Different Circumstances, Part 14 by Marzee Doats
Summary:

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


Categories: Green Family, Jake/Heather Characters: April Green, Bonnie Richmond, Eric Green, Gail Green, Gray Anderson, Heather Lisinski, Jake Green, Johnston Green, Maggie Mullin, Mimi Clark, Roger Hammond, Stanley Richmond
Episode/Spoilers For: 1.15 - Semper Fidelis
Genres: Alternate Universe, Drama, Romance
Challenges: None
Series: Different Circumstances
Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes Word count: 87263 Read: 246269 Published: 17 Aug 2009 Updated: 12 Nov 2013
Story Notes:


Different Circumstances: Part 14 of ? by Marzee Doats


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


Acknowledgment:  I've borrowed chunks of dialogue (and plot) from the Jericho episode Semper Fidelis, written by Matthew Federman and Stephan Scaia.

Thank you to SherryG and Skyrose for their feedback, encouragement and time.  You are both wonderful brainstormers!  Thanks to Penny Lane who never turns me down when I say, 'can I show you this Richmond part?' or 'will you read this paragraph that I've been fighting with?'

1. Part 14A by Marzee Doats

2. Part 14B by Marzee Doats

3. Part 14C by Marzee Doats

4. Part 14D by Marzee Doats

5. Part 14E by Marzee Doats

6. Part 14F by Marzee Doats

7. Part 14G by Marzee Doats

Part 14A by Marzee Doats

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

Different Circumstances: Part 14A of ? by Marzee Doats


Author's Note: I'm breaking my rule of having the next full post in the bank before I post, but it's been awhile since I updated and I have that rule for the sort of situation where I fall behind in writing which is the story of my summer.  I got a new, anti-fanfic kitten (she sees me at the computer and immediately wants to cuddle), I took an actual vacation involving plane tickets, hotel rooms, time zone changes and everything, and I've been working on my joint projects with Penny Lane.  So, just a warning, it will likely be longer than normal before I post again as I will be working on getting that full post in the bank before I post again.  But never fear, I am not abandoning this story, I've just been slowed down a little.


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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

"You won't make it out of Kansas with the fuel you've got," Johnston argued to Ridley Cooper's back, frustration bleeding into his tone.  But Ridley ignored the warning, continuing to check the ropes with which he'd tied, among other things, a queen size mattress and a couple of suitcases  to the roof of his car.  "You're not gonna find another drop out there," Johnston continued, somehow managing to keep himself from out and out yelling at the man.

"Well, the folks who left last week are probably in Arizona by now," Ridley countered, sparing Johnston a glance.  Desperation and determination warred for control of the younger man's gaze, and Johnston had to swallow hard against the bile that rose to his throat.  All around them, the members of Cooper's party were loading up their cars, saying their goodbyes, making last ditch efforts to convince friends to join the exodus, and otherwise preparing for the risky flight south. 

"If they weren't murdered on the highway," Johnston barked out, making his own last effort to talk some sense into the former mine executive for - of all things - risk management. Under different circumstances, Johnston might have enjoyed the irony, but this was the life and death of another fifty some residents of Jericho.   "It's suicide to leave, Ridley!"

Ridley's lips curled with a bitter smirk.  "There's no food, no heat," he reminded, popping open the car's door and ducking his head inside.  "I'm just gonna get with Dave so we can get going," he told his wife before closing the door against the cold.  "There's nothin' left here," he declared, meeting Johnston's gaze for a moment, a defiant gleam in his eye, before shoving past the older man.  "It's suicide if we stay."

Johnston's sick feeling grew as he watched Ridley hurry down the long line of cars to where his co-conspirator for this dangerous endeavor stood beside his own vehicle.  Shaking his head, he turned around and took the three steps to where his daughter-in-law waited for him, her distressed expression reflecting everything that he was feeling.  "C'mon, darlin'," he prompted, taking her arm, "Let's go."

"Those kids..." Heather murmured, eyes wide.  "Their kids are so little," she protested, staring at the back window of the Coopers' car where their two toddlers could be seen, strapped into their car seats.  "And, the - the Morrisons," she continued, rotating around to point at a mud covered Dodge pickup truck that had certainly seen better days.  A little girl - likely one of Heather's former students, Johnston realized - scrambled into the cab, followed by her teenaged brother and then her mother.  "I can't believe they're all just giving up... and - and going.  What are they thinking?"

"That it's cold and it's still three months 'til spring, I guess," Johnston replied, heaving a tired sigh.  Leading her over to the sidewalk, he shrugged, admitting, "I sure as hell don't know."

"I - I could understand the people who left last week," she continued, trying to make sense of the scene playing out before them, "Sort of, anyway.  But we - we got the airdrop," Heather reminded unnecessarily as she pulled her coat tighter around herself.

There had been another airdrop, three days before, this time courtesy of the Italian people and government.  Eric had burst through the door, bringing the news along with a couple of days' worth of rations a few hours after they had brought Jake home from the med center.  "Aggiunga l'acqua," he'd read excitedly off the back of what seemed to be some sort of freeze dried, single serving meal.  "L'acqua.  Like agua.  I think it says 'just add water'."

Although she'd already been to nursing school, Gail had gotten her bachelor's in French and Italian while Johnston had attended the University of Kansas on the GI Bill, taking a degree in History.  She'd fallen in love with the languages and had maintained her fluency over the years, dreaming of the day they would make a grand tour of Europe.  Joining Johnston and Eric as they had excitedly sorted through the packages of food, she'd mostly confirmed her son's guess, translating the package's directions as, "Add water.  Heat.  Serve."  That night they had dined on canned chicken over spaghetti with a reconstituted creamy pesto sauce that tasted more of chalk than basil, garlic, pine nuts and parmesan cheese.  And yet, the way they'd all carried on, sitting around the living room in front of the fire out of deference to the still recovering Jake, anyone would have thought that they had been dining on the most expensive dish at Roma Italia, Jericho's one and only Italian restaurant.

And, it wasn't just the airdrop, which overall was bigger than the one the town had received on Thanksgiving and which would easily keep the current population for another month.  There were other, smaller successes that the hopeful among them were taking to mean that - maybe - the worst was behind them.  On Wednesday, after the storm had blown through, a hunting party had shot a two hundred pound buck not a mile south of town.  The next day, another party had gotten a smaller deer just east of the Tacoma River.  Then, on Friday, Clyde Davis had organized a group of ten, including Johnston and Drake, to go out to Bass Lake for some ice fishing.  The Davises were longtime proponents of ice fishing, and Johnston had been out with Clyde and his boys more than once in the prior decade, but before it had always been for fun rather than their survival.  Late December was still a little early for ice fishing, but Clyde had thought it had been cold enough and that the ice would be thick enough, so they'd risked the gas to drive the fifteen miles out to the lake.  In the end they had been amply rewarded, striper, walleye and white bass practically jumping out of the holes they'd cut into the frozen lake.  Things were still tight, but their food situation certainly looked better now than it had a week before.

"Well, they were willing to leave for not even two weeks' worth of supplies from the airdrop and a tank of gas each," Johnston reminded Heather, holding onto her arm as they started up the short pathway leading to town hall, their ultimate destination this morning.  Eric had explained the terms to him the evening before when he and Drake had returned from the lake.  It was a good deal for the town, a good deal for Gray Anderson, but a desperate and - he thought - foolhardy gamble on the part of those who'd taken it.  Johnston had hoped to talk Ridley out of going, out of leading those people more likely to their deaths than to their salvation, but the younger man had obviously made his choice.  "Don't think there's any changin' his mind," he sighed, flashing his daughter-in-law a grim smile.  "So we just hafta make sure nobody else gets the bright idea to follow his example."

* * * * *

Stanley Richmond stared at the chalkboard.  He hated that chalkboard.  "This - this is everything," he complained, shaking his head.  He blinked hard, willing the data so carefully and - to his mind - gruesomely tracked to disappear or at least change.  It didn't have to change much he thought, just a little.  If only it could be just a little bit better, and a little less dire.  But nothing changed, and so all he could do was glare at the offending figures.  "I mean, it's every farm," he choked out, gesturing wildly at the board.  "Now, and at least until the spring crops come in and - and that could take months!" he argued, throwing himself down into his chair next to Mimi's at the front of the room.

"And, what if we don't factor in the refugees?" Gray demanded from his seat across the aisle. 

"They're a part of this town now," Roger Hammond snapped immediately.

"It's a lot of extra mouths to feed," Gray retorted, turning around to glare at the younger man.  They - the town council, Gray, Roger, Johnston and Eric Green, and now Stanley Richmond on behalf of the farmers who lived in the surrounding area - had been meeting every day since the airdrop, trying to come to a fair allocation of those supplies along with every other resource they had on hand, and frankly they were getting nowhere.  Secretly, Gray was starting to feel nostalgic for the few weeks when, on the brink of starvation, they had literally had nothing.  Nothing was better than something when that something was still way too little.  When they'd had nothing, at least the meetings had stopped.

