming at them both. "Jake?"

"No thanks," he muttered, pulling his glass away before she could pour him another drink. "I need to talk to Eric. And - trust me - he wants to talk to me. But I'm leavin' in two minutes," Jake warned.

Mary's grin faltered a bit. "He'll be right in," she told him. "He's just - just checking on the generator for me," she muttered, pouring for Emily who'd shoved her glass toward Mary, thumping it on the bar in a wordless demand for more.

"Two minutes," Jake repeated, his expression stony. "Then I'm -"

"Jake!" Eric's shout sounded through the bar even before he appeared in the doorway. "Jake!" he yelled again, wild-eyed, "You gotta come outside! Now! They need help!"

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

Monday, November 26, five years before the bombs

She spotted him through the crowd as she passed out of the security zone and into the main terminal. He had roses - Heather giggled happily at that, feeling utterly spoiled - and was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a well-worn bomber style leather jacket which gave him a rakish look that left her mouth dry. He spotted her a second later, a smile breaking through his slightly bored expression. Their eyes locked, and Jake waved. Her heart beating almost in her throat, she hurried toward him.

"God, Heather," he swore, wrapping one arm around her as soon as she came into range.

"Shhh," she ordered, pressing one finger to his lips. "I love you, Jake," Heather told him, smiling widely. "I love you. I've been waiting four days to say that when I could see your eyes," she sighed. "And, now you can talk," she declared, giggling and withdrawing her finger.

He nipped at the digit, grinning at her as she snatched her hand back, laughing joyfully. "I love you, too, Heth," he replied, slipping his hand beneath her sweater and untucked blouse to rest against the bare skin above the waistband of her jeans. Heather's backpack trapped his hand, though Jake was able to use this to his advantage as it hid from the passing crowd that he was rubbing circles against the small of her back. He was staggered by the wave of relief that washed over him, just because she was back in his arms, where she belonged. "Hey," Jake greeted huskily, brushing his mouth over hers.

"Hey," she murmured in return. "But 'Heth'?" she asked a beat later, her nose wrinkling. "How 'bout 'babe'," Heather requested, reaching for his free hand and lacing her fingers through his. "Everyone in my family calls me 'Heth'," she explained, making a face. "Always have. Kinda makes me feel permanently twelve years old."

"Okay then, 'babe' it is," Jake chuckled, squeezing her hand. He took a deep breath and then a half step back. "So, these are for you," he announced, showing her the bouquet of a dozen red roses. "But first," he grinned, holding them out of her reach as he sidestepped around her, "I gotta check a few things." Jake laid the bouquet across the top of her suitcase before stooping over it to examine it closely from all angles. He unzipped the front compartment and peered inside before knocking on the back of the bag with his fist.

"What're you doing?" she demanded, throwing him a funny look and beginning to laugh.

"Heather post-flight check," he joked, circling around her. She started to turn around, but Jake grabbed her backpack stopping her. "One second, please," he requested, patting his hands down the sides of her pack until he brought them to rest on her hips.

"Jake! What are you doing?" she repeated, giggling as she twisted around to meet his eye.

"Just checking for brothers," he teased, giving her a little squeeze. "You're sure they didn't follow you on the plane? Sneak into your carry-on?" he questioned.

"They're all at work, except for Mikey, who went back to school last night," Heather reported, pulling away from him. She shrugged out of her backpack and dropped it on the floor, next to her suitcase. "Even my Dad went to work," she added, grinning and moving toward him. "Deb drove me to the airport and there's no way she'd let Andy sneak into my bag," Heather told Jake, pressing against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I think we're safe."

"Good," he declared, cupping her face with both hands. Smiling, Jake traced her lower lip with his thumbs. "So that means it's safe to do this," he murmured, bringing his mouth down on top of hers. When they separated moments later, they were both grinning and breathing a little harder. Jake dropped his hands to her waist again, not willing to let her get too far away. "I missed you," he sighed.

"I missed you, too," she smiled, making a contented noise. "And, I'm ready to go home."

He grinned at that, pulling her closer so that they were pressed together, from their knees to their navels. "Home sounds good," he murmured, his breath stirring the small hairs that framed her face. "Home sounds real good."

"It does," Heather laughed softly in agreement. "Though we should probably go," she suggested, amending her statement a moment later as he fitted his hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "Or not," she giggled, blushing softly. She leaned against him, burrowing her face against his shoulder. "Jake, we're in public," she reminded, turning her head into the crook of his neck.

"Okay," Jake conceded with a chuckle. "Let's get outta here," he suggested, withdrawing his hands and then catching one of hers in his own. "Time to get you home," he grinned, raising their joined hands to his mouth so he could press a quick kiss to her knuckles. Letting her fingers slip from his, Jake turned and retrieved the bouquet, presenting it to her with a flourish. "Welcome home, babe."

"Thank you," Heather murmured, beaming at him. "It's great to be home," she declared, savoring the words - the thought - for a moment while she rearranged her coat, which was draped over her arm, so she could hold the bouquet and still have one hand free. She really was home, Heather realized, her smile growing. As much as Buffalo was her home and would always be the place where she'd grown up, it also felt absolutely right to be coming home to Kansas and to Jake. "I love you," she declared, taking a step toward him. "I just - I just love you."

Throwing her backpack over his shoulder, Jake offered Heather a crooked grin. "Love you, too," he replied, reaching for the telescoping handle of her suitcase. He held his other hand out to her. "Ready?"

"Yep!" Heather accepted his hand, but then moved closer, tucking her arm through his before laying her head against his shoulder. They started toward the exit, walking slowly while they found their rhythm and simply enjoy being reunited. The airport was busier today, Thanksgiving weekend already mostly forgotten by all except the few travelers like Heather who had waited an extra day before returning. The terminal had been transformed, too, in her absence, and was now decorated for Christmas. Snippets of carols - never more than a few words at a time - played over the intercom system between the almost constant announcements regarding unattended baggage, illegally parked cars, and where lost persons could meet the rest of their parties.

"Ah, success!" she joked as the automatic doors slid open in front of them, allowing them to leave the terminal. "No National Guard run-ins," Heather explained, grinning, in answer to Jake's questioning look.

"Well, I did promise Gretchen," he reminded with a snort, turning so he could press a kiss to the top of her head. "Now," Jake continued, leading her across the road toward the parking lot, "I was thinkin' we'd stop in Rogue River for dinner on the way home. Harrison's - it's Gramps' favorite steakhouse. It'll take awhile, but as long as you don't have a lot of stuff to do at home -"

"I'm yours for the rest of the evening," she informed him, squeezing his arm. "And dinner sounds great."

"Okay," he agreed, glancing sideways at Heather. The sight of the woman he loved on his arm pulled a grin and a contented sigh from Jake. She looked up at him, smiling in return. They had reached the entrance to the parking lot, and he pulled her to a stop, brushing a quick kiss across her mouth. "I'm glad your home," he told her, marveling at his good fortune.

* * * * * * * *

Sunday, December 2, five years before the bombs

"Why can't you just get that I don't wanna go?" Jake demanded finally, forcing the car into park and yanking his keys from the ignition.

"Oh, I get that," Heather snapped in return. She sat stiffly in the passenger's seat, almost against the door, as she tried to put more space between them. "I get, loud and clear, that you don't want to go with me," she accused.

"I don't want to go with anyone!" he snarled in frustration, his hand clenching into a fist around his keys. "I just don't wanna go! What's so hard to understand? Why are you being so crazy about this?"

Jake knew he was making a mistake even as the words left his mouth, a fact that was confirmed for him by Heather's expression. She gaped at him, her mouth a perfect 'O' of outrage. Her face crumpled and he closed his eyes, not wanting to see her start to cry. "Babe -"

"No!" she interrupted, a sob catching in her throat. "No! Just don't -" Heather broke off with a noisy gasp. In the next instant, though, she'd popped open her door, a move that took Jake by surprise. She fled his presence.

