Different Circumstances: Part 12A of ?
by Marzee Doats

Author's Note: I am once again playing with the timeline that appears to have been given to us by the show. You probably won't even notice, though I have given poor Roger a couple of days to clean up, rather than having the town meeting take place the morning after the refugees arrived in Jericho. 

Warnings: Contains references to some of the depravity of the outside world. No lurid details, but it's there.

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

Monday, December 4, two and a half months after the bombs

"Hey," Jake murmured, laying his hands on his wife's shoulders. She tipped her head back, and he kissed her 'hello' before also greeting his parents, brother-in-law and Jeff.

"Tried to save you a seat," Heather told him, twisting around in her chair, "But Bill said I couldn't." They were five days into the Anderson administration, it was nine twenty five in the morning, Gray was five minutes from starting his first council meeting as mayor, and it was standing room only in the town council room. The Greens had managed to snag the back row - prime seating in Jericho - and for once every seat in the meeting room was taken, with a number of people already lining the walls. "He said it was first come, first serve," she complained, rolling her eyes.

"Seriously?" Jake questioned, one eyebrow raised. Her only answer was a tight smile. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Of course you're serious."

"Here, Jake, you can have my seat," Michael offered, starting to get up from his spot on Heather's left, only to be waved off.

"Probably better we don't sit together in here, anyway," Jake teased, winking at his wife. "I'll hang out at the back," he continued, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder at the open doorway two steps behind him. "Might have to leave early," he explained. Jake and Jimmy had come in for the meeting and to make their report, but he knew that eventually somebody was going to have to go out and collect the bodies of those who had died when the overnight temperatures had plummeted suddenly. They'd all known it was coming, of course, but it had been impossible to be fully prepared to face the cold weather without electricity or working furnaces, and some of Jericho's residents had paid with their lives.

Johnston, on Heather's right, glanced back at his son. "We heard there's four dead on the east side of town," he said, his voice low.

"And, three, at least, on the west side," Jake sighed. "Jimmy and I checked houses on Walnut, Green and Holly. Joe Bentner's dead," he reported, speaking quietly. Jake had just seen Joe, on election day, when he'd come to vote. It was hard to reconcile that with the lifeless, partially frozen corpse he'd discovered this morning. Laying his arm over the back of Heather's chair, Jake stooped down so that his head was between hers and Johnston's. "So're the Berrys," he informed them, grimacing. Don and Alice Berry had been Heather's across the street neighbors when she'd lived on Green Street. "I'm sorry, babe," Jake murmured, squeezing her shoulder.

Heather turned pale, obviously shocked by the news. "Mr. Berry - he used to bring me vegetables from his garden, and if he caught me shoveling my own driveway - I just can't believe it," she whispered.

"Seven people - or more - dead in one night?" Gail asked, leaning over Johnston to join the conversation, her voice hushed. "It's not even winter yet, by the calendar."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, letting out a long breath as he stood up to his full height. They heard a commotion in the hallway, and Jake took a step back to see what was going on. Gray Anderson was striding down the hallway followed closely by Bill Kilroy, Ridley Cooper, and Harry Carmichael. "Watch out," he muttered, moving forward to warn his family, "The show's about to begin."

"Welcome, everyone," Gray announced pompously as he entered the meeting room. Jake shifted out of the way, leaning against the back wall, catching the sleeve of his parka on something. He inched forward and looked back, shaking his head as he realized what he'd brushed up against; it was the plaque designating the space as the 'Eric Jacob Green Council Room'. Marching down the center aisle, Gray continued his monologue. "I think it's best that we just get started," he decided, clearing his throat. "For those of you who haven't heard, we had - we had some losses overnight. Eight - that's right, Bill, isn't it?" he asked, glancing at the deputy.

"Eight, yes," Bill confirmed. "Uh, the Swenson family over on Sixteenth Street, Joe Bentner on Walnut, the Berrys on Green, and Donna Coyle on Willow. All frozen to death, except for the Swensons, who died of asphyxiation," he finished, snapping his notebook closed. "And, we still haven't checked all the houses in town," Bill reminded with a frown.

"Right," Gray declared, nodding at the deputy to take a seat. "So I think we all understand that we face some dire circumstances 'round here."

The crowd began to mutter and shift in their seats, whether in a belated reaction to Bill's report or in response to their new mayor's hyperbolic pronouncement, it was impossible to know. "Asphyxiation?" Gail questioned, glancing first at her husband and then over her shoulder at her son. "What? How?"

Jake stepped behind her chair and, squatting down, explained quickly. "They had one of those kettle-type barbeques, and they were trying to keep warm burning charcoal briquette in a sealed up house." He shook his head, letting out a frustrated breath. The door-to-door teams had held a quick debrief just before the meeting, and Jake was very glad that he hadn't found the Swensons. Clyde Davis, who had found them, had looked positively sick as he'd reported their deaths, and Jake figured a suffocated corpse had to be an even more gruesome sight than a frozen one.

"My God," Gail mumbled, covering her mouth with her hand. "The Swensons' children -"

"Ten and twelve, I'm pretty sure," Heather supplied, drawing Jake's attention. "I had - I had Jodie in class two years ago." She was clearly stunned by the news, and instinctively pressed both hands to her belly so that they were splayed protectively over the child she carried. Jake half stood, moving so he could give her a quick hug over the back of her folding chair before returning to his post against the wall.

Gray tried speaking over the din. "Now, I - I can't say that I knew just how bad off we were last week," he began, offering a grim smile. His gaze locked with Johnston Green's just long enough for Gray to see the censure in his predecessor's eye. "But, I'm - well, I'm - I'm sure," he stammered out, unnerved by the other man's piercing gaze. Gray cleared his throat and began again. "I'm sure that working together, we can - " The noise level continued to rise, and he broke off, scowling at the gathered citizenry. "All right, everyone!" Gray tried to shout over the crowd. "Let's start by talkin' about where we are," he yelled.

"Ridley, help me out here," Gray prompted the younger man, who immediately jumped up from his seat. The two men worked together to flip over a large chalkboard, revealing a table which detailed the status of each of Jericho's priority resources of food, fuel and medicine. The only item anyone could take comfort from was the notation that their supply of salt was unlimited; otherwise the situation was desperate to say the least. The crowd was immediately excited again, and Gray was once more forced to try and shout them down. "Everyone! Everyone, please!" the mayor bellowed, "Please!"

"Right now," he began ten seconds later after things had quieted down to a dull roar, "We're using the generator to power the town hall for three hours a day, the med center for six. And this is how much fuel we have," Gray declared, pointing at the figures written out on the board.

Jake, at the back of the room, squinted along with everyone else to read them, his heart plummeting into his stomach. 'Gasoline, 200 gallons, 14 days,' the chart cataloged. 'Diesel, 100 gallons, 7 days. Biodiesel, 8 gallons.' Jake glanced at Heather, recognizing her defensive posture from behind. Her team had had some early success manufacturing biodiesel and it was surprising to see that there was only eight gallons left. There were notations for heating oil and coal as well, and also the rather hopeful note that the supply of lumber was 'unlimited', though Jake wasn't sure of that. The trees in town served a vital purpose as a windbreak, actually sheltering buildings, and fighting the cold in the winter, the heat in the summer. Out on the farmland, trees prevented soil erosion, protecting crops as well. The nearest substantial stand of forest outside of Jericho and the nearby farms and ranches was around Bass Lake, more than fifteen miles from town. But, without gas, how were they ever going to access and utilize that resource?

"And, this is how much fuel we need to get through the winter," Gray continued, crossing to the other end of the board to point at two numbers written in bright red chalk. '1000 GAL. 200 GAL.' Nowhere near enough. "At the current levels of consumption, we will be completely out of gas and diesel in two weeks," he concluded, turning to face the assembly, his expression sour.

"Wonder when the dancing girls show up," Johnston grumbled, earning himself a quick elbow in the side from his wife and an appreciative, if worried, smile from his daughter-in-law.

"Stop," Gail demanded, not bothering to look at Johnston as she gave him another jab for good measure.

"There's a way of doin' it without scarin' the crap out of people," he complained, undeterred.

"Yeah," Heather muttered in agreement. Biting her lip, she sat forward an inch or so in her seat so she could study the numbers on the chalkboard.

"He was elected," Gail reminded, sighing. "He's going to do it his way."

Johnston groaned. "I'm gonna need a hobby."

"Well, we need a crib," Heather reminded, looking over at him. "A crib or at least a cradle," she suggested quietly, rubbing her hand in circles on her abdomen, "If you're lookin' for a commission."

"I suppose I could commit to two cradles," he replied, flashing an aggravated grin. EJ Green had always enjoyed woodwork, and he'd managed to pass some skill onto Johnston, who had a fairly complete workshop set up in the garage. "Provided our mayor doesn't manage to confiscate all the wood in town for burnin' before I can get started," Johnston muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"All right, this is what we're working on," Gray announced, clapping his hands together and stepping in front of the chalkboard, inadvertently blocking the list of provisions from sight. "We've organized firewood crews and hunting parties," he explained. Jake, looking around the room, noticed that most of those in attendance were nodding; after all, these were the people who made up those crews. "Especially with fifty-three new people among us," Gray continued, glaring in the general direction of the Greens. Jake held the mayor's gaze until Gray gave up, looking away. He knew Gray was still smarting over the fact that no one had involved him in the decision to take in Roger's band of refugees, and that instead Eric had presented the situation to him as a fait accompli the morning after. "We have to start rethinking things," the mayor grumbled. "Fast. Or the people we lost last night won't be the only casualties of this coming winter," he warned.

"What about the windmills?" Heather asked, standing up.

Jake looked up, surprised by her question. Heather was still working with the technical solutions team, though Harry Carmichael had been put in charge, displacing her. She didn't particularly care for working under the 'Anderson Regime' as she called it, but had put aside her dislike for Gray in order to do her part for the greater good. Still, Jake hadn't expected her to confront the mayor directly. "She's right," he said, taking a step away from the back wall. There were a few titters around the room, and Gray rolled his eyes. "And, not just because I'm married to her," he added, drawing outright laughter from the crowd.

"Thank you," Heather acknowledged with a quick glance back over her shoulder at him. "And not just because I'm married to you," she grinned before turning back around to face the mayor. "Wind power," Heather declared, her tone instantly serious. A number of people murmured their support. "We should be building windmills," she insisted. "We've been looking at doing so, and we need to keep at it."

"And that's the problem, isn't it?" Gray retorted. "Looking didn't get you anywhere. Harry," he called out, motioning at the other man. "I think you all know Harry Carmichael, our chief engineer down at the mine," Gray reminded the crowd. "Harry's also headin' up our technical solutions team now. Harry," he instructed, crossing his arms over his chest, "Why don't you tell us about windmills."

"Uhh," Carmichael began, getting up from his chair, "We've been looking into wind turbines for weeks now, under - well, under Heather Green's leadership," he admitted, "And under Mayor Green's, of course. But in order to build anything that can be connected to the grid, it's going to take time."

"Time I'm not sure we can afford," Gray interjected, looking between Johnston and Heather.

"We need parts we don't have," Carmichael explained. "We've tried, done the best - better than - we could expect, but we simply don't have the machining capabilities."

"What kind of parts?" Jake questioned. He knew a lot about the team's successes and failures just from listening to Heather, but she was convinced they could make windmills work, that they had to make them work, and he hadn't realized that Carmichael had given up. "I mean, this is a no-brainer," Jake argued, moving to stand behind his father's chair, as close as he could get to standing with Heather. "It's Kansas. We've got a lotta wind," he reminded, and once again the room was filled with soft, appreciative laughter.

"Well, we got a lotta hot air 'round here, anyway," somebody shouted.

"Practically an unlimited supply," Jake added with a nod at Gray's chalkboard. "Wind, I mean," he clarified, his lips twitching. He cleared his throat, insisting, "We need to make it work for us. So what're the parts?"

"Mechanical governors to regulate output," Carmichael answered, and Heather nodded in agreement. "We've been beating our heads against that problem since day one," he admitted, flashing Heather a sympathetic smile. "With the EMP damage, we're figuring a lot of this out from scratch. We could keep at it," Carmichael shrugged, "But it's still a long way off."

"Black Jack fairgrounds," Roger Hammond announced then, drawing all eyes to him. He was sitting with Emily four rows ahead of the Greens and, after a haircut, a shave, and a change of clothes he was once again looking very much like the regional bank vice president who'd pursued Emily relentlessly after her aunt, the head teller at Jericho's branch of the Kansas Liberty Bank, had introduced them. "We walked through it on our way here," he explained, glancing over his suddenly rapt audience. "It's become a trading post. People all over the region are trading food and information. Machine parts," Roger emphasized, looking back at Heather. "They may have what we need."

"That's got to be a two hundred mile drive," Gray argued, frowning. "That's a lot of gas for a maybe."

"But if we can get one windmill working, we'd save that much in gas in a month," Heather countered, "And if we get enough of them, we could be off gas for good."

"We wanna get through this winter, we've gotta stop pouring all our gas and diesel into generators," Jake added, resting one hand on Heather's shoulder. She glanced back at him, smiling appreciatively as she reached up to lay her hand over his.

Gray stared at the couple for a long moment, considering his options. He was smart enough to realize that the crowd was with the Greens, which meant he didn't have many. "Then it might not be a bad idea to put a small party together to check it out," he conceded with a shrug before asking, "Is anyone interested in volunteering?" All eyes turned toward the back of the room, toward Jake. "So," Gray inquired after a few seconds of dead silence, a smirk creeping onto his face, "How 'bout you, Jake?"

* * * * *

The meeting was effectively brought to a halt by the decision to send a party to Black Jack and Jake's somewhat reluctant agreement to lead that party. He'd started to beg off, but Heather had squeezed his hand, murmuring so that only he and possibly his father and her brother could hear, "You should do it." With that, the decision was made, and Gray had adjourned the meeting.

"Jake, stick around for a moment," the mayor demanded when he and Heather started to follow the rest of their family out. Gail and Johnston continued on their way, but Michael and Jeff hung back, taking seats in the second row while Heather moved with Jake to the front of the room. "Uh, you too," Gray called after Roger and Emily. "You're the expert on Black Jack, so tell us what we need to know."

"I'm not an expert," Roger argued, turning around. "I walked through the place. But I guess I know a few things," he muttered.

Bill Kilroy was dispatched to find a map of Nebraska and Kansas, returning a few minutes later. Gray dismissed him - much to his annoyance - and, spreading the map out on the table, began quizzing Roger about the best - and shortest - route from Jericho to Black Jack.

"We got wind of some raiding parties at the interchanges here, and here," Roger explained, pointing out two places along the highway near the state line that they would need to look out for. "But if you're careful, you should be safe the rest of the way," he assured, looking up at Jake.

"You sure you don't want to come along?" Jake asked, though he was fairly certain of the other man's answer.

"Think I'm gonna stick close to home for awhile," Roger replied, glancing sideways at Emily. He squeezed her hand. "But Jake, once you're at Black Jack, watch your back," he warned.

"Thieves?" Gray inquired, frowning.

"It's not the thieves you have to worry about," Roger grumbled, "It's the guards. They've got a reputation for being really ruthless. Without the cops or the National Guard, it's the only way to guarantee it's safe enough to keep commerce going there," he shrugged.

Gray looked at Jake. "You better take two or three of the border patrol guys with you," he suggested, "Just in case you run into any surprises."

Jake wasn't too sure he had a competent enough of a rotation yet to allow him to pull even one man off for a day or two without leaving Jericho vulnerable, but he nodded anyway. "Yeah, I'll figure it out," he answered.

"Well," Heather began, laying one hand on Jake's arm and the other over the mound of their child, "I'm coming too."

Everyone stared at her in shock, and for about three seconds, before Jake found his voice, you could have heard a pin drop in the town council room. "Not a chance in hell," he barked, spinning around to gape at his wife, dislodging her hand in the process. "Are you crazy?" he demanded, shaking his head. "Uh-uh."

"Jake -"

"No. No way," he denied, taking her by the arm and pulling her a few steps away. "Heather, you're pregnant," Jake reminded, whispering urgently and - somehow - forcing himself not to yell. "There's no way you're goin' anywhere where we have to worry about the guards bashin' heads in to keep commerce flowing."

"What does being pregnant have to do with anything?" she demanded, hands on her hips. "In fact, I'd think that being pregnant, I'd have less reason to worry about getting my head bashed in," Heather argued, eliciting a disbelieving snort from Jake.

"Heather -"

"That's not - that's really not how Black Jack works," Roger interjected, dropping Emily's hand and stepping around Gray. He stopped about two feet away from Heather and Jake, facing them with a tight frown. "I - I sure as hell wouldn't take any woman there, not again," he muttered. "And, definitely not my pregnant wife," Roger added, catching Jake's eye. "It's not - it's not the kinda place where people give up their seats - if they had 'em - or their place in line to you because you're - you're pregnant."

"See?" Jake challenged, looking down at Heather. He grasped her hand tightly in his own, shaking his head at her again. "You're not going. No way in hell."

They stared at one another for a long moment, Heather worrying her lip as she considered the situation. "It's not like I'm dying to go," she complained, glancing over at Roger for a second. "And I agree that it doesn't sound like a fun place to visit, but I'll be with you, right, so I'll be fine," Heather argued. She attempted a smile, but when Jake's scowl deepened, it died on her lips. "Jake I have to," she insisted. "I mean, would you know a working mechanical governor for a wind turbine if you saw one?" Heather demanded, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Yes," Jake claimed, his jaw clenching. "No. I mean - I mean, I could figure it out," he clarified quickly. "And, no, you're not coming. I'm -"

"Somebody has to go along who knows what to look for," Heather interrupted, pulling her hand from Jake's grasp. "Whether you like it or not, you need me."

"Uh-uh," he grumbled, "No. Harry can come, or any of the other engineers," Jake decided, crossing his arms over his chest. "But you're not coming, Heather. You're not."

"It's not a good idea, sis," Michael argued, getting up from his seat and moving to stand between Heather and Roger, perpendicular to them both. "It's better that you stay here," he continued, and Jeff, joining him, nodded in silent but emphatic agreement. "Just trust me on that."

"I appreciate that you're all trying to protect me -"

"Heather, Black Jack is not a nice place," Roger interrupted. "Look," he muttered, frowning, "They've got what they call a 'Women's Health Clinic'," he told her, shuffling nervously on his feet. "But really, they only perform one procedure there. One I don't think you're interested in, okay?" Roger's chuckle was humorless, and his gaze fell on the swell of her abdomen, underscoring his point.

"Abortion," Emily whispered, saying out loud the word that was reverberating in all their minds. She moved next to Roger, laying her hand on his arm, which he immediately wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him.

"That doesn't - I can't - you're serious?" Heather reacted, her mind a jumble of thoughts. Eyes wide, she stared at Roger, both hands pressed over her belly. "You're not just trying to scare me into staying here, are you?" Heather half-accused, tensing when Jake stepped behind her, brushing his fingertips over her shoulders.

Roger shook his head. "Unfortunately, no," he answered, frowning uncomfortably. "It's a pretty popular service. There's a - a brothel, too, so there's probably some - some synergy there," he added, his tone subdued.

"He's not lying, Heth," Michael grimaced. "That's the way things are now, in a lotta places. People don't want one more mouth to feed, I guess."

"God that's awful," Emily muttered, resting her head on Roger's shoulder.

"Yeah, well. That's what the world's coming to," Jeff said, allowing a harsh chuckle. He looked at Heather, his expression softening some. "Just be glad you live here," he advised. "You see, we - uh, we were in Indiana, a few weeks back. Pretty rural area. We stopped for the night - we were still traveling during the day some, then - and were camping in this field, a little off the road -"

"Jeff," Michael rebuked, interrupting his friend. He grabbed the other man's arm, pulling him a foot or two back from the group. "Don't - You don't need to tell them about that," he insisted, his voice a harsh whisper.

"Sorry," Jeff grumbled, wrenching his arm from Michael's grasp. "But it might help. And, she needs to know -" He turned to face Heather. "Look," he continued, "This is not a happy story, and I won't tell you if you don't want me to, but -"

"It's okay," Heather nodded, letting Jake draw her back against his chest.

"Well, okay," Jeff acknowledged, glancing at Michael who glared in return, shaking his head angrily. "We - we camped in this field, and woke up the next morning to a rather irate farmer. He didn't shoot us - amazingly - but you could tell he wanted to. Only he needed some work done, and we ended up working out a deal. We needed gas," he explained.

"It turned out he was married, three kids, plus his wife was pregnant," Jeff said softly, letting out a long breath. "Her name was Beth. She was - she was relieved when she found out we were medical students, and that Mike had actually delivered a baby once," he said, forcing a grin as he looked sideways at his friend again.

Still scowling, Michael shrugged. "I'm an EMT," he explained for the others' benefit. "Got called to the mall to transport a woman in labor, but the baby wanted out. Middle of Sears, summer before last."

"Beth went into labor, five, six days after we got there?" Jeff guessed, looking at Michael for confirmation. "Four hours of labor. We all took turns helping her walk, holding her hand, hanging out with the kids downstairs. They were pretty antsy. I - I delivered the baby. She was good size," Jeff told them, his gaze unfocused. They knew he was replaying the scene is his mind. "I handed - I gave her to Drake, to clean her up, so I could deliver the afterbirth. Drake asked Beth if she wanted to see the baby and Tom said no. He took the baby away - away from Drake and left the room. We - we didn't know what he was - what he was doing."

"I was downstairs with the kids," Michael muttered, letting out a resigned breath. "We'd heard the baby, and they were - they were excited, arguing about whether it was a baby brother or sister. Tom came down then, and he had the baby clutched to his chest. We could hear her. But - but only, he told us that the baby was dead and walked out the door."

"Drake and I didn't know what was goin' on," Jeff grimaced. "Beth started to cry, and we asked what was wrong - I was trying to find something that was physically wrong," he laughed scornfully, shaking his head. "She was hysterical and I couldn't understand what she was saying, but Drake did. He ran after Tom, but -"

"Oh, God!" Heather exclaimed, pushing away from Jake, one hand over her mouth, the other pressed to her middle. She rushed from the room.

Jake started after her, but Emily stepped into his path, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket. "Outta the way, Em," he barked, trying to shove past her, but she clamped her hand down on his arm.

"Stop, Jake," she ordered, standing her ground. "Just stop. I'll go," Emily told him, repeating herself. "I'll go."

"No!" he protested, taking a step sideways, but she anticipated him, blocking his path again.

"Look," Emily argued, "She's already made it to the ladies room, hopefully, and I can hold back her hair and get her a wet towel, just like you. Plus I'm allowed to be in there. It'll be okay," she promised, squeezing his arm before turning around and hurrying out into the hall.

"So - so he just killed his kid," Gray muttered, falling back - stunned - into a seat on the edge of the table. He took a deep breath, catching Jake's gaze. "That's - that's what it's like out there now," he declared, pointing a finger at a window that looked out on the town green. "People gettin' killed for a bottle of water," Gray ground out, "People - people murdering -" He stopped, shaking his head, his expression livid. "This is why -"

"It's not happening here, Gray," Jake argued, his arms crossed over his chest. "And we all gotta make sure it stays that way."

Roger threw Michael and Jeff a questioning look. "And, after all that, Farmer Tom just let you leave?"

"Woke us all up at two AM, not that we were really asleep," Jeff answered, frowning. "Had a shotgun with him. Asked us very politely to get the hell off his land," he shrugged. "So we did."

"You're lucky that he didn't kill you all in your sleep," Roger returned, letting out a long breath.

"I think - I think he just wanted to forget," Michael offered. "And he probably thought with us gone, he could."

Jeff shook his head, grimacing. "Angela's nine," he reminded his friend. "She knows her father did something. For that matter, Beth knows what he did."

"Yeah," Jake sighed. "And he knows what he did, too. That's not so easy to forget."

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

Thursday, December 6, five years before the bombs

April pressed the doorbell twice, quickly, shaking out her umbrella and muttering, "C'mon, Heather," to herself. She was exhausted, and the steady, cold rain that had been falling all day hadn't helped her mood or the traffic between Rogue River and Jericho. April wanted nothing more than to go home and fall into bed, but she knew that she needed to take care of this first. "Heather, c'mon," she groaned, tapping her foot on the welcome mat. Letting out a frustrated breath, she tossed the umbrella down on the porch. The door opened - finally - just as she was reaching over to ring the bell again.

"Heather!" April exclaimed, taking a step back. She looked her friend over, taking in the sloppy sweats, the bare feet, the severe ponytail Heather had pulled her hair into. Planting her hands on her hips, April frowned, demanding, "What in the world is going on?" But Heather's only answer was to burst immediately into tears, taking April by surprise. "Oh, God. Heather," April murmured as she pushed her way into the house. Quickly, she shrugged out of her wet coat, pulling the younger woman into a hug. "What happened?" she clucked, leading Heather, still crying, into the living room and toward the couch. Letting out a deep sigh, April forced her friend to take a seat.

"Jake - Jake and I - we - we broke up," Heather sobbed out, hiccupping.

"Oh dear," April murmured, seating herself next to Heather. She wrapped an arm around her friend, pressing Heather's head down so that it rested on her shoulder. "I thought that maybe that's what happened," April admitted, "But why?"

"Be - be - because!" Heather managed to get out before she began to cry even harder.

Groaning softly, April nodded, though she knew that Heather couldn't see her. "Right," she muttered, adjusting the arm she had around Heather so that she could stroke the younger woman's hair, trying to offer her comfort. Heather started to sob harder, and April let her, occasionally patting her friend's back, knowing there wasn't much else she could do for Heather but sit with her, and wait.

"I'm sorry," Heather sniffled some minutes later, having finally cried herself out. She lifted herself up off April's shoulder, twisting in her seat. "I'm sorry that I lost it," she clarified, confessing, "But I hadn't said it, out loud, to anyone yet. That we broke up. And, I really miss him." Heather sank back into the sofa's squishy cushions, her hand pressed to her forehead. "Ow," she whimpered, rubbing one eye. "Crap. I gave myself a headache."

"I guess so," April smiled sympathetically, shaking her head at her friend. Heather's voice was scratchy and her face was blotchy and tear-streaked; she looked like she'd been put through the wringer. "And, I thought I had a bad day," she joked.

"What happened?" Heather asked, clearing her throat as she again tried to wipe the tears from her watery eyes.

"Really, it was just long," April shrugged. "Another twenty four hour shift, though at least I got some sleep last night. Plus, coming home, you'd think no one had ever driven in the rain before. And, oh! I got stopped not once, but twice, trying to leave Rogue River tonight, by trains," she complained, rolling her eyes. "The same train, actually, at two different railroad crossings. I recognized some of the graffiti on the box cars. Five minutes each time," she grumbled. "Totally frustrating. But that's not important," she decided, studying the other woman's woeful expression. "Heather," April continued a beat later, "You know I went with Gail and Gramps to his doctor's appointment today, right? And then we had lunch together? He -"

"Is he okay?" Heather demanded, interrupting. "There's nothing wrong, is there?"

"He's fine. It was an oncology follow-up," she explained, "And he really only needs to go once a year, but Gramps told Dr. Brunson that if it's all the same to him, he's got the money to pay for it, and he'd just as soon keep to an every six months schedule, so...." April trailed off, shaking her head at Heather. "Gramps is fine, trust me. Though he's just about ready to kill Jake."

The little bit of composure that Heather had managed to regain seemed to slip away at the sound of Jake's name. Her lower lip trembled. "Why? It's not his fault."

"What isn't his fault?" April prompted kindly. "Heather, none of us know what happened. Jake hasn't said anything to anybody. Of course, aside from Gramps, none of us have seen him since Sunday," she admitted, "He's pretty much hiding out at the ranch. Well, Eric and Stanley have both gone out there, but they didn't stay long, that's for sure. And, according to Gramps Jake's in a really foul mood, and you are suddenly 'She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'," she sighed. "Plus, you're obviously miserable," April accused half-heartedly, slumping in her seat. "Why didn't you call me?"

Heather's now permanent frown deepened. "I didn't want to put you in an awkward position," she muttered. "He's your brother-in-law."

"He is," April agreed, "And, I love him. But you're my friend. I can at least offer you a shoulder to cry on. Besides, what makes you think I'd choose him over you?" she teased. "I'm telling you, Jake'll be lucky if Gramps doesn't shoot him before the week's out. Gramps actually told Gail that she needed to do something about her 'sorry ass' son before he either strangled him or dropped him off on her doorstep to deal with. And, remember, Gramps tries not to use 'strong language' in front of 'the fairer sex'," April grinned softly. "Only today he was so mad he didn't care."

"But Gramps shouldn't be mad at Jake," Heather argued. "It really wasn't his fault. God, I was just so stupid," she moaned, throwing her arm over her eyes. A moment later, though, she lifted it up, peeking sideways at April. "Is he really that bad, that -"

"That miserable?" April filled in for her. "I don't know, I haven't actually seen him," she reminded. "But from everything that Gramps and Eric and Stanley are saying, he's worse than you. You know, all last summer, Jake was pretty much a pain in the ass, with the occasional good moment to remind us all why he wasn't drowned at birth," April explained, allowing a frustrated laugh. She reached for Heather's hand, squeezing it quickly. "Then he met you. But now, it sounds like he's pretty much reverted to ogre Jake, happily biting off the head of anyone who makes the unforgiveable mistake of saying hello."

"Oh no," Heather muttered, hiding behind her arm again.

April turned in her seat, studying her friend for a long moment. "This may be a stupid question," she began, "But you do know that you can un-break up, right?" Heather raised her arm and then struggled to sit up. Her expression was hopeful. "Heather," April chuckled, "If you're both miserable - which you are - and you don't want to be broken up - which I don't think either of you do - you don't have to stay miserable and broken up!"

Hope and doubt warred in Heather's expression as she considered April's words. "I - I don't know," she argued, finding a throw pillow and hugging it to her chest. She rested her chin on the pillow, deciding glumly, "It's just not that easy."

'It's not that easy? Why not?" April asked. She glanced sideways at her friend, offering a gentle smile. "I mean, you had a fight, right? Every couple does, eventually. It doesn't mean you're over." She let out a quiet sigh. "What was the fight about?"

Heather groaned, shaking her head. "It was so stupid," she blushed. "I - I got mad at him over the stupid Christmas party," she admitted, burying her face against the throw pillow. "And he got mad back," Heather mumbled, barely audibly, into the fabric. "And, it was just all so stupid."

"The Christmas party? At Jake's work?" April guessed.

"That's the one," Heather agreed, raising her head to meet April's gaze with one truly pitiful look. "I said -" She cut herself off, making an inarticulate noise in the back of her throat. "I said a lot of things - I can't even remember it all. And he said things, and it all got blown out of proportion. But he still should have told me," Heather complained, chewing her lip.

"About the party at work? Jake didn't tell you about the party at work? That's what you're saying, right?" April inquired, fighting a smile. Heather frowned at her, and April apologized. "I'm sorry. Really. But honestly, I was shocked to hear that Jake was going with you to the elementary school staff party," she admitted, making a face. "He's not really an office party kinda guy, ya know?"

"I know," Heather nodded, tossing the throw pillow away and slumping again in her seat. "I do! But on Sunday, all I could think was that he was embarrassed to introduce me to the people he works with, his boss."

April laughed outright at that. "I think that Jake Green is many things when it comes to you," she declared a moment later, still chuckling, "But embarrassed is not on the list. Heather," she reminded, the smallest hint of exasperation bleeding into her tone, "He was fine going to your party, he just didn't want to go to his." She waited a beat and then added, "And that had absolutely nothing to do with how he feels about you."

"Oh God," Heather groaned, sitting up. She reached over to retrieve the pillow she'd flung aside and, throwing herself back against the sofa, plopped it down over her face. "I told you it was stupid," she whimpered. "This is a disaster."

"It's not that bad," April argued laughing again. She reached over and stole the pillow Heather was hiding behind. "This is perfectly recoverable. 'I'm sorry and I love you,' is probably all you have to say," April suggested with a sympathetic grin. "It's all true, right?" she asked, and blushing, Heather nodded. "So tell him that. The whole town will owe you a debt of gratitude," April joked, patting Heather on the knee. "Now, c'mon," she insisted, starting to get up.

"What?" Heather questioned as April held out her hand. "What are we doing?" she asked, reluctantly allowing April to pull her up from her place on the couch.

"No time like the present," April declared, tucking her arm through Heather's and leading her around the coffee table. "But you can't go see Jake lookin' like that," she fussed. "The pity factor's one thing, but you, my friend, are beyond pathetic. So we're gonna brush your hair, wash your face, put on some lipstick and lose the sweats."

Heather stopped short, trying to pull away from April, but the other woman clamped onto her hand, refusing to let go. "I can't - I can't go see him now," she whined. "I - what if - I have to teach tomorrow," she argued. "And - and it's raining. I can't."

"Oh, yes you can," April countered, "And you're gonna. There's always going to be a reason not to. You have to teach, and then you've got play rehearsal, and after that I don't know what else. But this is like ripping off a band-aid. You gotta do it quick," she advised. "Now c'mon," she demanded, dragging Heather down the hall toward the bathroom. "You're doing this. And you're gonna thank me later."

"But what if we don't make up? What if - what if this just makes it worse?" Heather protested as April forced her into the bathroom.

"It can't possibly get any worse," April grumbled. She turned Heather around and stepped behind her, dropping her hands on the younger woman's shoulders, making her face her reflection in the mirror. "Look at you," she sighed, her expression sympathetic. "What those Green boys do to us. I think I can officially welcome you to the 'It Ain't Easy Bein' Green' club."

Frowning, Heather shook her head at her reflection. "The 'It Ain't Easy Bein' Green' club? Did you just make that up? Stealing your material from Kermit the Frog now?" she giggled softly, wiping one eye and then the other. "God, I look awful."

"Actually, I did just make that up, thank you, Kermit," April admitted, chuckling along with Heather. "And, you and me, we're the founding members," she decided, turning to pull a washcloth out of the linen cabinet. She turned on the tap and waited for the water to warm up before soaking the cloth in it. "It's not always easy being a member of this family, but it is always worth it," April said, wringing out the cloth and handing it to Heather.

"I'm not a member of the Green family," Heather reminded as she scrubbed her face.

"Eh, not yet but close enough," April returned. "Besides, I can't have a super secret club all by myself, so you're in. Now let's see."

Heather dropped the washcloth on the counter and, taking a deep breath, turned to face April. "Better?"

"Better," she agreed, handing Heather her hairbrush. "Lose the ponytail. Jake likes to play with your hair. Now," April continued, laughing gently at her friend's instantaneous blush, "Let's go find you something to wear." Wrapping her arm around Heather's shoulders, she steered the other woman out of the bathroom and down the hall to her bedroom. "So, what to wear," April murmured, mostly to herself, leaving Heather to finish brushing out her hair while she searched the closet.

Ten minutes and a lot of negotiating later, Heather was dressed in jeans that were neither too baggy (April's concern) nor too tight (Heather's complaint) and a fresh and slightly less voluminous sweatshirt. Her hair was combed and loose around her shoulders - as ordered - and April had given in, allowing her to apply lip gloss instead of lipstick once Heather had explained, turning red, that Jake liked the cinnamon flavor. "By all means then," April had grinned, pointing her friend out the door.

"Now I don't wanna have to follow you out there," April threatened, her expression stern, as she opened her umbrella, following Heather down the porch steps. The rain was only a drizzle now, but it was a cold drizzle, one she didn't want to be caught in. "I've had all of three hours of sleep in the last two days, but I will if I have to."

"I'm going," Heather muttered, resting the shaft of her own umbrella against her shoulder. She twirled it nervously, frowning as she met her friend's gaze. "I've come this far, so I might as well, right?"

"Exactly," April yawned, covering her mouth. "And," she continued, fishing her cell phone out of her purse with her free hand. "For a little extra insurance...." She paused, peering closely at the display while she scrolled through her phone book. She grinned at Heather while she waited for the call to ring through. "Gramps, hello!" April greeted warmly. "I'm calling to let you know that Heather is on her way out to talk to Jake. And if she doesn't arrive within a half hour, call me," she ordered, "So I can kill her."

"Good luck," April declared, after she was off the phone. She hugged Heather quickly and then steered her toward her car. "Just start with: 'I'm sorry and I love you,'" she reminded. "It'll work wonders."

Nodding, Heather slipped into the driver's seat of her car. "Okay."

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

Monday, December 4, two and a half months after the bombs

Heather had already retched up the entirety of her meager breakfast - a half cup of rice with milk and cinnamon - and was vomiting stomach bile when someone else came into the restroom. She didn't know who was there, didn't care, didn't bother looking back over her shoulder as she gripped the sides of the toilet, tears streaming down her face, while the nausea rolled through her in waves. Continuing to cough and spit, Heather listened to the sound of water running in the sink and then approaching footsteps.

"Here." The voice was Emily Sullivan's, and when Heather glanced sideways she saw a hand - Emily's hand - holding out a wet, folded paper towel.

"Thanks," Heather managed to get out, her voice shaking. "I - God," she muttered, shifting back so that she was kneeling a few inches from the toilet bowl. She pressed the damp towel to her forehead first and then her cheeks. "It's just -"

"Horrifying? Unbelievable? Scary?" Emily guessed, squatting behind Heather, her hand on the other woman's back. "So, you think you're okay now?"

Groaning, Heather shook her head 'no' though she answered, "I'll - I'll be fine." She unfolded the paper towel once, running it over her face and neck before letting out a long, deep breath. "I just - I can't believe someone could do that to their own child," she muttered. Her free hand found its way to her abdomen and she rubbed gentle circles over her baby. "To - to any child," Heather croaked out.

"Yeah," Emily acknowledged quietly. She stood up, stepping back and leaning against the open stall door, fidgeting with her hands. "So, I'll get you another towel," she offered a few awkward seconds later, turning away without waiting for Heather's response.

"Thank you," Heather murmured, pressing the already warm towel in her hand to the back of her neck. For a moment, she thought she was okay, and she sank back on her heels, but in the next instance her stomach heaved again, and Heather lunged for toilet.

"Uhhh," Emily complained as she hovered in the stall door. "I told Jake I could do this, but I have to admit I've never been good with people getting sick. I hear it, and it makes me want to throw up, too," she admitted. "I don't know how you stand it."

Heather turned around slowly, falling so that she was sitting on the cold tile floor. She faced Emily with a bleary gaze and held out her hand until it finally occurred to the other woman to take a half step forward and hand over the saturated wad of paper toweling. "I haven't been sick in weeks," Heather explained dully, blotting her lips. Her mouth tasted wretched, and for a moment she actually sucked on the paper towel, desperate for water but unwilling to admit it to Emily. "Besides, being sick for a little while, that's a small price to pay for what you get," she decided, looking down at what had once been her lap. "It was just that story, that poor woman," she sighed, shaking her head. "I can't imagine how she must've felt."

"Unimaginable," Emily agreed, crossing her arms over her chest and hugging herself.

"Jake - Jake asked you to come after me?" Heather asked next, her forehead wrinkling as she pressed the paper towel to her overheated cheek.

"He was coming after you himself," Emily replied, frowning as she studied the woman sprawled at her feet. "But I made him let me instead. Ladies room and all," she added, as if that explained everything.

"Okay," Heather nodded, allowing her eyes to fall closed, though they popped open immediately when Emily asked her next question.

"You don't like me, do you?"

"I - I don't hate you, Emily," Heather hedged, looking down at her hands. She twisted the paper towel around two fingers, wringing it, though there was no excess moisture to be won.

"But you don't like me," the other woman persisted. "We're not friends."

Heather struggled to get up then, at first trying to push herself up from the floor using just her hands before giving in and using the toilet to lift herself up. She was already standing, wiping her hands on her jeans when it seemed to occur to Emily to offer a hand. Heather shook her head. "No, Emily," she confirmed, exhaling softly, "I don't think we're friends." The other woman frowned at that and Heather was annoyed to catch herself apologizing. "I'm sorry."

"I - I like you, Heather, I really do," Emily argued with a shrug. "When I first met you, I thought we could be friends. I wanted to be your friend. I'd still like to be your friend."

The two women watched one another. Emily's expression - concerned and just the slightest bit disappointed - seemed carefully crafted to disarm, and Heather had to admit to herself that at another, earlier time she might have been taken in by it. But now, they had too much history and Heather was completely out of patience. The world was falling apart, she thought, shaking her head softly, and still Emily Sullivan could manage - somehow - to make it all about her. It would have been impressive if it hadn't been so aggravating.

"Excuse me," Heather muttered, stepping toward Emily, who hesitated for just a second before moving out of the way to let her pass. She walked to the sink and turned on the tap for hot water out of habit before plunging her hands into the freezing cold stream of water. "I - I don't know what to tell you, Emily," Heather said, catching the other woman's eye in the mirror. Pumping the soap dispenser, she was relieved to find that it still held soap - smelly, goopy, hot pink, industrial grade soap, but soap nonetheless. "I just don't think it was meant to be," Heather decided, scrubbing her hands.