"They've done their part, Gray," Roger reminded, his jaw tightening.  Emily, sitting beside him a few rows back from Stanley and Mimi, squeezed his shoulder, though it was hard to say for sure that it was intended as a comforting gesture, rather than a cautioning one.  But whatever message Emily meant to convey, her fiancé ignored it as he leaned forward in his seat, counting his points off on one hand.  "They've helped hunt and cut firewood!   And - and two of 'em went ice fishing yesterday!"

"Resources they use up five times faster than they supply," Gray contended, unmoved.

Roger took a deep breath and then began to argue from another angle.  "Well, when the windmills come in from New Bern, most of our fuel issues will be solved." 

There was real reason to believe this was true.  Russell Steen, for all intents and purposes New Bern's agent, had been in town two weeks before.  He'd brought along two men from their factory who'd met with Jericho's Energy Team for hours, working to hash through what they hoped were the last of the issues with their windmill design.  The New Bern delegation had seemed hopeful and Russell, taking his leave of Gray, had promised that they would return soon, and that they wouldn't return empty handed.

Still, Gray had learned not to count his chickens before they hatched.  "And, what about every day until then?" he demanded gruffly.

"Ridley and his group are about to leave."  Johnston's announcement interrupted the discussion, saving Roger from having to defend his friends' and companions' place in Jericho for the umpteenth time.  The meeting attendees all turned in their seats to look at Johnston and Heather, their expressions betraying in different proportions the sense of responsibility, frustration and exhaustion they were all feeling in spades these days as they argued about how to divide things up, about what was fair.  The details changed somewhat, but the basic points of contention remained the same, and so they argued, argued, argued.  Johnston had jumped at the chance to go ice fishing the day before mostly to avoid this never ending discussion, and from what he'd heard all the way at the other end of the hall, he hadn't missed anything by taking a day off from it.

"Well, if people wanna try and make it on their own," Gray defended, "That's their right."

Motioning Heather into the chair at the end of the first row, Johnston forced himself to take a breath before responding.   Still, he could barely contain his feeling of disgust at Gray's hands off, 'not my problem' attitude.  The man had wanted to be mayor so bad he probably would have killed for it - almost had, he thought, remembering how close Jonah Prowse had come to being executed - and now he just seemed relieved that  there were going to be fifty less people he was responsible for.  "You know as well as I do that come spring we'll find their bodies out there," Johnston ground out.

"Well, what do you want me to do, Johnston?" Gray snapped in return.  Pulling himself up out of his chair he stomped toward the chalkboard, gesturing at it angrily.  "What am I - what am I missing that's not on that board?" he demanded, turning to glare at his predecessor.  "You find it for me," he challenged, "'Cause I don't see it.  Without some 'X' factor, we're not gonna make it through the winter.  Not all of us," Gray warned, glancing over the room.  "We have to make some hard decisions," he decided, his gaze settling on Roger, "And I think the last ones in should be the first ones to go."

"What part of 'they're a part of this town' don't you get?" Roger barked, throwing his hands up in the air.  "You can't just - just up and decide to kick people out!"

"Well, we didn't ask -"

"Nobody's kicking the refugees out," Ron Mortimer announced from his seat in the second row, just behind Gray.  "The town council," he continued, catching Gray's eye, "Voted to allow the refugees to stay.  That offer has not been rescinded -"

"It sure can be," Gray muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the councilman.  "Somebody's gotta make the hard decisions."

Shaking his head, Ron removed his glasses, cleaning them absently on the end of his scarf.  "The offer has not been rescinded," he repeated, "Nor has the council ceded its power to the mayor," he reminded, prompting Johnston, still standing at the back of the room, to let out a relieved sigh. 

Ron, having been re-elected the previous month, was a twelve year veteran of the town council and the member most likely to try and rein Gray in.  The new mayor, despite having regularly attended the weekly council meetings had not seemed to fully comprehend the limitations on the powers of his office or the ability of the rest of the council to stymie his efforts.  So far he'd accepted, if somewhat churlishly, their opposition to some of his plans such as when the council had voted against continuing to power the generator at town hall.  But Johnston could tell - as could Ron - that Gray was chafing under these constraints on his authority and they both worried about him making a play to disband the council.

"Now, we have the inventory of everything from the airdrop," Ron continued, "And we know that we can supply a ration of fifteen hundred calories per day, per person - including refugees - for four, maybe five weeks."  It was the statistic they had been working with all week, unfortunately not getting much further.  "And that doesn't include what we produce locally," Ron added, looking at Stanley.

"And still need to negotiate," Stanley added.  "Those of us with farms are willing to do our parts," he frowned, "But we've only got so much to give and we're gonna need help with planting and -"

"We're sharing the airdrop supplies with the farmers," Gray reminded.  "That's a down payment toward your spring crops."

"Sharing?" Stanley repeated, gaping at Gray.  "Not to sound too much like Jonah Prowse, but he was right about one thing.  The airdrop is for everybody, not just those who live in town."

"Don't worry, the farms and their residents were included when we figured the fifteen hundred calorie ration," Ron assured.

"Now, just wait a minute," Gray interjected, sitting up in his seat.  "The farm families don't need full rations.  You all have livestock and - and gardens!"

"That we care for on land we own," Stanley retorted. "So what, if I go hunting, you're gonna deduct what I get from my rations?  You doin' that to everyone who lives in town, too?"

"I have a garden," Caroline Doyle, another member of the Jericho town council interjected.  "In town.  It's not much, but we're getting a few things still.  The frost hasn't killed everything off yet," she sighed.  "And, I don't think that should count against me, so I don't see how we can count it against the farmers, not all of it anyway."

"We've got a garden too," Heather added from her seat at the back of the room.  She sat forward in her chair, her hands folded over her pregnant belly.  "And chickens."

"Well, that's a good place to start," Johnston offered.  "We can't punish people for supplementing their rations.  Let's just take chickens," he suggested, glancing at his daughter-in-law.  "How many in your flock, darlin'?  How many eggs are we gettin' in a week?"

"Eight hens and a rooster," she answered, "Four or five eggs a day, sometimes six.  So, three dozen eggs a week."

"Okay, so we've got eight in the house and eight hens.  I'd call that strictly supplemental.  Stanley, what do you have?" Johnston asked.

"A dozen hens and two roosters," the younger man admitted, obviously reluctant to do so.

"And that's what, five dozen eggs a week?" Ron guessed.

Stanley exchanged a quick look with Mimi, and then followed Ron with his eyes as the councilman got up from his seat and moved to the front of the room.  "Yeah, probably a little more," he agreed, frowning softly.

"So, for keeping poultry, I move that four hens and a rooster per person in the household is supplemental," Ron declared, making a notation of this on the chalkboard.  "Anyone keeping more than that will be expected to turn their excess over for distribution within the community and/or will face a reduction in their ration."  He turned to face the room, his gaze settling on the other three council members present.  "Someone willing to second the motion?" he requested.

"Now wait a -" Gray began only to be shouted down by two council members, Norm Trotter and Dick Kelley, as they both seconded the motion.

"And I think ten pounds of produce per person, per week, from a backyard garden is clearly supplemental," Caroline threw out.  "Will you accept a friendly amendment, Ron?"

"Of course," he agreed, turning to add this information to the motion as recorded on the chalkboard.  "Norm, Dick, is that agreeable?"

"Call the question," Gray grumbled, glaring at Ron.  "I wanna vote on this now before you go and grandfather -"

But whatever else he was going to say was once again cut off when Jimmy Taylor burst through the door.  "You gotta come now!" he shouted, clearly excited.  "You're not gonna believe this!  Outside!"

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

Thursday, January 3, five years before the bombs

"Okay, this might just be the one thing wrong with first class," Jake complained, trying to pry up the console which separated his seat from Heather's.  It didn't budge.  "You're too far away," he grumbled, smacking the barrier with the palm of his hand.

Grinning, Heather twisted around so that she was sitting almost sideways in her seat and leaned over the offending slab of plastic.  "I think we'll manage..." she laughed, puckering her lips in invitation.  "Somehow," she whispered as he brushed his mouth across hers.

Heather had just undone her seatbelt - they had reached their cruising altitude and the pilot had turned off the seatbelt sign not two minutes before - and had lifted her knee, tucking it underneath herself to gain some additional leverage as she wrapped both arms around his neck, when from behind them they heard someone clear their throat and giggle.  "Sorry to interrupt," the first class flight attendant chuckled.  "I've got your coffee," she added as they broke apart.  "Honeymooners?" she - Bev, according to her nametag - asked, passing a small, ceramic cup to Jake.  "I can always spot the honeymooners," she laughed, handing Heather's cup to her.

"Not yet," Heather answered, balancing the cup in one hand as she reseated herself and then raised her tray, placing her coffee cup on it.  She glanced over at Jake and then reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together.  "We just got engaged a few days ago, and now I'm taking Jake home to meet my family."

"Well, engaged is just as good!" Bev declared brightly.  She tucked her tray under her arm, gripping the back of the seat in front of Heather as the plane shuddered through a short pocket of turbulence.  "Oh, was it a New Year's Eve proposal?  Right at the stroke of midnight?"