"Heather!" he shouted, exasperated, scrambling from the car a second after she'd slammed the passenger door shut. Momentarily paralyzed, he watched as she hurried across the lawn and then up the front walk toward her house. Finally, Jake forced his legs into motion, jogging after her. He caught up with Heather on the porch, laying a tentative hand on her arm as she worked to open the front door.

"Don't," she muttered, arching her back and shrugging his hand off. "I - I can't - can't talk to you about - about this right now," Heather sniffled, stumbling over her words. "Just go - go away, Jake."

"Dammit, Heather!" Jake protested, dizzy with fear and even anger. "Don't - don't be like this!"

She shook her head, shoving the door in front of her open. "Don't be like this?" Heather demanded, spinning around. She wiped one eye, fighting to maintain control. "This is me, Jake. But apparently you don't want to be seen with crazy me," she charged, her chin jutting out. "Not in public. Not by your co-workers, and certainly not by your boss." Heather took a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height. "So now you don't have to go anywhere - be seen anywhere - with me."

Before he could respond, Heather had stepped into the house, slamming the door and then, with much noise, bolted it shut. Staring blankly after her, it was a long moment before Jake could react. He tried knocking and rang the doorbell twice, but she ignored him, instead extinguishing all the lights at the front of the house. Finally, defeated, Jake staggered back to his car, throwing himself into the driver's seat. Irritation and panic warred for dominance in his mind, and he gave into the baser of his emotions, smashing his fist into the steering wheel. "God dammit," Jake swore, punching the wheel again.

Belatedly, he remembered his cell phone, but when he called Heather's cell he discovered that she'd turned it off, and then that her home line rang busy. Snapping the phone closed, Jake tossed it angrily on the passenger's seat - her seat - and then began to search the seats and floor in the dark for his keys, which he'd dropped in his haste to go after her. There was nothing left to do. Feeling sick to his stomach and a heavy constriction in his chest, Jake did the only thing he could, and started the car before backing slowly out of the driveway.

They had had a good trip home to Jericho, almost a week before. Travelling halfway across the state with Heather had made the time pass much more quickly than when he'd made the journey by himself. Their dinner had been good and they'd lingered over coffee and dessert, talking and flirting, so that it had been nearly nine when they'd made it home to Jericho. Heather had invited Jake in, but she'd obviously been fighting to stay awake, finally admitting that she had jetlag despite having changed only one time zone. He'd laughed at that, which she'd seemed to have expected, and then he'd kissed her good-bye, telling her again that he was glad that she was home, and that he loved her, and that he'd see her the next day.

The next day, though, had brought the news that, in her absence, Heather had been 'volunteered' to assist Mr. Rennie with both the winter concert and the winter play, which Jake was pretty sure was a brand new invention. She'd been stuck at school until six-thirty running a rehearsal of A Christmas Carol which, Heather had explained during the short break she'd taken from grading to eat a piece of the pizza he'd picked up, "Is kinda more Mickey's Christmas Carol than true to the original Dickens. We're skipping the creepy 'Ignorance' and 'Want' kids for one thing. Not that they're not important to the story," she'd added, swallowing quickly, "But this is five to thirteen year olds."

"Mickey's Christmas Carol?" Jake had asked, amused by the idea.

"You're telling me you never saw Mickey's Christmas Carol growing up?" she'd questioned, reaching for a second slice. "I know I saw it in the theater," Heather had told him, her forehead wrinkling as she had tried to remember the details. "And, I was pretty little, but it wasn't the first movie I saw in at the theater - that was Return of the Jedi," she'd decided with a snort. "My brothers were annoyed that my Dad said I could come - they thought I'd be scared - and I kinda was," Heather had admitted with a giggle, picking a piece of sausage off her slice and popping it into her mouth. "I think I was four, and Jabba the Hutt and the carnivorous sandpit were a little too much for me. I sat in Dad's lap and hid my face through the first twenty minutes of the movie. But I was fine once we got to Ewoks."

"I hated Ewoks," Jake had protested, groaning. They had been sitting on the couch in Heather's living room and he'd reached for her hand, tugging on it to pull her closer so he could wrap one arm around her. "Stanley, Eric and I spent the whole rest of that summer pretending that we were Ewok hunters," he'd chuckled. She'd gasped, sitting forward and then had stared back over her shoulder at him, her expression a picture of righteous indignation. "Sorry," Jake had apologized, still grinning softly, "But teddy bears do not belong in Star Wars."

Heather had laughed at that, shaking her head at Jake before moving back in his arms. She'd leaned over to kiss him, tasting like pepperoni pizza and cream soda, and he'd frowned when she'd pulled away all too quickly, admitting, "Well, my brothers would all agree with you, I'm sure. But anyway," she'd sighed, "We're doing the 'G' version of A Christmas Carol."

"I know I saw the Mickey Mouse version," Jake had shrugged, letting his hand settle possessively on her hip. "Scrooge McDuck, right? I've just never thought about it again since I was - I dunno - nine, ten?" he'd guessed. "Mom's always liked the one George C. Scott did, so I've seen that a couple of times, and I get why you'd want to dumb it down to keep the PTA happy."

"Exactly," Heather had grumbled, starting to clean up the remains of their dinner. "Because - of course - Karen Harper stopped in to give us her opinion on what she thinks is an appropriate program," she'd added, rolling her eyes. Jake had helped her clear off the coffee table, and she'd gotten back to work. He'd stayed with her for the rest of the evening, content as he'd promised he would be during their phone call a few nights before, just to spend time with her.

The rest of the week had gone pretty much along the same lines, with Heather staying late at school every day and then continuing to work on school business when she got home, whether it was correcting homework or calling parents to arrange for costumes to be made, sets to be built, and - most importantly - snacks to be provided. Jake hadn't even seen her on Thursday. She hadn't left the school until after seven, and so Heather had called him on the way home to say she was going to eat and go straight to bed, she was that exhausted. Luckily, there had been no rehearsals on Friday, so they had spent the evening together, though - unluckily, as far as Jake was concerned - Heather had accepted Grandpa's invitation to dinner at the ranch before he could stop her, and they'd ended up with a chaperone for the evening.

Saturday morning had found Jake, much to his surprise, at the elementary school assigned to help Stanley Richmond, Dale Turner and two other sixth grade boys build a counting house set. "That girl of yours," Stanley had complained, only somewhat facetiously, "Just bats those baby blues and the next thing you know, you've agreed to be head carpenter."

Jake hadn't bothered to tell Stanley that Heather, along with her baby blues, had been standing right behind him. "What do you expect? You built the world's best rabbit hutch and showed it to her," he'd reminded, winking at Heather. For years, Stanley's father had had a successful side business building furniture - Johnston Green's den had been almost completely furnished by George Richmond - and he'd taught his son both of his professions. "But, yeah, that's pretty much how it works," Jake had continued, smirking at his best friend. "How d'ya think I ended up here at eight-thirty on a Saturday?"

"Yeah, well, at least you get -"

"Don't say it Stanley," Heather had cautioned then, stepping around him to stand next to Jake. She scowled at him, cocking her head in the direction of the three boys who were all paying very close attention to the conversation. "Just don't."

"Fringe benefits," Stanley had declared, meeting her glare with a grin. The three boys all snickered knowingly. "That's all I was gonna say," he'd argued, smirking as he had watched Jake very deliberately drop an arm around Heather's shoulders, pulling her close before brushing his mouth over hers in a chaste kiss. The three boys had exchanged interested grins. Miss Lisinski, as the only single teacher and the only teacher younger than their parents, was the one teacher both the boys and the girls in the upper grades had deemed worthy of speculating about. They'd all known she had a boyfriend - and who that boyfriend was - but with the exception of Dale, none of the older students had actually seen them together, as a couple, before that moment. "Fringe benefits," Stanley had muttered, shaking his head.

