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

Different Circumstances: Part 13A of ? by Marzee Doats


Author's Note: I continue to stretch the timeline that was implied by the show as aired.  I take issue with an episode titled Heart of Winter taking place before the official beginning of winter, and have therefore elected to set this part a few days into winter.  This does do weird things to the Hawkins/Sara Mason thread, but since I'm not covering that here (though I will get back to Hawkins eventually) you'll just have to decide for yourself whether or not Sara stayed with the Hawkinses longer, or if that storyline and this one are not concurrent.

Warnings: References to starvation and its possible remedies, including another desperate act by a hopeless person.

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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

"Nothing?"  Jake repeated his father's words, his voice echoing with disbelief.  He shoved a small log into the wood burning stove and, closing it, turned to face Johnston.  "Not even rabbits?  Heather and I, we were out at the ranch yesterday," he said, sounding somewhat desperate.  "Baron got a rabbit, sometime in the last week.  It was a big mess all over the garage step."

The day before had been the quietest, strangest Christmas Jake had ever experienced.  They were almost out of food, and so far the aid drops promised at Black Jack had not materialized.  What they had left on hand wouldn't have fed them for a day before the bombs but now, with scrimping and skipping meals, it might last three or four more days.  Johnston and Eric had left on a hunting trip on the twenty fourth, carrying the hopes of the entire family with them, and now they were back, empty handed.  When the twenty fifth had dawned cold, clear, and with no sign of the two men's return, the family had - by unspoken agreement - gone about their business without even mentioning the significance of the date to one another.  Only Heather had said something to Jake, quietly, sounding almost embarrassed, as they'd both slowly awoken. 

Everyone was sleeping more now, going to bed almost as soon as it was dark and getting up only with the sun.  It had been nearly ten in the morning, Jake figured, when they had pulled themselves out of bed.  "Merry Christmas, Jake," Heather had whispered, offering him a tremulous smile and finally a kiss.  He'd returned the greeting, though it had sounded hollow to his own ears, and had laid both hands gently over the swell of their child, hoping to feel something - anything - that would tell him that their baby was okay.  "He's just sleeping," Heather had insisted, leaning toward her husband.  "He was pretty active last night, remember?"

"I know," Jake had nodded, kissing the top of her head.  They had been in bed by seven on Christmas Eve and had lain facing one another for a long time, his hands splayed across her belly while he had counted each kick, telling himself that everything was fine.  "I know," Jake had repeated, willing it to be true as he'd pulled her into his embrace.   Heather had lost weight over the preceding two or three weeks, which worried Jake and had made her pregnancy - she was carrying completely in front - that much more prominent.  They were now reduced to one meal a day - Heather and April got two - and Jake's ever present sense of frustration had flared in that moment.  None of it was fair, he'd thought, tightening his hold on his wife.  When he'd finally let her go, he'd stepped over to his dresser and had dug a hidden treat out from beneath his socks. "Last one," he'd told her holding up the ridiculously tiny peanut butter granola bar.  "Split it with ya," he'd offered, forcing a grin he didn't really feel. 

They had each consumed their half of the granola bar in two bites, scarfing it down without even tasting it, really.  They had both started to dress then, exchanging the thick layers of clothing they'd worn to bed for even thicker layers that would keep them, if not warm then at least from freezing, as they went about the work of the day.  Buttoning a flannel shirt of Jake's - in order to find enough warm clothing, she'd gone back to borrowing from his wardrobe - Heather had sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed and had waved him over quickly.  "B.G. liked the granola bar," she'd smiled, holding his hand to her side so he could feel the baby moving.  "See, everything's good.  B.G. says, 'thanks, Dad'," Heather had claimed.  Heaving a relieved sigh, Jake's smile had been genuine this time. 

In the afternoon, after their one meal - watery soup, warmed cornmeal mush, and two eggs split seven ways - they had headed out to the ranch.  It had been nearly a week since anyone had been out, and though the horses had been turned out to fend for themselves on the range, it was still necessary that someone check up on things every once in awhile.  Jake, Eric and their parents had agreed that if it came down to it, and if any of the horses appeared to be starving or if they found themselves completely without food, they would euthanize.  Driving out to the ranch in Charlotte, not letting the speed get above thirty in order to save gas, Jake had caught himself almost hoping to find a starved horse.

But, what they had discovered upon their arrival instead was the concrete step in front of the garage side door covered in dried blood, bits of rabbit fur, and even a few bones.  There hadn't been any sign of Baron.  Heather had gotten slightly hysterical at the sight, reminding Jake of how she'd always yelled at Baron for chasing rabbits or birds and how she'd always left cleaning things up to Jake or the ranch foreman when the dog had actually caught something.  "I'm so - so glad he knows - knows how to - to feed himself," she'd blubbered against his shoulder.  The dog food had run out about two weeks earlier and they'd had to turn Baron out to fend for himself, just like the horses.  Jake had held onto Heather tightly while she'd cried and then had shooed her in the house to get warm.  Together, they'd built a small fire in the family room fireplace before Jake had left - locking the door behind him - to see what signs he could find of their horses.

An hour later, Jake had let himself into the house, pulling off his boots and leaving them, along with his rifle, in the mud room.  He'd gone out as far as he'd dared, given the cold and his now constant feeling of lethargy and lightheadedness, the result of their subsistence diet.  At one point, Jake had seen eight or nine horses in the distance - too far for him to walk - and he'd turned back then, looping around, hoping in vain to come across more.  Padding through the kitchen, Jake had entered the family room to find that Heather had put up and decorated a small artificial tree that in years past had graced the sideboard in dining room during Christmas.  She'd also let Baron, who'd been lolling happily in front of the fire, into the house.  The dog had looked emaciated, his ribs prominent beneath his matted fur, but he'd been eagerly soaking up his mistress's attention and had barked excitedly when Jake had come into the room.    

"I had to do something," Heather had confessed, blushing, when Jake had complimented her decorating efforts.  "I had to mark the day somehow."  Not knowing what else to do, Jake had kissed her.  She'd tasted like the cherry ChapStick she'd vowed to save for a special occasion, and after all he'd reminded himself, it was Christmas.  He'd led Heather to the couch then, and they had settled in - under the blankets she'd pulled off the guest room bed - to wait for the fire to die out before they'd headed back to town.

"Nah, nothin'," Johnston muttered, pulling Jake out of his thoughts about the previous day and back into the present.  "Never seen anything like it before," he admitted, offering a grim frown.  "Nothing was out there."

Stanley Richmond stepped closer to the fire, rubbing his gloved hands together.  "Think it was the fallout?" he questioned, glancing at Jericho's former mayor.  "Maybe it was the radiation that killed the deer?"

"There'd still be dead animals," Eric argued, shaking his head.  "Something.  I mean it was weird," he said, expelling a frustrated breath.  "Like all the game had vanished."

Processing this piece of grave news, Jake crossed his arms, almost defensively, over his chest.  "Well, how far out did you go?" he demanded.

"Fifteen miles," Johnston answered, his jaw clenched.  "Out by Mill Pond, along the creek there."

"Guess we're gonna hafta drive, huh, Jake?" Stanley suggested, looking at his best friend.

"Yeah, but we have to be careful about burning gas rations," Eric argued.  He crossed his arms over his chest, rubbing his arms with his gloved hands.  "It's the middle of winter," he reminded unnecessarily.  "We need - we need everything we can for the generator."

"We can live without power for now," Jake snapped in return.  "Make fires to stay warm," he added, gesturing at the wood stove.  "But we won't see spring if we don't eat."  Annoyance and frustration flashed in his eyes.  "And - you know - we've got two pregnant women at home," Jake said, jerking his head in his father's direction, including him in the claim while most definitely excluding Eric.  "So, to me, it's just a little more important that they're eating than that you've got power."

"I'm very aware of that fact," Eric ground out in reply, "Trust me.  And I happen to think - for April and for Heather - it's important that we have a functioning clinic."

"And we do," Johnston interrupted before Jake could get off his next volley.  "And gettin' into this argument again will get us nowhere useful," he told his sons, looking back and forth between them.  The scarcity of their resources was a constant subject of discussion, and Jake and Eric were often at odds with one another.  They were all at odds with Gray Anderson.  Three days after Johnston and Jake had gone to Black Jack, having heard some of the information Jake had learned from Mindy Henry about New Bern, Gray - claiming eminent domain - had seized forty gallons of the forty six Mary Bailey had scrounged up for her generator.  Without a judge in Jericho, Gray had signed the order himself and then sent Jimmy to do his dirty work.  Mary had complained loudly to anyone who'd listen - the fuel belonged to her, after all, and they didn't have the right to just take it - and had asked Eric to fix it, but there had been no getting the gas back. 

At that point, Gray had still been operating the generator at the med center for six hours a day and at town hall for three hours a day, but that had all changed with the next town council meeting.  Johnston wasn't proud of what he'd done, and he hadn't told anyone - not Gail, not their sons - but he'd gone to four of the six council members, all people he'd worked with and had known he could count on, and had convinced them to make a motion to stop powering town hall in an attempt to conserve fuel in favor of other needs.  The vote had been four to three, and Gray had been livid, but even he knew better than to oppose the will of the town council.  Ron Mortimer had protected Johnston, maintaining under scrutiny that the concern was all his own, and for the time being, the clinic had electricity and even a little heat.  But now they were within spitting distance of starvation, and they had to do something about that, too.

"Stanley and I will have to use whatever gas we can spare," Jake declared when it became obvious his father wasn't planning to say anything more.  "Go out west, go out as far as it takes."  He shook his head, fighting the distinctly helpless feeling that rolled through him like a wave.  "The rest of the hunting parties will just have to scrounge around locally."

"Yeah, sounds good," Stanley nodded.  "And, uh, Mimi's comin' with us," he muttered, suddenly finding his feet to be very interesting.

"What?" Jake blurted out, shooting his friend an incredulous look. 

"Well, in case something happens to me," he reasoned, shrugging, "I want to make sure she knows how to trap and shoot, okay?"

"Sure man," Jake answered, fighting a smirk.

Stanley glared at him.  "What?  What's wrong with tryin' to make sure she's prepared?"

Jake held his hands up in mock surrender.  "Hey, all I'm sayin' is that in five years, the only gun Heather's ever been willing to touch is a grease gun, and she's a little more ... shall we say, rugged?  Than Mimi."

"Look, you take care of things the way you think is right," Stanley retorted, his tone perhaps a little more biting than he'd intended.  "And let me do the same.  She's comin' along," he insisted, frowning.  "And for Heather's sake, we'll all just keep hopin' nothing ever happens to you."

"Okay, fellas," Johnston interjected, again before Jake could make his reply.  The constant feeling of hunger was getting to them all, amplifying their increasingly erratic emotions and he recognized, a hard lump forming in the pit of his empty stomach, that this conversation had the potential to spin quickly out of control.  He took a step toward them - between them.  "That's enough of that." 

"Sure, whatever," Jake agreed, catching his friend's eye.  "Bring her along.  Least with Mimi there, no way we'll be gone two days.  Heather'll like that."  Stanley acknowledged him with a tight-lipped grimace but didn't say anything.

"'All right, look," Johnston sighed.  "The farther out you get, the hairier the roads are, and with food as scarce as it is, there's bound to be trouble out there."  He pointed at his pack, half undone on the floor of the bar.  "That sleeping bag's rated to forty below."  He took another step toward his son.  "Here's a windproof lighter for you," he added, holding the item out to Jake.  "You're gonna need them both."  Johnston clapped him on the shoulder then, resisting the sudden urge to hug his son.  "Good hunting."

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

Tuesday, January 1, five years before the bombs

Jake awoke slowly, gradually becoming aware of his legs tangled with hers, the scent of her strawberry shampoo in his nostrils, and his hand clutched in hers, over her breast.  'Heather,' he thought, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he fought to go back to sleep.  'Heather!'  Jake's eyes snapped open.  He found himself staring at the blue and beige stripes of his comforter which she'd pulled up over her head, leaving only a few wild strands of hair to stick out.  His other hand was resting on the pillow above her head, and he reached for a lock of that hair, playing with it as he started to sit up, disentangling his legs from hers.  "Babe," Jake murmured, glancing down at Heather. He pulled his hand loose but still she didn't stir.  "Deep sleeper, I take it," he chuckled softly, giving up on kissing her good morning.  She would never know, and he'd kiss her when she was awake, Jake decided, rolling away from her to check the time.

Glancing at his alarm clock, he groaned.  It was two minutes to seven, and they'd only gone to bed a little over four hours before.   Deciding that a trip to the bathroom was in order, Jake forced himself to stand - the cold floor against his bare feet was a bit of a shock - but after that he was definitely getting back in bed, snuggling up to Heather, and sleeping until noon.  Hurrying across the room, he slipped out the door, pulling it shut behind him, though he didn't try to latch it closed.  The house was over a hundred years old, and although it had been updated more than once in the intervening years, Jake's door was if not original then pretty close to it.  The old door had swollen and contracted innumerable times since its installation and now squeaked horribly whenever he closed it.  Jake figured it was the one thing that might wake Heather up.

Heather.  Jake caught himself smiling just from thinking about her as he padded down the hall to the bathroom.  She'd phoned him early on the morning of the thirtieth, two days before, greeting him with a rather sultry a cappella rendition of What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?  Then, laughing self-consciously, she had explained that her father and brother had declared her to be moping about and had strongly suggested that perhaps she should spend New Year's in Jericho.  "If you're willing to pick me up, I can change my flight and be in Wichita tomorrow," she'd told him in a rush of breath.  He'd agreed before she'd managed to complete her sentence.

Exiting the bathroom a few minutes later, Jake found himself facing a glowering EJ Green.  "What - what in the hell do you think you're doing!?!" his grandfather demanded in a harsh, irate whisper.  Grandpa looked Jake up and down, taking in his bare feet and chest, and the gray jersey knit shorts, the only stitch of clothing his grandson was wearing.  He turned, stabbing a finger in the direction of Jake's bedroom door which had swung open leaving them both with a clear view of Heather, who had rolled over and buried her head under her pillow.  "You were supposed to take her home!" Grandpa reminded, his expression livid.  "Not - not take her to bed!"

"I didn't," Jake ground out, his voice pitched low.  Surprisingly, he felt himself start to blush, his face fairly burning.  Stepping around his grandfather - who eyed him suspiciously - Jake moved into his doorway and pulled the door closed, making enough noise in the process to conceivably wake the dead.  There was no way, he knew, that Heather could have slept through it.  "Nothing happened, and anyway, we're adults and it's - it's not your business," he insisted, walking toward his grandfather with the hope that the older man would at least be willing to have this discussion at the other end of the hall. 

"None of my business?" Grandpa growled, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Jake.  "This is still my house and -"

"Gramps!" Jake interrupted, returning the older man's hard stare.  "Nothing happened," he repeated through gritted teeth.  "We fell asleep downstairs, and then it was so late... it didn't make sense to take her home."  Closing his eyes, Jake let himself think about the events of the prior sixteen hours.

He'd met Heather as she'd exited the security area at just after five on New Year's Eve, pulling her into his arms and hugging her tightly.  "That was too long," Jake had told her, pressing his mouth to hers.  Driving home to Jericho, they'd talked nearly the entire time, both of them very happy to be reunited.  They had stopped only once, at the halfway point, to use the restroom and grab something to eat at a fast food joint, hurrying through their meals so they could get back on the road. 

Heather had started to doze when they were about a half hour from Jericho, waking up as Jake had turned off of I-70 onto Route 40, a few minutes before nine.  Throwing her a quick smile, he'd suggested that they continue into town for the First Night festivities, but Heather had claimed to have a better idea.  Undoing her seatbelt, she'd slid across the truck's bench seat to plant a kiss on his cheek, her breath warming his skin as she'd countered with, "How 'bout the ranch?  I know Gramps will be there, but..." Heather had shrugged, "I'd really like to have a nice, quiet New Year's with just us."

More than happy to indulge that particular wish, Jake had executed a last second turn onto Granville and, after pointing out Eric's and April's new house as they'd driven past it, he'd taken the jog over onto Walnut before turning onto Route 9, headed northwest to the Green Ranch outside of town.  Grandpa Green had been delighted to see Heather, pulling her into a big hug as she'd walked in the door.  Amazingly, he'd even deigned to leave the young couple alone in the family room, with only Baron for a chaperone, for nearly two hours.  Curling up under his arm, Heather had stolen the remote from Jake and had tuned the TV to CNN, insisting that they watch The Year in Review.  He'd grumbled at her choice but had elected not to force the issue.  Smiling at him, Heather had argued that it was important to stay informed about the world before deciding that she'd much rather kiss his frown away.  Somehow, they had ended up missing the entire review of the events from April through August.

At ten to midnight, Grandpa had reappeared bearing three champagne flutes and a bottle of Krug.  Jake had been given the job of opening the champagne, a task he'd performed enthusiastically, sending the cork flying halfway across the room with Baron in hot pursuit.  Giggling, Heather had barely managed to rescue the item from the puppy's mouth before he could chew it to bits or - worse - swallow it whole.  The three of them had toasted one another as they'd counted down the last fifteen seconds of the year, watching the tape delayed ball drop in Times Square.  At the stroke of midnight, Heather had kissed Grandpa on the cheek, drawing an indignant protest from Jake whom she'd quickly silenced by kissing him most decidedly on the mouth. 

Chuckling in delight, Grandpa had beamed at them both.  "Good night, sweetheart," he'd told Heather, kissing her on the forehead after she'd extracted herself from Jake's embrace.  "Happy New Year!  Now don't stay up too late," he'd admonished, throwing his grandson a pointed look when Heather, fighting a yawn, had punctuated his argument.  Jake had promised to drive her home soon, and satisfied with that arrangement, Grandpa had headed up to bed.  But neither Jake nor Heather had been in any hurry to be separated again, even for just a few hours while they slept, and so she had suggested they see what else was on TV.  They'd finished off their champagne and, cuddling together on the couch, had tuned into some inane comedy, both promptly drifting off to sleep.

"Didn't make sense to take her home!" Grandpa thundered quietly at Jake.  "Of all the stupid, cockamamie -"  He broke off, his lips pressed together in a tight, disapproving line.  "Didja even stop for just one moment and think?" he demanded.  "This is a small town and people are just startin' to get to know Heather.  Did you consider for one second what this could do to her reputation?  She's a teacher!" Grandpa reminded, scowling.  "And in this particular district, there's still a morals clause in her contract -"

"Wait a minute," Jake interrupted, an anxious note suddenly echoing in his tone.  "You can't be serious.  It's the twenty first century for God's sake."  Grandpa's only answer was to meet Jake's worried gaze with an unblinking stare.  "Oh, hell," he swore, eyes closed again, shaking his head.  "God damn it."  Exhaling in frustration, Jake opened his eyes, facing his grandfather with a much more contrite expression.  "But they wouldn't -"

"Fire her?  Humiliate her in front of the whole town by forcing a school board inquiry?" Grandpa suggested, his gaze boring into Jake.  "Most probably wouldn't, but it only takes one and I can think of a few."

"Karen 'Bitchmore' Harper."

"That'd be one," Grandpa Green nodded, his mouth puckering in distaste. 

"Heather's not even supposed to be home for another week, you know," Jake reasoned.  "So no way anyone could know she was here.  And besides, nothing happened," he repeated, allowing an exasperated groan.   

The claim was mostly true.  Jake had startled awake at about twenty minutes to three when Baron had licked his hand, whimpering for an escort outside.  Groaning himself, Jake had woken Heather with a kiss and, after instructing her to 'stay right there', had taken the puppy out to do his business before settling him in the mudroom for the remainder of the night.  Heather had still been awake but looking very bleary-eyed when he'd returned to the family room and Jake, not entirely sure he wouldn't drive them right off the road and into a ditch if he'd tried to take her home, had found himself pulling her to her feet and into his arms.  Kissing her lazily, he'd suggested she spend the night.  Heather had agreed. 

By the time they'd made it upstairs they were both much more alert, especially to one another.  Jake had loaned Heather a t-shirt and a pair of red and green plaid flannel boxer shorts - a Christmas present from April, he'd confessed - to sleep in.  Giggling and blushing, she'd made him turn around while she'd changed clothes, and Jake, although he'd changed at the same time, had teased in return that she was more the welcome to watch him.  Dressed, they had turned to face one another, the bed between them.  For a moment, Heather's expression had betrayed her nervousness, but then she'd taken a deep breath and had smiled at Jake, moving to help him pull down the covers.  Crawling into bed, Heather had moved immediately into his arms, twisting around so she could press her mouth to his.  They'd continued to exchange kisses, Jake's hand finding its way under her t-shirt while her hands roamed over his chest.  But they had soon both been yawning, and had been forced to admit that they were too tired to go any farther. 

Finally, stretching to turn off the lamp, Jake had pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, murmuring, "Let's get some sleep."  He'd lain down, and then Heather had pressed herself into his side, pillowing her head on his chest.  At that moment it had occurred to Jake that while he'd slept with women in the past he'd never simply gone to sleep with someone, intending nothing more than to sleep.  The realization should have scared him, he'd thought, but it didn't.  "Hey," Jake had mumbled, turning his head toward Heather's, "I love you."

He'd felt her head move against his shoulder, and then their gazes had locked despite the darkness.  "Love you, too," she'd yawned.

"You're not in high school anymore, Jake," Grandpa reminded, allowing a sigh.  His shoulders seemed to slump and he shook his head.  "And Heather's not Emily Sullivan.  You need - you need to think about what you're doin'."

"I know," Jake said, his tone clipped.  He had always known his grandfather's - his grandparents' - opinion of Emily.  She was fine as a first, high school girlfriend, but not as anything more, not when her father was the felon Jonah Prowse and her mother - a Crabtree by birth - had actually married up, marrying Jonah.  Betsy Green, who hadn't thought Gail O'Brien was good enough for her only son, had certainly never considered Emily Sullivan to be good enough for her grandson, and on the matter of Emily, Betsy and her husband had been in complete agreement.  Jake could almost hear his grandmother saying, 'Emily's a nice enough girl, but ....' the implication being that she wasn't marriage material, not for a Green, not given her family background.  "Heather and Emily..." he shrugged helplessly, "It's - it's completely different."

"It is," Grandpa agreed.  "Emily teaches at the high school.  She grew up here.  People know her, and where she came from," he cataloged, not blinking.  "They expect less and forgive more.  But Heather?"  Grandpa turned to point at the bedroom door again.  "You're endangering her reputation and possibly her career, and I don't think you wanna be doin' that."  He paused for a beat before adding, "Besides all that, this is still my house.  Don't do this again," Grandpa told Jake, earning a glare from his grandson.  "Even if nothing happens."

Without responding, Jake turned on his heel and stalked the short distance down the hallway to his bedroom.  Shoving the door open, he caught Heather, her back toward him, fastening her bra.  Hours before he'd teased her about her proficiency at taking it off under her shirt and extracting it out her sleeve.  Then she'd yawned and giggled, making some offhand remark about gym class; now she gasped, looking back over her shoulder at him, her eyes wide.  Quickly kicking the door closed, Jake returned her stare.  "Hey," he muttered apologetically.  "So, uh, you heard that, huh?"

The second eye caught in its hook and she looked away, scooping the wrinkled long sleeve t-shirt she'd been wearing the day before off the end of the bed.  "You know I think I just better go," Heather told him, her voice muffled as she yanked the shirt on over her head.  Turning to face him, she crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed one bare foot against the other.  "He's - he's upset," she said, gesturing at the door, "And I just better go."

"Is Gramps right?" Jake asked, taking a step toward her.  "About the morals clause and your job?  'Cause I'm pretty sure that's illegal.  We could ask Eric."

"But I signed it," Heather argued, shaking her head.  "Even if it is illegal.  And, I think Gramps would probably still be mad, so can you just take me home?" she requested, "Or loan me some keys?"

"God, this is just so stupid," Jake muttered, scrubbing his hand over his face.  He looked at Heather, his gaze focusing on her once more as he started to chew his lip.   "You know what we should do," he sighed, "We should just get married."

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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

Jake stared out the window which was cracked open just enough that a stinging breeze blew in on him, chilling the exposed skin of his face.  He was lightheaded from hunger, not having eaten since noon the day before, and tired - always tired these days.  At least the draft was helping to keep him awake, he realized, stifling a yawn.

After the impromptu debrief with his father and Eric at Bailey's, Jake and Stanley had headed out to the Richmond Ranch to meet Mimi and pick up the rest of their supplies.  Mimi hadn't seemed particularly interested in joining them, but Stanley had continued to insist that she was coming, and she'd given in, though not particularly gracefully.  Now the three of them bounced along the road - Stanley's truck was in major need of new shocks - in silence. 

He wasn't sure what his two companions were contemplating, but as always was the case these days, Jake's thoughts drifted to food - or more precisely, the lack of it and their increasingly desperate need for it.  As had become habit, he ran through his mental calculus, considering each factor in their current situation.  After three months, and even after combining the Greens' three pantries, there was very little left of what they had started with.  They still had some of their allotment from the Thanksgiving airdrop - though that was disappearing quickly - and Stanley continued to provide corn and potatoes when he could, always joking that he had to look after his 'nieces or nephews'.  They were still getting a few eggs, but was it time to butcher the non-producing hens?  Would the Hydes have meat or milk for them this week?  Had that last frost gotten to the vegetables growing in the planter boxes Johnston and Drake had built inside the garage?  And would they get something - anything - hunting this time?  But yet again, he had no answers to the equation so he just kept playing with it.  The only thing Jake knew for certain was that he couldn't watch Heather or his mother or April starve, and so he had to do everything in his power to prevent that outcome.

"My grandmother went faster than this," Mimi declared sarcastically, breaking Jake's dark train of thought.  "And she didn't even have a car."

Normally it was the kind of joke Jake would have laughed at, especially being aimed as it was at Stanley, but this morning he didn't have the heart.  He found himself frowning.  "We have to take it easy," he explained, rolling his eyes, "We only have a half a tank."

"Hopefully we'll make it to Flint Springs," Stanley added.

His head whipping around, Jake stared at his friend, open-mouthed.  "Hopefully?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing.  "What do you mean hopefully?"  After starving to death, the last thing Jake wanted to do was have to walk ten miles back to Jericho because they ran out of gas.

Stanley deliberately misunderstood the question, answering instead, "It's got a river.  It's prime white tail terrain."

Mimi, sitting between the two men, glanced first at Jake and then at Stanley, shaking her head.  "You know this is crazy," she argued, glaring at her lover.  "I told you I can't hunt, and now you want me to kill Bambi," Mimi complained, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Look," Stanley grumbled in return, "You have to learn, all right?  Everyone's doin' their part," he reminded.  "Bonnie's been out twice."

"Well, good for frickin' Bonnie," Mimi snapped, clearly exasperated.  "Bonnie grew up on a farm," she reminded, "The closest I ever got to the outdoors was the Ralph Lauren section at Neiman Marcus."

"There you go.  Bargain hunting," Stanley replied easily.  Jake was almost certain that his friend was enjoying the debate.  "Same thing, but with a gun."

"Bargains?  At Neimans?" Mimi scoffed, shaking her head.  "Sometimes I forget the biggest designer in your closet is Wrangler," she snorted.

Still staring out the window, Jake chuckled, surprising himself.  Stanley frowned and, looking over Mimi, glared at his friend.  "Wha - what're you laughing at?"

Meeting the other man's gaze, Jake shrugged.  "Well, I've never seen you in a domestic squabble before," he drawled.

"This isn't squabbling," Mimi argued.

"Knock it off," Stanley added, returning his gaze to the road.  "And if you wanna talk domestic squabbles," he snorted, "Just remember, last time you and Heather were in this truck you had a - a tiff about whether - when we blew up - we'd be dead or just burned and maimed."
 
Mimi turned toward Jake, giving him an appraising look.  "Really?  This is what you argue about?" she chuckled softly.  "So, how is Heather Green," she continued, not waiting for a reply.  "Ready to have that baby?"

Jake's eyebrows rose.  Heather going into labor was currently the worst of his long list of nightmares.  She was only twenty four or twenty five weeks pregnant, and while giving birth at this point would have been iffy before the bombs, now it would be a death sentence for their child.  Losing their baby - a real worry, now, as they stood on the brink of starvation - would devastate Heather, and could endanger her health.  It was the darkest of his dark thoughts and worries, always at the front of his mind, and so Jake persevered, doing what little he could to make sure they were fed.  Frowning, he shook his head, trying to push those fears away, if only for a moment.  "Well, she needs to wait 'til April," Jake muttered, his voice gruff.  "And she knows - whoa!"

"Whoa!" Jake shouted, louder this time, as he grabbed the dash with his gloved hand to brace himself as the truck came out of yet another curve in the road.  Stanley hit the brakes and the vehicle skidded to a stop.  "Oh my God," he swore, whispering.  In silence, they all stared at the field just off the side of the road.  There was trash, strewn in clumps, for as far as the eye could see.  The flotsam and jetsam of used up and no longer important things, Jake realized as he scanned the scene, a hard pit forming in his stomach.  The field was trampled down as if there had been a stampede and then, in a flash of unexpected movement against the still horizon, a pack ... a pack of dogs, his brain identified after a moment, ran across the road in front of the truck, intent on something and paying them no mind.