Emily huffed out a breath at that, her reflection gaping at Heather in the mirror. Bending slightly toward the sink, Heather made a cup of her hands so she could wash her mouth out. Swishing, she let herself consider what would have happened if she'd listened to Emily when she'd tried to warn her off of becoming involved with Jake all those years ago. Spitting out her mouthful of water, Heather dipped her head, scooping more in as she thought about who she would be, what her life would be like if she hadn't trusted her instincts and trusted Jake. She would have been alone in Jericho, without even her position as the third grade teacher to keep her going, now that there wasn't a school. She would have had friends - Emily, apparently - but not Jake, not their family, not the baby - the sense of hope - she carried within her. But would friends have remembered her, worried about her, taken care of her the way her family had and did?

Shaking her head, Heather forced the idea of being without Jake from her thoughts. It wasn't even worth contemplating, she decided, spitting into the sink again. The awful taste in her mouth was mostly gone and she took a deep breath before leaning closer, letting the water pool in her hands so she could drink. Her thoughts returned immediately to Beth, the faceless woman of Jeff's story, whom Heather knew she would never forget. "Do you think - do you think she knew what her husband was going to do?" Heather asked as she straightened, wiping water from her chin. "That he was going to kill their baby?"

"It's not like you have to worry about that happening to you," Emily said, her tone and expression a mixture of confusion and annoyance. "Jake's not gonna -"

"I know that," Heather interrupted, exasperated. "You can't possibly think I'd ever worry about Jake -" She broke off, frowning and glaring at Emily. For a moment Heather let herself be irritated that Emily would actually presume to tell her anything about her own husband, that she would still, after all this time, act as if she knew Jake better. But acknowledging Emily's challenge would just serve to validate, if only a little bit, her ridiculous assumptions.

Heather squared her shoulders, facing the other woman with a hard stare. "It's just - just haunting to think about something like that happening out in the world. God," she groaned, pressing one still damp hand to her forehead. "I need to go. Excuse me," she muttered, stepping around Emily.

* * * * *

Johnston was waiting for Jake when he exited the town council chambers. "Always gotta be the first one to jump into the fire, don't you?" he drawled, offering his son a half-hearted frown.

"Somebody's got to go," Jake answered distractedly as he looked around, trying to find his wife. From the start it had felt like a mistake to let Emily go after Heather, and he'd tried to get away from Gray and Roger as quickly as possible, but the mayor had drawn them into a discussion of the value of salt and how much they would need to trade for a mechanical governor. Jake was glad that Gray was willing to give him something to barter with, but the discussion had taken twice as long as it should have.

"Well, it just seems like that someone's always you," Johnston complained with a sigh.

Jake shrugged. "You might've noticed that I was kinda pushed into it," he reminded, looking back over his shoulder.

"Heather was rather quick to volunteer you," Johnston acknowledged. "Not that Gray and everyone else weren't happy to pile on."

"Yeah," Jake murmured, craning his neck, trying to see as far down the right-hand corridor off the foyer as far as he could. But she wasn't there, and he gave up, finally facing his father. "You haven't seen her have you? She ran out a coupl'a minutes ago. Got sick." He didn't elaborate, unable to bring himself to repeat either of the stories that had been shared in the council room.

"No, I just got back here a minute ago," Johnston admitted. "But she'll be okay," he muttered, as much to reassure himself as his son. "Probably went upstairs to get back to work," he suggested, gesturing toward the staircase behind him. "Kinda has to after forcin' Gray's hand on the whole windmill issue," Johnston added quietly, grinning at the thought. "Always has had spunk, that one."

"Right," Jake snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. He scowled, shaking his head. "She's real spunky today," he grumbled. "Says she's gonna come along," he said, throwing his father an annoyed look. "To Black Jack. Wants to pick out her own governor."

"Well, you can't let 'er do that," Johnston returned, his frown reappearing. "What in the world's she thinkin'?" he asked before deciding, "You're just gonna have to tell Heather she can't go."

"I already did tell her," Jake groused, running a nervous hand through his hair. "And, I'd lock her in the house, but she just laughs when I say that. Thinks I'm kidding, but this time I mean it," he proclaimed. Jake blew out a frustrated breath. "Well, if she's still insisting on going, I guess I just won't. I don't think she'd go without me," he muttered.

Johnston flashed his son a sympathetic look, agreeing, "Without you? Probably not, no. But," he chuckled gently, "Ya gotta love that spunk."

"Yeah," Jake groaned, allowing a reluctant grin. "Well, Mike's gonna talk to the rest of the team, see if anyone's willing to go along," he explained. "And, if none of them'll go he says he can study up - with Heather - and be ready to go in two days, maybe three."

"Good," Johnston nodded in approval. "Who else is going?"

"Gray thinks I should take a couple of guys from border patrol," Jake reported.

"That's it?" Johnston's expression betrayed his surprise. He could understand that fuel was an issue, but if they were going to invest the gas required to make the trip to Black Jack, he couldn't help thinking they should maximize their efforts.

"I'm not so sure pulling them off patrol just to watch my back is such a good idea," Jake sighed. "'Sides, only a handful of them even know what they're doing."

"And Harriett Crenshaw's liable to shoot you for messin' up her schedule," Johnston argued, snorting.

"She'd be right to," Jake admitted. "We're barely covering all shifts as it is, and now we've lost Carl Swensen. I'll have to figure somethin' out," he decided with a shake of his head.

"You don't think I can watch your back?" Johnston asked then, one eyebrow raised, catching his son's eye.

"What, you wanna go?" Jake returned, surprised.

Johnston heaved a deep sigh, lowering the pitch of his voice so that Jake had to concentrate to hear. "Look, you've already see what it's like out there," he reminded, gesturing at the main door into town hall with his hat. "I just need to see it for myself. Besides," he added, frowning, "I'm unemployed, I'm not obsolete."

Jake nodded. There was just no way to describe the world that now existed outside of Jericho to someone else. Jake could tell his father - he could tell Heather - but it wouldn't be real, in all its harsh, awful actuality, unless they each saw it for themselves. He really didn't want them to see the sort of things he'd seen in Rogue River, and he'd do everything in his power to protect his wife from that knowledge, but he couldn't justify keeping it from the man who'd raised him and who'd taught him how to ride, how to hunt, how to hide brussel sprouts in his napkin to throw away later. "Did you ask Mom?" Jake inquired finally.

"Son," Johnston replied, a hint of a drawl once again coloring his tone, "I'm fifty-nine years old. I was mayor of this town since the Carter administration. I'm a retired U.S. Army Ranger and a combat veteran. Of course I asked your mother."

"Okay," Jake agreed, not quite able to repress a knowing smirk. "I guess you're goin'."

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

Different Circumstances: Part 12B
by Marzee Doats

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

Monday, December 4, two and a half months after the bombs

"Jake!"

Turning around at the sound of his wife's voice, Jake watched as she made her way down Main Street. She was wearing her red wool coat, the bottom buttons left undone to accommodate her pregnancy. He caught himself smiling, with pride, and at her beauty. He didn't know what he'd do without her, and he knew that no matter what - for his own sanity - he couldn't let her go to Black Jack.

"Hey, babe," Jake called in return, stepping around his father and then the hand truck from which they were loading bags of salt into the back of the Roadrunner. Amazingly Gray, having promised to provide salt for them to trade, had had the bags brought up from the mine's storehouse immediately. They would be able to leave for Nebraska as soon as their party was determined and ready to go. "How're you feelin'?" Jake asked taking her hand as they met about twenty feet from the car.

"Better," she sighed, forcing a smile. "I lost my breakfast, and then Emily," Heather grumbled, making a face, "Tried to help."

"I know," Jake admitted as he rotated around to stand in front of her. "I'm sorry," he muttered, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "She insisted, something about how I'm not supposed to go in the ladies room."

Heather rolled her eyes, snorting, "Right."

"I was looking for you, after," he continued, leading her back toward the car. Johnston had stopped working and was watching them both. "But then Ridley Cooper showed up with the salt Gray's giving us for Black Jack, and we figured we'd better get it loaded."

"Well, I went to see Mrs. Crenshaw, looking for you," Heather told him. "And somehow she had crackers and Pep-O-Mint Lifesavers, so I'm all better now. But Jake, I went upstairs and talked to the team," she frowned. "None of them is willing to go to Black Jack. We need to talk about -"

"No," Jake interrupted. "Heather, I don't want you going," he argued. Scowling softly, he dropped her hand. "I won't go, if that's what it takes to keep you here," he added, glancing at Johnston, trapped between them and the car, his expression distinctly uncomfortable. "But look, Mike offered to come along, and you can give him - and me, too - a crash course in windmill governors. Teach us what to look for. And, we won't leave for Black Jack until you're satisfied that we've got it," Jake bargained. "Okay?"

"I pretty much decided I wasn't going after - after what Roger said," Heather admitted with a shrug. "And Jeff's story just cemented my thinking." She rested a hand on her belly, offering him a tentative smile. "So, okay. Deal."

"Deal," Jake agreed, letting out a relieved breath. He took a step toward her, laying one hand over hers and cupping the back of her head with the other, pressing a quick kiss to her mouth. "Deal," he repeated.

Johnston cleared his throat and they broke apart, thwarting him unintentionally as he tried to step around them. "I'm just gonna ...." He began, not bothering to finish his thought. His gaze settled on Heather, and he allowed a thankful grin. "Darlin', you made the right decision," Johnston told her. "'Cause I really wasn't lookin' forward to havin' to yell at you twice - once for myself and once for Joe," he clarified, catching her questioning look. "And I sure wasn't lookin' forward to being around when Gail found out."

"Oh, yeah," Heather acknowledged, her nose wrinkling as she considered her mother-in-law's likely response. "I'm glad we all get to miss that one," she chuckled self-consciously. "The windmills are important to me," she sighed, rubbing circles against her rounded abdomen. "But this," she continued, looking down, "Is a lot more important."

"Exactly," Jake agreed as he turned away, reaching for a bag of salt. "So, Mrs. Green," he teased, throwing her a rakish grin, "Lemme get this loaded up and we can find Mike and then go play school."

Heather giggled, wagging a finger at him as he hefted the heavy bag into the car's trunk. "Well, okay, but I'm warning you now, I'm very strict and there will be pop quizzes."

"Excuse me," Johnston snorted, moving around his daughter-in-law. "Heather, I can't wait to see his report card," he declared, his lips twitching as he fought a smile. "I'll see you both later."

"Bye, Dad," Heather smiled, stopping him long enough to give him a quick hug. She watched as he ambled toward the sidewalk, where he ran into Dale Turner, who dragged him into the market. "So," she began, watching Jake heave another bag into the trunk, "Can I help? That looks like a two person lift," she argued.

Jake stared at her, his forehead wrinkling with disbelief. "Uh, no thanks," he said, shaking his head. "I've got it. You just stand over there and incubate, please," he ordered, grabbing another bag off the pile. "Though feel free to be impressed by my manly display of strength here," Jake added a few seconds later, winking.

"Oh, but I am," she grinned, their eyes locking for a moment before he returned to his task. "Always." Jake was making short work of the pile, and there were only two layers - seven bags - left to load. "Gray's gonna give you extra gas, right?" Heather asked, frowning gently. "That's gotta be an extra four or five hundred pounds to haul -"

"Five hundred and a little more," he confirmed. "Sixteen bags, thirty five pounds each. But it should only be one direction," Jake reminded. "And Gray's got some gas for me, and I've got some of my own we'll take along, too."

"You can siphon what I've got in Charlotte," she offered, moving so that she stood just on the other side of the dolly from Jake. "Just - just to be safe."

He stopped in his work, letting go of the corner of the bag he'd started to lift. "Okay," Jake agreed, his voice a low rumble that was just above a whisper. "Better safe than sorry, right?" he asked, cupping her face with both hands. She offered him a tight-lipped smile, nodding, and Jake stroked his thumb over her lower lip. "I'll take you up on that. Thank you," he said huskily.

"You're welcome," Heather answered as he dropped his hands from her face. "Your hand is salty," she chuckled, her tongue darting out to taste her lip.

"Go figure," Jake muttered, staring down at the last five bags to be loaded. He groaned quietly.

"'Nothin' to it but to do it,'" she told him, quoting one of his grandfather's favorite sayings. Jake allowed a small smile and, grunting, picked up the next bag of salt, heaving it into the trunk. Heather took a step back, continuing to follow his every movement with her eyes. "The Millennium Falcon," she announced suddenly. "Well, The Millennium Falcon Two," she corrected herself, holding up two fingers on one hand.

Pausing again in his work, Jake looked over to see his wife flashing him the peace sign. "Huh? What?"

Heather giggled self-consciously. "That's - that's what I named your car. Just for myself, in my head. Like five years ago," she added in a rush of breath. "It seemed to fit, and it's kind of amusing, and, well, that's what I named it."

"Millennium Falcon?" Jake grinned. "So that makes me Han Solo?"

"Yeah, and me Princess Leia," she pointed out, pressing her hand to her middle as she started to laugh harder.

"Of course," he agreed, chuckling along with her. Jake shook his head. "But what does that make Stanley? Chewbacca or Luke?" he asked, affecting a serious expression.

"Jake," she groaned, starting to blush. "I never, ever kissed Stanley, I swear."

"You sure about that?" he demanded, smirking. "Does mistletoe ring a bell?" Jake challenged, throwing her a pointed look at the same time he threw the next bag of salt into the trunk. "Seems to me, you two always manage to find it," he teased.

"That doesn't count," Heather insisted primly. "It's only once a year, and it's - it's very...brotherly." Jake snickered at that, but she persevered in making her case. "Besides, after Stanley gets me under the mistletoe - which I must remind you, your mother puts up every year - I know where to drag you for the rest of the evening," she grinned.

"Uh huh," Jake nodded. "So Stanley's Chewbacca," he decided, throwing the next to last bag of salt into the trunk. "Makes sense."

Heather shot him a confused look. "Chewbacca? I was thinking Luke," she argued. "I mean, Luke started off as a farmer, and there's the whole separated at birth, long lost brother thing. And, Leia did kiss him at least twice before she knew."

"To make Han jealous," Jake agreed. "But remember, Leia told Han she'd rather kiss a wookie."

"Well, that's true," Heather admitted a second later, giggling. "But I'd rather kiss you," she told him, leaning in expectantly.

"Gimme a sec," Jake requested, lifting the last bag of salt into the back of the car. He dropped the trunk lid closed and stepped over the empty dolly. "All things considered," he shrugged, reaching for Heather's hand and then drawing her into his arms. "I'd rather kiss you, too," he murmured, his mouth meeting hers.

She smiled, catching his lower lip between both of hers. "Instead of Stanley or a wookie?"

"Both," Jake growled from deep in his throat. He hugged Heather close, molding himself around her and their baby, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "God, I love you."

"I love you, too," she returned, massaging his neck with one hand. "So be careful, Jake, okay? Just be careful out there."

Loosening his hold on her, Jake took a step back, nodding. "I will. Promise," he said, clearing his throat. "And hey," her reminded, finding and squeezing Heather's hand, "This car is named after the spaceship that made the castle run -"

"The Kessel run," Heather interrupted, smiling at him. "The Millennium Falcon is the ship that made the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs."

"Exactly," Jake exhaled, lifting her hand to his mouth so he could press a kiss to her knuckles. "So everything'll be fine. It's guaranteed." Holding his gaze, Heather nodded. They stared at one another for a long moment before, finally, he let go of her hand and reached for the dolly's handle. "So, why don't we find Mike and go get started on windmill governors for dummies," he suggested. "'Kay?"

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

Thursday, December 6, five years before the bombs

Spotting his mother's car in the circular driveway in front of the house, Jake pulled the truck over to the side of the farm road and turned it off. He grumbled to himself, hoping that he'd stopped far enough away that they weren't aware of the vehicle's approach inside the ranch house. The last thing he needed tonight was a visitor. Jake had seen his grandfather that morning at breakfast - they'd grunted at one another over cold cereal and coffee - but other than that he'd had no human interaction all day which was exactly the way he'd wanted it. He knew he wasn't good company these days and he was fine with that.

Jake yanked the keys out of the ignition and shoved the door open. The truck would be fine where it was overnight, and there was a chance - a small one - that they hadn't heard him inside and that he could sneak into the house without running into anyone. He'd spent the day out on the ranch checking and, when necessary, repairing fences. It had rained off and on all day, and he was soaked to the bone and muddy. Given the rain, Grandpa would have said to wait on the fences, but Jake had headed out for the day without actually telling his grandfather his plans. Slogging through the mud and fighting with the wind had suited his mood.

He crept onto the front porch quietly, pausing on the top step to take off his boots. Jake knew he should have gone in through the back door and into the mudroom, but with any luck his mother and grandfather were waiting for him in the kitchen, and by going in through the front door he'd be able to avoid them and head straight upstairs. He peeled off his rain slicker and hung it over the railing before yanking off his dripping DEA baseball cap. Halfheartedly, he tried to wring some of the moisture from the hat, but soon gave up and looked around for someplace to put it, settling finally for stuffing it in his left boot. Padding across the porch in his socks, Jake let out a long breath before carefully grasping the front door's handle and, twisting, eased it open.

"Well, there you are!" his mother declared before he'd even set both feet over the threshold. "Jake, come in," Gail clucked, frowning at him as she pulled herself up out of the wing chair in which she'd been sitting just inside of his grandfather's study, directly across the hall from the door. "It's raining and freezing out there. You must be soaked through," she continued, shaking her head. "Come in, come in. You need to get out of that shirt, those clothes," Gail decided as she reached his side, tugging on the sleeve of his blue flannel shirt.

"Mom, it's fine, I'm fine," he argued, annoyed, pulling away. "I'll just go take a shower."

"In a few minutes, sweetheart," Gail insisted, laying her hand once again on his arm. "Please. I need to talk to you first."

"Mom!" Jake protested, glaring at her. "I just need -"

"What you need is to march your butt in there," Grandpa interrupted, pointing back into the study at the chairs he and his daughter-in-law had vacated, "Sit down, and listen to what your mother has to say." His eyes narrowed as he studied his grandson's defiant expression. "Now!" Anger flared in Jake's eyes, but he did as he was told, yanking his arm free of Gail's grasp and stomping, as best he could in just his stocking feet, into the room. A frustrated sound escaping him, Grandpa turned to face Gail, and they exchanged rueful looks. "Good luck, Abigail, darlin'. Holler if you need me."

Gail watched as her father-in-law made his way down the hallway toward the kitchen, waiting until he'd pushed the door open before she turned to look over her son. Jake really was a mess, she decided. The muddy, wet clothing was to be expected given the weather, though she couldn't understand why he'd stayed out in the elements, especially for the entire day. But even disregarding his clothes, Jake didn't look well at all. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was sporting a scraggly beard, having apparently given up shaving. Letting out a long sigh, Gail moved into the room, seating herself in the empty chair next to her son's. "Honey," she began, reaching out, once again, to place her hand on his arm.

"Mom!" he barked in return. "Just - just say it, and get it over with, already."

"Johnston Jacob, Junior!" Gail objected, startling her son. She'd never been one of those mothers who signaled to her children that they were in trouble by using their full names, and he stared at her, open-mouthed. She took a deep breath, expelling it audibly. "Jake, your grandfather is mad enough with you that he's threatening to drop you off on my doorstep, and frankly, given your charming attitude," Gail informed him, meeting his gaze with a frustrated glare, "I don't know that I'd let you in the front door!"

Closing his eyes, Jake slumped in his chair, letting his head fall against the well-padded back. "Mom," he muttered, a shiver running through him.

"Get up Jake," Gail ordered then. "Go stand in front of the fire," she suggested when he opened one eye, looking at her sideways. "Before you catch your death of a cold."

"I just wanna go take a shower and be left alone," he complained, grumpily. "Is that really too much to ask?"

"Jake, I think what you need, more than anything, is someone to talk to," Gail said, offering a hesitant smile. "So talk to me."

He groaned, sinking again in his chair. Gail decided to wait him out though, and her instincts were proven correct when not quite thirty seconds later he mumbled, "We had a fight. A big, stupid fight." Gail emitted an encouraging noise and Jake moaned pitifully. "She told me to go away, so I did. And that's that."

"And that's that?" Gail asked, one eyebrow raised in question. "And that's what?"

"And that's it," Jake returned, his tone turning exasperated. "She told me to go away, so I did. I'm honoring her wishes, which I believe is how my mother taught me to treat a woman," he threw out sarcastically. He pulled himself up and out of his chair, stalking across the room to stand in front of the fire which was burning cheerfully in the grate. "So we broke up, I guess," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"You broke up? Or, you guess that you broke up?" Gail asked, confusion marring her expression. "I mean, did Heather say -"

"Mom!" he interrupted, frowning. "Look," Jake argued, untangling his arms before running a hand through his wet hair, "She told me to go away, and I haven't heard from her since then. I think that's the answer."

"So you're waiting for Heather -"

Jake flinched at the sound of Heather's name, grinding out another annoyed "Mom!" and throwing his hands up in the air.

"Okay, Jake. Okay," she murmured soothingly, her instinct to comfort her hurting child taking precedence - for the moment - over the need to figure out what had gone wrong. His nervous energy was catching, and Gail found herself getting up from her seat and taking a few steps toward him before Jake's frown warned her off. She settled then for perching herself on the edge of his chair, two feet closer to the fire and - more importantly - her son. "Can I ask - will you tell me what the fight was about?"

His scowl deepened and he shook his head 'no', but again she waited him out - twenty seconds this time - and again he gave in. "It was stupid. So stupid," Jake complained. "God!" he swore, "She got mad because I didn't want to go to Gretchen's stupid party. She said I was embarrassed by her! That I didn't want my boss to meet her!" He was getting loud now, his expression full of righteous indignation. "She doesn't embarrass me! I don't care if she meets Gretchen!" Jake paused, his lips pursed as he considered what he was saying. "Well, I sorta care. But because of Gretchen, not because of Heather," he insisted, meeting Gail's eye for just a second. "She was so mad," he mumbled, looking down at his socks. "She told me to go away. Locked the door and turned off the phone."

"Oh my," Gail sighed. She studied her son, taking in the defeated slope of his shoulders and seeing through new eyes the shadows and hard angles that had settled on his face. He was more than hurting, she couldn't help but think; he was completely at sea with no idea what to do. Jake shifted from foot to foot, pulling at his wet jeans. "But, honey," Gail argued, frowning softly, "That was on Sunday. You both probably just needed the rest of the night to cool off -"

"She hasn't called," he interrupted, exhaling sadly. "And, she's gotta be real cooled off by now."

"Well, honey, have you tried calling her?" Gail inquired, frowning sympathetically.

"She told me to go away. She turned off her phone."

"That was Sunday, Jake," she reminded. "I don't think she meant forever. Honey," Gail continued, twisting her hands together in her lap, "You know, Heather's been so busy with everything at school right -"

"I know that, Mom," Jake interrupted, grumbling.

"Okay then," Gail nodded. Shaking his head, Jake turned around so that he was facing the fire, ostensibly to warm and dry his front, but Gail knew that it was a calculated retreat. "Jake," she tried, "She's probably just stressed, and not necessarily acting like - like she would if things were normal." His shoulders tensed, but he didn't otherwise respond. "Sometimes when people are stressed, they overreact," she reminded, frowning to herself. Gail took a deep breath. It was a risk, but she had to ask. "Honey, do you love Heather?"

Jake froze, and for a long moment the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. Finally though, he answered her question with an anguished, "Yes. Completely."

Quietly, Gail let out the breath she'd been holding, a smile blooming on her face. She got up, moving across the small space to stand next to her son. "Well, sweetheart," Gail began, resting a gentle hand on his back, "I have to tell you, it would be really stupid if Heather were sitting at home thinking, 'he hasn't called me, so I guess that's it,' while you're sitting here thinking, 'she hasn't called me, guess that's it.' You love her," she reminded, squeezing his shoulder. "And you shouldn't throw that away over a stupid fight."

"I know, Mom," Jake muttered, his head dropping forward so that his chin almost touched his chest. He let out a long, noisy breath, and then glanced sideways at her. "It's just - look, I'm gonna - I'm gonna go take a shower now, okay?"

"Sure, honey," she agreed, letting her hand fall back to her side. "Okay."

* * * * *

Twenty minutes later, Jake bounded into the kitchen, running shoes and socks in hand, and threw himself down in a chair. Gail looked up from the pot she was stirring at the stove and smiled, pleasantly surprised by the transformation before her. Jake was showered, shaved, and dressed in clean if well-worn jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. His hair was still damp, but at least it wasn't sopping. "Feel better?" she asked, watching him pull on a sock.

"Yeah, thanks," Jake replied absently. He crammed his bare foot into the other sock and looked up at Gail, smiling. "Mom, I -"

"You must be starving," she told him, lifting the pan from the burner and then carrying over to the table. "I heated up some of that spicy steak chili you all like," she explained. "I'm sure, left to his own devices, that this is what your father's having for dinner tonight," Gail chuckled, starting to dish the chili into the bowl she'd already set out on the table.

"Ma, thanks, but I don't have time," Jake argued, working his left foot into his shoe. "I'm - I think I'm gonna take your advice and -

"Well, look who I found!" Grandpa Green boomed out, cutting Jake off, as he came through the swinging door and into the kitchen. Jake and Gail both glanced toward him, surprise evident in their expressions as they realized who was with him.

Heather, her heart pounding and her stomach churning, was grateful for Grandpa's arm around her and his strong presence beside her. She was certain he was the only thing keeping her knees from buckling. Her eyes locked with Jake's, and Heather felt her mouth go dry. She cleared her throat and somehow forced air from her lungs, managing to produce a soft whisper. "Hi."

Jake, wearing only one shoe, leapt to his feet. "Heather!"

"I'm so sorry," they both blurted out then, staring at one another across the kitchen. A moment passed, and then another. Gail, looking first at her son and then at the young woman who owned his heart, caught herself smiling at, and sighing over, the pure, unadulterated longing in both their expressions. Finally, Grandpa cleared his throat which, it seemed, was enough to wake Jake up. Dropping his right shoe on the floor, he closed the twelve feet that separated them, stopping in front of Heather and reaching for her hand.

"Hey," he greeted, offering a testing grin.

"Hey," she returned, lacing their fingers together. Jake clutched at her hand, and Heather smiled, letting out a deep sigh. Grandpa took a step away from the couple.

His own held breath escaping him, Jake looked back at his mother and then glanced sideways at his grandfather. "Excuse us," he requested perfunctorily, his gaze once again settling on Heather. With that, he tugged on her hand, leading her back toward the main hallway.

"Well," Grandpa muttered, watching the door swing closed behind Jake and Heather.

"Thank God," Gail breathed out, chuckling happily to herself.

"Amen," Grandpa agreed.

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

Tuesday, December 5, two and a half months after the bombs

"So, do I need to answer some sort of essay question, or draw you a diagram so I can come in?" Jake asked from the open doorway, startling Heather, who jumped almost imperceptibly and quickly shoved a dresser drawer closed.

"Jake!" she declared somewhat breathlessly, twisting around to face him, a pair of his socks clutched in one hand. "I didn't hear you," Heather admitted with a sheepish grin. "And no, you don't have to answer a question or draw me anything. Unless you want to," she giggled, "Class is officially over and you passed. With flying colors, I might add."

"Uh-huh," he agreed, smiling at her - leering, really - as he stepped into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. For most of the previous day and a half, Heather had tutored Jake and Michael on the mechanics of windmill governors, taking over Johnston's den and hauling out the collection of books and magazines she'd amassed from the Jericho Public Library on the subject of operating windmills both for generating power and pumping water. She'd made them go over everything time and time again, lamenting that the best she could do was provide diagrams and very crude, very simplified models built out of popsicle sticks, bits of Styrofoam cups, rubber bands, paperclips, and play dough. She'd given three pop quizzes. And finally, at four that afternoon, she'd declared them as prepared as she could possibly expect or hope for.

"Flying colors?" Jake inquired. "I don't know about that. But I hafta say, the report cards were a nice touch, Mrs. Green," he laughed, loping toward her. "Only you gave me a B-plus in Conduct," he reminded, coming to a stop in front of Heather. He pulled her into his arms, planting an affectionate kiss on the tip of her nose. "I think I deserved more than a B-plus," Jake argued gently, brushing his lips over hers. "I mean, you gave Mike an A-minus. What did he do that I didn't?"

"Absolutely nothing," Heather giggled against his mouth. She pulled back then, just far enough that she could look him in the eye. "But the question you should be asking yourself is, what did you do," she emphasized, "That Mikey didn't do? 'Cause that's what got you the B-plus."

"Well, Mike's just a little bit scared of you, that's true," Jake sighed, resting both of his hands over their child. "But a B-plus?" He tried a pout, but quickly gave it up, shaking his head and grinning at her.

Heather nodded. "Yep. A B-plus. The grade stands. But remember," she teased, cocking her head to one side and returning his grin, "As a teacher, I've always had a secret soft spot for the rapscallions."

"So I qualify as a rapscallion, do I?" Jake laughed, lightly stroking his thumbs against the mound of her pregnant belly.

"Just a little bit," she confirmed, holding up one hand and demonstrating about an inch of space between her thumb and index finger. Heather felt a slight kick and, instinctively, she dropped her hand on top of Jake's, moving it over so he could feel as well. "I'm thinkin' B.G. might have a little rapscallion in him or her, too."

"Yeah, probably," Jake agreed, not bothering to try and keep a pleased smirk off his face. "And, Dad sure loved your report cards."

Once Heather had turned Jake and Michael loose, Gail had sent them out to split wood for the fire, a job the two men had been more than happy to take on, grateful for the chance to do something physical. Meanwhile Heather had put the hour she had before dinner to good use creating report cards for her two students. The report cards had been hand-drawn and lettered but were on official JISD letterhead, complete with grades for Jake and Michael in Windmill Theory and Design, Mechanical Drawing and Model Building, and Conduct. With a flourish, Heather had presented the two reports to Johnston just as he'd seated himself at the table, reminding him that he'd wanted to see Jake's.

Smirking, Johnston had examined both grade reports, questioning Jake's B-plus in Conduct and raising an eyebrow over some of the comments. Heather had written that Michael was 'a diligent student' with 'a clear grasp of windmill mechanics', and that Jake drew 'top notch diagrams' and had 'offered a unique and correct explanation of the purpose of a mechanical governor'. "What's that mean?" Johnston had demanded, his lips twitching.

"Uh, that Jake used sound effects and smashed my first windmill model - but quite accurately - to demonstrate his understanding of why we really need to get our hands on a governor," Heather had replied, rolling her eyes. "And, he did make me a new model."

"Yeah, and mine was way better," Jake had claimed teasingly. "That's why that's an A in Mechanical Drawing and Model Building," he'd added, pointing at the report card which Johnston had still held in his right hand.

"It wasn't that much better," Heather had argued, shooting her husband a mock dirty look.

"And you got a B-plus in Conduct," Johnston had snorted, getting up from his chair and moving behind Heather's. He'd leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Thank you, darlin'," he had sighed, "This is exactly what I needed tonight. So," Johnston had continued, clearing his throat, "I take it we leave for Nebraska in the morning?" he'd asked Jake, reseating himself.

"Your Mom was pretty excited, too," Heather reminded, folding Jake's hand into her own. She fumbled the pair of socks she was carrying, dropping them on the floor, and then started to bend over to pick them up. However, Jake stopped her, stooping to retrieve them himself. "She put both report cards up on the fridge," Heather chuckled.

"After you had Dad sign them," he groaned.

April, Drake and Jeff were all in the middle of shifts at the clinic this evening, and so it had just been the five of them for dinner. Laughing, Gail had asked if she could have the report cards to put up on the refrigerator - Jake grumbling that the appliance wasn't good as anything but a bulletin board anymore - and Heather had agreed, but only if Johnston, in his capacity as a 'parent or guardian' signed them first. She'd pointed out the signature block she'd drawn at the bottom of the report and, with a wicked gleam in his eye, Johnston had demanded a pen. He'd signed the two grade reports with an enthusiasm which would have done John Hancock proud, Gail had joked, thanking Heather once more. The report cards had provided the levity they'd all needed that evening, a topic of conversation that allowed them to - mostly - avoid the subject of Black Jack while the ate.

"Here," Jake continued, smiling as he returned the socks to her. "What are you doin' anyway? You can't possibly need to steal those."

Heather stared at him for a few seconds, her mouth hanging open. "Well, I sure better not get so big I can't wear my own shoes and socks," she complained, smacking him on the shoulder with the small bundle. Shaking her head, she stepped around him, moving toward the bed.

"Exactly what I'm saying," Jake defended, following behind her. He reached after her hand and caught it in his own. "You're not big everywhere," he argued, "Just where you need to be." He seemed to process what he'd just said and quickly clarified. "And, you're not even big, really, just -"

Tossing the pair of socks down on the bed, Heather shook her head at him, chuckling softly. "Maybe you should quit while you're ahead, hon," she advised, grinning at him over her shoulder.

"Think I will," he agreed, squeezing her hand. Jake looked down at the items she'd gathered on the bed. In addition to the socks, she had one of his sweatshirts, a rain poncho rolled up in its own pouch, three different road maps of Kansas and Nebraska, a Five-Star notebook with a mechanical pencil hooked to the spiral wire, and two of the Popular Mechanics magazines that they had studied over the past day and a half. "What's all this for?"

"I'm packing you a backpack," Heather shrugged, suddenly unwilling to meet his gaze. "I mean, you don't have to take it, but I thought - and you might be gone overnight - plus, there's peanut butter granola bars," she informed him, picking up the sweatshirt to reveal a box of six. "One's missing," she admitted.

"You've been holding out on me," Jake teased, picking up the package and then making a show of peeking inside. Turning to face Heather, he caught a glimpse of her troubled frown before she quickly pasted on a smile. Although Heather had originally been excited about the trip to Black Jack and had even wanted to go herself, the more time she'd had to think about it, the more worried she'd seemed to get. She hadn't actually said anything, but he'd caught her staring at him on a number of occasions, and the previous evening while they'd gotten ready for bed, Heather had broached the subject of his trip to Rogue River the month before, asking questions about how his car had handled and the state of the roads. Jake didn't know how to assuage her fears, but he knew that at least he could accept the offer of a well-prepared backpack in the spirit of love and concern with which she offered it. "It's a good idea. I'm glad you thought of it. Thanks, babe," he murmured, shaking the box of granola bars. "So, I suppose you're gonna say I have to share, huh?" he guessed, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

"Well, you really should," she reminded. "But there's five bars, and only four of you going, right? So you can have the extra, at least," Heather suggested before asking, "Dale's still going, right?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. After dinner, Jake had walked over to Gracie Leigh's to let Dale know that they now had a departure time. Dale and Skylar Stevens - it still surprised Jake every time he saw them together - had been locking up for the night and, they'd told Jake, were headed 'home' to the Stevens' house in The Pines. "I just talked to him," Jake explained, "And he said he'll be here at five thirty so we can get on the road before sunrise."

Heather nodded. Neither she nor Gail had been very happy at the news that Dale wanted to go with Jake, Johnston and Michael, but their protests - the only ones they'd bothered to register - had fallen on deaf ears. "Okay," she acknowledged, making a face. "You know, I found those in the pantry out at the ranch, when we were packing up after...." She didn't need to explain after what. "Anyway. I think I ate the missing one on the field trip that day. I've been saving them for a treat. Actually, I was thinkin' that was gonna be your Christmas present," Heather admitted with an apologetic chuckle. "Merry Christmas."

"Thanks," Jake laughed, pulling her into his arms. "And you've got a leg up on me," he admitted, brushing his lips across hers. "'Cause I hafta admit, you might be getting a mechanical governor for Christmas."

"I'll take it," she told him, pressing one finger to his mouth. "Happily. But, I have two words for you. Lip balm," Heather announced, her tone completely serious. "Jake, I'd kill for just one tube. Burt's Bees, Blistex, ChapStick, Lip Smackers. Anything. And since Black Jack's supposed to be kind of a trading post now," she shrugged, "Maybe?"

"I'll keep my eyes open," he promised, removing her finger from his mouth so he could kiss her again. "Lip Smackers, huh?" Jake teased, letting go of her a few moments later. "Didn't you get all the nieces soda pop flavored Lip Smackers last year?" he asked, remembering the afternoon the previous December when she'd wrapped presents to be shipped back to Buffalo. After Heather had called him into the dining room for the fourth time so she could tie a bow around his finger, Jake had given up doing anything else for the duration, and had planted himself in a chair, taking over the job of tearing off pieces of scotch tape for her and writing out gift tags that he'd signed 'Love Auntie Heather & Uncle Jake'.

"For stocking stuffers, yeah," Heather confirmed, tracing the tip of her tongue over her chapped lower lip. "And, you have no idea what I'd do for root beer flavored lip balm right now."

Jake grinned at that. "Well, root beer flavored Heather has strong possibilities," he agreed.

"I'm sure," she laughed. This time, Heather kissed him. "Just so you know," she smiled as she pulled away, "There's a lot more where that came from. Especially if you find me lip balm," she teased.

"Then I'm definitely finding it," Jake vowed, reaching her hand and lifting it to his mouth so he could press a kiss to her palm. "So... no book?" he joked, surveying the items piled together on the bed. "After all, we're gonna be crossing a state line. You always pack a book. Or two."

"You're driving," Heather reminded, rolling her eyes. "And don't make fun of how I pack," she scolded half-heartedly.

"Trust me, I love how you pack," he assured. "Every contingency covered. I never get hungry, and I never get bored."

"Okay," she sighed. "Why don't you pick out a backpack," Heather instructed, pointing him toward the closet. "I'm guessing you don't want to use my purple one."

"No, not really," Jake agreed. He stepped behind her, dropping both hands on her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the back of her head. "Thanks, babe," he murmured into her hair before letting go and moving toward the closet.

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

Thursday, December 6, five years before the bombs

Jake, his gait comically uneven, dragged Heather down the hallway to where it widened into the foyer proper and pulled her to a stop. "One second," he requested, toeing off his running shoe. He looked around the space and then, shrugging, kicked it under the hall table. Heather raised an eyebrow and grinned at him, but didn't say anything. "Hey," he greeted again, squeezing her hand.

"Hey, yourself," Heather answered, her smile growing. "Jake," she sighed, holding his gaze with her own, "I am so sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," he interjected quickly.

"And, I love you," she added in a rush of breath, taking a half step toward him.

Recognizing her intention, he opened his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder and wrapping her in his embrace. "I love you, too," Jake practically growled, burying his face in Heather's hair. They clung to one another for a long moment before finally, both laughing self-consciously, breaking apart. "Look, we can go to the Christmas party -"

"No," Heather interrupted, shaking her head. "No, you're right. It would be stupid to go all the way to Denver just for dinner. Can I - can I just claim temporary insanity? I don't know what got into me -"

"Well, I shoulda told you about the party," Jake argued, curling a strand of her hair around his finger before then tucking it behind her ear. Frowning softly, he reached for her hand. "Look. Come with me?" he requested with a glance toward the foot of the staircase. Heather nodded her agreement, and Jake reached for her hand, knitting their fingers together. Silently, he led her up the stairs and then into his bedroom, dropping her hand so he could close the door behind them. "So..." he began, turning to face her.

Heather had moved into the room, standing between the bed and dresser, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. She stared at him, chewing her lip nervously. "Jake, I, uh," she began and then stopped, clearing her throat. She slipped her purse from her shoulder and set it down on the bed. "What happened? I mean, I know what happened," Heather chuckled uneasily. "But it all got so - so out of control," she shrugged, "And I don't know how."

"Whiplash," Jake snorted, shaking his head. "That's what it felt like, babe," he informed her as he shuffled across the room, stopping at the end of the bed, three feet separating them. "I - seriously - I don't know either," he sighed. "I thought - I was trying -" Groaning, Jake lifted one knee, resting it on the mattress.

"Jake," Heather sighed, shoving her purse out of the way before perching herself on the edge of the bed. She reached for his hand, tangling their fingers together. "I - there's just been so much going on."

"And I was trying," he insisted, gripping her fingers tightly. "I'm - I'm not good, always, at - at talking about these things, but I thought I was - I was helping. I knew you were stressed out about everything," Jake grumbled, "School, and the play. But I was trying to help."

"You - you were being supportive?" Heather guessed, the slightest of smiles touching her lips. Jake frowned though, and she rushed to assure him. "Jake, you were. Absolutely," she said, scooting down the mattress toward him. "I knew it. You volunteered at school," Heather reminded, her smile widening. "That you would do that for - for me. I - I love you for it."