Heather had rolled her eyes at that, and extracted herself from Jake's embrace though she'd held onto his hand, lacing their fingers together. "And, you agreed to be my head carpenter over the phone by the way," she'd informed Stanley, batting her eyes at him, before smiling up at Jake. "Your Mom just got here," she'd pointed out, directing his gaze toward the bank of doors at the far end of the multipurpose room. "She's got all the food, so why don't you go help her bring it in," Heather had suggested with an affectionate squeeze.

"You recruited my Mom, too, huh?" Jake had chuckled, giving into the urge to kiss her again. "Nice."

"C'mon, guys," Stanley had ordered, directing his sixth grade assistants away from the couple and onto the stage. "I'm pretty sure this isn't PTA-approved curriculum, and we've got work to do. Jake, we'll be doin' the real work when you're ready to join us," he'd called back over his shoulder.

"Your Mom called me, and volunteered actually," Heather had defended herself. "She's still a member of the PTA in good standing, she likes to sew costumes, and she's got her own sewing machine, so no way was I gonna turn her down. Now go," she'd ordered, giving him a small shove. "I need to find Bonnie. She's got my clipboard."

Jake had crossed the room and offered his mother his assistance, which she'd accepted with a distracted smile and a relieved sigh. They'd run into Mrs. McVeigh out in the parking lot, and between the three of them, they'd managed to carry in all the food in one trip. "You bought all of this?" he'd asked, setting three stacked pastry boxes down on the table Heather had designated for refreshments.

"No," Gail had contradicted. "The McBees donated it, so all I had to do was go to the bakery and pick it up," she'd continued, opening a box of doughnuts. "Apparently Heather talked them into breakfast and lunch for thirty today, plus twelve dozen cookies on each of the performance nights," Gail had laughed, exchanging smiles with Mrs. McVeigh. "She's a wonder. You know, they actually thanked me for coming to pick everything up! And between you and me and the lamppost, I'd rather have the McBees' food than their help," she'd concluded with a rueful grimace.

Mrs. McVeigh nodded. "Well, between you, me and the lamppost, I agree. Sharon McBee makes a great scone, but she sure is high maintenance. Jake," she'd declared, turning to face him, "Do me a favor and work on keeping Heather here in Jericho, permanently, will you?" she'd grinned. "We just need a Masters degree for her, a couple of grandbabies - in a few years - for your mother," Mrs. McVeigh had decided, throwing Gail a teasing look, "And then I can retire, knowing that I'm leaving my school in good hands." She'd returned her gaze to Jake, her smile growing. "Oh my! Now, I never expected that anything I said could make your son blush," she'd joked, glancing again at Gail.

"It is possible, on occasion," Gail had laughed, patting Jake comfortingly on the arm. "However, I know better than to push," she'd assured her son. "Honey, why don't you take the sandwiches into the kitchen and put them away in the fridge, okay?"

"Sure," Jake had nodded, glad for the opportunity to escape.

"But Jake, whatever you do, don't marry Heather and take her away from Jericho," Mrs. McVeigh had admonished. "We want her here."

"I - I won't," he'd stammered, picking up a party tray of sandwiches. "Promise," Jake had added as he'd backed away from the two women.

They had ended up working until two in the afternoon, most of the volunteers sticking it out, to Jake's surprise. No one, it seemed, had wanted to tell Heather they were leaving early. After putting the sandwiches away and retrieving his mother's sewing machine from her car, Jake had stuck to set building, though Stanley had caught him more than once scanning the room, trying to locate Heather in all the activity. She'd come by too, to check their progress, squatting down next to Jake, resting her hand on his back while he'd pretended to explain what they'd been doing.

Heather had called a lunch break at noon, and the volunteers had picked up their sandwiches, chips and sodas, and spread out across two cafeteria tables. Jake had hung back, waiting for Heather, and then they'd joined Stanley, who had been sitting at the far end of one table, holding court among the sixth and seventh graders. They'd sat next to one another, touching occasionally under the table, though they hadn't actually held hands, both well aware of how closely they were being observed, a fact that was confirmed for them when, at the end of lunch, Heather had kissed Jake on the cheek, earning a round of excited giggles from all the girls and even a few of the boys at the table.

Later, they had held hands as he'd walked her from the school building to her car, pinning her against the door and kissing her thoroughly. "I've been wanting to do that for hours," Jake had told Heather, pulling her into a hug and burying his face against her neck. "Don't look now," he'd muttered, "But I think Mom and Mrs. McVee are enjoying the show."

"Yeah, I think they are," she'd giggled, running one hand through his hair. Gail and Mrs. McVeigh had stayed behind to help clean up, despite Heather's repeated assurances that she and Jake had it all under control, and the four had ended up walking out together. "Maybe we should stop," she'd suggested, making absolutely no move to do so.

"Nah," he'd denied, teasing her earlobe. "I got the impression they approve. I'm under orders to make sure you stay put in Jericho."

She'd placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back gently so she could look him in the eye. "Well, I think there's a very good chance of that," she'd smiled, blushing prettily. "And - and thank you for doing my little school project. I know this couldn't possibly be the way you wanted to spend your -"

He'd pressed his lips to hers, cutting her off. "I want to spend my time with you," Jake had murmured against her mouth. "And, sure, this wouldn't be my first choice," he'd admitted a moment later, shrugging, "But it was fine. Besides," he'd joked, "Somebody needs to supervise Stanley when he's got power tools."

"No doubt," Heather had agreed with a contented sigh. "But still. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Jake had acknowledged, taking a half step back, her hand once again in his. "So, I'll pick you up at six-thirty?" he'd asked, drawing Heather forward so he could open the door for her.

"I'll be waiting," she'd grinned, brushing her mouth over his as she'd slipped past him, sliding into the car. "See ya, Jake."

True to his word, Jake had knocked on Heather's door at exactly six-thirty. She'd answered, smiling at him shyly and reaching for his hand to draw him into the house. "Hey," she'd greeted throatily, holding him at arm's length so she could look him over, her gaze appraising. He'd worn a dark gray jacket and slacks with a white dress shirt and black tie. "You look great," Heather had told him a few seconds later, stepping close, "But this doesn't really seem necessary," she'd grinned, loosening his tie. She'd pulled it free of his collar, turning to drop it on the hall table. "There," she'd declared, moving to stand in front of him. Still grinning, there had been a gleam in her eye as Heather had reached up to undo the first two buttons of his shirt before wrapping her arms around his neck. "That's better," she'd decided.

Jake had laughed, kissing the corner of her mouth. "You know, April ordered me to dress like a grown up tonight," he'd argued as he'd dropped his hands to her hips, pulling her against him. "She specifically said to wear a tie."

"No," Heather had contradicted, shaking her head. "No tie," she'd insisted, pressing her lips to his. "But don't worry," she'd whispered, "You look all grown up to me."

"And you look all gorgeous to me," Jake had returned, taking a step back. He'd let out a low whistle, offering an admiring grin. Heather had been dressed to the nines in a classic little black dress which, he'd noted, had done everything to accentuate her form. "This is - you look amazing." He'd let out a deep breath. "Why the hell are we goin' out again?" Jake had asked, catching his lower lip between his teeth as he'd shot her a lopsided grin.

Heather had moved back towards him. "Pretty much so we can come home again," she'd teased, hooking her index fingers through his belt loops to pull him to her for another kiss.

They'd arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes late to find that April and Eric had already been shown to their table. A double date with his brother and sister-in-law definitely wasn't Jake's first choice for how to spend their evening, but April and Heather had wanted to go to The Jericho Grille and had had everything arranged before they'd bothered mentioning it to Eric or Jake. Even before he'd seated Heather she and April had launched into a discussion of everything that had happened since they'd last spoken, prompting the Green brothers to exchange identical eye rolls. Giggling, April had smacked her husband harmlessly on the arm. "None of that," she'd commanded, laying her hand over his, knitting their fingers together.

"Hey, I'm just shocked by the sight of Jake in somethin' besides jeans, that's all," Eric had protested, chuckling softly. "All that effort to get ready," he'd continued, raising an eyebrow and smirking at his brother, "That's probably why you're late, huh?"