The animals were a motley crew of mostly mutts, though Jake recognized a boxer and what he guessed was some sort of large terrier mix in the group.  The dogs paused to nose through one of the garbage piles, undoubtedly searching for food.  Without discussion, Jake and Stanley both opened their doors, Mimi scrambling out the driver's side behind them.  The scene before them seemed to grow more ominous as they walked toward it, unconsciously slowing their pace the closer they got. 

"These dogs have tags."  Mimi's voice, laced with apprehension, seemed to ring out in the crisp air like a shot.   She pointed to the nearest animal, a brown and white short-haired mix about half the size of Baron which was wearing a black collar accented with little diamond-shaped rivets. 

"Look at this," Stanley added, pointing to the remains of a campfire, a pile of rags, a discarded cracker box, flapping in the breeze.  Looking up, he scanned the field in front of them, taking in the heaps of refuse that went on for as far as the eye could see.  "God," he muttered.

In a daze, they moved passed the dogs, shuffling farther into the field.  It seemed unreal, like a dream but Jake didn't bother to pinch himself, knowing he wasn't going to wake up from this particular nightmare.  A plastic bag blew by his foot and stepping on it, he bent over to pick it up, reading, "Wall Drugs."  Jake shook his head, remembering a visit to the famous store when he was eleven or twelve and his mother had decreed that for their family's summer vacation trip they were going to Mount Rushmore.  They had tried the free ice water, eaten roast beef sandwiches in the café, taken pictures with the dinosaur and jackalope, and then, that night in their motel room, they had split a tin of Wall Drug fudge four ways.  He and Eric, forced to share double beds in a succession of motel rooms for five days, had fought over the covers, kicking one another, and the drive between Kansas and South Dakota, Jake couldn't help but remember, had seemed to take forever.  He looked up, meeting his companions' uneasy gazes and clarified, "Wall, South Dakota."

"Do - do you think that's where all these people are coming from?" Mimi asked, her eyes wide as she stared, unblinking, at the unimaginable sight before them.

People, Jake thought, letting his head drop forward.  He looked down at the ground and found himself looking at the discarded top off a Dinty Moore beef stew can.  All of this ... this stuff had come from people, it represented people.  "Think about it," he sighed, "South Dakota without heat, electricity, or food being trucked in."  They didn't have any of those things either of course, but the ten extra degrees - give or take - that they had on South Dakota at this time of year really could end up being the difference between life or death, Jake decided, letting go of the plastic bag.

"It's gotta be even worse in North Dakota, Montana," Stanley offered, expelling a heavy breath.

Meanwhile, Mimi continued to walk farther into the field, compelled by her growing sense of horror and some contrary and frightening need to bear witness.  All along - everything that had happened - she'd told herself that each new thing was the worst that could happen.  Almost unwillingly, she had survived the bombs, the fallout, learning that Washington DC - her entire life - was gone.  She'd survived farm work and finding Stanley lying beaten and unconscious in his field.  Mimi remembered how hard her heart had been pounding, and how for a moment she'd feared that he was dead.  But here, standing in this field, it occurred to her that maybe she hadn't had it so bad - or at least that it could have been worse. 

She walked toward a piece of canvas, either a piece of tent or perhaps something that would have been used to cover the back of a truck.  Whatever it was, the olive green drab cloth was spread over the biggest pile of junk they had seen yet, and her curiosity was piqued.  Mimi looked down. 

"Oh my God," she gasped, taking an instinctive step back.  She pulled her cap off, heedless of the cold, running her fingers through her hair.  There was a hand.  The pile under the canvas wasn't things; rather it was a person, two people, dead.  The mound was the closest thing to a grave their companions had been able to manage before they had been forced to move on.

Jake and Stanley hurried to catch up with her, Jake squatting and folding the canvas back to reveal the corpse of a young woman - younger than Mimi, and probably younger than Heather.  He stared at her frozen, peaceful expression, and caught himself hoping that she'd simply fallen asleep in the bitter cold one night and just hadn't awoken the next morning.  "I read about this," Jake explained, clearing his throat.  "Black Jack.  Mass migration."  The story was coming out in short, clipped phrases; he didn't trust himself to give more than the headlines.  "Hundreds of thousands of people heading south," he continued, recovering the dead woman before standing back up.  "Trying to outrun winter."

Covering her mouth with her hand, Mimi forced herself to take a calming breath.  She glanced at Stanley, but then for some reason her gaze came to rest on Jake.  He'd never seen her expression so serious.  "Should we be doing that, too?" she asked, her voice small and uncertain in the whipping wind.

"No," Jake snapped immediately, his frown severe.  "It's five or six hundred miles to Oklahoma.  More to Texas or New Mexico, and we don't even know if we can get all the way to Flint Springs on the gas we have," he reminded, throwing his hands up in exasperation.  "You wanna start walking?"

"Jake's right," Stanley interrupted, blowing out a frustrated breath.  "At least if we stay put, we've got shelter, and come spring, we'll plant.  It's a little lean right now," he argued, "But at least if we can get through...."  He broke off, shrugging helplessly.

"I'm stayin' - we're stayin' put," Jake added, "Me and Heather.  We have to make a stand somewhere and it's Jericho."  He was scared of what was going to happen to them if they couldn't find sources of food soon, but running away would only make things worse.  In Jericho they were with their family at least.  They had a home that - if nothing else - was warmer than a tent pitched out on the prairie.  They had access to the clinic and doctors, a place for their baby to be born.  The only choice was to make things work here.  "Jericho's it," he repeated.

"I was just asking a question," Mimi muttered.  "I mean," she continued, huffing softly, "The last thing I'm gonna do is walk to Texas!"

They all knew that they needed to get going, but they found that they couldn't leave.  The need to wrap their heads around the situation - to understand what had happened there - kept them rooted to that field.  Stanley decided to measure the length of the field, pacing it off. 

"How far is it?" Jake called after his friend, seeing him reach the other end. 

"Sixty!" Stanley shouted back, "It's about sixty yards."

Mimi started to work the computation aloud.  "So, sixty yards with almost one point five people per yard, that's ninety almost a hundred people just across," she calculated, following behind Jake as he began to walk toward Stanley who was moving back toward them.

"With the ground trampled, you'd have to figure five or ten times that many people came through here," Jake suggested, glancing at Mimi over his shoulder.

"Almost a thousand people?" Mimi questioned, a dismayed note ringing in her tone.  Shaking her head she replaced her hat, pulling it down to the tips of her ears.  "Where are they going?"

Jake shrugged.  "Well, like I said.  South Texas, Mexico, any place warmer."

"Yeah," Stanley agreed, meeting them in the middle of the field.  He tucked both his gloved hands up into his armpits to warm them.  "But it'd take weeks to get there by foot," he argued.  "And, God knows how many people had the same idea.  Mexico's borders could be closed."

"We don't even know if there still is a Mexico," Mimi frowned.

Stanley expelled a long breath, which condensed into a white puff in the cold air.  "Maybe - maybe we should try to catch up to them," he muttered.

"We can barely feed ourselves, let alone hundreds more," Jake reminded.  He knew, too, that his family and the Richmonds were still better off than most in and around Jericho.  There had been a lot of grumbling in town lately over the refugees Roger Hammond had led to Jericho, though Jake wasn't sure if Stanley, somewhat isolated out on his farm, was aware of everything going on.  Gray Anderson would probably shoot Jake if he led a second wave of refugees into town.  Besides, while he felt bad for these desperate people, Jake couldn't help but feel that if it was a question of his own survival - his family's survival - versus theirs, then he would choose his family.  "We gotta keep going," he declared, forcing a stone-faced expression.  "All right?  Let's go."

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

Tuesday, January 1, five years before the bombs

Her eyes wide, she stared back at him, her lips forming a small 'o'.  Heather crossed her arms over her chest, protectively, her breath hitching when she finally remembered to inhale.  "Was that supposed - were you actually proposing?  Or did you just - I really hope - pick a bad time to start thinking out loud?" she inquired finally, her forehead wrinkling.

"Well, why not?" Jake returned with a frown.  "Doesn't it feel like it's - like that's where we're headed?" he asked, his pulse suddenly racing.  He took another step toward Heather, starting to reach for her hand before he thought better of it and dropped his arm to his side, balling his hand into a fist.

"Yes," Heather nodded, her eyes falling momentarily closed.  "But - but not like this, okay?" she requested, blinking to keep her tears at bay.  She swiped the back of her hand across one eye.  Her head was spinning and she caught herself thinking that, as far as proposals went, this was worse than the one she'd received from Mark Metzger just over six months before.  Heather wanted to say 'yes', but not like this, not when he'd practically been forced into asking by his grandfather.  All she could do was hope that Jake would ask her again at some other time.  At some other time, and because it was his idea.  Biting her lip, Heather took a deep breath and caught his eye.  "Look," she declared, affecting a composure she didn't completely feel, "I think I better just go."

"No," he countered, moving next to her, this time taking her hand into his.  He laced their fingers together.  "Don't go," he pleaded, his expression clouding.

A ghost of a smile graced her lips.  "Jake, I love you," Heather told him, "But I don't want you to do this because your grandfather yelled at you."  Their gazes locked, and she could tell that he wanted nothing more than to argue the point.  She also knew that she couldn't let him.  Resting her free hand on his shoulder, Heather lifted herself on tiptoe so she could press a soft kiss to his mouth.  "I'm not mad," she reassured, "Okay?  But I'm gonna go - go home." 

With that, Heather took a step away from him and, a blush flaring on her cheeks, quickly pulled off the boxer shorts she was wearing.  She tried to tug her t-shirt down to cover her panties, but as soon as she reached for her jeans the shirt rode up and, shrugging, she gave up.  Giggling nervously, she glanced at Jake, watching the play of emotions on his face.  "We're okay, right?" she asked as she zipped up her pants.  Heather stepped close again, her bare toes grazing his, and laid her hand on his arm.  "Jake?" she murmured, tilting her head up.  "We're okay."

He took a deep, not completely steady breath and nodded.  "Yeah, sure," he exhaled softly.  "We're okay."  Jake swallowed hard, adding, "I - I love you," before then wrapping both his arms around her tightly.  His mouth descended upon hers.  Jake was almost desperate, he knew, to remind her - and himself - of everything they had together, how good they were for one another.  But when they pulled apart a few seconds later, they both attempted to hide their turbulent emotions behind smiles. 

Heather pressed her hand to his chest, right over his heart, letting it rest there for a moment before she took a step back.  "Love you, too," she answered, slipping past Jake and then out the door.

'We're okay.'  The words echoed in Jake's brain as he fell to a seat on the end of the bed and then, emitting a frustrated groan, threw himself back on the mattress.  What did that even mean after what had just happened?  His hand had landed on top of a pillow, and Jake pulled it to him, hugging it to his chest and burying his nose in the end.  Amazingly, after just a few hours, Heather's scent clung to the fabric and he inhaled deeply, letting it wash over him.  It calmed him, as much as her voice in his ear or her mere presence at his side could.  Jake couldn't believe he'd let her walk away.

But what choice had he had?  That traitorous thought drove him to sit up, and tossing the pillow away, he climbed to his feet.  He wanted to go after her, but then what?  Jake didn't know.  Looking around, he caught sight of the picture frame that Heather had given him for Christmas and which now sat on his bedside table amongst everything else: the alarm clock he rarely used - only, really, when he needed to be somewhere on time for her - the lamp,  some loose change, his watch, wallet and cell phone.  He took three steps toward the nightstand and grabbed the frame, drinking in the photographs.  They'd had such a good time that day - they almost always did - and, he remembered with a soft smile, how they had been mistaken for newlyweds by both photographers.  Apparently their friendship and affection - their love for each other - was obvious to nearly everyone.

He'd loved everything about that day, Jake realized, from Heather's enthusiasm for the trip despite her initial fear that she'd get airsick, to her incredible interest in what was happening and what they saw, to the questions she'd asked and the discussion, sometimes serious, sometimes silly, that those questions had sparked, to the fact she'd bet against Hank Doolittle and had won.  He concentrated on the picture of the two of them kissing, thinking about how Heather responded to his every kiss and every caress.  She intoxicated him in every way, but had also awoken a protective streak in him.  Only he hadn't protected her today. 

Jake wasn't really worried about Heather's reputation, the morals clause in her contract, or any gossip about her spending the night at the ranch getting around town.  Only he, she and Grandpa knew, so there wasn't much danger of it getting out.  But he was worried about the disappointment he'd seen in her eyes when she'd told him 'not like this'.  He'd hurt her, he realized, throwing out 'we should just get married' in his frustration.    She'd been right to question if he'd been proposing or just thinking out loud.  And it sure as hell didn't help, Jake decided, his anger at himself flaring, that he'd probably outdone her prick of an ex-boyfriend to win the distinction of having made the worst proposal of marriage she'd ever received.  "Damn it," he swore quietly, setting the picture frame back down on the nightstand.

Stalking the short distance between the bed and his bureau, Jake castigated himself for messing this up - for ruining that moment for Heather.  The words, he admitted to himself, had come out of his mouth without truly passing through his brain, but that didn't mean he didn't mean them.  Considering this thought, Jake grabbed jeans and a t-shirt out of the dresser.  'We should just get married,' and 'that's where we're headed'.  Neither was stated terribly eloquently but it was the truth.  A truth that didn't scare him, Jake began to comprehend as he pulled his jeans on.  What scared him was what had just happened; he'd disappointed Heather and had driven her away. 

From outside - the front porch or the driveway just below his room - Jake heard Baron bark.  He finished pulling on his shirt, and then moved around the bed to the window in time to see Grandpa hand Heather into the truck and close the door.  The older man yelled at the puppy to be quiet - Jake couldn't hear his grandfather, but Baron did stop barking - and then moved around the front of the truck to open the driver's door.  "No," Jake declared aloud, surprising himself.  "No!"  He exited the room running.

Jake practically jumped down the stairs, and then almost bit it when he started to slip on a throw rug in the entry.  Flinging the front door open, he saw the truck make the loop in front of the garage, turning so that they were headed back down the driveway.  He leapt off the porch, his bare feet slapping on the walk's cold flagstone, sending a jolt up his spine.  It was flurrying, he realized, his feet now stinging as he ran across the paved drive and through the muddy and dormant flowerbed at the center of the circle, Baron hot on his heels.  "Stop!" he shouted.  The truck was just a few feet ahead of him and he chased it down, pounding on the side.  "Stop!  Stop!  Stop, stop, stop!"

"What in the world, Jake?" Grandpa barked, flinging open his door.  "Are you tryin' to get yourself run over?" he demanded, starting to climb out of the truck's cab.

Panting, his grandson waved him off.  "Don't - just - just give me a minute."  With that he moved past his grandfather and around the front of the truck.  Jake caught Heather's eye through the windshield, holding her gaze. 

Heather felt her heart start to beat harder under the intensity of his stare.  Her mouth went dry and she held her breath.  By the time he'd reached her door, she'd rolled down her window.  "Jake," she murmured, eyes wide.  Uncertainty was written across her expression.  "We're - we're okay," she reminded, "I'm just going -"

"I was thinking out loud," he interrupted, resting both hands just inside the open window.  "You're right about that.  But I was still thinkin' about - about what's important to me, what I - what I want.  And I'm sorry it came out like it did," Jake apologized, "But I can do it better, I promise."  He took a breath finally and reached through the window for her hand, tugging on it.  "Come for a walk with me."

She emitted a shaky giggle, glancing first at Grandpa Green, who'd climbed back into the driver's seat and was studying them both with undisguised interest, and then at Jake who's gaze was so intense.  "Jake, you don't have to do this," Heather protested, her eyes wide.  "I'm a big girl, and I'm fine."

"I'm not doing this because I have to," he argued, unlocking her door from the inside before popping it open.  "And not because of anyone else's opinion," he added, glaring at his grandfather, "Or what anyone else thinks.  I'm doing this because it's what I want."  Jake let go of her hand and backed up, pulling the truck door open.  He stepped into the shelter of the door and reached, this time, for both her hands.  "I - I hope it's what you want, too," he said softly, squeezing her fingers.

Too stunned - too elated - to answer, Heather allowed him to draw her out of the truck and into a hug.  He buried his face in her hair, yelping when she accidentally trod on his chilled toes.  That was enough to free Heather from her shock-fueled muteness, and she frowned at him in concern.  "Jake!" she protested, taking a step back, "Where are your shoes?  And your coat?"

"Inside," he dismissed, rubbing his injured toes against his other leg to warm them. "I'll get 'em in a minute.  Couldn't let you leave," Jake confessed, offering her a tentative smile.  He took a deep breath and, brushing a strand of hair off her face, asked, "So will you go for a walk with me?"

Her eyes wide, Heather nodded.  "Okay," she murmured, barely audible.  "Well, if you put some shoes on," she added a second later, her tone one of gentle scolding.

"So where'r you two goin'?" Grandpa inquired, startling them both.

Jake drew Heather back to him and she turned in his arms so that they were both facing his grandfather.  "We're gonna go check out the view from the water tower," Jake answered, glancing down at Heather.  She met his gaze with a shy smile, and he couldn't stop himself from brushing his mouth over hers.  "Sound good?" he inquired.

"The view?" Grandpa snorted, his tone skeptical.  "What the - whatever for?"

After exchanging a quick look with Heather, Jake faced his grandfather, his expression suddenly serious.  "I've got a question I need to ask."

"Well then," Grandpa said, a grin breaking out on his face, "Better get to it.  Now, how's pancakes sound for breakfast when you get back?"

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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

Trying to keep warm, Johnston had practically jogged the whole way home from Bailey's.  He arrived winded - panting - and entered the house through the front door, slamming it behind him against the cold.  Dropping his backpack next to the front door and slipping his rifle off his back, he hurried into the living room.

"Hi, honey," Gail greeted, looking over her shoulder and offering him a smile.  She stirred the fire with the poker, shivering against the chill that gripped the room.  "How'd it go?" she inquired quietly.

"Eh, the whole thing was a bust," Johnston admitted with a deep sigh.  He set his rifle down, checking the safety out of habit before leaning it against one of the club chairs.  He turned to face his wife.   "I'm sorry, hon," he apologized.  "Two days, and we didn't even see anything to shoot at," he grumbled, shaking his head.  "But Jake's out there now, and hopefully he and Stanley will have better luck than we did."  Johnston glanced around the room before cocking his head, listening to the house.  Aside from the crackling of the fire and the wind whipping against the building, there wasn't a sound.  "Where's everybody?  April and Heather?"

"They're both at the clinic, along with the boys," Gail answered, hugging herself against the cold.  "Heather's still working on windmill plans for some reason, and April's agreed to loan her office.  Heat and light won her over," she chuckled.  "But they both promised me they'd take naps."

"Good," Johnston nodded.  "Did they eat?" he asked, taking off his gloves and dropping them on the club chair's seat.   He moved over to join her in front of the fire.  "Today, I mean?  Did you eat?"

"The girls ate this morning.  Ramen noodle hash with egg," she laughed softly.  "My own creation.  I'm thinking of putting together a cookbook.  Maybe a group effort, through the church.  'The Main Street PC Women's Auxiliary Post-Apocalyptic Cookbook'," Gail suggested, allowing a wry grin.  "And, I'm fine," she assured him patting his arm, "I'll be fine 'til dinner," Gail said, as aware as he that it was barely ten in the morning.  "No need to worry about me."

"Sweetie..."

"Johnston, I'll be fine," she interrupted, a stubborn note ringing in her voice.  "I've got some carrots and half a cabbage, plus one potato left from Stanley," Gail listed.  "We'll have soup for dinner tonight, and if Jake brings something home, we'll throw it in, too.  It's just a few hours away," she argued, flashing a smile that was brighter and braver than they both knew she felt.  "We just have to keep stretching until ....  Well, until."

Closing his eyes momentarily, Johnston nodded.  They were all waiting on that elusive 'until'.  Until one of the hunting parties has some success.  Until there was another airdrop.  Until the proverbial cavalry rode into town and saved the day.  For a man who had always been as self-sufficient as Johnston - who'd always made his own luck and done for himself - it was hard to wait for 'until'.  And, it was harder still to watch his family face starvation.

"So, Jimmy stopped by earlier this morning, after his shift," Gail informed him a few seconds later, interrupting his bleak train of thought.  Jimmy had taken to dropping by a few times a week to clue them in on what was happening in town that they might not have otherwise heard about right away.  Whether his actions were out of some odd, unspoken loyalty to Johnston or just some secret desire to get back at Gray Anderson who, suspecting disloyalty, didn't treat the deputy so well, none of them knew, but they certainly appreciated the information. Johnston grunted and she took it as a request to continue.  "He found the Harpers dead last night," Gail explained, letting out a long breath.  "He thought it had - it had been a few days.  Before - before Christmas, likely," she recounted, the muted horror she felt over the situation evident in how she stumbled over her words.  "The fire was out, the house was freezing, there wasn't any food.  Jimmy said that, near as he could figure, Karen - she shot - she shot both Ryan and George in their beds."  Gail let out a deep sigh.  "And - and then she turned the gun on herself."

"Aw, hell," Johnston muttered, absently unzipping his jacket.  He had long found Karen Harper to be a humorless, strident woman, and he'd had a hard time even treating her civilly after learning how she had punished his sons when she'd been their babysitter, but he'd certainly never wished her or her family any harm.  "Do Heather and Jake know?" Johnston asked, knowing that their son and daughter-in-law had disliked Karen Harper even more than he had.  But Heather had taught Ryan Harper, and the boy had undoubtedly claimed a piece of her heart, as all her students did.  And, no one could dislike the long-suffering George Harper, who had always tried to do his best for his family, even if they wondered over his choice of wife.

"Not yet," she returned quietly, "But I'm sure they'll hear soon enough."

Nodding his agreement, Johnston shrugged out of his jacket and then quickly pulled it back on.  It was almost as cold inside as out he realized, shivering.  "I hope it's warmer in that clinic than it is in this house," he grumbled.

"I think this house has dropped ten degrees in the last hour," Gail admitted, leaning against Johnston when he wrapped one arm around her.  "Feels like a storm's coming in."

"We better seal up these windows the best way we can," he suggested, moving toward the bay window at the front of the house.  Sunlight streamed in through the shutters, but then a gust of wind rattled the house, adding emphasis to his point. 

"I've been going around collecting old sheets and linens," Gail informed him, pointing to a tall pile of linens that rested on the coffee table.  "We'll shove them under the doors," she decided.  "Oh!" she laughed, turning back toward the desk in the corner.  "Oh, look what I found hidden away in the attic.  Jake's old footlocker."  Gail held up a three quarters full bottle of Scotch for her husband to see.  "Lord knows how long that's been there."

"A decade at least," Johnston snorted, taking the bottle from her.   He examined the label, grinning gently from behind his beard.  "Well, at least he was drinking the good stuff.  I used to hide the most awful rotgut in the world behind my mother's china cabinet," he admitted with a chuckle, weighing the bottle in his hand.  Looking up a few seconds later he caught his wife watching him, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth.  Johnston knew that look.  His grin widening, he raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"Whaddya think?" she asked, smiling. 

"On an empty stomach?" he countered - futilely, he knew.  He'd always been powerless to resist that particular smile. 

Gail's smile grew.  "I'll get the glasses," she decided, allowing a throaty chuckle.

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

If you don't know What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? then here's a pretty good version of the song. :-)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kU_BBNeumLI


Wall Drugs is one a must-see on your way to or from Mt. Rushmore. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wall_Drug or http://www.walldrug.com/

Different Circumstances: Part 13B of ? by Marzee Doats


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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

"Wager for the first kill," Jake announced, breaking the uneasy silence they had fallen into after getting back on the road.  They were all thinking about that field, he knew, those people and their desperate journey south.  But they needed to stop thinking about things they couldn't fix or even influence, and get their heads back in the game.  This hunting trip had to be successful.  There was no other choice.

Stanley glanced past Mimi at his friend.  "I'm in for a dozen eggs," he threw out, catching on.

Startled by the other man's opening bid and with no hope of upping the ante, Jake practically stammered out what he hoped would be considered comparable terms.  "Two - two hours chopping wood."  They had their own chickens of course, but their production had dropped off, and Heather's first attempt at setting eggs had been an unmitigated disaster.  Jake vowed then and there that he was going to get first kill; he could already taste that first fried egg, and no way was he chopping that much wood to pay off a bet.

Mimi recognized what the two men were up to.  That field - what they'd seen and what they'd learned there - had unnerved her, and she could appreciate their attempts, blatant as they were, to distract her. "Tax return consultation," she declared, giving into a smile as she looking first at Jake and then at Stanley.  Her skills were quite different from theirs, and it was her best offer, despite Stanley's claims that she needed to know how to hunt.   

"How about foot massages for a week?" Stanley countered, glancing at her just long enough that she was able to spot the flirtatious gleam in his eye.  "For me," he chuckled exuberantly, pointing to himself.  "Not for him," he clarified, gesturing at his friend.

"We'll talk," she returned, folding her hands demurely in her lap though she didn't bother to try and keep the smile out of her voice.

The truck crested a small rise, and Jake leaned forward, bracing himself against the dash.  "Stanley, stop," he ordered, his tone suddenly urgent.

"What are they doin'?" the other man demanded as he stomped on the break.

"They're blockin' the whole road!" Mimi complained, annoyed.

Jake shook his head, frowning.  "More like staking it out," he muttered, the hair prickling on the back of his neck.  'The farther out you get, the hairier the roads are.'  His father's words, spoken just a few hours before, screamed a loud alarm in Jake's head.  And this was one hell of a mess, he had no doubt.  "All right," he said, exhaling deeply, forcing himself to remain calm, "Turn around."

"And go where?" Stanley asked, dragging his eyes away from the black, reasonably newer model truck to look sideways at the other man.

"I don't know," Jake admitted, the slightest note of panic creeping into his voice.  "Just do it, all right?  Turn around," he demanded.  "Find another road."

His first impulse had been to honk so they'd get out of the way, but there was something about the truck, or maybe it was the tone of Jake's voice.  Whatever it was, there was something wrong here, Stanley could feel it in his gut.  Lips pressed together, he threw the truck into reverse, gaining speed as the vehicle rolled back down the slight rise.  As quickly as he could he turned the truck, flooring it, his eyes on the rearview mirror rather than the meandering road before him.  "Jake..." he muttered, his eyes widening.  The black truck had turned too, and was in pursuit.

"I see it." Jake's reply was clipped.  All three held their breaths while Stanley focused his concentration on the road and Jake kept an eye on the truck out the back window.  "Damn it," he swore ten interminable seconds later.  There was just no way this ended well.

"Why are they following us?" Mimi demanded, panic rising in her voice.  Neither man answered - neither had to.  They all knew exactly why the truck was following.

They pushed on for another tense half minute, Stanley fighting to guide the truck over the bumpy, frozen road, Jake studying the other vehicle out the back window, and Mimi biting her lip and clutching the dash with both hands.  Jake recognized immediately when the other driver began to speed up.  "Stanley, gun it!" he shouted at his friend, well aware that the old truck was likely going as fast as it could already.  The black truck roared dangerously closer, stirring up the dust which made it harder to judge the distance between the two vehicles and added to the sense of confusion and fear in the cab.  "This - this should get us back to the highway," Jake mumbled, thinking aloud more than anything.

"Then what?" Mimi snapped, catching his eye as he glanced her way, terror evident in her expression. 

For a split second Jake couldn't help but be glad that Heather was safe back in Jericho.  Shaking his head, he looked back over his shoulder at the truck bearing down on them.  "We try to make it back home," he threw out, the words sounding desperate to his own ears.  "Find the patrol," he continued, grunting as the truck hit a teeth jarring bump in the road.  "Maybe - maybe they'll give up by then," he argued, hoping rather than believing he was right.  "Or run out of gas."

"Yeah," Stanley barked, grimacing as he reflexively checked his side view mirror, "If we don't first."

Twisted around uncomfortably in the cramped space, Jake stared at the other truck out the rear window, his grip tight on the back of the seat.  He watched in horror as the vehicle sped up behind them, gaining on them, and he realized, his heart in his throat, with every intention of ramming them.  "Stanley!  Stanley, hold on!" he shouted.

They had no time to prepare before the first impact threw them all forward.  Jake, still holding onto the seat and Stanley, with his hands on the steering wheel were able to brace themselves some, but Mimi hit her head on the ceiling and couldn't help the yelp of pain and fright that escaped her.  She grabbed blindly for the dashboard in front of her just as the truck bumped them again.  "Oh, God!" she screamed.

In the next instance though, the vehicle dropped back, ten, then twenty, then forty feet, much to their collective surprise.  Jake sensed Stanley ease up on the gas and protested loudly.  "No!  Stanley!  Keep going!  Faster!"

"We can't outrun them!" Stanley argued in return. 

Jake knew he was right.  The other truck was newer, had more horsepower, it probably even had more gas.  They, on the other hand, were burning through gas they didn't have.  The other driver sped up again, and Jake shook his head in frustration.  He didn't know what the hell to do.