"Uh -" Jake began, ready to confess for what seemed like the fiftieth time in two days that, no, he hadn't thought to propose at midnight, but rather nearly eight hours later. 

Heather, though, cut him off.  "Yes, he did.  And, it was absolutely perfect," she answered, squeezing his hand.

"Okay now, let's see the ring!" Bev demanded.  Laughing, Heather - who had gotten very used to this ritual over the preceding two days - held her hand up for inspection.  "Oh my, that's beautiful, and so unusual," Bev declared seconds later.  Waving the other first class flight attendant over, she threw Jake a smile.  "You did good.   Take a look at that, Julie," she gushed, yanking on Heather's hand so her co-worker could get a better look.  "You hold out for something like this.  Aaron's takin' his own sweet time, so you just hold out for the good stuff."

"It's a really pretty ring," Julie told Heather, ignoring the small barb directed at her boyfriend.  "Congratulations," she sighed, letting go of Heather's hand. "Have you set a date yet?"

"They just got engaged," Bev answered for them.  "New Year's Eve proposal."

"Midnight?" Julie smiled, "You must've felt like Cinderella at the ball."

"More like Rapunzel at the top of her tower," Heather laughed.

"Rapunzel?" Bev questioned, her expression confused.  "Well, that's ... different."

"Sorry, inside joke," Heather dismissed.  She glanced sideways at Jake, catching his eye.  Pulling her hand loose from his, she reached up, cupping his chin, and then leaned over to press a quick kiss to his mouth.

"We'll just leave you two alone," Julie announced, chuckling.  She waited a beat before adding, a knowing lilt in her voice, "Like you even care."

Blushing softly, her expression sheepish, Heather turned to face the two flight attendants, but they were already moving away and returning to their duties.  She looked back at Jake.  "You know, I really don't care," she admitted with a giggle.

"Good," Jake murmured, tugging on her hand until she took the hint and leaned over to kiss him once again.  "Though I still say this thing's gonna annoy the hell outta me," he grumbled when they separated moments later, hitting the console with the heel of his hand.

"That's probably gonna keep us out of trouble," Heather countered quietly.  She sat up in her seat and then lifted herself up so she could look around at their fellow first class passengers.  They were in the last row with a bulkhead behind them, but the cabin was full, an older couple sitting in front of them and two business men - one reading the Wall Street Journal, the other tapping away at his laptop - across the aisle.  Dropping back into her seat, Heather adjusted herself so that she was sitting diagonally, angled toward Jake.  Cradling his hand in both of hers, she played with his fingers, not looking at him but leaning close so he could hear what she was saying.  "Jake, uh," she began, coughing softly, "You know that - that at my Dad's, you're gonna be in the guest room, right?"

Extracting his hand from hers, Jake used one finger to lift her chin up until their eyes met and locked.  "Yeah, I kinda assumed that," he smiled gently before adding, "Babe, it's okay.  If we were at my parents', it'd be the same way.  And let's not even talk about Gramps," he grumbled, making a face.  "He's never gonna leave us alone at the ranch again."

She frowned sympathetically and then tilted her mouth toward his, kissing him.  "Maybe not at the house," she agreed, giggling quietly, "But there's always the water tower and - I don't know - you've got haylofts, right?"

"Haylofts?" he chuckled in return, surprised - and yet somehow not - by her suggestion.  Four of 'em," he confirmed with a grin.  Catching her face in both his hands he planted a series of quick kisses on her mouth.  "We'll hafta check 'em out," he murmured against her lips.

Jake had felt oddly like he was back in high school as he'd snuck into the ranch house at five the morning before.  It had been easy enough to come in through the mudroom - though he'd had to quickly sneak Baron a doggy treat to keep him quiet - and then, taking off his boots and leaving them on top of the dryer, to creep through the house and up the stairs to his room.  He'd fallen into bed and slept until ten, convinced that his grandfather was completely unaware of when he'd come home.  That self-delusion had lasted until ten fifteen when he'd wandered down to get some coffee and had run into his grandfather, coming out of his study.  "Don't bother telling me you just fell asleep," Grandpa had grumbled, his expression sour. 

But it was the only comment he'd made about the situation, much to Jake's relief, not even saying anything when Jake had informed him that he and Heather would be going down to Wichita that evening, staying in a hotel, and then catching their flight out in the morning.  Grandpa had simply allowed a soft sigh and then offered Jake the use of his truck.  Jake had called Heather and confessed - as she had in return - to oversleeping, and then had promised to be at her house as soon as he'd showered and packed.  They had left Jericho at four, stopping for dinner on the road and checking into the Airport Hilton just after eight. 

"I'm gonna miss waking up with you tomorrow morning," Jake whispered, threading one hand through her hair.  When the phone had rung with their wake up call at six that morning, his first impulse had been to chuck it out the nearest window, but then as he'd scrambled for the offending device he'd become very aware of their limbs tangled together, the press of her soft skin against his.  Now, stroking the soft skin of her cheek with the back of his hand, Jake let out a sigh. "It's okay, babe.  I want your Dad to like me, not wanna kill me.  I can survive a coupl'a nights in the guest room."

Heather's smile was equal parts relief and regret.  'I'll miss waking up with you, too," she sighed, catching his hand in hers.  She placed a quick kiss on his palm and then lacing their fingers together, rested their joined hand on the console between them.  Leaning her head toward his, she began, "And when we get back -"

"Ladies and gentleman," Bev announced from the head of the small first class cabin.  "We're going to get your breakfast served here in just a few minutes, I promise," she informed her passengers, starting to walk down the aisle.  "But first, we have an engagement to celebrate."  Stopping next to their seats, she smiled at Jake and Heather.  "Just a few days ago, at the stroke of midnight on New Year's, Jake here asked -"  She cut herself off, giggling.  "Honey, I forgot to get your name," she admitted.

"Heather," Jake answered, squeezing his fiancée's hand as he enjoyed the rosy blush that was already spreading across he cheeks.  He cleared his throat and spoke so the other passengers could hear.  "I asked Heather to marry me, and she said yes."  It wasn't the sort of thing he did normally.  Having grown up in the spotlight so to speak - even if it was just the spotlight that came with being the mayor's son in Jericho, Kansas - he preferred to keep his personal life, private.  But this wasn't the first time he'd done something differently because of Heather, and he knew it wouldn't be the last.  A round of 'congratulations!' went up in the cabin, and Heather stretched toward him, leaning over the console that separated them until she could hide her face against his shoulder.   Wrapping his arm somewhat awkwardly around her shoulders, Jake planted a kiss on the top of her head.  "So, we're getting married," he concluded.

"Julie has mimosas for everyone," Bev declared.  "Well, everyone but us.  We're on duty after all," she joked.  Julie quickly distributed the drinks and then Bev proposed a toast which was echoed by the other passengers.  "May you have a long and happy life together.  To Jake and Heather!" 

Jake and Heather exchanged a kiss then, drawing sighs and indulgent smiles from the other passengers.  "Thank you, everyone," Jake called out.  "And thank you," He added, throwing Bev a quick smile.

"Yes, thank you so much," Heather echoed, "That was really sweet."

"You're quite welcome," Bev replied.  "Now, time to get those breakfasts up.  Can I get you more coffee?  More orange juice?  More champagne?"

"All three," Jake answered, catching Heather's eye.  "You too, babe?" he asked, and she nodded.  "For both of us," he told the flight attendant.

"So," the older woman in front of them asked, peering at them over the back of her seat.  "How did you two meet?"

"Well, I had my tire blow out on me," Heather began, glancing quickly at Jake when he reached for her hand again, squeezing her fingers gently.  "So I pulled off the highway, planning to change my tire, and then so did Jake.  The rest is history."

"And they say chivalry's dead," the woman chuckled.  "Sounds like you're both very lucky to have found one another."

"We sure are," Jake agreed, lifting Heather hand to his mouth, grazing her knuckles with a kiss.  "I for sure know that I'm a lucky man," he told his fiancée, their gazes locked.

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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

"Hey, wait up," Stanley yelled as he pushed past Emily and Roger, pulling Mimi along with him.  "Heather.  Heather!" he called out.  Eric had been directly on Jimmy's heels, also demanding that they come outside and claiming that help had arrived.  Immediately, everyone had surged to their feet, pouring out of the council chambers, headed for the front entrance.  "Heather," he repeated, finally catching up with her and Johnston.  "How's Jake, how's he doin'?" he panted.  "We were - were gonna come by later, check in."

Exchanging a quick look with her father-in-law, Heather exhaled softly before answering.  "Grumpy.  He's - he's weak still, tired, in a bad mood, and he's got cabin fever, all rolled up in one," she explained with a shrug.
           
"Heather, will you be okay if I...?" Johnston asked, letting go of her arm and pointing at Eric, who was saying something about a tank and soldiers and things that seemed very much beyond Heather's comprehension at this point.