"Right," April had laughed, exchanging a knowing look with Eric. "You really do look nice Jake, though -"

"Before you say it," he'd interrupted, "I should tell you that Heather stole my tie."

"I did," she'd nodded, twining her arm around Jake's before leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. "Couldn't help myself," she'd teased, their eyes locking.

"And, we've lost them," April had declared, allowing an amused sigh as she'd let her head rest against Eric's arm.

Their waiter had arrived then, apologizing for the delay and ready to collect drink orders. He'd known Eric and April and had recognized Jake as Eric's brother when April had introduced him and Heather. The men had ordered a local microbrew on tap, and April had decided on a banana daiquiri, with Heather following her lead. The waiter, stammering out an apology, had asked for her identification, prompting April to demand jokingly to know why he didn't want to see her driver's license.

Flustered, Heather had shot her friend a grateful look as she'd pulled away from Jake, fumbling for her purse. She'd come expecting to be carded, but as they'd settled into their conversation, had put it out of her mind. "Here," she'd muttered, blushing, as she'd thrust her driver's license at the waiter.

"Thanks," he'd mumbled in response, barely glancing at it before he'd handed it back.

Jake had wrapped his arm around Heather as she'd sat back in her chair, slumping slightly. Cupping her shoulder through the smooth fabric of the lightweight red shawl she'd worn, he'd rubbed her arm, offering a smile that was equally sympathetic and annoyed. "So," he'd began, glancing at April and Eric, "How soon do you think before everyone in town's talkin' about Jake Green, cradle robber," he'd inquired, his tone mocking.

"Sorry to break it to you," April had laughed softly, "But they've been talking about the two of you for weeks, cradle and all."

"Heather," Eric had added then, almost managing to maintain a straight face, "All I have to say is, you must've been a beautiful baby."

She'd groaned, closing her eyes. Jake, feeling her tense, had pulled her closer until she'd relaxed some, resting her head on his shoulder. "See if I ever go to dinner with you guys again," she'd muttered, frowning.

"Poor baby," Jake had consoled, snorting a moment later when he'd realized what he'd said. "Well, you know what I mean," he'd added, pressing a kiss to her temple.

April had taken pity on Heather then, asking about her trip home to Buffalo. Grateful for the change of subject, Heather had offered a relieved smile before launching into a detailed account of her weekend at home, highlighting Sunday's hockey game and her brothers' threats to come to Jericho in order to check Jake out. Eric had snickered at that, taking the opportunity to again rib Jake about dating a girl with four brothers. Jake had surprised him though, and had shrugged off the teasing, saying that he wasn't going to be scared off by a few brothers. Heather had grinned in response, rewarding him with a quick kiss before informing Eric that her brothers had all been sufficiently cowed by news of Jake's badge and gun.

The waiter had brought their drinks and had taken their dinner orders. The conversation had continued, light-hearted and lively, carried mostly by April and Heather, though Eric and Jake had both made their contribution. They'd teased and joked, enjoying each other's company as salads and then entrees were delivered to their table, until finally the waiter had returned with the dessert tray. "I'm so stuffed, I couldn't," April had protested, allowing a satisfied sigh. "But tell us what everything is anyway," she'd commanded, earning chuckles from her three companions.

"Okay, I've gotta have the bread pudding," Heather had decided once they'd heard the selections. She'd glanced sideways at Jake, a smile lighting her face. "Wanna share?"

"Sure," he'd agreed, draping his arm over the back of her chair. "But it's got a rum sauce, right?" Jake had asked the waiter, smirking. "Sure you don't need to check her ID?"

The waiter had assured them that he didn't need to see Heather's identification again, somehow managing to maintain his bland expression. Heather had pressed her face against Jake's shoulder, groaning. "Can we just all forget about that?" she'd mumbled. "Please?"

"We'd like the caramel apple cheesecake," Eric had ordered for April and himself then. "To split. And, coffee? Four?" he'd added, looking around the table.

"I'd love some coffee," Heather had confirmed, raising her head to shoot Eric a grateful smile. "Regular," she'd told the waiter, yawning. "I need the caffeine," she'd explained with a sigh, letting her head rest again on Jake's arm.

"I can't believe they dropped responsibility for the school play on you when you were out of town," April had objected, shaking her head. "They're running you ragged."

Yawning again, Heather had thrown her friend a funny look. "I'm not working nearly as much as you do all the time," she'd argued, waving off April's concern. "I'm gonna sleep in tomorrow, skip church," she'd admitted, guilt flashing across her face, "And just take the day - the afternoon, anyway - to get ready for the week. If I can get better organized, it'll be fine," Heather had insisted.

The waiter had brought their coffee then, returning two minutes later with their desserts. They'd continued their conversation, turning to lighter subjects, as they'd all dug in. Eric and April had shared their cheesecake politely, both exclaiming over its flavor, while Jake and Heather had raced to see who could eat more of the bread pudding, dueling with their forks for bites. Watching them, April had laughed, rolling her eyes for Eric's benefit. "Oh! Good block, Heather," he'd complimented, laughing. "Watch out," Eric had warned next, pointing at Jake, "He's faking right, gonna go left."

"Stay outta this!" Jake had ordered, grumbling as Heather had blocked his fork again, before stabbing together a bite and dipping it into the pool of rum butter sauce.

"Hey, I'm the one who plays hockey here!" she'd declared with a grin, savoring her mouthful.

Jake took his own bite, swallowing quickly. "Well, you're not winnin' this one, Lisinski," he'd challenged, waving his fork at her.

April had cleared her throat, her gaze focused on a point behind them. Heather had looked back, spotting their waiter, while Jake had taken advantage of the opportunity to steal an uncontested bite. "No fair!" Heather had argued, turning back around in time to catch him.

"I'll just leave this," the waiter had told them, setting the portfolio with the bill down on the table between Jake and Eric.

"Truce?" Jake had offered, and Heather had nodded her agreement, using her fork to cut the last of the dessert into two pieces. They'd finished it off, and then Jake had pulled his wallet out of his inside jacket pocket. Finding a credit card, he'd thrown it down on top of Eric's. The waiter had returned and, silently, had picked up the portfolio, disappearing toward the front of the restaurant.

Heather had threaded her arm through Jake's, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Thank you," she'd murmured, smiling against his skin. "But, really, just tip normally, okay?" she'd requested, giggling softly.

"Yeah," he'd laughed. Yawning, Heather had laid her head against his shoulder, and Jake had taken advantage of the situation, pressing a kiss to her temple. "That I can do."

"You look like you're gonna pass out, Heather," April had chided. "Jake, you need to take her home and put her to bed," she'd instructed as the waiter came back, this time with charge slips for Jake and Eric to sign. April had repeated her admonitions as they'd parted company out in front of the restaurant before smiling and declaring, "This was fun. We should plan to do this, once a month, maybe."

"Oh, I'd like that," Heather had agreed, pulling her shawl loose and folding it up so Jake could help her into his jacket. The wind had picked up and he'd noticed that she'd started to shiver a soon as they'd exited the restaurant. "We should definitely do it," Heather had declared, looking over her shoulder to offer Jake a grateful smile. She and April had exchanged a quick hug and then the two couples had headed, in opposite directions, for their cars.

Jake had driven Heather home, refusing to come in when she'd invited him. "I think April's right," he'd told her, massaging her shoulders as he'd trailed her up the front walk, "You just need to go to bed."

Reaching the porch steps, she'd mounted the first one and turned around to face him. For once, thanks to the stair and the two inch heels she was wearing, she'd been taller than Jake, if only by an inch. "I really want -" Heather began, frowning as she broke off, shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, frowning as he'd wrapped both arms around her waist, kissing her on the chin. "This is not how I wanted tonight to end," she had confessed as one hand had found its way into his hair.

He'd kissed her then, not speaking until he'd pulled away a long moment later. "I know," Jake had whispered quietly against her lips, unable to resist the urge to kiss her again. "Me either," he'd admitted, allowing a frustrated sigh.