"How far 'til Jericho?" Mimi cried out.

"Too far," Jake muttered, gritting his teeth.  There was only one option left to them, to him, he decided, extracting his gun from inside his jacket.  He inserted the clip and then looked back over his shoulder in time to see the other vehicle barreling toward them once more, the space between them disappearing in seconds. 

"Oh, God!" Mimi screeched again, staring, wide eyed, at Jake's weapon. 

Stanley glanced over at his friend, cautioning, "Jake!"

The black truck rammed them again.  These guys meant business, but maybe, Jake thought, he could convince them that the hunting party wasn't as easy pickings as the assailants had assumed.  It was a long shot - literally - but, he had to try.  He struggled to lift himself into the open window, but, having last eaten about twenty four hours before, he was a little too weak, a little too shaky.   God damn it, he wasn't gonna die out here, Jake decided, not like this.  "Stay down," he ordered Mimi, somehow managing to heft himself up.

He got one shot off immediately, earning a yelp from Mimi.  "Stay down," Stanley barked out, repeating his best friend's words, as he forced himself to concentrate on his driving and not on the massive pit in his stomach.  He was sweating bullets now, and he knew if he let himself think about what Jake was up to he wouldn't be able to do this.  When, he wondered, had this become his life?

Jake fired at the other vehicle again, missing it, Stanley assumed, watching in the rear view mirror as the other driver steered straight into him once more.  The black truck fell back for a few seconds before speeding up and ramming them again.  Jake scrambled back into the cab as Stanley was forced off the road and into an embankment, the truck flipping.

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

Tuesday, January 1, five years before the bombs

"So, ready to go?" Jake inquired as he came down the stairs, this time at a much more sedate pace.

Heather, who had been pacing the length of the foyer, Baron's leash clutched tightly in her hand, looked up in time to see him jog down the last two steps.  "I - I think so," she giggled, offering him a nervous smile.  She'd left her jacket on - zipped up to her chin - when they had come back into the house.  "Sorry," Heather continued, her eyes wide as she met his gaze.  "It's just that I haven't had a shower in twenty seven hours, I haven't brushed my teeth this morning, I haven't even brushed my hair -"

"Stop," he commanded gently, moving to stand in front of her.  Jake reached for Heather's hand, extracting the puppy's lead and dropping it on the floor so he could lace their fingers together.  "I haven't had a shower in more like ... twenty hours," he decided, raising her hand to his mouth so he could press a kiss to her knuckles.  "Plus, I haven't brushed my teeth, either," he admitted with an exaggerated grimace that pulled another, not entirely serene giggle from Heather.  "And we both have slight cases of bed head," Jake continued, wrapping a lock of her hair around the index finger of his free hand.  "So basically - like your niece says - we match."  He took a deep breath and let her hair unwind from around his finger.  "I want - this'll - it'll be good."

Smiling, she offered a mute nod and then pressed herself against him, kissing him chastely. Instantly she was enveloped in Jake's arms.  Baron, who'd wandered over to the door, looked back at them, wagging his tail and whining softly.  Heather, glancing over her shoulder, laughed at the puppy's wide-eyed expression.  "Okay, Baron," she answered, shaking her head at the dog before once again meeting Jake's probing gaze.  "Okay," she exhaled, her smile expanding to light her entire face, "Let's go."

Jake, who'd found socks, boots and a long sleeved shirt to layer over his t-shirt, released Heather from his embrace so he could retrieve his parka from the closet.  Pulling it on, he left it unzipped and held his hand out to her.  "Do you have gloves?" she asked, fishing a pair of bright purple and green striped stretchy knit gloves out of her jacket's pocket.  "You just had the flu a week ago," Heather reminded, pulling her gloves on.

"Two weeks ago," Jake argued as he caught her hand in his, tugging her to him so he could plant a kiss on her lips.  "I'll be fine.  It's not that cold. Besides," he grinned, "This way, you'll be forced to keep me warm."

She returned his grin, allowing him to lead her out the door.  "Guess so."

Heather had put the leash on Baron but it wasn't actually necessary on the ranch, so Jake unhooked it and tucked it into his jacket's pocket.  The puppy took off ahead of them like a rocket and then doubled back, yipping at them excitedly as if to say, 'hurry up, slowpokes'.  Jake, holding tightly to Heather's hand, shook his head at the animal's antics and glanced sideways at her.  She met his gaze, an anxious chuckle escaping her.  "What?" Jake demanded, gripping her fingers tightly as they moved off the driveway and onto the gravel road that led to the horse barns and water tower.

Blushing prettily, she shrugged.  "I - I don't know," she laughed.  "I - it's just a little weird, ya know?" Heather asked, giggling harder.  "Surreal," she added a few seconds later, sighing softly.  "But good."

"Okay," he acknowledged, letting out his own relieved breath.  Jake could understand her nerves - his own stomach was churning some - but still he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was right.  He loved Heather and he couldn't imagine his life without her.  They continued along the road, Jake not quite pulling her along as she continued to chuckle, little trills of laughter escaping her every time their eyes met.  Heather, it seemed, had developed a case of giggle fits.  He frowned, throwing her a questioning look.  "You're not gonna keep laughing when we get there, right?"

"Sorry!" she gasped out, fighting a losing battle for control.  Heather stopped suddenly, pulling her hand from Jake's and covering her face.  Bent over, her hands braced on her thighs, she gasped for breath, trying to calm herself.  "I'm sorry," she groaned, craning her neck so she could look up at him.  Another twitter escaped her. "It's just weird," Heather sighed, "And kinda nerve wracking to know - know what's coming." 

"You're tellin' me," Jake snorted, shaking his head.  He surprised her next, reaching for her hand - still planted on her leg - and pulling her to him for a kiss.  "But I don't wanna wait 'til I can get you to the water tower under false pretenses," Jake told Heather when they broke, reluctantly, apart.  He rested his forehead against her, grinning gently and reminded, "Could be months."

She nodded, smiling at him.  "That wouldn't be good at all."

"Nope," he agreed, squeezing her fingers.  "Now c'mon."

"Okay," she chuckled softly, though at least there was no hint of anxiety in her voice.  She let her free hand rest on his chest, clutching at the soft cotton of his t-shirt as she pressed her mouth to his, a kiss that was sweet and simple and full of promise.  "Let's go," Heather murmured, taking a step back.

They made it all the way to the water tower before Heather's nerves resurfaced.  She had laughed more than once along the way, always at Baron, who Jake had kept calling back to them.  The puppy would come bounding toward them, snapping and growling at the flakes in the air and skidding on the snow that was just starting to consider sticking.  As they reached the water tower though, Heather, who had looped her arm through Jake's, had pulled away an inch or two.  Throwing him a sideways glance, an anxious giggle escaped her.  "Sorry," she muttered, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth.

Jake rolled his eyes.  "Don't start that again," he grumbled, extracting his arm from hers.  He pointed her at the ladder, motioning that she should go first.  Heather mounted the first rung and began to climb.  When her foot hit the second tread, Jake gave into the sudden and overwhelming impulse to help her out with a 'boost'.  Planting both hands on her rear end, he pinched her and then gave her a push.  A startled squeak escaped Heather and she looked down and behind her, meeting his knowing smirk with a blush.  "Keep goin'," he prompted, his hands finally dropping away as she clambered too high for him to reach.  Hurrying, he climbed onto the ladder. 

She ascended the water tower with Jake close behind, never more than two rungs below her, his hands level with her hips as he gripped the stringers on either side.  Heather felt safe - protected - knowing he was right behind her; she started to giggle again when she realized that he had a very up close and personal view of her rear end, one which - given his earlier actions - she had no doubt he was enjoying!  Below them, Baron began to bark and spin around in circles, clearly unhappy with this new turn of events.  Jake yelled at him to be quiet and to lie down, which he did, emitting one last unhappy whine as he settled down at the tower's base.

Heather scrambled onto the deck of the water tower and then moved quickly out of the way to make room for Jake.  Stepping off the ladder, he caught her eye and then her hand, pulling her to him.  They exchanged a quick kiss and then moved around to the other side of the tower where the deck was wider.  Taking a deep breath, Jake faced Heather with a suddenly serious expression.  "So here we are," he murmured, clearing his throat.

"Here we are," she agreed, stepping toward him.  She pulled his hand into both of hers, playing with his fingers as she smiled up at him.

Jake let out a deep breath and flashed Heather a grin.  "Probably not how you pictured this goin', huh?" he inquired, fighting the shiver that ran through him despite - or perhaps because of - his hand clutched in her warmer, gloved one.  The thinnest layer of snowflakes covered the deck of the water tower and the wind seemed colder - more abrasive - up here.  Jake caught himself wondering if there could possibly be more snow in the air at this height.  No way she'd imagined things going this way, even when she'd agreed to go for a walk. 

"Well, I pictured stars, not snow," she admitted with a giggle and a shrug.  "But the snow's workin' for me," Heather claimed, reaching up to brush a few wet flakes out of his bangs.  However, they melted on contact with the knit of her gloves, dampening his hair.  She grimaced apologetically.  "Sorry.  But, just so you know," Heather sighed, "This attempt is going really good so far."

"That's good," he snorted, shaking his head.  He pressed his lips into a tight line, staring at her, his gaze so intense that Heather felt like his eyes were boring through her.  "I love you," Jake told her, his voice just above a whisper.  "I love you," he told her again, louder this time.  "More - more than you can imagine.  I feel like I - I know that for a long time, I've just been sleepwalking through life - through my own life."  The words spilled out of him and, letting out a deep breath, he took a half step toward her, cupping her face with both hands.  He smiled at her and placed a quick kiss on her mouth.  "And then you came along and woke me up," Jake said as he let his hands drop.

"I love you, Heather Lisinski," he repeated for a third time, and she knew she was smiling.  "You're smart, and beautiful, and nice and fun," Jake grinned in return, leaving Heather with no doubt that he knew he was paraphrasing Jason Cale's love note to her.  "The best - the best everything, ever."  She laughed outright at that and he took her hand in his.  "I don't ever want to go back to sleepwalking," Jake informed her, "So what I wanna know is, will you marry me?"

She gasped.  She'd been expecting those words for twenty minutes now, and still it was the tiniest shock to hear them.  So, at first, all she could manage was a gasp.  "Yes," she managed to get out finally.  "Ye - yes!" Heather declared, throwing herself into Jake's arms.  "I will absolutely marry you," she answered, winding her own arms around his neck as Jake dipped his head to press his lips to hers.

"Well that's a relief," Jake laughed against her mouth, and then, for a long time, they didn't bother with words.  Somehow they ended up on the built-in bench, Heather in his lap, as they exchanged kisses and caresses.  "So," Jake began finally, kissing the tip of her nose, "Still yes?"

"Still yes," she agreed, chuckling.  Heather let her forehead rest against Jake's while her fingers continued to play with the hair at the base of his neck.  "And just so you know," she informed him, her mouth finding his once again, "This was way better than I ever imagined it.  So thank you," she murmured, pulling away from him just enough that Jake could see that she was blushing prettily.  She shook her head softly.  "For good or bad - but really, for good, I swear - no one has ever affected me the way you do, Jake," Heather confessed.  "I love you, and I always will."

"Good," he chuckled huskily, "'Cause I'm countin' on that.  And, I love you, too," Jake added, playing with her hair, "Always."  They stared at one another for a long moment and then he kissed her again.  Down below, Baron started to bark, giving them a blistering earful, apparently having decided that he'd been patient for long enough.  They both laughed.  "So, what d'ya say we go put Gramps out of his misery - Baron too - and go eat some pancakes?" Jake asked.

Grinning, Heather slipped off his lap, and Jake immediately missed the weight of her body - the contact with her.  "Sounds good," she answered, reaching for his hand.  "Let's go."

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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

Settled comfortably in the oversized club chair with her husband, her legs draped over his and a patchwork quilt tucked around them both, Gail proposed a toast.  "To Jake!"

"To Jake." 

Johnston's reply was somewhat subdued, and Gail couldn't quite manage to suppress her sigh.  She caught her husband's eye, offering an understanding smile.  "Who would've thought six months ago - with his job and all - that you'd be toasting Jake."  She was well aware, especially in the last year when Jake had been gone for so long, of Johnston's displeasure with their son's choice of profession.

He snorted softly in response, shaking his head.  The corners of his mouth curled upwards.  "Well, God knows Eric wasn't hitting the bottle," he chuckled, avoiding her implied question for a few seconds at least.  Johnston was quiet for a long moment, though Gail could tell by the way his brow wrinkled that he was thinking.  Staring at his drink, he swirled the amber colored liquid gently in his glass.  "I just never understood what it was about that job," he grumbled.  "What was the draw?  Playing spy or whatever the hell it was he was doin'?  When you become an adult - when you get married - you make choices, you make sacrifices."  Johnston shook his head.  "He coulda lost everything because of that job."

"Jake didn't want you to think he was a quitter," she told him, realizing only as the words left her mouth that she was - technically - breaking a confidence.  But she didn't care, Gail decided.  There were some things Johnston needed to hear.  "So he stuck with it.  And, it wasn't going to be forever," she added, her voice softening slightly, "Just until they had children.  He was going to find something to do closer to home then."

Johnston's head jerked as he twisted around to meet her gaze.  He searched her expression for confirmation, grimacing as he demanded, "Well then, why didn't he ever say that?  Why didn't he ever tell me - us - that?"

"And why didn't you ever ask?" she returned, frustration evident in her tone.  Gail closed her eyes for a second and, letting out a long breath, extracted her free hand from beneath the quilt, bringing it up to cup his face.  "You and Jake have always had much more in common than you wanted to admit.  The same stubbornness.  The same conviction.  You both just assume that why you do anything should be completely obvious to us mere mortals," she chuckled, letting her hand drop into her lap.  "No explanations needed."  Gail took a sip of her drink.  "You're two peas in a pod," she added, studying him over the rim of her glass. "Remember going hunting?  All those weekends?"

A reluctant smile found its way onto Johnston's lips.  "Yeah," he murmured, staring past his wife, the far off look in his eye letting her know that he was lost, just a little bit, in a memory.  "And I know he isn't a quitter.  I've always known.  My kid could sit in a deer stand for hours.  We wouldn't say a word to each other, just be in the woods together."  He shook his head to clear it, and then met Gail's gaze, returning her smile and pulling her hand into his.  He raised it to his mouth, pressing an absent kiss to her knuckles before clearing his throat and continuing.  "I was always afraid Jake would forget about all that, you know," he confessed.  "That he'd grow up only remembering the bad times.  That he wouldn't remember that we'd been close," he sighed, hesitating for a moment before finishing.  "That we were buddies once."

"He remembers," Gail assured, squeezing his hand as she fought the tears which pricked behind her eyes.  "Deep down, he remembers.  It's why you mean so much to him."  They both - they all, her husband and her sons - meant so much to her, too.  Taking another sip from her glass, Gail offered Johnston a wry grin and then set the tumbler aside.  Adjusting herself in his lap, she laid her head on his shoulder, her hand clutching the front of his sweater.  "You know," she giggled a few seconds later, craning her neck so she could place a kiss on his bearded cheek, "I was just thinkin', six months ago, actually, Jake and Heather were on vacation in Hawaii."

"Now, that's somethin' I can toast!" he declared, grinning widely.  He held his glass up and waited for Gail, who laughed softly, to retrieve her own.  "To grandbabies!"

"To grandbabies!" she parroted, clinking her glass with Johnston's.  They both drank and then Gail leaned close to give her husband a peck of a kiss.  "Though, two babies in the house," she groaned happily as she stretched to return her glass to the table in front of them.  "It'll be like having twins again."

"Yeah, but this time we'll be the grandparents.  All the fun, but we don't have to deal with the middle of the night feedings or the really bad diapers," Johnston argued, making a face.

Gail, her head resting on his shoulder once more, couldn't help but chuckle.  "Oh yes, I remember your Dad," she said, letting her hand drift over his chest.  The slight pressure of her fingers through all the layers of clothing he wore was just enough to be distracting and Johnston had to force himself to concentrate on his wife's words.  "Used to come through the door and say, 'okay, Abigail darlin', hand over the one that still smells like a rose!'"

Johnston laughed, nodding.  "Yeah, and then he'd always try to trade for the other one when he thought the baby he had was startin' to smell suspicious."  Still grinning, he took a sip from his glass.  "Twins," he sighed, joking, "And who'd have thought that at our age we'd end up with a set of triplets, too."

"Our second litter," she teased in return.  "Jake and - and Eric being the first."

He knew she was still trying to come to terms with Eric's choices - so was he, to a degree - and he'd heard the slight hesitation before she'd managed to say their second son's name.  Johnston squeezed her hand comfortingly - encouragingly - as he snorted, "Well at least this litter arrived toilet trained and sleeping through the night.  Mostly," he amended, thinking about Drake and his nightmares.  'The boys' - as he couldn't help but think of them - slept two floors below the rest of them, in the basement, but the whole house was aware of the terror that still, more nights than not, held the poor young man in its grip. 

This time, it was Gail who squeezed his hand.  "I know you worry about Drake," she murmured, arching her head so she could look up at him.  Their eyes locked and she offered a consoling smile.  "You worry about them all.  But we just have to take care of him - love him - as best we can, and hope it's enough."

"Yeah," Johnston grunted, blinking and looking away.  "It's good - I'm glad that Jake made it home before - in time," he told her, staring at his drink.  "He'll, uh, make a good father, I think," he continued, coughing to clear his throat.  Gail knew he was uncomfortable with the topic, and not just because he was suddenly less than articulate.  He met her gaze once more, and she smiled encouragingly, surprised when he returned it.  "That'll be fun to see," Johnston chuckled.  "Jake as a father.  Eric, too," he added quickly, "But Jake especially.  The first time I get to hear him say 'because I said so, that's why.'  I'm gonna enjoy that."

"No doubt," she laughed drily, running one hand through his short hair.  "Things sure are gonna get interesting around here, huh?" she asked, snuggling against him as she pulled the quilt higher and tighter around them both.

"Yeah," he agreed with an absent nod.  They sat together quietly for a moment, listening to the storm that was building outside.  A series of gusts rattled the house.  "Boy, that wind sounds awful."

Clutching his arm, Gail tucked her head against his neck.  "I hope Stanley and Jake are okay out there."

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

Tuesday, January 1, five years before the bombs

"'Nother pancake, Heather, darlin'?" Grandpa Green asked, flipping one off the griddle and onto a plate.  Smiling, he turned around and walked toward the table.

"Oh, no," she giggled, holding up a hand to stop him.  "I'm pretty sure that four's my limit," she laughed.  "They were really good though."

"Just a splash of orange juice in the batter," Grandpa explained with a wink.  "The Green family secret recipe."

Jake draped his arm over the back of Heather's chair, cupping her shoulder.  "It really is the Green family secret recipe.  It's how Dad makes pancakes."

"So, can you make pancakes?  Carry on the tradition?" she asked, grinning at him and then, her hand fisting in his t-shirt, pulling him to her for a kiss.

"Probably," Jake agreed when they separated a few seconds later.  "I'll figure it out, anyway."

"Good!" Heather declared.  "Saturday mornings.  I'm puttin' in my order now."

He laughed at that, shrugging easily.  "Okay."

Grandpa cleared his throat, earning their attention and a pair of sheepish looks.  "How 'bout you, Jake?" he inquired, fighting a smirk as he held up the plate of pancakes for his grandson to see.

"Well, eight, nine is my limit, so I'll take 'em," he agreed, holding up his plate. 

Grandpa pushed two pancakes off the serving plate and onto Jake's.  "So, Heather," he began, throwing his grandson's fiancée another smile as he plopped the last pancake on his own plate.  "I brought your bags in from the truck," he told her, reseating himself across from the young couple and reaching for the syrup.  "They're in the guest room if you'd like to take a shower and change clothes.  Clean towels, as well."

"Yes!" Heather declared vehemently.  "Thank you!  You have no idea how much I want a shower. Twenty eight hours, two planes, and four hours in a car later.  Seriously, my kingdom for a shower."

"Well, now your kingdom's as far as the eye can see," Grandpa chortled, "So don't go tradin' away the ranch for a shower just yet, if you don't mind."  Taking note of her startled expression, he smiled at her kindly.  "I only mean you're an official member of the family now, and this is the Green Ranch.  Our kingdom, so to speak."

Heather laughed at that and, after climbing to her feet, came around the end of table to offer him a hug which Grandpa was more than happy to accept.  She kissed his cheek, and Grandpa couldn't help but flash his grandson a satisfied grin, though unlike the previous evening, Jake didn't react beyond rolling his eyes.  "Well, I'm off to the royal guest room in this kingdom of ours," she announced, moving back around the table.  "Give me a half hour," she told Jake, kissing him.  "Don't go anywhere without me."

"Not gonna happen, babe," he assured her, squeezing her hand as she slipped away, humming happily to herself as she practically skipped to the door.  Jake stared after her, only resuming his seat after she'd disappeared into the hall.  He found himself facing his grandfather.

"Congratulations, Jake," Grandpa murmured approvingly.  "Well, I know you know how I feel about Heather," he chuckled softly.  "I couldn't be happier for you both."  He held his grandson's gaze while he stabbed together a bite of pancake and then dipped it into the puddle of syrup on his plate.  "So, what're you going to do for a ring?"

Jake shifted in his seat.  "I'm gonna get her one, Gramps," he shrugged, reaching for his orange juice glass.  "We'll go shopping and I'll get her one," he decided, finishing off his juice.

"That'd work," Grandpa agreed easily.  "But you know," he continued a beat later, "I was married to your grandmother for just over half a century.  She wasn't a woman who wanted a lot of jewelry, but I had occasion to give it to her over the years," he chuckled softly.  "It's all intended to pass to your mother - not that she seems to be in any hurry to take it - and then, eventually, to April and now Heather," he explained, sitting back in his chair, his coffee mug cupped between his hands.  "Now, Eric asked for your grandmother's engagement ring for April, and I gave it to him, of course."

"Right," Jake nodded.  His mother had told him that much, when she'd called to tell him the wonderful news of Eric's and April's engagement.  Overworked and distracted, he hadn't stopped to think before he'd made some snarky remark questioning why in the world April Glendenning would want to marry Eric, resulting in quite the disappointed scolding from his mother.  Her reaction had still been at the front of his mind when he'd had to phone her two weeks later and confess to a forced resignation, an internal affairs investigation, and a probable prosecution as part of the set-up to his undercover investigation into Jonah Prowse and the activities of West Kansas Shipping and Freight.  Her disappointment in him had only grown.

"But there are three, maybe four other rings that might do for an engagement ring, if you're interested," Grandpa offered, pulling Jake out of his less than pleasant memory.  "If you think Heather'd like that.  They're in the safe, in the study, if you want to take a look."

A half hour later, showered and shaved, Jake found himself pacing the hall outside the first floor guest room.  It was the room, he recalled as he made the turn, that he'd shown Heather to the first day they had met, not quite three months before.  He should feel like they were rushing things, he thought, considering their chronologically short acquaintance, but he didn't.  Everything was telling him that this was right; he knew it in the fiber of his being.  The door creaked open just as he reached it for the fiftieth time, and he stopped, smiling and rotating around to face the door.

"Jake," she greeted softly, almost sighing his name.  She stepped out into the hall, leaving the door ajar behind her, and moved immediately into his waiting arms.

"Hey," he greeted, kissing her and then teasing, "You still gonna marry me?"

Heather, resting her head against his shoulder, snorted and slapped him harmlessly on the chest.  "No take backs," she informed him, her nose pressed into the soft fabric of his shirt.  "And yes, I'm still gonna marry you, so you just better get used to the idea," she joked, nuzzling against him.

"I'm totally good with the idea," he assured, tilting her chin up with his finger so he could brush his mouth over hers once more.  "C'mon," he invited a long moment later, catching her hand in his as he forced himself to take a step away.  "There's something we need to do...."

"There's so much we need to do!" she agreed and then began to make a list for him.  "I have to call my Dad and Mikey - they can tell everybody else, but then I'm gonna start getting calls up the wazoo," she predicted.  "We have to tell your parents, and April and Eric, we have to decide -"

Jake stopped her by placing one finger against her lips.  "Babe.  There's one thing we have to do before all that, okay?" 

She nodded.  There was something about the intensity of his gaze that rendered her speechless and Heather settled for squeezing Jake's hand.

"Good," he acknowledged, exhaling softly.  "Now c'mon," he said, starting to move backwards, tugging her with him.  Loathe to turn around for some reason, Jake walked slowly backward down the hall, leading Heather, to the study's double doors.  Elbowing one of them open, he pulled her into the room and then finally let go of her hand, though only long enough to close the door behind them.  He hadn't bothered to scope out the jewelry in the safe beforehand, instead rushing through his shower and dressing, intent on being outside the guest room door, waiting for Heather once she was done with her own ablutions.  Now, not entirely sure what they would find, he led her across the room, skirting chairs and the imposing desk that had once - years before - graced EJ Green's town hall office.  They stopped finally in front of the rather elegant looking gun safe in the corner. 

"Wow," Heather murmured, her eyes wide as she looked over the large steel ... edifice before them.  She'd noticed it before, the few times she'd moved far enough into the study - very much Grandpa Green's private space - to do so, but she hadn't taken in, really, just how big it was.  Shiny black with gold lettering, the safe stood six feet high and nearly four feet wide.  "It's even got the bank vault wheel turny thingy," she said quietly, awe coloring her tone.

"I'm pretty sure that's not what it's called officially," Jake teased gently, punching a code into the digital lock. 

"So what's it called then?" she asked, her voice lilting.  She stepped behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and then stood on tiptoe so she could rest her chin on his shoulder.  "Officially," she whispered, kissing his earlobe. 

"No idea," he chuckled, laying one hand over her arm.  "But it's time to spin it, if you want the honors."

In an instant, Heather had let go of Jake, slipping around in front of him.  Bringing his arms up on either side of her, he trapped her between his body and the safe.  She giggled, but didn't comment on his actions directly.  "So, what are we doing, breaking into your grandfather's safe, anyway?" she asked, turning the spindle wheel enthusiastically and then looking back over her shoulder at Jake as she tugged on the safe's heavy door.

She backed into him, and Jake draped his arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.  "We're looking for your engagement ring," he told her, sounding suddenly serious and nervous all at once.  "If you want, I mean.  We could just go buy one, pick a new one, but I thought... a family heirloom, you know?  And, hey, if there isn't one we like..." he trailed off.

"I would so love that," she said quietly, letting go of the safe's wheel and turning under Jake's arm, pressing herself against him.  Their lips met and they exchanged a succession of sweet, soft kisses before Heather pulled back slightly, smiling up at Jake.  "I - is Gramps -"

"His idea," he assured her.  "Eric gave April our grandmother's engagement ring when he asked her to marry him, so you know, it's like a tradition now."  Holding onto her hand, Jake carefully pulled her out of the way so he could finish opening the safe.  "Though, I hafta say, I'm rather proud of myself.  Finally got you to break into something with me," he joked.

"Yeah well," Heather laughed, "Jake Green, you're the only one with whom I'd consider living a life of crime.  Though I'm glad we have Gramps' blessing," she added a beat later.

Jake surveyed the contents of the safe, spotting, out of the corner of his eye, Heather's rather startled expression as she took in the row of rifles lined up in their compartment on the left hand side, but neither of them said anything.  Finally, he reached for what he guessed was - rather than recognized as - a stack of jewelry cases, taking the first one off the top.  He opened it, identifying the contents immediately.  "Gram's pearls," he explained, showing Heather the necklace, bracelet and earrings which were carefully displayed on velvet.  "She only wore them on special occasions.  Family weddings, graduations, things like that.  Gramps gave 'em to her for one of their big anniversaries."

"Their thirtieth, maybe?" she suggested, admiring the set.  They were, she was pretty sure, the expensive kind of pearls - the ones from Japan - and they were gorgeous.  The necklace was a single strand and obviously of the highest quality; the bracelet was a double strand accented by three small diamonds; and the gold and pearl earrings were somewhat old-fashioned - they were clip on - but still quite beautiful.  "The thirtieth is the pearl anniversary, anyway," Heather explained, looking up at Jake.  "And, those are very nice," she sighed.

"Probably was their thirtieth, knowing Gramps," Jake agreed.  "And, you are definitely going on Jeopardy," he joked, closing the jewelry case and then exchanging it for the next one in the stack of three.  "Win us lots of money."

"I think Eric's right.  Who Wants to be a Millionaire.  Bigger payout," she teased in return, watching Jake make his exchange.  A small stack of bound bills - twenties, a thousand dollars at least - sitting on a middle shelf caught her eye, and she stared for a few seconds, stumbling over her next words.  "So - so I can support you in the manner to - to which you'd like to be accustomed."  Shaking her head, Heather looked at Jake, smiling.  "Now....  Find my ring," she commanded, her gaze full of anticipation.