"I love you, too. But, babe, you really kinda lost it," he accused, letting go of her hand. "Over a stupid party. You said - you said you couldn't talk to me," Jake continued, his tone growing strident. Clenching his fist against his leg, he complained, "You - you told me to go away."

"I - I did?" Heather replied, her forehead wrinkling as she squinted at him. "Really?" she squeaked. "Jake, I just meant right then."

"Well, you know what," he barked in return, "That wasn't what it sounded like."

Heather flinched, biting her lip against the tears that suddenly flooded her eyes. "Jake, I'm - I'm sorry," she choked out. "I don't know what else you - you want from me," she muttered from behind the hand she'd pressed to her mouth.

"I want - I want you to not slam doors in my face," Jake decided, forcing himself to take a deep breath. "God," he swore, his gaze dropping to his lap - anywhere, as long as he didn't have to watch her cry. But he was also frustrated with their situation, and he couldn't keep himself from asking, "What - what happens next time? What happens when it's the science fair, or the school carnival, or whatever the hell comes next?"

"Well, I can't promise not to lose it ever again," she answered after an interminable ten seconds of silence. Jake looked up in time to see her slip off the bed. "But what I can promise is that I won't slam doors in your face, okay?" Heather turned to face him, catching his eye and offering a weak smile.

He offered a somewhat skeptical grin, but nodded, murmuring, "Okay."

"I mean, I can't say I'll like being called on acting - acting like a - like a child," Heather admitted, stammering nervously. "But you certainly have the - that right," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "But Jake," she continued, "I need - I guess I want - I need - to understand." Heather stopped, shaking her head and frowning. She looked down concentrating her attention on her clenched fist which she ground against her thigh. "Why didn't you just tell me about the Christmas party?" she questioned. "Even if you didn't want to go, why didn't you say anything? I just don't get it," Heather complained, shrugging and letting out a frustrated breath. "I've - I've tried to let you into - into everything - my life, and I - I just don't get it."

"It's just a stupid party, Heather," Jake groaned. "I got the email and I ignored it, like always."

"And when I asked you to go with me to the school party it didn't occur to you to just mention that you had a party at work, but you didn't want to go?" she demanded.

"It didn't occur to me that Gretchen would call Gramps and get him involved," Jake ground out in exasperation. "You are a part of my life, babe. You're - you're at the center of everything that's important, okay? A party at work?" he argued. "So my boss can spend the evening interrogating you? That's not important."

"Okay," Heather acknowledged with a shake of her head. But her expression was still confused, still guarded, and she bit her lip, not quite able to meet Jake's gaze.

"You know, work - work for me isn't like work for you," he argued. "For me it's work," Jake chuckled humorlessly. "I mean, I like my job - mostly. It's fun and interesting. Sometimes it's addictive. But it's not like teaching for you, it's not a -a calling. If I stopped doing it, I'd miss it, but it wouldn't feel like I was missing a piece of myself."

"Oh," Heather whispered, blinking, surprised. She stared at him, unsure of what to do or how to respond. "Oh," she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest, hugging herself.

"God, babe," he swore. "You want into my life? You already are. Completely." It wasn't a word Jake ever used, but he'd said it twice in less than an hour, and about Heather both times. He didn't know how else to tell her what she meant to him. His eyes locked with hers, he slid up the bed, toward where she stood. "I promise," he murmured huskily.

She gave him a watery smile and took a half stumbling step backwards, bumping into the dresser. "Ow!" she giggled, planting both hands behind her, on the bureau's top, to steady herself. "And - and thank you," she grinned shyly, leaning against the dresser. "And, okay." Chewing on her lip, she caught his eye, her expression turning serious. "I'm sorry I lost it, Jake. Truly."

He stood up then, crossing to stand in front of her, leaving three or four inches between them. "I'm sorry I didn't mention the party," Jake apologized, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Heather's ear, prompting her soft smile. "It was stupid not to."

"Well, I certainly forgive you," she told him, pushing away from the dresser. "And I hope -"

"Forgiven," he assured her.

"What the heck?" Heather giggled, looking down at her palm. A piece of paper - a cocktail napkin, of all things - was stuck to it, and she carefully peeled the offending item off. "H.L. plus J.G.," she read off quietly a moment later, her voice catching in her throat. She looked up at him, grinning, her eyes suspiciously bright.

"I doodle sometimes," Jake admitted with a shrug. "Keeps me awake in boring meetings."

"And in hotel bars, apparently," she suggested, examining the logo on the back of the napkin before turning it back over to study his drawing.

Chuckling, he nodded. "And in hotel bars."

"I like the heart," Heather sighed, "And the jet."

"Yeah, well, I draw aircraft," Jake smiled, taking the napkin from her. He reached around Heather, placing it carefully on the bureau's top. "Some cars," he continued, "Your basic robot, a horse - side view only - and pretty good stick people."

"Pretty good stick people, huh?" Heather laughed quietly, leaning into Jake as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "My stick people suck," she admitted, tilting her head so that their mouths were lined up and separated by an inch and a half. "You can ask my kids. They're really bad," she smiled, brushing her lips across his.

"I'm guessin' that's okay with them," he grinned against her mouth, his hand finding its way into her hair. "As long as it's generally okay with the state of Kansas for teachers and future principals to draw really sucky stick figures," he teased.

"Future principal?" Heather questioned, pulling back, her forehead wrinkling. "I don't think so. I'm just trying to survive teaching, year one."

"Well, it sure sounded like Mrs. McVeigh picked you as her successor," he informed her, extracting his hand from her hair so he could cup her face. Heather looked pleasantly stunned by this news, and he smiled. "Surprise," he whispered, bringing his mouth down on top of hers.

Heather wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself to him. Her lips parted beneath his in an invitation. Jake accepted eagerly, exploring her mouth, their tongues dueling, as he drank her in, reveling in the heady taste of her kiss. "Cinnamon Heather," he muttered thickly, resting his forehead on hers some moments later. "One of my favorites," he teased, winding a lock of her hair around his finger.

"Yeah, well, April came by to talk some sense into me, and then she supervised my preparations," she laughed softly. "She made me wear my hair down so you could play with it," Heather admitted, catching his hand as he, snorting, pulled it loose from her hair. She pressed a gentle kiss to his palm. "And I picked the cinnamon lip gloss," Heather informed him, blushing, "Since I know you like it."

"Well, nice job," he grinned, lacing their fingers together and then pulling her against him once more, kissing her softly. "'Cause I do like." They separated and Jake, still holding onto her hand, tugged her back over to the bed. "So April got you, and my Mom got me, huh?"

"I guess they had lunch with Gramps today," Heather reminded as she seated herself. They both moved into the middle of the mattress, lying on their sides, facing one another. "It seems a plot was hatched," she joked, tucking her arm underneath her head like a pillow.

"And for once I'm glad to come from an annoying, interfering family," Jake teased, grumbling, though it was obviously all for show. He reached over, cupping her cheek with his hand, stroking her impossibly smooth skin with the work-roughened pad of his thumb. He studied her, checking his memory of her face against the genuine article in front of him, so close. "I love you," he breathed out, earning an immediate smile.

"I love you, too," she replied. "And, I know I pretty much started it, but let's never, ever, ever fight again," Heather suggested with a sigh.

Jake groaned, his expression equal parts dubious and amused. "Think we can manage that, huh?"

"Probably not," Heather admitted with a shrug. "But it'd be nice. I hated it. Every minute," she complained, rolling onto her back. She grabbed his hand, smiling when Jake took the hint and moved next to her, pressing himself into her side. "I missed you," she told him, playing with his fingers.

"Missed you, too," he echoed. "So, how are you?" Jake whispered, brushing a lazy kiss over her lips. "How're things?" he asked, nuzzling the corner of her mouth.

Heather smiled, turning into his kiss. "Better now," she answered, "Much better now." Still exchanging sweet, chaste kisses with Jake, she sat up, propping herself on her elbows. "I think - I think I've got things under control," Heather sighed, their eyes locking. "Dress rehearsal's tomorrow after school, plus an extra bonus one on Saturday morning, and then opening night on Monday."

"So, I can take you to dinner on Saturday night?" Jake asked, finding her hand and lacing their fingers together. "Maybe go to a movie?"

"Like a date?" she grinned, dropping back onto the mattress. "You're asking me on a date?"

"Guess so," Jake shrugged. He sat up and twisted around so that he was leaning over Heather. "Sound good?" he murmured, dipping his head to kiss her.

"Yeah," Heather nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down on top of her. "Sounds good," she agreed, capturing his mouth with her own.

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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

"I've got cornbread made yesterday, a hardboiled egg for each of you, and I found a half box of raisins," Gail informed her husband and son as she carefully placed the items inside a six-pack sized cooler that was sitting on the counter. "Now, Johnston, you made the extra coffee?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him though she didn't bother to wait for his answer. "And there's a can of Spam in the pantry -"

"You actually bought Spam, Mom?" Jake interrupted with a snort. "Before the bombs? Why?"

"Nothin' wrong with Spam," Johnston offered, taking a sip from his mug. "I happen to like it fried with mustard. Better'n most Army food, let me tell you."

Jake groaned, shaking his head. "Might as well send it along, Ma," he agreed, "Just in case. I've got some granola bars, too," he admitted, smiling gently at Heather, who was sitting beside him. Under the cover of the table, he reached for her hand, squeezing it. "And, I've already got water in the car. We're ready to go, I guess."

"Where'd you get granola bars?" Michael yawned, pushing his bowl out of the way as he sat forward to lean his elbows on the table. Their breakfast, as it always was these days, had been scanty, and therefore quickly consumed. But at least it had been hot, as was the coffee in the cup Michael wrapped his hands around, happy for the heat that bled through the ceramic, warming his chilled fingers.

Jake sat back, draping his arm across the back of Heather's chair, and grinned at his brother-in-law. "Your sister loves me."

"They're his Christmas present," Heather added, "Peanut butter."

"Geez, if that's Jake's big present, what are you gettin' me?" Michael returned, rolling his eyes.

"Apparently you get one of my granola bars," Jake answered, making a face. "Heather says I have to share."

"Clean sheets," Gail declared, stepping behind Michael and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "That's what you get," she clarified as she pressed a kiss to the top of the young man's head. "As long as it doesn't rain, I'm going to wash everyone's bedding today."

"I'll help you, Mom," Heather offered. "Though, I think I may go back to bed for a little bit before," she decided with a soft groan. It wasn't even five thirty yet, still dark out and bitingly cold, but the men planned to hit the road early - in hopes of making the roundtrip to Black Jack in one day - and the women wanted to see them off. "I've gotten used to sleeping in some," she admitted, stifling a yawn.

"Well, you are sleeping for two," Gail teased, smiling at her daughter-in-law.

"I guess I am," Heather agreed with a soft laugh, laying her head on Jake's shoulder.

"And, thank you, sweetheart," Gail added as she moved toward the camp stove to retrieve the coffeepot, and then crossed to the counter where she began to pour the hot coffee into a thermos. "I'll take you up on the offer. It's a rather ambitious project, I think," Gail sighed, screwing the cap back on the thermos.

Yawning, Heather lifted her head, nodding. Laundry had become as complicated and time consuming of a task as feeding themselves was, though less vital. Clothes were worn until they were absolutely filthy and then scrubbed clean on an improvised washboard in the deep utility sink in the basement. Jeans and towels took nearly a week to dry when they were hung on racks indoors, but would dry in an afternoon if the weather was nice and they could be hung outside in the sunshine and wind. They never seemed to find the time to tackle bedding; her nose wrinkling, Heather realized that the sheets on their bed were the same ones she'd put on when Jake and she had first moved in nearly two months before. "But for clean sheets it'll be worth the work."

The back door rattled and then there was a knock. Johnston finished off the last of his coffee and then got up, shouting, "Coming!" He didn't bother to ask who it was, instead pushing the curtain out of the way and holding up the lantern for light as he peered through the window. "Dale, come in," he invited once he had the door unlocked and opened. "Skylar, you too," Johnston ordered. "It's cold out there this morning."

"Good morning, Mayor," Dale greeted automatically, leading Skylar into the house.

"I'm not the mayor anymore, Dale," Johnston reminded for what he calculated was at least the tenth time.

The teenager frowned, nodding. "Right. Sorry, sir." His gaze swept the room, and he offered them all a distracted smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Green," he said, facing Gail. "And, good morning, Mrs. Green," he added, glancing at Heather.

"That's always been confusing, hasn't it?" Heather chuckled, smiling in return. "So I think it would be all right if you called me Heather now, Dale," she suggested. "And you, too, Skylar," she invited. "I'm not a teacher anymore."

"I've got a report card over there that says differently," Jake argued, cocking his head toward the refrigerator. Under the table he stroked his thumb over the back of Heather's hand, frowning absently as he studied the young couple standing closely together in the middle of the room, their hands brushing together. For just a moment Dale curled his fingers around Skylar's. Jake shook his head. It was all too weird.

"Well, you know what they say," Michael joked. "You can take the teacher outta the school, but you can't take the school outta the teacher."

The Greens at least all laughed quietly at that, Heather rolling her eyes. "Dale this is Michael, Heather's brother," Gail introduced, moving to join the teenagers. "You've met," she reminded, "At the wedding."

"That's right," Michael agreed, nodding. Dale was a little less scrawny than he had been four and a half years ago, but Michael could still recognize in him the gangly, too-tall, all elbows and knees adolescent who'd arrived at the Green house with Eric on the morning of Heather's and Jake's wedding.

Michael and his father had been staying at Heather's while they were in Jericho, but on that morning her house had been turned into Bride Central, and as a groomsman, he'd been banished, sent over to the Greens with Stanley when the co-best man had come by to drop off Bonnie, the junior bridesmaid. They had all been in the kitchen, drinking coffee and teasing the suddenly nervous Jake - Johnston had even resorted to spiking Jake's coffee with Irish whiskey while Gail was out of the room - when Eric had arrived, announcing, "I've got Dale and doughnuts." The boy had shuffled in behind Eric, the pastry box clutched in his arms, looking even more anxious than Jake.

Johnston had relieved Dale of the doughnuts, and he, Jake, Stanley and Michael had broken into the box immediately, arguing over who got the one Boston cream. "Don't fill up on those," Gail had ordered, shaking her finger at them. "I've got a Denver omelet casserole that'll be ready in ten minutes and we all need to start out with some protein in our stomachs. It's a big day."

"There's a lemon-filled in there for Mom," Eric had announced, hanging his suit bag on the back of the door into the dining room. "So keep your hands off."

"Thank you, sweetheart," Gail had beamed at her son, who'd taken her by the elbow and pulled her a few feet away from the others. Dale, having been handed a chocolate bar by Johnston, had actually cracked a smile, sliding into an unoccupied chair at the table, and Michael, in need of more caffeine, had crossed the kitchen to the coffeepot.

"Looks like he's grown two, three inches since April and I got married," Michael had overheard Eric tell his mother quietly. "His pants are way too short," which Michael had confirmed with one glance at Dale; nearly four inches of white tube sock had been visible between the cuffs of his dress pants and the tops of his shoes. "And, all I can guess is that he ironed his own shirt," Eric had muttered. "Annie was there - I think with a friend - when I picked him up. Still asleep."

Gail had nodded her understanding, and then, exchanged distracted smiles with Michael as he'd traded places with Eric, who'd headed toward the coffee pot. Gail and Michael had moved back toward the table, where she'd exclaimed, "Dale, honey, you're just growin' like a weed. We had to have those pants taken up when we bought them, and now I think I better let 'em down," she'd told him, ruffling his hair and giving him a sideways hug.

"I think, Dale," Johnston had added then, "Since you're twelve now, that it's time you learned how to tie a tie. That's about when I taught Jake and Eric," he'd explained. "We'll pick out one of mine and I'll show you how."

"Finish your doughnut, honey," Gail had ordered, flashing her husband a grateful smile. "Then we'll borrow a t-shirt from Jake for you. You can pick out your tie, I'll hem your pants, and since I still need to iron Johnston's shirt, I'll do yours, too."

"Oh. Okay," Dale had choked out around a mouthful of doughnut, his eyes wide. Gail had hugged him again, offering to get him a glass of milk, and the boy had smiled finally, drinking up her mothering, Michael had thought at the time. He'd come out to Jericho early, two weeks before the wedding, so he could spend some time with his sister, and he'd gotten to know and like all of the Greens, but at that moment, seeing how they took care of Dale - and not just his material needs, but his dignity, too - had relieved any lingering worries Michael had about Heather getting married and living so far from her family.

"I thought I recognized you," Michael added, his gaze settling on Dale. "I've see you around town. And, hey, you beat me in the ping pong tournament, that morning before the wedding," he remembered, chuckling.

Heather pulled away from Jake, staring back at him, amusement and annoyance warring for dominance in her expression. "You guys held a ping pong tournament on our wedding day?" she demanded.

"My idea, darlin'," Johnston interjected. "It seemed like a good way to keep everyone out of trouble for an hour or so."

"I see," Heather laughed, still eyeing her husband speculatively. "So, how'd you do?" she inquired. She and Jake had availed themselves of the ping pong table in his parents' basement a few times over the years, and Jake was surprisingly good - and surprisingly competitive - at the game. "Dale beat Mikey. Where'd you place? You win?"

"I'm pretty sure I was dead last," he answered with a snort. "I had a lot on my mind," Jake reminded, raising her hand, still held in his, to his lips so he could press a kiss to her palm. "So, Dale," he began a second later, "Uh, Skylar. You know, we - we really only have room for four, especially if you're bringing stuff to trade. And, besides, I - I don't think we should be taking a girl to Black Jack, 'specially after listenin' to Roger."

Skylar rolled her eyes at him. "I'm not going going," she informed him, flashing Dale a wide smile when he laced their fingers together and squeezed her hand. "I'm gonna take care of the store today," she explained, her voice turning sing-songy as she and Dale made goo-goo eyes at one another. "I just wanted - I wanted to walk over with Dale, so I did."

"We need to go by the store to get my stuff, anyway," Dale reminded, reluctantly pulling his gaze away from Skylar. "We can give her a ride over, right?" he asked Jake.

"Sure," Jake shrugged.

Gail, though, was not having it. "You're going to the store now?" she demanded, frowning at the teenagers. "It's two hours at least 'til sunrise, and I don't know that it's safe for you to be there by yourself, Skylar."

"I'll be fine," Skylar dismissed, shaking her head. "There's a cot in the back, and I can make tea. I'll be fine."

"And there's a couch here in the den you can lie down on, too. Just until it's light, and then Drake or Jeff can walk you over to the store," Gail decided. "I insist."

Skylar frowned in response, but didn't say anything, leaving it to Dale to accept the offer. "Thanks, Mrs. Green," he exhaled. "I just didn't want her walking in all the way from The Pines by herself."

"I'm gonna grab my coat," Jake announced, clearing his throat. He stood up, holding out his hand to help Heather. "We should probably hit the road."

Michael started to get up to follow his brother-in-law - and his sister - out of the room, but stopped when Johnston, fighting a smirk, clapped a hand on his shoulder, requesting, "Get mine and Mike's too, wouldja?"

Jake threw his father a grateful look and, tightening his grip on Heather's hand, pushed open the door into the dining room. Heather followed him through the dining and living rooms and into the foyer, where she tugged on his hand forcing him to stop. "You know, I think we've - we've been doing this way too much lately," she told him, twisting around so that she stood facing him, holding both of his hands in her own.

"This?" he questioned gently, stepping toward her, closing the gap between them.

"This," she confirmed, sighing. She played with his fingers, the action betraying her worry, as did the fact that she wouldn't look at him. "The big, dramatic goodbye. We do it more now than we did when this was your job," Heather grumbled, letting go of his hands so she could lean against him, hugging him.

Immediately, Jake's arms came up around her. "It's kinda still my job," he reminded, pressing his face into her hair, kissing the top of her head.

"Yeah," Heather muttered reluctantly. "But I liked it better when you got paid and had health insurance and we got to use all your frequent flier miles to go to Jamaica."

"Had life insurance, too," he reminded, tightening his hold on her.

"That's not funny, Jake," Heather complained into his shoulder, her breath leaving a warm, damp spot on his t-shirt. "Everything - it's just all so much more dangerous now."

Jake let go of her so he could cup her chin with one hand, tilting her face up. Even in the pre-dawn darkness of the hall their eyes locked instantly. "Not trying to be funny," he told her. "It - it is dangerous out there. But you know, I will always do everything in my power to come home to you. Babe," he sighed, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger, "I promise you that."

"Okay," she nodded, closing her eyes. "Thank you. And, I do know that, Jake. I do." Heather covered her mouth with one hand, shaking her head. "But I'm not gonna say it," she decided. "Not this time."

"Not gonna say what?" Jake chuckled, his tone puzzled.

"It," Heather repeated, her eyes opening. "Sorry," she apologized, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "But I'm not jinxing anything."

"Come back in one piece?" he guessed after a few seconds' contemplation. "Is that it?" Heather nodded, and Jake gave into the urge to kiss her in return. "'Cause that's the goal, babe. That's the goal."

"Good," she agreed, laying one hand on his chest, over his heart. "And, when you get home," Heather reminded, her fingers curling in the soft cotton fabric of his t-shirt, "Clean sheets."

He laughed softly. "Clean sheets will be good. I love you," he murmured a beat later. "And you," he added, his hands splayed across Heather's abdomen and the swell of their baby nestled within her. Jake kissed her then, his hands coming up to cup her face. The kiss started off slowly, lazily, but then grew more urgent. Jake dropped his hands, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Their kiss deepened as they both poured all of their love, all of their affection, all of their trust, and also, all of their fear into one another.

"I better get the coats," he decided, letting out an unsteady breath a few moments later. "Before they send a search party," Jake joked, kissing her on the forehead before finally taking a very definite step away.

"Get mine, too," Heather requested, following behind Jake as he moved toward the hall closet.

"Babe," he protested, frowning over his shoulder at her, "It's cold and there's no reason for you to come outside."

For a few seconds, Heather considered arguing the point, but ultimately decided it wasn't worth fighting about. "So you don't want me walking you to the car, huh?" she asked, allowing a soft sigh.

"No, but you can walk me to the door," Jake suggested, stepping out from behind the closet door. Grinning, he handed her his father's coat. "Kiss me goodbye."

"Hmm," she teased, folding the coat over her arm. "I'll have to think about that."

Jake groaned. "Fine," he muttered, holding up a navy blue parka for her to see. "This is Mike's, right?"

Heather nodded. Her brother and his friends had arrived in Jericho without winter coats, and so Gail had scoured the closets, locating every spare coat in the house, and had then presented them to the young men and Kenchy Dhuwalia to choose from. Michael had selected an old parka that Eric had left behind when he'd moved in with Mary Bailey. "That's his."

Handing Heather Michael's coat, Jake found his own and then shut the closet door. After retrieving his backpack from the bottom step of the staircase where he'd left it earlier, Jake offered his hand to Heather and led her back toward the kitchen. "So are we ready?" he asked as they re-entered the room.

"Here," Heather said, giving Johnston his coat. "And here," she continued, grinning at her brother as she handed him his. "Jake doesn't want me to go outside, so I have to hug you here," she informed him as he pulled the parka on. Heather held her arms open and Michael stepped into them, embracing her in return. She kissed him on the cheek. "Be good," she ordered.

"Yes, Miss Bossy Heather," Michael laughed, giving her one last squeeze.

Rolling her eyes, Heather took two steps sideways, moving into her father-in-law's arms. "Good luck," she sighed, shaking her head.

"Don't worry 'bout me, darlin'," Johnston chuckled, planting a kiss in her forehead. "I can handle this lot," he grumbled, eyeing Jake, Michael and even Dale over the top of Heather's head. "You just take care of that grandbaby of mine."

Extracting herself from Johnston's arms, Heather turned around, her sights set on Dale. "I have to hug you, too," she told the surprised teenager, watching out the corner of her eye as Gail and Jake exchanged a fierce embrace. "Sorry," she smiled, her tone totally unrepentant, "But I have to."

A sour look flashed across Skylar's face as Dale dropped her hand, stepping forward to hug Heather quickly, and in the end, awkwardly. "You be careful, Dale, okay?" Heather requested.

"Okay, Mrs. Green," he agreed, expelling an anxious breath. He stepped back and found Skylar's hand without looking, clutching it tightly in his own.

"So you're really not gonna kiss me goodbye, huh?" Jake asked, his tone teasing, as Heather approached him, Gail slipping by her and out of their way.

"Hmm," she said, pretending to contemplate the question before deciding, "Guess I will." She stepped in front of him them, brushing her lips over his, leaning for a moment into the shelter of his body.

Behind them, they heard Johnston say, "It's just a shopping trip, sweetie." Heather turned around, Jake wrapping one arm around her shoulders, in time to see her father-in-law press a kiss to his wife's forehead and then her lips. "We'll be home before you know it."

After that, there was another flurry of hugs as the men moved toward the door. Heather kissed Jake one more time, a chaste kiss, though it still felt urgent to them both. She watched, too, as Gail pulled Johnston to a stop so she could kiss him one more time. Dale and Skylar exchanged a parting kiss as well, Skylar's enthusiasm raising eyebrows around the kitchen. At the last moment, Gail remembered the food she was sending with them and bundled the small cooler and the thermos of coffee into Michael's arms.

And then they were gone.

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

The Star Wars franchise is owned by Lucasfilm and 20th Century Fox.

Author's Note: This part contains more of the seamier side of life after the bombs, but nothing as chilling as in Part 12A.

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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

"So, are we washing sheets today because you think I need to be distracted?" Heather asked her mother-in-law as she folded back the blankets and quilts that were now piled for warmth on the bed she shared with Jake. "Because you think I'm gonna worry all day about Jake?" she added, sighing and yanking the top sheet loose from where it was tucked in at the foot of the bed. "And Mikey? And Dad and Dale?"

"Honey, we're washing sheets because I need to be distracted from worrying about Johnston and Jake and Michael and Dale," Gail laughed, offering Heather a sympathetic smile. "Of course," she continued, dropping the bundle of sheets she'd just stripped off the bed in April's room on the floor, "I thought maybe you could use some distraction, too." She moved around the side of the bed and began to pull pillows out of pillowcases. "And the sheets are certainly long overdue to be washed!" Gail declared.

"Right," Heather acknowledged. She reached for a pillow - her pillow - surprised to see a folded piece of lined notebook paper lying on the sheet beneath it. Her name was printed across the front in Jake's familiar, bold handwriting.

Gail, working the fitted sheet off one corner of the mattress, paused in her efforts. "What'd you find?"

"Uh, Jake left me a note," Heather answered, opening the message with less than steady hands. She couldn't help but wonder what Jake would need to put in writing, rather than tell her in person. "I - I think," she chuckled, pursing her lips. She looked down at the paper and broke into relieved, amused giggles. "Of course," Heather murmured to herself, grinning and shaking her head.

Jake's message was actually a drawing, reminiscent of a number of drawings - often scribbled alongside his notes of a meeting he'd attended - that had shown up for her on the fax machine in Grandpa Green's study over the years. At the top of the sheet he'd sketched an airplane, a Cessna, Heather recognized, just like the one owned by Jayhawk Aviation which Jake had piloted when he'd taken her to Dolly Doolittle's for the first time, and on numerous other occasions. Below the plane he'd drawn three smiling stick figure people: a man, a woman, and a baby, identifiable as such by the helpful clues of a bonnet, rattle and diaper, and the fact that it was only half as tall as the other two people. Jake had labeled the stick people 'me, you & B.G.' and, in the very bottom corner, he'd scrawled, 'Love you both. Back soon. Jake'.

Heather felt tears prick behind her eyes even as she laughed out loud. Shaking her head, she planted one knee on the mattress, leaning across the bed to hold the note out to Gail. "You'll get a kick out of this, Mom," she assured, waving the slip of paper at the older woman. "It's just so - so Jake."

Abandoning her sheet stripping duties for the moment, Gail accepted the note, coming around the bed to join Heather, who had perched herself - one leg folded underneath her, one foot still on the floor - on the edge of the bed. Gail seated herself facing her daughter-in-law. "Naturally the plane is drawn to perfection," she chuckled, studying the drawing. "Looks like it belongs in a brochure or a catalog, something."

"It's a Cessna," Heather explained, smiling. "Whenever I went with Jake be - before, we always went in the Cessna. And, yeah," she laughed, smoothing her sweatshirt down over her pregnant belly, "Jake does always draw perfect airplanes."

"That he does. And I must say, you make an absolutely lovely stick figure," Gail teased, returning the note to Heather. "I especially like the triangle skirt."

"Well, I'm glad he decided against drawing me as a pregnant stick figure," Heather said, emitting a soft snort. "And I can only wish for my hair to flip under so well as that."

Gail chuckled appreciatively. "It certainly flatters you."

"But Jake's self portrait - if a stick figure self portrait is possible - really doesn't do him justice," Heather decided, studying the picture, a small smile blooming on her lips.

"I'll admit I'm biased," Gail sighed, "But I have to agree."

Nodding, Heather folded the note so that the stick figures faced out, grinning at her. She turned in her seat, propping it against the base of the lamp that still stood on the nightstand. "That's something to hold onto."

"Your first family picture," her mother-in-law suggested, "After a fashion, anyway."

"Yes," Heather giggled, her face lighting at the thought. "I like that." She rotated back around, smiling. "Oh!" she exclaimed a second later, reaching for Gail's hand. "Here," Heather insisted, pressing her mother-in-law's hand to the side of her rounded belly. "Can - can you feel that?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

"I sure can," Gail answered after a moment. She grinned at her daughter-in-law. "That's a Green baby, for sure." Leaning closer, she addressed Heather's abdomen as she continued to rub her hand over the tight mound of her daughter-in-law's pregnancy. "Hello in there. Hello, little one. I'm your Grandma, and I can't wait to meet you and your cousin. Though, please wait four months to introduce yourself," she added as an afterthought, sitting back and giving Heather a sheepish look. "I couldn't resist," Gail admitted.

Heather caught her mother-in-law's hand as she withdrew it, squeezing it quickly before letting go. "I talk to him - or her - quite a bit myself," she confessed. "And, well, you didn't hear it from me, but Jake and B.G. have some amazing conversations."

Gail flashed a delighted smile. "And, what do they talk about, may I ask?"

"Whatever's on Jake's mind," Heather replied. "Last night he complained to B.G. about his B plus for a good ten minutes," she grumbled, looking back over her shoulder to check the time on her trusty travel alarm clock. "They - they should be almost there," she decided. "Black Jack's two hundred miles away, and Jake promised to go forty five, maybe fifty, to conserve gas. Especially on the way, since they're hauling all that extra weight."

"Jake?"

"Well, yeah," Heather giggled quietly, conceding the point with a nod. "But I told Dad, too. Just to be safe."

"Smart thinkin'," her mother-in-law complimented. "But, honey, you're gonna drive yourself crazy, keeping track of the time and worrying about them."

Heather grunted, making a frustrated noise. "I know," she said, "It's just hard not to."

"It is," Gail returned, her expression full of understanding. She scooted an inch or two closer, reaching over to pat her daughter-in-law's hand. "You know, Johnston asked me right away if he could go with Jake. I didn't want to say yes," she confessed with a frown, "But I did - I had to - because I know that the two of them working together, that's formidable. I trust that they'll be okay. I have to, and so should you. Of course," Gail said, shaking her head, "I didn't realize Michael and Dale were going, too."

"Okay, reminding me about that is not making me feel better," Heather complained, rolling her eyes. "Though, for just a little bit there," she admitted, cringing, "I was kinda planning to go myself."

"Heather!" Gail scolded.

"And, that is a much milder look than I expected from you," her daughter-in-law chuckled.

"Only because you obviously came to your senses," Gail argued. "I can't - I can't even...!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Well, I was talked out of it pretty darn quickly," Heather sighed, "It's just - I want - I need - I need to do my part. I need to be involved in - in determining my own fate, I guess. But then...." She looked down at her middle, resting her hand on the curve of her abdomen. "Priorities, right?"

Gail pressed her hand over Heather's, squeezing her daughter-in-law's fingers. "Most definitely. And this is a very important priority, for all of us," she smiled. "But now," she prompted, starting to stand.

"Back to work?" Heather guessed, lifting herself up off the bed.

"Back to work," Gail confirmed. "Those sheets aren't going to wash themselves, and the distraction will do us good."

Nodding, Heather stepped toward her mother-in-law, pulling her into a quick hug. "Thanks, Mom."

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

Thursday, December 6, five years before the bombs

"The vice and virtue squad," Heather whispered against Jake's lips, giggling almost soundlessly. They both froze mid-kiss as they listened to Grandpa Green stomp up the stairs and then past Jake's bedroom door. He continued down the hall a bit before looping back, still making an inordinate amount of noise as he clomped his way back down the staircase.

Heather finally broke their kiss, falling back onto the mattress, grinning up at Jake. "Hey," she murmured.

"Hey," he returned, dipping his head to cover her mouth with his own. Jake, however, didn't try to deepen the kiss, instead keeping it completely chaste. They'd spent most of the preceding ten minutes kissing, but just kissing. Jake hadn't trust himself to know when to - hell, to be able to - stop if they went any further, and he'd unfortunately been quite cognizant of his mother's and grandfather's presence downstairs. At one point his hand had found its way under Heather's sweatshirt but he'd withdrawn it quickly when he'd realized she wasn't wearing anything but a bra - if that - underneath. He'd forced himself to be content - and he was - simply to have Heather back in his arms, her mouth on his, making the happy and excited little noises that he loved and that drove him crazy.

"I think that was a warning," he breathed, brushing his lips over hers. He combed one hand through her hair, fanned out across the bedspread, groaning quietly. "Next time -"

"Gramps'll knock," she completed for him, flashing a wry grin. "And, after that, he'll come in." Jake nodded; that was his grandfather's modus operandi, one they were both quite familiar with. "Guess we only get a half hour to make up," Heather decided, allowing a frustrated chuckle. "Maybe - maybe we better go down?" she yawned, lifting her hand to his chest, clutching his t-shirt in her fist. She apologized immediately. "Sorry, I haven't been sleeping well."

"Yeah, me either," Jake admitted. He forced himself to sit up, holding his hand out to Heather to help her up. She accepted, and he tugged her to her feet and then into a hug, tucking her head beneath his chin. His stomach growled, loudly, and she pulled away, throwing him a concerned look.

"I interrupted your dinner when I came in, didn't I?" Heather realized, frowning. "Jake."

He shook his head 'no'. "You didn't," Jake argued, knitting their fingers together and trying to draw her back into his arms. "My Mom was heating something up for me, but I wasn't gonna eat it," he explained. "I was on my way out. To come see you."

"Oh," she acknowledged softly, a pleased grin creeping onto her face.

"Guess you beat me to it by a half hour," he shrugged. "But I needed to take a shower. And shave," he added, starting to smile as she ran one finger along his jaw before cupping his cheek.

"I thought you were unusually smooth," Heather murmured, her fingers playing over his skin so that Jake had to concentrate on not reacting. She caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser's mirror then, and turned, groaning and giggling, to study her reflection. "And I look mauled," she laughed, rolling her eyes for his benefit, "Like always. The curse of naturally straight hair."

"Sorry, babe," he smirked unrepentantly into the mirror.

Shaking her head, Heather tried finger combing her hair into place, but gave it up when she remembered her purse. Turning, she slipped past Jake, catching his eye and trailing the fingers of one hand over his stomach. "Why?" Heather asked, grinning over her shoulder at him. "I'm not."

Chuckling appreciatively, he watched as she had to all but climb across the mattress to retrieve her handbag, which had been shoved to the side and teetered precariously on the far edge of the bed. Digging through her purse, Heather returned to stand in front of the dresser. She found her comb, pulling it out with a triumphant flourish, and then deposited her purse on top of the bureau. Looking into the mirror, her eyes locked again with Jake's in their mutual reflection and he smiled at her so that she practically went weak in the knees.

A rosy blush suffused Heather's skin, and she glanced down, noticing the napkin with Jake's 'H.L + J.G.' doodle on it, noticing the care with which he'd smoothed the paper out and placed it on the dresser. The napkin lay alongside two photos from their trip to Wyoming, the two that she - coincidentally - considered her favorites: the one of them kissing outside of Dolly Doolittle's, and the one of them at the airport, standing in front of the plane, Jake embracing her from behind, his cheek pressed to hers. She recalled now how, a week or two after their trip, Jake had asked if he could use her computer to print out a couple of the Wyoming pictures for himself. Heather had been in the middle of her weekly round of phone calls to the parents of her most academically and behaviorally challenged students and, throwing him a distracted smile, had waved him toward the computer. She hadn't seen his choices until this moment.

"So, when did you draw this?" she asked, pointing to the napkin with her comb. Watching him in the mirror, Heather started her repair job by fixing the part in her hair.

"Uh, I dunno," Jake replied, shifting from foot to foot and looking extremely discomfited. "Don't remember. Just some time when I was in Denver for work," he added, though there was something about his uncomfortable expression that convinced Heather that his lapse of memory was feigned, and that he knew exactly when he'd drawn the picture.

"Okay," she acknowledged with a nod, the gentlest of grins lifting the corners of her mouth. It occurred to her then that he had a bit of a sentimental streak. Keeping the photos around was one thing, but the napkin? Just because he'd drawn their initials enclosed in a heart? That was sweet, bordering on sappy, Heather decided, quickly turning away from Jake, and bending over, ostensibly to comb her hair, but in actuality to hide from him the giant and no doubt idiotic-looking smile she knew she was now wearing.

Reveling in the evidence of the depth of Jake's feelings for her, Heather worked on her hair, and on schooling her features to not betray so much of her delight. Jake always groaned and complained when she called him or anything he'd done 'sweet', and so Heather resisted the impulse to do so this time. Standing back up, she caught a glimpse of her now even wilder hair in the mirror but ignored it, instead turning and taking the two steps necessary to eliminate the space between her and Jake. "Well, I couldn't agree more," she told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Heather Lisinski plus Jake Green, forever," she grinned, twining her free arm around his neck, her lips meeting his. "Though you forgot the forever," she chided, smiling against his mouth as Jake wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I can fix that," Jake suggested, his hands resting possessively on her hips. He kissed her, teasing her lower lip and inquiring huskily, "So, Miss Lisinski, when I spell 'forever' with the number four, does 'ever' have one 'e' or two?"

"If it's all caps, E-V-R," Heather answered with a giggle. "But lower case, both Es, definitely."

"Got it," he assured her, pressing his mouth to hers one last time before letting her go. "Fix your hair," he ordered jokingly, moving to the bedside table where he began to search the drawer. Heather quickly tamed her hair to her satisfaction, glad that it no longer looked like she'd stuck her finger in a light socket. "Can't find a pen," Jake muttered, shoving the drawer closed.

"I've got one," Heather assured, dropping her comb back into her purse and producing a pen. She turned around, holding it out to Jake who accepted it in trade for a kiss. He leaned over, quickly adding '4EVR' inside the heart below their initials. Heather planted a kiss on his cheek and declared, "Perfect." Finding his hand, she laced their fingers together before taking a step back, their hands still connected. "How do I look? Unmauled?"

"Gorgeous," Jake proclaimed, "And completely unmauled. Gramps and Mom will never know that we've been making out."

Heather snorted in response. "Yeah, right. In my Buff State sweatshirt. But thank you."

"Well, I mean it," he argued, tugging her back into his arms. "I don't say things I don't mean, not to you," Jake told her, earning himself a rather pleased smile. They heard Grandpa's familiar stomp on the stairs as soon as their lips met, and broke apart, both groaning. "Warning number two," Jake muttered.

"Yeah," Heather sighed, offering him a regretful smile. "Wanna beat him to the punch?" she asked.

Nodding, Jake folded their hands together and, after waiting for Heather to grab her purse off the dresser, he led her to the door, opening it just in time to interrupt his grandfather's initial knock. "Hey, Gramps," he greeted, "Need somethin'?"

"Just returnin' your shoes," Grandpa declared, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he looked Jake and Heather over. "Here," he muttered, shoving Jake's running shoes into his arms.

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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

They had only been at Black Jack for a little over a half hour, but Jake already knew that he didn't like the place. Johnston had advised that they be quick and get out of Dodge post haste, and for once, Jake was in complete agreement with his father. Wanting to finish their business and get back on the road home, they'd divided up, Johnston and Dale going to trade for the store and the town, and Jake and Michael to locate the governor.

Jake had more than a passing acquaintance with the seamier side of life and he'd been in more red light districts over the years than he could count. The drug and sex trades often went hand in hand, especially, it seemed, when he'd been working undercover. Still, it had been awhile since Jake had been propositioned in that manner - those places were a little harder to find in Afghanistan and Iraq and, given the nature of his assignment, he'd had no reason to be in them - and for a split second he'd been too surprised to respond. It had surprised him even more when his brother-in-law had answered for them both, brusquely assuring the scantily clad and shivering teenager who'd offered them a half hour, individually or together, that they weren't interested in catching what she had, before dragging the startled Jake off by the arm.