"I'm sorry everything's so crazy right now," Heather had apologized, combing her fingers through his hair. "I've still got rehearsals all this coming week, and then the play performances are the week after, Monday through Wednesday, with the concert on Thursday," she'd outlined. "But I'll get myself organized tomorrow, I swear, and there's always the week after that, before Christmas break. All I have to do is teach," Heather had explained, leaning into his embrace. "And if worst comes to worst," she'd shrugged, "Maybe we take April's advice and go down to Wichita the night before I fly out."

Surprised by her suggestion, Jake had resisted the urge to frown. The truth was, he didn't want their first time together to be in a hotel room, and he really didn't want to wait three weeks. But he also wanted Heather's complete attention, undistracted and unhurried; he wanted them to enjoy themselves. "Hey," he'd said, raising one hand to capture her chin. "We'll figure it out, don't worry," Jake had told her, running his thumb over her lower lip. "Waiting a little longer probably won't kill either of us," he'd joked, offering her a regretful grin. "Tonight's just not the night."

"Okay," Heather had nodded, taking a deep breath. "But you can still -"

"Babe," he interrupted, shaking his head. He'd dropped his hand back down to his side. "I think it's just better that I go home, and you go to bed, okay?"

Heather had waited a few seconds, studying Jake's expression closely, before she'd finally nodded her agreement. "Right," she'd acknowledged with a disappointed smile. "I love you, Jake," she'd declared, kissing him.

"Love you, too," he'd agreed as they separated. "Now, c'mon," he'd ordered, laughing gently and motioning for her to turn around, "You need to get some sleep." Jake had walked her the last few feet to her door and, kissing her one last time, had bid her good night. She'd shrugged out of his jacket, and shivering, had returned it to him, though she hadn't made any move to open the door. "Go inside," Jake had chuckled, shaking his head at her as he'd taken a deliberate step back. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The next evening had found them at Gail's and Johnston's for Sunday dinner, arriving at five, almost on the dot. Earlier, just after noon, Heather had phoned Jake to let him know she was up and that she was frying bacon for BLTs. If he wanted one, she'd told him, he should come over. Jake had been there within fifteen minutes. They'd hung out at her house, Heather doing laundry, putting together lesson plans, correcting homework and otherwise organizing herself while Jake had entertained himself by playing DJ and by raiding her collection of political thrillers for something to read. At four, his mother had called to tell them that she was moving dinner up and they should be there in an hour. Flustered, Heather had decided she needed to take a shower and, dismissing Jake's suggestion that they skip this week, had disappeared into the back of the house, reappearing forty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a dark green long-sleeved shirt.

"We really don't have to go," Jake had repeated, pulling Heather into his arms and burying his face in her hair, which had smelled like coconut. He'd inhaled deeply before stepping back, both her hands in his. "Mom knows how busy you are, and she'd understand."

But Heather had insisted. "I want to go," she'd told Jake, squeezing his fingers. "I like that she includes me."

They had gone. April had been in the dining room when they'd walked in, dressed in scrubs and setting the table. "Mom moved dinner up for me," she'd explained after they'd all said hello. "I have to be at work at eight, so I need to leave here at six fifteen, six thirty at the latest, and I really didn't want to miss lasagna."

"See? Lasagna," Heather had grinned, kissing Jake on the cheek. "Aren't you glad we came now?"

Gail had come through from the kitchen before he could answer, dispatching Jake to the den to round up 'the men' and drafting a more than happy to help Heather to bring the food out from the kitchen. They'd settled in around the table, Heather in her usual spot between Jake and Grandpa Green, who'd pulled her into a bear hug before he'd insisted on seating her himself.

Eric had been tasked with pouring wine for everyone, and he'd stopped behind Heather, withholding the bottle of cabernet and teasing, "I'm sorry, miss, but I'll need to see some ID."

She had groaned, blushing, and Jake had pushed his chair back, leaning over to sock his brother in the side. "Knock it off," he'd ordered.

"Geez, Jake," Eric had complained before apologizing to Heather. "Sorry, but I couldn't resist," he'd said, pouring her wine for her.

"Heather got carded at The Grille last night," April had explained, spotting the confused looks on Gail's, Johnston's, and Grandpa's faces.

"Well, just take it as a compliment, Heather," Johnston had advised, taking a piece of garlic bread before passing the basket to his father. "It'll be even worse when people stop asking you to prove you're old enough, and instead just assume that you are."

"I guess," she'd sighed, clearly not convinced.

Dishes had been passed around and they'd all loaded up on lasagna, salad and garlic bread. "Abigail O'Brien," Grandpa had declared after taking his first bite, throwing his daughter-in-law a devilish grin. "Run away with me, sweetheart," he'd demanded, allowing a contented sigh. "You have outdone yourself with this lasagna, I must say."

Laughing, Gail had shaken her head. "I'll run away with you on Thursday when I take you to your doctor's appointment," she'd told him. "And then you can buy me lunch."

"You'll be in Rogue River?" April had asked, guessing, "Your appointment's with Doctor Brunson?" Gail and Grandpa had nodded their confirmation. "Do you want me to come, too? Just for another set of ears?" she'd suggested, taking a bite of salad. "I'm working on Thursday, but as long as there isn't some pile-up on the highway, I should be able to get away."

"Then I can take two lovely ladies to lunch," Grandpa had announced, smiling smugly. "I thank you, gentlemen," he'd added, glancing between Johnston and Eric, "For going to work and leaving it to me to entertain your wives."

Johnston had snorted at that, but hadn't otherwise responded, settling for lifting a forkful of lasagna to his mouth. Eric, shaking his head, had addressed his brother. "Guess you're glad Heather eats her lunch with third graders," he'd joked.

"Well, I have to say, Heather, you're doing a wonderful job with the third graders," Gail had said, smiling down the table at the younger woman. "And the fourth and fifth and sixth graders," she'd added with a laugh. "I talked to Dale and Bonnie yesterday, and they both say you're their favorite teacher at school. Of course, they also made me promise not to tell that to Mrs. Walker."

Heather's expression had turned embarrassed, and she'd protested the compliment. "I'm just doing my job. I like being a teacher," she'd shrugged.

"Nothin' quite like it, is there?" Johnston had inquired, clearing his throat. He'd caught Heather's eye, smiling at her softly. "I taught at the high school - history - for a few years before I ran for mayor," he'd explained, "It's a hard job, sometimes, but you go home most days knowing what you did, what you accomplished."

"Yeah," she'd nodded, surprised but also honored by Jake's father's disclosure. "Exactly."

"Johnston and I will be coming to see the play, of course," Gail had informed Heather. "And Dad, I think you'll want to see it," she'd continued, glancing at her father-in-law. "A Christmas Carol, directed by Heather and with Dale starring as the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"I've got a ticket waitin' for me in will-call," Grandpa had assured Gail. "Bought it from the director herself," he'd grinned at Heather. "Goin' Monday night."

"And the play runs?" Gail had questioned then.

"Monday - next Monday, the tenth - through Wednesday," Heather had answered, "And then the concert's on Thursday, and I'm done with extracurricular activities, at least for the calendar year," she'd declared, her expression relieved. "Then there's a week of school before the break, and I really have no idea when I'm going to my Christmas shopping done," she'd concluded with a laugh.

"Oh dear," Gail had clucked sympathetically. "Well, two weeks from tonight, Johnston and I are hosting our annual Christmas open house," she'd told Heather. "The sixteenth. It's an evening of friends dropping by, certainly nothing formal, and by the end we may even get silly enough to sing Christmas carols. I hope you and Jake don't have other plans, and will be able to make it?"

Surprised and amused that his mother was now checking his schedule with his girlfriend instead of with him, Jake had squeezed Heather's hand underneath the table, hoping to signal to her that he was game. It had been years since he'd attended his parents' open house, not since high school really, back when he, Eric, Stanley and Emily would take over the den to play Nintendo and complain about having been forced to attend, only deigning to mix with the rest of the party when they'd wanted food. Jake wasn't sure what to expect from the party as an adult, but he'd realized he should go.