He peeked inside the case and, nodding to himself, shut it, holding his hand out to her.  "C'mon."  He led her over to the desk where he placed the jewelry case on the blotter and then seated himself in his grandfather's chair, pulling her down onto his lap.  Jake scooted the wheeled chair a little closer to the desk and, reaching around Heather, opened the case.  They both looked over its contents: there were two pairs of earrings, four rings, and tucked inside a pocket in the lid, Heather realized, were certificates of authenticity.  There was a gold band inlaid with five small emeralds, a ruby heart surrounded by a cluster of diamonds, an imperial jade ring cut into the shape of a hibiscus flower, and a polished sapphire cabochon set between two smaller diamonds.  Jake pointed at the sapphire ring.  "I like this one," he said, kissing her temple.  "It matches your eyes."

Eyes wide, Heather twisted around, meeting his even gaze and affording him the opportunity to confirm his statement.  He reached for the ring, his arm brushing against hers.  Holding the ring between his thumb and index finger, they both examined it.  "Perfect match," he murmured.

"Oh, Jake, look," she whispered, clutching his arm with one hand, "It's a star - it's like there's a star in the stone."

"You're right," he chuckled softly, holding the ring up so that it caught the light, better revealing the six pointed star on the surface of the stone. Technically, it was a flaw - but it was a beautiful one.  "That's kinda cool, huh?"

"It's so pretty," Heather sighed happily.  "It's a star," she repeated.  "We had snow, but we still get a star."

Jake nodded in agreement.  "That we do," he confirmed, his voice suddenly husky.  "It's perfect."  Taking a deep breath, he took her left hand into his, sliding the ring onto her finger.  "Marry me?" he asked again.

"You better believe it," she returned, beaming.  "Yes.  And you can keep asking," she advised, laughing softly.  "But I'm never gonna change my answer."

 "'Kay then," Jake grinned, playing with her fingers and the ring.  "A little loose, but -"

"I'll deal," she declared firmly, interrupting him.  Heather folded her fingers against her palm, making a loose fist; she admired the ring.  "It's perfect, and I'm not taking it off."

"We can get it resized," he told her.

"Okay," she smiled, laughing softly at herself.  "I guess I'll take it off for that.  But not before."

"Deal," he agreed, reaching for her hand and helping her turn in his lap so she was sitting across his legs.  Watching her closely, he raised her hand to his lips, pressing a series of kisses to her knuckles.  "Wish I knew the story of this ring, but I know that Gramps wanted Gram to have it, and I remember her wearing it sometimes," Jake said, letting out a long breath.  Absently, he wound a strand of her hair around his finger.  "He'll be proud to see you wearing it, and I absolutely want you to have it."

"Well, I'll just ask Gramps what the story is," Heather grinned, winding her arms around Jake's neck.  "I love it," she told him, leaning in for a kiss.  "And, I love you."

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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

Jake regained consciousness to see Mimi leaning over him, shaking his shoulder and calling his name.  She was disheveled and rather blurry around the edges, though at least there weren't two of her.  Maybe one and a half.  "Jake," she called to him, her voice cracking.  "Jake?"

"What happened?" he groaned even as he took in their surroundings.  He remembered scrambling into the truck's cab as it went airborne, and he remembered being upside down, maybe, but that was about it.  They'd crashed - that much was obvious - and his whole body just hurt.  His leg was throbbing, worse than his head, the pressure was horrible, and Mimi wouldn't stop saying his name.  "Wha' happened?"

"Stanley's not up," she croaked out, running her hands over his chest.  Carefully, she started to help him sit up.

"What?" Jake grumbled.  His ears were ringing and it was just so hard to think.

"Stanley's not up!" Mimi practically shouted at him, though Jake was more concentrated on forcing his body to do what he wanted it to do.  He grunted, reaching without thinking for the truck frame in front of him, his eyes falling momentarily closed.  He was warm where Mimi's hand pressed his coat against his back.  It was the only place that he was warm ... because he just felt so numb.  "Jake..." she gasped out, her hand tightening in the material of his parka.

For a second he thought that like him, she'd just realized that his leg was caught under the wrecked frame of the Richmonds' truck, but no, she was staring straight ahead, over the side of the truck, at the road and at the black truck as it rolled to a stop some forty feet away.  "Oh my God," he swore, all worries about his leg instantly forgotten.  This was trouble and, remembering Black Jack, his instincts screamed that the worst trouble would likely be for Mimi.  They had to hope that the occupants of the black truck hadn't realized there were three of them in their vehicle.  "Go hide," he ordered her, his voice a fierce whisper.  "Go!"

Mimi though protested, worried about her lover.  "No.  No, Stanley," she argued as they ducked down behind the truck.  "No, no, no!"

"Go hide!  Go!" Jake countered, clutching her by the shoulders and shaking her not so gently.  "Go hide!" he growled one last time and finally she obeyed, scrambling, stooped over, into the bushes just behind them.  She was still too close for Jake's comfort, but he also knew that there was nowhere else close enough for her to get to safely.  Somehow flipping onto his side, he reached for the nearest thing at hand - a bottle of water - and tossed it after Mimi.  It landed in some tall grass, concealed from sight at least from where he lay.  Jake threw another bottle of water after her, then a large Maglite flashlight - the next thing he could reach.  He could hear gravel crunching beneath boots and knew they were getting close, but his gun was just four inches away.  He strained to reach for it, heedless of his trapped leg, and rolled back over, clenching his teeth against the pain and hoping that he could adjust his leg under the heavy vehicle just a little bit, just enough to stretch for the gun.  Turning back over, he lunged as best he could for the weapon, scraping the butt of the grip with his fingernails and pushing it mere millimeters outside of his potential grasp. 

Desperation setting in, Jake pushed off the side of the truck with his free foot, futilely trying to pull his trapped leg free by a mere inch or two.  But it was to no avail, and he could hear their assailants' footsteps growing closer.  Quickly - and none too soon - he arranged himself face down against the frozen earth but in a way that allowed him to breathe without being seen and that might just let him to observe a little of what was going on around him.  He held his breath.  Within seconds they were all about him, and then one of them rolled Jake over.  Somehow, he forced all the tension out of his body, flopping over in a way that he could only hope would convince the other man that he was dead or at least unconscious.  Apparently the robber was satisfied that he was, because within seconds he'd stripped Jake of his parka and dug Johnston's lighter out of his pocket. 

In less than a minute, they - whoever they were - had cleared the accident site of everything of value, abandoning Jake and Stanley to the elements or whoever came along next.  Hearing the truck engine start up, Jake rolled over, opening his eyes.  He watched as the vehicle roared past them, the gang, no doubt, already looking for their next victims.  Pulling himself up, he went immediately to work on his leg, yelling, "Mimi!" over his shoulder.

She hurried out from behind the bushes, glancing after the other truck.  It was already a speck on the horizon being swallowed up in a cloud of dust.  "Come on," she insisted, jogging over to Jake.  "Help me with Stanley."

In vain, he tugged at his trapped leg one more time and then, frustrated, hit the side of the truck with his bare hand.  He'd taken his glove off so he could fire his gun and now it was lost who knew where, and his fingers stung like a bitch, and his jacket was gone, and his God damn leg was stuck under two tons of steel.  Wincing and trying to shake off the pain in his hand, Jake met Mimi's eye.  "I can't move," he ground out.

"Whaddya mean?" she demanded, a note of hysteria tingeing her voice.  "You're moving right -"  Mimi broke off, her eyes wide as she stared down at his leg.  "Oh God," she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.  "Your leg, it's -"

"Stuck.  It's stuck," Jake filled in for her, his jaw clenched.

Wordlessly, Mimi knelt beside him, her expression the picture of concentration as she began to check his leg, running her hand over his thigh and then down to just below his knee where the truck's body had him trapped.  She examined him quickly, her touch surprisingly competent.  "Noth - nothing  protruding," she declared, her voice quivering as she glanced back and forth between Jake's face and her hands.  "I don't think - hopefully nothing's broken.  Can - can you feel?  Can you wiggle your toes?"

"No, not really," he admitted, letting out an annoyed breath.  It still ached - he ached everywhere - but the pain was duller now, like his nervous system had been completely overloaded.  "It's just kinda numb.  Look," he continued, touching her arm to stop her as she started her inspection over again.  "You need to go check Stanley.  He was probably just knocked out cold, but you need to get him up, get 'im awake, 'cause he may have a concussion, okay?"

Sitting back on her heels, Mimi blanched, swallowing hard.  She'd noticed Jake's leg when she'd first come to and crawled over to him, but she'd been so worried about Stanley and then the robbers, that it hadn't really sunk in until he'd told her that he was stuck.  She'd immediately tried to help him, forgetting about Stanley for that moment.  She had to get it together.  "Okay," she agreed, nodding.  "You stay here -"  Realizing what she'd said, Mimi chuckled derisively at herself and waved her hand as if to erase the comment.  "Well, not that you can go anywhere, but -"

"Yeah, I'll be waitin' right here," Jake interrupted, allowing a sour bark of laughter.  "Go take care of Stanley," he directed, his voice softening.   

"Right," she murmured, climbing finally to her feet.  She looked down at him, offering a tremulous smile, and this time when she said, "Don't go anywhere," she said it recognizing the perversity of the situation.   "I'll be right back," she promised, turning to hurry around the front of the wrecked truck.

"You know," he called after her, "My Grandpa used to say any landing you can walk away from's a good landing.  But I'm not too sure what he'd say about this one," Jake joked humorlessly.

"Ha, ha," Mimi returned, not even bothering to look back over her shoulder.  Reaching Stanley, she dropped to her knees beside him, shaking his shoulder.  She pressed one hand to his chest, clutching his shirt as she tried to rouse him.  "Stanley," she called to him softly, "Stanley are you okay?"

Blinking, he emitted a quiet grunt.  "Yeah." 

He sounded groggy and when his eyes fell closed again, she couldn't keep from panicking a little.  "Can you get up?" she urged, bringing her gloved hand up to cup his cheek. 

"Yeah," Stanley agreed, rolling away from her and onto his side. 

Mimi helped him to stand up, grabbing onto his shoulder when he tried to put weight on his left leg and found that he couldn't, letting out a pained groan.   "Your leg?" she guessed, taking a calming breath.  At least he was conscious, she reminded herself, he was conscious and they would just deal with anything else.

 "I think I busted my ankle," he bit out, wincing. 

"Okay," Mimi acknowledged, wrapping her arm through his as he gripped the bottom - now top - of the open truck door for support.  She held onto him, more for balance than for support as he hopped around the front of the truck to where Jake waited.

"You - Oww!" Stanley grimaced.  He fell against the trucks front tire, grappling to keep himself mostly upright.

"I'm okay," Jake muttered, moving the little bit that he could so that he was more comfortable looking up.  As soon as Mimi had gone to rouse Stanley, he'd gone back to trying to figure out how to free himself, inspecting the truck on top of him and trying to wiggle his toes.  "Just stuck."

Immediately, Stanley began to examine the truck's grill.  "Let me..." he began, rattling the bumper, "Let me try to get this -"

"Stanley, don't!" Mimi commanded, dropping a hand onto his shoulder to stop him.  "We can't do this ourselves," she argued, her voice full of apprehension.  She couldn't keep herself from imagining horrible scenarios in which Stanley managed to drop the truck on Jake's leg, crushing it.  "You might make it worse."

"Maybe you could dig me out," Jake suggested then, studying the point where his limb and the truck body met for what had to be the hundredth time.  He just didn't know how else they were going to get him out without injury.

"All right," Stanley agreed.  Resting his hand on Mimi's back to get her attention, he pointed her to the other end of the overturned vehicle.  "Help me get the shovels," he requested, "They're in the bed of the truck."

Jake and Mimi both stared at him, their shock betrayed in their expressions.  How could he not have realized, they both wondered.  "It's gone," she told him, not knowing what else to say.

"All right," Stanley acknowledged, annoyance obvious in his tone.  "Get the jack," he ordered, wheezing softly as he braced himself against the truck's front wheel. 

The other two shared another pained look, and then Mimi, taking a quick breath, broke the bad news.  "They took everything."

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

Different Circumstances: Part 13C of ? by Marzee Doats


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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

It had taken a few more tries - not to mention Mimi getting frustrated and demanding to know how hard he'd hit his head because what was so difficult to understand about having been robbed - but they had finally convinced Stanley that everything that was at all useful was now gone.  Even Jake's and Stanley's coats, as Jake had grumpily pointed out, had been stolen right off their backs.  Now Jake sat with his leg trapped under the truck, arms crossed, and his sweatshirt's hood pulled up in a vain attempt to keep warm as the wind whipped across the plain, penetrating to the bone.

Mimi had begun to pace the length of the truck, her fists buried deep within her coat's pockets.  Watching her make the turn, Stanley squatted next to his friend, patting him on the shoulder.  "How're your legs?"

"I don't know," Jake muttered, barely audible over the whistling of the wind.  He tucked his hands deeper into his armpits.  "I can't feel anything," he added, shivering.

Stanley shook his head at his miserable friend.  His coat had been stolen too, but Jake was in much worse shape.  "The ground's frozen solid," he reminded, rather unnecessarily, Jake couldn't help but think, feeling peevish.  "It's sucking the heat right out of you."

"Why can't we build a fire?" Mimi asked, turning toward the two men, her hair blowing, annoyingly, into her mouth.   She made a face and, with her clumsy, gloved fingers, pulled the damp strands off her tongue.

"You smell the fumes?" Jake asked, shouting as he blew on his bare hands to warm them.  But his efforts were futile.  He couldn't stop shaking and every time he opened his mouth and the cold air hit the back of his throat, it seared through him, bringing tears to his eyes.  "Build a - a fi - fire, and bl - blow us all - all to king - kingdom come."  Jake slapped the frame of the truck with his cold fingers, causing them to sting that much more.  "Bar - barbe - beque me," he snorted through chattering teeth.  "You have to get ba - back to town," he told them.

Squeezing Jake's shoulder, Stanley levered himself up.  ""All right," he agreed, yelping when he put weight on his bad foot, "I'm going to try and go."

"No," Mimi protested, shaking her head.  "You can't go on that ankle."  She took a deep breath and declared, "I'll go."

But Stanley wasn't hearing of it.  "No, those guys are still out there," he snapped, hopping on his good leg.  "No way."

"They went the other way," Jake insisted, shaking his head.  Ignoring Stanley's protests, he glanced up, catching Mimi's eye.  "All right, Jericho has a patrol five miles out of town," he explained, refusing to let himself think about the timing.  Sure, the patrol went up to five miles out of town during the day, but by his own rules, everybody was always back inside the checkpoints by dark.  It was the only way he could get volunteers to even go on patrol.  "All right," Jake continued, rushing, "We - we couldn't have come more than ten -"

"Jake!" Stanley interrupted, obviously annoyed, "It's too dangerous."

"What are our options?" Mimi interjected, tension obvious in her tone.

"With no bags?" Jake shouted, his fear and frustration boiling over.  "And no fire?"  A shudder ran through his whole body.  He couldn't keep himself from shaking.  He couldn't feel his legs or his hands even as he watched himself clutch them into fists.  He was freezing; it was something he'd said a million times in his life, but he'd always been wrong before this.  Now he was actually freezing.  "One of us goes," he barked, "Or we all die out here!"

Stanley drew in a sharp breath, though it was inaudible given the strong wind blowing around them.  He looked at Mimi and then at Jake, trapped under the truck.  He wanted to object.   There was no way she could walk all the way back to Jericho, but Jake was right: they were in mortal danger.  He didn't want anything to happen to Mimi - God, he loved her - but he didn't want to die out here either.  "All right."  The words burst from his mouth almost against his will.  "Fine," he grumbled, "Fine."

Mimi ran toward him as Stanley, limping, stumbled toward her.  They met in the middle, in an awkward embrace and then she forced him to wrap his arm around her shoulders and use her as a crutch as they moved toward the road.  "I threw a flashlight somewhere over there," Jake called after them, twisting around to point at the high grass.  "You might need it.  Make a - make a good weapon, if nothin' else."

She bent over to retrieve the flashlight and a bottle of water before Stanley could get the brilliant idea to do it himself.  Handing the water to him, she clutched the Maglite to her chest, licking her lips nervously.  Mimi - if she were being honest with herself - was a lot more than nervous.  Scared.  Petrified.  There really wasn't a strong enough word for what she was.  But someone had to save them, and she was it. 

"Listen," Stanley began, urgency coloring his tone, "Stay on the shoulder the whole time, okay?"  He tucked the bottle of water into his vest pocket and then reached for her hand, gripping it tightly.  "If you see any headlights, hear any engines...get low and hide," he ordered.  Sucking a deep breath in through his teeth, he continued, wincing.  "All right.  Now you're gonna want to head southeast -"

"Stanley," Mimi interrupted, frowning softly, "That doesn't mean anything to me."

"Okay, okay," he acknowledged, closing his eyes for a second.  "Stay on this road," he decided.  "And then you make - make your first left, okay?"  Stanley shook his head, willing himself to remember the way despite his headache.  He hadn't told them about the dull throbbing on the right side of his head, or that his vision was just the slightest bit blurry.  "And - and you're gonna go about a mile," he estimated, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.   "And then you're gonna make your second right.  Then you're going to make another right...then another left."  That was it, he was sure.  That was the best route.  "Okay," he sighed, "Now once - once you get to the crossroads of the highway, you're home free.  You'll see a big sign pointing the way to Jericho. Okay, you got it?"

"Left...second right, right...left," she repeated for him, then offered the most hesitant of smiles.

"Right," he agreed, clearing his throat roughly.  "Mimi, I ..."

"Don't worry," Mimi commanded, clutching his forearm.  "Don't worry," she repeated, "I'll be careful."

Letting out a slow breath, Stanley nodded, though every fiber of his being was protesting the decision.  How could he let her go?  "Okay," he murmured.  "Okay."

He watched her move away from them, walking quickly before breaking into a jog.  She looked back only once.  Squinting, he stared down the road, in the direction she'd gone, for nearly five minutes after she had disappeared from sight before giving up and limping back to the truck and his friend, caught beneath it.  "She'll be fine," he muttered, holding onto the frame of the vehicle as he lowered himself into a seated position.  The ground was cold, but at least down low, next to the truck, he was sheltered a little bit from the wind.  When it was blowing from the south.  Which it never seemed to be.  "She'll be fine," Stanley repeated.

Jake looked up.  He'd gotten into a ball as best he could manage, hoping to preserve some body heat, though his muscles tightened up if he stayed in any one position for too long.  He'd wanted to give them some privacy too, not that he could hear what they were saying, and not that they had even exchanged a kiss goodbye.  But still, he could tell that Stanley was worried.  "She'll be fine," Jake echoed.  He waited a moment, studying his friend, worry plainly written on his wrinkled forehead.  "You really - you really care about her."

"Yeah, well," Stanley shrugged, his frown deepening.  "How the hell would you feel if that was Heather, walkin' ten miles back to town when those - those people are out there?" he demanded roughly.

A shudder ran through Jake that had nothing to do with the fact that he could no longer feel his extremities.  "I'd hate it," he admitted gruffly. 

Stanley, blowing into his cupped hands to warm them, signaled his agreement with a nod.

"C'mon," he cajoled some forty five minutes later, limping back to where Jake lay on the ground, shivering so violently he had to clench his chattering teeth to keep from biting his tongue.   "It ain't so bad, right?" Stanley tried joking as he shoved the dried grass he'd gathered underneath Jake's head.  He had to do something to keep Jake's temperature from dropping further, so now he was trying to get something - an insulator - between the cold, hard ground and his friend, even if he had to do it one handful of weeds at a time.  If he could buy him a degree - hell, half a degree - of core body temperature, it would be worth it.  "Hey," Stanley chuckled, "We've been through worse.  Remember the time we got stuck on the roof of town hall in the middle of a lightning storm?"

"Y - you were so af - fraid the lightning wa - as gonna blow up the fi - fireworks," Jake retorted with obvious effort. 

"You squealed like a little girl," Stanley accused, smiling softly at the memory.  They'd hatched a plot to enliven the Labor Day festivities - and out do the official Fourth of July fireworks display - but hadn't counted on the sudden storm which had sent the holiday picnickers scrambling for the indoors, completely unaware of the two adolescent boys on the roof.  "Wanting to jump off that roof," he reminded, stuffing another fistful of grass under Jake's shoulder.

"That was you," Jake countered, somehow overcoming his shakes for the moment.  "Your voice hadn't changed yet."

"Please!" Stanley scoffed, shaking his head as he surveyed the situation.  The pile beneath Jake was pitifully small, nowhere near enough to make a difference.  "I had you beat by six months," he laughed, glancing down at his friend.  Jake tried to force a smile but he was shivering uncontrollably.  Stanley didn't know what to do.  His hand brushed the bottle of water he'd shoved in his pocket earlier.  He'd forgotten all about it.  "Drink some water," he suggested, wondering even as he fumbled for the bottle if water would help.  Was Jake dehydrated?  Or would the water just chill him more?  These worries, however, were quickly supplanted by a disconcerting discovery.  "It's frozen right through!" Stanley gasped out, not quite able to believe it.  Frozen.  It was cold enough to freeze water in his pocket.  Oh, hell.  He dropped the bottle and stumbled, blindly, a few steps away.

"Wha?" Jake asked, groggily, slurring his words slightly.  "St - Stanley...."  He managed to get out despite his constant trembling.  "I saw a - an abandoned ca - cabin, 'bout a quar - quarter mile up the r - road.  Y - you need t - to get in - inside."

Turning back toward his friend, Stanley shook his head.  "No," he declared obstinately.

"It'll h - hurt, b - but you can ma - ake it."

"Jake, I'm staying," Stanley insisted, squatting down next to the other man.

Closing his eyes, Jake seemed to fight to get his next words out.  "Listen to me," he grumbled, his whole body clenched as, by force of will, he forced himself to stop shaking.  "There's no point in - in both of us freezing to d - death out here."

Stanley glanced over the dead body of the truck, looking vainly in the direction Mimi had gone.  "She's coming back," he argued.

"When!?" Jake gasped out, clearly at his wit's end.

"Well, she's been gone for like an hour," Stanley reasoned, forcing himself - headache and probably frostbite be damned - to think about the situation rationally.  "It'll take her time to reach the patrol," he muttered, hugging himself tightly, rubbing his arms in a futile attempt to find some warmth, fleeting though it might be.  "But when she does, she'll find someone, I know she'll find someone," he insisted, under his breath.

"Unless somebody else finds her first," Jake grimaced.  He clutched his fists to his chest, but still they, along with every other part of his body, shook.  "Look," he exhaled through chattering teeth, "It's gonna get - get dark soon.  You need to go."

"No," Stanley countered, shaking his head and peeling off his vest.  He sat down on the hard, cold earth next to Jake, spreading it over his chest.  The protection it offered was paltry at best, but it stated his case probably better than he could himself.  "You wouldn't leave me any more than I'd leave you," he said, scooting closer to his friend.  "Mimi's strong.  She'll find her way.  Besides," he sighed, "I don't wanna know what Heather would do to me if I left you out here.  Your wife can be scary sometimes."

Jake made a noise that Stanley supposed would have been a chuckle if he weren't slowly - and not even that slowly - freezing to death.  "She's not..." he began, but then seemed to lose his train of thought.  Jake let his eyes fall closed again.  For the last hour, since he'd accepted the reality of the situation - he was stuck under a truck and there was no changing that - he'd been paradoxically thinking only of Heather and trying to not think about her.  It was only his thoughts of her that had kept him fighting this long; if not for the picture he held in his mind of her as he'd last seen her - smiling at him sleepily as she'd kissed him goodbye that morning - he would have let go, given up to the bitter cold, the numbness, the overwhelming temptation to just fall asleep.  But he also didn't want to think about Heather, didn't want to think about how he was going to leave her to raise their child alone, didn't want to think about how he would never even get to see or hold his baby.  Jake knew, even if Stanley didn't yet, that he wasn't going to make it.  He knew because he couldn't even find the energy to be angry that he was dying and, against his will, abandoning his family to this terrifying new world.

  "She wouldn't hate you," he murmured, his eyes fluttering open.  His gaze locked with Stanley's.  "Not - not forever, anyway," he added, yawning.  "It's not your fault....  She'd know that."

"Yeah, well," Stanley muttered in return, "It's my truck that fell on you."  Snorting, he glanced down at Jake.  "But at least that means - ironically - that I can stay, and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me," he informed his friend, squeezing his shoulder as he started to shiver softly himself.

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

Tuesday, January 1, five years before the bombs

Jake turned off the car and glanced sideways at Heather and Baron, shaking his head.  "You're spoiling him, you know," he snorted.  "He would have been fine in the back seat."

"Hey, you're the one who taught him to ride in the front while I was gone," Heather reminded, scratching behind the dog's ear.  "He's just a puppy," she insisted, planting a kiss on top of his head.

"Yeah, fifty pounds of puppy," Jake snorted.  He knew that dogs couldn't smile, but at moment Jake would have sworn that Baron was grinning.  If he couldn't be in the front seat with his head out the window then apparently Heather's lap was an acceptable alternative.  "You're really gonna like it when he doubles in size."

"Well, then he can sit in back," she decided, chuckling somewhat guiltily.  She leaned awkwardly over Baron, her lips puckered expectantly.

"I just saw you kiss the dog," Jake grumbled, but a second later he cupped her chin with one hand, and then pressed his mouth to hers. 

"It wasn't on the lips," Heather teased as she pulled away.  "I only kiss you on the lips."

"Let's keep it that way," he said, rolling his eyes.  "So you ready?" he asked.  "You know, my Mom's gonna probably scream really loud.  Like, the neighbors will come running loud," Jake warned, reaching over to pet Baron.

"Think I can handle it," she assured.  "In fact, let's not say anything, just wait for her to notice," Heather suggested, holding up her left hand and wiggling her ring at him.

Grinning, he nodded.  "I like it."  Jake caught her fingers in his, and squeezed them quickly before letting go and popping open his door.  "Gimme a second," he requested before climbing out of the car and coming around the front to open her door.  He led her up the front walk, one arm wrapped around her, while with the other he tried to control the enthusiastic puppy as he strained against the leash.  Baron was no dummy and he already recognized the Green home as a place of many treats and toys.  "Sit," Jake ordered the dog when they reached the front door.  He pressed the doorbell and then turned his head to brush a kiss over Heather's mouth, ignoring her somewhat perplexed expression.

"Coming!" they heard Gail shout from inside.  Seconds later she opened the door, smiling, though her smile turned as puzzled as Heather's when she saw that it was them standing there.  "Jake, honey!  And, Heather, sweetheart, whatever are you doing here?" she greeted, moving forward to offer them both quick hugs before she stepped back into the house, motioning them both in.  "Why in the world didn't you just come in?" Gail asked, unknowingly giving voice to Heather's own question; she rather liked the privilege of coming in through the kitchen as a member of the family.  "What are you ringing the doorbell for?"

"No reason, just because," Jake shrugged, letting Baron off his leash.  "Take your coat?" he asked Heather, already moving to help her out of it.

"Well, come in, come in," his mother insisted, wrapping her arm around Heather once the younger woman was divested of her coat.  Gail led her toward the living room, leaving Jake behind.  "Happy New Year!  Have you eaten?  Johnston's making pancakes so I can watch the Rose Parade," she explained, gesturing at the TV.  "I'm on the lookout for a Green Ranch horse that's with one of the equestrian units this year, and, well, I just enjoy a good parade," Gail laughed.

"Really?" Heather questioned, "I mean about the horse?  And, Happy New Year!" she echoed. 

"EJ got an email from the owner about the unit being invited," Gail answered.  "From over in Greeley County. The Greeley Riders."

"That's so neat!" Heather declared, "For the Green Ranch.  For all of us - all of you, I mean," she corrected quickly, looking back over her shoulder at Jake.  She flashed him a guilty smile, fighting the sudden urge to laugh out loud.  He winked at her in return, smirking softly.   "And, uh, you know what?" Heather asked, turning to face Gail.  "I absolutely love the Rose Parade," she declared, grinning as she scratched her nose with her left hand.  "But we already ate," she continued, "Gramps fed us.  We had pancakes, actually.  The Green family recipe, with just a splash of orange juice in the batter."

Gail looked a little surprised by this information, but she covered quickly with a smile.  "I thought you weren't coming home until next week?"

"Yeah," the younger woman conceded with a shrug, "But I missed Jericho."  She waited for Jake just inside the living room, glancing at him sideways, their eyes locking, when he joined her.  The look they exchanged left Gail with little doubt about who specifically Heather had been missing in Jericho.  "So I came back early," she added a few seconds later, refocusing her attention on Jake's mother.  "My father and brother thought that was fair.  Christmas with my family in Buffalo, and New Year's in Jericho," Heather explained.  "Got back last night."  She folded her arms over her chest, taking special care to leave her left hand completely visible.  "Jake picked me up in Wichita."

"What time did you get back?" Gail asked, seating herself on the couch.  On the television, a float made the turn at Colorado Boulevard while the commentators gushed about the amount of chili powder that had been used to make Little Red Riding Hood's cape red.  Watching Jake and Heather - who for some reason made no move to sit down - Gail found the remote without looking and turned down the volume.  "You should have come to the First Night festivities.  It was a lovely evening.  Eric left about ten thirty to drive to Rogue River so he could be with April at midnight, and - oh my God!"  Suddenly, she leapt to her feet, shrieking excitedly.  Gail flew across the ten or so feet that separated her from the young couple and threw her arms around them both.  "Oh I'm so happy!" she yelled before giving up on words and settling for expressing her elation in another earsplitting scream.