"Yes, of course," she agreed, falling into step beside Stanley.  Johnston and Eric moved a few steps ahead, both of them talking at once.  "April made him promise to take it easy one more day," she added, flashing Stanley and Mimi a distracted smile and then glancing over her shoulder at Emily and Roger.  "And the rest of us all decided it was a good day to get out of the house," she admitted with a somewhat embarrassed chuckle.

"Well, we'll stop by later, see if we can get his mind off things," Stanley promised, following Mimi and Heather out the main door and into the cold but bright winter day. 

Out on the sidewalk they all stared, gaping and silent, as a tank rolled slowly down Main Street, its continuous track grinding and screeching on the wet and muddy pavement.  A squad of soldiers dressed in camouflage and carrying machine guns marched alongside the tank which finally came to a stop in front of town hall.  A somewhat husky man stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over the crowd.  "Who's in charge here?" he boomed out.

Gray jogged down the short pathway, pushing past Roger and Emily and hurrying forward.  "Uh, Gray Anderson," he introduced himself.  "I'm the mayor of Jericho."

The soldier allowed a curt nod.  "Glad to meet you, Mayor Anderson," he greeted.  "I'm Gunnery Sergeant Hill.  Fourth Mar Div, Fourth Tank Battalion, Charlie Company."

"So, you're...."   Gray sounded stunned, unable to even complete the thought in case it wasn't true.

"Sir.  We're the United States Marines, and we're here to help."

* * * * *

Without the modern conveniences of telephone, internet, or even the town's tornado warning sirens, word of the Marines arrival had still spread through Jericho seemingly at the speed of light - or at least at the speed of the fastest teenage boys.  In just ten minutes, the crowd had tripled in size.  Jericho's citizens milled around, talking in excited, hushed tones, telling the new arrivals that yes, these were the United States Marines.  The families from Ridley Cooper's group were already laughing about their close call, all thoughts of leaving town now forgotten.  Johnston, after making sure that Heather was safe with Stanley - not that he'd said anything, but the look that the younger man gave him had left no doubt that he knew, even if she didn't, that she was being left in his care - had started to move through the crowd, listening to what was being said and offering reassurances.  Spotting his wife, followed closely by Jake and Michael, Johnston broke away from the McVeighs and strode toward his family.

"They sent the Marines?" Gail questioned, clearly not quite able to believe what she was seeing with her own, very wide eyes.

Nodding, Johnston wrapped his arm around her.  Looking back over his shoulder at his son, he asked , "Are you okay to be out here?"

"I'm fine," Jake returned, his expression hardening.  He seemed to sink back beneath the hood of his sweatshirt.  "Don't - I'm fine."

"Okay," his father acknowledged, letting out a quiet breath.  "If you say so.  Heather's - she's over there," he added, pointing the two younger men toward the sidewalk in front of town hall.  "With Stanley and Mimi."

Maneuvering his way through the crowd, Jake quickly spotted Heather standing next to Stanley, both hands resting on her middle as they always seemed to be these days.  She was rubbing her mittened hands in circles across her belly, absently, as she listened to the Marine Sergeant.  "Hey," he murmured, sidling up beside her, startling her.

"Jake, what are you doing here?" Heather whispered, frowning at him.  "You're supposed to be taking it easy, April said."

"I'm pretty sure April wasn't counting on the Marines comin' to town," he countered quietly.  "This is a little more important."

"Three days ago you could've died," she reminded, "I just think you should -"

"Sis, he's fine," Michael interjected, squeezing in behind his brother-in-law.   "April's just being cautious."

Throwing them both a frustrated look, Heather shook her head.  "Fine."

"Heather, c'mon," Jake grumbled softly.  "I'm fine.  And I'm not gonna sit at home -"

"Fine, I get it," she replied, refusing to meet his eye.  "It's fine." 

"Yeah, right," he muttered, earning him a look that spoke an earful though her lips were pressed tightly together.

Behind her, Stanley couldn't keep a smirk off his face. "So, uh, Jake," he threw out, clearing his throat.  "You feel better?  You look...better."

Rolling his eyes at his friend, Jake nudged Heather gently with his elbow.  "Hey... truce?" he murmured near her ear.

Inhaling deeply, she glanced at him, nodding.  "Yeah," she agreed, though there was still a hint of reservation in her voice.  "Truce."

"Shh!" Mimi commanded, leaning over Stanley to shush them.  "Listen!"

"....Now that we've won the war," Sergeant Hill shouted over the low noise of the crowd, "It's time to start rebuilding."

"What war?" Gray demanded.

Surprise was evident in Sergeant Hill's expression.  "You - you didn't hear?"

"No," Gray confirmed.

"We lost all communications after the EMP," Eric called out.

"Well," Sergeant Hill nodded, taking this information in.  "We nuked the hell outta North Korea and Iran."

The crowd buzzed with this news.  "Oh my God," Heather gasped softly from beside Jake.  Eyes wide, she looked up at him, and he reached for her hand, catching it clumsily in his own which was encased in a bulky glove. 

"So, they were behind it?" Gray questioned, frowning.

"From what I hear," Sergeant Hill returned, clearing his throat, "Which isn't much, Iran financed it, and North Korea supplied the bombs.  We've got troops all over the world, goin' after the terrorists who snuck 'em in, but at least we took out the big dogs."

"What happens now?" Eric questioned.

Sergeant Hill almost smiled as he announced, "Largest reconstruction effort in the history of the country."

"So there's somebody finally in charge?" Gray asked.  Around him, the crowd pushed in, everyone jostling for a better position.

"Former Secretary of HHS is now the President," Sergeant Hill explained.

With his hood up - he was still cold and starting to wonder if he'd ever be warm again - Jake had to twist around to look his brother-in-law in the eye.  Michael's expression was as dubious as his own.  "Uh, we heard there were six guys from six different capitals claiming to be President," Jake shouted.

"Resolved!" Sergeant Hill declared, "Federal government is reunifying in Columbus, Ohio."

"How did they decide on Columbus?" Gray questioned.

"All I know is my orders are coming from the commanding officer of the Fourth Battalion," Sergeant Hill said, dismissing the mayor with a shrug.  Turning in a circle, he scanned the crowd.  "And those are," he continued, emphasizing each word, his voice getting louder, "To restore lights, power, and infrastructure to Kansas one town at a time!"

Immediately, the people of Jericho began to cheer, exchanging smiles and hugs with their family and friends.  Gray, though, wasn't quite ready to celebrate.  "Whoa, wait!" he interrupted, frowning.  "When is that gonna happen?"

"You'll have shelves full of Oreos and Hot Pockets by Valentine's."  Sergeant Hill assured, cracking an actual grin.  "Welcome back to the grid, Jericho!"

The celebration swelled.  Heather wrapped her arm around Jake's, resting her head against his shoulder.  "Can you - can you believe it?" she asked, her voice cracking softly.  Eyes glistening with happy tears, she smiled up at him as he pulled his arm loose from hers just long enough to wrap it around her, drawing her into a sideways embrace.  "Jake ...."

"See, we're gonna be fine now," he muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  "We're gonna be just fine."

Next to them, Mimi and Stanley were kissing, locked in a clinch.  Losing their balance, they stumbled into Jake and Heather who, giggling, extracted herself from her husband's embrace so she could offer her brother a hug.  Jake found himself laughing too, and he gave Stanley a playful shove, complaining, "There are kids out here!  Get a room!"

"It's over!" Stanley declared, pulling Jake into a one armed hug.   Looking past his friend, he grinned at Heather.  "Hey, Mama!  It's over!"

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

Thursday, January 3, five years before the bombs

"Mikey!" Heather called, "Earth to Mikey!"  She and Jake were standing a mere five feet from her younger brother, who was leaning against a pillar his nose buried in what she recognized as the EMT exam study guide he'd been pouring over all of his winter break. 

"Hey, Sis," Michael declared with a grin, snapping his book closed.  "We just can't get rid of you, huh?" he teased, pulling her into a quick hug.  "Now admit it, you missed me, didn't ya?"

Shaking her head and laughing, Heather took a half step away, bumping Jake, who immediately wrapped one arm around her.  "Mikey this is -"

"Cowboy Jake," Michael filled in, holding his hand out to his future brother-in-law. 

"Apparently," Jake returned drily, shaking Michael's hand.  "It's good to finally meet you in person, Mike."

"You guys were quick," Michael observed, "Your plane landed like two minutes ago.  Is this it?" he continued, pointing to Heather's rolling suitcase and the duffle bag at Jake's feet.  "Or do we need to go to baggage claim?"

"No, this is it," Heather answered.  She held her hand out to Jake who, after slinging his bag over his shoulder, laced their fingers together.  "And being first off the plane is just one of the many bonuses of flying first class," she said, flashing a smile first at her brother and then at her fiancé. 

"I had some awards to use up," Jake shrugged as they began to follow the signs toward the parking garage.  "Figured it would be more fun with company," he added, winking at Heather.