Heather had glanced at him quickly, her smile questioning. He'd nodded, squeezing her hand a second time. "Oh, of course we'll be here," Heather had answered. "We - we always leave Sunday night open to be here, anyway," she'd reminded, "And it sounds like fun. Can I bring anything?" Heather had asked.

"Hard as you're working," Johnston had interjected, shaking his head, "We'll just be glad to have you here. Same goes for you, April," he'd added.

"Trust me, until my residency's done, I'm happy to mooch," she'd laughed, tearing off a piece of garlic bread and popping it into her mouth.

"Well, I'm not that busy that weekend," Heather had argued. "I mean, Jake and I are going to the elementary school staff party at Mrs. McVeigh's on Friday night, but other than that," she'd shrugged. "I guess that's the weekend I'll do my Christmas shopping. Though, for my family, I'm thinkin' one big Amazon order, have it all shipped to my Dad's, and wrap it when I get there."

"Now, that's gotta rip some sorta hole in the space-time continuum," Eric had snorted, almost choking on a mouthful of wine. "I can think of four - maybe five - teachers who'll take Jake Green at a school staff party as a sign of the apocalypse," he'd joked.

"Eric," Gail scolded, "Be nice."

"Hey, all I can tell ya is, Mrs. McVeigh said she's lookin' forward to my bein' there," Jake had retorted, rolling his eyes at his brother.

"Well, I'm glad you're coming with me, too," Heather had added soothingly. Under the cover of the tablecloth, she'd found his hand again, twining their fingers together. "But you don't have to if you don't want to," she'd reminded.

"I want to," he'd answered immediately, earning himself a bright smile and a kiss on the cheek.

"I thought you were goin' to Denver for your office party on that Saturday," Grandpa had frowned. "It's the fifteenth, right? That's what your boss said when I talked to her the other day."

Jake had shot his grandfather an incredulous look. "You talked to Gretchen? Why?"

"She called the house and you weren't home," he'd explained with a shrug. "Delightful woman," he'd smiled. "Just the right amount of vinegar in that one, and smart as a whip to boot," Grandpa had chuckled, taking a bite of lasagna. "Anyway," he'd added a few seconds later, swallowing, "We had a nice little chat, 'bout a half hour."

"But what did you talk about?" Jake had demanded, clutching Heather's hand. She'd felt the tension suddenly radiating off of him and had looked at him sideways, trying to catch his eye, but Jake had avoided her gaze. "Gramps," he'd ground out, looking at his grandfather over her head. "What did Gretchen say? What - what in the world could you two talk about for a half hour?"

Grandpa's eyes had narrowed and he'd frowned at Jake. "Whaddya think we'd talk about?" he'd grumbled. "You, of course, and Heather. Gretchen's lookin' forward to meetin' you, sweetheart," he'd smiled at Heather, who'd turned to face him at the sound of her name. "At the party."

"Well, I'm not going," Jake had announced, extracting his hand from Heather's. He'd glanced at her briefly as he'd reached for his wineglass. "We're not going," he'd muttered, drinking.

Heather's forehead had wrinkled with confusion, and she'd studied Jake's profile, frowning. "Why - why don't you want to go?" she'd asked quietly.

April had asked Johnston to pass the salad then, and everyone else had taken it as a cue to make themselves busy. Jake had glanced around the table at his family, all of whom had avoided looking at him. Finally, taking a deep breath, he'd faced Heather. She hadn't looked angry, just upset and puzzled by his response. "Babe, look," Jake had begun, "These aren't my friends, okay? This is dinner in some stuffy restaurant with my boss and a bunch of people I sometimes work with," he'd grumbled. "Gretchen's just trying to get me -" Jake had broken off shaking his head. "I'm tellin' ya, I wouldn't go even if I were in Denver, let alone from here." He'd paused again, reaching under the table for her limp hand, which he'd held gripped tightly in his own. "Okay?" he'd asked with a testing grin.

"Okay," she'd agreed softly, staring at him with wide eyes. "Okay," Heather had repeated, forcing a smile. She'd pulled her hand from his and had balled it into a fist that she'd pressed against her leg. But something about her reaction had left the short hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"So Heather," Gail had asked, her tone cheerful enough to dispel some of the tension in the room, "When do you leave to go home?"

"Oh!" she'd exclaimed, startled out of her private thoughts. "Um, Saturday. The twenty second. The last day of school is Friday, and - it's a half day. Just a Christmas - I mean, a holiday party, really," Heather had corrected herself. "Though, we still get to have Santa come," she'd giggled, though she sounded a bit too shrill to Jake, who'd studied her, worried. "Right?" she'd prompted, glancing at Grandpa.

"You're gonna be Santa, Gramps?" Eric had laughed. "How'd that happen?"

Grandpa had straightened in his seat, his chest practically puffing up. "I guess Gary McVeigh is usually Santa, but he broke his arm last week, so Sandy asked me if I'd step in," he'd grinned. "I'm growin' my beard in for the part, even," Grandpa had told them all, stroking his chin.

"I just thought you'd forgotten to shave, Dad," Gail had chuckled.

"Now, I'm not that doddering yet, m'dear," he'd returned.

Still shaking her head at her father-in-law, Gail had put everyone to work clearing the table so they could have dessert before April needed to leave. "I ordered a tiramisu at McBee's yesterday when I went to pick up the food for school," she'd explained. "Worked backwards from there to lasagna."

Heather had helped clear dishes and then had put herself to work at the sink rinsing them off. Jake had joined her, loading each item into the dishwasher after she'd run it under the hot water and swiped it with a scrub brush. "Heather?" he'd inquired once, "You're quiet. You okay?"

"Just tired," she'd insisted, smiling at him quickly, distractedly.

They'd left his parents when April had, Heather apologizing profusely to his mother, who'd responded that she was just glad that they'd come. In the car, Heather hadn't said a word, staring out her window, refusing to look at him. "What's wrong?" Jake asked finally, turning left, toward Heather's house, at the corner of Chestnut and Eighth. "And, don't say you're just tired."

"You don't want me to meet your boss," she mumbled.

Despite the darkness, Jake saw her press her hand to her mouth and realized she was fighting not to cry. "Babe," he breathed, steering one-handed so he could reach across the center console to squeeze her shoulder. "It's not -"

"Or maybe you just don't want your boss to meet me," Heather argued, folding her arms across her chest, hugging herself. "I can understand that. I'm too young and - and - and naïve," she decided finally. "I - I'll embarrass you. After all, I get carded for alcohol in restaurants," she declared with a frustrated groan, "And make you look like a cradle robber, right?"

"That's what you think this is?" Jake demanded, making an exasperated noise of his own. "I don't care about any of that," he insisted, turning the car onto Walnut.

"If you don't care, then why aren't we going?" she countered, glaring at him.

"Because!" he barked. "Because we've got parties in Jericho on Friday and Sunday, and it would be stupid to go to Denver for less than a day."

"So now I'm stupid because I think we should go," Heather complained, looking out the window once more. "And for another thing," she almost yelled, whipping her head around to meet his gaze with an angry stare, "You didn't know about the party on Sunday, but you still never once mentioned that there was a party at your work, even when I asked if you'd come to mine," she accused as they turned onto Green Street.

Neither of them spoke as he maneuvered the car for the last half block before pulling into her driveway. "Why can't you just get that I don't wanna go?" Jake demanded finally, forcing the car into park and yanking his keys from the ignition.

"Oh, I get that," Heather snapped in return. She sat stiffly in the passenger's seat, almost against the door, as she tried to put more space between them. "I get, loud and clear, that you don't want to go with me," she accused.

"I don't want to go with anyone!" he snarled in frustration, his hand clenching into a fist around his keys. "I just don't wanna go! What's so hard to understand? Why are you being so crazy about this?"