"Good God, woman!" they all heard Johnston bellow from the kitchen. He came through the door into the adjoining dining room at a run.  "Somebody better actually be trying to kill you!"

Letting go of Jake, Gail grabbed a hold of Heather's hand and whipped around, beaming happily at her husband.  "They're getting married!" she squealed, holding her future daughter-in-law's hand up in proof as she dragged the younger woman toward the dining room.

"Uh, Ma, if you don't mind," Jake snorted, following behind the two women, "Try not to break my fiancée's arm, okay?"

A grin broke out on Johnston's face, replacing his concerned frown.  "Well, hot damn!  Congratulations!"

"Really, Jake," Gail scolded, trying to sound cross though she couldn't maintain it.  She dropped Heather's hands, clasping her own together over her chest.  "Oh, this is so wonderful!  I hope he did it right," she sighed.  "When did he propose?  Last night?  At midnight?" she guessed, her tone hopeful.

"No, not at midnight," Heather answered.  Jake stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.  Smiling at both his parents, she settled back into his embrace, twisting around to press a kiss to his cheek.  "It was this morning, but I promise, he absolutely did it right.  Though," she complained a beat later, wrinkling her nose, "He keeps asking me over and over, like he thinks I'm going to change my mind!"

"Uh-uh," he interjected, tightening his hold on her, "You don't get to change your mind now."

"Well then, all I can say is welcome to the family!" Gail decided, moving to hug them both once more. 

"I'll second that," Johnston smiled, offering Heather a quick, somewhat clumsy hug after his wife released her.   He caught her hand as she stepped back, admiring her ring.  "I always liked this one," he told her.  "My father gave it to my mother," he explained, clearing his throat.  "And I know that it was very special to her.  It's good to see it out in the world again, with you.  A bit loose though, isn't it?" Johnston asked, turning her hand over. 

"A little, but it's okay," she argued, "We'll get it resized, and I'll just be careful until we do."

"Jake, you need to take Heather over to Dalton and Sons in Fielding," Johnston advised.  "They actually made the ring, so they'll be able to take care of you.  And, until you do," he continued, glancing at his future daughter-in-law, "Just tie a piece of twine around the underside, and that should do it."

"Thanks, I'll do that," she nodded.  "That'll totally work," Heather smiled before asking eagerly, "So, do you know the story?  Where the ring came from, what it was for?  Jake didn't," she added, glancing back at her fiancé, "But we both thought it was so beautiful, especially with the star in the stone."

Johnston smiled.  "It's an impurity - a flaw - caused by a mineral getting into tiny inclusions in the stone.  Dad read about it in a one of his science magazines, and since my mother was such an astronomy buff he got it in his head to find one for her," he explained.  He still held Heather's hand in his own and, turning it over, tried to find the best view of the star sapphire. 

"That's so cool!" she exclaimed, her eyes on her hand.  "And that makes having this ring just that much more special to me."

"Well, it took him awhile," Johnston laughed.  "More than a year - maybe two - if I remember correctly.   The jeweler - Ed Dalton back then, but he's retired now.  Anyway, Dad had always gone to Ed, but Ed had never heard of a star sapphire, and he couldn't quite understand why anyone would want a polished but uncut sapphire with an imperfection.  Dad had to show him the magazine picture," he told them.   "And, if I remember right, Dad wanted a pendant for a necklace originally, though when they finally found the stone, Ed suggested that a ring would show it off better," Johnston said, squeezing Heather's fingers and then releasing her hand.  "Which is obviously the case," he smiled.  "He gave Mom the ring for her birthday when she turned fifty five?" he guessed, looking to his wife for confirmation.  "Fifty six?"

"Something like that," Gail agreed, sniffing the air.  Her eyes widened.  "Johnston, the pancakes!"

"Aw, damn," he muttered, turning on his heel and stomping into the kitchen.

Jake followed his father to the door and peeked through, shaking his head at the scene he saw there.  Baron, who had been observing the humans' antics with a puzzled expression, ran past his master into the kitchen, intrigued by the smells coming from the other room.    Returning to stand next to Heather, Jake found her hand, entwining their fingers.  "You know, that's pretty much how my pancakes always turn out," he joked, placing a quick kiss on her lips.

"Oh, no," Heather protested, pulling away from him.  "You mean I'm gonna have to supervise?  'Cause I was lookin' forward to sleeping in, and being served breakfast in bed."

"Good luck with that, sweetheart," her future mother-in-law chuckled.  "Jake can out sleep-in anyone." 

"So I've heard," Heather acknowledged, rolling her eyes softly.  "Well, I'm sure we can work something out," she declared, squeezing Jake's hand before letting it go.  "As long as I get pancakes."

Gail let out a happy sigh.  "I'm just so - this is the best news.  The perfect way to start the new year.  Now Jake, why don't you see if your father needs any help," she requested, moving to put her arm around Heather's shoulders.  "We're gonna sit down and watch the parade," she added, starting to lead Heather toward the couch.  "And give Baron a treat," Gail ordered.  "I bought a box of Milk-Bones for him.  They're on top of the fridge."

"Mom, we're not staying," Jake argued.  "We've gotta go call Heather's Dad, and tell April and -"

"April worked until six this morning.  We'll call a little later and invite them over for lunch," Gail proposed, ignoring him.  "Your grandfather, too.  Make it a real celebration.  And you two can call your father from here," she informed Heather.  "Now, I need another look at this ring," she smiled.  "I haven't seen it in awhile.  It's just splendid, isn't it?"

Rolling his eyes, Jake turned and headed for the kitchen, listening to the two women discuss the finer points of Heather's engagement ring.  Johnston didn't need any help disposing of the remnants of his first attempt at pancakes, though he did take the opportunity to offer Jake his congratulations as he tossed the crisply burned disks into garbage.  "Thanks," Jake shrugged, feeding Baron a treat.  "It's - she's - ya know," he finished inarticulately.

"I know," Johnston chuckled, shutting the under sink cabinet door.  He looked back over his shoulder at his son.  "I'm happy for you, Jake.  For both of you."

"Thanks," Jake repeated, enticing Baron to follow him back into the living room with another treat.  "Mom, I'm trading you," he announced, throwing the bright red dog biscuit into her lap and holding his hand out for Heather.  She accepted it, allowing him to pull her up as Baron, trading places with her, hopped up on the couch next to Gail.  "Stay with Grandma," Jake told the dog, his tone teasing.  "We're gonna go call Heather's Dad, okay?" he added, pressing a kiss to his fiancée's cheek and then offering his mother a smile.

Practically beaming at them, Gail nodded.  "You can use the den," she suggested, "For a little privacy."

"So we'll call, and I'll talk to him first, okay?" Heather said, watching Jake from the center of the room as he closed the door behind them.  "Just because, you know," she shrugged uncomfortably, "I think he's going to be surprised."  She allowed an anxious laugh, apologizing quickly.  "I'm sorry.  I don't know why I'm nervous all of a sudden - I just - I know he's going to be surprised and it may take him a minute.  So I think I better talk to him first." She made an apprehensive noise, catching his eye and offering up a wry smile.  "Okay?"

Jake crossed the few feet separating them and took her hand in his.  "Babe, it'll be okay," he tried to reassure her; though the anxious note in his tone betrayed his own sudden case of nerves.  "I mean, it's not like he's gonna say 'no', right?"

They both laughed uneasily at that, and then Heather leaned her forehead against his shoulder, shaking it negatively.  "No.  No he won't," she answered, her voice squeaking quietly.  "And even if he did," she sighed, lifting her head, "Which he wouldn't - it still wouldn't matter.  'Cause I am gonna marry you, Jake," she declared, taking a deep breath and thrusting her chin out defiantly.

"We'll make him understand," Jake corrected, pressing a gentle kiss to her mouth.  "But I guess it makes sense for you to talk to him first," he agreed.  "C'mon."  Still holding onto her hand, he led Heather over to his father's desk, motioning for her to take the chair while he half sat, half leaned on the edge of the desk.  "'Kay, you're up," he prodded, pointing at the phone.

Heather looked around and then started to get back up.  "My cell phone's in my purse in the living room -"

"You can use the phone," Jake interrupted, smiling at her softly.  "My parents won't mind, I swear."  He reached for her hand again, playing for a moment with the ring he'd placed on her finger not even two hours before.  "C'mon," he repeated, lacing their fingers together and squeezing her hand.  With his other arm he reached over her, picked up the telephone, and placed it on the blotter directly in front of her.  "This has gotta be the last phone with a cord in the universe," he complained jokingly.  "Now dial.  It's gotta still be the same number some nun made you memorize in kindergarten."

"Well, yeah," she agreed, chuckling softly.  "It's been the same number since before I was born."  She offered him a genuine, if somewhat shaky smile, and reached for the handset.  "I - I love you," she told him, their eyes locking until the handset began blaring the off hook tone.  Heather looked away finally and, after pressing the 'hang up' button, dialed.

"I love you, too, babe," Jake murmured.

She waited for a few seconds while the call rang through, sitting up straighter in her chair - Jake assumed - when the phone was answered on the other end.  "Hey, Dad," she greeted brightly, "Uh, Happy New Year!"

"Heather, sweetheart?" Joe Lisinski inquired in reply.  He sounded surprised, and Heather didn't doubt that he was.  She'd called the previous evening to let him know she had landed safely and was on her way back to Jericho, and there was just no good reason for her to be calling home now, not even eighteen hours later.  Still, her father didn't sound suspicious.  "Happy New Year to you, too," he replied warmly.  "You're lucky to catch us," he continued, not pausing.  "Michael and I only stopped home for a minute between the game and brunch over at Andy's and Deb's."

"So who won?" she inquired, grimacing guiltily as she met Jake's eye.  'Sorry,' she mouthed.

Smiling softly, Jake shook his head at her.  'It's okay,' he mouthed in return.

"Jess got the winning goal, believe it or not," Joe told her, chuckling.  "Snuck past everybody at the end and scored.  Five to four, so no one was doin' a very good job of defending anything, but Tommy and Adam finally had a winning team," he added, naming her brother and a cousin.  It had been awhile since that particular pair of co-captains had achieved victory.  "I don't think Andy and John are quite over the shock yet."  Finally he paused, likely waiting for a response, but there wasn't one.  "So what's up?  Nothing wrong, I hope," he sighed.  "But you didn't call to ask about the hockey game, I'm sure."

"No.  No, I didn't," she admitted, smiling at Jake.  "And nothing's wrong.  Actually, I called because I have some really great news."  Heather took a deep breath and then completed in a rush, "Jake asked me to marry him and I said 'yes', so I'm getting married."  There was dead silence on the other end of the line.  She waited for him to say something.  Anything.  "So, uh, Jake and I, we're getting married," Heather repeated, twisting the phone's cord tightly around her hand.

"Oh, I see," Joe answered after what to Heather felt like an eternity, but was really only a few seconds.  "Well, that's - I'm happy for you, sweetheart, if this is what you want.  But I'm surprised, too," he confessed, clearing his throat.  "I mean, you haven't known one another all that long and marriage is not something to rush into on a whim."

Heather felt her throat tighten painfully. She'd expected her father to be surprised at her news, but she hadn't anticipated a lecture, or his ... almost disappointment, she decided.  "It's not - that's not what we're doing," she finally managed to get out.  "I love Jake," she continued, grateful for the comforting pressure of his hand on hers at that moment. 

"I love you, too," he murmured.  It was too quiet for the phone to pick up and for her father to hear, but she was thankful for Jake's words and the boost of courage they gave her in that instant.  She was even more grateful when he forced her to get up, seated himself in her place, and pulled her down on his lap, wrapping his arms around her.  He kissed her free earlobe, whispering, "Let me talk to him."

"And, he loves me," she continued, shaking her head distractedly at Jake though she kept a tight hold on his hand.  "We know that it probably seems sudden -"

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry," Joe interrupted.  "I don't want to - to rain on your parade, but I also don't want to see you get hurt. And while I'm sure that you do love one another, I have to wonder if you're really both ready to commit your lives to one another?" he questioned before repeating, "This isn't something to rush into."

"We're not rushing," Heather protested.  "Okay, I get that maybe from the outside, it looks like we're rushing," she conceded a moment later, "But I swear to you, it's not like that."

"Heather, I don't know what it looks like from the outside or the inside," her father argued.  "I haven't met him.  None of us have."

"Dad -"

But whatever else she was going to say was lost in a yip of surprise when Jake pried the phone from her hand.  "Sorry, babe," he apologized quietly, lifting the handset to his ear.  "Mr. Lisinski," he began, "I love your daughter.  There isn't anyone in this world who's more important to me, and I want to marry her because I can't imagine my life without her.  I - I hope you can understand - can accept that."

"Jake," Joe grunted after a beat, "Since it seems you're marrying my daughter, you might as well call me Joe."

"Okay, Joe," he answered, letting out a relieved breath, "Thanks."  Fidgeting nervously, Heather got up, standing in the narrow space between Jake and the desk, her knee pressed against his.  She offered him a hopeful smile, and he nodded, grinning gently.  "And I understand - we understand - where you're coming from," he offered, catching Heather's hand and running his finger over her ring.

"That so?" his future father-in-law grumbled.  "How 'bout you talk to me in twenty five years or so when your daughter tells you she's marrying someone you've never met."

Dropping Heather's hand, Jake straightened in his chair, frowning.  "What?" she asked, her expression mirroring his.

"Sir, to be honest, I don't know that I'd take that news as well as you have," Jake started, earning an amused snort from Heather's father.  "But I'm pretty sure Heather would make me meet the guy," he added, the implication that any daughter of Jake's would be Heather's daughter as well hanging between them.  "So, I think we need to come out there," Jake declared, squeezing Heather's fingers.  He could understand Joe's concern, and luckily, he could do something about it.  "Day after tomorrow too soon?"

"Day after tomorrow, huh?" Heather's father chuckled softly.  "Well, I can respect your...I'm not quite sure what it is," he admitted, still laughing.  "Your solution, I guess.  Because I do want to meet you, Jake, see you with my daughter," Joe informed the younger man.  He took a breath and then asked, "So, you're just gonna fly on out?  Heather's brothers have all mentioned - repeatedly - that you're a pilot."

"Well, we'll fly commercial," Jake countered, meeting Heather's gaze for a second before he glanced right at his father's computer on the credenza.  He jiggled the mouse with his free hand, 'waking' the monitor.  "I don't know that the first time I fly to New York should be January.  Who wants to deal with the weather?" he asked rhetorically, adding, "Besides, school starts up again next week, and Heather needs to be back on time."

"I love my daughter, Jake," Joe sighed.  "And you may think I'm being overprotective.  I probably am," he admitted, "But she's the only one I've got, and I just want to be sure that she marries someone worthy of her.  Maybe you are.  But I don't know that, because I don't know you."

Jake let go of the mouse, swiveling the chair so that he faced Heather again.  "Well, I don't know that I'm completely worthy of her," he said, taking Heather's hand into his own.  "But I want to be.  I love her," he added, smiling at his fiancée, "And I'm tryin' to be good enough for her."

"I appreciate that, Jake, I really do," Joe replied.  "And I look forward to meeting you.  May I speak with my daughter again?"

"Sure, of course," he answered, squeezing Heather's fingers.  "I'm gonna look for plane tickets right now, so we'll see you on Thursday.  It'll be good to meet you, too.  Here she is," Jake finished, holding the phone out to Heather. 

"We're really just gonna turn around and fly to Buffalo?" she asked, her expression decidedly bemused.

"Well, I've gotta meet your Dad and all your brothers," Jake shrugged.  "If we come back on Monday, that work for you?"

Holding the handset against her shoulder, Heather nodded, smiling at him.  "That's when I was supposed to come back anyway.  The ten AM flight.  I'll go get my credit -"

"Nope," Jake shook his head, "Got it covered.  Your Dad wants to talk to you," he reminded, pointing at the phone.

"Okay," she sighed, lifting the receiver to her ear as Jake rotated around toward the computer.  "Hey, Dad," Heather greeted, letting her hand rest on her fiancé's shoulder.  Jake, who already had one of the travel sites up and searching for flights, glanced back and offered her a gentle grin that she couldn't help but return.

"I am happy for you, sweetheart," Joe murmured. His tone was accepting, if not overjoyed, and Heather decided that it was enough for now.  "I love you, and I just want the best for you."

"And, I have that," she returned, her hand moving to the back of Jake's neck.  She ran her fingers through his hair.  "We have that."  She fought the urge to ask for her father's blessing, instead telling him, "I love you.  Give everyone my love.  At brunch.  And, you can tell them."

"We get into Buffalo at four on Thursday," Jake told her quietly, clicking something on the computer screen. 

Heather repeated this information to her father.  "I love you, Dad.  We'll see you then."  Hanging up, she heaved a deep sigh, offering her fiancé a wobbly smile.  "I love you, too.  Thank you."

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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

It was dark now and had started to snow.  Stanley was still trying to gather weeds to pack around Jake, if for no other reason than that he'd convinced himself that he was warmer when he was hopping around.  The movement, having something to do, it kept his mind off Mimi too - mostly.  Pausing in front of the truck, he glanced over at his friend.  Jake wasn't moving, just lying there, eyes closed, not moving. 

"Jake!" he called out, lurching around the trucks fender.  "Jake, c'mon, man!" Stanley shouted as he dropped with a thud onto the frozen ground next to his friend.  "Can't fall asleep," he murmured urgently, shaking Jake's shoulder.  "You gotta stay awake.  Come on!  Stop shivering.  C'mon, you gotta talk to me.  C'mon."  The words were spilled out of him, his desperation growing as the other man didn't respond.   Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Stanley forced Jake to sit up.  "Come on, buddy.  You gotta talk to me.  Talk to me, buddy.  C'mon!"

"I'm sorry," Jake mumbled groggily, his head lolling to one side.  "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Stanley exhaled in relief.  "'Bout what?" he asked, rubbing his hands up and down Jake's arms, trying to warm him up.

"Six years ago..." he whispered, closing his eyes.  "Sorry for - for lying about everything.  Why I came home.  Jonah.  Everything."

"Hey, it's okay," Stanley insisted, pulling Jake back against his chest.  Jake's head fell against his shoulder as Stanley continued to roughly massage his limbs, hoping to restore some of his circulation.  He couldn't believe that Jake was apologizing for all of that, now.  They'd made their peace years before, he thought, and it worried him that his friend would bring it up, would try to make amends for something he'd considered dead and buried.  Stanley swallowed hard.  "It doesn't matter," he told Jake, his voice suddenly brusque.  He sure as hell wasn't letting his friend give up and die, he decided, tightening his grip.  "Doesn't matter."

"I didn't ... I didn't want to."  Jake labored to get each word out.  "I - but I had to.  It was ...."

"I know," Stanley interrupted, meeting his friend's gaze for a second before Jake, blinking away the snow, closed his eyes.  "Listen," he ordered, pinching Jake just hard enough to get him to open his eyes.  "I want you to forget about it," he insisted, "Okay?"

"We never got - got to go backpacking..." Jake slurred, his head bobbing as he fought to hold it up.  "In - in Costa Rica."

Backpacking in Costa Rica?  For a moment Stanley didn't know what Jake was talking about, but then he remembered a plan from the summer after high school graduation, from before his parents had died and he'd found himself the guardian of a four year old girl.  "Well, you got married," Stanley reminded, forcing a smile.  "But, hey!  You know what?  We're still going to get to go backpacking in Costa Rica," he decided, shaking Jake to get his waning attention once more.  "Okay?  We're gonna learn how to surf.  We're gonna sleep on the beach.  Well, maybe not," he chuckled anxiously.  "Probably have to bring Mimi and Heather, right?  After all this today, I think Mimi'd make us stay in a hotel.  With room service," he snorted.  "She likes places with room service.  And cabana boys," he added, making a face.  "Plus, you guys'll have the baby along, I bet.  Can't go 'til after the baby's born, I guess.  But it'll - it'll still be good," Stanley declared, his nod determined.  "Hey, you can fly us there yourself, huh?" he asked, desperate to keep the conversation going, to keep Jake focused.  He turned his head, peering closely at his friend and flashed a quick grin, relieved to see what he hoped was interest in the other man's expression.  He needed to get him talking though.  "So tell me something good, man.  Hey, have you guys picked a name for the baby?"

"EJ," Jake mumbled, his eyes slipping shut.

"EJ?  After your Grandpa?" Stanley guessed, shaking his friend.  "That's great.  He'd really love that," he smiled.  Jake wasn't responding though, and so he tried pinching his arm again.  "Hey, hey!  Wake up," he commanded.  "It's been a long time since you and I talked.  Since before you went to Iraq, huh?  So tell me - hey!"  Stanley jostled Jake again.  "Tell me about Iraq.  What's it like?"

"Hot."

 "Hot," Stanley repeated, trying to contain his frustration.  "All right, it was hot.  And you were drivin' trucks, bustin' drug dealers, that sort of thing?  What else?"

"Under...undercover," Jake grunted.  "Ravenwood."

"Huh," Stanley muttered, not sure how to respond.  "You were one - one of those guys, huh?"

"There was ... was this girl," Jake rasped out.

"A girl?" Stanley repeated, confused.  Although grateful to be getting more than one word answers from Jake, he worried about the other man's incoherent stream of thought.

Jake continued, shivering and seemingly delirious.  "I had to.... Couldn't - couldn't blow cover." 

Blow cover?  Had to?  The words clenched at Stanley's stomach and he winced, glad for the moment that Jake couldn't keep his eyes open and therefore couldn't see his reaction.  All he could think....  But Jake would never cheat on Heather, Stanley was sure.  He loved her too much.  He wouldn't cheat.

"She's dead," Jake confessed then, twisting his head around so that he met his friend's eye.  "She's dead," he repeated, blinking hard, his gaze haunted.  "And it was my fault."

This announcement only confused Stanley more, but he couldn't think - didn't have time to think - about how to respond.  Jake seemed to slump against him, whatever strength he'd been able to draw on in order to get out his confession, gone.  "It's not your fault," he argued, still completely puzzled about what had happened.  But what did that matter now?  The girl?  It didn't matter.  What mattered was keeping Jake awake - alive - until Mimi brought back help, Stanley told himself.  Nothing else mattered.  "It's not - it'll be okay."

"Let me lay down," Jake begged, trying to pull away.

Stanley though, maintained his grip on him.  "Jake, no," he protested.

"Let me lay down," his friend insisted, frustration momentarily strengthening his tone.  "C'mon."

"It wasn't your fault," Stanley argued, fighting to keep Jake sitting up.  He wasn't sure exactly what he was absolving Jake of, but he'd do that and more to keep his friend fighting.  He pulled Jake back against his chest, hugging him tightly, trying to keep him warm.  Stanley was shaking now, too.  And he was cold.  Freezing.  His head hurt and his stomach was empty.  But he had plenty to live for, and so did Jake.  He just needed to be reminded.    "Come on, stay with me.  You gotta stay with me," he pled.  "For Heather and the baby."

"Love her," Jake slurred.  "Tell her I...."

"No," Stanley protested.   "Come on!  Come on, Jake.  You'll tell her yourself.  So stay with me, Jake.  Come on, man.  Come on.  Stay with me."

* * * * *

"Here!" Mimi declared, leaning over the back of the front seat to point the turn out to Johnston Green.  "You need to go right ... here.  Then it just - it's just up the road."  Stanley would have known how far she supposed.  A quarter mile, maybe half, but she was just grateful that she remembered how to get back, that the Greens had come along, and that Johnston didn't give a damn about his gas mileage.  In the truck they'd covered in not quite ten minutes the distance it had taken her over two hours to run and walk.  Letting herself sit back, Mimi let out a noise that could have been a sigh.  She wasn't relieved, not with Stanley and Jake still out there, but at least she'd done what she'd set out to do.  She'd found help and as soon as the other two were safe, then she could be relieved.  "It's right up here," she murmured.

Johnston glanced over at his wife and then at Mimi in the rearview mirror.  "There's - there should be a sleeping bag behind the seat," he told them.  The sleeping bag wasn't cold weather rated - it was more the kind of bag you sent an eight year old to summer camp with - but it was better than nothing.  Gail was already turned around and leaning over the seat looking for it.  Silently, Mimi handed it over and Gail went to work, zipping it open.  "Here we are," Johnston announced a few seconds later, the headlights catching the overturned wreck at the side of the road.  "Here we are," he exhaled, steering the truck off the highway.

"Jake!" Gail shouted as she tumbled out of the cab, the sleeping bag open and gathered in her arms.  She ran to her son, calling to him.  "Jake!  It's Mom and Dad, honey."  She threw the sleeping bag over him, frowning with concern at Stanley, who was holding Jake upright in a tight bear hug.  "Stanley, are you all right, sweetheart?" Gail questioned.

"You need to get in the truck and get warm," Johnston told Stanley, forcing him to loosen his grip on Jake.

Stanley was groggy and disoriented.  "Where's - where's Mimi?" he croaked out.

"I'm right here," she told him.

Johnston helped Stanley to his feet, the younger man stumbling and grimacing when he forgot and put weight on his bad ankle.  "She's right here," he assured, wrapping his arm around Stanley to hold him up.

Mimi moved to help.  "Stanley, I'm right here."

"Wake up, wake up!" Gail yelled at Jake, who, without Stanley's support, had fallen flat on his back.  She knelt over him, his face cupped in her hands, forcing him to look at her.  What she saw in his eyes scared her.  He'd given up.  "Wake up, Jake!" she demanded, "Wake up!  We're going to help you, honey," she continued, searching his face for some sign that her words were registering.  "We saw the storm comin', and we started to get worried when you hadn't come back."

"Sweetheart," Johnston prompted, his tone urgent.  He squatted behind her and touched her back, handing over a rolled up coat for Jake to use as a pillow.  He'd started to worry when the bad weather had set in, but it hadn't been until Gail had suggested that they go looking for Jake, Stanley and Mimi that he'd actually thought to act on his concern.  They had been out the door as soon as the words were out of her mouth, and Johnston knew now that he'd be forever grateful to his wife for spurring him to action.  He and Eric had managed two days out, but that had been in good - if cold - weather and with proper equipment.  She had likely saved Jake's life, though they were nowhere near out of the woods yet. 

"Okay," Gail murmured distractedly, looking back at him for a split second as she accepted the garment.

"Honey, we're not gonna be able to get this truck off him," he informed her, trying to keep his voice even.  "I need you to take these guys," Johnston added, cocking his head toward the truck's cab where Mimi and Stanley were already waiting inside, "Back to town and get me some help out here," he instructed.  "You signal when you're coming back," he said, helping her stand, "So I'll know it's you."

"I'll flash the lights," she promised over her shoulder, already moving toward his truck.

"All right," he agreed.  "Go, go!" Johnston urged as he turned his attention to his son.  "Jake, Jake, look at me here," he demanded, reaching for the younger man's hand.  He gripped it tightly, squeezing. "You're gonna make it, son," Johnston assured.  "I know you.  I know what you're made of.  And, you've got a lot to live for.  They need you.  Hell, we all need you, 'kay?   You're gonna be all right.  "You're gonna make it," he repeated, leaning over Jake so he could look him in the eye.  "Stay with me," he ordered, squeezing his son's hand again.

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

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 13D.


For the record:

The Rose Parade ( http://www.tournamentofroses.com/ ) is a favorite in my house, and they really do use chili powder on floats.  If it qualifies as a vegetable per Gilbert and Sullivan's definition, it can be on a float.  The marching bands and equestrian units are fun, too.


If you're interested in what Heather's ring looks like, I would say something like this.... http://www.jewelryexpert.com/catalog/Star-Sapphire-Diamond-Ring-ll.htm ... or maybe this.... http://www.thenaturalsapphirecompany.com/Sapphires/Sapphire-Jewelry/Sapphire-Rings/Jewelry=J291

Different Circumstances: Part 13D of ? by Marzee Doats


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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

"Okay, time to hit the road!" Michael announced, striding into April's office and clapping his hands together, the sound muffled by the gloves he was already wearing along with his parka and a knit cap.  "I'm here to walk you guys home," he informed April and Heather, who had established herself on a folding table she'd sweet talked Drake and Jeff into setting up for her in the already crowded office.  It had been placed against the wall, perpendicular to her sister-in-law's desk. 

"What's the big hurry?" Heather inquired, almost grumpily.  She didn't bother to look up from her notebook, squinting as she tried to study a diagram by the weak light given off by a pair of votive candles.

"Dinner!" her brother declared.  "I'm hungry.  And besides, Jeff's already turned down the generator for the night, per the 'Memorandum Of Understanding' with town hall," Michael snorted, putting air quotes around the phrase.  He rolled his eyes, earning a softly amused smile from April.  The med center could run its generator for six hours each day on fuel provided by the town and held in trust for the common good, as Gray Anderson had reminded them all more than once.  It was an arrangement the mayor had insisted on formalizing in legal paperwork - the infamous Memorandum Of Understanding - which April, as the de facto director of the clinic, had been required to sign.  "It's gonna get real cold in here, real fast," Michael reminded.  "Plus it's snowing -"

"It's snowing?" Heather looked up, rotating in her chair to face her brother.  "Since when?"