"Oh man, Heth," Michael chortled, "Please, whatever you do, make sure I'm there when you tell Andy, Tommy and John that you guys flew first class.  That's gonna be so classic, especially when Deb and Mandy hear about it.  See...."  He glanced sideways and then back over his shoulder, expecting them to be right behind him.  "Oh, please," he grumbled as he finally located his sister and her fiancé, a good five feet back, exchanging a kiss. 

Pulling away, Heather threw her brother a sheepish smile.  "Sorry."

"Can we get going already?" he requested, impatiently.   "Before I have to pay for the next half hour or fraction thereof."

"I'll cover your parking," Jake offered, letting go of Heather's hand and reaching around for her suitcase's handle.

"Oooh!  And that way we can take all the time we want," she declared, brushing a kiss across Jake's mouth.  Glancing over her shoulder, Heather laughed at the face her brother was making.  "Oh stop," she giggled, warning, "Careful your face doesn't freeze that way," before kissing her fiancé one more time. 

Five minutes later they were at Michael's car, a Geo Prizm that Jake argued was the exact same car that Heather drove (and which he loathed) though the Lisinski siblings went to great pains to explain that Heather's car was actually a later model Corolla.  "They're made in the same assembly plant, same body and everything, but different cars technically," Michael argued, stowing their luggage around the ever present hockey bag in his trunk.  "Plus, hers is a '90 and mine's an '87.  And, we all just pretend that she's not Dad's favorite," he added, rolling his eyes, as he pushed the trunk lid closed.

"She's definitely my favorite," Jake declared, dropping an arm across Heather's shoulders.

"You're not so bad yourself," she grinned up at him.  "And now, you know why I say my brothers would all kill for your car.  Dad likes cars, likes working on cars, but he can be a little - "

"Not that we'd ever actually call Dad cheap," Michael interjected then, "But we are allowed to say he's thrifty."

"And we definitely do," Heather completed for her brother.  Playing with the zipper on Jake's parka, she offered him a gentle smile, instructing, "You sit up front.  In the back your knees'd be up to your chin."  Nodding, he kissed her quickly before handing her into the back seat, both of them snorting at the strangled groan which had emanated from Michael.

"So, what's your car?" Michael asked, turning into the parking garage's exit lane.

Jake lifted himself up enough that he could extract his wallet from his back pocket.  "Plymouth Roadrunner," he answered, handing Heather's brother a twenty.  "Sixty-nine."

"Nice," Michael whistled, pulling up to the attendant's booth.  He handed his ticket and the twenty to a bored looking young woman in her twenties who had - Jake counted - seven visible piercings.  "Heather never got around to mentioning that.  All we heard about was horses, and airplanes, and dates to other states, and diamond earrings."

"I really never mentioned it?" Heather questioned.  "I thought I'd mentioned everything at least once," she giggled.  "But, you know, I've never actually driven Jake's car, so maybe that's it."

"Boy, if that's not fishin'," her brother teased, transferring the change the attendant had given him from his left hand to his right.  He held it out to Jake.

"Keep it for gas money," Jake said, waving him off.  Michael smiled widely at that, rolling the money up before forcing it into a cup holder already packed with odds and ends.  "And," Jake continued, looking over his shoulder at Heather and winking, "Babe, you can drive my car."

"Well, thank you," Heather returned, a soft blush coloring her cheeks as she leaned forward between the seats.  "Sign me up," she murmured, their eyes locking.  Jake took full advantage of the situation, pressing a kiss to her lips and prompting a screech from Michael.

"No kissing between the front and back seats!" he ordered.  "New rule!"  Michael glanced at her quickly.  "And, put your seatbelt on!"

"Okay, fine," Heather grumbled, sitting back in her seat.  "Oh, hey," she started again a beat later, "Turn on the radio, please.  Tommy's show's on."

"Your brother the DJ?" Jake asked, pushing the 'on' button.

"It's sports radio," she answered, "And he prefers 'local radio personality'."

"He does the evening commute, three to seven," Michael added.  "It's called the 'Home Run' show which we all think is incredibly cheesy."

Tommy was in fact just finishing a comprehensive run through of the coming weekend's local youth ice hockey schedule.  "And, a special thanks to all the league secretaries out there who faxed those schedules in.  We love all you team moms here at WSPB, Buffalo New York's premiere sports radio station.  Team moms keep youth sports running smoothly so we dads can just have fun.  Thank you, ladies!"

"Aw, that was sweet.  Mandy write that for you?"

"She so did," Michael opined to the radio.

"That's Scott," Heather explained to Jake.  "Tommy and Scott have been co-hosting for the last three years."

"Well... yeah," Tommy conceded reluctantly.  "But I meant every word."

"Least that explains the pink heart-shaped note paper," Scott hooted, then called out, "Mandy, you know I love you.... Like a sister.  Only better than my own sister, 'cause ya know -"

"She used to beat the snot outta ya," Tommy filled in.  "Trina, you done good, girl."

And, speaking of sisters," Scott continued, ignoring the shout out to his older sibling, "What's this I hear about your baby sister getting engaged?" he demanded.  "Since when do we even let Heather date?  You never let me date Heather."

Throwing her head back so she hit it against the headrest, Heather yelped and then groaned.  "I'm gonna kill him."

"I work with you five days a week, Scotty," Tommy reminded, "I don't need to see you at Sunday dinner, too.  But, yeah, the big Lisinski family news is that Heather got engaged for New Year's," Tommy reported. "She's bringing the fiancé home for the weekend so we can all meet him.  Actually, I think their plane's landing right about now."

"You guys have a plan, right?" Scott inquired conspiratorially.  "I know you guys must have a plan!"

"Oh, we've got a plan all right," Tommy assured.  "Can't let our little sister marry a cowboy without vetting him a little."

"He's dead," Heather declared, unbuckling her seatbelt in one quick, somewhat clumsy and clanging motion.  Jake watched her over his shoulder, allowing a grin but refusing to laugh.  This was a new side of his fiancée, not completely surprising and definitely amusing.  Not even fifteen minutes in - and only having met Michael - he could tell this was going to be an interesting weekend.  Sliding forward, Heather perched herself on the edge of the seat so she could pinch her brother's arm at the shoulder, though through his thick winter jacket, Jake doubted he felt it much.  "Mikey!" she demanded, tightening her grip.  "What are these plans?"

"Well, I expect a full report on Monday," Scott chortled from the radio.  "Can't have little Heather marrying just any cowboy."

"I don't know, I swear," Michael insisted, easing the car to a stop for a red light.  He glanced back, throwing her a look that was both annoyed and somewhat sympathetic.  "They don't tell me anything," he reminded, "Because they know you'll just make me tell you.  Besides, seriously, it's not like Dad'll let 'em get away with it.  Well, much," he amended a second later.

"Babe, it's gonna be fine.   I can handle a little interrogation," Jake said, catching Heather's hand in his.

"And, you know that most of that was probably just for the show," Michael argued, gesturing at the radio.  "You know how they plan their on air banter."

Heather didn't look completely reassured, and Jake couldn't resist the impulse to try and kiss her frown away.  Heedless of Michael's earlier declarations, he twisted around so he could brush his lips across hers, cajoling softly, "C'mon, babe.  Don't worry so much."

"Yeah, Heth," Michael added, ignoring the flagrant violation of his latest 'car rule'.  She sat back in her seat, slumping a little after she re-fastened her seatbelt.  "Everything is gonna be just fine."

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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

"Heather!"

The five celebrating friends twisted around to see Harry Carmichael threading his way through the crowd toward them.  Heather!" he called out again, breathlessly.

"Harry!" she returned with a smile.  "Can - can you believe this?  It's like a dream," she declared.  "A really great dream."

"That it is," the engineer agreed, "And, it's probably silly to even worry about this now, but Brian Roth is pushing for us to do more switch grass research and wants to meet about it this morning - now, actually.  I was hoping you could join us?" 

"Go ahead," Jake urged, squeezing her arm.  He cocked his head toward where his parents stood in the midst of the jostling throng of Jericho's celebrating citizenry, talking with the Marine Sergeant.  "I'm gonna go listen in."

"Oh.  Yeah, okay," Heather replied, frowning softly.  She didn't really want to go, but she appreciated that Harry continued to include her and seek out her input even though she was no longer the head of the team.  Leaning over to exchange a quick and perfunctory kiss with her husband, she let her hand rest on the zipper of his heavy sweatshirt for a moment.  "I'll - I'll catch up with you later, or -"

"I'll come find you," Jake promised, stopping her long enough to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.  "No way your meeting's not longer than this," he reasoned, cocking his head toward the tank.

She groaned in acknowledgment.  The technical solutions team had earned a reputation for its long, drawn out - Jake would say mind numbing - meetings.  "Right."

"I'll come with you, Heth," Michael offered, reaching for her arm. 

Jake watched as Michael and Harry escorted Heather up the town hall walkway, finally turning away when they reached the first step.  Pushing his way through the throng, he came up behind his brother and Gray Anderson, and could hear the Gunnery Sergeant explaining what would happen now.

"... why don't you get a wish list of what you need, and I'll forward it onto HQ in Dodge City, start to get you back on your feet," Sergeant Hill instructed.