"Did you see her polo shirt?" Michael had demanded, his voice pitched low, as they'd walked away. "Sacred Heart High School," he'd grimaced. "I dated girls who went to Sacred Heart. Heather went to Sacred Heart."

"Think it was a different Sacred Heart," Jake had muttered, expelling an uncomfortable breath. "Look, uh.... Let's just find the governor," he'd suggested, motioning Michael ahead of him.

Jake and Michael had quickly ascertained that neither of the first two recommended vendors had anything worth looking at, let alone a mechanical governor for a windmill. They had just started across the fairgrounds toward the purported location of the third seller when they'd spotted the sloppily spray painted 'Women's Health Clinic' sign on the side of a former exhibition hall. While they'd walked past the building - formerly the site of the gun and doll show, or maybe a comic book convention, Jake had thought sourly - they'd seen two tight-lipped women in their early twenties being escorted into the building by three stone-faced men. Exchanging grim looks, Michael and Jake had moved on, not bothering to speak; there was simply nothing to say.

The third seller was located at one end of the arena, the sort of place that would have once been used for trick riding shows or large animal exhibitions. Surveying the loose arrangement of improvised tables, only some of which were sheltered under tarpaulins strung up between poles, Jake didn't hold out much hope for finding the governor here, either. The first two vendors had at least been housed on the midway, in permanent and semi-permanent structures. Jake had actually taken it as a good sign when he'd noticed that the first broker was in the old milk bottle pitch booth. It ended up being the last positive thought he'd have about anything to do with Black Jack fairgrounds.

"You really think we're gonna find it here?" Michael grumbled, frowning sideways at his brother-in-law.

"I think we need to find it," Jake answered quietly. "And, here's where we are." After a hurried consultation, they agreed to split up and make a quick reconnaissance of the makeshift store. Michael stayed near the front, where the nervous proprietor paced back and forth, monitoring his customers with a suspicious eye, while Jake, forcing a nonchalance he truly didn't feel, went in the opposite direction, strolling between two long rows of tables.

There were two people at the far end, a still slightly overweight middle-aged man, balding with a week's growth of beard, who faced Jake, and a younger woman whose back was to him, her dishwater blonde hair pulled into a French braid. Jake slowed his pace, trying to determine what they were shopping for, and if they were together. "How much for what?" he heard the young woman ask, her tone distracted, as she continued to look over the boxes of medical supplies set out on the table in front of her.

Stopping in his tracks, Jake frowned as he studied her from behind. That voice was completely familiar, but it was impossible that she'd be here, he told himself. Right?

"I dunno," the man shrugged, stepping closer, his hand brushing her arm. "An hour?" he suggested.

Instinctively, the girl pulled her hand back, forming it into a loose fist. She looked at her companion. "An hour of what?" she questioned, a hint of suspicion in her tone. The man leered at her and pressed himself against her, forcing her to step back into the edge of the table. "What!" she declared, squeaking indignantly. "Wait! No!"

The man, though, was undeterred by her reaction. "How 'bout a half hour?" he tried to bargain.

Jake felt his heart pounding, and he forced himself to act, forced himself forward. "Is everything all right?" he demanded, striding up behind the young woman.

She looked back at him, as startled to see Jake as he was to confirm that it really was her. Eyes wide, she turned back to face her importuner. Seeming to take courage from the hand Jake laid on her shoulder, she expelled an exasperated and offended breath. "I'm not a hooker, pal," she informed the man.

"Then what the hell are you doin' here?" he returned, more confused than anything else.

Annoyed, Jake pushed his way between the other two. "All right," he insisted, reaching behind him to lay a restraining hand on the young woman's arm. "That's enough." The man threw one last leer in her direction then and Jake's anger flared. "That's enough!" he shouted.

"Is there a problem here?" someone else growled from behind them. They looked back to see a man, dressed in stained jeans, and the navy field coat and black watch cap that signaled his position on the Black Jack Security team, striding toward them. He was following the same path Jake has just taken, between the rows of tables, a tight grip on his billy club.

"Hey, no! No!" yet another man interjected, following behind the security guard. He caught the young woman's eye, shaking his head at her. "No problem here. Everything's fine."

The guard cast a suspicious look over them group, and the first man, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender, took a few steps back before turning around and scurrying away. "Keep it that way," the guard ordered with a sharp nod of his head before shoving his way past the new arrival.

"Jake!" the young woman squealed then, a bright smile breaking out on her face. "God! I can't - Jake!" she laughed, excited, launching herself into his arms.

"Mindy!" he breathed, catching her against his chest, hugging her tightly. "What - what the hell are you doing here?"

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

Thursday, December 6, five years before the bombs

"Heather, dear, have you eaten?" Gail inquired as she started to dish chili into Jake's bowl. "There's plenty here."

"I'm fine," Heather assured, offering Jake's mother a smile. "I had a bowl of cereal."

"Cookie Crisp or Cap'n Crunch?" Jake teased. Gail spooned the last of the chili out of the pan, looking down in time to see her son grab Heather's hand, trapping it against his thigh. "I know what's in your cupboard," he informed her. Catching her father-in-law's eye, Gail arched an eyebrow in silent comment, prompting his muffled snort.

"Cap'n Crunch with Crunch Berries," Heather laughed, shaking her head. She looked at Gail, not sure what to make of the other woman's expression. "It wasn't just cereal," she added quickly, "I had an apple, too."

Grandpa slapped his hand on the table and pushed his chair back. "Well, sweetheart," he said, addressing Heather, "I've got a hankering for ice cream. So whaddya say?"

"There's rainbow sherbet in the freezer," Gail reminded, moving across the kitchen to deposit the saucepan in the sink.

"Also got some tin roof sundae," Grandpa countered, winking at Heather as he walked toward the refrigerator. "And that'll be what I'm havin'."

Shaking her head at her father-in-law, Gail turned to get bowls out of the cupboard and spoons from the cutlery drawer. Placing these items on the end of the table, she tried to catch Heather's gaze - she and Jake seemed to only have eyes for one another - but had to resort to clearing her throat loudly. "So, Heather," she smiled once the younger woman glanced in her direction, "How are things at school? The play's coming along?"

"Busy," Heather nodded, throwing Jake a quick grin after he squeezed her hand underneath the table, a move that didn't go unnoticed by his mother. "But the play's really coming together. We've got a few oddities," she admitted with a shrug. "To get a Tiny Tim who could handle all the lines we had to go with Jason Cale. A kindergartner would have been better, size-wise, but we realized we had to go with Jason, and he's in my class -"

"You mean the kid who has a crush on you and can't spell?" Jake interrupted, teasing. "I see what kinda casting director you are," he continued, scraping the inside of his bowl. He'd obviously been hungry, having practically inhaled his dinner, and all the while using only one hand. "Apparently all it takes to get a starring role in your play is a well placed 'Miss Lisinski, I love you. You're pretty and you're fun,'" Jake claimed, grinning at Heather.

Grandpa, returning to the table with the cartons of rainbow sherbet, tin roof sundae, and good old-fashioned vanilla ice cream, took the opportunity to exchange bemused smiles with his daughter-in-law. "This is Shep Cale's boy, I take it? Givin' you a run for your money, I'd say, Jake," he snickered softly. "Smart kid."

Heather blushed at that, though somehow she managed to overcome enough of her embarrassment to continue the joke. "And, Jason's not the only one, Gramps," she reminded, scooting her chair - already next to Jake's - an inch closer so she could lay her head on his shoulder. "He gets jealous of you, too. Thinks you're trying to steal me away," she giggled.

"Well, that's because I am," Grandpa declared, grinning widely. "Hafta say, Jake's smarter than he looks."

"Gee, thanks, Gramps," Jake drawled, wrapping an arm around Heather's shoulders and then turning his head to place a peck of a kiss on her lips. "And, get your own girlfriend."

"Something tells me you can put these back," Gail informed Grandpa, handing him the sherbet and the vanilla ice cream before he could sit down. She pulled the top off the tin roof sundae and began scooping it out into bowls. "So, Jason Cale is playing Tiny Tim," she prompted Heather, smiling.

"Yes, and he's taller than half the kids playing his Cratchit siblings," Heather groaned softly. "Luckily, Lindsay Davis is the tallest girl in the third grade, or he'd be taller than Mrs. Cratchit, too. She really was the best choice we had for the part. One of the seventh grade boys - Duncan McNerny - is playing Scrooge. He's pretty good."

"Pretty good on the football field, too," Grandpa commented, re-seating himself at the table. "I'm sure with five graduating seniors, Coach Bauer's wishin' Duncan would skip the eighth grade and head on up to the high school."

"He is built like a linebacker," Heather agreed, reluctantly pulling herself out of Jake's embrace so she could accept a bowl of ice cream from Gail. "Thanks," she smiled at Jake's mother. "And, he's smart, too. I wasn't sure about the casting at first - Mr. Rennie did some of it before I got back from Buffalo - but you kinda forget after a bit that Duncan looks like he could snap Bob Cratchit in two. Plus, he memorized his lines before everyone else in the cast even though he's got the biggest part."

She took a bite of her ice cream, savoring it. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Jake grinning at her and she threw him a questioning look, but he just shook his head. "Anyway, Bonnie's been a great assistant, and Dale's been a little nervous, though he seems to be getting past it. He'll be fine as our Ghost of Christmas Past. But, oh," Heather remembered with a groan, "Skylar Stevens is the Ghost of Christmas Present. She's actually pretty good in the role, but -" she broke off, rolling her eyes.

"She's just a little bit of a brat?" Gail supplied, her expression sympathetic. "Or perhaps I should say overindulged," she corrected herself, handing Grandpa his ice cream. "I consider Miranda a friend of sorts - she volunteers at the food bank with me and she's helped out at Harvest Festival, plus now she's on the school board - but I don't think she or Hugh have ever said no to that child," Gail clucked.

Heather let out a sigh. "Overindulged is a very good word for it," she agreed. "And I like Mrs. Stevens - I do - but...." She stopped, frowning gently. "Well, I probably shouldn't tell you this but, all week Mrs. Stevens has been ... not exactly complaining, but I have heard her say to some of the other parents that 'it seems so ghoulish' for Skylar to be playing the Ghost of Christmas Present. And, I really don't think she gets why that's funny," Heather explained, cringing softly.

"Oh dear," Gail murmured, her expression sympathetic. "Well, I must admit that Miranda doesn't seem to have an irony bone."

"The Shermans have always had a deficit of sorts when it comes to humor," Grandpa offered, swallowing a bite of his ice cream. "I was always dealin' with Wallace Sherman - Miranda's father - for some reason or another when I was mayor, and I've always been one to try and loosen up a tense situation with a joke. Never worked even once with Wallace, he just didn't seem to get 'em."

"I just don't want to offend her," Heather yawned into her hand. "Excuse me," she requested, shaking her head. "I -"

"You've been running yourself ragged," Gail supplied, moving around the end of the table to seat herself next to her father-in-law. "Well, I'll finish this up, and then we can caravan back to town. You need to get to bed!"

"I was gonna follow her back, Mom," Jake protested, a frown marring his expression as he studied Heather's features closely. He'd just been so relieved to put their fight behind them before, and while their make-up hadn't been exactly painless, they had both wanted it badly. Their adrenaline had kicked in then; but now Heather was obviously flagging. "You wanna go now?" he asked her gently, reaching over to brush a stray piece of hair off her forehead and completely missing the indulgent look his mother and grandfather exchanged.

"Jake, honey, that's silly and unnecessary," his mother argued. "Heather only lives five blocks from us. It's on my way."

"I really should get going," Heather admitted reluctantly, catching Jake's hand as he withdrew it from her face. She laced their fingers together, offering him a wan smile. "And it is kinda silly for you to follow me back."

"Good," Gail declared, taking a spoonful of ice cream. She squinted over Jake's and Heather's heads at the clock high on the opposite wall. "Give me five minutes," she requested, "And I'll be ready to go."

Jake stood up from the table, tugging Heather along with him. "Make it ten, Ma," he countered, dragging a very willing Heather with him toward the door. They didn't wait for his mother's response.

"I'm sorry," they said in unison - and for the second time that night - as they turned to face one another, standing just inside Grandpa Green's study. Jake laughed at her quietly. "What're you sorry for?" he asked, tangling the fingers of one hand in her hair.

"That I'm leaving?" she answered, though, somehow, it came out as a question. She giggled at herself, shaking her head. "That I'm so - I'm so relieved, I guess, that I know I'll be able to sleep tonight, and I'm looking forward to it? That we just made up, and now I'm leaving," Heather decided finally, inching toward Jake. "So, why're you sorry?" she inquired.

"'Cause my mother's gonna follow you home instead of me," he answered with a groan. "I know - I know it's just a kiss goodnight on your porch," Jake told her, tracing one finger over her lower lip. "But I was still lookin' forward to it."

Heather nodded and, wrapping her arms around his neck, stood on her tiptoes to bring her mouth into contact with his. Jake immediately snaked his arms around her waist, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans, pulling her flush against him. "That's a total bummer," she laughed, smiling against his lips some moments later. She dropped down to her flat feet, expelling a deep sigh that soon changed into a yawn. "I love you, Jake."

"I love you, too," he responded, reluctantly loosening his hold on her. Enfolding her hand in his, Jake started to pull Heather farther into the study, but she resisted, smiling at him and tugging in the other direction. He gave in.

"C'mon," she prompted, squeezing his hand. With her free hand, Heather picked up her purse from where she'd left it on the hall table when Grandpa Green had escorted them down from Jake's bedroom. Grinning at him over her shoulder, she led him to the closet where Grandpa had insisted on hanging her coat himself when she'd arrived earlier that evening. "It's not my front porch, but we do have a porch here," she reminded, forestalling his protest that their ten minutes were not up. "It'll do in a pinch," she joked.

"Okay," Jake nodded, shutting the closet door without bothering to retrieve his own coat. Heather set her purse on the floor by her feet and Jake moved behind her, taking her coat so he could hold it open for her. She glanced back at him, smiling, as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. He moved around her so that they were facing one another and, catching her hand again, he stepped toward her, brushing his mouth over hers. "Practice," he insisted, gifting her with a lopsided grin. "For, you know...."

"Outside," Heather guessed, giggling. She picked her purse up by the strap and led him to the door. "You've quite built up my expectations for this kiss, I hope you know," she teased as they stepped out onto the porch. "Better make it a good one."

Jake laughed huskily at that, maneuvering so that they faced one another. The porch light was already on - likely from when Grandpa had met Heather upon her arrival - and it cast a warm glow over Heather, shining on her hair and illuminating the love and affection in her bright, if tired, smile. "This is not all on me," he informed her, his hand coming up to cup her neck and then the back of her head. "I expect some participation," Jake challenged.

"Absolutely," she agreed, slipping her purse off her shoulder and letting it drop heedlessly on the porch deck. "So..." she breathed, resting one hand on his arm and the other on his chest, over his heart, which seemed to beat faster under her fingers. Heather tilted her head up, grinning, her chin jutting out in challenge. "Let's go for it," she ordered, giggling softly.

He kissed her. It was a slow kiss to start, undemanding, and their lips even separated a few times, but never for long as they immediately came together again, nipping and sucking at each other's mouths, breathing one another's breath. Jake pulled her in, snaking one arm around her waist, his other hand dropping to her shoulder, and all the while he teased her with kisses. For Heather, it was soon not enough but also too much, all at once. Making a frustrated noise, she pressed herself into the shelter of Jake's body, winding her arms around him. Her fingers skimmed the waistband of his jeans, dipping quickly under the fabric before finally burrowing beneath the soft cotton of his t-shirt. The cool skin of her hand was somehow searing against the heated flesh of his back, and Jake moaned into her mouth, exhaling, "Babe."

She tightened her hold on him, her fingernails lightly scraping the small of his back. Jake, meanwhile, slipped his arms through the open front of her raincoat, shoving his hands into the back pockets of her jeans, squeezing her through the denim. Heather groaned, again opening her mouth beneath Jake's, her tongue meeting and tangling with his. She pressed closer, shifting on her feet and accidentally treading on Jake's sock-clad foot. "Ouch," he complained, chuckling, as he broke off their kiss.

"Sorry," Heather apologized, taking a half-step back, her eyes wide and her chest heaving. She looked down and frowned. "Where are your shoes?" she demanded. "It's cold out here."

"Upstairs," Jake laughed softly. "But, uh," he continued, clearing his throat, "My boots are right over there." He pointed across the porch at his work boots which were still next to the steps where he'd abandoned them a few hours earlier. Finding her hand, Jake lifted it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. "So, how'd we do?" he teased, tugging her along with him as he moved to retrieve his boots.

"How'd we do?" she returned, not understanding for a moment. Heather stepped over her abandoned purse, following Jake to the steps. "Oh. Oh!" she giggled, a grin blooming on her face as he collected his boots and then led her back across the porch to the swing at the far end. "Well it was a pretty darn good kiss," Heather decided, settling next to Jake, the seat swaying gently beneath them. "A nine. A definite nine."

"A nine, huh," Jake murmured, their eyes locking for a long moment before he leaned forward to pull his still damp baseball cap out of his boot. "Here," he murmured, handing it to her.

"Well, there's always room for improvement, right?" Heather shrugged, the intensity of Jake's gaze sending a delicious shiver up her spine. He nodded, but otherwise didn't respond. Unfolding the hat, she examined the front and then, gathering her hair into a ponytail, she put the cap on, pulling her hair through the back.

"So you're DEA now, huh?" Jake teased gently, tying his left boot.

"Nah, just very closely associated with my local DEA agent," she told him, leaning against his arm. Heather watched as he pulled on his other boot, re-laced it, and then tied it. Feeling suddenly rather bold, she stood up and moved in front of Jake, bracing her hands on his shoulders. Catching on immediately, he stilled the swing with his feet and clasped her waist with both hands, helping Heather climb into his lap. She straddled him, twining her hands around his neck. "Hey," Heather murmured, brushing her mouth over his.

"Hey," Jake grinned against her lips.

The front door opened then, light from the house bleeding out onto the porch, tripling the illumination provided by the porch light. "Here they are!" Grandpa Green boomed out before lowering his volume by half, adding, "Canoodling."

Groaning, Heather buried her head against Jake's shoulder, knocking the cap she was wearing sideways. Rubbing her back, Jake glared at his grandfather and kissed her ear, whispering, "It's okay."

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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

"Mindy!" the new arrival growled, grabbing her by the arm. "What the hell do you think you're doin'?" he demanded, trying to pull her away from Jake, who instinctively clamped his hand down on her other shoulder. "I told you, you're with me or you're with Ted. That's it," he barked, glaring at Jake over the top of her head. "No kidding. Otherwise, things like that happen. Worse things happen," he enunciated, practically spitting out each word. "I knew - I knew it was a bad idea to have you come along." Scowling, he shook his head, complaining, "God, my kid listens better'n you."

"I'm sorry, okay, Russell," she replied begrudgingly, tugging her arm out of his grasp. "The broker said they had medical supplies back here, but it's all stuff we already have," Mindy grumbled. "Half of it's from Costco somewhere, anyway. Got the item numbers and everything.

"Yeah, well, you know what? For some reason they don't put the really good stuff out at the swap meet," he snapped in return, letting out a frustrated breath.

"Right," Mindy acknowledged, pressing he lips into a tight line. "Good point." She shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat and offered him a tentative smile. "And I really am sorry, okay?"

"Sure," he nodded, throwing her one last exasperated look before turning his attention to Jake. "Thanks for the help," he muttered, holding out his hand. "You don't want to mess with the guards here. It gets ugly fast."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, accepting and shaking Russell's hand. "Got that." He studied the other man for a moment, sizing him up. Russell was a few years older - his hair was starting to thin - and almost the same height as Jake, though he was probably a few pounds heavier. More importantly, he was obviously on alert, looking out for signs of danger and - mostly - looking after Mindy.

"C'mon," Russell suggested through gritted teeth. He laid both hands on Mindy's shoulders, steering her in front of him. "Let's get outta here," he mumbled looking sideways at Jake.

Unwilling to let Mindy out of his sight, but also not wanting to get farther away from his brother-in-law, Jake glanced back toward the front of the 'store', and was relieved to see Michael threading his way through the crowd toward them. "Hold up a sec," he demanded quietly, hitting Russell on the arm. Mindy and Russell both looked back at him, and Jake jerked his head in Michael's direction.

"That - that's Heather's brother, right?" Mindy asked, stopping in her tracks despite the pressure of Russell's hand on her shoulder as he tried to propel her forward. "He was at your wedding, right? I'm - I'm pretty sure we did the Macarena together," she admitted, glancing over her shoulder.

"Missed that," Jake snorted. "But that's Mike, yeah," he confirmed, trying to stall them for another few seconds so his brother-in-law could catch up. "Dad's here, too. And Dale Turner."

"Little Dale Turner?" Mindy squeaked out, starting to turn around. "Really?"

"Seriously, the reunion can wait," Russell growled, glaring at Mindy. "Move."

Two seconds later, Michael fell in line next to his brother-in-law. "Jake -"

"C'mon," he said, his voice pitched low, "We need to get outta here." Jake grabbed the sleeve of Michael's parka, pulling him along behind Mindy and Russell. They moved out of the 'store', wending their way through a maze of PVC pipe barriers that looked like over-sized sawhorses constructed out of white twigs. Once they were clear of that obstacle course, Russell led them around the corner of a large blue tent that looked like it was on the verge of collapse.

"Mindy!" A brown-haired man, dressed in an olive green field coat, jogged toward them, frowning in concern. He pulled Mindy into his arms, cupping her face and head with both hands. "Baby! I turned around for two seconds, and you disappeared. Don't scare me like that," he ordered, kissing her quickly before hugging her close, tucking her head against his shoulder.

"Hey, lover boy, keep moving," Russell muttered, pointing them all toward the arena's exit.

"Goin', we're goin," the younger man - Jake guessed he was twenty five or twenty six - grumbled. He kissed Mindy again and then, folding her hand in his, began to lead them toward the gate.

"Jake," Mindy called softly, smiling at him over her shoulder. "I still can't believe you're here. I thought you were supposed to be in the Middle East or somethin'. Jake, this is Ted Lewis," she introduced, glancing up at the man beside her as he hurried them through the crowd. "My boyfriend," she added, flashing a shy smile.

Ted looked back at the three men walking behind them. "Hey," he greeted, "How ya doin'?"

"And Ted, Russell, this is Jake Green and Mike, right?" Mindy asked. Michael nodded, and she continued the introductions. "Mike Lisinski. Jake's married to Mike's sister, and I've known Jake since I was a little kid. I used to torture him," she chuckled, rolling her eyes for effect. "He washed dishes at Mags' - my grandmother's - restaurant in Jericho, The Pizza Garden. I'd sit on this really high stool and watch him and chatter at him for his whole shift if I could get away with it. I was such a pest," Mindy sighed. "But he loves me anyway, doncha, Jakey?"

"Yeah, 'cept when you call me 'Jakey'," he returned with a snort. "So, Russell," he said, glancing at the man on his left. "You're all from New Bern?"

Mindy had moved to New Bern two years before, straight out of Kansas State with a degree in Management from the School of Business Administration. She had accepted an entry level position in Costco's corporate management program, specializing in logistics and inventory control, and had been assigned to the New Bern warehouse store. With Mindy started in her career and Colleen - Mindy's younger sister - in college, Mags Henry had considered her granddaughters settled and her job finished. She'd sold The Pizza Garden and moved to Florida, further weakening Mindy's ties to Jericho. In turn, Mindy had thrown herself into her job and life in New Bern, and the Greens had only seen her a few times a year since then.

She looked back over her shoulder at Jake, grinning. "Whatever you say, Jakey. I just can't believe you're here," Mindy continued, making a happy noise.

Jake cringed at the sound. He and Mindy had always had an unusual relationship - part brother-sister, part babysitter and charge, part friends - and this wasn't the first time they'd gone months without contact. But Jake was embarrassed to admit, even just to himself, that with everything else that had happened since the bombs, Mindy had barely crossed his mind, and he certainly hadn't considered going to New Bern to check up on her.

"We're looking for parts for a windmill generator," Michael explained as they exited the arena. There were fewer people around and they all breathed sighs of relief as they slowed their pace.

"Unsuccessfully," Jake added, shaking his head. "What're you doin' here?" he questioned. "You said something about medical supplies?"

"We all work for the New Bern city manager," Mindy said, pulling loose of Ted's embrace and turning around to face Jake. "After everything happened, he appointed me his chief of logistics. We're authorized to trade on behalf of the town, and right now we need medical supplies."

"And food," Ted offered, "Same as everybody else in the world."

Russell frowned at his two companions and then, clearing his throat, glanced at Jake. "So, hey, there's a guy here who doesn't always report into the main tent, but sometimes has the specialty items nobody else has," he explained. "You wanna see 'im?"

Jake looked at Michael and then back at Russell. They both nodded. "Yeah," he agreed, "Let's check it out."

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

Different Circumstances: Part 12D
by Marzee Doats


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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

Russell pointed them back toward the center of the fairgrounds, telling them that his contact for 'specialty items' operated out of one of the old administration buildings.  "There's a red cross outside," he told them.  "Guess it's the old first aid station, the place where they used to take the lost kids."

"You come here a lot?" Jake asked.  "I mean, you seem to know who to go to."

"Every coupl'a weeks," Russell shrugged.  "This is the first time we've brought Mindy," he confided, lowering his voice so only Jake could make him out.  "The boss insisted, and she wanted to come.  But I'll see if I can talk her outta comin' next time."

Mindy kissed Ted on the cheek and let go of his arm.  She turned around, smiling at the other three as she slipped between Jake and Russell to walk with them.  Squeezed out - on the narrow, winding path and with the crowd around them there was no way they could walk four abreast - Michael jogged forward, falling into step beside Ted.  "Sorry," Mindy apologized to his back.  "And it was definitely the Macarena," she decided.

"The Macarena, the Electric Slide, and the Chicken Dance," Michael informed her, looking over his shoulder.  He glanced at Ted.  "Just so you know, she's got a thing for champagne."

"Champagne, huh?" Ted asked, grinning over his shoulder at Mindy.  "I can still get my hands on champagne," he teased.

"Uh uh," Mindy countered, chuckling.  "We're holdin' the alcohol in reserve.  And you," she continued, glaring softly at Michael, "It's all starting to come back to me now, and as I recall, you weren't turnin' it down either."

Jake shook his head.  Admittedly, his recollections of his wedding day hardly included Michael - who'd been a groomsman - let alone Mindy, but he was pretty sure he would have noticed the two of them ... getting friendly.  "I don't remember any of this," he informed them, his tone skeptical.

"That's because you guys were already long gone.  Headed for the big, secret honeymoon," Mindy teased before giving into a sigh.  "So, how's Heather?  How's everybody?" she demanded with her next breath.  "What's been happening?"

"Well let's see, a coupl'a months ago I was out on route forty, and I saw a mushroom cloud, somewhere in the vicinity of Denver, in the rearview mirror," Jake returned sourly.  "So, pretty much same as everywhere."

"Jake," Mindy admonished, frowning at him. 

"This way," Ted directed, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at Mindy before leading them around a set of neglected benches and then behind a concession stand, the marquee still advertising corn dogs, cotton candy and funnel cakes.

"Sorry," Jake mumbled, throwing Mindy a guilty look as she stepped passed him, to follow Russell, single file, through the narrow alley that ran behind the snack bar.  "Heather's good," he offered with a shrug.  "She's, uh -"  He broke off, watching as Michael, Ted and Russell paused at the end of lane to wait for him and Mindy.  Jake decided he'd save some of his news for later.  "She's working with some of the engineers from the mine, tryin' to build windmills for electricity," he told her as they reached the other three.  "That's why we're here," he added with a nod at his brother-in-law.  "Plus, Dale's hoping to trade for food.  He's running the market now."

"Little Dale Turner?" Mindy repeated, her forehead wrinkling with confusion.  "How'd that happen?"

"Long story," Jake muttered.  "Which way now?"

"Through there," Ted said pointing them onto a wider path.  "Now, I would've figured Jericho's set for food," he challenged, "All that good farmland around town."

There was a resentful note in Ted's voice that made the hair on the back of Jake's neck stand on end and put him immediately on guard.  "It's not easy anywhere these days," he answered brusquely.  "And that includes Jericho."

"Sure, man,"' Ted shrugged, his tone conciliatory.  "I just meant that ....  Well, I mean that in New Bern we'd really be hurtin' if it weren't for the aid drop we got a few weeks back."

"Jericho got one, too," Michael supplied.  "And we needed it.  Food, medical supplies, a generator.  All air dropped courtesy of the People's Republic of China."

"Ours - ours was from Germany," Mindy told Jake.  "There was even Nutella.  I took a jar for myself when they brought everything to the warehouse," she confessed, her expression turning sheepish.  "We split it," she said with a nod at Ted, "Ate it all in one night. Didn't feel too good the next day, but it was still totally worth it."

"The aid must be coming in from all over the world," Michael murmured.

"Well, if aid's coming in from all over the world, who did this to us?" Mindy asked, looking between Russell and Jake as she again fell into step with them.

Russell snorted.  "That's the question, isn't it?  And it's not the only one, either."  He glanced at Jake over Mindy's head.  "You know, we had the feds come a couple weeks back.  Guys claiming to be government contractors, anyway," he muttered, watching Jake closely for his reaction; Jake returned his stare, sucking a quiet breath in through his teeth.  "So the mayor thought we should make security a priority," Russell continued, "Resigned his office, and appointed Sheriff Constantino the acting city manager."

"Phil Constantino?" Jake inquired, the bad feeling he'd had over Russell's mention of government contractors momentarily supplanted by surprise.  "He's a friend of my father's," he explained, "They like to fish.  He and his wife came to our wedding."  Jake didn't bother explaining that, as a politician, Johnston Green had had a lot of 'friends', political allies and officials from all levels of government in western Kansas.  A whole block of these friends had been present at both Eric's and April's wedding, and then a year later, at his and Heather's.  Though they were associates of Johnston's, it had been Gail who had put Phil Constantino and the others on the guest list - and Heather who had talked Jake into going along with it when he'd discovered the additions quite after the fact.

"Probably didn't do the Macarena," Russell replied drily. 

Jake smirked in return.  He wasn't so sure about Ted, especially not as a boyfriend for Mindy, but he was starting to warm up to Russell.  "No, probably not."

"He was at your wedding?" Mindy interjected, her expression the picture of surprise.  "I don't remember that at all."

"Sounds like you were busy with other things," Jake reminded, rolling his eyes.

"Your name's Green?" Russell remembered then, frowning softly, "And your father's a friend of Constantino's?  Johnston Green, Jericho's mayor?"

"Yeah, well Dad's not mayor anymore," Jake muttered, his expression clouding.

"What?" Mindy gasped out, her mouth hanging open.  "Since when?" she demanded, grabbing Jake's arm.  She halted in place, dragging him to a stop as well.  "What happened?"

"That's another long story," Jake answered.  "Gray Anderson won the election by thirty some votes.  Nothin' to do.  It's still a democracy."  He looked at Russell, meeting the other man's frown with a frown.  "So, these contractors," he asked as they started to move forward again.  "Who were they?"

"Security detail from a company called Ravenwood."

Jake forced himself to not react visibly, though his stomach clenched as Russell confirmed his suspicions.  A bitter taste pervaded his mouth, and his ears rang with the memory of Gray Anderson's words on that fateful day when the citizens of Jericho had faced the threat of Ravenwood, and somehow, had achieved a victory of sorts.  "Not before they pass New Bern," Gray had countered when Eric had argued that blowing up the Tacoma Bridge would buy them nothing, and that Ravenwood would just come at Jericho from another direction.  "Or some other town," Gray had added before declaring, "Better them than us."  At the time, Jake had agreed - mostly - with Gray.  They could only protect themselves - only worry about themselves - but even then he'd hoped that Ravenwood would go anywhere else but New Bern.  That moment had been one of the few times since the bombs when he had thought of Mindy and worried for her safety.  Now Jake couldn't help but think that, in a way, they had cursed New Bern with Ravenwood.

"They came in looking for supplies," Russell continued.  The lane they were on widened and straightened as three secondary paths all came together at one spot.  Russell increased his pace and pulled a few steps ahead of Jake and Mindy, addressing them over his shoulder.   "A few of the shop owners resisted, and they got violent."

"Killed three and injured eight," Ted added, "Then drove off with a truckload of our diesel."

"But since then, Constantino's managed to take control of things," Russell explained, continuing the tag-team effort.  "Crime really isn't a problem for us anymore."

Surprise and suspicion fought for dominance in Jake's mind as he forced himself to tear his gaze away from Mindy who, flashing him a quick smile, moved forward to join Ted again.  Jake knew it wouldn't do to betray his hand here; it was obvious Russell - and to a lesser extent, Ted - were playing close to the vest.  Somehow he managed an achingly neutral look and, trying to keep his interest in the answer out of his voice, questioned, "How'd he manage that?" 

Their party stopped again - suddenly - no one answering Jake.  He looked around, following the path of Russell's gaze.  "What is this?" Jake asked quietly, taking in the scaffolding that had been built up around the water tower at the center of the fairgrounds.  A man was up on a ladder, some twelve or more feet above them, armed with a permanent marker and writing information out on long sheets of butcher paper which he pulled down from rolls mounted on a plywood board.  

Russell expelled a breath, trying to disguise a soft chuckle.  "The news," he informed Jake, smirking.

Jake nodded, not speaking as he looked everywhere, trying to take it all in.  He read, the words and phrases passing through his mind, but after two and a half months in a virtual news deficit, it was hard to process.  'Northwest Power Grid beyond repair' he saw, 'P.M. Clements brings neutrality to a vote'.  Was Clements Canada or the U.K., Jake wondered, unsure if he'd ever known the answer.  And, where was Clements bringing something -anything - to a vote?  The U.N.?  In New York?  Maybe NATO?  The EU?   And, what was there to be neutral about?   The headlines continued: 'Cheyenne nears accord with Sacramento', 'Jennings & Rall',  'worst winter in decades', 'I-70 attack', 'Beijing vows to continue aid'. 

"Where did all this come from?" Jake demanded, unable to take his eyes off the board.  'Mosque burnings', 'Florida', 'Senator Tomarchio', 'Posse Comitatus', 'Chicago-Camp West', the news continued, and none of it looked good.

"People pass through here from all over," Russell explained, shrugging.  "Everyone brings a little piece of the puzzle."

Not bothering to acknowledge the other man, Jake moved toward his brother-in-law, slipping off his backpack as he went.  Digging around inside the bag, he found the spiral notebook and extracted it, presenting it to Michael.  "You think you can get this all down?"

"Guess so," Michael agreed, "You can't?  Your hand broken all of a sudden?"

This earned an appreciative laugh from Mindy, standing a few feet away.  "What?" she asked, smiling sweetly at Jake when he shot her an exasperated look.

"I could, but you've got that perfect Lisinski, 'we were all tortured by nuns with rulers', Catholic school handwriting," Jake snorted, returning his attention to his brother-in-law.  "You take the notes, somebody else might actually be able to read it when we get home."

Michael accepted the notebook, pulling the mechanical pencil loose before flipping it open.   A chunk of pages had been torn out, he noted, leaving only clean, blank sheets.  "You actually thought to bring this with you?  Or did Heather -"

"Heather," Jake admitted, allowing a sigh.  "What can I say?  Your sister loves me," he reminded, clapping Michael on the shoulder.

Russell came up on Jake's other side and, crossing his arms casually over his chest, glanced over at Jake, asking, "You guys don't get out much, do you?  Well, c'mon," he ordered, looking back over his shoulder, already walking away.  "It gets better."

He led Jake around the scaffolding to the back side where a chalkboard had been painted with listings of 'In Demand' items - Jake noted that, luckily for Jericho, salt was listed - and 'Red Flag' and 'Yellow Flag' routes in four states.  Above this hung a map of the United States, drawn onto what looked like an old bed sheet.  Red dots, Jake realized, marked bomb locations some of which were news to him.  "What are the stars for?" he inquired, studying the map.

"Capitals," Russell answered easily.

"Of what?" Jake returned, his stomach tightening once more as he looked at his companion.  He was suspicious of the map - what it meant - and he was suspicious of Russell, who suddenly seemed to be enjoying himself.

"The federal government."

"Federal government?" Jake repeated, continuing to study the other man.  Russell looked like he was waiting for Jake to get the punch line of a joke.  "But there's six stars up there," he argued, shaking his head as he tried to clear it of all the frightening possibilities that were starting to occur to him.  "Where's the president?" he demanded, an apprehensive note creeping into his tone.

Russell's smile turned grim, and he answered Jake's question with a question.  "Which one?"

Michael came around the side of the makeshift news tower then, frowning absently as he read over his notes.  Mindy, holding onto Ted's hand and dragging him along with her, followed behind.  Finally looking up, Michael noticed the chalkboard and then the map above it.  "Great," he complained, flipping to a new page in the notebook, "There's more."

"Six presidents," Jake mumbled.  He stared at the map for a second, and then took a step toward it, as if a closer view would help clear things up.  "I don't understand.  Who's in charge of the military?" he questioned.  "We saw - we saw ICBMs launched from silos in Wyoming back in October.  The night - the night of the EMP.  Somebody had to order that," Jake insisted.  "The president has to order that," he insisted.

"You're assuming there's only one of those, too," Russell muttered.

"Wait a minute," Mindy interrupted, her brow furrowing.  "Isn't there a line of succession?" she asked, glancing back and forth between Jake and Russell.  "So that there's only one successor?"

"HHS Secretary Charles is supposed to be next in line," Michael said, looking up from his transcription duties.  "I was in med school in Connecticut when the bombs went off," he explained with a shrug, having spotted Russell's questioning look.  "We were about to be conscripted, as medics, into the National Guard on Charles' orders before a couple of friends and I decided it was time to pay my sister a visit."

Russell let out a low whistle.  "And you made it all the way from Connecticut to Kansas?"  Michael, continuing to copy, nodded.  "So Charles is in Ohio for sure?" Russell questioned.  "Far as I've heard, that's still unconfirmed."

"They read some proclamation out loud," Michael replied, "Didn't even bother posting it.  But they said it was direct out of Columbus, 'the emergency powers capital of the United States of America'," he quoted.  "And they said it was signed by President Charles."

"Huh," Russell acknowledged, rubbing his chin with the side of his hand.  "Well, there are still five other guys who seem to think the attacks changes the rules.  Senator Morrisette in Oregon, Senator Tomarchio in Wyoming, they're all staking a claim," he explained.  "Gathering support."

"So what happens when they figure out who's in charge?" Mindy wanted to know, leaning back into Ted's embrace.

"They start making deals," he told her, pressing a kiss to the back of her head.  "Compromise."

"Or?" she persisted, twisting around to look him in the eye.

Somehow though, it fell to Jake to answer.  "Or they fight," he muttered.

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

Wednesday, December 12, five years before the bombs

"Well, that was pretty good," April decided, still applauding as the curtain was pulled closed and the house lights came up, signaling the end of the first half of the play.  She glanced to her right, smiling at her brother-in-law.  "Heather's done a great job, and they're all so cute."

"And, I'm pretty sure Dale didn't forget any of his lines tonight," Jake replied, motioning April and Eric, who was sitting on the other side of his wife, out of their chairs.  "C'mon.  There're refreshments for sale outside," he explained, "Hot chocolate and cider, plus cookies from McBee's at only a hundred percent mark-up.  But the money all goes to the PTA's field trip fund, so I guess that's okay."

"How can it be a hundred percent mark-up?" Eric asked, reaching for April's hand as he followed her out of their row.  "Mom said they were donated, and a hundred percent of nothin' is nothin'," he argued.

"It's a hundred percent mark-up from what you pay in the bakery, okay?" Jake grumbled, looking back over his shoulder at his brother and rolling his eyes.  Reaching the end of the row, he turned, smiling at his sister-in-law as she exited.  "Buy you a cookie, April?" Jake offered before telling Eric, "You're on your own."

April moved next to her husband and threaded her arm through his, smiling up at him expectantly.  Eric gave her a quick kiss and then looked at his brother, glaring benignly.  "You stick to buying your girlfriend cookies, and leave my wife alone."

"But I do get a cookie, right?" April inquired, chuckling and leaning against Eric's arm. 

"I'll buy you two if you want," he promised, pulling his arm free from hers so he could drape it across her shoulders.  "And, some hot chocolate."

April grinned at Eric.  "Big spender," she teased.

"C'mon," Jake directed, starting toward the exit out into the school's main hallway where the refreshments tables were set up. 