"Uh, last couple of hours," he answered.  "Seriously, sis, you need to take a break every once in awhile.  Get up, walk around, look out the window.  It doesn't look like it's going to let up, probably just get worse as the night goes on, so let's go," Michael urged.

Heather frowned, and from behind her April mouthed 'Jake'.

Lips pursed, Michael nodded his acknowledgement. It had been a busy day, and while he'd known that his brother-in-law had gone hunting, at some point it had slipped his mind.  He glanced at his sister, forcing a smile.  "Heather, I bet ya anything that Jake's home - with dinner - waiting for us."

"No," she denied, shaking her head and pushing herself to her feet, "He'd come here to get me if he was back already.  He said he would."

"Well, Jake wouldn't stay out if the weather got bad," April argued, standing up.  She leaned over to blow out the candle on her desk and then moved around to the coat rack to retrieve her scarf and mittens.  The clinic had some heat during the day, but it wasn't warm by any stretch of the imagination, and April, like everyone else, tended to keep her coat on when she wasn't treating patients.  "He'll be home," she assured, winding her scarf around her neck.  "Or we'll run into him on the way," she suggested, "Coming to get you."  Hands on her hips, she turned around to face her sister-in-law, making a show of taping her foot impatiently.  "So come on, already."

"Fine," Heather muttered, closing her notebook and extinguishing the candles on her table.  "Let's go."

Michael pushed the door open, nearly smacking Jeff with it.  "So, you guys ready?" Jeff asked, taking a giant step back.  Drake stood in the middle of the corridor, safely out of the range of all doors, smirking softly.  Jeff rolled his eyes at his friend, declaring, "So, whaddya think?  Soup tonight?"

"No, Jake's gotta be back by now," April countered, falling into step beside Drake as the group started down the hall.  "So think positive.  Venison steaks, rabbit stew, something like that."

"Why do we always have to talk about food!" Drake complained, as they rounded the corner headed to toward the main desk to check out for the evening.  "That's all we talk about, and it just makes me hungrier," he grumbled.

"Poor Drake," April teased, looping her arm through his and then looking back at the other three.  "No more food talk," she ordered, "Drake doesn't like -"

"Stanley?" Heather interrupted, her tone urgent.  "Mimi?"  Quickly, she moved around April and Drake, hurrying toward the dazed and exhausted looking couple standing next to the front desk.  "Where's - where's Jake?"

Mimi seemed to be holding Stanley up, and they both looked very much the worse for wear.  He favored one leg, shivering almost uncontrollably, his expression pained.  "Heather," he exhaled shakily, closing his eyes.  Taking a deep breath, Stanley let go of Mimi's arm, his attention focused on his friend's wife.  "He's - he's gonna be okay," Stanley insisted, taking an unsteady step toward Heather, his leg almost buckling beneath him.  "Okay?" he asked, gritting his teeth against the throbbing of his ankle.  "It's just that there was an - an accident."

"An accident?"  Heather frowned, her forehead wrinkling.  "What?" she questioned, pressing both hands protectively over the baby she carried.  "What d' - what do you mean?" she continued, trepidation coloring her tone.  "Where's Jake?"
 
"There was an accident," Mimi repeated, answering for Stanley.  Moving next to him, she wrapped one arm around his waist, drawing his arm around her shoulders with her free hand.  "More like a mugging," she admitted sourly.  "There was this - this black truck and it - they ran us off the road."

"But where's Jake?!" Heather demanded, giving into her growing sense of panic.  Eyes wide with fright, she grasped blindly for her brother's hand, clutching it tightly.  "Stanley, where's Jake?" she repeated, croaking.

"He's - Mayor Green's with him, Heather," Stanley offered, grimacing.  "The truck flipped, and the Mayor and Mrs. G came looking for us on account of the snow -"

"Jake's leg," Mimi interjected softly, taking over the story.  "The truck, when it flipped over, his leg was trapped underneath."  Heather sagged against her brother as did Stanley against Mimi.  "We think -" she cut herself off, correcting her statement.  "We know - we know his leg is fine.  It's fine," she assured quickly, "Just stuck.  Look," she continued, obviously struggling to keep Stanley upright.  "He needs to sit down.  He sprained his ankle, maybe worse."

"I'm fine," Stanley protested, watching Heather, who had turned white as a sheet and, fist pressed to her mouth, was now making soft, scared noises.  "Heather, he's gonna be fine, I promise."

Jeff moved immediately to Stanley's side, taking his arm.  "Let's just get you over to this gurney," he directed, leading the other man and Mimi about ten feet down the hall. 

Drake moved to assist Michael with Heather, and in the end they forced her to sit next to Stanley on the gurney.  "Mrs. G's across the street," Stanley informed them, "Getting help from the guys at the fire station.  They're - they're gonna hafta dig him out, and then they'll bring him here."

"You're sure?" Heather asked, clutching Stanley's arm.

"You hurt your ankle?" Jeff questioned, squatting down to examine the limb.  "You're shaking, too," he observed, looking up at his patient.  "Cold?"

"Yeah," Stanley acknowledged with a frown, "Freezing."  Wrapping his arms around himself, he glanced between Heather and Jeff, explaining, "The robbers - marauders - assholes - whatever you call 'em - they stole our coats along with everything else we had.  Guess we're lucky they didn't take our clothes, too," he grumbled.

"Road gangs," Michael scowled, shaking his head.  "That's what most people we met call 'em, and that's what they were sayin' at Black Jack."

'"They stole your coat?  They stole Jake - Jake's coat?" Heather asked, her voice hitching as she fought the tears that were evident in her suddenly bright eyes.  "But it's snowing!" she protested.  Michael was hovering close by and she grasped his arm, starting to climb down from the gurney. "I need to go with Gail -"

"Okay, no way that's actually going to happen," her brother interrupted.  April, Jeff and Drake quickly chimed in with their own objections.  "And anyway, it makes no sense for you to go out there, Heth."

"Mike's right, Heather," Stanley declared, picking up the argument.  "Jake wouldn't want you out there in the cold and everything.  It's snowing!  And, they're gonna bring him right here," he reminded, "You'll see him as soon as he gets here.  And, you know, you're the only one he's gonna be lookin' for," Stanley tried to tease though he couldn't quite keep the worry completely out of his voice.  "Am I right, or am I right?" he asked, clearing his throat and looking to the others for confirmation.

"Well, that's a pretty safe bet," April chuckled softly, stepping around Drake and then Michael so she could squeeze Heather's arm. 

"But I - I can't just stand around here, waiting," Heather protested.  "It's gonna drive me crazy.  And, what if - what if they need my help?"

"You're six months pregnant, sis," Michael argued, "It's not like you can - can dig him out or lift a truck off him."

"And right now, we need to get ready for when they get here," April added.  "Jeff, I think you better go crank up the generator," she said, looking down at the sandy-haired medical student.

Nodding, Jeff pulled Stanley's pant leg back down into place and climbed to his feet.  "Sure thing.  But I have to ask, what about the 'Memorandum Of Understanding'?" he snorted.

April rolled her eyes.  "Screw it. I can handle Gray Anderson, trust me.  Besides, it's always easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission."  She let out a deep breath, deciding, "We'll just run the generator an hour less each day for the rest of the week."  Glancing sideways at Stanley, she promised, "We'll get back to you as soon as we can, okay?"

"Yeah, no problem," he assured.  "I'll just wait right here," Stanley joked, "Where it's warm.  Go get ready for Jake," he ordered, slumping against the wall behind him.  "Though maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea for someone to go with Mrs. G and the crew," he suggested, his forehead wrinkling.  "It - uh - it couldn't hurt to have a doctor out there," he added, glancing quickly at Heather, worried they'd have to rehash the argument against her going.  "Just - just to be on -"

"I'll go!" Michael, Jeff and Drake all declared in unison.

"Jeff, you need to get on the generator, and Mikey, we need you here," April argued, her gaze flicking quickly to Heather.  She had a sinking suspicion it was going to take them all to keep the younger woman together until Jake arrived.  Shaking her head, April looked over at the third young man.  "Drake, I guess you're up."

"O - okay," he agreed, eyes wide but nodding vigorously.

"Well, go already!" she ordered, gesturing wildly at the exit with one arm.  "Before they're gone.  Go!  Hurry!"  Drake took off running, pushing through the formerly automatic double doors and disappearing from sight.  "Jeff -"

"I'm on it," he replied, already moving down the corridor while April headed off the other direction, toward Emergency, leaving just Mimi, Stanley, Heather and Michael huddled together in the middle of the corridor.

"Heather, look, why don't you sit down," Stanley requested, patting the spot next to him on the gurney.  "You look like you should sit down."

She glared in return, crossing her arms over her chest.  "Don't tell me to sit down.  I don't need to sit down," she grumbled, "Or be protected - or sheltered.  You don't want me to go?  Why?  What's wrong that you don't want me to know about?" she demanded, her gaze narrowing.

"Nothing," he countered.  The last thing he was going to admit was that Jake had seemed to have given up, and had even told him to tell Heather that he loved her.  Telling her that was a recipe for disaster; no way Heather wouldn't realize what it meant.  No, Jake was going to be just fine, and the fact that his friend had ever doubted it was knowledge Stanley would take to his own grave.  "They're gonna get him out and then he's gonna be here before you know it," he insisted, "And then you'll see for yourself."

"You know, there's a truck on his leg," Mimi interjected, leaning against the gurney.  Stanley immediately snaked an arm around her waist, trying to pull her closer.  "Well, not actually on his leg," she corrected quickly, "But trapping his leg.  And, he's gonna be fine, but it's not a pretty sight."

"Yeah, exactly," Stanley agreed, flashing Mimi a grateful smile before trying what he hoped was a reassuring one on Heather.  "He's gonna be fine.  But you go out there, ya know, and it'd totally spoil that tough guy image you have of him.  And, Jake'd hate that."

"Cowboy Jake," Michael joked, squeezing his sister's hand.  "And, you know Stanley's right.  Jake would hate that.  So," he continued, throwing the other man a grateful look, "I think maybe we can find you a room, get you settled."

"Thanks," Stanley acknowledged, clearing his throat.  "Seriously, Heather," he added, glancing at his best friend's wife.  "He'll be okay.  Better when he sees that you're okay," he sighed.  "And you know he'd be mad as hell if we let you go out in this - the snow and the cold - instead of waiting here, where it's safe and warm.  Gotta keep you and junior safe," Stanley grinned gently, with a nod at her abdomen.  He waited a beat and then added a teasing, "Mama."

"Well, it's not exactly warm," she grumbled, letting out a shaky breath. "But, okay...." Heather continued, rubbing one hand over her belly, "You - you promise me, you're telling the truth?"

Shoving his hands into his vest's pockets, Stanley crossed his fingers and met her piercing gaze with a firm nod.  "Yeah.  Absolutely."

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

Tuesday, January 1, five years before the bombs

The back door opened and April and Eric entered, still laughing over whatever they had been talking about on the drive over.  "Happy New Year!" they called out in unison just as April stopped short, forcing Eric to catch her around the waist before he ran into her.  "Heather, what are you doing here?" she demanded, surprise evident in her tone.  "I thought you weren't coming back until next week....?"

Heather was at the kitchen table, slicing a tomato, while her future mother-in-law sat across from her, spreading cream cheese on a tortilla.  Flashing Gail a quick grin, Heather glanced back at the couple.  "Happy New Year!" she greeted before explaining, "And, I just decided to come home early.  Though, actually," she added, giggling quietly, "Jake and I are going back to Buffalo on Thursday."

"Can't make up your mind, huh?" Eric teased, stepping around his wife.  He approached the table, clearly interested in what they were doing.  "Whatcha makin'?"

"Oh, I think Heather's made up her mind just fine," Gail returned with a smile.  "And, we're having a hors d'oeuvre luncheon, so right now we're making pinwheel slices."

"Very classy," April chuckled.  "Ooh!  Mini quiches," she declared happily, spotting the box on the counter.  "Much better than the discount pizza we had at the hospital last night.  We were totally courting salmonella with that."

"Well, at least you were in the right place to get food poisoning," Heather joked.

"Turkey bacon ranch pinwheels?" Eric asked hopefully, stopping next to his mother's chair and reaching toward a bowl of shredded cheese. 

"Stop," she ordered, slapping his hand lightly.  "I'm using that.  If you really can't wait, there's cheese for cheese and crackers in the fridge, and a vegetable tray, too," Gail informed Eric, pointing him toward the refrigerator on the other side of the kitchen.

"Grab both, please," April requested, pressing a kiss to Eric's cheek as she slid past him, taking a chair at the table.  "Worked all night - four multi vehicle accidents involving alcohol," she grumbled.  "So, I got no sleep and now I'm absolutely starving.  Anyway...." April continued, taking a breath and turning in her chair to face Heather, her gaze inquisitive. "You got Jake to agree to go meet your Dad plus all your brothers?  Nice work."

"Yep," Heather nodded, "He's gonna meet 'em."  Smiling, she held up her hand, wiggling the ring on her finger with her thumb.  "And, Dad really wants to meet Jake."

"Oh my God!" April exclaimed.  "You're - you're engaged?" she sputtered, her mouth hanging open.  Reaching for Heather's hand, she tugged it toward her so she could get a better look at the ring her friend was now wearing.  "This isn't a joke, right?  Jake proposed, right?"

"That he did," Heather confirmed, grinning.  "This morning."

"Now, that's a New Year's resolution," Eric joked, peering around the refrigerator door.  "Wow.  Welcome to the family, Heather.  And, congratulations.  I think."

"Eric," Gail and April both scolded.  "This is great news!" April continued, jumping up from her chair and then leaning down to offer Heather a quick hug.  "I can't believe it.  I mean, I figured eventually, but not this soon.  Wow!"  The door from the dining room opened and Baron, followed by Jake, entered.  "You're so sneaky!" April accused, offering her brother-in-law an annoyed scowl. 

"I am?" he questioned, one eyebrow raised.  He moved behind Heather, dropping his hands on her shoulders.  She tipped her head back and he leaned down, brushing his mouth over hers.  "So what am I being accused of, and why?" Jake inquired finally, glancing at April.

"I went shopping with you," she reminded, shaking a finger at him.  "You never said anything!" 

"Sorry," Jake shrugged, his tone and expression anything but apologetic.

April, making a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, glanced down at Heather, who had gone back to slicing tomatoes.  "I do have to say, your earrings look great on you, and I think they're perfect with your ring."  She waited a second, then added, her voice lilting, "Your engagement ring."

Practically beaming, Heather set down her knife and reached up to lay her hand over Jake's, still resting on her shoulder.  "I think so, too," she nodded, her smile growing.  "Thanks."

"You're welcome," April allowed a happy sigh before returning her attention to her brother-in-law.  "I'm just saying, Jake," she grumbled, shaking her head, "You were totally holding out on me."

"Well, next time I propose, I'll be sure to tell you first," he promised his sister-in-law, rolling his eyes.  This earned a strong protest from Heather, which he shrugged off, saying, "Sorry, April.  Guess there won't be a next time."

"There sure better not be," his fiancée threw in for good measure.  Everyone laughed.

"So, what's wrong with your face?" Jake asked a moment later, smirking at Eric, who had returned to the table carrying a vegetable platter and a cheese plate. 

"I'm - I'm growing a beard," Eric admitted, refusing to meet his brother's gaze.  "It's - I just started the day before yesterday so it doesn't quite look right yet."

"Give it a week," Gail advised then, reaching for a handful of tomato slices.  "I'm sure it will be fine by then.  I think a beard will make you look older, more distinguished," she added, quickly placing the tomato slices in a line on the tortilla in front of her before rolling it up.  Glancing up from her task, she offered her daughter-in-law a smile, asking, "But honey, you are okay with this, right?"

"Eric has my permission," April assured with a chuckle.  "I like beards," she continued, snagging a handful carrot sticks off the vegetable platter.  "My grandfather had one, plus I can't imagine Dad without one."

"Yeah," Jake drawled, making a show of peering closely at his brother's face and examining his two day's growth of beard.  "But I'm pretty sure Dad's didn't come in that... patchy," he smirked.

"Patchy?  You wanna talk patchy?" Eric challenged, pointing a celery stick at his brother in accusation.  "Heather, I'm just warnin' ya," he continued, glancing at his future sister-n-law.  "Jake tried to grow a beard about ten years ago and it looked like he had a bad case of mange."

Jake glared at his brother, taking a half step toward him.  "You're not even gon -"

"Boys," Gail reproved, expertly wrapping the pinwheel sandwich in plastic wrap.  "Please!"

Soooo...." April began, rolling her eyes as she quickly moved to change the subject.  "When are you getting married?  And, where?  Any plans yet?"

"We've only been engaged for five hours!" Heather laughed.  She turned sideways in her chair and, reaching for and snagging Jake's hand, tugged him away from Eric.  He let her pull him back, holding fast to her hand as he moved to take the chair next to hers.  "We haven't had time to talk about it yet," she said, "But I'm thinking this summer - July - maybe?"  Heather glanced sideways at Jake, seeking his reaction.  "School will be out, and it just seems like a good time."  Jake frowned softly in response, and she giggled nervously, tightening her grip on his fingers.  "Well, we need to talk about it," she declared, letting out a quick breath. Glancing at April, she flashed her friend a hopeful smile.  "But you will be my matron of honor, right?  Please?  You have to say yes."

"Sure, of course," April laughed, "Love to.  Just as long as we never say the 'matron' part again.  I may be married, but I'm not a matron," she complained, making a face.

Eric, having taken the chair between her and his mother, leaned over to press a kiss to April's cheek.  "Definitely not matronly."

Blushing softly, April shook her head at her husband.  "Eric," she murmured, their eyes locking.  She laid her hand over his, their fingers entwining.  "My - my one request," she sighed, reluctantly tearing her gaze away.

"Jake, really," Gail complained, catching him feeding Baron a slice of cheddar cheese.  "It's not good for him."

"Yeah, okay," he returned before ordering Baron to lie down.  "No more cheese," he added, "Grandma says."  The puppy whined pitifully in response, drawing chuckles from all around the table, but settled almost immediately at Jake's feet.

"Poor puppy," Heather giggled sympathetically.   Beneath the table, Jake was indulging in his habit of drawing on her leg.  'JG + HL,' he traced out, and then, '4EVR'.  She was getting very good at reading his messages and, throwing him a grin, she pressed her hand over his.  "Well, how about we call you 'MOH One'," Heather suggested to April.  "I'm going to ask my cousin Jessica to be 'MOH Two'.  I think she'll meet Stanley's requirement for a good bridesmaid," she chuckled.

"Not dippy, huh?" April teased.  "That's very nice of you."

"Stanley's got a bridesmaid requirement?" Jake questioned, his lips twitching.  "What?"

"When you guys went hunting and we went to dinner and ran into Stanley at Bailey's, we ended up discussing your wedding, and Stanley put in his request for a better bridesmaid to spend the day with than Autumn," April explained, laughing.  "I love my sister but - for Stanley's sake - I really hope your cousin is a better fit."

"You guys were discussing our wedding?  Two months ago?" Jake inquired, his tone teasing.  He raised Heather's hand to his mouth, brushing a kiss across her knuckles as he enjoyed the blush that suffused her cheeks.  "What happened to 'I can't believe you proposed', huh?"

"I wasn't the one saying we were getting married," Heather protested.  "I kept saying that we weren't getting married!"

"Yeah, Heather didn't think you'd ever propose," April confirmed, grinning at the indignant squeak that escaped the bride-to-be.  "But Stanley and I had faith.  We know," she laughed, winking at Jake, "That you know, when you've got a good thing."

He nodded in agreement and, leaning toward Heather, used one finger to tilt her chin up.  "That I do," he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to her mouth.  "So, what other wedding advice does Stanley have?" Jake inquired a moment later, his hand dropping from Heather's face as his gaze flicked over his sister-in-law.  He wrapped an arm around Heather's shoulders, snorting, "I mean, besides always avoid conga lines with little old ladies."

"Yeah," Eric snorted.  "That was...disturbing."  He looked at Heather, explaining, "Stanley's cousin Megan's wedding.  Stanley attracted a little fan club.  Only got away when he broke his tooth on a Jordan almond."

"He faked the broken tooth," Gail informed them with a sniff.  

"He did not!" Eric argued, though a beat later, his forehead wrinkling, he added an uncertain, "He did?"

"He did," his mother confirmed, wrapping a second pinwheel roll in plastic.  "Though really, I don't know what Gwen Ramsey was thinking," she grumbled.  "She has a grandson older than Stanley!"

"So, what you're saying is no Jordan almonds, and make sure my great aunts leave Stanley alone," Heather joked.  "I need to start writing this all down.  I'm gonna need a notebook," she laughed.

"I had the best wedding planning journal," April declared with a smile.  "We can order you the same one, and I'll give you mine, too.  There's some useful stuff in there.  And, oh," she giggled, throwing Eric a flirtatious look, "We should loan Jake your Idiot's Guide to Being a Groom."

"Idiot's Guide to Being a Groom?" Heather repeated, obviously not sure if April was trying to put one over on her.  "Are you serious?"

"And on that note, think I'll just go back to the football," Jake decided, starting to climb to his feet.

"No, don't go," Heather protested, tugging on his hand until he sat back down.  "We'll talk about something else," she promised, throwing him a grin and then giving him a kiss.  "There's plenty of time to talk about wedding stuff later.  And, hey," she continued, turning in her chair to face April, "I hear that somebody I know got a house for Christmas!"

Smiling, April threaded her arm through Eric's letting her head rest against his shoulder for a moment.  "Pretty much the best present ever," she assured her friend.  "You have to see it.  How 'bout I take you over after lunch?"

"Well, we're just going to be snacking all afternoon," Gail interjected as she stood up from the table.  "To accommodate the football watchers.  And anyway, these need to chill in the fridge for a bit before I cut them," she informed them, holding up the pinwheel rolls.  She chuckled softly at Eric's disappointed expression.  "Why don't you all go over now, and when you get back you can eat."

Heather and April readily agreed, and Heather glanced at her fiancé, asking, "You want to come with us?  You don't have to."

"No, I'll come," Jake said, not wanting to be separated from her for even the half hour or forty five minutes it would take to tour the new house.  Smiling, he squeezed Heather's hand.  "Let's go."

Five minutes later, the four of them were in Eric's Explorer - boys in front, girls in back - making the quick trip over to Granville Street.  Jake had held onto Heather's hand, intending to follow her into the back seat, but April had turned down his suggestion that she sit up front with a snort.  "So you two can make out back there?" she'd argued, rolling her eyes, "I don't think so."  Heather had leaned out of the SUV, kissed him, and then had pointed him to the front passenger seat while April, still shaking her head, had slipped around him, sliding into the back seat.

April gave Heather the same tour of the house she'd given her mother-in-law the week before, Jake and Eric following along but definitely peripheral to the discussion of paint colors, window treatments and floor coverings.  Laughing, Heather confessed to a bad habit of repainting her bedroom on an almost yearly basis.  "I can roll, cut in, even paint stripes," she admitted, "And I actually have overalls just for painting, so when the times comes, definitely put me to work," she ordered.

"Don't think I won't," April smiled.  "And you, too, Jake," she warned her brother-in-law - who groaned - before leading them into the next room, the bedroom she'd picked to serve, eventually, as a nursery.

"I think it's perfect," Heather told her, blushing softly as Jake moved to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist.  They hadn't discussed children yet, but still she couldn't keep her mind from leaping ahead to some future day when they would be establishing a nursery of their own.  "Everything," Heather added in a rush of breath, her eyes meeting and locking with Jake's.  "The whole house.  It's great."

"We like it," Eric agreed, exchanging a kiss with his wife and taking her hand into his own.  He pulled her toward the door, explaining that they needed to look at something in the master bathroom so he was ready for the contractor he was meeting with on Thursday while she was at work.  The two of them disappeared down the hall and Heather and Jake made their way downstairs to wait for them. 

"So," Jake began, drawing her into his arms once they were in the empty living room.  "Do I need to buy you a house now?" he teased, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear before tracing his thumb over her lower lip.

Laughing and shaking her head 'no', Heather pressed her mouth to Jake's, kissing him as she twined her arms around his neck.  "Nah.  No house.  I think you've given me quite enough for one day," she decided, her fingers finding their way into his hair.  "Jewelry plus a plane ticket....  That's enough for a month - a year."

"Okay, no house," he agreed, untangling her arms from around his neck, though he held onto her hands, lacing their fingers together.  Jake offered her a gentle smile, rubbing his thumb over her engagement ring.  "But you're not gonna make me wait a year before I get to give you a ring to go with this one, right?" he questioned, his voice a low rumble.  "Please?" he murmured, leaning closer to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth before resting his forehead against hers.

"N - no," she stammered softly, turning her head and brushing her lips across his.  Jake let go of her hands, bringing his own up to cup her face, deepening their kiss.  "I know I shouldn't," Heather began moments later when they pulled slowly part.  "I shouldn't just pick a date," she sighed, "Without us discussing it -"

"Babe," Jake interrupted, finding her hand as he took a half step back, "If it were all up to me, I say we just elope.  I mean, we're almost gonna be in Niagara Falls," he teased, "And, that's what you do there, right?" 

Heather's eyes widened, a nervous giggle escaping her.  "Uh, yeah.  I guess so.  But it's really more the - the honeymoon capital of the northeast," she explained, biting her lip.  "And Jake, my father -"

"I know, trust me," he answered, cringing.  At the top of his priority list, right after and as a part of making Heather happy, was to avoid further antagonizing his future father-in-law.  "I was just - just joking," he shrugged, squeezing her fingers.  "And besides, I don't think that's what you want either."  Jake paused, hesitating for just a second before telling Heather, "So, I guess I'm voting for sooner rather than later, okay?"

"And July's really not soon enough?" she questioned, frowning softly.  "It would just be easier over summer vacation, to be off and not have to worry about school," Heather explained, stroking his arm with her free hand.  "I've got a week off for spring break in March, so there's then, but I have nearly three months in the summer."

"So July, huh?" he sighed.

"Well, maybe June," Heather suggested, stepping toward him.  She let her hand rest on his chest, clutching the material of his t-shirt.  "Actually, let's just say June," she decided quickly.

"Nah, July," Jake countered, shaking his head.  "But I do have one condition.  You can pretty much plan our wedding, but since you brought up the honeymoon..." he grinned, "I get to plan that, okay?"  Standing there in his brother's new house, he'd remembered thinking about surprising Heather with a trip while they'd toured the house on Christmas Eve, and now he had a pretty good idea where he'd take her.  "Definitely won't be Niagara Falls, and we're definitely gonna need a good chunk of time," he chuckled, leering at her gently and snaking his arms around her waist.

She kissed him softly, smiling and murmuring, "Okay," against his mouth.  "So, where're we going?"

"Uh uh, it's a surprise," he whispered.  Jake nudged her so that she took a step backward, then a second and a third, until he'd maneuvered her against the wall, pinning her arms loosely on either side of her head.  Their gazes locked, and Jake grinned at the surprise in her eyes.  But her expression quickly turned to one of desire, overwhelming him, causing his stomach muscles to clench with anticipation.  He pressed the length of his body against hers, telling her, "You're just gonna have to wait," as his mouth descended hungrily.  They clutched at one another, exchanging kisses and caresses which quickly grew more passionate, and only broke apart, both fighting to catch their breaths, when they heard a floorboard squeak followed by a pair of knowing snickers.

"You know, this is exactly the reason I separated you two in the car," April informed them.  She was standing with Eric at the foot of the stairs, hands on her hips, trying very hard to maintain a cross expression.  "And really, is it too much to ask that we be allowed to christen our own living room?"

"Yeah, what she said," Eric chuckled, draping an arm around his wife.  "Get your own house," he grumbled, teasing.

Heather, though blushing, took their ribbing in stride, and - amazingly - even came up with an almost instantaneous retort.  "Well, don't let us stop you," she giggled, pretending to turn toward the door.

Jake let out a bark of laughter and lunged after her, catching her hand and pulling her back against his side.  Slinging one arm around her shoulders, he held out his hand, smirking at his brother.  "Gimme your car keys and we'll get outta your way," he promised, wiggling his fingers.  "Don't worry, I'll come back for you later.  Say, a half hour?"

"Let's just go," April mumbled, rolling her eyes.  "I'm hungry, I want food."

"Here," Eric said, surprising Jake when he tossed his keys to him.  "You drive."  He grinned at his wife as he turned her toward the door.  "We're gonna sit in the back."

"That's not fair," Heather protested, following behind them with Jake. 

April threw them a triumphant grin over her shoulder.  "Well, it works for me."

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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

Gail was gone, taking Stanley and Mimi with her, and it was dark.  At first, the bright glare of the truck's headlights as they had swept over them had stayed with Johnston, an echoing imprint on his vision, but now even that was gone.  It was dark and freezing, and although he was right next to Jake, pressed against him, trying to warm him in the only way he could, Johnston could barely make out his son's features.  It had stopped snowing for the moment, but he knew from the way the sky had clouded over that it would start up again soon, and he could only hope that Gail was back before that happened. 