"Roger that," Johnston acknowledged, and Gray was all smiles as he inquired, "Well, just tell me how I can be of service."

"Uh, we're gonna need a command post," Sergeant Hill shrugged.

"Well, use the Sheriff's office," Gray offered quickly.

Sergeant Hill nodded.  "Great."

"Excuse me," Mary said, appearing at the Gunnery Sergeant's elbow.  "Uh, if you guys are gonna be here for awhile, why don't I take your men over to my tavern?"

Jake had to stifle a snort at the look of distaste which flashed on his mother's face.  Her attitude toward Eric and Mary had softened some over the past month, especially as, facing starvation, they had needed to pull together as a family and work for all their survival, but she still wasn't happy with the situation and had a hard time checking her feelings.  Eric seemed to notice her reaction too, and he threw Mary an encouraging look, saying, "Inside Bailey's you can almost forget what the world's like out here."

"It's not even noon," Gail grumbled, rolling her eyes.

"Well, they're welcome any time," Mary assured quickly.  "Even if it's just to warm up in front of the fire for a bit."

"Thank you, ma'am, the troops could use it," Sergeant Hill replied, his gaze darting from Eric to Gail to Mary before he called over one of his men.  "Ballmore!  Front and center, move it, move it!"  The young man appeared before him, clutching his rifle, his demeanor strangely twitchy.  "Muster up and follow this young lady here," he ordered, pointing at Mary.  "Liberty call, but remember," he cautioned, raising his voice so the other members of the squad could hear, "Everybody conduct yourself like Marines."

"Aye, sir," the Marine barked in return.

"Don't you 'sir' me, PFC," Sergeant Hill scowled.  "I work for a living.  Dismissed."

"Aye, aye, Gunnery Sergeant," the Marine returned before following after Mary who was beating a hasty retreat of her own. 

"Couple of months ago I would have had that kid doing pushups 'til he puked," Sergeant Hill confided to Johnston and Gray, "But, uh, they've been through a lot."

"I understand," Johnston nodded.  "Anything else we can do?" he asked, clearing his throat.

"Well, uh, Sergeant, one other thing.... Corporal Mullin," he yelled.

As if on cue, a Marine materialized out of the milling crowd, one who hadn't joined the group that had made a beeline for Bailey's.  "Hi," she greeted, her voice giving away that she was in fact female and inviting them all to recognize the other signs that were there in her height, build and carriage.  Her BDUs were a good disguise, but once they knew to suspect the difference, it was easy to see.  "Uh, I'm looking to scavenge some replacement parts..." she explained, glancing at each of them in turn.

"Our radio took a coupl'a good hits," Sergeant Hill added.

"Do you have any idea where I could start?" the female Marine inquired quickly, leaving them no time to contemplate or question the source of those hits.

Jake stepped forward.  "Maybe I could help?"

"Lance Corporal Mullin," she introduced herself, holding her hand out to him.

He accepted her hand, shaking it with his heavily gloved one.  "Jake."

"Maggie," she replied, smiling.  "So, you're the town's electronics expert?"

Next to him, Jake heard his mother make an amused noise in the back of her throat.  Eric, Gail and Heather were the actual electronics experts in the family, the ones who set up stereo systems and laptops, and troubleshot printers for the rest of them.  In fact, it had been awhile since Jake had needed to do anything more complicated than programming his cell phone, and that was only because his wife had held firm on her vow not to do that for him, not even when he'd tempted her with the chance to play with his newly issued DEA satellite phone.  "No, I'm not an expert at anything," he admitted, holding up one hand in mock surrender.  "But I can improvise," Jake assured, adding, "And I can get the expert if we need her."

"Speaking of, where's Heather?" Gail questioned frowning softly.

"Switch grass focus group," Jake shrugged.  "Can't do anything with it 'til spring, but they're workin' on a plan."  He returned his attention to Corporal Mullin, offering her a small grin.  "I'm not the expert, but I'm here and I know where we can start lookin'."

"I'll take that," she smiled.

"Okay," he acknowledged, motioning for her to turn around and precede him through the crowd.  "Let's see what we can find."

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

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 14B.

 

The Geo Prizm / Toyota Corolla are "twin cars" that were assembled at the New United Motor Manufacturing Inc. plant in Fremont, CA.  I worked there for a summer in the quality control department way back when and so in a fit of nostalgia gave both Heather and Mikey one of their cars.  (Sadly, it looks like the plant is now closing and taking a lot of jobs with it.)

There is no WSPB radio station in Buffalo, but I needed a call sign and so I picked one that is now defunct from Florida. 

Part 14B by Marzee Doats

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

Different Circumstances: Part 14B of ? by Marzee Doats



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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

"We tried to institute rationing early on," Johnston explained, allowing a heavy sigh as he gestured at the chalkboard on which the statuses of the town's provisions - food, livestock, fuel, and medical supplies -  were recorded in nitty-gritty detail.  Wanting to give Gunnery Sergeant Hill a better picture of how things stood in Jericho, they had detoured to the town council chambers rather than showing him directly to the sheriff's office.  Johnston, fiddling absently with his scarf, caught the Marine's eye, the two of them exchanging grim smiles.  "But it took some time for people to accept that we were really on our own."

"And now you go and try to undo all that," Gray complained, glaring sideways at his predecessor.  "Gettin' the council to come up with all these exemptions so Stanley Richmond and all the other farmers can hold the town hostage -"

"You've gotta give some incentive or what reason is there for anyone to do anything but wait around for a handout?" Johnston demanded, allowing some of the aggravation he'd been biting back since the election to seep into his tone.  He'd accepted the result of course, but that didn't keep what happened to Jericho and her people from weighing on him any less.  "Now, Stanley doesn't have to give you anything, but he's a decent guy - like all the farmers 'round here - so he's gonna give what he can."

"Yeah," Gray snorted derisively, "And I shoulda remembered that the Greens and the Richmonds always stick together.  You don't have anything to worry about, Johnston, Stanley'll take care of your family.  But I've got the whole town -"

"Which is why we need to come to a fair and equitable arrangement with the farmers!"  The words burst out of Johnston almost as a shout.  "What're you gonna do Gray?" he continued, "Take it by force?  Declare eminent domain on a farm that's nearly ten miles outside the town limits and therefore your jurisdiction?"  Closing his eyes for a moment, Johnston shook his head.  "George Richmond was as good a friend as I've ever had, and I'm gonna do right by his kids."

Johnston Green had vowed as much, thirteen years before as he'd stood in the Fillmore County morgue the morning after the accident which had taken George and Alice Richmonds' lives.  Henry Dawes, Jericho's longtime sheriff had come pounding on the Greens' front door just before midnight the previous evening, bringing the news of the discovery by Bruce Salem, rookie deputy, of the Richmonds' truck wrecked and upside down in a ditch out on Route Forty, headed into town.  George and Alice were dead, Sheriff Dawes had reported, fighting to catch his breath, and the baby had been transported to the med center, though Doc Petersen had said she needed to go to Children's Hospital in Denver as soon as the late spring blizzard that was blowing through - and had likely contributed to the accident that had taken her parents' lives - let up enough to allow the medivac helicopter to fly in.  Gail had protested this, reminding the two men that Stanley was at KU in Lawrence and the University Hospital was just forty miles away in Kansas City, and didn't it make better sense to send her there?  But the storm would still be raging to the east for hours and time was of the essence, the sheriff had reminded.

Gail and Johnston had accompanied Sheriff Dawes out to the Bryant farm to inform Kathy Bryant of her sister's and brother-in-law's deaths.  Kathy, who had been widowed the previous summer, had become nearly hysterical, sobbing out that she'd spoken to Alice on the phone just a few hours before, and that her sister had been worried over the slight fever and cough that Bonnie had come down with.  She'd teased Alice, Kathy had confessed, telling her she was more nervous this time around than she'd been the first, and had advised that she give Bonnie some Tylenol and bring her to the clinic in the morning.  But George and Alice, despite the snowstorm, had opted to take their little girl in right away. 

The four had arrived at the med center in time to see Bonnie loaded onto the chopper for Denver.  Johnston had called his father then, and EJ had met them out at the airfield at dawn.  Gail had never liked flying in her father-in-law's small planes, but Kathy Bryant could count on one hand the number of times she'd been in an airplane of any size, and she'd been petrified, so Gail had pasted on an encouraging smile and, wrapping a bracing arm around the other woman, had gently forced her to climb into the small cabin.  Johnston and Sheriff Dawes had watched from the sheriff department's incident response vehicle, a souped up Expedition, as EJ had taxied down the short runway, taking off toward the west, on what had turned out to be nearly his last flight as a private pilot.

The usual half hour drive from Jericho to Fielding, the county seat, had taken nearly two hours.  The plows had just been starting to get out on the roads when Johnston and Henry Dawes had arrived, mere minutes behind the ambulance that had brought the Richmonds' bodies over from the med center.  Henry had argued against doing this, had argued that they should get on the road - as foolhardy as that was with the blizzard a few hours ahead of them - if they wanted to make Lawrence by nightfall.  It was a four or five hour drive normally, and the storm would double that, easily.  But Johnston had insisted.  He could spare Stanley having to identify his parents' bodies at least.