Jake knew he was making a mistake even as the words left his mouth, a fact that was confirmed for him by Heather's expression. She gaped at him, her mouth a perfect 'O' of outrage. Her face crumpled and he closed his eyes, not wanting to see her start to cry. "Babe -"

"No!" she interrupted, a sob catching in her throat. "No! Just don't -" Heather broke off with a noisy gasp. In the next instant, though, she'd popped open her door, a move that took Jake by surprise. She fled his presence.

"Heather!" he shouted, exasperated, scrambling from the car a second after she'd slammed the passenger door shut. Momentarily paralyzed, he watched as she hurried across the lawn and then up the front walk toward her house. Finally, Jake forced his legs into motion, jogging after her. He caught up with Heather on the porch, laying a tentative hand on her arm as she worked to open the front door.

"Don't," she muttered, arching her back and shrugging his hand off. "I - I can't - can't talk to you about - about this right now," Heather sniffled, stumbling over her words. "Just go - go away, Jake."

"Dammit, Heather!" Jake protested, dizzy with fear and even anger. "Don't - don't be like this!"

She shook her head, shoving the door in front of her open. "Don't be like this?" Heather demanded, spinning around. She wiped one eye, fighting to maintain control. "This is me, Jake. But apparently you don't want to be seen with crazy me," she charged, her chin jutting out. "Not in public. Not by your co-workers, and certainly not by your boss." Heather took a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height. "So now you don't have to go anywhere - be seen anywhere - with me."

Before he could respond, Heather had stepped into the house, slamming the door and then, with much noise, bolted it shut. Staring blankly after her, it was a long moment before Jake could react. He tried knocking and rang the doorbell twice, but she ignored him, instead extinguishing all the lights at the front of the house. Finally, defeated, Jake staggered back to his car, throwing himself into the driver's seat. Irritation and panic warred for dominance in his mind, and he gave into the baser of his emotions, smashing his fist into the steering wheel. "God dammit," Jake swore, punching the wheel again.

Belatedly, he remembered his cell phone, but when he called Heather's cell he discovered that she'd turned it off, and then that her home line rang busy. Snapping the phone closed, Jake tossed it angrily on the passenger's seat - her seat - and then began to search the seats and floor in the dark for his keys, which he'd dropped in his haste to go after her. There was nothing left to do. Feeling sick to his stomach and a heavy constriction in his chest, Jake did the only thing he could, and started the car before backing slowly out of the driveway.

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

Wednesday, November 29, two months after the bombs

Heather followed April into Bailey's Tavern. Johnston held the door open for them both, and for Drake, who was right behind them. She flashed her father-in-law a distracted smile and took a deep breath. She hadn't been in Bailey's for nearly a month, not since the fateful day that everything had changed. The second fateful day that everything had changed, Heather allowed, though Ravenwood, Eric's desertion of April, her fight with Jake - the most serious of their relationship - had, in some ways, been worse than seeing a mushroom cloud go up over Denver. It had certainly affected them all much more personally, rocking the Green family to its core. And now, it seemed that those days that changed everything just kept coming, what with the election, and now this.

"It'll be okay," Heather murmured, catching up with her sister-in-law. She squeezed April's arm comfortingly, following the path of the other woman's gaze to where Eric and Mary Bailey stood together, their heads close as they looked over the contents of a spiral bound notebook.

"Yeah," April muttered. "Let's just get the wounded assessed, and go from there."

Eric noticed the four new arrivals then, and came over, Mary trailing two hesitant steps behind. "Hey," he greeted, glancing them all over without actually making eye contact. "Thanks for comin'," he muttered, leading them farther into the bar.

"My God, where'd they all come from?" Johnston demanded, looking over the huddle of exhausted, shell-shocked refugees who had taken over the tables and booths at the center of the bar. He recognized two or three people from Jericho working amongst the crowd, providing water and passing out a few blankets, but most of the blank faces that stared back at him were new. "How many?" he asked his son.

"Just over fifty," Eric answered. "They walked from Nebraska, almost from South Dakota, the ones from the plane crash." He turned, pointing toward Emily Sullivan, who was sitting with a bearded, wild-haired man in a torn and dirty overcoat. "Roger Hammond led them here."

"That's Roger?" Johnston muttered, stunned by the changes in the other man's appearance. "The banker?"

"That's him," Eric confirmed.

April, Heather, and Drake were already examining those nearest to them. April and Heather exchanged a dismayed look as they helped one woman unwrap her hands only to discover open, bleeding sores. "Chilblains," April murmured, shaking her head. She looked over at Drake, who was speaking quietly and encouragingly with an older man. But in the next instance she realized that he probably wasn't as old as she thought, just worn out. Taking a deep breath, she drew herself up to her full height and, stepping around Heather, moved to stand next to Johnston. "I'm going to need warm water," she told Eric, her gaze focused on his nose. "As much as you can make."

"I made a list of the injured," Mary announced, holding up the notebook she and Eric had been reviewing earlier.

Annoyance flashed in April's eyes and she stared at the other woman, her expression the picture of distaste. Finally, looking down, she concentrated on unbuttoning her coat, leaving it to Johnston to break the awkward silence. "I'll take that, Mary," he offered gruffly, reaching for the notebook as April turned away. He glanced over the list and then, folding the notebook open, tucked it under his arm. "Where's your brother?" he asked Eric.

"We need more blankets, someplace for them all to stay for the night," he replied. "Jake went over to parsonage to see if Reverend Young would open up the church, see if he has some supplies still."

Heather, relieved to know that Jake was only off running a rather mundane errand, followed Drake as he moved onto his next patient, smiling at the young woman and asking her name and age. She watched him interact with the girl - her name was Rachel and she was all of fifteen - impressed by how he handled her, gently coaxing her to show him her injuries and promising that things would be better now. "You're in Jericho," he told her, "You're gonna be just fine. We've got some supplies comin' from the med center," Drake had added, examining one blistered, swollen foot. "We'll find you a bandage and some clean, dry socks, how's that?"

"What they must've been through," Heather whispered, as much to herself as Drake when they moved onto the next person.

He shrugged. "This isn't too bad," Drake told her, keeping his voice low. "I've seen worse."

Eric appeared not quite ten minutes later, carrying a stockpot which he placed on the table nearest where Drake was now examining his fifth patient. "Heather," he called softly to get her attention. "Hot water, some extra towels," he said, pulling a set of dish towels off his shoulder and laying them on the tabletop.

"Thanks," she mumbled, pressing her lips tightly together. Drake looked up, interested, and the two men studied one another for a long moment. "Eric, this is Drake McCrary," Heather finally introduced with obvious reluctance. "Drake, Eric, Jake's brother."

"Right," Drake nodded, moving to the table and picking up one of the towels, which he dropped into the pot of water. "April's husband."

"Uh, yeah," Eric grimaced, "Sort of."

Heather saw Mary come up behind Eric in time to hear Drake's declaration. About to lay her hand on Eric's back she'd pulled it back, scowling at his response. Heather's eyes met hers for just a second. She almost felt sorry for Mary, with whom, before everything had happened, she'd always been friendly. But her loyalty was - and always would be - to April. "Thank you, Eric," she repeated, frowning at him for a moment before turning away.

Forty minutes after he'd first lain eyes on Roger Hammond's band of refugees, Jake re-entered Bailey's Tavern, stomping his feet against the cold. He spotted Heather - somehow, he always knew when she was present - working across the room, holding a cup of something steaming for a woman, helping her drink, while Drake examined her feet. April was similarly engaged a few steps away, and Johnston and Eric sat together in a booth, going over the information about the refugees that Mary had collected in a notebook.

"Hey," he greeted quietly, joining his father and brother. Eric slid over, allowing Jake room to sit. "The church is open. Reverend Young and I stopped at a couple of the deacons' houses on the way back, and they're over there setting up the basement with cots, pallets, that sort of thing."