"You know, I wasn't gonna say anything," April sighed, glancing sideways at Jake as she and Eric fell into step beside him, "But I have to say it.  Did you ever - even once - go to a school play when you were a student here?  Or at the high school?"

"Yeah, of course," Jake returned, his tone bordering on defensive. "Mom made me," he grumbled, "'Cause Eric was always in the plays.  And, the musical, every spring."

"I remember you in the spring musical," April told her husband, reaching up to pat the hand he was resting on her shoulder.  "You were the Prince in Once Upon a Mattress," she smiled.

"Prince Dauntless the Drab, at your service, Princess April," Eric assured, kissing her again.

Jake groaned.  "C'mon already." 

Out in the hallway, they got into line to purchase their refreshments.  Eric stood behind April, arms wrapped around her, both of them facing his brother.  "So, which night was the best night?" April asked, grinning at Jake.  "Tonight?  When you came with Gramps?  Or when you came with Mom and Dad?"

"I dunno," Jake shrugged, "It's a school play."

"You know he's only here - every night - 'cause of Heather," Eric reminded April, kissing her ear.  "He's probably not even paying attention."

"Of course he is," April argued, as they all moved forward, following the line. "Because Heather's gonna ask what he thought, and he has to tell her.  So, so far, what do you think?"

Jake was saved from having to answer by Mrs. McVeigh who, spotting him from the other end of the hall, called out his name and hurried over.  "Jake!" she gasped out, "Here you are!  Where did you put the flowers?" she inquired, inhaling deeply.  "I can't find them."

"Mrs. C. put them in the first fridge, right when you walk in the kitchen, the one with all the milk cartons," he explained, frowning.  "You didn't see 'em in there?  A dozen red and white roses."

"I thought Harriett meant the refrigerator in the teachers' lounge," Mrs. McVeigh groaned, shaking her head.  "Though the kitchen makes much more sense," she declared, offering them all a relieved smile.  "Sometimes, I'm just tempted to roll the teachers' lounge fridge down to the science lab and let the eighth grade spend the semester investigating the contents," she confided, chuckling.

"You got Heather flowers, huh?" April asked, flashing a smile at Jake before fixing her husband with a pointed look.  "You might wanna take a lesson from your brother," she informed him.  "I just can't remember the last time someone gave me flowers," she added with an exaggerated sigh.

"Well, we're married," Eric teased.  "Jake's still workin' on Heather, but I've already got you."

April elbowed him in the stomach for that, inquiring, "Oh really?"  Eric grunted, letting go of her.  She took a half step forward and looked up and back at him, smiling sweetly.  "Sorry.  Slipped."

"Eric Green!" Mrs. McVeigh exclaimed, shaking a scolding finger at him.  "I should call your mother," she threatened with a chuckle.

"Oh!  Please do!" April requested, giggling.  "Mom'll straighten him out."

"I'm gonna," the principal decided.  "I can't imagine Gail Green standing for this at all," she said, her hands on her hips as she fixed Eric with a disapproving stare, before giving up the pretense and joining April in her laughter.

"Here's a tip, Eric," Jake drawled, "Mom likes flowers, too.  And - another tip - they've got these shops now, called florists -"

"Okay, okay," Eric grumbled as he reached for his wife's hand.  "What kind of flowers do you want?"

"I'm not answering that," April declared, allowing Eric to pull her back into his embrace. "But I will say this: listen to your brother," she told him, twisting around to kiss him on the chin.  "He's givin' you good advice."

"Well, I'm sure there's something I should be doing as principal," Mrs. McVeigh sighed, smiling at the newlyweds.  "I know where the flowers are," she added, speaking mostly to herself, "And I'll have one of the kids present them to Heather at the end of the curtain call," she said, already turning away.

"Just as long as it's not Jason Cale," Jake joked. 

Mrs. McVeigh stopped mid-step and whipped back around, facing Jake with a confused frown.  "I was actually thinking Jason Cale.  He's playing Tiny Tim, and he's in Heather's class," she reminded.

"Yeah, and the kid has a crush on Heather.  Writes her love notes," Jake chuckled in complaint.  "I don't want him gettin' any credit for my roses."

"Good evening, Greens," Clyde Davis greeted as he, along with his wife, Shannon, moved into line behind Eric and April.  "Now Jake," he continued without pausing, "I was sure I was imagining things - but Shannon tells me I'm not," Clyde grinned, nodding at his wife.  "You've been here every night this week.  I shoulda tapped you to write the review for The Record."

"Lindsay!" Mrs. McVeigh declared, clapping her hands together.  "Excuse me, Clyde," she requested with a quick glance in his direction.  "Lindsay can present the flowers to Heather along with Jason," she suggested to Jake, naming the Davises' youngest child and only daughter.  "She's the other student in Heather's class with a speaking part.  It'll be sweet."

"I can live with that," Jake agreed, laughing quietly.  "And thanks for taking care of this," he added, flashing a smile in her direction.

"Good," Mrs. McVeigh exhaled in relief, adding, "And, thank you.  I should have known the PTA was going to fall down on this one," the principal grumbled, rolling her eyes.  "Now, if you'll all please excuse me," she requested over her shoulder, already heading off to handle her next errand.

"You don't want Jake writing that review, Mr. Davis," April laughed.  "I used to check his English homework.  Trust me on this."

Jake grunted softly, rolling his eyes.  "Yeah, well, your math homework wasn't a lotta fun to go through either."

Chuckling along with everyone else, Shannon Davis patted her husband on the arm.  "Clyde, I told you that Jake is dating Miss Lisinski," she reminded.  "And she's directing the play, so that's why he's here."

"Exactly," Eric snickered.

"That's right," Clyde nodded, giving Jake an appraising look.  "You did tell me that," he acknowledged as he reached for Shannon's hand.  "I may run the paper but I wouldn't know half of what's goin' on in town without Shannon," he confided to April.  "I'd be lost without her."

At first glance, the Davises were certainly mismatched.  To begin, there was the thirteen year age difference between them, one that had set the Jericho grapevine all atwitter when, fifteen years earlier, thirty-seven year old perpetual bachelor Clyde had gotten it into his head to romance twenty-four year old Shannon Bretton while she'd been home for a few months to help her mother after surgery and to do some research for her master's thesis.   Add to that, the fact that Clyde, while not unattractive, had never been considered handsome, and had always carried at least an extra ten pounds on his stocky frame.  Shannon on the other hand, was a reputed local beauty, and had even been elected prom queen in high school.  But they had worked together at The Jericho Record when Shannon had been a student reporter and Clyde had just taken over as editor, and they had become good - if improbable - friends during those years, infamous for their running debates conducted in the newspaper offices and anywhere else in Jericho that they both had happened to be.

"We're intellectual equals," Shannon was rumored to have told her mother when Eloise Bretton had asked her if she was really going to marry Clyde Davis, "And he's the kindest person I've ever met."  So four months after Shannon had dropped by the farm equipment showroom where Clyde worked at his paying job - just to say 'hi' -   and had somehow ended up agreeing to meet him the next night for dinner at Roma Italia, they had been married.  Fifteen years and three children later they were going strong, still obviously happy to be together.  So if some on the Jericho grapevine claimed to have known from the beginning that Shannon and Clyde were meant for one another, while those with better memories chose not to challenge these assertions, who did it hurt?  Certainly not the Davises.

"I understand," April answered Clyde though she was watching her husband.  "And, thankfully, my mother-in-law keeps me in the loop for all the good gossip," she laughed, smiling at Eric.

"Your mother-in-law is one of my best sources," Shannon interjected, chuckling as they all took two steps forward, following the line.  "Actually, I talked to her last night.  Three very informative minutes," she declared, though she didn't bother to elaborate.  "Of course, it was Gracie Leigh who told me you were dating Miss Lisinski," she explained to Jake.  "Though, she might have thought she was warning me, since Miss Lisinski is Lindsay's teacher," Shannon added, rolling her eyes.

"You try to steal some Reese's when you're seven, and you're branded for life," Jake grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.  Everyone laughed in appreciation.

"Doesn't seem fair, does it?" Clyde agreed.  "Shoplifting candy from Gracie Leigh's is practically a rite of passage when you grow up in Jericho. For me it was Hershey's with Almonds," he admitted a beat later.  "Of course, when I was a kid it was still just Leigh's Market, and it was Mr. Leigh who caught me."

"Charleston Chew," Shannon chuckled.  "Strawberry.  And let's see, when Gracie caught Brett it was a Three Musketeers, and with Zack, Rolos."

"Mars Bar," Eric admitted, resting his chin on his wife's shoulder.  "But I only did it because Jake and Stanley dared me."

April reached back, patting him on the cheek.  "A likely story, Ricky," she teased.  "Though we all know that Jake's a bad influence and people should be warned that he's dating Heather," April laughed softly, throwing her brother-in-law a sympathetic look.  "Now, since I didn't go through this Jericho rite of passage, I have to ask.  Does anyone ever actually get away with it?"

The other four were all silent as they contemplated the question, each frowning softly.  "Uh, I don't think I know anybody," Eric answered.  "What about you, Jake?" he inquired, catching his brother's eye.

"You gotta be kidding," Jake snorted.  "Anybody who pulled that off would be legend."

"I think you've got your answer," Shannon smiled at April.  "I've only heard of people getting caught, not anybody getting away with it."

"But you never know," Clyde reasoned, "I mean Lindsay hasn't been caught, so maybe..." he shrugged.  "You never know."

The line moved ahead again, and Jake was called up to the table by a girl he was almost certain had been in the group the Richmonds had been trick-or-treating with on Halloween.  He looked over the cookies that were left and placed his order, still keeping half an ear on the Davises' conversation.

"Lindsay hasn't stolen any candy from Gracie's," Shannon argued, clearly shocked by her husband's suggestion.  "That's ridiculous.  She's a good girl, and I'm her mother, I would know."

"She wouldn't tell us," Clyde chortled.  He glanced at Eric and then at Jake's back.  "Your parents know half the trouble you two got into as kids?"

"Don't think so," Eric answered for them both.  "Jake knows how to tell a good story.  Convincing.  Course, with Dad, you never know," he laughed, "He might know everything, and just not let on."

"He doesn't know everything," Jake grumbled, looking back over his shoulder for a second as he dug money out of his wallet to pay for his refreshments.

"Well, now you've got me worried that our daughter's a - a criminal mastermind," Shannon complained, frowning at her husband. 

"I don't think lifting a candy bar from the market is quite in the realm of criminal mastermind," Clyde replied.  "And, I didn't say she had, just that she's never been caught, so it's possible," he grinned. 

Shannon's frown grew, and she gave into the urge to slap him harmlessly on the arm.  "I can't believe you'd think that about your own child.  And, you like the idea!" she accused.

"It's an interesting possibility, that's all," Clyde shrugged. 

"Don't worry, Mrs. Davis," Eric consoled, laughing softly.  "If Jake can get into all the trouble he did as a kid and grow up to be in law enforcement, I'm sure there's still hope for Lindsay."

"Speaking of that," Clyde said, clearing his throat, his tone suddenly serious.  "I realize you're under that gag order, and this is completely off the record of course, but things are proceeding okay?" he asked Jake as the younger man completed his transaction and turned around to face the rest of them.

"Well, she'd tell her brothers even if she didn't tell us," Shannon reasoned, talking mostly to herself.  There wasn't even a full four years between Brett, the oldest of the Davis children, and Lindsay, the youngest, and the three children were quite close.  "I'll just ask the boys."

"Things are proceeding," Jake agreed, stepping out of the way to let April and Eric move past him.  "That's - that's all I can say," he reminded, and Clyde nodded his understanding.

"Hungry, Jake?" April asked, staring at the two big cookies, wrapped in a napkin, that he held in his left hand.  In his right, he held a Styrofoam cup of something that was still hot enough to give off steam.

"Takin' Eric's advice," Jake shrugged, "Got a cookie for Heather.  I'll see you back inside," he finished, already turning away.

"You can't - you're not allowed to go backstage!" Eric protested.  "Cast and crew only!"

Glancing back, Jake offered them all a grin.  "We'll see about that," he tossed off before starting toward the multipurpose room and - more importantly - the stage door.  From behind, he heard his brother call out one last dire warning against his plan.  Chuckling to himself, Jake paused for a second to take a sip of the coffee he'd purchased, mostly to make it easier to walk with.  The flavor was only so-so, but the girls working the refreshment stand had assured him it was caffeinated, which in the end, seemed to be Heather's only requirement.  Entering the multipurpose room through the open door, Jake skirted the crowd of parents and students standing around at the back, and made his way along the edge of the room to the stage door.  With both hands full, he was forced to take another sip of the coffee and then knock on the door with his elbow.  Getting no response, he tried it again.  Finally, the door opened a crack, two heads appearing in the space.

"Jake?" Bonnie Richmond greeted, almost whispering, and he was impressed as he always was that, somehow, Stanley had managed to teach her how to modulate her volume.  Of course, Jake supposed, it likely helped that Bonnie hadn't always been deaf; as a toddler, before the accident that had taken her parents' lives, she'd been quite the chatterbox. 

"Can I come in?" he asked, speaking softly and clearly so she could read his lips.  "I need to give something to Heather."

Bonnie and her companion - another girl Jake recognized from Halloween - were dressed head to toe in black, even down to the scrunchies that held their hair back in ponytails.  They both wore black Keds, too, and had apparently taken Sharpies to the rubber around the bottom to complete the look.  Shaking her head 'no', Bonnie hugged her neon pink clipboard to her chest like a shield.  There was sticker on the back of the board, labeling it, 'Property of Bonnie Richmond, Asst. Director', with little pink heart stickers as the dots over the three i's.  Jake recognized Heather's handwriting, and couldn't help but smile, knowing she had to have given the clipboard to Bonnie.  "You can't," the girl argued, "Cast and crew only."

"Just for a minute - a second, Bonnie," he wheedled, despite the fact that she couldn't hear his pleading tone.  "It'll be okay."

"No," she shook her head again.  "Miss Lisinski said," she informed him, eyeing the cookies in his left hand.

"She really did," the other girl - Jake was pretty sure her name was Alyssa - confirmed.  "'No visitors.'  It's what she said."

Jake looked down at the cookies as well.  He'd bought a peanut butter one for himself and an M&M cookie for Heather. He hadn't planned on needing a bribe, but he figured it was worth a shot.   "You let me in," he bargained, showing the two girls the cookies stacked together, the M&M one on top, "You can have a cookie.  To split."

"But Miss Lisinski said," Bonnie frowned, glancing to her friend for support.

"She did," Alyssa repeated, making a huffing noise.

"She really just said people's parents couldn't come back, right?" Jake asked after tapping Bonnie on the arm to make her look at him.  "I'm nobody's dad.   I just need to talk to Heather," he reasoned before reminding, "It's M&Ms."

Bonnie's expression was clearly conflicted, and she bit her lip as she looked back and forth between Jake's encouraging smile and the cookie in his hand.  "Okay?" she questioned, looking at Alyssa, who shrugged in answer.  "Okay," Bonnie decided finally, exhaling deeply as she reached for the cookie.  She held it in her hand, her clipboard tucked under her arm, and backed into the door, already breaking it in half.  "I better not get in trouble," Bonnie told Jake as he stepped, sideways, past her. 

"It'll be fine," Jake assured, looking back at Bonnie, who frowned in return and, after handing Alyssa her piece, took a big bite of the cookie.

Jake moved up the short staircase, careful not to spill the cup of coffee, and was once again confronted by a door. He balanced the remaining cookie on top of the cup, and then pulled the door open, stepping into the darkened backstage area.  There were two boys - the two that had helped build the counting house set - sitting inside the lighting cage and he spotted Heather, kneeling, surrounded by half her cast, working to reattach Bob Cratchit's beard with spirit gum.  The door clicked closed behind him and everyone turned to look.

"Jake," Heather stage whispered, surprise obvious in her tone.  "You're not supposed to be back here," she reminded, pressing the beard into place on the little boy's skin.  She removed her hand, breathing a sigh of relief when the fake hair stuck.  "I think you're good to go, Tyler," she smiled.

Duncan McNerny, dressed as Scrooge in nightshirt and cap, uttered a rather unspecific "C'mon," dispersing the gaggle of kids gathered around Heather.  In groups of two and three they moved away, murmuring quietly to themselves.  Duncan, who was actually an inch or two taller than Heather, grinned down at her.  "Five minutes, Miss Lisinski?" he inquired. 

"Yeah," she agreed, "Can you find Bonnie for me?"

Jake didn't bother with telling Duncan that she was out in the hallway, though he seemed to know, heading straight for the door.  "Hey," Jake grinned gently as Heather approached him.  "I brought you coffee," he said, holding the cup out to her. 

"Thank you," she sighed, stopping a good six inches from him.  Tucking her clipboard - neon green with a sticker across the back that said 'Miss Lisinski' - under her arm, Heather accepted the cup and took a sip, watching him over the rim.  "Jake, you're really not supposed to be back here," she reminded with a soft smile.

"I know," he acknowledged, studying her in the low light.  Jake had seen Heather earlier in the evening - he'd brought her dinner, Chinese food, which they'd split, sitting at the group work table in the back of her classroom - but that had been before she'd changed for the play.  She was dressed now in a knee-length black skirt and a red silk blouse with a v-neck that gave him a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage.  Her hair was up, too, pulled into a chignon knot, and while normally Jake preferred it down, he had to admit that it looked nice and afforded him a lovely view of her neck.  "I know," he repeated, clearing his throat.  "And, I'm not staying, I just wanted to say 'hi', and give you a cookie," he explained, inching closer.  "Well, half a cookie," he chuckled, breaking it in two.  He held out the slightly larger piece.  "Had to bribe Bonnie and her friend with your cookie to get back here," Jake admitted.

"I see."  Heather reached past his open hand and the half cookie he offered her, taking the smaller piece from his other hand.  "Thank you," she murmured, giving into a soft giggle.  "Glad to know that Bonnie at least has her price," she added, raising one eyebrow as she took her first bite of cookie.  "Especially when it comes to you," Heather continued, swallowing.  "I wouldn't have guessed that.  She really looks up to you."

"Me?" Jake questioned, honestly surprised.  "Bonnie's all about you, hangs on your every word.  'Miss Lisinski said.'  That's all she kept saying.  It's why I gave her the cookie," he admitted, looking around at the students giggling and talking quietly around them.  It was quite apparent they had an audience.  "Anyway...."

"Anyway," she grinned before letting out a deep sigh.  Looking around, Heather spotted an open place on the little desk she used backstage, and took the three steps toward it, depositing her clipboard and then her coffee cup and the remains of her cookie on top of it.  Jake watched her as she turned, smiling as she stepped back toward him, and then leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  Around them, a rash of giggles went up.  Quietly, Heather joined her students in their laughter.  "Thank you for the cookie and the coffee," she whispered throatily, kissing him almost on the ear.  "But now, I'm kicking you out," she told him, pulling away though she took the time to find his hand with her own.  "'Cause you're really not supposed to be here," Heather chuckled, bumping her hip against his as they moved toward the door, dodging two first graders who were playing the Cratchit siblings.

"I'll see you after," Jake told her squeezing her fingers and then surprising her by brushing his lips across hers in a chaste kiss.  The noise level behind them rose again, and he shook his head.  "Break a leg," he told Heather, grinning.  "Not literally."

"Okay," she smiled in return, opening the door.  Bonnie and Duncan came in, and Jake dropped Heather's hand, slipping past the two students and out the door.  Heather closed it behind him, leaning against it for a second as she faced her cast.  "Okay," she repeated, letting out a deep breath.  "Time for act two."

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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

"You look nice," Heather declared, glancing up from her book to offer her mother-in-law a smile as she came into the living room.  "Are you wearing make-up?  You going somewhere?"

Gail, her expression distracted, nodded.  She'd changed out of her work clothes and into a periwinkle sweater paired with clean, almost brand new jeans, and she had her coat draped over her arm.  "Yes, I have an errand to run," Gail explained, "I - there's someone I need to speak with.  Downtown."

"You're ambitious," Heather laughed.  "All that laundry wore me out," she admitted, stretching both arms over her head.

It had taken just over two hours to wash six set of sheets, and the chore had left Heather's and Gail's hands pruney and numb from the cold water.  Before they had left for the day - Jeff to take a shift with the border patrol in Jake's absence, and Drake to walk Skylar to the market before swinging back by the house to pick up April and head for the clinic - Gail had tasked the two young men with stringing up extra clotheslines in the backyard so that everything could be put out to dry at once.  Gail and Heather, chatting as they'd enjoyed the chance to warm themselves in the late autumn sunshine, had taken a half hour to hang the laundry, and afterwards they'd shared a light lunch of squash and rice soup.  Now though, with nothing to do but wait for the sheets to dry, Heather was ready for a break.

"I'm feeling a bit lazy, so I think I'll just stay here in front of the fire and do my homework," she told her mother-in-law, holding up the book she was reading for Gail to see.  It was a copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting.  "It's the revised edition, though not exactly revised for current circumstances," Heather grumbled.

"No, I'd imagine not," Gail chuckled.  She was carrying a folded sheet of paper, which she set down on the coffee table so she could pull on her coat.  "And, I think you definitely deserve to be lazy for the afternoon," she sighed, picking up her piece of paper and tucking it into the pocket inside her coat.  Gail caught Heather eyeing her curiously, and smiled in return, folding her hands together.  "But if you could keep an eye on the sheets -"

"Consider it done," Heather promised.  "I actually do need to go see Mrs. McVeigh," she admitted a beat later.  Gail, who'd started to turn away, rotated back around.  "Margaret Taylor and Stephanie Hyde - plus, Stephanie's sister, actually - have asked me for some help with setting up a home school program for their kids," Heather explained, emitting a soft sigh as she propped the open book against her belly.  "I at least need to get permission from Mrs. McVeigh to issue textbooks out of the school bookroom, but I was thinking that maybe what we really need is to offer a running 'home school' clinic.  You know, once a week, whichever teachers are willing come in and -"

"Heather, sweetheart," Gail interrupted, shaking her head.  She flashed a concerned smile before letting out a long breath.  "Your to-do list is already so long," she cautioned her daughter-in-law.  "You're building windmills, raising chickens, planning next spring's vegetable garden," she listed off, concern and exasperation creeping into her tone.  "Getting ready for a baby," Gail reminded, her gaze settling pointedly on the mound of Heather's pregnancy. "And now you're going to add instituting a home schooling program on top of all that?  Priorities, remember?"

"I know, but somebody has to do it," Heather practically snapped, frowning at her mother-in-law.  "And I don't think any of the other teachers would be willing to head it up.  If I can get Donna Parker and Nancy Wharton just to help - and Mrs. McVeigh, hopefully - I'll be happy," she admitted.  "And I just - I just need to get it started," she rationalized, contradicting what she'd said just seconds earlier.  "And then, in a little bit, they can carry on without me."

"They sure better be able to carry on without you because in four months you're gonna have one project that takes all your time and energy," Gail chided, making a frustrated noise.  She saw Heather bristle, and recognized that she might have overstepped her boundaries before deciding that she really didn't care.  However, Gail decided, she would try to approach the situation with a little more tact.  "I know you know that, sweetheart," she murmured, her tone conciliatory.  "And, getting a home school program started is a great idea, but you need help."

"I know!" Heather repeated, obviously annoyed.  "But Margaret and Stephanie asked for my help, and - and I taught these kids," she argued.  "I can't - I can't just abandon them."

Forcing herself to let go of some of the aggravation she felt, Gail let out the breath she'd been holding.  She understood where Heather was coming from, but she still couldn't help but think that her daughter-in-law was taking way too much on.  "Would you take a friendly suggestion?" she asked softly, seating herself in the club chair next to Heather's.

"Sure," Heather murmured, some of the tension leaving her body as she slumped slightly in her chair.

"Maybe you could recruit some of the high school teachers.  Mr. Houghton, for example.    Maybe Emily," Gail recommended.

"Sorry," her daughter-in-law returned immediately, her jaw tight.  "But no way am I asking Emily Sullivan for anything."  She allowed an irritated noise, shaking her head vehemently.  "I know you like Emily," Heather muttered, "And, I know you're only trying to help," she continued, her hands dropping to cover her belly, "But I just can't."

They stared at one another for a long moment before Gail looked away first, sighing.  "Well, I didn't really think you'd go for it.  And, I'll admit that Emily was a little, shall we say, inappropriate?" she asked, earning an eye roll from Heather.  "She was definitely inappropriate at Thanksgiving."

"She sure was," Heather muttered. 

"I just don't understand why you're - why you feel threatened by Emily," Gail confessed, surprising both herself and Heather.  Gail had had the thought more than once over the years since Heather had come into her son's life, but she'd always managed to quash her curiosity, biting back the question.  "I mean, surely you don't -"

"Well, I'm sure it never occurred to April to feel threatened by Mary Bailey," Heather interrupted, "And we all know how that turned out."  She paused for a moment, her voice softening.  "But that's beside the point.  I trust Jake, and I'm not threatened by Emily," she argued.  "I just don't trust her any farther than I can throw her, and that's the way it is."

"I see," Gail murmured, allowing a resigned sigh.

"And you know what?" Heather inquired, frowning sourly.  "You don't want me taking on any more projects?  Well, I will happily turn down the gargantuan project of figuring out or befriending Emily Sullivan," she decided, her tone dripping with sarcasm.  "How's that?" she asked.

"Touché," Gail murmured, acknowledging both points with a nod.  She stood up and took a step toward her daughter-in-law, holding out her hand.  "Can I borrow your book?" she requested. 

"Okay," Heather agreed, her expression turning quizzical as she closed the book and handed it to mother-in-law.

"Let's see," Gail murmured, starting to leaf through the back of the book.  "'Doing too much'...."  She scanned a page of the index and shook her head.  "Well, they forgot to include that.  How 'bout 'learn - learning - to say no'," she suggested next, flipping forward a few pages.  "Not there either.  'Overdoing'?  Well, that also happens to be missing," Gail admitted with sigh.  "But 'stress' is here.  Pages one forty through one forty four.  And so is 'stress, extreme and premature birth'.  Page forty six," she read, looking up to meet her Heather's less than amused gaze.  "Maybe you should look up 'overbearing mother-in-law, how to handle'," Gail joked a few seconds later, offering a crooked smile that was highly reminiscent of her oldest son's grin.  "But it doesn't look like they address that either.  I just don't know what this revised edition is worth."

Heather couldn't help but smile in return.  "You're not overbearing," she conceded with a reluctant chuckle.  "And I get what you're saying, and I know - I know why you're saying it -"

"I'm saying it because, Heather, I love you like you were my own child," Gail interrupted gently.  "And not only because you're pregnant or because you're married to my son," she assured, handing Heather's book back to her.  "I care about what happens to you.  I worry."

"I have to keep busy," Heather argued, balancing the book on her knees.  "I have to do my part.  Besides, if I didn't," she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest, "I'd just think about all the things going on out there.  The - the things I can't control."  They both knew she was talking about Jake.  "And besides, April works way more than I do."

"Don't even try it, young lady," Gail ordered, affecting a scowl even as she allowed a soft laugh.  "I'll be gettin' after April, don't you worry.  And remember: I raised your husband.  I'm impervious to the 'but so-and-so' argument."

"Well, I guess you would be," Heather giggled, her smile widening. 

Gail stood up then, buttoning her coat.  "I better get going," she decided.  "But, I'll - I'll stop at Sandy's on my way home, see if she has time to come by," she offered.

"Thanks," Heather acknowledged, catching her mother-in-law's gaze.  "And, I'll keep my eye on the laundry.  If I start to feel ambitious, I'll even make some beds.  Besides my own," she clarified with a shrug.

"Sweetheart, having ambition has never been a problem where you're concerned," Gail replied, exhaling deeply.  "And I say that as someone who has always admired that quality in you, along with many others."

Catching her lip between her teeth, Heather nodded.  "I know, Mom.  And I - I get it.  I really do."

"Good," Gail replied, taking a deep, head clearing breath.  "I'll be home in an hour or so," she promised.  "Two, tops."

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

Wednesday, December 12, five years before the bombs

Jake hung back with April and Eric, grinning as he watched a parade of parents and students file by to offer Heather their thanks and congratulations.  Blushing, she thanked them in return, heaping compliments on the cast and crew.  "She did good," April murmured, glancing sideways at her brother-in-law.

"She did great," he countered, nodding.  Heather glanced in his direction, their eyes locking for just a moment.  She hefted the bouquet of roses higher against her shoulder and smiled, chuckling at something Shep Cale - Jason's father - said.  More parents trooped by, and finally, she was free.  "Congratulations, babe," Jake greeted as he joined her, pressing a kiss to her cheek.  "You did great."

"And, it's done," Heather replied, offering a relieved smile.  "Thank you," she added, finding his hand with her free one, squeezing his fingers.  "And, thank you for the roses."  Leaning close, she added, whispering, "And for your note.  Loved stick figure Jake with his stick figure bouquet."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged.

"Nice job, madam director," April interjected, stealing Heather's attention from Jake.  "The kids were so cute."

"It was a great production, Heather," Eric added, stopping behind his wife and wrapping an arm around waist.  "Good sets, good costuming, nice pacing."  He lowered his voice then, chuckling.  "And who knew Duncan McNerny could act?"

"That's what Gramps said when he came the first night," Heather laughed.

"Well, he missed out," Jake told Heather, snaking an arm around her waist, his hand coming to rest on her hip.  "It got better every night, and tonight was the best."

Heather glanced sideways, beaming at Jake.  "It was, wasn't it?" she declared.  "I mean, I thought it was a good show all along, but it really came together tonight."

"Yep," Jake nodded, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

"Your flowers are gorgeous," April told Heather, smiling widely.  She threw Eric a quick glance and continued.  "I was a little bit jealous when all I knew was that they existed, and now when I see 'em -"

"Okay, so you want me to get you red and white roses?" Eric grumbled, kissing her ear.

"Do you know how long it's been since he gave me flowers?" April demanded, rolling her eyes.

"Well then, she wants red roses," Heather informed Eric with a giggle.  "Red roses are romantic.  They say 'I love you' and I'm passionate about you," she explained.  "Of course, they can also mean courage and beauty and sincerity," Heather continued, counting off the meanings on the fingers of one hand.  "Now, white roses symbolize truth and innocence.  They can also say 'I miss you'.  And then together, red and white roses mean unity, so that's good, too," she sighed, letting her head rest against Jake's arm momentarily.  "But April definitely wants red roses, Eric.  I guarantee it." 

"Yeah, she's right," April chuckled, leaning farther back into her husband's arms.  She craned her head around so they could exchange a quick kiss.  "Definitely red."

"But I absolutely love my red and my white roses," Heather emphasized, glancing at Jake.  She twisted around and, standing on tiptoe, brushed her mouth over his.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he murmured.  "I - uh - I didn't know the meanings and everything.  The girl at the shop - the Edgars' daughter, I guess - she just said that it would be Christmassy," Jake shrugged. 

"That's okay," Heather assured with a smile.  "I still love 'em," she declared, looking down at the bouquet in her arms. 

"Of course it's okay," April joked, rolling her eyes.  "At least you got roses."

"True," Heather confirmed, giggling.  "And, all that stuff about the meaning of roses, I only know it because I was on the Quiz Bowl team in high school," she admitted, her eyes on Jake.  "Plus, I've always wanted to be on Jeopardy.  It's one of my life goals."

He laughed.  "Yeah, I'd kinda figured that out," he grinned.

"Go for Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," Eric advised.  "Bigger payout."

Before Heather could respond, Mrs. McVeigh called out her name, waving her over to where she stood with the Stevenses.  "I better go," she decided.  "Especially since Mrs. Stevens is on the school board now.  Now if I give you these to hold," Heather asked, offering her roses to April though she eyed her closely.  "You'll give 'em back, right?"

"Yeah, I'll give 'em back," April agreed, chuckling as she accepted the bouquet.  Heather threw Jake one last look and then hurried over to join Mrs. McVeigh.  "You know, Jake," April smiled softly, slipping out of Eric's embrace and moving to stand next to her brother-in-law.  "I'm pretty sure you give red and white roses when you get engaged.  Romantic red and bridal white, after all."

"Okay," Jake chuckled, rolling his eyes, "Thanks for the tip."  He exhaled nervously and then leaned past April, socking his brother on the shoulder.  "Would you just buy your wife some flowers already?" he demanded.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Eric grumbled, rubbing his arm.

Shaking her head at the two of them, April directed their attention to Heather, now trapped along with Mrs. McVeigh into a conversation with the exuberant Mrs. Stevens who was exclaiming, over and over, "Wonderful job.  Simply wonderful, Miss Lisinski.  Don't you agree, Mrs. McVeigh?  Wonderful!"

"We should rescue her," April decided, looping her arm through Eric's.  "C'mon."

Jake stepped into place next to Heather, slipping his arm around her, just as Mrs. Stevens called out, "Dale!" and waved the boy over.  He came reluctantly, hesitation wrinkling his forehead and slumping his shoulders.  "Dale, you and Skylar did such a good job as the ghosts," she declared, smiling at the boy.  Next to her, Skylar fidgeted, making faces.  "Well, as you know," Miss Lisinski," Mrs. Stevens said, turning to face Heather, "I wasn't exactly sold on Skylar's role, but I think the whole play turned out wonderfully.  And, Dale, dear," continued, not even taking a breath as she whipped around to address the boy.  "Did your - is your mother here?" Mrs. Stevens questioned.

"Uhhh," Dale managed to get out, obviously startled.  "She - she came on Monday," he answered, letting his backpack drop to the ground.  He stared down at his shoes.  "But she had to work tonight."

"Well, I'm sure she's very proud of you," Mrs. Stevens returned.  "Do you need a ride home?"

Dale looked up, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.  "Uh -"

"Miranda," Mr. Stevens began, only to be interrupted by his daughter.

"Mom!" Skylar protested, glaring at her classmate.  "You said we could go for ice cream!"

"That's okay, Mrs. Stevens," Eric intervened, stepping forward to lay a hand on Dale's shoulder.  "We'll take him home."

"And, we better get going," April sighed.  "I have to work tomorrow," she explained, snorting, "Like pretty much always."

"But it's all for a good cause," Jake reminded with a smirk.  "You know - the support of Eric Green, house husband."

"So that's back on?" Eric asked, affecting a hopeful expression.  "Cool," he declared, grinning at his wife.  He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.  "Golf every day!"

"Uh, no," April chuckled, shaking her head.  "Sorry."

"Too bad," Mr. Stevens chuckled, catching Eric's eye, "Think I could get used to golf every day, myself.  Now, I know your parents are members at Fielding Glen along with us," he continued, suddenly animated, "But have you joined?  You'd be a shoe-in for membership."

"Mom and Dad gave us a membership as a wedding present, actually," April explained.  "So now Eric keeps threatening me with lessons for finishing my residency."

"But of course.  A doctor's gotta know how to play golf!" Mr. Stevens argued with a laugh, winking at her.  "But you know, you and your dad should play a round sometime with me and Gray," he told Eric.

"Sounds good," Eric agreed.  "Dad, Grandpa and I played Grinnel Cowpaddy a month or so ago," he added.  "That's a nice course.  Only nine holes, but we had a good time."

April groaned.  "We do not have time for you to discuss the merits of all the golf courses in northwest Kansas," she informed her husband, poking him in the side.  Turning, she emitted a sigh and handed the bouquet back to Heather.  "Here you go.  See, I gave 'em back," she teased. 

"Well, thank you," Heather returned, pulling the other woman into a quick hug.  "And, thank you for coming.  That's so sweet of you, especially since I know how busy you are."

"We wouldn't have missed it," April assured.  "It was fun, and the acting was excellent," she added, smiling first at Skylar and then at Dale.  "Ready to go?" she asked, touching the boy on the arm, prompting his nod.

Eric and April with Dale said their goodbyes and then headed for the door, closely followed by the Stevenses, Skylar walking beside her father, her arm wrapped around his, as she talked about the play, horseback riding lessons, and ice cream sundaes.  "Heather, truly, you did a lovely job," Mrs. McVeigh smiled.  "And, the good news is that it's over, so enjoy that," she laughed kindly.  "Now, I'll see you tomorrow," she told Heather, "And Jake, I'll see you on Friday if not before," Mrs. McVeigh reminded.  "Good night."

 The room was quickly emptying out.  They watched as Mrs. McVeigh held a short conference with Lou Baker, the school custodian, and then headed for the exit where her husband and youngest daughter, Kimberly - a junior at the high school - were waiting.  "So, ready?" Jake asked, glancing at Heather as he threaded their fingers together.

"Almost," she agreed.  "I just need to get my purse from my classroom," Heather added, starting to lead him toward the exit.  "So, do you play golf?" she inquired, throwing Jake a quizzical look. 

"I've played golf, but I don't play golf," Jake muttered, shrugging, "If that makes sense.  That's all Dad's and Eric's thing.  'Cause if I'm gonna whack at a ball it's with a bat, not a golf club.  You?"

"Only putt putt," Heather smiled. 

Jake grinned in return, squeezing her hand.  "So, can I buy you a cup of coffee?" he proposed as they stepped out into the now deserted hallway.  "Or ice cream, if you wanna risk running into the Stevenses," he reminded. 

Allowing a lighthearted groan, Heather shook her head.  "That's all right," she chuckled pulling him to a stop.  "How 'bout I make coffee instead?" she offered, twisting around so that they faced one another, an inch and the bouquet of roses separating them.  "I've got ice cream, too," she breathed, leaning against him, the flowers crushed gently between them, to brush her mouth over his.

Jake caught her chin in his hand as she pulled away, pressing another kiss to her lips.  "Sounds good."

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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

There didn't seem to be anything left to say about the news, and the group fell into an awkward, anxious silence as Michael hurried to finish his transcribing.  Russell was particularly jumpy, and he kept glancing over his shoulder to see who was behind them.  "Look, uh, we better get going," he muttered, catching Jake's eye.

"Yeah, sure," Jake agreed, rubbing his hands together.  It was the warmest part of the day - pushing fifty degrees - and he knew the gesture betrayed his own nerves.  "Just give 'im another minute, okay?" he grumbled, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

"It's okay, I got it," Michael interjected, shaking his head.  He glanced over the last of his notes, nodding to himself as he compared it to the board in front of him.  "What the hell's even in southwestern Utah?" he demanded, gesturing at the red dot on the map.

"Pretty much desert, scrub brush and rocks," Jake answered, shaking his head. 

"That's St. George," Mindy corrected, stepping between them.  "There's a Wal-Mart distribution center there.  Sorry, professional hazard," she shrugged.  "But it's sixty or seventy miles from Las Vegas.  And, when they did the tests - you know, the nuclear bomb tests - back in the fifties, they only ever did 'em when the wind was blowing away from Vegas and, by default, toward St. George.  I saw a documentary or somethin' on it in college," Mindy frowned, wrapping her arms around herself.  "The childhood cancer rates were...." She trailed off with a sigh.

"Well, this one sure wasn't a test," Russell reminded grimly.  "But hey, if you want that part," he continued, his gaze boring into Jake, "We better get going."

Mindy moved back to Ted's side, and he caught her hand in his own, smiling at her as they fell into step with Russell, Jake and Michael bringing up the rear.  "Here," Michael mumbled, reattaching the mechanical pencil to the spiral wire and then handing the notebook to Jake.  He leaned closer, lowering his voice.  "You probably wanna check out the front pocket," he advised.

"Why?" Jake asked, throwing his brother-in-law a confused look.

"What can I say?" Michael returned, rolling his eyes.  "My sister loves you."

Intrigued, Jake opened the notebook's cover and looked down.  A photograph - one he recognized from their first trip to Dolly Doolittle's Diner five years before - peeked out from inside the manila pocket.  Over the years, when work had kept him away from home, he and Heather had maintained an active email correspondence, which had included her sending him some sort of photo every few days, and Jake had received this particular one - one they both liked - more than once.  A smile starting to play on his lips, he glanced sideways at Michael, earning himself another eye roll.  Returning his attention to the photo, Jake pulled it loose of the pocket and flipped it over, finding - as he expected he would - a note on the back.  'Bring back lip balm and there will be plenty more where this came from,' Heather had written, apparently in reference to the picture of the two of them kissing.  She'd signed it 'XOXO Heather'.

"Okay," Russell began, looking over his shoulder.  Jake slipped the photo back inside the notebook's pocket and closed it.  "It's just over there," Russell continued, pointing at the squat cinderblock building that stood twenty feet in front of them.  A tattered awning hung over the front of the building and a bank of white French doors - incongruous in comparison to the gaudy goldenrod color that had been painted onto the cinderblock - ran along the length of the building's front.  "When we get inside, look around, see if he's got what you're lookin' for," he directed, "And if you find it, signal me, let me do the talkin'."