When Johnston had first mentioned his intention to drive to Lawrence and deliver the news of the accident and his parents' deaths to Stanley in person, Henry Dawes had let out a strangled snort and called him crazy, but in the end he'd agreed to the trip.  Ten hours later, the kid on duty at Stanley's dorm had directed them to the dining hall where they'd found the young man, hanging out with a few friends from the football team and a couple of admiring, giggly girls.  Immediately, Stanley had known something was wrong, simply from their presence, though their tired, drawn expressions had betrayed them as well.  "God, no, Mayor, no," he'd gasped out, his knees buckling as Johnston had croaked out his news.  Afraid that Stanley was going to collapse, Johnston had pulled him roughly into an embrace, murmuring that it would be okay even though he had no real reason to believe that it would.

Sheriff Dawes had driven them to the Kansas City Airport, just over the border in Missouri, where Stanley and Johnston had caught the first and last flight of the day leaving for Denver.  They'd arrived at the hospital after visiting hours, but EJ, Gail and Kathy were all still there, huddled together in the waiting room although EJ had checked them all into a motel down the street earlier in the day.  Taking one look at Stanley, the head nurse in the PICU had opted to bend the rules, letting him check in on Bonnie, just out of her second surgery and still unconscious. Later, in a daze, Stanley had walked to the car between his aunt and Gail, tears rolling silent and unheeded down his cheeks.  Then, at the motel, he'd refused to even lie down, eventually falling asleep against his will, still sitting up in a chair at the table where EJ had joined him, talking him into playing 'Go Fish', though Stanley's mind hadn't really been on the game, and he'd kept asking for threes long after he'd laid both pairs down.

Johnston had stayed four days in Denver before he'd had to return to Jericho.  By the time he'd flown home with his father, Stanley had announced his intention to quit school, run the family farm, and look after Bonnie.  His aunt had put up a token argument but it had been obvious to them all that she'd been relieved that she would not be taking on a three year old when her own children were grown and her first grandchild was due in July.  The Greens' had argued more, Gail especially, not wanting to see Stanley give up on his education, but in the end it was obvious that this was the best - though nowhere near perfect - solution.  They hadn't yet known whether or not Bonnie's hearing loss would be permanent, but either way they'd known that she would have a long recovery ahead of her, and someone had needed to take charge of the farm, the legacy of four generations of Richmonds.

"Stanley's great, great grandfather was one of the first homesteaders in these parts," Johnston informed Gray, shaking his head to clear it of the thirteen year old memory.  "He's a part of this community, same as all the other farmers, same as you and me.  You gotta work with them, not try to cut 'em out."

"Looks like you did a better job than most towns I've seen," Sergeant Hill commented then.  He'd been studying the two older men with undisguised interest, listening carefully as they'd argued, and now he glanced at Johnston, catching his eye once more.  "The town's lucky to have a military man in charge," he declared, chin jutting out.

Johnston frowned slightly, raising one eyebrow, surprised that the Sergeant would so blatantly throw fuel on the fire of Gray's anger.  "Well, I guess we've made out all right," he shrugged, hoping it would be enough to diffuse things.

"With the salt from my mine we've been able to do some trading with nearby towns," Gray interjected, taking a step toward Sergeant Hill.

"Your town seems to have been blessed," the Marine acknowledged, finally meeting Gray's gaze.  "That said," he continued, coughing softly, "Uh, I can't say you'll be a priority on the list."

"Um, uh, wait a minute," Gray demanded, his forehead wrinkling with consternation.  "What list?"

"We've got detachments all over Kansas," Sergeant Hill explained.   "Assessing each town's need."  He paused for a second. "And relief ...relief is given on an 'as needed' basis."

His mouth hanging open, Gray stared at the Marine, dismay obvious in his expression.  "Okay, wait a second," he demanded, his voice squeaking, "You're saying - you're saying that because we planned better than others, it'll count against us?"

Johnston, who'd busied himself with poking at the fire, trying to coax a little more heat out of the embers before adding another log, turned around to stare at the Gunnery Sergeant.  For once, he was in complete agreement with Gray, though he couldn't help but see some irony in Gray claiming that 'we' - Johnston assumed that included him - had planned well, given that Gray had run for mayor on the platform that he was incompetent.  Still, what did he think they could do? Sergeant Hill was only doing his duty.  "Now Gray," Johnston exhaled, taking a step toward the other two, "We can make out for a little while longer if we have to."  He really wasn't sure how, but glancing at the chalkboard, he got the sinking feeling that they would all be spending a lot more time in this room.

"Yeah, that's easy for you to say," Gray griped, glaring at him, "You're not being held accountable."  Fighting the urge to respond, Johnston was forced to bite his tongue.

"Well, why don't you give me that 'wants' list, and, uh, I'll see what I can do," Sergeant Hill offered.

"What don't we need?" Gray returned, grumbling.  "See that board?" he asked, gesturing wildly.  "And, you know, we've taken in more'na hundred refugees.  We need something - compensation - for that."

"Just to start, how 'bout gasoline, diesel, kerosene, batteries," Johnston threw out.  "Heavy clothing, shoes and boots, seeds, fertilizer, antibiotics, and soap.  The staples - flour, sugar, yeast, rice."  He stopped, frowning.  He was losing the Gunnery Sergeant; that much was obvious from the sour look on the other man's face.   And, he should have expected it, too, Johnston realized.  He'd probably gotten a list like that in every town he'd been in since the bombs, and he'd told them that Jericho was luckier than most.  They needed to give Sergeant Hill a reason to advocate on their behalf or at least turn their list in to whomever was in charge these days.  It was basic politics, and Johnston knew that.  He knew how to play politics after all, and he needed to make a personal connection here.

"Well, that's just off the top of my head," he chuckled uneasily.  "Course, my family's list would be a little different.  Coffee, peanut butter, toilet paper," Johnston listed, smiling.  "And diapers.  Plenty of diapers.  Got two grandbabies on the way."

"Congratulations!" Sergeant Hill declared after a moment's pause, grinning in return.  "Gonna need those diapers.  So make sure you put 'em on the list when you write it up and get it to me," he instructed, taking a half step in the direction of the door.

"We - we will," Johnston agreed, letting out a relieved breath.

"Peanut butter," the Marine laughed, "Now I gotta wonder, can you grow peanuts in Kansas?  Better ask for peanut seeds, just in case."

"Uh, too cold this far north," Johnston answered.  "But - you'll have to excuse me for a minute," he requested a beat later, spotting a familiar charcoal gray jacket and mop of too long hair.  Without waiting for their response - Gray was just standing there make fish faces, anyway - he hurried out of the council room after his son.  "Jake, wait up."

"Uh, Dad," the younger man greeted, stopping in the middle of the corridor, his arms crossed awkwardly over his chest.  The female Marine stood next to him, her expression politely interested.  "You need something?" Jake inquired reluctantly, looking down at his shoes.  "Because we're on the hunt for a transistor.  Gonna check that old radio in the sheriff's station."

"Just wanted to make sure you're okay, Son," Johnston returned.  "That's all."  The three of them stared at one another for a few, uncomfortable seconds, and then clearing his throat, Johnston took a step back.  "Well, I'll see you at home.  You take it easy."

"Yeah, thanks," Jake muttered over his shoulder as he shepherded the young woman toward  the suite of sheriff's department offices.  "Sorry about that," he apologized, holding the door open for her.  He looked back, glad to see that his father was out of earshot and headed in the other direction.  "Dad - that was worse than my Mom, actually.   Or -"

"Don't worry about it," Maggie answered, "It was fine.  And you shouldn't mind," she told him, a shy smile lighting her face.  "It's, uh, nice to have someone worrying about you."

"That's one way to look at it, I guess," Jake snorted.  "Okay," he said, motioning for her to precede him, "This way." 

Ten minutes later, they were set up in the border patrol office he shared with Mrs. Crenshaw, although - rather unusually - she hadn't come in yet.  Jake supposed she'd gotten caught up in the celebration outside.  Bill had scrounged a couple of tool kits - one with a soldering iron that still worked - from the storeroom and had brought them into the office, blushing and stammering as he'd presented them to Maggie, much to her amusement.  "Well, thank you, Deputy," she's acknowledged as he'd nearly tripped over a chair, backing out of the room.  Now the tool kits and the two radios were laid out on the desk in front of her, and she held the blown transistor in one hand as she examined the insides of the ham radio, looking for a match. 

"Try that one," Jake suggested, pointing to the part in one corner which she had so far ignored.

"Perfect," she agreed, carefully prying the transistor out of its placement.  She looked up and back at Jake, who was hovering behind her, their eyes locking for a moment.  "So, you're really not gonna tell me what happened," Maggie accused lightly.