"Jake," he began, practically shouting to be heard over the harsh moan of the wind, "Jake, you'll be home real soon," Johnston promised.  His breath clouded in the cold, dissipating before it had even the chance of warming Jake's frozen face.  Johnston moved closer, leaning over his son, willing him to inhale and then exhale.  He recalled, for probably the first time in three decades, how he'd done the same when his boys were infants.  He remembered how on more than one occasion, he'd awoken in the middle of the night, frightened by a dream, and how he would get out of bed and, careful not to disturb Gail, would creep across the room to their crib.  He'd strained to hear them breathing, and had held his fingers near their mouths until he could feel their soft exhalations against his skin.  He'd checked them for fever, had tucked their blankets closer, and only then, finally reassured that they were safe, had his pounding heart begun to slow some.

Johnston's heart was pounding as he ordered, "But you gotta stay with me now, Jake.  You gotta stay with me."

 "Leave me alone," his son mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he returned stubbornly.  He shook Jake's shoulder, trying to rouse him.  "But you gotta hold on.  Wake up, Jake," Johnston commanded then, "Look at me." 

Slowly - painfully so - Jake's eyes fluttered open, his gaze unfocused.  His father persevered.  "That's it, that's it," he murmured, squeezing Jake's shoulder in relief.  "You're gonna be a father soon, Son.  You - you hang onto that.  You think about Heather and that baby, and you hold on.  That baby's gonna need his father.  Don't you break our hearts, Jake.  Heather's, your child's, your mother's, and - and mine.  Don't you dare."  The words poured out of him on their own volition, but he couldn't wish them away.  They had their differences, but he loved his son and he'd do anything to keep him here.

For just a second, Jake's gaze locked with his father's and Johnston caught himself holding his breath.  "Hold on," he encouraged, tightening the grip he had on his son's arm.  The wind kicked up and, almost on cue, he felt the icy sting of snowflakes against his already cold skin.  "They'll be here soon," Johnston shouted around the growing lump of worry in his throat.

"I'm sorry."

Jake's words were almost inaudible, and Johnston swallowed a frustrated grunt as he watched his son's eyes fall shut again.  "Son," he prompted instead, shaking Jake again, "You've got nothing to be sorry about."  Jake grimaced and then screwed his face up like he was going to say something, but if he did, it was lost in the howling of the wind.  And once more, he closed his eyes.  Johnston groaned and leaned closer over his son, shielding him as best he could from the weather.  "Open your eyes, Jake.  Look at me," he ordered, slapping him lightly on one cheek.  "Look at me, Jake."

"I - I can see her," Jake said through clenched teeth, focusing for the moment on his father's face. 

"See who?" Johnston asked, frowning softly.  Jake's eyes started to roll back into his head, and he clutched at his son's sweatshirt, jostling him gently.

"The girl," he rasped out, staring at something beyond his father.

"What girl?" Johnston questioned, his confusion and worry growing.  He'd seen men die - never of cold - but he'd seen them slip away while he'd tried to hold them here, to wait for help, and now he was afraid that his son was, in fact, slipping away.  "Jake, I think you're hallucinating, Son."

"Listen to me," Jake commanded.  It seemed to take all his strength to get these words out, and he drew a labored breath, grimacing.  "When I was ... in Iraq," he managed, somehow, to say.  Johnston leaned closer.  "There was a girl ... she couldn't - couldn't have been more than ten or twelve -"

"Ssh, ssh!  Ssh!" Johnston urged, his own eyes closing for a second.  He'd wanted to keep Jake with him, to keep him alert, but he hadn't wanted this.  Whatever had happened, Jake didn't need to relive it now.  His eyes had adjusted to the darkness some, and as he watched his son, Johnston couldn't miss Jake's haunted look.  "Don't talk now, Son," he implored, refusing to hear Jake's last confession.  He was taking his boy home, Johnston vowed to himself, not for the first time.  "Save your energy.  We can talk when you get home."

"I killed her, Dad," Jake choked out, squeezing his eyes tightly closed.  "I killed a little girl."

Johnston felt his heart plummet into his stomach at these words.  He ached for his son, for the burden he carried, so similar to the one he'd borne after his third tour in Vietnam.  He knew if there was any way he could take that pain from Jake, then he would, gladly.  But that was up to Jake.  "It's okay, Son," he comforted, cupping Jake's head with both hands.  "It's okay."

Jake, though, didn't hear him.  He'd passed out and while he was still breathing - of that, Johnston had made sure - he wouldn't rouse.  Two minutes passed, then ten, then twenty, until he finally lost count.  Holding onto his son, hugging his boy to himself, Johnston willed Jake to be okay, to survive, to live.  Chilled through, he could feel himself growing drowsy, and although he tried to fight it, it was getting harder.  Then he heard it:  A vehicle barreling down the road.  Johnston drew his gun.  He knew it was no protection against anyone who would do them harm, but still he would defend his son.  In the next moment though, the headlights flashed, and he breathed a sigh.  It was Gail.

"Hurry up!" he shouted, sitting up and, after re-engaging the safety, tucking his weapon back into the waistband of his jeans.  Johnston struggled to his feet, heaving a sigh of relief.  "Hurry up!" he yelled again as his yellow truck skidded to a stop, the Suburban the fire department was now using as an ambulance among other things, right behind.  Johnston was glad to see Eric jump out of the driver's seat while Gail piled out the other door, making a beeline for her son.  Drake had come too, he realized, looking a little skittish, but striding forward with the firefighters.  "Hurry!" he urged one last time.

"Jake!" Gail yelled, running to her son.  She fell to her knees next to him and leaned over him, calling his name again.  "Jake!  Open your eyes," she demanded, cupping his face with both hands.  "Open your eyes."

"Drake!  Here!" Johnston called waving the younger man over to where Jake lay. 

Taking a steadying breath, Drake turned and jogged toward them.  He'd left the clinic in such a hurry that he hadn't taken so much as a stethoscope with him, but luckily Don - one of the firemen - had handed him an EMT bag on their way to the vehicles.  Now the duffle banged against his thigh as he surveyed the situation.  "Uh, I can check him -"

"He's freezing," Gail interrupted, her head twisting around long enough for her to flash him a reassuring, if distracted, look.  "What he needs most now is to get warm."

"Then we gotta get this truck off him," Eric reminded, squatting to shine his flashlight beneath the vehicle's frame.  "Doesn't look like it punctured the skin or anything.  It's just pinned.  I think we'd be safe as long as we lift and rock it away from him, and it'd be the fastest."

Johnston, who'd knelt next to his son, clapped him on the shoulder, agreeing.  "Yeah, that looks good.  Gail, you're gonna need to pull him clear when we get it off him," he instructed.  "The rest of us are gonna lift.  Paul, over there," he directed, pointing the firefighter to the front bumper.  "Don, Drake, Steve," he continued, handing out assignments.

"All right everyone, on three," Eric said, taking over once they were all in place.  He expelled an anxious breath, and then gripping the truck's frame, began to count.  "One, two, three!"

As one, they all strained to lift and roll the vehicle away from Jake.  They heard more than saw Gail struggle to pull her son loose.  Interminable seconds later Johnston announced, shouting, "All right, he's free!"  The older man immediately let go of the truck, rushing to assist his wife.  "Get that board in here," Johnston demanded, even as Drake and Don were moving the backboard into position.  "Okay, one, two, three," he counted off, and they all worked to lift Jake onto the board, taking care to not injure him any further.

"Okay, let's get him in the Suburban," Don directed as they started to move toward the vehicle, the six men carrying Jake between them.  "Watch the leg," he cautioned, "Carefully."

"I'll - I'll ride with him, get his vitals for April," Drake shouted to Gail.

She hurried along with them, clutching Jake's hand, silently willing him to say something.  He'd opened his eyes finally, had even glared at her as if to say 'leave me alone, Ma!' but he hadn't spoken yet.  Squeezing his frozen fingers, Gail reassured him, "You're gonna be okay, Jake.  We've got you."  Then, she was forced to let go of his hand in order so the men could load him in to the back of the SUV.  "I'm going with him, too," she informed her husband, hugging him quickly.

"He's gonna be okay," Johnston answered, tightening his grip on her for just a second.  He pressed a kiss to her forehead before releasing her from his embrace and then helping her scramble into the Suburban.  "He's gonna be okay," he repeated for himself, slamming the door shut behind her.  Drake was already taking Jake's temperature, and Johnston heaved a sigh of relief.  "Okay, everybody, let's go," he yelled, already jogging behind Eric to his truck.

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

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 13E.


The Idiot's Guide to Being a Groom is actually The Pocket Idiot's Guide to Being a Groom.  (I guess there isn't even enough to it to merit a full size guide!)   http://www.amazon.com/Pocket-Idiots-Guide-Being-Groom/dp/002863649X

Different Circumstances: Part 13E of ? by Marzee Doats


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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

"So Heather, Jake ever tell you about the time we got stuck on the roof of town hall during a thunderstorm?" Stanley inquired, trying - and failing miserably - to sound far more conversational and far less anxious than he really was.  "We were up there - well, it seemed like forever, but at least twenty minutes.  The whole storm."

"Nope."  She spared him a two seconds' glance before returning her attention to the entrance into the small ER from the ambulance bay. 

Heather had been watching and waiting for Jake's arrival for the last half hour, refusing offers of chairs, blankets, glasses of water, and anything else they could think of that might make her more comfortable.  She'd insisted that she had to be there when Jake came in, and both Michael and Stanley had refused to let her wait alone.  Stanley - over Mimi's objections - had even turned down Michael's offer to find him a private room, and instead the three of them had followed Heather down the corridor to the ER.  Michael had insisted on completing his examination of Stanley's ankle, as well as taking the other man's temperature, after he'd realized that Stanley couldn't stop shivering.  It had been low - ninety six, just above hypothermic - but of enough concern that Michael had snagged a couple of blankets from the nearest closet, sending Mimi down the hall to the kitchen to get Stanley a mug of hot tea.  April and Jeff had joined them after finishing their preparatory tasks, and now they all waited, trying to distract Heather with a series of very obvious, very stilted, topics of discussion, and failing utterly at the task.

"What were you two doing on the roof during a thunderstorm?" Michael asked, exchanging a frustrated glance with Stanley.  Michael didn't know why he was surprised that she was ignoring them; his sister could be single minded to the point of tunnel vision, especially when it came to those she loved.  He remembered how in those last few days when they'd known their mother was going to die, Heather had rarely left her side, doing what needed to be done for her comfort and showing a level of devotion that was matched only by their father's.  She'd even refused to attend her own college graduation, despite their parents' protests.  Instead, the still mourning Lisinskis had held their own impromptu ceremony in the living room not quite a month later after her diploma had arrived in the mail. 

"Trying to put on a fireworks show.  We'd decided we wanted to outdo the Fourth of July," Stanley explained, allowing a halfhearted chuckle.  "Sixth grade.  We were idiots.  But we - we planned like we were planning D-Day.  Gramps helped us buy 'em.  Didn't ask what we were up to."

"That does sound like Gramps," April sighed.  "He always was one to aid and abet."

"Yeah, that's Gramps for ya," Stanley agreed, tightening his hold on Mimi, who was seated next to him.  She had dragged the chair Michael had brought in for Heather next to Stanley's when it had become apparent that the expectant mother would not be using it.  "We didn't tell anyone what we were gonna do - especially Eric, 'cause he was a complete blabbermouth."  April snorted at that, rolling her eyes, though in the dim light, Stanley missed it.  "Sorry," he muttered, then cleared his throat.  "Anyway, the mayor and my Dad were so mad," he continued, "Wanted to ground us both for a month, but Mom and Mrs. G talked them down to two weeks."

"And, that sounds just like -" Jeff began, cutting himself off when they were all suddenly blinded by headlights streaming in through the wide windows in the doors that came in from driveway outside.  "That's them!" he exclaimed, already moving toward the entrance, April right behind. 

"Mikey, let me go!" Heather protested as her brother latched onto her arm, holding her back as she moved to follow. 

"We'll go - we're going," Michael answered, starting to lead her toward the door.  "But the last thing we need is you slippin' and falling."  He exhaled nervously.  "C'mon."

Outside, Jeff and April joined the small swarm of people around Jake.  "Temperature's ninety two.  Ninety two and a half, maybe," Drake reported, scrambling out of the Suburban after his patient.  "I think," he qualified, letting out a frustrated breath.  "I had to - he's not lucid enough - I had to take it in his armpit."

"Okay," April acknowledged, flashing a sympathetic look.  The EMP had wiped out all the digital thermometers and they were now reduced to a few mercury thermometers, already packed in a box for disposal, that had been dug out of the back of a cabinet where they had been lost and forgotten years before.  The glass thermometers were harder to read - especially in the dark - hard to get used to after years of digital readouts, and certainly the armpit wasn't anyone's first choice for taking a temperature.  "What else?  Pulse?"

"Thready," Drake answered. "Poor muscle coordination and he's been in and out of consciousness."

"Respirations?" April inquired, walking alongside Jake as the firefighters, assisted by Eric and Johnston, carried him in on the backboard.  "Jeff, get the gurney," she ordered, shaking her head.  The young man looked around and then dashed immediately for the clinic's door.  They had staged one earlier, but in the excitement no one had remembered to grab it.    "At any time, did you have to perform CPR?" April asked next, leaning over her brother-in-law to check his eyes with a penlight.

"No," Johnston and Drake answered in unison.  "But - but it was close," Johnston admitted sourly.

"Leave ...hell 'lone," Jake grumbled.  He swatted at April's hand, missing her by a number of inches, his arm flailing wildly.

"Take it easy there, cowboy," Don barked, tightening his grip on the backboard.  "Last thing we need is to drop ya."
 
"Jake!" Heather called out, yanking away from her brother and skidding to stop in the doorway.  Catching up, Michael quickly pulled her out of the way just as Jeff careened by, steering his gurney into place as the men bearing Jake entered the building with their patient.  They transferred him quickly and then the firemen got out of the way.  "Jake!" she gasped again, pulling loose from her brother and shoving past Johnston to reach his side.  "Oh God," she squeaked, cupping his face with one hand.  "Jake."

His only response was a groan and then his eyes fell closed.  "Okay, we're gonna move him into exam one," April announced loudly, throwing her father-in-law a significant look. 

Johnston took the hint and laid his hand on Heather's shoulder.  "Let 'em do their job, darlin'," he murmured.  "Let 'em take care of him."

"You can come in," April relented, spotting the stricken look on Heather's face.  "Take him," she ordered, looking at Michael, Jeff and Drake.  "We found the portable IV warmer, so Mikey, you get that started.  Drake, I want his temperature every five minutes.  And Gail..." she continued, twisting around and grabbing her mother-in-law's arm, "We've got a hot plate that still works in the kitchen and Carol Normand's been boiling water.  We're gonna need it for hot compresses and to make tea.  Get a cup or two into Dad and when Jake's alert enough, we'll start pourin' it down his throat, too."

"Of course, sweetheart," Gail agreed immediately, "I'll get it."

Mimi, who had been standing off to the side with Stanley, stepped forward.  "I - I can help."

"Thanks, Mimi," Gail nodded, quickly leading the way down the hall.

Taking a deep breath, April turned to face Heather and Johnston.  "Okay, c'mon," she said, already moving toward the examination room.

"April," Eric called hurrying to catch up with her.  Flinching, she glanced back at him and he stopped short.

"Not now," she commanded, holding up a hand as if to ward him off.  "I can't - not now, Eric.  Please."

"Okay," he acknowledged, his jaw tightening.  "Just - just take care of him."

* * * * *

Three hours later, Jake's temperature was hovering around ninety five degrees and everyone was breathing a little easier, though they all knew he was hardly out of the woods yet.  April and her three students had treated his hypothermia with a saline IV warmed to one hundred and four degrees, with hot compresses applied to his neck, chest and groin, and by burying him under every blanket not already in use elsewhere in the clinic.  Meanwhile, Gail had dispatched Eric to the Green house to pick up the ingredients she'd been saving for supper and, with the exception of Heather who had refused to leave Jake's room, they had all rotated through the kitchen for a bowl of cabbage soup and a mug of hot tea.  Johnston had brought Heather's food to her and then had moved a chair next to hers beside Jake's bed, keeping her company and - more than once - squeezing his son's hand to remind him that he would be okay. 

Johnston had just left to return Heather's dishes to the kitchen when Jake stirred beneath his nest of blankets, groaning softly.  "Hey there," she crooned, sitting forward in her chair and reaching for his hand, cradling it carefully in her own.  "How you feelin'?"

"Uhhh," he croaked. 

That one, inarticulate syllable sent a wave of relief through Heather and a thankful and slightly hysterical giggle escaped her.  In the next instance, she'd thrown her arms around Jake, blankets and all, hugging him as best she could through the bulky material.  "Oh.  Oh!  I wasn't supposed to do that," she squeaked a few seconds later, pulling away.

"Wha'?" he mumbled in response.  Jake reached after her, trying to stop her, but his body was slow to respond to his orders and his - his hand was attached to something.  He made a frustrated noise, pulling against whatever was arresting his movements.  "Babe," he sighed.

"Don't - don't yank that out," Heather cautioned, reaching for his hand.  She checked the tape on his IV line, and satisfied that it was secure, carefully laced their fingers together.  "You need that," she explained, "It's warmin' you up.  Had to put you on a leash," she joked, reaching over to comb her free hand through his bangs.  April had checked the cuts on his head and had declared the injuries superficial.  She hadn't even let Heather wash his face, explaining that they had to concentrate their efforts on his trunk and on warming him up.  "It's just a heated saline drip, but it's helping you out and April says you have to finish it, every last drop," she joked softly.  "I'm - I'm technically not even supposed to be doing this," Heather admitted, reluctantly withdrawing her hand from his hair.  "Could make you have a heart attack."  It was one of the frightening possibilities April had impressed upon her, that in his hypothermic and weakened state, anything - something as innocuous as massaging his hands - could be a shock to his system and could induce cardiac arrest.

His eyes closed, Jake shook his head against his pillow, protesting the notion.  "Uh uh.  C'm'ere," he added a few seconds later, tugging on her hand.  "Y'okay?" he asked, blinking at her blearily as she perched herself on the edge of the hospital bed.  Jake let go of her hand and, pulling his IV line taut, he brushed his fingers, somewhat clumsily, over the swell of their child.  "B.G.?"

"We're fine," she assured, "Just fine.  So for right now, you're just gonna have to let me worry about you, and not the other way around."  Heather took a deep breath and then exhaled through her teeth, admitting, "I was so - was so scared, Jake."  She wanted to kiss him, but there wasn't a spot on his face that wasn't chapped, bruised or cut, and she also didn't want to hurt him.  "But you're gonna be fine," she insisted, settling for tucking the blankets closer to his chin.  "You're gonna be just fine."

"C - cold," he muttered, his eyes fluttering for a moment before they finally fell shut.

"Well, you're a lot - a lot warmer now than you were three hours ago," Heather informed him, chuckling uneasily.  Again, she gave into the overwhelming urge to touch him, running her hand up his arm.  Michael and Jeff had stripped off Jake's outer layers of clothing - in case anything had gotten wet - leaving him in just his thermal long underwear, but still she could feel the chill on his skin through the material.     "We just need to finish warming you up," she declared, squeezing his forearm.

A ghost of a smile touched Jake's chapped - and in the case of the lower one, split - lips.  "Warm - m - me up," he invited, his voice rasping, as he patted her leg.

"Okay," she whispered, grinning gently.  Heather stood up and quickly moved around to the other side of the bed.  "And, you know, April can't really bust us this time," she joked, lowering the bed's rail.  "I mean, I'm just doing my part, right?  Sharing body heat." 

"Yeah," he agreed with a grunt.  Jake freed his other hand from the mess of blankets and held it out to Heather, giving her something to grasp as she peeled the covers back, levering herself into the hospital bed.  Panting, he collapsed back onto the mattress while she arranged herself and the blankets over the both of them.   Her hand pressed protectively to her belly, Heather turned on her side and, cautiously, pressed herself against Jake.  Beneath the covers, his hand sought out hers and, lacing their fingers together, held her hand over their baby.  "Jus' righ'," he slurred softly.

"Jake, don't - stay with me, Jake, okay?" she begged, unable to keep the note of panic out of her voice.  They had worried at first when they couldn't rouse him, and even though his body temperature was continuing to rise and April had assured her that he was coming along as best they could hope, Heather still couldn't help but worry.  She couldn't lose him.  "Stay with me," she repeated.

"Stuck wi' me," Jake answered, his eyes opening.  Turning his head, his gaze locked with her and he offered a slight, exhausted smile.  "Not goin' anywhere."

"Good," she murmured, relieved.  Spotting an unblemished patch of skin on his chin, she leaned closer and kissed him, tears stinging her eyes as she tasted the sweat and blood that permeated even there.  "I love you," she whispered against his jaw.

"Love you," Jake echoed.  His eyes were already closed again, but his hand tightened over the top of hers, and Heather couldn't help but let out a relieved breath.  "Always."

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

Tuesday, January 1, five years before the bombs

"We're gonna freeze to death in here," Jake complained, following Heather into her house.  His mother hadn't let them leave until after seven, insisting on feeding everyone a proper dinner despite the fact that they had been snacking all day.  But now they were at Heather's and truly alone - finally! - something he had been looking forward to since their interrupted moment in the living room of Eric's and April's new house hours before.  "Unless, you know, we keep each other warm," he suggested, the low pitch of his voice sending a tingle up Heather's spine.

"Yeah, I turned the furnace down to sixty before I left," she admitted, looking back over her shoulder at Jake and giving him a sheepish smile.  "I'll turn it up," she decided, moving into the living room.  Dropping her purse and the engagement present his mother had given her on the coffee table, Heather crossed to the thermostat, pushing the tab up to what he guessed had to be nearly eighty degrees.  "Sorry," she muttered, hugging herself against the cold.
 
"All right?" he asked, placing her suitcase down just inside the living room, against the wall.  Nodding, Heather crossed to his side, and Jake drew her into his arms, kissing her gently.  "I love you," he murmured, grinning against her mouth.
 
Heather smiled in return, wrapping her arms around his neck.  "I love you, too," she replied.  "And I'm gonna marry you," she added giddily, twisting one of the curls that had appeared at the ends of his too long hair around her finger.  "I'm gonna be 'Mrs. Green'," she declared, her grin growing as she watched Jake for his reaction.  'Mrs. Jake Green,' she thought to herself, not quite able to believe that she was turning into one of those women.  'Heather Green,'   she amended silently, though she giggled aloud.  Sure, her name was going to sound like a crayon color or a paint chip, but Heather couldn't wait.  She wanted nothing more than to be Jake's wife, a member of the Green family, and eventually, the mother of his children.
 
"What's so funny?" Jake demanded, kissing her again.  He teased her lips open, deepening their kiss, trying to gather Heather closer despite the restrictions of the bulky winter coats they both still wore. 
 
"Sorry," she apologized, laughing as she pulled away from him.  "I'm just - 'Mrs. Green'.  I can't believe it," she told him, her eyes dancing.  "I didn't come home thinking you'd be compelled to propose," Heather sighed, brushing her mouth over his.  "I just missed you."
 
"Nobody's forcing me to marry you," Jake argued, frowning.  "Gramps - what he said just made sense, maybe gave me some - some impetus," he allowed, brushing her hair off her face, "But I love you, Heather, and I want to be your husband."
 
"And, I want to be your wife," she grinned in return, catching his hand as he withdrew it to press a kiss to his palm.  "'Mrs. Green'," she repeated, giggling.  "My kids should be so happy," Heather sighed happily.  "I mean, because 'Mrs. Green' is a lot easier to say and write than 'Miss Lisinski'," she explained a second later, catching Jake's questioning look.
 
"I see," Jake acknowledged, nodding his head thoughtfully.  He released his hold on her, though he kept her hand in his, squeezing it.  "And, you know, I'm not really a jealous person, but as 'Mr. Green', I think maybe I should get to read all the love letters that 'Mrs. Green' receives."
 
"You mean the ones from eight year old boys?" Heather grinned. 
 
"Are there others?" he demanded, chuckling, one eyebrow raised questioningly.
 
Heather shook her head.  "Nah," she assured him.  "That's pretty much it.  And you're welcome to read them all.  Might pick up a tip or two," she teased.
 
"Just might," he agreed, winking at her.  The furnace finally rumbled - loudly - to life, and Jake sighed, taking a step back.  "Let there be heat," he muttered.  "I'll go get your other bags from the car."
 
"Thank you," she acknowledged. 
 
Heather was sitting on the couch when he came back into the house, the present from his mother open in her lap.  Jake dropped her two bags next to the larger suitcase and took a moment to study his future wife.  There was a part of him that still couldn't believe she'd agreed to marry him, especially after her reaction to his first admittedly unromantic proposal.  But she had said yes, he remembered, forcing himself to breathe.  The noise distracted Heather from her study of the gift in her lap, and she looked up, offering him a glowing smile. 

"So, what in the world did Mom give you?" he asked, moving around the coffee table to seat himself next to her on the sofa.  "I mean, she didn't know I was gonna propose, so how'd she know to have a present for you?  Not for me," he added, teasing.  "Just for you."
 
"It's a picture - well, two pictures," she answered, handing him the box for his inspection before maneuvering herself into his lap.  "You, when you were a little boy," Heather smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  "You were so adorable."
 
Jake wrapped his arm around her, placing the box back on her knee and studying the pictures over her shoulder.  "I'm what?  Four?" he questioned, kissing the side of her neck.  The furnace was starting to pump out heat, and the room wasn't quite as chilled as before, but neither of them had taken off their coats yet.  He tucked his hands under the back of her coat, running them up her sides, as much to warm them as to touch her.  "Brr," he complained before continuing.  "I don't get it."
 
"I saw these pictures the night your Mom was showing me your baby pictures.  You caught your first fish that day," Heather informed him, leaning back against his chest.  "And, I just love the contrast in your expressions," she explained, tracing the tips of her fingers over first one photo and then the other.  "I told her I liked the pictures," she said, twisting her head around so she could look him in the eye.  "Later, April showed me a picture of Eric as a little boy that your Mom gave her as an engagement present, so when she said I knew what my present was, I knew it was this."   

It was obvious from Jake's expression that he still didn't understand, but all he said was, "Okay," before he kissed her soundly. 

Heather smiled at him.  "It's okay that you don't get it," she assured, laying her head back on his shoulder.  "I love you anyway," she chuckled.  "Right now, forever, and even the adorable little boy you used to be."

Jake rolled his eyes.  "You weren't even born yet," he argued, kissing her temple. 

"Doesn't matter," Heather sighed, smiling at Jake.  "But it's okay, really. You don't have to understand it," she repeated.  Pulling away, she placed the gift box on the coffee table and moved off of his lap, peeling off her coat. 

"Too cold," Jake protested, grabbing after her hand.  "Stay.  Keep me warm."

She laughed at him gently.  "I'm usually the one who's freezing," she reminded, straddling his legs so that she faced him.  "And, it's really not that bad," Heather grinned, starting to unzip his parka.  She pressed three quick kisses to his mouth, distracting Jake from her continued assault on his coat's zipper. "It's gotta be five degrees warmer already," Heather insisted.  "So if we just snuggle up," she proposed, kissing him as she shoved his parka open, "We'll be fine."

"I could build a fire," Jake offered, capturing her chin with his hand and pulling her back for another kiss.  "Baron and I hauled a half cord of wood over for you a coupl'a days ago.  Though I hafta say, he wasn't very helpful," he joked.

"You brought me firewood?" Heather asked, beaming at him, her eyes suddenly bright.

"Yeah," he shrugged, fighting a pleased grin.  "We can snuggle up in front of the fire all winter long," Jake suggested, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger.  "And if we run outta wood, I'll just bring more over from the ranch."

"That's so sweet," Heather declared, placing a peck of a kiss on his lips.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Jake murmured, still playing with her hair.  He started to shift underneath her, intending to get up, asking, "So, should I build one?"

But Heather shook her head 'no'.  "Not right now," she told him.  She lifted herself off of his lap, and then held her hand out to him.  "C'mon."

"Where are we going?" Jake asked, standing.

Smiling at him, she took the picture frame out of the gift box, leaving the remains of the wrapping on the table.  "To find the perfect place for this," Heather explained.  Without saying another word, she led him around the coffee table and then down the hallway to her bedroom.

"Heather," Jake frowned, stopping just outside her door.  He had only been in her bedroom a few times - to retrieve suitcases the two times she'd gone home to Buffalo, and then one rainy Saturday a few weeks before when he'd  helped her install new curtain rods - having consciously avoided putting that pressure on Heather.  But God, it was what he wanted.  He closed his eyes momentarily, remembering the sensation of her body pressed against his, the desire he'd seen in her eyes earlier that afternoon at April's and Eric's.  Before, she hadn't been ready for this step and he'd always - with effort - managed to take a step back, to follow the cues she offered, whether she was aware of them or not. He hoped he wasn't misreading her signal now, because damn it, it was getting so hard to back off when all he wanted was her, and all he could think about was her.