Jake, working the zipper on the side of his backpack so he could slip the notebook back inside, looked up at Russell, his gaze narrowing.  "You get some kinda commission with this guy?"

Russell, though, ignored the question.  "You just look around," he repeated, "And let me do the talking."

Twenty minutes later, Michael and Jake were looking over a mechanical governor, both trying to work up the courage to call it good.  "I wish Heather was here," Michael confided quietly, throwing Jake a sheepish look.  "I mean, not really here," he clarified, "But I wish she got a vote on this one."

"Yeah, this is one you don't wanna mess up on, huh?" Jake muttered, shaking his head.  The truth was, he hated looking stupid in front of his wife, and he hated disappointing her; here, if they chose wrong, he had the opportunity to do both.  "It - I mean - it's got everything we're lookin' for.  It seems like a perfect fit, right?"  Michael nodded.

The store's proprietor cleared his throat and set his thermos - he'd been eating from it almost constantly since they'd entered the shop - down on the counter.  "That's a good piece of machinery there," he told them.  "You're not gonna find better, not around here."

"Well then, let's talk terms," Russell said, inserting himself into the conversation.  "My friends here have salt."

The door jangled open, drawing Jake's attention to the front of the store in time to see his father, followed closely by Dale, enter.  "Hey," Johnston called out, his gaze meeting Jake's, "I've been looking all over for you.  We were supposed to meet up a half hour ago."

Mindy, who was examining the medical equipment laid out on one table, looked up at the sound of Johnston's voice and let out a delighted squeal.  "Mayor!" she screeched, abandoning her search and making a beeline for him.

"Melinda Henry," Johnston choked out, catching her in a hug.  "What in the world are you doin' here?"  Both hands on her shoulders, he held her away from himself, giving her the once over.  "And I'm not - I'm not the mayor anymore," he told her, forcing a dour smile.  "So if you wanna argue the blue laws from now on, take it up with Gray Anderson."

"Yeah, Jake said," she answered, frowning.  "Completely weird," she muttered.  "And, I'm working, actually.  I'm the logistics manager for the city of New -"

"Mindy!" Russell interrupted from the counter, giving her a hard look.

"Right," she acknowledged, her expression embarrassed.  "Anyway, I'm doing my job.  And, what are you doing here?" Mindy continued, turning to face Dale.  "I still remember that Fourth of July picnic," she giggled, shaking her head.  "You were what?  Eight?  You ambushed Colleen and me with a super soaker.  I coulda killed you.  And, now Jake says you're running the store?"

"Mitchell Cafferty murdered Mrs. Leigh," Dale replied softly, not blinking.  "And, she left the store to me," he shrugged and then looked down at his feet.  "I have to run it for her."

"Wow," Mindy exhaled.  She glanced sideways, seeking Jake's confirming nod.

"Well, you found Mindy," Johnston declared, "Did you find the part?"

Jake sucked a breath in through his teeth.  "We think so," he answered, leading his father toward the counter.  "You see the news?"

"So, you still lookin' to trade for a mechanical governor," the proprietor inquired gruffly, walking toward them.  "Or you just figure my place is a good one for happy family reunions?"

"Yeah, we're still lookin'," Jake muttered in return.

"Okay, let's talk trade," the proprietor said, folding his arms over his chest.  The man, who was somewhere between Jake and Johnston in age, was dressed warmly, sported a few days' growth of beard, and wore prescription sunglasses inside the rather dark store.  Jake guessed his regular pair had been broken since the bombs.  "Now, eight bags of salt at thirty five pounds per," the proprietor intoned, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. 

"Yeah," Jake nodded, confirming the offer.  He forced himself to keep his eyes on the other man, and to not glance at Russell.  They had sixteen bags, and he'd told Russell twelve; all things considered, eight seemed like a good place to start bargaining from.

"Russell," the proprietor challenged, ignoring Jake, "What'd they think?  That they're the first ones to think of this?  I mean, these parts are in high demand," he asserted.  "I'm not giving them away."

"Well then, what more is it gonna take?" Jake asked.

"What more?" the other man scoffed, "I turned away a guy just this morning, and he offered eighty gallons of diesel for the thing," he argued, gesturing at the piece of machinery laid out on the counter behind him.

This time, Jake couldn't swallow his reaction and, his hand pressed to his mouth, he looked up at the ceiling, furiously considering his options.  No way in hell was the five hundred pounds of salt they had with them worth eighty gallons of diesel.  He glanced at his father, but surprisingly Johnston didn't seem interested in jumping into the negotiation.  "All right, listen," Jake said, wheeling around to face the proprietor.  "We have more salt than you can imagine.  We've got the largest salt mine for four hundred miles, and we've got men to mine it," he declared, a desperate note creeping into his voice.  Jake made himself take a breath and, grinding his fist against his hip, continued.  "If you ever want to see any of it, we need to make this deal right now," he insisted, forcing a confident air that he really didn't feel.  "Today, you understand?"

"Okay, listen," Russell interjected a few seconds later.  Jake and the proprietor were locked in a staring contest with no winner in sight.  "I'll vouch for him, all right?  Twelve bags now, okay, and - and a preferential trading relationship in the future."

"All right, all right," the proprietor agreed, holding up one hand as he started to back away.  "Wait here, I'll go get it," he added, walking along the counter.  "These things aren't easy to make, ya know.  Not the good ones, anyway," he finished, disappearing through a tattered curtain into the back room.

The store - and located as it was in one of the few permanent buildings on the fairgrounds, it truly qualified as store - was quite well stocked with a wide variety of items.  When they had first come in, Jake had spotted packages of clothespins on one shelf - between a bunch of flashlights and boxes of kitchen matches - and had thought of Heather and his mother at home, washing sheets.  Dale was taking the opportunity to look around and consider what else he might purchase that would be of use in Jericho.  Wandering along the far wall, peeking into the bins of tools and hardware, he found himself dreaming of operating such an establishment, one that would show people - the whole town - that Gracie Leigh had been right to trust him with her business, her family's legacy.

Dale overheard Jake finish introducing the men with Mindy - Russell and Ted - to his father, and then Johnston picked up the conversation, inquiring about what Mindy was up to and how things were back in New Bern.  Still half listening, Dale started to follow the owner into the back, which he supposed was the stockroom.  Interested to see how fully the store was provisioned, he stepped into the room, just far enough to see that instead of shelves full of garden tools and ammunition, or plastic tarps and sleeping bags, there were metal bunks.  Bunk beds, with thin, pinstriped, soiled mattresses that reminded Dale of when he was in the fourth grade and Mrs. Green had convinced his mother to let him go to church camp for a week.  It had been a scholarship - a "campership" Mrs. Green had called it - of course, arranged with Reverend Young, and surprisingly, Dale had had a good experience.  The other kids from Jericho had been friendly, and he'd enjoyed the hikes - forced marches, they'd whispered to one another - and the free period during which the girls made candles or lanyard key chains and bracelets while the boys tried archery or played kickball, and then the campfire each night with the singing and the smoke rising into the dark sky, twinkling with stars.  He'd enjoyed, too, three meals a day, always at eight, noon and five, always hot, always with seconds if he'd wanted them.  And, he'd slept in the bottom bunk - Zack Davis had had the bunk above him - on a mattress just like the ones in this room, in a bunk just like these.  Except for the handcuffs.

 Mouth hanging open, Dale took another step into the room, squinting, not quite able to believe his eyes.  But he had to.  His heart hammered in his chest as Dale backed slowly out of the room.  "Mr. - Mr. Mayor," he stammered out, interrupting Jake, who was saying something about lip balm.

"No kidding, Dale," Johnston answered, his tone exasperated.  He turned around, shaking his head.  "I am not the mayor anymore!"

Dale, his face suddenly devoid of all color, met the older man's gaze with wide eyes.  He pulled back the curtain, revealing the corner of one bunk and the stained end of one mattress.  "There's blood on it."

Everyone stared, inching toward the back room, their breaths held, as the horrible truth of the situation became apparent to each of them.  The proprietor pushed his way out of the room, moving around Dale and throwing the teenager an annoyed look.  "You need some help there?" he demanded.

"What the hell is this?" Jake barked.

The proprietor yanked the curtain shut and shoved Dale out of the way.  "What?" he snarled, "Are you conducting an inspection, or are we doing a deal?"
 
His jaw clenched, Johnston could barely contain his disgust.  "Yeah, we're not supporting that," he declared, pointing at the closed curtain.  "We'll find another solution."

"Well then, we're all done here, aren't we?" the proprietor snapped, his glare passing over them all.  "Why don't you get out," he ordered.

"Dad..." Jake muttered, his eyes on the mechanical governor in the other man's hand.  He knew his father was right, but the part was right there, and it was exactly the part that Heather needed.  He'd almost had it.  Grimacing, he looked away, the bitter taste of defeat pervading his mouth.  How was he going to tell her that they'd had it and lost it?

"Get out!" the owner shouted then.  "Get out!  Get out!  Get out!" he shrieked, advancing on them.  They all began to retreat, though Russell was a little slow, and the proprietor barreled into him, grabbing his arm and pushing him.  "You , too!  Get outta here!"

Outside they started to move away from the store, threading their way through the milling crowd.  "Guys, I'm so sorry," Ted apologized as they dodged the oncoming foot traffic, working to put some distance between themselves and the store.  "We had no idea...."

"We need that part," Jake grumbled, glancing at his father.  It wasn't just Heather's disappointment that worried Jake.  If the news was to be believed, they were facing the worst winter, weather-wise, in decades; they needed some way of keeping the clinic up and running and the town's residents from freezing to death, and all their hopes had been pinned on obtaining a governor.

Johnston's concentration, however, was elsewhere.  He looked around the crowd, to each side and behind them, his frown deepening.  "Where's Dale?" he demanded, heaving a sigh of relief when, a second later, he spotted the teenager pushing his way through the mob of people.  "Dale, where'd you get off to?" he questioned gruffly, before scolding, "Don't just wander off like that."

Dale held his bag in front of him carefully - oddly.  Michael realized why first, and grabbed his arm, forcing the boy to a stop.  Jake stepped toward him, jerking the pack's flap open. The mechanical governor was inside.  "Did you steal that?"

"Well, he's a bad guy," Dale defended himself, wrenching the bag away from Jake.  "He can't get away with that," he insisted, glaring at Michael, who'd somehow ended up with the governor.

"We've gotta get that back before they realize it's missing," Johnston decided, pointing at the part in Michael's hands.

Dale shook his head.  "It's okay," he argued, "I went out the back.  No one saw me."

This claim was contradicted in the next instance though, as shouts of "Hold it!  Hold it!" went up from within the crowd.  Jake looked back, grimacing when he spotted not only the dark navy coats of two Black Jack security officers but also the shop's owner.  Instinctually, Jake stepped back, grabbing for Mindy's arm just as Ted moved into place on her other side.  Their eyes met for a moment and they exchanged a nod, agreeing to work together for her protection.   Hold it!" the proprietor shouted one more time, pointing them out to the security officers.  For just a second, Jake considered escape, tugging on Mindy's sleeve, but he gave it up as futile.  They were surrounded.

"Hand him over," a hulking security guard demanded, glaring at Dale.

Jake let go of Mindy and moved forward, shoving Dale behind him.  "He made a mistake, all right?" he tried explaining, but the guard stepped toward them both, running into Jake who pushed back.  "He'll give back what he took," he promised, "No harm done.  All right?"

But the guard ignored him, instead grabbing Dale by the collar while another guard relieved the teenager of his pack, handing it over to the store's owner.  The guard forced Dale to move, marching him toward the check-in tent, the crowd scrambling to get out of the way.  "Ah, excuse me," Johnston called after them, hurrying to catch up, "You know, he really is sorry," he argued, an anxious note creeping into his voice.  "And the property is back where it belongs."

"He can explain to management," the guard snarled in return, not even bothering to glance at Johnston.

"I'm just asking you, use a little discretion, that's all," Johnston requested. "Please."  The security guard's only response was to turn and give Johnston a shove before continuing to frog march Dale down the path.  But, Johnston was not deterred.  "Excuse me!" he called after the guard, "But could I talk to whoever's in charge here?"

Giving into his annoyance, the guard wheeled around, growling, "Look old man, I told you -" only to meet the business end of Johnston's fist. 

Everything was chaos after that, with Jake and Michael joining in the fight.  Even Mindy seemed intent on diving in, but Ted stopped her, grabbing her by the shoulders just as two more security guards ran in, wielding their billy clubs viciously.  Russell watched as Jake fell after the first baton struck him on the shoulder, and he knew that he had to act.  "That's enough!" he shouted, producing a gun from inside his coat and leveling the weapon at the man nearest Jake. 

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

A Christmas Carol (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Christmas_Carol) is a novella originally written by Charles Dickens that has been adapted for theater, film, radio, television, and apparently opera. 

And, Once Upon a Mattress (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Once_Upon_A_Mattress) is a musical comedy that is now a staple of high school theater, at least in my neck of the woods. :-)

Lastly, Grinnel Cowpaddy is a real golf course, located (shockingly) in Grinnel, KS.  I couldn't resist.  (http://www.golfnow.com/course-directory/kansas-golf-courses/grinnell-golf-courses/grinnel-cowpaddy-golf-club)

Different Circumstances: Part 12E
by Marzee Doats


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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

They drove until they crossed the border and were back in Kansas, more than two hours after they'd escaped the fairgrounds by the skin of their teeth.  Russell didn't seem interested in stopping - and his truck would have taken the brunt of the damage - and Jake sure as hell wasn't either.  So they kept going.  It was dark by the time they pulled off the highway somewhere outside Oberlin, Russell finally stopping near an abandoned rail spur.  They climbed out of the vehicles, limbs shaking with the pent up tension of the past few hours, and found themselves in the hulking shadows of a pair of dead locomotives, a number of looted boxcars, and most oddly a rotary snowplow despite the fact that the bombs had gone off in September. 

Standing in the beams of their vehicle's headlights, the two groups faced one another, each of them aware that they were lucky to be alive.  "Uh, thanks," Johnston sighed, glancing between Russell and Ted before his gaze settled on Mindy.  He offered the girl - he still did, and always would, think of her as a girl - a smile.  "I don't know how this would've turned out if it weren't for you guys," he admitted.

"You'll make it up to us some day," Russell acknowledged with a shrug.

"However we can help," Jake assured, folding his arms over his chest.  It was a rash promise, one Jake knew he might not be able to keep - or would end up regretting - but for now he was simply relieved to have escaped Black Jack with his life and with everyone else safe. 

Ted and Mindy exchanged a look, and then Ted cleared his throat, taking a half step toward the group from Jericho.  "Those windmills you were looking to build," he began, "I was thinking, the guys down at the old brake assembly, maybe they can convert part of their plant," Ted suggested.  "Help build what you need, and the town could use a good source of - a good source of salt."

"Well, it looks like we're going to be seeing a lot of each other," Johnston replied, shaking hands with Ted, and then Russell.  "Thanks again, guys," he smiled, "You take care."  He faced Mindy, holding his arms open.  "And you, young lady, get over here," he ordered, chuckling.  Pulling her into bear hug, Johnston held onto her for a long ten seconds and finished off by pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  "Now I've known this one since she was in pigtails," he informed Ted and Russell, keeping one arm around Mindy.  "This girl once talked me into buyin' fifty dollars worth of Girl Scout cookies.  Had thin mints comin' out our ears," he laughed softly.  "She's family, so you boys make sure you take good care of her."

"That's Ted's job," Russell argued, "But I'll make sure he does."

Reaching for Mindy's hand, Ted nodded, his expression serious as he met Johnston's gaze.  "I'll do my best, sir.  Promise."

"Gimme a second," Mindy requested, pressing a kiss to Ted's cheek before tugging her hand loose from his.  "Jake," she sighed, twisting around to offer him a lopsided smile. 

The others watched as Mindy and Jake moved a few feet away before they turned back to face one another, falling into a discussion of some of the details involved in trying to gear up for windmill production.  Michael suggested that, maybe, some of Jericho's technical solutions team could pay a visit to New Bern in the near future, admitting that while Jericho had the academic knowledge needed for the project, they didn't have the machining capabilities or access to the necessary raw materials.  Ted and Russell both agreed that Jericho's expertise and assistance would go a long way toward getting the project on the fast track, which would be a benefit to both towns.

"This is so great," Mindy declared, grinning widely at Jake.  They were standing two or three feet in front of the Roadrunner between the headlight beams.  "This is just the sort of thing we need in New Bern."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, though his thoughts were centered on what the joint venture would mean for Jericho.  "With a dozen full sized windmills, I bet we could power the whole town, power the med center, forget about gas," he decided, nodding to himself.

"So if a dozen would turn the lights on in Jericho, maybe three dozen - three and a half - for New Bern?" she guessed.  "It'll take a bit to ramp up production and turn out the first few, I'm sure, but then...."  Mindy trailed off, sighing happily.  "I'm gonna hafta figure out what you use to build a windmill, and find the stuff," she giggled, glancing back at the group and waving at Ted.  "Well, Russell will help with that.  And Ted."

"Can't go back to Black Jack," Jake reminded, frowning.

"Well, there's gotta be materials at the factory, I'm sure," Mindy reasoned.  "I mean some of it has to be useful, right?  Russell used to work there - not on the floor, he was the IT guy - and Ted's father and uncle both worked there for years.  We'll figure it out.  Besides, I think Russell has other contacts."

"Right," Jake acknowledged, pursing his lips.  He had no trouble believing that while losing access to Black Jack was a blow to Russell, it wasn't a fatal one.  Studying her closely for a moment, Jake debated whether or not to give into his curiosity and ask.  In the end he did.  "So, you and Ted?  How long's that been?"

Mindy rolled her eyes at him.  "Don't go all big brother on me, Jake," she grumbled.  "And, we've been together since July.  Ted's aunt works - well, worked - in the pharmacy, and she invited me to a picnic for the Fourth.  She put us in charge of the fireworks," Mindy grinned.  "Apparently Ted's uncle is a pyromaniac and she wants her grandkids to grow up with all their fingers and toes still attached.  We had fun and he asked me out.  The rest is, as they say, history," she declared primly, though Jake could see by the glow of the headlights that her cheeks were pink.

He made a face.  "So, probably no chance I can convince you to come home to Jericho, huh?"

"Jake," she grumbled in protest.  "I live in New Bern now.  But I'll - I'll visit," she assured, "We're gonna have windmills to deliver, right?" Mindy predicted, "And I'll come with the first truck, promise.  I love Jericho - Jericho's my hometown, but it's not my home, you know?" she sighed, offering Jake a sad smile.  "Not anymore.  Not with Mags in Florida.  Plus, they went and changed The Pizza Garden into the Cyberjolt Café," Mindy complained with a snort.  "I couldn't believe it.  I was up there, just before - well, before, and I couldn't believe it.  I just stood out on the sidewalk and stared."

"Yeah, I know," Jake muttered.  "But Heather says the coffee's good.  Or was."

"We had coffee there.  Heather, Ted, and me, I mean," she explained, surprising Jake.  Heather hadn't mentioned that Mindy had a new boyfriend, or even that she'd seen Mindy.  Too close to the bombs, he reasoned, frowning to himself, and with everything else that had happened in those first few days, she'd probably forgotten all about it.

"Ted and I were in Jericho," she clarified unnecessarily, "That Sunday, I think.  So completely weird.  And - and Colleen," Mindy continued, frowning softly.  She took a deep breath and then bit her lip.  "You know, I actually thank God that my little sister got pregnant and dropped out of school to marry Specialist Butthead because at least she and little Alex are safe in Germany and not here."

"Specialist Butthead?" Jake snickered, shaking his head slowly in agreement.  "He really is kind of an ass, huh?" 

Jake had only met Colleen's husband once, at their wedding, a hasty affair the previous December, but his first - and last - impression of the man left a lot to be desired.  He'd done the right thing, Jake supposed, in marrying Colleen, but that had seemed to be his only redeeming quality.  He'd been volatile and easily annoyed, picking at Colleen about everything he'd thought had gone wrong with the ceremony and at the small reception, and Jake remembered at one point being abandoned with only his father and the groom's brothers for company when Heather and his mother had gone with Mindy to attend Colleen, who'd been throwing up or crying - or both - in the bathroom.  That day, too, had turned out to be the last time he'd seen Mags, and at one point she'd taken him to task for letting her lap his mother.  "Now, how is it I'm gonna end up a great granny before you even do the courtesy of puttin' your mother outta her misery, and makin' her a grandma?" she'd scolded, only half-joking. 

"Heather's pregnant," he informed Mindy quietly.  Jake smiled as he always did when he thought about their unborn child, and then let out a deep breath, acknowledging - if only to himself - just how frightening it was to be facing fatherhood in the world in which they now lived.  "Five months - twenty one, twenty two weeks, I guess is how I'm s'posed to say it."

She stared at him for a moment, gaping, before declaring, "Well, congratulations, Daddy!  That's so great!" Mindy beamed, hugging Jake.  "Mags would be so happy, and your Mom," she giggled, "Has your Mom even come down yet?  She must be thrilled."

"Yeah, she's pretty excited," Jake agreed, smiling at Mindy as she let go of him and took a step back.  "Dad, too.  Double excited, actually.  April's pregnant too. Three months, something like that."

"Wow, when you Green boys finally decide to do something, you really go for it," she teased. 

Jake rolled his eyes in response, and for a moment he considered trying to explain the mess his brother had made of his marriage and life before he thought better of getting into it.  For one thing, it wasn't his story to tell.  And besides, the temperature was hovering around freezing now that the sun had gone down and he really wanted to get home sometime that night.  "Guess so," he mumbled.  Clearing his throat, Jake offered Mindy a crooked grin.  "Anyway, you're an honorary aunt, you know."

"I better be," Mindy giggled softly.  "After all, I was the official waitress at your first date.  Luckily I held it all together, got you through the eating part of your evening without incident," she joked.  "I mean anything coulda gone wrong, and then no second date, no wedding, no baby."

"So, I guess we owe it all to you, huh?" Jake asked, allowing a dry chuckle.

"Well, obviously," she agreed, flashing him a wide smile.  "And as Auntie Mindy, I'll have to see if a big box of diapers - two actually, since there're two babies - can find it onto that truck when I come to Jericho.  Little bit of an abuse of my authority," she admitted, her nose wrinkling, "But, oh well."

"Hey, if you're gonna abuse your authority, bring toilet paper," Jake laughed.  "It's sure gonna be a bad day when we run out of that," he predicted with a snort.  "And, while you're at it, bring coffee and peanut butter, too," he requested.

"Jake!" Mindy scolded, shaking her head at him as she fought a smile.  "Peanut butter and coffee would definitely be an abuse of my authority.  So would toilet paper for that matter."

"Hey, I'm not askin' for a big box of Reese's here," he argued with a grin.  "Or Charmin.  The generic stuff is fine."

"Jake!" she repeated, giggling.  "Okay, I'll see what I can do," Mindy sighed a moment later.  "But, you know, it's my responsibility to make sure that people in New Bern have what they need," she told him.  "It's a big job, and I wanna do it right."

"Huh," Jake acknowledged, his grin disappearing.  "So you're really some sort of big shot in New Bern now, huh?" he asked, raising one eyebrow in question.  "Logistics manager?"

Mindy shrugged.  "I'm not a big shot," she denied, "I'm just doing my job.  They need me, Jake," Mindy insisted, her tone turning earnest.  "You know, after - after the bombs, Sheriff Constantino tried to get Mr. Wright - that's really his name - the general manager to open up the warehouse, and he wouldn't.  Against company policy, he said.  It was like two weeks in - the day the electricity was on, actually, just before the EMP - and we hadn't been open at all.  We didn't even give the milk and eggs, the frozen stuff, any of that out," she admitted, frowning.  "It all spoiled in the cases when the back-up power went.  By then, none of the employees were showing up anymore, and even some of the managers weren't.  People were getting worried and hungry.  There were kids - babies - who needed food, formula, diapers, and we had it."

"Yeah," Jake murmured, nodding.  He caught himself thinking of Mr. Murthy, the gas station manager who'd had the same response - it belonged to the company and wasn't his to give - when they'd gone to him for gas to run the clinic's generators.  For that matter, Gracie Leigh had tried to operate her business as if the world hadn't changed, and had paid for it with her life. 

"I was at the meeting, and they just kept arguing.  Sheriff Constantino kept saying we were in a national emergency, and he'd get Judge McCormick to issue an emergency order to open the warehouse under eminent domain or something like that.  Well, Mr. Wright wouldn't budge, so Sheriff Constantino left, but then he came back with his neighbor.  She's younger than me - Colleen's age, actually - and she had a baby, a little girl, maybe eight, nine months old," Mindy explained, her tone subdued.  "The baby had diaper rash and a fever. The mom said she could hardly get her to eat, that she had nothing left that she'd take.  She just wanted to buy some Children's Tylenol, some baby wipes, maybe some cereal.  Mr. Wright said that maybe he could accommodate her, but then he asked for her Costco card."  Mindy groaned, closing her eyes for a moment.  "She didn't have one, of course.  I mean, she's nineteen, for goodness' sake, and she lived with her parents.  But they'd been out of town...." 

Breaking off, Mindy caught Jake's eye, their gazes locking, her lips pressed together in a tight line.  "Sheriff Constantino got his card out of his wallet and threw it down on the table.  'Sell her the damn medicine,' that's what he said," she chuckled humorlessly.  "And, that's when I knew.  I couldn't hide behind company policy, and who cared anyway?  We'd all seen what had happened.  Even when the electricity and the phone came back there wasn't any real help from outside.  I told Sheriff Constantino I'd do it, I'd open the warehouse."

"Wow," Jake murmured, his expression full of admiration.  "That's pretty damn brave, Min."

"Kinda," she shrugged. "I mean, Mr. Wright fired me, of course.  But then Sheriff Constantino called him an idiot and told him he was fired, and then he said I was hired.  He was the one with the gun, so that pretty much put him in charge, right?"

Jake nodded, his lips pursed.  "Yeah, that's how it usually works."

"The mayor and Sheriff Constantino did get the judge to sign an order basically seizing the warehouse on grounds of public welfare," Mindy said, resuming her story.  "The order also put me in charge.  To start, I was just running the warehouse, and I didn't have a lot of help.  A deputy and Ted, 'cause he said it was the only way he ever got to see me," she giggled softly.  "And the girl with the baby - her name's Candy - plus a few other people who realized that there were perks to being on the inside.  We were only giving out food, some medicine, diapers," she chuckled, rolling her eyes, "Things that people had to have.  But we were blowin' through everything like there was no tomorrow.  I was so worried.  At first, I couldn't come up with a way to control things, and knew there were some people coming every day, taking more than their share.  Finally, I made people show their ID and they could only come once a week - one day a week - based on where they lived.  They had to bring everyone in the family too, and that's how we gave out food."

"You did better than we did in Jericho," Jake admitted, an admiring gleam in his eye.  Shaking his head, he crossed his arms over his chest, grinning.  "We didn't - it was Halloween before we were even thinking like that."

"Mr. Houghton," she confessed, smiling softly.  "My US history term paper was on the use of rationing during the two world wars.  I had to come up with something, and that was it.  But it was still so hard," Mindy told him.  "And then when he - when Sheriff Constantino was appointed city manager, he asked me to head of logistics for - for everything," she sighed.  "By then, he could've gotten Mr. Wright to do it, and I told him that.  I told him that I didn't think I could - I could handle it all.  I'd already made some mistakes," she insisted, "Not implementing the rationing system right away, and fighting with Russell about the cigarettes."

"Cigarettes?"

"Cigarettes," Mindy confirmed.  "We're Costco," she reminded, "We've got a lotta cigarettes, all in a cage right up at the front of the store."  She looked past Jake for a moment, staring into the Roadrunner and at Dale, who had stayed in the back seat, scrunched into the corner, a wary look in his eye.  Mindy offered the teenager an understanding smile and then took a deep breath.  "Anyway, like the third day that I was in charge, Russell showed up with his truck - that one," she indicated, pointing at the empty cargo truck parked behind Russell and Ted.  "Came into the warehouse - the deputy from the sheriff's department let 'im in - went to the cigarette cage and cut the lock with bolt cutters like he was Principal Gerhardt doin' a locker search or somethin'," Mindy complained.  "When I got there he was piling cartons into carts and then haulin' them out to his truck through the loading dock."

"Well yeah, Min," Jake interjected, shaking his head.  "Cigarettes would be worth a helluva lot in trade."  He glanced over at Russell, who was explaining something to his father.  "He seems like the go-to guy for that sort of thing."

"Yeah," she sighed, though Jake wasn't sure which statement she was agreeing with.  "I know that now.  But back then, we really got into it," she grumbled, rolling her eyes.  "I was so mad.  I yelled at him, accused him of stealing.  Russell was pretty nice about it, honestly.  He coulda just yelled back, but instead he kept trying to explain how valuables cigarettes were."  Mindy made a face, laughing softly at herself. "In trade, like you said.  Guess there's some luxuries that people just can't give up," she murmured.  "Anyway, the deputy radioed Sheriff Constantino, and then he came to the warehouse and pulled me aside.  He told me that he'd sent Russell to get the cigarettes, and that they thought he could trade them for gas, diesel, food, medicine, all kinds of things we needed.  I think that was his first trip to Black Jack."

"So, you and Russell work pretty closely together, huh?"

"He goes to places like Black Jack and brings stuff back.  I run the warehouse and all the distribution of goods from the city's supply to the people," she shrugged.  "Where that intersects, we work together."  She paused to take a deep breath and offer Jake a smile.  "New Bern needs me - needs us.  And, Sheriff Constantino trusts me even though I've made some mistakes.  He said that he'd rather have me in charge -"

"Mindy!" Russell called out then, interrupting her.  She and Jake looked over at where he was standing with the others to see him gesturing at his wrist - although he wasn't wearing a watch - indicating that it was time to go.  "We need to hit the road."

She faced Jake with a frustrated smile.  "Well, I am cold and hungry, so this is probably a good thing," Mindy said.

"Yeah," he acknowledged with a nod.  "I'd like to get home early enough that I get to actually see Heather.  Awake."

"Sounds good," Mindy smiled.  "And, we'll see each other soon, right?  Maybe you and Heather can both come to New Bern, tell the guys at the factory what they need to know about windmills," she suggested.

"We'll see," Jake agreed.  "So, uh, take care of yourself, Mindy, okay?" he added after a second's pause. 

"What, you worried about me?" she tried to tease though she couldn't quite pull it off.  "Don't be.  I'll be fine, Jake," Mindy insisted then.  "I've got Ted." 

"He better do a good job," Jake insisted.  "And I'm allowed to worry," he added crossing his arms and scowling softly.  A smile started to tug at his mouth a moment later.  "Okay, that sounded a lot like my Mom, didn't it?"

"Exactly like your Mom," Mindy confirmed, laughing.  "But what I'm gonna love is when you start sounding like a dad," she told him.  "'Clean this room, eat your vegetables, do your homework, and don't go like that and it won't hurt!'  That's gonna be fantastic," Mindy giggled.

"My deal with Heather is that I don't have to care about vegetables," Jake snorted, shaking his head at her.

"She's too nice to you," Mindy complained half-heartedly, letting out a sigh.  "So, uh, tell her congratulations for me, okay?" she requested a few seconds later.  "I can't wait to meet baby Green.  Baby Greens!  Or babies Green?  Whatever.  And congrats to April and Eric, too."

Jake nodded.  "You got it."  He took a step toward her then, opening his arms and murmuring, "C'm'ere."  Mindy stepped into his embrace and they hugged one another tightly for a long moment.  Finally, after kissing her on the temple Jake let Mindy slip from his grasp. 

"Bye, Jake," she murmured, watching him as she took a step back, and then another.  "See you soon."

"See ya soon," he echoed.

Finally, she turned around, hurrying the last few steps back toward Ted and Russell.  Michael and Johnston exchanged their goodbyes with the other three and then moved to join Jake in front of the car.  They watched as Ted, after stealing a kiss, helped Mindy into the truck's cab and then climbed in after her.  The beast rumbled to life and Russell forced it into gear, driving off into the night.

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

Monday, December 17, five years before the bombs

Heather hummed happily to herself.  It was just after four o'clock on Monday afternoon and, having been freed from bus duty by Mrs. Parker who'd taken pity on her while the play had been in rehearsal, she'd gotten quite a jump on her backlog of grading.  Not that she had completely caught up, but at least she was feeling better about things, and she'd decided that as soon as she heard from Jake or he turned up, she'd put the rest away for the next day and allow herself to be distracted.  And she wouldn't let herself feel guilty about it at all.  She was halfway through reading Jason Cale's creative writing assignment - his ideas were strong and he had an authentic voice, but his spelling truly was atrocious - when her cell phone trilled the first few bars of Take Me Out to the Ballgame.  Heather finished printing the correct spelling of 'Merry Christmas' - Jason had written 'Mary Chrismus' - and reached without looking for her phone, extracting it from the side pocket of her purse.  "Hey, you," she greeted throatily, crossing out 'ornmint' and writing 'ornament'.

"I'm sick," Jake groaned pitifully at the other end of the line.

"You're sick?" Heather repeated, her tone instantly sympathetic.  "You poor baby," she clucked, capping her pen and dropping it on the desktop.  "You have a cold?" she guessed, remembering how Jake had coughed off and on throughout the previous evening, and how, when he'd taken her home after his parents' open house, he'd only stayed for ten minutes, admitting that he was zonked and just wanted to go to bed.

"Flu, I think," he rasped out, going into a coughing fit.  "Uhhh," he moaned a few seconds later, "I feel like I got hit by a Mack truck."

"Aw, hon," Heather commiserated, frowning to herself.  "Can I do anything for you?" she asked, propping her elbow on the desk.  "I can go to the pharmacy and get you some medicine.  Or bring ginger ale and make you soup," she offered.  "Well, heat some up," Heather corrected chuckling quietly.  "I'll keep you company," she decided.  "I can read to you if you want.  I promise I won't inflict my kids' stories on you although they've got really great titles like 'The Christmas Without Presents' and 'The Littlest Snowman'."  Jake made a strangled gasping noise.  "Or I could just hang out."

"Hang out," Jake agreed, sniffling into the phone.  "Keep me company."

She was instantly on her feet, slinging her purse over her shoulder.  "I'm gonna hit the store, and then I'll be out.  An hour, tops."

* * * * *

Forty five minutes later, Heather brought her car to a stop in the circular drive at the Green Ranch, directly behind Grandpa's truck.  She was gathering her things from the back seat when he came out of the house.  "Afternoon, sweetheart!" Grandpa greeted, giving her a hug and relieving her of the bags she was carrying.  "Come in, come in," he ordered, watching as she closed the car's door.  "Winter's almost here, and there's a nip in the air, isn't there?"

"There is," she smiled, climbing the porch steps beside him.  "How's Jake?"

"Still breathin'," Grandpa joked.  "He's in pretty sorry shape.  I've been checkin' in on him all day, but I'm sure he'll be happier with you for a nurse than his ol' Grandpa.  You're prettier to look at," he chuckled, winking at her.  "We moved him down into the family room," Grandpa continued, "Don't want you exposed to all the germs up in his room."

Stepping past Grandpa Green and into the house, Heather forced herself to swallow a snort.  She guessed that the vice and virtue squad was still hard at work.   "I've had a flu shot," she told him.  "When it comes to the flu, third graders are nothing more than carrier monkeys.  Besides, the last few years with my Mom being on dialysis, her doctors were pretty adamant that we all get the flu shot just to protect her," Heather explained, stopping in the center of the foyer.  She twisted around to face Grandpa, offering him a wan smile.  "Last thing she needed was the flu on top of everything else."

Grandpa smiled gently in return.  "You're a good girl, Heather," he sighed.  "And I hope you have the patience of a saint," he added a few seconds later, making a chuffing sound.  "You know, my Betsy always said there're two types of sick people in the world," Grandpa explained, leading Heather toward the kitchen.  "There's the ones that just wanna be left alone.  You check 'em a coupl'a times a day, and that's that.  Betsy and I were both always like that."

"That's me too," Heather interjected.

"Well, Jake's the other kind.  He wants company," Grandpa informed her, shaking his head.  "But Johnston was like that too, so I s'pose he comes by it honestly."  He placed Heather's grocery bags on the table, and looked up, meeting her gaze.  "Both our kids were like that," he chuckled.  "I remember comin' home once when they were little and Betsy meetin' me at the door, her coat on and purse in hand.  They'd both come down with the chicken pox, and she'd been dealin' with 'em for days.  She told me it was my turn, that dinner was in the oven, that I needed to keep 'em from scratchin' - she recommended an oatmeal bath - and to call her at her brother's and sister-in-law's if I needed anything.  She'd rather help Rosemary with puttin' up preserves for the evening than read The Color Kittens to the baby one more time.  I still remember that book," he smiled, a far off look coming into his eyes.  "She never got tired of it.  'Blue is blue, and red is red!  But they had no green paint!'"

"I don't know that one," Heather murmured, playing nervously with her purse's strap.  "And I - I thought - I always thought Johnston was an only child?"

"It was a cute little story," Grandpa replied, shaking his head.  He stared past Heather, continuing, and she wondered if he'd even heard her question.  "These two little kittens try to mix paint together to make green.  They get every color except green 'til near the end, and then all that paint they'd mixed runs together and makes brown.  She thought it was the funniest thing.  You'd read it to her, and she'd just laugh and laugh, and soon you were laughin', too."  Grandpa let out a deep breath and shifted his focus to Heather.  "Our little girl, Susie.  She died when she was six.  I loved havin' a little girl.  There's just somethin' special about a little girl," he sighed.  "I'm sure your Dad knows exactly what I mean.  Always looked forward to havin' a granddaughter, but it just wasn't meant to be.  S'pose I just need to be patient and hope for great-granddaughters," he smiled gently.

A soft blush suffused Heather's cheeks, but she didn't avert her eyes, and instead held Grandpa's gaze, smiling in return.  She wasn't embarrassed by his implication, Heather realized, and actually she wasn't even embarrassed, really, just overwhelmed - in a good way - by the possibility.  It did seem after all - Heather felt it with every fiber of her being - that she and Jake were heading toward something permanent.  Marriage.  And eventually - a number of years eventually - children.  She could imagine building a life and a family in Jericho and, most importantly, with Jake.

"You're a good girl, Heather," Grandpa repeated, stepping toward her.  He reached for her hand, catching it in his own, his skin cool, dry, and rough against hers.  Squeezing her fingers, he smiled.  "You're good for my grandson," he declared, "And you're good to listen to an old man prattle on."

"Oh, you're not an old man," Heather protested, prompting his chuckle.

"Well, I'm certainly no young buck, that's for sure," Grandpa proclaimed, letting go of her hand.  "Though I'm still a mite smarter than your young buck in that I got my flu shot," he added.  "Jake seems to think you can get the flu from a flu shot -"

"You get the flu from the flu!" Heather interrupted, rolling her eyes in exasperation.  "He and I have had this discussion, and now he's sick, so I guess I'm right and I win," she decided, giggling softly to herself.  "But I'll be nice and wait 'til he's better to tell him."  She paused for a few seconds, and then frowning uncertainly, said, "I brought TheraFlu and ginger ale and chicken noodle soup, so is it all right if I warm it up for Jake?"

"Heather, darlin', you don't even need to ask," he informed her with a smile.  "Long as you can stand workin' in the kitchen of two bachelors.  And help yourself to anything you want or need," he instructed.  "Gail sent home some of those little sausages and meatballs on toothpicks last night, and some of the German potato salad," Grandpa recalled.  "So make sure you help me eat it.  You'll need somethin' more substantial for dinner than chicken soup, for sure."

"Thank you," Heather replied, extracting a six pack of ginger ale from one of the grocery bags.  "Everything was really good last night.  I didn't even get a chance to try that potato salad," she admitted, finding a bottle in the bag she was searching.  She held it up for Grandpa's inspection.  "I brought some Echinacea.  We probably both should have some."

"Echinacea?" Grandpa questioned, chuckling. 

"It's a herb that's supposed to help boost your immune system, and if you take it after exposure but before you get sick, maybe you don't get sick," Heather explained, her earnest tone bringing a grin to Grandpa's lips.  She examined the bottle's label.  "I think it's daisies.  Well, pinky-purply daisies."

"Purple coneflower, actually," he corrected.  "And the Plains Indians did use the plant medicinally," he agreed, nodding.  "Just hadn't realized anyone was bottlin' the stuff into valu-paks," Grandpa snorted, gesturing at the label on the bottle Heather held in her hand.  "And makin' a fortune off it, I would guess.  It's a pretty flower, though," he told her.  "Come spring - on in toward May, I'd say - get Jake to take you out on horseback, over by Dinah's Bluff.  He knows where that is.  You should see a whole field of wildflowers, out there on the prairie - includin' the purple coneflower - far as the eye can see."