"Good," Johnston acknowledged. "We're waitin' on Jimmy to get back from the clinic with some supplies, but we can probably start moving people over. April says that everybody's got sores, blisters, some frostbite, but not a whole lot more than that. One broken arm that's a couple of weeks old that they tried their best to set," he sighed. "Probably won't ever be the same. But no reason not to get everyone bedded down for the night."

"There's a medical student in the group," Eric reported, "Jessica. Says one of the other women had a miscarriage coupl'a days ago. All that walking, the malnutrition, who knows," he shrugged. "But she should probably go to the clinic."

"And, she hasn't bled to death yet?" Johnston inquired, his eyes widening. He exhaled through his teeth, shaking his head. "Okay, I'll make sure April knows. And, we've got another medical student, huh?" he chuckled softly, "She really is gonna end up running a med school," he decided, exchanging crooked grins with Jake. "Which one's Jessica?" he asked. Eric pointed the young woman out to Johnston, who stood up, pausing for a moment to study his sons. "So, it didn't occur to either of you boys to get Gray, huh?"

Eric and Jake exchanged a glance and then both looked down at the table. Jake shrugged as he admitted, "Guess it occurred to us. But we already know how Gray feels about refugees," he reminded, meeting his father's gaze. "Seemed like this would all go easier - faster - without him."

"Well, I'm not gonna argue that," Johnston snorted. "But somebody's gonna have to tell him in the mornin'," he told them.

"I will," Eric volunteered a few seconds later, following his brother as Jake slid out of the booth. "Gray and I ... get along," he decided, shaking his head. "And, I'll just tell him that things happened so fast and we were concentrated on getting everyone warm, and fed, and sheltered. It's the truth."

"Good luck with that," Jake muttered, rolling his eyes. He turned then, moving across the bar and through the crowd to where Heather stood, watching Drake assess one of the refugees. "Hey, babe," he greeted, laying his still cold hand on her back. She looked over her shoulder at him and, smiling softly, let out a long breath. "This sure as hell blows our plans for the evening, huh?" he complained, kissing the top of her head.

"Yeah," she sighed, leaning back against him. "There's some sort of odd lesson in that, hmm?"

Jake nodded, his gaze focusing on Emily and Roger, sitting together but otherwise alone toward the back of the bar. "Anyone checked him out yet?" he asked cocking his head in Roger's direction.

"Not yet," Heather answered, lowering her voice. "April tried, but he wants everyone else to be seen first, so that's what we've been doing. Well, what April and Drake have been doing," she corrected. "Supposedly I'm assisting," she told him, pointing at Drake, who was squatting next to his latest patient, taking the man's pulse. "He doesn't really need me, though."

"Jimmy come and get you guys?" Jake guessed, starting to massage her shoulders.

"Yeah," Heather confirmed, practically purring at his touch. "I came along for moral support, really," she admitted. "I'm okay being home alone during the day, but it's a little creepy at night."

"Right," Jake agreed. His mother, Michael and Jeff were all working at the clinic tonight, and Heather would have been by herself if she'd stayed at the house. "Works for me," he declared, kissing the back of her head as his hands worked their way along her shoulders until he could use his thumbs to massage the back of her neck.

"Your hands are cold," Heather complained, shivering reflexively. "But don't stop," she ordered a second later, easing back into his touch. "Jimmy dropped us off and then took a list of supplies from April over to the clinic," she told him, and Jake didn't bother to tell her he already knew that much. "They - they just walked in?" Heather asked, looking around the room and then back at Jake.

"Through the Cedar Street checkpoint," he answered. "We don't get much business out that way, just the people still livin' on farms northeast of town, so we only ever have two people out there," Jake explained, his hand stilling on her shoulders as she let her head fall back against his chest. "They radioed into town hall and Jimmy caught the call. He talked to Roger and gave the okay to let 'em through."

"Good thing Bill wasn't on duty," Heather grumbled, pulling a short laugh from Jake.

"Bill, seems to have earned himself a permanent daytime assignment," Jake reminded, snorting. "Okay," he sighed, reaching for her hand, tugging at her fingers. "Come with," he requested.

Jake held onto Heather's hand as they approached Roger and Emily, who were sitting at a table, their two chairs pushed together. The couple weren't talking, but Emily's hand rested on his arm, and she couldn't seem to take her eyes off of him. Jake couldn't help but stare at Roger either. The skin on his face was chapped and peeling from windburn or even frostbite, Jake guessed. In a few places there was mud matted in his hair and beard, and his overcoat was dirty and threadbare. He bore little resemblance to the regional bank manger, celebrating his engagement to Emily, whom Jake had last seen in passing ten months earlier.

"I - I thought that was you," Roger rasped out, reaching across Emily to offer Jake his hand, which was encased in a leather glove that was splitting at the seams. "But I thought - I thought you were overseas. Middle East, according to your brother."

They shook hands. "Well, I was on my way home when the bombs went off, so..." Jake shrugged.

Roger allowed a bark of laughter. "So was I," he reminded.

"Right," Jake acknowledged with a rueful grin. "Guess I was closer. But, it's okay now, man. You're safe and your people are safe," he assured, looking back over his shoulder at all the bustle as Eric, Johnston, and the just arrived Jimmy Taylor were starting to get the refugees up and moving toward the door. "Reverend Young can put 'em up at the church, long as necessary."

"Thanks," Roger nodded, his chapped lips pressed together. "I - I feel responsible for them, so...." He didn't complete the statement, his gaze settling on Heather and the evidence of her pregnancy. "Congratulations. To both of you," he murmured.

Heather smiled, rubbing her free hand in circles over her baby. "Thank you. We're excited," she declared, her smile growing as she looked up at Jake.

"Excited, terrified," Jake joked, wrapping an arm around his wife. "That's all pretty much the same thing, right?" The other three all laughed along with him, although Heather also retaliated, poking him in the side.

Reaching for Emily's hand, Roger grinned at her. "I been trying to talk Emily into a passel of kids for the last year," he teased.

"I suppose we can consider that still under negotiation," she returned kissing his cheek.

"Roger!" a young woman called out as she approached.

"Jessica," he greeted in return. "Uh, this is my - my Emily," he introduced, stroking her back. "And the - the Greens," he remembered finally. Blinking, he apologized quickly. "Sorry."

"Nice to meet you all," Jessica threw out, not bothering to even look at Jake and Heather. "They're moving us over to the church now," she informed him, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at him expectantly.

"Oh, right," he muttered, starting to get up, but Emily pushed him gently back into his seat.

"You're home, Roger," she reminded, grasping his still gloved hand in her own. "We're gonna go home. To our house."

"Okay," Roger agreed, nodding slowly. He met Jessica's eye. "I'll - I'll come by in the morning, okay, Jess? See how everybody's doing."

"Sure," she replied, forcing a smile. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow," Jessica added, starting to move away. "You did - you did get checked out by the doctor, right, Rog?" she asked, turning back around to face him, frowning. "You gotta take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will, Jess, I promise," Roger assured.

Jake caught April's eye and waved her over. She examined Roger quickly, checking his extremities for frostbite, as well as taking his pulse and listening to his heartbeat. "If you're like everyone else, I'm guessing you haven't had a lot to eat lately?" she asked, earning a nod from Roger. "Well, sleep, stay warm and keep your skin dry, hydrate, eat. But start slow, maybe soup," April suggested, looking at Emily.

"Soup it is," Emily agreed, urging Roger to his feet. "I think I'm gonna take him home now," she smiled at the other three, tossing her hair over her shoulder and tucking her arm through her fiancé's. "We'll see you guys later."

"You did good, Roger," Jake told the him as he and Heather stepped back to let the other couple move past. "Go home, and get some rest," he advised, clapping Roger on the shoulder as he shuffled by. You deserve it."

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

A Christmas Carol was written by Charles Dickens and published in 1843.

Mickey's Christmas Carol was produced by the Walt Disney Company and released in theaters in 1983.

Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi was produced by Lucasfilm and was also released in theaters in 1983.