"What?" she asked startling him out of his internal reverie.  Heather smiled at him over her shoulder.  "April said she keeps her picture of Eric on her dresser, and that makes sense, right?"

"Sure," he acknowledged, swallowing hard as he stepped over the threshold.  Heather threw him a distracted smile and dropped his hand.  Staying a few feet back, Jake watched as she set the picture frame in practically the only bare spot on the bureau top.  She started to rearrange things, shifting her jewelry box over a few inches, throwing a hairbrush and a bottle of hand lotion into a small basket, and then switching a framed picture of her father and three older brothers for the one of the two of them in front of his grandfather's plane at the Rock Springs airport.

Spotting a loose photo propped up against the lamp, Jake took a deep breath and stepped closer, picking it up.  It was another picture of them, taken during his parents' Christmas open house, though he had no recollection of being photographed.  His arm was around Heather and they were both laughing at something.  Jake returned the picture to its place against the lamp and glanced sideways at Heather.  "You know at this rate, you're gonna run out of room before the end of this year," he joked, though there was a hint of roughness in his voice that earned him a quizzical look from Heather.

"Well, I've got three hundred and sixty five days," she returned, adding, "And I can always try rotating pictures.  Heather took a sideways step toward Jake, bumping her hip against his and looked up at him grinning.  "Whaddya think?" she inquired, pointing out the placement of his mother's gift.

"It fits?" Jake tried.

She groaned, burying her face against his arm for a second.  "Well, you're absolutely right," she laughed, raising her head.  "It fits."  Still giggling, Heather moved between the dresser and Jake to stand facing him.  "Hey," she murmured a few seconds later, their eyes locking.

"Hey," he returned thickly, studying her closely.  Heather's expression was suddenly unfathomable, and Jake frowned in concern, asking, "You okay?"

Heather nodded silently.  She was more than okay.  She loved him, and she was ready to show him exactly how much.  Placing her hand on his chest, she forced him to take a step back, then another and another, until he encountered the end of her bed.  Still, she didn't speak, just continued to smile at him and press her hand against his chest until finally he gave in and sat down.  Immediately, she dropped into his lap, sitting sideways across his legs and winding her arms around his neck.  Eyes wide, she smiled at him hesitantly, but didn't say anything.  She couldn't say anything, could barely make herself breathe or hear her own thoughts over the pounding of her heart in her ears.

"Babe," Jake began, clearing his throat, only to be cut off by a kiss.  Her tongue swept over his lips demanding entry, and he could only comply.  By the time Jake had his next coherent thought, he was lying on his back, Heather on top of him, peppering his face with kisses.  "Babe," he tried again, attempting to sit up.  Obviously reluctant, she let him up, sitting back on her haunches, straddling his leg.  He blew out a shallow breath and flashed her a quick smile, one hand finding its way into her hair.  Their eyes locked, and Jake recognized the intention - the passion - in her gaze.  "We don't have to do this," he assured, brushing his lips across hers to prevent the frown he saw starting to form there.

Groaning softly, Jake closed his eyes.  He couldn't quite believe he was arguing against doing this, but the thinking part of his brain knew that there were still things that they needed to talk about - most importantly, whether or not she was truly ready to take this step - and as much as he wanted to just go with the moment, he knew he couldn't risk everything else they had together by rushing this.  Taking a ragged breath, he offered her the slightest of smiles.  "Babe, we don't have to do this," Jake repeated, pressing a finger to her mouth. "Not now.  Not just because I asked you to marry me." 

He was giving her an out, she realized.  Backing off, like he had so many times before when their physical chemistry had threatened to outstrip her emotional readiness.  She loved him all the more for it.  "Jake, I was ready for this six weeks ago," Heather reminded, smiling and kissing his finger before pulling his hand into hers.  "Not so much a month ago," she laughed nervously, eliciting a wry grin and a gentle snort from Jake.  "That was such a stupid fight, but you know, I wouldn't change what happened," she sighed, tilting her head forward so that her hair hid her face from him for a moment.  "Because at least I know now what it felt like to really be - really be apart from you.  Not just because you were off in Denver for work, but really separated," Heather explained, raising her head.  "I hated it, but at least it helped me realize how much I truly love you.  How much I want to be with you, in every way.  Now that we have the opportunity," she smiled shyly, "Tonight.  Besides," Heather added a beat later, a blush warming her cheeks, "We're getting married.  I'm assuming we both want sex to be a part of that."

He groaned again, bringing his mouth down on top of Heather's.  "Just - just a little bit," he muttered, lifting his head and resting his forehead against hers.  "And - trust me - I want to begin that part of our - our life together with you, but we can't," Jake told her, his eyes falling closed.  Heather felt the sudden tension in his frame and she watched him, concerned, as frustration - almost anger - expanded his frown.  "I don't have anything with me," he admitted, shaking his head. 

"Okay," she acknowledged, though her confusion was evident.  "I don't -"

"Protection, Heather," he ground out, interrupting her.  He saw her startle at the harshness of his reaction and they both pulled away a few inches.  "I'm sorry, babe," Jake chuckled humorlessly, scrubbing his face with his hand, while he silently berated himself for taking his frustration out on her.  "I -"

"But I'm - I'm on the pill, Jake," Heather announced, cutting him off.

He stared at her for a long moment, finally stammering out, "You're - you're what?"

"I'm on the pill," she repeated, offering him an embarrassed smile.  "Since Halloween.  I'd been thinking about it since that night - the night we went to Bass Lake.  Well, really, since I met you," Heather corrected herself, looking down at her folded hands.  "But the day after Halloween I asked April if she could write me a prescription, which she did.  Plus, clued me in that I probably wanted to go to the pharmacy in Fielding," she sighed, glancing up to meet his gaze.

Suddenly feeling very grateful for his sister-in-law, Jake let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  "Babe, I just assumed -" he broke off, shaking his head.  "You're really on the pill?" he questioned.  "'Cause I didn't think -"

"Because I'm Catholic?" Heather guessed.  "Jake, hon," she giggled self-consciously, "I'm Catholic, but I'm not that Catholic.  My parents were," she admitted, her nose wrinkling, "But I don't know anyone else who is.  My sisters-in-law sure aren't leaving it all up to God, trust me," she declared, snorting softly.  "Besides," Heather grinned a few seconds later, "It seems to me that when a good Catholic girl marries into the Green family, she turns Protestant, and that's the end of that."

Jake laughed somewhat uneasily.  "Well, I guess that is the precedent," he agreed, "But you don't have to change anything - especially not that - for me."

"Well, I wasn't exactly offering," she chuckled softly, "But that's good to know."  She reached for his hand, squeezing his fingers gently.  "'Cause I don't know that my Dad would survive that, too," she sighed.

"Right," he nodded, clearing his throat.  "So you really have to stay Catholic."

"I think so," Heather agreed, smiling at him.  She took a deep breath.  "I want - I want to be married awhile - probably for a good while - before I get pregnant," she told him, once again starting to blush.  "I want children of course, but I also want it to be just us for a bit," she insisted. "Maybe even for a couple of years.  And there are things - I want to get my master's first."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, exhaling deeply.  He reached for her hand and, tugging on it, demanded gently, "C'm'ere."  Heather obliged, scooting toward him on her knees and then allowing him to pull her down onto his lap.  "I think - I think if you give me a couple of years before we talk kids," he told her, lifting her hair so he could press his lips to the sensitive spot behind her ear, "Then I'll be ready."

"That I can do," Heather agreed, letting her head fall back against his shoulder.  Jake wrapped both his arms around her, hugging her tightly.  Smiling, she twisted around to plant a kiss on his jaw.  "A little bit of a disappointment for your mother, though," she joked.  "I swear I witnessed the exact moment this morning when it occurred to her that her chances of being a grandmother any time soon had just doubled."

"How 'bout we let April and Eric have the first crack at that?" he suggested, his warm breath on her cheek sending a lovely shiver up Heather's spine.

"That sounds like a plan," Heather agreed, finding his hand and lacing their fingers together.

"And, how 'bout we don't talk about anyone in either of our families for the rest of the night," Jake requested, resting his cheek against hers.

He felt Heather smile.  "An even better plan," she acknowledged, laughing softly.

They sat wrapped together in comfortable silence for a long moment, trading chaste touches and kisses, but not speaking.  Finally, Jake began to urge Heather from his lap, earning himself a curious look, though she allowed him to push her off.  Landing on the mattress next to him, she watched as Jake scooted forward to the end of the bed and began loosening his bootlaces. 

"You know, I've probably taken about a million cold showers since our first date," he confessed then, laughing softly.  He looked sideways at Heather as she settled herself next to him, winking at her, and cupping her chin with one hand before placing a light kiss on her mouth.  Releasing her, Jake noted fondly that the tips of her ears were pink, and he caught himself wondering - definitely not for the first time - just how much her clothes hid from the world whenever she blushed.  Now he realized, inhaling sharply, he would no doubt learn the answer before the night was over.  Jake pulled off his boot and dropped it on the floor.  "First, you climbed into my lap," he accused, grinning.  "Right in the middle of town hall -"

"It wasn't the middle of town hall," she giggled in protest.  "The town council chambers are not the middle of town hall."

"Close enough," he argued with a laugh.  Leaning down, he worked to unlace his other boot, though the whole time he was looking back at Heather, their gazes locked.  "Climbed into my lap and kissed me senseless," Jake teased.  "Then tortured me by eating ice cream more enthusiastically then I've ever seen anyone eat it in my entire life, before telling me in no uncertain terms that you wouldn't sleep with me, even if I was dying."  Throwing his other boot down, Jake sat up, offering her a wide grin.  "Cold shower city, babe," he assured her, reaching for her leg.  "Cold shower city," Jake repeated, planting Heather's foot on his thigh and beginning to work on her shoe.  "God, I started to fall in love with you that night," he sighed, removing her sneaker and then her sock. 

Heather turned toward Jake, raising her other foot to his lap.  "I was half in love with you by the time you left my house, that first night we met," she admitted.  "I so wanted you to kiss me," Heather sighed as he eased her shoe off of her foot.  "And then, all you did was play with my hair," she complained, throwing him a mock glare.  "Well, I hafta tell you, I'm expecting quite a bit more tonight."

She turned beet red almost before the words were out of her mouth, and Jake let go of her now bare foot and dragged her into his embrace, hugging her fiercely.  "Well, I'm pretty sure I can find the time to kiss you and to play with your hair both tonight," he teased, nipping gently at the corner of her mouth. 

"That's a start anyway," she giggled, turning into his kiss. 

"I love you," Jake murmured, resting his chin on top of her head a moment later.  "And, I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you," he continued, squeezing her hand.  "I - it's been awhile since I -"

"Jake, it's been my whole life for me," she told him quietly, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

"I know, babe," he sighed, combing his hand through her hair.  "And, I'm doing this all wrong," he grumbled.  "All - all I'm trying to say is, that I haven't since before I came back to Jericho.  But I have been in the hospital," Jake reminded, massaging her scalp.  "And I had this pushy doctor whom we both know, but whom will remain nameless," he chuckled.

"Well, that is part of the plan for the evening," Heather laughed nervously, pulling back so she could look him in the eye.

 "Yeah," Jake agreed around the lump that formed in his throat as he identified the concern, but also the trust, in her expression.  "But it's okay.  Everything's good," he told her, brushing a wisp of hair off her face.  "Because this pushy doctor thought she should run nearly every test imaginable since I was already there.  She said I'd thank her later, and now I just might," Jake admitted, exhaling deeply.  "But now I know that - I know that I'm absolutely healthy, and there's nothing to worry about on that - on that score."

She stared at him with wide, bright eyes.  "I never - it didn't occur to me to even ask," she confessed quietly.

"That's okay," he said, offering her a gentle smile.  "I just wanted you to know."

"Thank you," Heather nodded.

Jake reached for her hand, raising it to his mouth to brush a kiss across her knuckles before stroking his thumb over the blue sapphire of her engagement ring.   Then, moving into the middle of the bed, Jake rolled onto his side, patting the spot next to him in invitation.  "I love you," he murmured after she'd joined him, curling a strand of her hair around his finger and lowering his mouth to hers for a kiss.

* * * * * * * *

Wednesday, January 2, five years before the bombs

"Babe," Jake whispered, shaking Heather's shoulder, trying to wake her.  Much like the previous morning, she'd pulled the covers up so high that only the top of her head was visible.  "Heather, sweetheart," he tried again, but still she didn't stir.  Finally he leaned over, burying his face in her mussed hair, kissing the top of her head.  "Babe," he murmured.

"Love you," Heather muttered almost unintelligibly into her pillow.

Jake couldn't help but smile.  "I love you, too," he returned, yawning.  "Can you wake up for me, babe?" Jake requested.  "Just for a little bit?"

"What?" she asked rolling toward him, rubbing her eyes with one hand.  "What's goin' on?" Heather yawned.

Jake caught himself grinning stupidly as he studied her by the dim glow that bled into the bedroom from the hallway where he'd left the light on when he'd returned from the bathroom.  Words like 'adorable' and 'gorgeous' and 'mine' came to mind as he watched her, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and wrap himself around her.  Only, he reminded himself, he couldn't.

"What time is it?" Heather asked, balancing herself on her elbows.  She looked at him blearily, frowning.  Sitting up, she leaned toward him, demanding, "Are you leaving?  You're dressed," she complained, laying her hand on his bare stomach.

"Half dressed," he replied, fingering the sleeve of the t-shirt - his - that she was wearing.  "I've been looking for this," he teased, remembering belatedly that he'd given it to her an hour or so before when she'd woken up cold. 

"Mine now," Heather told him.  "It smells like you," she added, tugging the shirt up to her nose with one hand, while the fingers of her other hand stroked lightly over his stomach.

"I'm pretty sure you smell like me now, too," he chuckled huskily.  Heather's hand dipped down to the waistband of his jeans and, shivering, Jake grabbed it, forcing her to stop.  "Babe," he complained half-heartedly, "I have to go."

"No," she pouted.  "Too early," she yawned, looking away to check the digital alarm clock on her bedside table.  "Jake, it's four thirty two," Heather whined.  "Come back to bed," she ordered, patting him on the hip.

"Oh, babe, I want to, trust me," he told her.  Heaving a deep sigh, Jake gave into what he well knew was a dangerous impulse, and lay down beside her.  Heather turned immediately into his arms, pressing her lips to his collarbone.  Jake caught her head in both his hands and then gently urged her onto her back.  Capturing her mouth with his own, Jake kissed her passionately.  "Trust me I want to stay right here with you," he assured Heather moments later, lifting himself off of her.  "For the rest of the day - for the rest of the week - forever.  But if I go now, then just maybe it's not all over town by noon that I spent the night."

"Right," Heather murmured in acknowledgment, frowning.  "Ugh," she groaned a second later, rubbing her eye with the heel of her hand.  "Who cares?  We're getting married.  Your Mom told everybody she talked to on the phone yesterday, and going over to the Thoms' for soup mix was a complete fabrication.  April found two boxes in the pantry thirty seconds after she walked out the door," Heather chuckled.  "So I'm sure half of Jericho already knows you proposed."

Nodding, Jake closed his eyes for a moment.  "And most people wouldn't say a thing," he agreed.  "But Karen Harper doesn't really like either of us, and I don't want - I don't want the fact that I love you becoming a school board matter," he explained, reaching for her hand.  "And as hokey as it all sounds," Jake sighed, kissing the tip of her index finger and then the tip of her middle finger, "What Gramps said yesterday makes a certain amount of sense.  Your reputation is in my hands and I'm gonna protect it."

Heather pulled herself up, shivering slightly as the covers dropped down around her waist.  She frowned at him, and then attempted a small smile, shaking her head.  "It's my reputation," she muttered, "It's in my hands, too."

"Hey, all I'm saying is, I don't think you want your neighbors waking up and seeing my car in your driveway," Jake argued, holding up his hands in mock surrender.  "But if you want everyone knowing our business, then hey, I can stay," he offered, scooting toward her.  He stopped a second later when Heather laid her hand on his chest, right over his heart.

"When will you be back?" she asked with a sigh.

"A few hours," he promised pressing a kiss to her forehead.  "Just long enough for Mr. Berry to get his paper and for Mrs. Nolan to bring in her cat, and for both of them to see that you're alone," Jake murmured against her skin.

"It was fifteen degrees out last night and flurrying," Heather grumbled.  "I'm sure Mrs. Nolan kept Otis inside."  She pulled away from him, yawning and stretching.

"Ah yes," Jake nodded, "It is freezing out there.  And here I am, about to go out into it without a shirt," he sighed loudly.  A grin twitched at his lips, growing as his gaze drifted downward.  His t-shirt was tight on him, and on Heather it was almost obscene.

"I told you it was mine," Heather giggled.  "You should learn to layer," she suggested, "Then you'd still have one."  She raised her hands over her head again, one eyebrow arched.  "Enjoying the view?" she inquired, throwing him a playful smile.

Jake laughed, shaking his head.  If Heather hadn't known before the power she held over him, then she'd certainly learned it overnight, and she was feeling it this morning, for sure.  He loved it, as much as he loved her.  "I do believe I am allowed to look," he told her, grinning.

"I do believe you are allowed to touch, too," she returned. 

"Okay then," Jake declared, expelling a shallow breath.  He patted her quickly on the leg and began to get up.  "I think I'm gonna have to take a rain check and leave now while I still can."

"Well, if you must," Heather said, batting her eyelashes at him, although the effect was ruined when she yawned a few seconds in, automatically covering her mouth with her hand. 

"So, if I kiss you goodbye you're not gonna hit me over the head and drag me back in there with you, are you?" he teased.

Heather shook her head.  "Nah.  To be honest, I'd rather not be the hot topic of gossip around town."  She smiled at him.  "You're safe.  For now."

Jake leaned back toward Heather, kissing her softly.  "I'll be back around nine," he told her, running his thumb over her lower lip.  "Maybe ten, 'cause I'm gonna take a nap.  I do believe you wore me out, Miss Lisinski," he teased, leering at her affectionately.

"Go away," she laughed, kissing his bare shoulder, her teeth grazing his skin, before giving him a shove.  "Oh, hey, hand me the water," Heather requested, pointing to the bottle on the bedside table next to him.

He climbed to his feet, grabbing the water bottle and shaking it.  There were at most two sips left.  "Sorry," he muttered, holding it out to her.  "Guess we were thirsty."  That statement, of all things, prompted her to blush.  "Sorry," Jake repeated. 

"It's okay," she chuckled, shaking her head.  She unscrewed the bottle's top and finished it off in one swallow before rolling over to the edge of the bed.  "Cold," Heather complained as her feet touched the floor.

"You're tellin' me," Jake joked, watching her closely as she came around the end of the bed, modestly tugging his t-shirt down, though it still left him with an intriguing view of her panties.  She was moving a little slowly, and he had no doubt she'd be feeling the full effects of their night together later in the day.  "I've got a key," he reminded, frowning.  He bent over to retrieve his boots.  "You don't have to walk me out."

"I know," Heather replied, dragging her hand across his stomach as she moved past him.  "And if you must know, I've gotta pee," she explained, glancing back over her shoulder. 

Jake followed Heather out of the bedroom, parting company with her at the bathroom door.  In the living room, he put his boots on, and then donned his parka leaving it unzipped.  Laughing to himself, he went back down the hall, stopping in the kitchen first.  He was leaning against the opposite wall when Heather exited the bathroom.

"You're the only one I'd do this for," he told her, gesturing at his bare chest underneath his open coat.

"Well, thank you," Heather chuckled softly, smiling.  "I do love my new shirt," she assured him, yawning.  "And my new ring," she added, holding up her hand so they could both admire it.  "You're really quite generous."

 "Here," Jake grinned, rolling his eyes and handing Heather a fresh bottle of water.  "I love you," he murmured, capturing her free hand and pulling her to him.  "Get some sleep," he ordered, kissing her quickly.

"Love you, too," Heather agreed, zipping his parka up.  She patted the spot over his heart, tilting her head up for another kiss.  "Drive safe."

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

Wednesday, December 27, three months after the bombs

"'Scuse me," Michael muttered, extracting the thermometer from between Jake's clamped lips.  He took a step back - and then a quick step to the left - working to avoid knocking into his sister as she wrapped another blanket around her husband.  But the room was too dark for him to read the thermometer and, stepping around April this time - she was attempting to take Jake's pulse - he made his way to the window, in search of better light.

"I don't know," Heather frowned, continuing to fuss with Jake's blankets, bumping into April in the process.  "Maybe we shouldn't have moved him from the med center," she fretted, cupping her husband's head with one hand.  "He can't stop shivering!"

"Shivering's good," April returned, her tone clearly calculated to calm.  She smiled at Jake, letting his hand drop back into his lap.  "And so's your pulse," she declared, "Right where we want it.  And we want shivering," she added, shaking her head at Heather as the younger woman continued to tug at the blankets she'd piled on Jake.  "Shivering means his body's back in the fight."

Heather, who was taking hovering to levels that heretofore in the Green family had only been seen in her mother-in-law, frowned harder.  "You're sure?  He still feels so cold," she argued, accidentally stepping on April's foot.

His temperature's actually up, Heth," Michael assured his sister as he turned around, shaking down the thermometer out of habit.  "A tick below ninety six."

"He really is better off here than at the med center," April added.  "With only the emergency power which we can't even use today with Gray on my case...." She shrugged, offering Heather a sympathetic smile.  "It's - it really is warmer here."

Gray Anderson - clued in by Bill Kilroy - had shown up at the clinic just after five AM demanding to know what the hell was going on.  While he had backed down some when he'd seen Jake, he'd also grumbled enough about the extravagant use of scarce community resources for a single person - conveniently forgetting Stanley and Mimi, who had also spent the night under medical observation - that April had decided to send Jake home.  He'd finished his IV a few hours before and she hadn't had any real justification for keeping him at the med center when there was a perfectly good fire to warm him at home.  At first light, they had gotten Jake dressed before bundling him into Johnston's truck and driving him back to the house.

Adding another log to the fire, Johnston straightened, cleared his throat, and suggested, "I've got a coupl'a bricks out in the garage I use for doorstops, mostly.  We could heat 'em up and wrap 'em in something.  Almost as good as a heating pad."

"Good idea," April agreed, flashing her father-in-law a quick smile.

"I'll go get the bricks," Michael offered, already hurrying toward the kitchen.  He met Gail backing through the door into the dining room, a tray in her hands, and they traded tired looks as they also traded places.

"Here, honey," Gail sighed, setting the tray down on the coffee table near the ottoman - close to the fire - which Johnston and Michael had deposited Jake on a few minutes earlier.  She picked up an oversized tea cup, stepping around Heather, exchanging worried smiles with her son's wife.  "I looked through the pantry because I just knew we still had some hot chocolate powder.  I found one envelope.  I only used half -"

"Hot cocoa's good," April replied as her mother-in-law held the cup to her son's lips.  "The sugar's good.  Hot, sweet drinks - just what he needs."

"Okay, good," Gail nodded, asking, "What about his injuries?"

April couldn't quite suppress a sigh as she had to once again explain the status of Jake's wounds and just how lucky her brother-in-law was.  "Well, the cut on his head isn't very deep," she reminded, "And neither of his legs are broken."  That, in itself, was a miracle.  "He's very, very lucky," she stressed, looking between Gail and Heather.

"I - I'm fr - freezing," Jake stammered out, his first contribution to the conversation since they'd gotten him home.

"You're still hypothermic," April told him, frowning sympathetically.  "It's going to take a few hours for your body to stabilize."

"I'll get you some more blankets," Gail clucked, patting his hand.

She started to turn away, but Heather stopped her, laying a hand on her arm.  "I got everything that was down here, in the hall closet," she told her mother-in-law, stifling a yawn.  "But I can - I can get the blankets off our bed," she offered.

"No, sweetheart, you're dead on your feet," Gail objected, "And you're going to need those blankets because you're going to go upstairs and get some sleep," she commanded.  "Future grandmother's orders." 

"I'm gonna stay down here with Jake," Heather began, only to be drowned out by a chorus of protests.

"And, warm him up?" April snorted.  "I believe I've already explained the hole in that particular theory," she added, wringing out a washcloth she'd dipped in a pan of hot water.  She placed the hot compress on the back of Jake's neck.  "He's just as likely to make you cold - hypothermic, even - as you are to warm him up," April reminded.  It had turned out, when she'd found Heather in Jake's hospital bed the night before, that she'd had grounds for busting them after all.

"Babe, g - go get s - some sleep," Jake countered through chattering teeth, "I'm - I'm not g - goin' any - anywhere."

"Heather, darlin', you need to get your rest," Johnston added.  "You too, April.  For those grandbabies of mine.  Gail and I can handle the first shift, we've done it before.  Colic, ear infections, the chicken pox -"

"And a full body case of poison-ivy," his wife completed for him, putting her arm around Heather's shoulders.  The reference to one of the more embarrassing episodes of his childhood didn't seem to even register with Jake, and Gail frowned.  "Well, I think we can handle anything after that," she declared, forcing a chipper note.  "I'll walk you upstairs, sweetheart, and get the blankets from the linen closet up there."

"Babe," Jake prompted, reaching for Heather's hand, his trembling fingers twining around hers.  "Go - go 'head."

"Okay," she conceded reluctantly.  "But just for a few hours," she insisted.  Sighing softly, Heather leaned down, brushing a quick kiss over Jake's chapped and cracked lips.  "You - you'll wake me up?" she requested as Gail began to lead her out of the room.

"Yes, if anything changes, we'll wake you up," Gail agreed.  "You too, April," she prompted, waiting for her other daughter-in-law to join them.  "Grandpa's orders," Gail reminded, wrapping her free arm around April and then steering them both toward the stairs.

"We've got bricks!"  Michael announced seconds later, elbowing his way through the door from the kitchen, balancing three of the red clay blocks on his arm and against his chest. 

Johnston crossed the room, intercepting the young man and taking the bricks from him.  "Maybe get some dish towels from the kitchen?  To wrap these in?" he suggested.  "But, uh, let me have a minute?" he added, cocking his head toward Jake. 

"Su-ure," Michael nodded, quickly taking in the scene: Heather, April and Gail starting up the staircase, Jake shivering away on the ottoman, and Johnston's stone-faced, almost grim, expression.  "I'll - I'll be in the kitchen," he declared, pointing back over his shoulder with his thumb.

Jake watched his brother-in-law's hasty retreat, and then his father as he walked back toward him, carrying the three bricks to the hearth.  As Johnston passed, their eyes met for a second, just long enough for Jake to sense the coming conversation.  Grimacing, he looked away, closing his eyes.  "Dad," he began, clearing his throat.  "Dad ... what I t - told you out there," he mumbled, shaking his head.  "Pl - please ... forget it," he begged.  "Please."   

"'Fraid I can't do that," Johnston answered into the fire.  Using the tongs, he laid the last brick against the coals inside the fireplace.  He replaced the tongs in their rack and, inhaling deeply, turned around to face his son.  "I've seen a lot of things in my time, Jake," he said, a rough edge to his voice, as he stepped closer, dropping to a seat on the coffee table.  "I've been to war, and I know what war can do, I know what man can do.  Terrible, terrible things."

Johnston faced Jake, taking a moment to study his son.  Mere inches separated them, but at the same time the gulf that had existed between them for so long seemed to grow wider as they stared at one another.  Guilt and pain were etched into Jake's bruised and bloodied face and Johnston, aching for his child, tried to find the words that might give him solace and let him know that he wasn't alone.  "I know what I did," he admitted, somehow holding his son's gaze.  "You - you can talk to me."

"No." Jake's reply was anguished and Johnston knew that his trembling lip had nothing to with his hypothermia.  "No, no, I can't - they - they can't know," he insisted, fighting a sob.  His shaking was worse, and he clutched at the blankets wrapped around him.  "Heather - Mom - they - you can't - can't tell them," he rasped out.  "Heather - she's - she's having a baby and I - I - I killed - I killed -" 

Jake broke off, the tears in his eyes matched by the ones in his father's eyes.  "Son, I promise, anything you tell me....  I won't repeat," Johnston swore.  He leaned over, cupping his son's head with one hand, hoping to offer him what comfort he could.  "But don't underestimate your wife, and don't - don't try to bottle this up.  This - the guilt can eat you alive, Jake.  Trust me."

"I - I can't, Dad," Jake countered.  He sucked in a deep breath, trying to regain his composure, but to Johnston he just looked spent.  Haunted.  "I can't," he repeated insistently.  "She'd never - never look at me the same...."  A silent sob shuddered through Jake as tears seeped from his red rimmed eyes, rolling, ignored, down the bridge of his nose.   Exhaling shakily, he dropped his head, hiding from his father.  "I can't - can't risk it.  I can't!"

"Okay, okay," Johnston soothed, stroking his son's head like he last had when Jake had been a little boy home sick with a cold or the flu or chicken pox.  "But you can talk to me," he assured, "When you're ready, Son."  Feeling distinctly helpless, Johnston let out a long sigh, and then leaned over to press a kiss to the top of Jake's head.  "When you're ready."

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

To continue in Different Circumstances, Part 14.