"That's really cool," Heather smiled distractedly as she worked to peel back the safety seal on top of the container.  "I'll have to remember that," she decided, gaining access to the bottle's contents.  Shaking a couple of capsules out onto the palm of her hand, she offered them to Grandpa.  "Sure you don't want some?"

"Think I'll take my chances," he decided.  "Haven't quite had the exposure you had," Grandpa teased, winking at her.  "You and Jake did seem to find yourselves under the mistletoe rather often last night."

The open house hosted by Gail and Johnston the previous evening had been both fun and successful with, at one point, more than a hundred people crammed into every nook and cranny of the first floor.  Even the second floor had gotten its use, Heather knew, having been dispatched by Gail at one point to show Margaret Taylor, who'd needed to nurse baby Sally, to the guest room for some privacy.  The dining room table had been overflowing with food, cheerful conversation and joyful laughter had abounded, and children had chased one another from room to room.  "It's been awhile since we've had this many kids at the party," Gail had confided with a smile before hastily depositing a wiggling Woody Taylor into Heather's arms. Then she'd hurried into the foyer - Heather trailing behind - to help sort out the giggling pile at the bottom of the staircase after a group of those children had attempted to sled down the stairs on a sleeping bag.

"The downside of grandchildren," Heather had overheard Mrs. McVeigh grumble to Gail as she'd corralled her five year old granddaughter, scolding her and then Bonnie, Dale and Skylar, the apparent ring leaders of the conspiracy.  Skylar though, had protested her innocence, claiming she was just watching, and Gail, shaking her head, had confessed - throwing her son an exasperated look - that Bonnie and Dale had likely been taught the trick by Jake, who'd first attempted something similar during the Christmas open house some twenty years prior.

Stanley had grabbed Woody from Heather's arms then, returning the protesting toddler to his father before - acting quite mysteriously - insisting that she come with him.  Holding her hand, he'd led her back into the living room, threading their way through the crowd, Jake trailing behind them, a suspicious look on his face.  "Here," Stanley had directed, patting the pad of the window seat.  "Sit."

"Okay," Heather had giggled, settling herself on the cushion.  "What's up?" she'd asked as Stanley had plopped down beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

"Well, looky here," he'd exclaimed immediately, glancing toward the ceiling and at the same time reaching over with his free hand to tilt Heather's chin upwards.  "Mistletoe!" Stanley had boomed out then - before, actually, Heather had spotted the sprig that was tied to a nail inside the window casing - attracting the attention of nearly everyone in the living room.  Stanley had let go of her chin then, smiling at her widely.  "You know what the mistletoe rule is."  With that, he'd stood up, pulling her to her feet and then into his arms, dipping her so that her hair practically swept the carpet.  He'd kissed her too, in a move highly reminiscent of Pepé Le Pew, though there was certainly more noise to Stanley's kiss than actual kiss. 

Heather had been giggling - and Jake, glowering - by the time Stanley had settled her back on her feet.  "So?" he'd asked, his expression hopeful.

"Not bad," she'd laughed, shaking her head.  "But I think I'm gonna stick with Jake," Heather had told him, patting his shoulder comfortingly.  With that, she'd twisted around and walked straight into Jake's waiting embrace.
 
"Mistletoe rule!" Stanley had defended himself one last time, garnering chuckles from around the room and an annoyed eye roll from Jake.

Coming up behind Stanley as everyone had returned to their prior conversations, Grandpa Green had clapped the younger man on the shoulder.  "She's got her heart set on Jake, methinks," he'd sighed, his grin sympathetic.  "But at least you found where Gail hid the mistletoe this year," he'd added, cocking his head toward the window seat, which three couples had already been eyeing.   "There's plenty of people grateful for that."

Jake had waited a half hour before he'd pulled Heather toward the window seat, and they'd found their way there periodically over the rest of the evening, eventually not even bothering to sit down, just sort of ducking into the alcove.  Jake had taken care not to embarrass Heather, as aware as she had been of the presence at the party of Mrs. McVeigh, Mrs. Crenshaw, the entire school board, and three other teachers from the elementary school.  Still, though he'd been careful to keep their kisses chaste, the mere brush of his lips over hers, the smoldering look in his eye, the way he'd held her hand, his fingers caressing hers, had been enough to send frissons of delight up her spine and had left Heather with the taste of anticipation in her mouth. 

"Maybe," she giggled, blushing prettily as she met Grandpa Green's eye, "But I'm pretty sure I saw you under the mistletoe, too.  With Mags, and then with Mrs. Moreno."

Grinning at her, Grandpa shrugged, neither confirming nor denying her charge.  "Tell you what.  If I hear that Mags Henry or Ellie Moreno has come down with the flu in the next week, I'll take your Echinacea," he informed Heather.  "Otherwise, no thanks," he chuckled quietly.  "Now, I've got some emails to return," Grandpa declared, "So come find me if you need me."

"Thanks, Gramps," Heather smiled, opening a can of the ginger ale one handed.  Watching Grandpa as he moved toward the door, she threw the Echinacea capsules in her mouth and then took a sip of the soda, swallowing.  Quickly, she emptied the second grocery bag and then carried everything to the counter where she organized it, forcing herself to ignore the crumbs 'the bachelors' had left scattered around the toaster.  Heather found a plastic glass in the cupboard and, after filling it with ice from the freezer, carried it and the open can of ginger ale into the family room.

Jake was asleep on the couch, wrapped up in cocoon of quilts, snoring softly.  Heather set the glass and soda can on the coffee table and then knelt next to the couch, tucking the quilt back up to Jake's chin and taking a moment to admire the hand stitched double wedding ring pattern.  "Hon," she whispered, leaning over him to brush a sweaty strand of hair off his face.  "Jake.  You wanna wake up for me?"

He didn't stir immediately, and she continued to murmur his name, stroking his face, which was rough with a day's growth of beard.  "Hey," he croaked eventually, not bothering to open his eyes as he turned into her touch.

"Hey, yourself," Heather sighed, sitting back on her heels.  "How you feelin'?"

"Worse than dead," he groaned, his eyes still closed.  "But glad you're here."  Heather's answer was to lean forward again, kissing him on the forehead.  "I don't have a fever," he complained, "Stop checking."

"Actually, you do have a fever," she told him, shaking her head.  "Not that I was checking.  I just wanted to kiss you without - without any mucus membrane contact," Heather declared, chuckling gently.  Jake opened his eyes at that, initially startled, though his lips soon twisted into a lopsided grin.  She laughed harder.  "Sorry, mister.  I love you, but I don't want your germs.  I don't wanna get sick."

"So, which are the mucus membranes again?" Jake inquired, catching her hand in his.  He leered at her tiredly, the gleam in his eye definitely not an effect of the virus currently running its course through his system.

"I think you know," Heather returned, fighting a laugh, pink staining her cheeks.  He started to cough and frowning in concern, she helped him sit up, and then sat down on the very edge of the couch, patting his back as he worked through the attack.  "Poor baby," she consoled as the fit came to an end a long moment later.  

Jake flopped backwards into the sofa's corner, kicking the quilt away and revealing that he was barefoot, dressed in gray sweats and a well-worn Van Halen concert t-shirt.  "Too hot," he complained grumpily before elbowing the couch cushions a few times, groaning "Too lumpy."

"How 'bout some ginger ale?" Heather offered, turning to retrieve the glass of ice and soda can from the coffee table.  "With ice?" she asked, holding both up for him to see.  "Or straight from the can?"

"Ice," Jake mumbled, "Thanks."

Heather poured the remaining of the soda - she'd really only had two sips - into the glass and handed it to him.  "I'm gonna make up some TheraFlu for you too, okay?" she told him, brushing the hair off his face again, unable to resist touching him, even if he was germ-ridden.  "And, I'll heat some soup?"

"'Kay, yeah," he agreed, taking a sip of the soda.  The ice had melted some and was now stuck together in one giant clump that shifted in the glass and slid forward hitting Jake on the lip.  He frowned, throwing Heather a piteous look.  "Can - can I get a straw?"

Smiling sympathetically, Heather nodded. "Sure, hon," she agreed, standing and then leaning over to kiss him on the forehead again.

In the kitchen, Heather washed her hands and put the kettle on to heat, and then dug around in the drawers until she'd come up with a can opener and a straw left over from a fast food restaurant.  The kettle whistled, so she made up the TheraFlu, and took it along with the straw back into the family room.  Jake had turned on the TV - it was tuned to a re-run of M*A*S*H - and fallen back asleep.  She decided against waking him, figuring she could always reheat the TheraFlu while he was eating the soup later.  She opened the straw, leaving it in the half glass of ginger ale.  Finally, she tucked the quilt, which he'd pulled back over himself, up to his chin.

The soup heated in ten minutes, and Heather found some crackers in the pantry to add to the meal as well.  Grabbing a can of soda for herself, she took the food into Jake, waking him with a kiss to his forehead.  He sat up on the sofa, making room for her, and Heather, deciding to trust in her flu shot and risk the exposure, curled up beside him.  Together, they laughed at the antics of Hawkeye and BJ while he gagged down the lukewarm TheraFlu and spent more time stirring his soup than actually eating it.

Grandpa came into the family room just as Heather took the remains of his soup away from Jake, ostensibly to inquire if she'd like him to warm up some dinner for her while he was making up his own plate, though Jake didn't buy the excuse.  "Don't think the vice and virtue squad believes in sick days," he muttered, collapsing back against the couch.

"Yeah, I think you're right," Heather giggled, frowning at him sympathetically.

Heather suggested playing a board game or cards, and Jake countered that he could go for strip Monopoly or strip poker, but in the end, he didn't really have the energy for a game, even of the non-strip variety.  They ended up watching a movie on cable.  Grandpa came in to check on them a few times, the last just as the credits were starting to roll.  Jake had fallen asleep, his head in her lap, a half hour before and Heather figured he was out for the night.  "Down for the count, I think," she told Grandpa Green, combing her fingers through Jake's hair.  "So I think I'm gonna go," she added, making absolutely no move to get up.  "But, I'll come back tomorrow after school," she assured, pressing a kiss to her middle and index fingers, and then pressing them both to Jake's forehead.  Finally - carefully - she extracted herself from beneath Jake, substituting a pillow under his head and tucking the quilt around him. 

Grandpa watched all of this silently, a gentle smile on his lips.  "You're a good girl, Heather," he murmured, nodding softly to himself.  "I'll walk you out."

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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

The downtown district was dark and deserted when Jake turned the car onto Main Street, bringing it to a stop outside the market.  It wasn't even nine o'clock, but the sidewalks in Jericho definitely rolled up at dusk these days.  Johnston popped his door open as the car rolled to a rest, eager to stretch his legs. 

"Hey!" Jimmy Taylor called out.  He was starting to feel like a vampire, banished to the nightshift, and was always glad for any company.  The safe return of the Black Jack party was a big relief, and he caught himself smiling.  "Welcome home.  Success?" he inquired, hopefully.  "Get the part?"

"Had it," Jake muttered, frowning softly at the deputy.  He turned around and tossed the keys over the top of the car to his father.  "Then we lost it."

"Well, I'm sure Heather'll forgive you," Jimmy shrugged, clapping Michael on the shoulder as he climbed out of the car.

A ghost of a smile graced Jake's lips.  "Let's hope so, anyway," he murmured. 

Johnston let Dale out of the backseat and then followed him around the back of the car to open the trunk.  "And you," he grumbled at the teenager, "You do realize that what happened today was unnecessary."

"Yes," Dale mumbled, tugging on the corner of a bag of soybeans.  He flashed Michael a grateful look as the other man moved to help him, and together they carried the sack to the sidewalk. 

"And stupid," Johnston continued his lecture, following behind the two young men.  "You've got a lot of responsibility now," he reminded, catching sight of a light inside the store.  Skylar, he thought, and she was only one of Dale's many responsibilities.  "You gotta learn how to be smart," Johnston admonished.

Dale, returning to pull the next bag - barley this time - from the back of the car, nodded.  "I understand."

Together, Jake and Johnston lifted a small drum from the trunk, lugging it between them to the store's entrance.  "And you," Johnston addressed his son, "You knew that this car," he bellowed, pointing at the Roadrunner after they had righted the drum, "You knew this car was not gonna fit through that gate!"

"I know," Jake said softly, shaking his head.  "I heard you talking to me," he admitted as he followed his father back to the car, dodging Jimmy, Michael and Dale as they continued to off load supplies.  "And I knew you were right."

"Why didn't you stop the car then?" Johnston demanded.

Jake shook his head again.  "I dunno."  Though actually, he did know.  It was a combination of things, really.  He hated being trapped, for one.  And there was the video from Iraq, the contractors' bodies being dragged through the streets.  Jake had tried to steer clear of it, but especially in the Ravenwood circles it had been morbidly popular and damn near impossible to avoid.  'This is what this place is like,' they'd say, 'And don't forget it.  Don't let it be you.'  Back at Black Jack, when he'd seen the hanged man, he'd thought of that video.  Then when the guards had tried to take Dale, all he'd been able to think was that they'd hang him too, and Jake had known he couldn't let that happen.  And in the car with the gate closing in front of him, all Jake could think was that he refused to end like that video, and that he'd promised Heather he'd be home. 

"We had to get home," Jake shrugged, glancing at his father but then looking past him, refusing to meet his eye. 

His brow furrowed, Johnston contemplated this response for a long moment, stepping out of the way to allow Michael and Dale to pull the last of the goods for the store from the trunk.  There were still the four bags of salt that they hadn't banked with Black Jack management and those would need to be returned to Gray in the morning.  "Okay," he nodded finally, watching as his son dropped the trunk's hood closed.

"Hey," Skylar greeted, stepping out the store's front door.  She threw her arms around Dale, planting a kiss on his cheek.  "What'd you get?" she asked, surveying the pile of goods on the sidewalk.  "Look at all this stuff!" Skylar smiled, letting go of Dale though they joined hands almost automatically.  "Ah!  You did great!"

"You need help Dale?" Johnston inquired, abandoning his conversation with Jake for the moment as he stepped toward the young couple.  "Gettin' everything inside?"

"I'll help 'im, Mayor," Jimmy volunteered, cringing a second later as he realized what he'd said. 

"Jimmy," Johnston snapped tiredly, "I'm not the -"

"Mr. Green," the deputy corrected himself quickly.  "Sorry, sir.  But I'll help Dale get everything in, sir.  Mr. Green."

Johnston nodded his thanks at Jimmy and then turned his gaze on the teenagers.  "Dale, remember -"

"I know, sir.  Be smart," Dale interrupted.  "And responsible.  I - I'll be smart and responsible."

"Well, good night then," Johnston answered.  He glanced first at Michael and then at Jake.  "Let's go home."

Jimmy and Dale, with some assistance from Skylar, quickly had all the goods moved inside the store and off the sidewalk.  Jimmy offered to help move everything into the back or 'wherever', but Dale turned him down with thanks, escorting the deputy to the door which he then locked behind him. 

"There's just so much here," Skylar exclaimed, smiling over her shoulder at Dale when he came up behind her, resting his hand gently on her back, between her shoulder blades.  By the soft light of the lantern burning on the counter, she looked over the bags and other items, counting them and trying to figure out what - exactly - this would mean for the store.  "You did great!" she repeated. 

"This is nothing," Dale contradicted, rubbing her back.  He waited a second and then asked, "Skylar, how much of the salt mine does your family own?"

"I don't know," she answered, turning around to face him.  He slipped his arms around her waist, drawing her to him.  "Why?" Skylar whispered, her mouth mere inches from his.

Surprisingly, Dale didn't kiss her though he did study her face intently for a long moment before answering.  "'Cause I think we may be rich," he informed her, leading her toward the counter.  He helped her hop up onto it and then followed suit so that they were both sitting on the edge, legs dangling, their feet almost but not quite touching the floor.  "Well, you're rich anyway," Dale amended, lacing their fingers together.

"I'm rich?  Whaddya mean?" she laughed, her expression confused.  Skylar shook her head in denial.  "Not anymore.  Dale, what -"

"Salt," he interrupted, "It's an antibiotic and a preservative and money.  Wars have been fought over salt," he quoted Johnston, squeezing her hand.  "Jericho's got the largest salt mine for four hundred miles and the men to mine it," he added, repeating Jake's words.  "You own the salt mine, part of it, anyway," Dale reminded.  "So you're rich."

"No.  If I'm rich, then we're rich," Skylar insisted, twisting around so she could reach for his other hand.  Clutching both his hands in her own, she studied him, her gaze locking with his when he glanced in her direction.  "We're rich," she declared a second time, tightening her hold.  "We'll share.  We're -"  She broke off once again, chewing her lip.  "Part - part of the mine should be yours anyway," Skylar murmured, offering him a tentative smile.  "I know - I know about - about your father," she stammered, "I know about him."

"Yeah?" Dale grunted, yanking his hands from her grasp as he practically reared away from Skylar.

"I - I heard my parents talk about it, about him," she admitted, squinting at him nervously in the dim light.  "And about you, and about how your Dad left town, and how your grandfather was my Dad's business partner until he sold his part of the mine to Mr. Anderson."

"I never met him," Dale confessed, his lips pursed.  "I never met any of them.  They weren't interested in havin' anything to do with me, so why should I be interested in them?" he demanded, the tightness in his throat giving his voice a harsh quality.

"Yeah," she whispered, studying her hands for a moment, unable to meet Dale's pained gaze.  "My Mom - well, she didn't think it was right, what happened," Skylar frowned, looking up at him.  "She worried about you."

Dale allowed a slow nod, the strain in his expression easing slowly. "Your Mom was always nice to me," he murmured, "I liked her.  And maybe," he added, a hopeful note in his voice, "Maybe she's okay, and she'll still come home."

"Maybe," Skylar agreed, her smile tremulous.  "I'm sorry," she apologized with her next breath, surprising Dale.  "I'm sorry about when we were kids, how I wasn't, you know, always nice."

"You don't have to say you're sorry," Dale told her, shaking his head.  "That was before.  That wasn't the real you, or you've changed."  He had to believe that was true because the Skylar he'd known before the bombs, and even after sometimes, had often been more than mean.  In fact, when she'd deigned to notice him, it had usually been to humiliate him.  But that was because of her friends and what it took to be popular, and to stay popular.  That wasn't the real Skylar, Dale knew, because since the bombs - since everything that had happened - they had found what they had in common.  They were both alone, and sometimes scared.  They needed one another.  She didn't have those same friends anymore.  She relied on him, and he relied on her.

"I know the real you," he continued, leaning over to kiss her.  They bumped noses - twice - laughing self-consciously, but then finally got it right.  Dale closed his eyes, trying to memorize the feeling of her lips against his because even as he argued to himself that she was different now, he still wondered, every time he kissed her, if it was for the last time.  "You don't have to say you're sorry," he repeated when their mouths separated.  "It's okay."

"Okay," Skylar answered quietly, her expression unreadable.  She cleared her throat, absently kicking her heels against the counter.  "You know, everyone always said that my Dad was controlling partner.  That means he owned half, right?  Or more?"

"Yeah," Dale agreed.  "I think, more."

"And, that means we own half the salt mine," she emphasized, "At least."  They stared at one another for a long moment before, taking a deep breath, Skylar continued.  "So, how was your trip?  What was Black Jack like?"

Dale looked away.  The last thing he was going to tell her about was Black Jack.  If Skylar had changed, then so had he.  All his life, Dale had been bullied and he'd put up with it - tried to stay out of the way - because he'd known he couldn't win.  He had always been smaller, poorer, unliked; the bastard kid from the trailer park.  Once - on the QT - Johnston Green had tried to teach him how to defend himself, and Dale could throw a punch if he absolutely had to, but he'd still been just as likely to come home with a bloodied nose and a torn shirt.  After Gracie Leigh had died, he'd decided no more and he'd taken care of it.  But then today, at Black Jack, he'd been right back where he always was, at the mercy of someone bigger and stronger, and it was only because of luck and the fact that the Greens had fought for him that he was here, home, unscathed.  Again, Dale vowed, that he wouldn't allow himself to be bullied, not any more.

"It was fine," he answered, forcing a smile and squeezing her hand.  "It was just a place," Dale shrugged.  "And, hey, I got you a present!" he announced, playing with her fingers.  "You want it?"

Much as he'd counted on, Skylar hadn't changed so much that the mention of a gift wasn't enough to distract her from her line of questioning, and she grinned at him widely as she asked, her voice lilting, "What kind of present?"

"Well, it's not a really big present," Dale backpedalled, "But I - well, let me get it."  He turned around and knelt next to a crate he'd brought in from the car, clearing off the top layer of merchandise - multi-packs of 'AA', 'A', 'C' and 'D' batteries.  Letting out an anxious breath, he pulled two six packs of soda from the bottom of the crate and carried them back toward Skylar, setting them on the counter next to her.  "It's Shasta, so basically generic," he told her.  "But it's diet at least.  Diet vanilla cola and diet black cherry, sorry," Dale grumbled.  "They didn't have Diet Coke.  I asked."

"Oooh! Dale!  Thank you," she declared, her eyes shining.  Reaching for his hand, she pulled him over so that he stood in front of her, her knees pressed into his stomach.  "You - you're so sweet," Skylar giggled, throwing her arms around his neck and then kissing him.  "I'm glad you're home," she told him a long moment later, drawing back, though her gaze locked with his.

Dale, his arms wrapped around her waist, nodded and leaned in for another kiss.  "Me too," he murmured.

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

The Color Kittens is a Little Golden Book written by Margaret Wise Brown and illustrated by Alice and Martin Provensen.  It was published in 1949.

As for the soda Dale brought to Skylar, I went with Shasta because they used to bottle it in my home town.  I still think they make the best black cherry and cream sodas.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shasta_(soft_drink)

Different Circumstances: Part 12F by Marzee Doats

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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

"Come in," Heather called out, acknowledging the knock at the bedroom door without glancing up from her book.  She was relying on the soft light thrown off by a small candle lantern and had to squint to read.

Its hinges creaking softly, the door opened a few inches and Jake stuck his head in, inquiring teasingly, "Are you decent?"

Grinning, she looked up, all thoughts of reading - and of not losing her place - forgotten.  "And then some," Heather returned, chuckling.  She was, in fact, dressed for bed in flannel pajamas - the normally oversized top was starting to stretch across the mound of her pregnancy - layered over long underwear, not to mention already under the covers.  "Besides, when I'm indecent, I lock the door."

"Okay, that goes on the list of things I don't need to be hearing about," Michael grumbled as Jake pushed him into the bedroom ahead of himself.  "Hey, sis."

"Hey!  You guys are back," Heather sighed, obviously relieved.  Marking her spot in her book - she was still reading What to Expect When You're Expecting - she placed it on the nightstand.  "How'd it go?"

"Well, we saw a governor," Jake replied, deciding to go with the bad news first.  "And it was pretty much everything you wanted, only it didn't work out.  Had a disagreement with the seller.  But," he continued, stepping around Michael and moving toward the bed, "The good news is that - hopefully - The New Bern Brake Works are about to become The New Bern Brake and Windmill Works."

Heather smiled at Jake, leaning forward to kiss him 'hello' when he seated himself on the edge of the bed next to her, lowering his backpack to the floor near his feet.  "New Bern, like down the road New Bern?" she inquired.  "New Bern, Kansas?"

"Yeah," Jake confirmed, finding her hand and lacing their fingers together.  "We ran into Mindy of all people at Black Jack, and she's pretty high up in the New Bern power structure, apparently," he explained, lifting her hand to press an absent kiss to the inside of her wrist.  "She's in big with Phil Constantino, who's the new city manager."

"Our Mindy?  Mindy Henry?" Heather asked, letting out a soft breath.  "Wow.  How is she?  She's okay, right?"

"She's good," Michael interjected, drawing his sister's gaze away from her husband's face.  "Yeah, I'm still here," he grumbled rolling his eyes.  Heather allowed a self-conscious giggle but didn't apologize.  "Mindy's good, Jake's good, I'm good.  Home with not a scratch on me," Michael claimed.  He held his arms open, rotating in a circle so Heather could see for herself, although given his dark clothing and the dim light, it was difficult for her to make much out.

"He's in one piece," Jake added, pressing a kiss to Heather's forehead.  "And so'm I," he said, kissing the bridge of her nose.  "And Dad and Dale.  We're all back in one piece," he assured her, his mouth meeting hers.

Heather pulled back from their kiss, her lips twitching into a grin.  "Well, four individual pieces - unmerged - the same as when you left, I hope," she teased.  "I mean, I'm just sayin', you're not all one piece."

This earned her groans from both the men, and Jake threw his brother-in-law a look, hoping to telegraph that he'd rather not tell Heather all the details of their altercation at the fairgrounds.  His shoulder ached where one of the guards had hit him with his billy club, and Jake didn't doubt he had a bruise to explain away, but she didn't need to know about the rest.  His head hurt too, where the guard has struck a glancing blow across the back of his skull, but Michael had examined him later and found that he didn't even have a cut, just a little tenderness.   "Four people, each in one piece," Jake snorted in agreement.

Michael cleared his throat.  "Well, I'm goin' to bed.  I'm workin' in the morning and I'm tired," he yawned.  "Jake just said he had to prove to you that I'm all right, and I am, okay?"

"C'm'ere," Heather ordered, waving her brother over.  They exchanged a hug and then she kissed him on the cheek before finally letting him go.  "I'm glad you're home safe," she murmured.

"Yeah, me too," Michael agreed, forcing a tired smile as he straightened to his full height.

"You've got clean sheets," she informed him then, smiling.  "We all do.  And, I'm such a nice sister I even made your bed."

"That is nice," he chuckled quietly.  "Thanks, Heth."

"Thanks, Mike," Jake said next, standing to offer his brother-in-law his hand.  They shook, grasping each other's hands tightly, their suddenly serious tones confusing Heather for a moment.  "Thanks," he repeated.

"No problem, man," Michael shrugged, clapping Jake's upper arm.  "Night," he added before glancing at Heather.  "Night, sis."

"What was that about?" Heather asked, frowning at Jake as the bedroom door closed behind her brother.

"Not important.  Black Jack's just not a nice place so you gotta look out for each other, that's all," he answered, reseating himself next to her.  "Don't worry about it," he instructed, smiling at her gently.   Letting out a long sigh, Jake tucked a lose strand of hair behind her ear.  "You know, I was glad to see Mindy - to see that she was safe - but I hate her boyfriend."

"So you met Ted, huh?" she chuckled sympathetically.  "He's ... interesting," she decided with a slight shake of the head.  "Apparently he's really into cars except he was having a problem with his truck's engine, and everything he said he was doin' is exactly what I wouldn't have done."  Heather rolled her eyes.  "I made a suggestion - maybe two - and then realized he wasn't interested in what I had to say."

"He's an idiot, obviously," Jake muttered, snorting softly. 

Heather frowned then.  "Didn't I tell you about Ted?" she asked her forehead creasing even as she smoothed out the wrinkles in her pajama top, resting both hands over their baby.  "I didn't, did I?" she realized.

Jake gave her a lopsided smile.  "Nah.  Some warning would've been nice, but that's okay," he shrugged, laying his hands over hers.  "Least now I can claim to have met him unprejudiced."

"I'm sorry, hon," Heather apologized with a sigh.  "I remember now.  I was gonna email you about it, but not just email it, you know?"  Jake nodded, and she continued.  "I kept thinkin' I had to sit down and compose something, break it to you gently," she chuckled, her sympathetic smile returning. 

"'Cause I'm such a sensitive guy, huh?" he joked.

"When it comes to Mindy, sometimes you are," she countered, "Not that that's a bad thing.  And I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Heather repeated, "But I was so tired that night.  I met them for coffee at like two, and then I went to Sunday dinner at your parents, and that was the night, actually, that I got sick just from the smell of your Mom's pork chops," she remembered, chewing her lip absently.  "And there was a staff meeting on Monday morning that I barely made, plus then I had my blood test after school.  April - April took me out to dinner to celebrate the results," she admitted then, and it was the first time Jake had heard that particular detail.  "Then on -"

"Babe, it's okay," Jake interrupted, squeezing her hand.  "I think that blood test was just a little more important," he assured her, adding, "I'm just sorry I wasn't here to take you to celebrate."

Shaking her head, Heather shifted her position against the pillows she'd propped herself up with before leaning forward to give him a peck of a kiss.  "You're here now," she reminded, "That's all that matters to me.  So," she continued a beat later, playing with Jake's hand, easily twisting his now loose wedding ring on his finger.  "Did you get something to eat?  Enough?" Heather asked, although it was a ridiculous question; none of them really got enough to eat these days. 

"Funnel cake and corn dogs, of course," Jake claimed, rolling his eyes.  "Went to the fair after all."

"Don't tease," Heather complained, whimpering softly, though it was mostly for affect.  "I can't tell you how long I've been craving a corn dog.  For weeks.  I blame B.G.," she pouted, fighting a snicker.

"Hey!  You!" Jake said, starting to laugh as he skimmed his fingers over her belly not quite poking her, but still, Heather assumed, trying to get their baby's attention.  "Take it easy on your Mom," he ordered.  Leaning closer, Jake continued to speak to the swell of their child, though he watched Heather, their gazes locked, looking for her amused reaction.  "I mean, c'mon," he whispered, chuckling, "How do you even know what a corn dog tastes like?"

"Oh, he knows, trust me," she giggled, her expression turning sheepish.  "All of August and September, if I had any reason to be in Fielding, I was grabbin' a snack at Sonic.  Corn dog and tater tots."

They'd passed a Sonic - abandoned and vandalized almost beyond recognition - during the tense twenty minutes they'd been on I-80.  Roger had warned about raiding parties, as had the news kiosk at the fairgrounds, but there just wasn't a route to Black Jack that didn't involve the interstate to some degree, and they'd had no choice but to take it.  The drive-in hadn't been the only casualty along the highway; they'd seen burned out and looted gas stations, motels and fast food joints all along the road, a sight that Michael had deemed typical when Johnston had made a comment.  After that, they hadn't talked, instead concentrating all of their attention on scanning the highway - ahead and behind - for signs of danger.

Aware of Heather's eyes upon him, Jake forced a smile.  "So that's how it is," he joked, pressing a kiss to her flannel-covered belly, just above her belly button.  "You're both just a coupl'a corn dog addicts, huh?"

"Our deep, dark secret, yes," Heather nodded, cupping the back of Jake's head with her hand.  "Do you want some soup?" she asked as he lifted himself up and her hand dropped away.  "We had soup for dinner, but we didn't eat it all.  I could heat it up for you, easy."

"Nah, that's okay," he replied, catching her hand and tangling their fingers together.  "We ate.  The peanut butter granola bars were good, and - even better - I've still got one left.  And, speaking of Christmas presents," Jake grinned, reaching for his backpack.  "I'm sorry it's not a governor, though at least if they can get the factory going in New Bern, maybe we can have more than one without risking the only one we have, taking it apart," he reasoned, unzipping the bag.  "But, I do have this," he declared, pulling something loose from inside the backpack and presenting it to her with a flourish.

"You got ChapStick!" Heather practically squealed, snatching the multi-pack from Jake's hand.  "Oh, I love you!" she declared emphatically, already working to open the package.

"Well, ChapStick better not be the only reason you love me," Jake grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched her struggle with the plastic packaging for a few seconds and then reached for it.  "Let me see that," Jake requested, pulling the backpack up into his lap with his other hand.  She handed the package over after a moment's hesitation, as aware as Jake was of the now constant chill in the house and how it sapped one's strength and stole from them all the ability to do fine, close work, even if it was just tearing something open. 

"The real thanks goes to Dale," Jake continued.  He pulled a small pocket knife out of the backpack's front pocket.  It was one that Heather had carried for years on her keychain, and which she'd packed as an afterthought the night before.  It was also the one weapon that had gone unnoticed when they'd been searched entering Black Jack, and was the one weapon - besides Russell's gun - that they'd left Black Jack with.  "I told Dad and Dale - Mike, too - to be on the look out for lip balm.  I didn't even know that Dale had some until we were on our way home," Jake admitted, slashing the back of the package open with the knife's short blade.  "Here you go," he said, handing her the ChapStick and then, after folding the knife closed, setting it on the nightstand next to the lantern.  "I see you found my note," he grinned, catching his wife's eye and pointing at the drawing she'd propped against the lamp which, without electricity, no longer worked but still stood on the bedside table.

"Our first family portrait, that's what your Mom said," Heather smiled in return.  "Our little, nuclear family, I mean," she clarified, "You, me and B.G.  I like it."

Jake nodded.  "You, me and B.G."

"I liked the Cessna, too," she murmured, dumping the eight smaller, single packages of Chapstick on her lap.  "This is ridiculous," she complained, reaching for the pocket knife.

"I've taught you well," he teased, watching her out of the corner of his eye.  He grabbed the picture off the nightstand and flipped it over to look at his airplane drawing.  "This took me a half hour at least."

"Ah, success!" Heather declared as she managed to extract a tube of original-flavored ChapStick from its individual package.  She glanced at him, shrugging.  "And I only know the Cessna, can't do the military aircraft.  Okay," she sighed, twisting the lip balm's cap loose, "There's two medicated and two moisturizer to save for later, plus two regular and two cherry.  I'm savin' those for special occasions," Heather decided.  "You want one of the regulars?" she asked, closing her eyes as she started to apply the balm to her chapped lips.  "Ahhhh," she breathed before rubbing her lips together.  "Though I really should give some to your Mom and April," she realized, her nose wrinkling, as she put on another coat of ChapStick.

"Completely up to you," Jake replied, drawling, "I'm not gonna make you share."

"Thanks," she giggled.  "And, thank you.  I'll thank Dale, too - later - but thank you, Jake," Heather said softly, leaning over to kiss him.  "This makes my day - my week!" she declared, grinning at him.  "Sure you don't want some?" she inquired, holding the tube out to Jake.

"No thanks.  Regular ChapStick tastes like Noxema smells," he complained, making a face.  "Always reminds me of a sunburn."

"When have you ever had a sunburn?" she laughed, eyebrows raised in question.  Thanks to his complexion - a genetic gift from his Pawnee thrice great grandmother - Jake never burned, just tanned, a fact that Heather had declared to be patently unfair more than once.  Whereas she had to slather on the sunscreen every hour on the hour - and still sometimes got a little pink - Jake never even bothered with it.  The only equalizer as far as Heather was concerned - and it was a partial one at best - was that it took just a solid week of working around the ranch for Jake to end up with the world's worst farmer's tan, one that often took months to fade. 

"Trust me, I've had 'em," Jake insisted.

"Sure," Heather answered, clearly unconvinced.  She leaned close, her mouth mere inches from his.  "Sooo....  If I've got Noxema lips are you not gonna kiss me anymore?" she whispered.

He grinned, pretending to consider his options for a few seconds.  "Nah, I'll still kiss you," Jake decided, brushing his mouth over hers.  "Even if you do have Noxema lips."  He scooted toward Heather and they continued to exchange soft, sweet, simple kisses, while she tangled her fingers in his hair and his hands drifted from her waist up her back.  Finally, Jake pulled her into a hug, tucking her head against his shoulder.  They sat silently, arms wrapped around one another for a long moment.  "I've got somethin' else you'll be interested in," he told Heather, loosening his hold on her.  Twisting around, he dug into his backpack producing the notebook she'd included.  "The news."

"So, did you find my note?" Heather inquired as she accepted the notebook.  She opened it and pulled the photo from the inside pocket, holding it up for Jake to see. 

"I did," Jake answered, "But Mike found it first."  Heather's eyes widened at that and he chuckled softly.  He reached for the photograph, gently tugging it from her fingers.  "Now I believe this note contains a certain promise...."

"Oh, so you're callin' our deal, huh?" she chuckled.  "Hold on," she instructed, balancing the notebook on her belly and picking up the open tube of ChapStick.  "Never let it be said that Heather Green does not keep her part of a bargain," she proclaimed, quickly reapplying lip balm.  She leaned toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck and emitting a relieved sigh as their lips came together.  Jake moved toward her, trying to get closer, and Heather shifted under the covers which were drawn up to her waist, knocking the ChapStick packages to the floor.  "I'm glad you're back in one piece," she told him when they finally separated a long moment later.

"Me too," Jake murmured, his voice rumbling warmly.

Heather reached for the notebook - luckily it had fallen into the middle of the bed - and opened it to the front page.  "So, the news?" she asked, watching as Jake bent over to pick up the dropped ChapStick.

"They've got a real production goin' at Black Jack," he shrugged, pulling open the bedside table's drawer and dropping the loose packages of ChapStick inside.  "They collect the news as people pass through and then post it on this big news board.  Mike copied it all down."

"Northwest power grid beyond repair and the worst winter in decades?" Heather questioned, her tone incredulous.  "What - how are we gonna handle that?" she demanded, her eyes widening

"We'll just have to figure it out," Jake muttered, resting his hand on her knee.

"Camp violence?" she questioned, looking up, their gazes locking.  "In Chicago?  But Chicago was on the bomb list."

"FEMA camp, I think.  Like the one Mike and Jeff told us about," he reminded, hoping that his tone didn't betray his own overwhelmed sense of apprehension.  "Somewhere safe outside the city for the survivors to go."

"God," Heather swore, shaking her head.  She took a deep breath and forced herself to finish reading.  "This is almost worse than not knowing.  And who are all these people?  Senator Snowden? Senator Toma - Tomarchio?"  She plowed ahead, not waiting for his answer, not that Jake had one for her.  "And, what about this?  'Beijing vows to continue aid'," Heather read, "'Third round of shipments expected to arrive for distribution at year's end.'  That doesn't make any sense," she argued, "We only ever got the one airdrop."

"Maybe they didn't know we were here for round one," Jake suggested, stroking her leg through the thick pile of bedding.  "Maybe Jericho wasn't on the map, or they assumed the town was evacuated, so we weren't included until round two."   

Biting her lip, Heather studied her husband's face in the soft glow thrown off by the candle lantern, trying to decide whether to trust his explanation.  Jake looked tired, she realized, but also resolute.  "You really believe that?" Heather asked, letting out a long breath.

"I do.  I have to believe it," he told her.  "We have to believe it," Jake insisted.  "We need the food, the supplies.  They found us once before, so they'll find us again." 

Two weeks earlier he'd been suspicious of the airdrop, even suggesting that the food could have been poisoned in order to sicken the town, leaving them that much more vulnerable to an outside attack.  But the supplies had been distributed, they had all eaten their share, and no one was ill with anything besides the colds that had already been circulating and a few cases of pneumonia and bronchitis that April was having a dickens of a time treating.  No, the food had been consumed and everyone was fine except that they were already almost out of food again and year's end was still more than three weeks away.  

Forcing the slightest of smiles, Jake placed his hand over his wife's pregnant belly, over their child.  He had to believe that help was coming because the alternative was unthinkable.  "New Bern got an airdrop, too," he told her clearing his throat.  "From Germany.  Mindy said there was even Nutella."

"That's just not fair," Heather groaned, her eyes falling closed for a second.  "I've got some instant wonton soup to trade with 'em."

"I was thinkin' maybe the Germans sent some corn dogs," Jake joked.

Heather giggled quietly.  "Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure the corn dog was invented in the US," she murmured, "Probably at a state fair like all really good junk food."

"Well, they've gotta be good for bratwurst at least," he countered, stroking his thumb over the swell of her pregnancy.  "'Cause I could really go for some bratwurst," he said, making a frustrated noise.

"And, B.G. and I would both gladly take bratwurst," she agreed with a chuckle.

"Aid's comin' in from all over the world, babe," Jake told her, the almost anxious note in his voice belying the insistence in his words.  "And more's coming.  It has to," he sighed, lifting his hand from her belly and clenching it into a fist which he ground against his leg.  "We just hafta hold onto that, okay?"

"Yeah," Heather nodded, pressing her lips together.  Almost without thinking, she picked up her tube of ChapStick and uncapped it, applying it again to her lips.  "So, if Germany's sending aid, and Prime Minister Clements is bringing things to a vote, that's gotta mean that Europe's okay, right?  The bombs just happened to us.  I mean as bad as that is, it's not the whole world, right?"

"Think so," he replied.

"Good," she sighed, "That means the Pope is okay."  Surprised by that particular statement of all things - and yet really not - Jake stared at her, smiling and fighting a snicker.  Instead it was Heather who laughed self-consciously.  "I know it's weird, but I was worried about him," she admitted.  "He's God's representative on earth, and I know it doesn't make a lot of sense to even believe in God after everything that's happened, but...."  She trailed off for a moment, taking a deep breath and seeming to gather her courage.  "I hafta still believe in God," Heather shrugged, "And I'm glad the Pope's probably still okay."

Jake closed his eyes for a moment, all thoughts of being amused by her admission gone.  There weren't many things he counted on in the world - especially not now - but in addition to and as equally important as their love for and trust in one another, Jake relied on Heather's steadfast faith.  She, more than anyone he knew, believed that in the end things would be okay and he depended on that - on her - to keep going himself.  "Don't you dare stop believing in God," he told her, his brow furrowing.  Fighting a frown, he cupped her chin with one hand adding gently, "Please.  I don't think I could handle that," he admitted, brushing her lips with his own.

They stared at one another for a long moment, their doubts unwittingly revealed in both their expressions.  Pulling herself together, Heather took a deep breath and attempted a smile.  "Okay," she agreed, catching Jake's hand in her own as he withdrew it.  "I won't.  I promise."

"Good," he nodded, exhaling a relieved breath.  "So, clean sheets, huh?" Jake said, a few seconds later, chuckling softly.

"Yep," Heather confirmed as she smoothed the covers over her lap.  "It's pretty nice."

"Well then," he began, standing up slowly, "I better go take a shower."

"You're gonna freeze your butt off," she predicted, offering him a sheepish smile.  "But thank you!"

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

Monday, December 24, five years before the bombs

Jake had just swallowed his last bite of pumpkin pie when he felt his cell phone vibrate against his hip.  Unclipping it as he stood up, he checked the number out of habit, grinning when his suspicions were confirmed.

"Who in the world would be calling at this time?" Gail demanded, her forehead wrinkling in consternation.  "It's Christmas Eve."

"Heather," Eric answered for his brother, chuckling.

"Yesiree," Grandpa Green agreed with a nod, "Must be Heather."

"Hey, babe," Jake greeted, speaking softly into the phone, his back turned toward the table. 

At the other end of the line, Heather giggled and let out a breathy, "Hey, you.  Merry Christmas, Jake."

"Merry Christmas," Jake echoed, glancing back over his shoulder at his family.  April was at work, but the rest of the Greens stared back at him, all wearing identical knowing smiles.  "It's Heather," he told them, rolling his eyes.  He held the phone out toward the dining room table, instructing, "Say 'hi'."

Dutifully, the Greens called out, "Merry Christmas, Heather," and Grandpa tacked on a booming, "Wish you were here, sweetheart!"

"Tell them hello and Merry Christmas from me, please," she requested as soon as Jake was back on the phone. 

"Heather says 'Merry Christmas'," Jake repeated.  "Now if you'll excuse me," he added, not bothering to wait for their consent before he moved into the living room, calling Baron, his new puppy from the old blanket Gail had laid out in front of the fireplace.  Baron had come amazingly well-trained but he was still a puppy, and he bounded toward Jake, yipping excitedly, his hind legs almost overtaking the front.  Squatting to pat the dog on the head, Jake commanded gently but firmly, "Quiet.  C'mon, boy," he added, standing and leading the animal through the entry, headed for the den.

"So, how's The Red Baron," Heather asked, hearing the puppy through the phone.  "Has he slept yet?" she joked, "Are you ready to kill me yet?"

The Red Baron, as Heather had named the dog, had been her Christmas present to Jake.  They had exchanged gifts on Thursday evening, a day and a half before she'd flown home to Buffalo.  Originally, Heather had invited him to her house for their 'own private Christmas', intending to cook a special dinner for him and spend the evening most decidedly in.  But Jake's flu had required them to alter those plans, and prime rib roast had given way to homemade chicken pot pies, which Heather had assured would be better for his recovering stomach and appetite.  "Plus, I can bake," she'd said, consoling herself as much as Jake, "So at least I don't think I can ruin pie, and I probably would've destroyed the roast."  And, rather than an evening curled up on Heather's couch, fire roaring in the fireplace, while they admired the little tree they'd decorated together the previous Saturday, they had ended up spending yet another evening in the family room at the ranch.  Grandpa, thankfully, had at least relaxed some in his self-appointed chaperone duties, perhaps bought off by the third pot pie Heather had made just for him, or perhaps just figuring that Jake was too done in to be much of a threat to her virtue. 

There had been no concealing a dog of course, especially one as energetic as The Red Baron, and Jake, who'd finally gotten up the energy to take a shower that afternoon only to promptly fall back into bed for a three hour nap, had awoken to the unexpected, though not unfamiliar, sound of a puppy barking.  Blinking away exhaustion and confusion, he'd staggered from his bed and down the staircase in time to meet Heather coming into the house with a six month old black lab puppy, which had a red bandanna and a sprig of mistletoe - Jake had been almost certain - tied around its neck. Grandpa Green had been standing behind her, grinning, a grocery bag in each hand.  "What's - what's going on?" Jake had questioned with a yawn.

"Uh, well, uh - well, Merry Christmas?"  Heather had managed to stammer out finally, the puppy's leash clutched tight in her hand.  He, however, hadn't cared for this treatment, whining as he'd strained against the lead, trying to get to Jake, excited for the opportunity for a new person to sniff.   "Easy," Heather had commanded the animal, repeating, "Easy," and he had desisted, impressing the hell out of Jake.  Taking a deep breath, Heather had met Jake's gaze with a relieved smile.  "You said once that you'd wanted a dog for a long time, but with your job, and always moving around you hadn't gotten one because it wasn't fair, but since you're in Jericho now, and - and you're staying, right?  Well, I thought...."  She'd trailed off, biting her lip nervously before forcing a smile.  She'd started to hold the leash out to Jake but had changed her mind a second later and had pulled her hand back.  "This is The Red Baron, and this was a bad idea, wasn't it?"

Frowning at Jake, Grandpa had cleared his throat, distracting Heather momentarily.  "I'll just put this all in the fridge, okay, darlin'?" he'd asked.  She'd nodded.  "Then I'll get the rest of everything from your car," Grandpa had promised, turning and heading for the kitchen.

"No, babe, this was a great idea," Jake had contradicted as his grandfather had disappeared from sight.  He'd grinned at her tiredly.  "I just can't believe that you remembered that I said that."  They'd had a conversation about dogs only the one time, taking a break alongside Johnston Creek - so named, he'd explained, because it was the natural border between the Green Ranch and the smaller, neighboring property on which his Grandma Betsy had grown up - during the tour by horseback he'd taken her on one glorious autumn Sunday afternoon two months before.  The Greens had always had a dog while Jake was growing up, and he had admitted that he'd missed having one now that he was an adult.  "I love - I love that you remembered.  Thank you." 

Though his aching joints had protested the move, Jake had squatted down in front of the dog then, offering the back of his hand for the animal to smell.  "So, you're The Red Baron, huh?" he'd chuckled, exhaling a wheezing breath.   The puppy had sniffed Jake's fingers and then had started to lick them, eliciting another laugh from Jake.  "Good boy, good dog," he'd praised, stroking the animal's head as he'd looked up at Heather, asking, "He is a boy, right?  I mean, a girl would be fine, but I wanna make sure I'm callin' him the right thing," Jake had explained.

"Well, he's The Red Baron, not The Red Baroness," Heather had chuckled, her relief apparent.  Crouching down next to them, she had scratched The Red Baron's head, which had prompted him to yawn, sit, and thump his tail enthusiastically on the hardwood floor.  "You don't have to keep my name, of course -"

"Nah, I like it," Jake had interrupted, reaching for her hand.  "You can have full naming rights, how's that?"  He'd had to pause to cough, but then he'd pressed a kiss to her knuckles before leaning toward her to press a kiss to her forehead.  "Avoiding mucus membranes," he'd rasped out.

"Thank you and thank you," she'd giggled.

"All right if we call him 'Baron' for short?" he'd asked.

Heather had nodded her agreement.  "'Baron' is acceptable," she'd agreed.  "He's housebroken, really well trained, socialized to horses, personality plus," she'd continued, cataloguing the dog's good qualities as she'd reached out to scratch the top of Baron's head.  "I was sold thirty seconds after I'd met him.  I just couldn't resist," Heather had sighed, smiling at Jake.  "Gramps was my co-conspirator," she'd admitted.  "He took me to Frank Johnston."

"Dad's cousin," Jake had nodded, adding, "This is great," as he'd fought a yawn.  Baron had flopped onto his back, looking up at the two of them, his expression curious.  Jake had stroked the dog's flank and grinned at Heather.  "Thanks, babe."

"You're welcome," she'd replied softly, finally handing the leash's end over to Jake.  "Merry Christmas."

"He's good," Jake answered, chuckling into the phone as he flipped on the light switch just inside the door of the den.  "And stop tryin' to talk me outta my dog just because you want him for yourself," he teased, flopping down onto the couch and then patting the spot beside him, inviting Baron to hop up.  The puppy did as he was bid, lying down beside his master, his head resting on Jake's leg. 

"He's so cute," Heather returned, giggling.  "Of course I want him.  But he's yours and I know that.  No take backs."

"Well, we can share," Jake offered.  "How's that?"

"Deal," she answered.  "So, how are you feelin'?" Heather asked a second later, her voice dripping with sympathy.  Despite Jake's claims to recovery on Friday evening, when he'd arrived at her house on Saturday, he'd had to admit to still being sick, and had even had her drive - her first time operating a vehicle as big as Grandpa Green's truck - to Wichita.  Heather had been on pins and needles for both her flights, worrying about Jake driving back to Jericho by himself, and she had breathed a deep sigh of relief when she'd checked her voicemail on the runway  after landing in Buffalo to find that he had indeed made it home, and had gone back to bed.  "You're still up, right?  So, better?"

"Yeah, I finally feel halfway human today," he admitted, clearing his throat. 

After Heather had handed over Baron's leash, officially gifting him with the puppy, she had shooed Jake into the family room, settling him onto the couch where he'd spent each evening since coming down with the flu.  She'd tucked a quilt around him, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and given Baron - who'd happily joined Jake on the sofa - a squeaky steak toy and a rubber bone to keep him occupied. Then, Heather had disappeared into the kitchen to put their dinner together.  Jake had been asleep when she'd returned some forty five minutes later, though he'd awoken while she was setting the coffee table, complete with a tablecloth, his grandmother's good china and candlelight. 

Despite his complete lack of appetite, Jake had forced himself to eat all of his pot pie, and to choke down a few bites of the apple crisp Heather had made for their dessert.  Realizing that he wasn't hungry - and guessing that everything tasted a little funny, too - she had cleared away their dishes and then they'd settled in to exchange the rest of their gifts.  In addition to Baron, Heather had surprised Jake with a picture frame containing copies of the two photographs from their trip to Wyoming which he kept on his dresser upstairs and, blushing crimson, a key to her house.  "It's not really a Christmas present," she'd explained nervously, "I just got the silly idea to wrap it.  But since I'll be gone for two and a half weeks, I was gonna ask if you would check in on things and water my plants?  When you're not sick, I mean," she'd completed with a sigh.

"I'll water 'em," Jake had croaked out, "But no guarantees that they'll still be alive when you get home," he'd joked, letting his head fall against the back of the couch, enjoying the chance - even in his illness addled state - to study Heather by the soft glow given off by the candles behind her. 

"You, Jake Green, who comes from a proud and long line of Kansas farmers and ranchers, are gonna kill my plants?" Heather had teased as she'd reached for her last present.  Earlier, she'd opened the Lonestar CD Lonely Grill, which she hadn't already had and had been glad to get - especially from Jake - and then a gift certificate from the nursery in Fielding for a rosebush of her choosing come spring.  He'd even promised to help her plant it.

"A philodendron is different from growing a couple of hundred acres of wheat or corn, I think," Jake had argued, chuckling.  "Not that I think I'd make a good farmer," he'd shrugged, twining their fingers together, "Rancher, breeding horses, sure.  But farming?  Not really my style."

"Fair enough," Heather had smiled, shaking the small package, trying to discern its contents.  "Hmmm," she'd murmured, examining the box.  "Well, they do say that the best things come in tiny packages...."

"Just open it already," Jake had ordered gruffly.

Grinning, Heather had complied, ripping the wrapping paper off and scrunching it into a ball which she'd tossed across the room for the eager Baron to fetch.  Jake, distracted by the puppy's antics as he'd scrambled after the paper ball, had missed the actual moment when Heather had lifted the lid off the box, glancing at her only after he'd heard her gasp.  "Oh, wow.  Jake!" she'd exclaimed, hand over her mouth, her wide-eyed gaze flicking between him and the item in her hand.  "These are - I can't believe you - thank you," she'd decided finally, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his mouth.

"I thought no mucus membranes," Jake had joked as she pulled away.

"You just like saying 'mucus membranes'," she had accused, giggling.  "And you're four, five days in, so probably not contagious, plus I had a flu shot," she'd dismissed.  Quickly, Heather had taken out the earrings she'd been wearing and had exchanged them for the diamond studs that Jake had given her.  "I've never - these are the nicest earrings - jewelry - I've ever had.  Thank you!"

Jake had smiled then, pleased by her enthusiastic reception of his gift.  "Well, they look nice," he'd told her, covering his mouth as he started to cough.

"Thank you," she'd repeated, a sympathetic frown marring her expression.  "You okay?" Heather asked as his coughing had subsided.  Jake had nodded and she'd smiled in return.  "Okay, I have to go see for myself then," she'd declared excitedly, patting him on the knee and then jumping to her feet.  He'd followed her with his eyes, watching her as she'd made her way to the adjoining powder room.  Leaving the door open, she'd gathered her hair in one hand, piling it on top of her head so she could better admire her earrings in the mirror over the sink.  As she'd examined her reflection, Jake had studied the curve of her neck, recalling the sensation of her delicate skin beneath his lips and how she always shivered when he kissed her there.  His gaze boring into her, Jake had groaned quietly, damning the flu that had derailed their plans and left him sitting on the couch rather than standing with Heather, admiring her reflection, kissing her, and ultimately - he'd admitted to himself - taking that final step and making love with her.  "Wow," Heather had murmured, letting her hair fall back into place before snapping off the powder room light.

Over their connection, Jake heard a scuffle and then an unknown and overly chipper female voice greeted him.  "Cowboy Jake?" she inquired, laughing softly.

"Sure," he chuckled in return.  "Though, you know I'm not actually a cowboy, right?"

"Heather said," the woman agreed.  "But we don't believe her.  I'm sister-in-law Kerry by the way," she introduced herself.  "And I just have t' - stop it!" she shrieked.  "Not you," she added helpfully, "Heather."  In the background, Jake could hear Heather protesting the confiscation of the phone.  "I'll give it back in a second!" Kerry huffed, presumably at her sister-in-law though, this time, she didn't clarify that point.  "I just have to say, Jake, nice job on the earrings.  Of course," she plowed ahead, not even bothering to breathe, "You've made yourself a mortal enemy of the brothers' Lisinski.  I actually heard Andy telling Tommy earlier that Deb asked for a new vacuum cleaner for Christmas, and now you ruined it, getting Heather those earrings.  Now, Deb probably did ask for the vacuum," Kerry sighed, "But it doesn't mean she isn't hoping for something else, and Andy should know that."

"Would it help if I admitted my sister-in-law went shopping with me, helped pick them out?" Jake asked, scratching Baron behind the ear.  The puppy flopped over onto his back, offering his belly up for similar treatment.

"Yeah," Kerry decided after a moment's contemplation, "But I'm not telling the boys that.  Anyway, it was nice to 'meet' you, Cowboy Jake," she declared, giggling a beat later.  "You get a definite seal of approval from me."

"Nice to 'meet' you too, sister-in-law Kerry," he returned, grinning to himself.

"Merry Christmas!" she added.  "Now, I'll give you back to Heather before she twists my arm off.  Ow!"

"Sorry about that," Heather laughed, coming back on the line.  "She snuck up on me and stole the phone," she complained.  "I'm glad you're feeling better," she told him softly, her voice a soothing caress over the distance that separated them.  "I miss you."

"Miss you, too," Jake echoed.

"So what's going on?" she inquired softly.

 "Nothin' much," he answered automatically.  "Well, you missed a pretty funny pageant at church," he informed her.  "Your favorite two year old decided that sixth sheep was a speaking part."

"Woody?  And you went to church?" she asked, obviously surprised.  "I'm going, too.  In... twenty two minutes.  Dad, Mikey and I are all gonna catch the midnight mass," Heather explained, fighting a yawn.  "Sorry, jetlag," she admitted, her tone sheepish.  "So what did sheep number six say?"

"It's Christmas.  Makes my Mom happy that we're all together," he answered, letting his head drop against the back of the couch.  Baron whined in protest of the sudden lack of scratching and then hopped down, making a sudden dash for the corner.  "I'm still allowed to go to church on Christmas, right?" Jake reminded.

"Well that's true," Heather conceded brightly. 

Jake sat up to watch as Baron backed up, dragging a toy - a couple of tennis balls tied up in an old tube sock - with him.  Jake had no idea where the toy had come from, but it seemed to intrigue the puppy, who dropped it, sniffed it, growled at it, and finally looked back at Jake, as if seeking a second opinion.  "Sorry, can't help, pal," Jake informed him.

"Who are you talking to?" she asked, giggling softly.  "The Red Baron?"

"Yeah.  He's locked in mortal combat with a sock," Jake snorted. 

"Go, Baron," Heather cheered quietly.  "But what happened with Woody?  What'd he say?"

"Pretty much he said 'baa, baa'," he answered, a moment later adding, "Oh, and Mom says he was saying, 'that's not baby Jesus, that's my sister', but I don't know how the hell she figured that out.  Margaret and Jimmy were playing Mary and Joseph, and the baby -"

"Sally," she supplied helpfully.

"Right," Jake nodded to himself.  "Anyway, the baby was baby Jesus, and Woody was a sheep, and he kept goin' over to the manger and stickin' his face in the baby's and saying 'baa baa'," he explained with a snort.  "Woke her up and she started screaming.  It just sort of went downhill from there, though Gramps said he hadn't enjoyed a pageant so much in years," Jake laughed. 

"Aw, that sounds cute," Heather argued, a smile in her voice.  "So what else did you do today?" she asked, and Jake could imagine her hiding in some corner somewhere, twisting the phone cord around her fingers as she said these words.

"April had to be at work at like six for a two day shift, so we had a big lunch and then opened presents.  That's it, really," he told her.   Baron picked up his toy and carried it to Jake, dropping it at his feet.  With his free hand, Jake grabbed one end of the damp sock which was enough to start a tug-o-war between him and the dog.  "So, what'd you do?  Get in some hockey practice?" he teased as he continued to play with the puppy.

"Nah," she denied.  "Slept in, and then I took the kids to the movies," Heather explained, "Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius.  Excellent flick," she joked, "Very exciting.  But, you guys already opened your presents?  Before Christmas?"

"It's Christmas," Jake argued, yanking the sock away from the puppy and then tossing it across the room.  Baron darted after the toy, growling.

"It's Christmas Eve," Heather countered.  "You're supposed to wait for Christmas morning, after Santa comes."

"Uh, babe," he began, snickering, "Hate to be the one to break this to ya -"

"I know Santa's not real," she whispered into the phone, her tone exasperated.  Jake could only assume that her nieces and nephew were still within earshot, and that they - some of them at least - still did believe in Santa Claus.  "But it's still part of the magic of Christmas ... the anticipation.  The joy of waking up to that Santa present on Christmas morning."

"Okay," Jake returned easily.  "But even when I believed in Santa - back when I was four," he drawled, "I still opened all my presents from everybody else on Christmas Eve." On the other end of their connection, Heather emitted an annoyed sound.  "So, what, present opening is a deal breaker?" Jake scoffed, leaning over to pick up Baron's sock.  "You gave me Baron before Christmas," he reminded.  Waiting for her response, Jake tossed the toy across the room, sending the puppy skittering after it once more.  "Uh, babe?" he prompted a few seconds later after the deafening silence became too much.  "Seriously -"

"Well I don't know," Heather sniffed, and Jake would have considered panicking if he'd had the time.  But in the next instance, a giggle escaped her and he let out the breath he hadn't realized had caught in his throat.  "Traditions are - they're important," she told him, still trying not to laugh.  "But I guess I can adapt."

"Hey, you can save your presents for Christmas morning," he offered, his mouth suddenly dry as he allowed himself to consider the possibility of spending Christmas Eve with Heather, waking up beside her on Christmas morning, sharing those moments that on TV and in the movies had always seemed so cheesy and now seemed ... right.  "But, I'm stickin' to Christmas Eve."

Heather chuckled at that.  "Okay, fine," she conceded.  "So how'd you do?" she inquired a moment later.  "Get good stuff?"

"Clothes, shirts mostly," he answered, "And Baron got a giant dog bed with his name monogrammed on it.  He's already being completely spoiled.  My Mom's calling him her grandpuppy," Jake grumbled, rolling his eyes.  "But the big excitement around here is that Eric got April a house."

"Like a house house?" Heather demanded, her tone incredulous.  "Wow."

"Yup," Jake confirmed, "A house house.  Four bedrooms, three bathrooms, three car garage and a big backyard," he catalogued.  "Eric's even threatening to put in a putting green," he added with a snort.

The Greens had all been in on the surprise, which - rather unexpectedly - had turned out to be a lot of fun.  Eric had included them all mostly to secure their cooperation in rushing through lunch and the present opening that had followed.  They had been finished by two, and April, her expression bemused, had thanked them all for their consideration before pointing out that she didn't really need to leave for Rogue River until after four.  Then, Eric had claimed to have found one more present beneath the tree and, crawling out from behind it, had held out a small white jewelry box which had a red bow - as big as the box - affixed to the top.  "Got your name on it," Eric had told his wife, grinning at her as he'd handed it over.

"Eric," April had murmured questioningly, glancing toward the couch where Gail, Johnston and Grandpa had all been sitting, each smiling brightly in return.  "What'd you do?" she'd demanded, giggling nervously.

"Open it," he'd ordered, and she had, prying the top off the box to find a single key on a Kansas Liberty Bank keychain nestled in the cotton batting. 

"What - what's this?" she had asked, her voice hitching, as she'd extracted the key from the box, dangling it by the key ring.  "Eric."

"The house on Granville," he'd told her, his smile wide.  "The one with the big window in front and the two apple trees in the backyard.  Well," Eric had shrugged, "Escrow closes on January third.  It's ours.  Merry Christmas, doc."

Dropping the key, she'd launched herself into his arms, kissing him soundly.  The rest of the family had chuckled in appreciation, and Jake had witnessed his mother and grandfather exchange a rather delighted look.  Baron, attracted by the flash of the key in the light and the muted thunk of it striking the hardwood floor, had immediately moved to investigate, forcing Jake to step in and scoop it out from beneath his probing nose and mouth.  "Slimed but at least not swallowed," Jake had grumbled, wiping his hand on his jeans and then holding the key chain out to his sister-in-law.

"Thanks," April had giggled, twisting around in the circle of Eric's arms to take the key from Jake.  "And you," she'd accused, hitting her husband harmlessly on the chest as she'd turned back to face him.  "You're not supposed to be such a good liar!" she'd complained, fighting a smile.  "What happened to 'they made a better offer, for more than it's worth, and we gotta let this one go'?"

Eric had shrugged and flashed her a satisfied smirk.  "It was all for a good cause," he'd shrugged, reminding, "Besides, I'm a lawyer.  I know how to lie without lyin'."

"Well, thank you, Eric, for confirmin' what I've long suspected," Grandpa had declared, chuckling.  He'd slapped his leg and climbed to his feet, suggesting, "So why don't we all go check it out?"

"A house, that's so cool," Heather enthused, "But I hope she's let him off the hook on the roses," she added, giggling. 

"He got her some of those, too," Jake replied.  "They were in the kitchen when we went over to the house to have a look."

"So you got to see it?  April told me they'd put an offer in on a house she absolutely loved right after Thanksgiving but they didn't get it," Heather sighed.  "She was so bummed."

"That's the house Eric bought," he interjected.  "Made some deal with the real estate agent to keep it secret so he could surprise her."

Grandpa, Jake and Baron had ridden over to the house with Eric and April in the Explorer, a captive and amused audience as Eric had explained everything he'd done in order to pull off the surprise.  The real estate agent and the sellers had both been given bonuses to insure their cooperation, and Eric had admitted with a snort that he'd been up at three AM one night faxing in a counteroffer to the bid he and April had put in eight hours earlier.  "I felt like I was leading a double life," he'd joked, turning the vehicle into the driveway. 

April, who hadn't stopped smiling since she'd opened her gift, had giggled appreciatively and then had kissed Eric again in reward.  "You're sneaky, and I love you," she'd laughed, pulling away and popping open her door.  Jumping out of the truck, she'd hurried toward the other car, walking around to meet Gail as she'd exited the passenger's side.  "C'mon!" April had demanded gleefully, looping her arm through her mother-in-law's. 

The two women had led the way into the house, April grinning widely as she'd opened the door with her key.  Eric had explained that although escrow hadn't yet closed, the owners had already moved to Texas and he'd arranged a short term lease to cover the ten days in between so the house was theirs.  Johnston, trailing the group through the living room had teased April, asking if she planned to move in on Wednesday, even if it meant she was forced to sleep in a sleeping bag on the living room floor.  Gail had laughed at that and informed the rest of them that that was exactly how she and Johnston had spent their first night in their home in Jericho.  "Yeah, we did," Johnston had agreed, "The truck didn't arrive from Lawrence 'til the next day."

"We invited you to stay at the ranch," Grandpa had reminded as April and Gail had admired the gourmet kitchen and the bouquet of a dozen red roses arranged in a vase on the center island.

"Of course, Eric's the better cook," April had laughed, kissing his cheek.  "Roses and my house," she'd whispered against his skin, "Ya did good, Ricky.  Thank you."  She'd squeezed his hand and then turned around to face the rest of the family, suggesting a tour of the second floor. 

Jake had stomped upstairs along with everyone else, Baron's leash in hand, enjoying April's excitement over the house.  As he'd followed along he'd caught himself imaging what it would be like to surprise Heather in the same manner, though not with a house of course.  While Jake had inherited the Green family's propensity toward quiet romanticism (and the occasional grand display) he did not have his brother's anal attention to detail, and he was pretty sure both would be required to surprise someone with a house.  But Jake could readily imagine Heather's delight over a specially planned evening or weekend, perhaps a mystery vacation.  Half an ear to the conversation and an absent smile lighting his features, he'd continued to contemplate the possibilities.

During the tour, the conversation had naturally been carried mostly by the two women, who'd mentally placed furniture in the master bedroom and had discussed paint colors and window treatments.  The master bathroom had been examined and determined to be in need of a complete remodel, prompting a groan from Eric and lots of teasing from his father and grandfather.  A guestroom had been designated, and the wallpaper in the second bathroom had been deemed hideous.  They'd moved down the hall, cataloging each room until finally, opening the door to the last unexplored space, April had let out a long breath.  "And this will be perfect for a nursery, don't you think, Mom?" she'd inquired.  "Well, eventually," she'd clarified a few seconds later, allowing a nervous chuckle.

Eric had slipped past his mother, moving to April's side.  "But sooner/eventually, rather than later/eventually, right?" he'd asked, wrapping an arm around her waist.

April had tilted her head back, looking up at her husband, and had nodded, a soft smile creeping onto her lips.  "Yeah," she'd agreed, a slight catch in her voice, "Sooner rather than later."

"A lovely nursery," Gail had beamed at them both.  "Some sunny yellow paint, maybe some wainscoting," she'd suggested, surveying the room for a second time.  "And, a rocking chair would be perfect in that corner, next to the window," she'd added, pointing.

"Not that she's pushing," Grandpa had declared, chuckling.  He'd moved next to his daughter-in-law, pulling her into a one armed hug and pressing a kiss to her temple.  "Right, Abigail, darlin'?"

"That's so cool!" Heather repeated.  "Is April really happy?"

"Says it's her dream house," Jake smiled, recalling just how excited his sister-in-law had been.  "Said she's so happy that she thinks she can even be nice to the turkey fryer accident people who end up in the ER," he chuckled.  "It was a pretty good Christmas."

"Well, that's good, except it's not over," she reminded, allowing an exasperated laugh.  "So when do they move in?"

"April would've had us all over packin' up if she hadn't had to go to work," he snorted.  "Though I guess they want to remodel the bathroom first - and since Gramps is their landlord - they can take their time."

"Really?  He owns their place?" Heather inquired.  "It's a nice house," she yawned softly.  "I was surprised when April said they were looking to move."

"That's the house Gramps supposedly lived in when he was mayor," Jake answered, sitting up.  "Put him inside the town limits."  He leaned over and snatched Baron's sock from him, teasing the puppy with it for a moment before tossing it a few feet away.  Baron pounced on it, yipping.  "I don't even know if they pay rent," he admitted, "Probably don't, knowing Gramps.  But they needed a place to live so...."

"That sounds like Gramps," she murmured.  "I've gotta go soon," Heather added a beat later, sighing softly.

"I wish you were here," he told her, his tone suddenly serious.  "It was a good day," Jake said, a nervous cough escaping him, "But it woulda been better, ya know, with - with you."

"I miss you, too," Heather replied, "And, I can't believe it's gonna be another two weeks.  I -"

She was cut off by a flurry of activity on her end of the line.  Through the phone, Jake heard a child - he couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl - screech, "Auntie Heather!  Time for church!" and then this was followed up by at least two male voices, teasing her about "Talkin' to the cowboy," and demanding that she "Get off the phone already!"

"None of you are even going to mass," Heather reminded, grumbling.  "Plus, Santa can't come 'til everybody goes to bed."  The child's answer was garbled, and Jake could only make out Heather's reply.  "Remember to put out carrots with the cookies," she suggested, "For the reindeer."  More people seemed to come into the room then, and there was a long, complicated exchange of 'good nights' and 'Merry Christmases' before she was finally alone.  "Sorry about that," Heather apologized.

"It's okay," he assured her, "I better let you go."

"Yeah," she whispered.  "I love you, Jake."

"Love you, too."

"I'll call you tomorrow," Heather promised.

Jake nodded, reaching down to pat Baron's head as the puppy settled himself against his master's leg.  "You better."

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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

Not even ten minutes later, shivering, Jake re-entered the bedroom, catching the door just before it slammed shut behind him.  As Heather had predicted he was most definitely freezing.  The water coming out of the showerhead had been so cold Jake really thought it should have been coming out as slush and, as he'd rushed to lather up and rinse off - his teeth chattering the entire time - he'd decided it might be a good idea to check the insulation on the pipes one more time.  He'd quickly toweled off in the bathroom and then had tied the towel around his waist, eager to get back to the relative warmth of the bedroom where the temperature had to be at least five degrees higher. 

Looking up from her book, Heather smiled at Jake as he tossed his dirty clothes at the hamper, mostly making his shot.  He moved toward the dresser next, rummaging through a drawer for sweats and a t-shirt, all the time keenly aware of Heather's eyes on him.  Jake was cold, but not so cold that he couldn't enjoy the fact that his wife was ogling his backside appreciatively; already he felt a little warmer.  Pulling on a pair of navy sweatpants - he was cold enough that he wasn't willing to forgo clothing at that moment - he turned around, t-shirt in hand, flashing his best 'come hither' look at Heather.

She allowed a throaty chuckle, sending a tremor through Jake that had nothing to do with being half frozen.  Heather held her hand out to him.  "C'm'ere."

"So that shower was really, really cold," Jake began, slinging his t-shirt over his shoulder.

"And you need some warmin' up, huh?" Heather guessed, grinning at him.  Jake dropped to a seat on the bed beside her, reaching for her hand.  "What's this?" she asked, frowning, as she avoided his grasp and instead touched the puffy and purpling welt on his shoulder.  "Jake, what happened?" she persisted, massaging the injury with gentle, tentative strokes. 

"It's not as bad as it looks, I swear," he answered, scooting closer and leaning into her touch.  "But don't stop.  That feels good."

"Jake," she scolded, kneading his skin a little harder. 

"Teacher voice," he accused mildly, meeting her gaze.  Undeterred, Heather rolled her eyes, and Jake, heaving a sigh, began to speak again a few seconds later.  "It's not a big deal.  We had a small altercation at Black Jack.  I told you, it's not a nice place.  They're kinda into martial law there," he snorted.  Jake figured that was the best description of Black Jack justice he could give without bringing up the 'all thieves will be hanged' policy.  "And after we couldn't come to an agreement about the governor, Dale got it into his head to steal the part, and -"

"What!" Heather demanded, her hand stilling against his shoulder.  She shook her head.  "What was he thinking?"

"I dunno," Jake shrugged, pulling his t-shirt off his uninjured shoulder and then dragging it on over his head.  "He's a kid.  He was thinkin' like a kid, I guess.  The seller we were dealing with is never gonna get a humanitarian of the year award, trust me," Jake muttered.  "Dale figured he was a bad guy and the normal rules didn't apply.  They tried to arrest him, even after we gave the part back, and we didn't figure it was a good idea to let Dale outta our sight, so, you know... altercation."

She considered all of this silently for a long moment before finally expelling a deep breath.  "You could've -" she started and then stopped.  "But you couldn't let them take Dale," she acknowledged finally, her lips pursed.  "Shouldn't have put your shirt on," Heather told him a beat later, resting her hands over the child she carried.  "Now how'm I supposed to kiss it and make it all better?"

He laughed at that outright, grasping the hem of his t-shirt with both hands.  "Well, if that's -" he began only to have Heather rest her hand over one of his, against his stomach, stopping him.

"Hold that thought," she ordered.  "We will get back to it, I promise," Heather giggled, moving both hands up to cup his face before pressing her mouth to his.  They exchanged one, two, three quick kisses, and then she pulled away, reaching to her left and behind her.  She hefted a contraption - a black cone attached to the earpieces of a stethoscope and some sort of plate that he couldn't even describe, all rolled up into one - and placed it in her lap.  "I've got a surprise for you," Heather smiled.

"What the hell is that thing?" Jake demanded, pointing at the item.  "Seriously, it looks like some kinda torture device."

"It's a fetoscope," Heather answered, "A stethoscope for listening to a baby in the womb.  Drake found it at the clinic and brought it home for me to test out.  April tried, but she's not far enough along yet," she explained, picking it up and handing it to him.  "Hold that a minute, please," she requested, straightening in her seat.  Heather shoved the covers down to her knees - Jake had to get up for a second - and pulled her legs loose and folded them together so that she was sitting cross-legged. Then she unbuttoned the bottom three buttons of her pajama top and lifted her long underwear shirt up, exposing her belly.  "Drake showed me how to use it after dinner," she added, taking back the fetoscope which Jake continued to eye suspiciously.  "Probably not the best time with digestion going on," she admitted, laughing softly.  Smiling at Jake, Heather fitted the earpieces into her ears and then placed what he realized was a headpiece against her forehead and the horn against her belly.  "Ew!  Cold," she complained.

"You really wanna talk about cold?" he grumbled, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Good point," Heather agreed with a soft chuckle.  "And it's starting to warm up," she admitted.  "Let me see if I can find the baby's heartbeat again, and then you can listen if you want."

"I want," Jake murmured, watching, fascinated as she slowly moved the horn over the mound of her pregnancy, straining to find their child's heartbeat.  "Does - does that hurt?" he inquired.

"Nah," she said, lifting her head off the brace and smiling at him.  "There's a little pressure, but I'm retaining all this fluid all of sudden," Heather joked, "So it's not so bad.  Now, April and Drake both said you can accidentally listen to the placenta and not the baby," she told him, pressing her forehead into the headpiece.  "I didn't know you could hear the placenta, but that's what they said.  It's why you have to use the brace.  Your head helps conduct the sound," she explained.  "Now let me see...."  Heather fell quiet for a moment, moving the horn over an inch.  She listened and then offered Jake a wide smile.  "Found it," she whispered.

Very carefully, she transferred the stethoscope and headpiece to Jake while at the same time working to hold the horn in place against her abdomen.  They both laughed quietly at just how complicated the process turned out to be, but finally Jake was ready to listen.  Expectantly, Heather watched for his reaction, surprised when he frowned.  "Is it supposed to be that fast?" he asked, a worried note in his tone.  "If I'm listenin' to the right thing, it sounds like B.G.'s about to have a heart attack."

"It's supposed to be that fast," Heather assured him, "Don't worry.  The smaller you are, the faster your heartbeat.  At least that's true for humans."

"That's good," Jake sighed, nodding.  A pleased smile replaced his frown and he leaned closer - as close as he could while keeping the brace against his forehead - and laid one hand on her abdomen, next to the horn.  "That's - it's - it's amazing," he told her a long moment later, flashing Heather the goofiest grin she'd ever seen him sport.  "Hey there, B.G.," he whispered, stroking his fingers over the swell of their baby.  It was another thirty seconds or so before Jake pulled the earpieces loose.  "Thank you," he said, his voice catching in his throat.

"You're welcome," she returned, accepting the fetoscope from Jake.  She added it to the pile of things on the nightstand.  "I thought you'd like that," Heather whispered.  "It's neat, huh?"  Jake's answer was to kiss her.  When they separated, both breathless, she smiled at him, running her hand up his arm.  "So, slight shift of topic, but what do you think of the name Ethan?" Heather asked, tugging her thermal top back down over her belly.  "As our boy name."

"I like it fine," Jake shrugged.  "But I thought all naming rights belong to she who has to give birth," he joked.

"Hey, I've had all the naming rights for years," Heather reminded, "Without giving birth to anything.  But you definitely get veto power," she informed him, trailing her fingers down his arm until she caught his hand in hers, squeezing it.  "I've been trying to come up with an 'E' name," she explained, "And I like Ethan the best.  I've considered Elliott, Edward, Evan, Eben -"

"Eben?" he interrupted, his tone incredulous.  "Like Ebenezer?  Uh-uh.  Definite veto.  And, Elliott'll just get him beat up."

"Well...yeah," she conceded, allowing a guilty giggle.  "But I really want an 'E' name," Heather repeated.   "So - so he can be EJ."

"The second coming of EJ Green to Jericho, Kansas, huh?" Jake chuckled, raising her hand to his mouth so he could kiss her palm.  "I like it," he murmured against her skin, "And so would Gramps.  It's perfect."

Heather grinned and let out a relieved breath.  "Good.  So, Ethan Jacob or Abigail Renate.  EJ or Abby," she concluded, reaching for her ChapStick.  She began to apply the lip balm, admitting with a laugh, "I think I'm addicted.  I'm gonna have to limit myself to no more than five times a day."  She finished and recapped the tube.  "Well, maybe ten."

Jake waited until she'd set the ChapStick on the nightstand and then reached for her hand.  Lacing their fingers together, he leaned toward her, brushing his lips across hers.  "Think I'm addicted, too," he murmured huskily.

Giggling, Heather caught Jake for another kiss as he began to pull away, while at the same time she started to tug on the end of his t-shirt.  Catching on immediately, Jake took over, only breaking their kiss when he absolutely had to in order to get the shirt off over his head.  Heather took him by surprise then, shifting closer to press her lips to his bruise.  She peppered his tender flesh with butterfly kisses, caressing him with her mouth.  Within seconds it was too much for Jake, and he cupped her chin, tilting her head up so he could cover her mouth with his own.  "Gettin' warmer?" she inquired between kisses.

"Startin' to," he agreed, using one hand to undo the remaining buttons on her pajama top.

"Good," Heather breathed into his mouth.  She shrugged out of the top, requesting, "Go lock the door."

Grinning at her, Jake reached for the hem of her thermal shirt.  "Already did," he answered.

Laughing, Heather raised her arms over her head, making it easier for him to peel the shirt off of her.  "Good."

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

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 13

Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius was released to theaters in the United States in December 2001 by Paramount Pictures.  Coincidentally, it is the film I took my little cousins to see over Christmas break 2001.


To see a picture of the type of fetoscope Heather was using, go to: http://pregnancy.about.com/od/prenatalcare/ss/listeningtobaby_3.htm


And finally, it's time for a confession.  You probably noticed that I've now snuck a dog into Different Circumstances.  I actually always thought that Jake and Heather had a dog (and that Heather might possibly have a cat).  Heather even alluded to "all the other animals" in Part 2, but I just didn't know what would happen to their pets so I chickened out and never put them into the story.  Fast forward to a discussion with my wonderful beta readers about what Heather and Jake should get one another for Christmas.  The consensus was a dog, definitely.  Of course this meant that I had to figure out what happened to the poor puppy (hit by a car?  parvo?) but by then we were all so much in love with Baron already that we couldn't let anything happen to him.  In fact, if I had let something happen to him, I'm pretty sure my beta readers would have gone on strike!  So Baron lives, and therefore I have gone back and made a few parts of Different Circumstances "Baron Compliant".  One of the benefits of internet publishing. 

If you're interested in reading those parts, they are:

• Part 2 (minor mentions in the discussion of the coming storm)



• Part 6A (added to the scene at the barn when the Greens' horses are stolen)



• Part 9A (minor mentions in the discussion of going out to the ranch to feed the horses)



• Part 9B (minor mention when Jake and Heather run into one another on Main Street)