Jake shrugged.  The accident was just about the last thing he wanted to talk about with anyone.  His father had tried, and Heather, but he'd managed to put them off by claiming fatigue.  "Doc says frostbite," he conceded finally, hoping she'd take the hint and leave well enough alone. 

"Uh huh," Maggie acknowledged, nodding to herself as she compared the two transistors and confirmed that the new one was close enough to the right size to work.  She glanced at him again, teasing, "Doctor also say who kicked your ass?"

His smile faltering, Jake tensed.  "Someone ran us off the road," he muttered, arms once more crossed over his chest.  "Most of it's a blur," he claimed, refusing to meet her eye.  "Just, uh, tried to stay alive, you know?"

"I do," she agreed, all traces of humor disappearing from her expression and voice.  She turned back to the task at hand, concentrating on the old soldering iron and the transistor she was trying to fix in place.

He watched her work for a long moment, the silence hanging heavily in the small room.  He was usually good at this: making small talk, putting people at ease.  His good cop was actually pretty damn good.  "So, the Marines, huh?" he inquired, throwing her an encouraging smile.

She glanced at him, clearly surprised by the overture.  "Yeah."

"So, is it everything you hoped for?" Jake asked, truly curious.  He'd been around plenty of military personnel during his months in Afghanistan and Iraq and he liked to think he had some understanding of what their lives had been like, what had made them tick.  But the world had changed and he wondered how that affected someone like Marine Corporal Mullin.

"There are moments," she shrugged, giving perhaps more of her attention to the soldering iron than was absolutely necessary.  "But when I signed up, I never thought I'd be fighting Americans," Maggie admitted.  Letting out a shallow breath, she set the tool down and examined her work, murmuring, "Good people forced to do bad things."

Swallowing hard, Jake nodded.  That was one he knew, for sure.  "It's - it's gotta be rough," he coughed.  "I'm sorry."

"It's not your problem," Maggie denied, risking a glance in his direction.  He stared at her in return, brow furrowed.  "What?" she grumbled, rolling her eyes.

"Just wondering why someone like you would join the Marines," Jake admitted.  He'd seen what it was like for female soldiers over in Iraq, all they had to put up with, and more than once he'd wondered why they did. 

"Someone like me?" she questioned, "You mean a girl?"  Embarrassment - at being called out, she guessed - flitted across his face.  "Well, I had an office job until a few years ago," Maggie explained as she looked over her repair job.  "But I got bored.  I wanted to see the world," she declared, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping her.

"And have you?"

"I've seen Omaha," she answered with an obviously forced indifference.  This time, he'd hit a nerve.  "You?" she demanded, a challenging glint in her eye.

"What? Seen the world?" Jake replied.  He stared past her, memories of three roads swirling together in his mind's eye.  The first was hot and sun-baked.  Iraq.  Around him people were shouting and Freddie was forcing him to step over her body and climb back into the cab of his truck, his tone urgent as he told Jake that they had to get out of there now.  The second was absolutely familiar and yet he'd been just as disoriented, just as gripped with fear and panic, as he'd tried to hurry along, despite his busted ankle, after the two distraught children.  And the third was cold and dark, the stuff of nightmares, threatening to swallow him whole.  The third road was where he'd assumed he would die, had waited to die, trapped under the heavy metal frame of the Richmonds' truck while the earth stole his body heat, freezing him from the outside, in.

"Yeah," he muttered, shaking his head to clear it.  "Yeah, I just - just saw all the wrong places."

Maggie sat back in her chair, throwing Jake a sideways glance. Their eyes met and she offered him a smile, leaning toward him and joking, "Man, you have got this brooding bad boy thing down to an art."

"At this moment, think I'd have to agree with you on that."  Jake whipped around at the sound of his wife's voice, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end when he encountered her deceptively calm expression.  She was standing in the doorway along with Michael, her hands rested on her belly, over their baby - a perfectly normal pose except that they were clenched into fists.  "Your Dad thought maybe you could use my help with the radio," Heather informed him, her carefully modulated - almost icy - tone causing his stomach to begin churning.  "But I guess not," she completed, turning on her heel and fleeing.

It took Jake two seconds to react.  "Dammit, Heather," he ground out, pushing past Michael - who flashed what he took to be a sympathetic smile - and taking off after her.

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

Thursday, January 3, five years before the bombs

"Uh, Mikey, you're gonna miss the turn off," Heather warned, leaning forward between the seats.  "And ...you just did," she muttered a few seconds later, looking back out the rear window.

"Yeah, well, I'm under orders to take you guys by the rink first," he admitted, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.  Eyes glued to the road in front of him, Michael continued, explaining, "Jess threatened my continued occasional employment if I didn't.  I pointed out that firing me would be blatantly illegal, but she didn't seem to care.  Plus, it's Cub Club practice this afternoon, so -"

Heather groaned.  "Deb and Mandy and the kids will be there.  I'm sorry," she apologized, touching Jake's shoulder.

"Babe, I'm supposed to be meeting your family," he reminded, "It's why we're here."

"And, who do you want your first run to be on?" Michael added, finally glancing toward her.  "Deb and Mandy and maybe Kerry," he admitted, "All who've already decided that Jake's great.  Or do you wanna start with Andy, Tommy and John?"

"Right," she acknowledged with a sigh, sitting back and slumping a little in her seat. 

Not two minutes later, Michael turned into the parking lot for a squat, windowless concrete building, which had a red sign, unlit, over the entrance that proclaimed 'ICE RINK'. The lot was only about a third full, mostly minivans and SUVs though there were a few smaller cars here and there.  "Cub Club is a five and under training league," Michael explained, parking his car toward the far end of the building, next to an impressively high mound of snow that had been ploughed out of the way.  "Hence all the mom mobiles," he added, pulling his key from the ignition.

"Baby hockey players, huh?" Jake asked, moving quickly to open Heather's door for her. 

"Gotta get 'em up on skates," Michael replied, observing how Jake held onto Heather's hand, even after he'd pulled her clear of the car door and shoved it closed.  "But being so close to the ground, doesn't hurt so much to fall, they usually get it pretty fast," he continued, falling into step beside his sister and her fiancé.

"The fearlessness method," Jake chuckled, stroking the back of Heather's hand with his thumb.  "How I learned to ride a horse -"

"Of course," Michael interjected, darting forward to grab the door.

"And how to swim," Jake snorted as he and Heather stepped into the building, Michael right behind them.

Heather stopped right inside the door and, out of habit, stomped her feet to clean her shoes of sand and snow, though there wasn't much on them as the parking lot had been pretty clear.  "Okay," she declared, glancing toward the ice where thirty diminutive hockey players, in their skates, pads and helmets, were doing what Jake identified as some sort of sprinting drill.  "I think Jess first," she decided, leading him toward a door with a sign hanging overhead designating it as the 'Main Office'. 

Knocking once on the window, she waited just long enough for the middle-aged woman, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, who was inside the office to look up from her phone call and wave them in.   "Thank you.  Thanks.  Sal.  No, that's perfect.  Sal, I gotta go," she informed the person on the other end before hanging up the phone and turning a wide smile on the office's three new occupants, Heather in particular.  "Now, young lady, what's this I hear about you getting married?" she demanded, standing to face the trio, her hands on her hips.
 
"Well.... I am," Heather answered, grinning in return.  Still holding onto Jake's hand, she took a step toward the desk.  "Lois, this is Jake - Jake Green," she introduced, adding softly, "My fiancé.  And Jake, this is Lois Muncie.  Lois has been my Uncle Burt's right hand for longer than I've been alive, and now she's keeping Jess together."

"Oh, I just keep the books and answer the phones, that's all," Lois dismissed with a wave.  "Jessie's doin' real good.  Her Dad would be real proud.  Okay now, let's have a look at this ring," she said a moment later, reaching for Heather's hand.  "I don't know that I've seen a prettier one.  Very nice, young man," she complimented, turning an appraising eye on Jake.

Heather threaded her arm through his.  "It belonged to Jake's grandmother," she explained, "So that makes it even more special."

"For sure," Lois agreed, nodding.  She cleared her throat and then addressed Jake, her tone taking on a serious quality.  "Now, I've no doubt you're gonna hear this about a million times over the next few days, but I've known this little girl since she was just a gleam in her daddy's eye.  Used to love to come in and help me file," Lois laughed, "Five years old, knew the whole alphabet and she was not afraid to use it.  So, I'm just sayin', you better take very good care of her."

But before Jake could get out more than, "I will, I promise," the inner office door flew open and a young woman burst into the room, squealing, "Heaaa-ther!"

"Jess," Heather giggled as her cousin practically tackled her, hugging her tightly before turning and surprising Jake by hugging him as well.  "Jess," she repeated, shaking her head, "Well, since you've introduced yourself to Jake already," she snorted, "I'll just say, Jess this is Jake.  Jake, Jess."

"Hi, Jake," Jessica greeted, letting go of him and taking a step back.  She offered him a smile and then her hand.  "I just feel like I already know you," she explained, "You're all that Heather's talked about since she met you."

"Well, it's a - a mutual affliction," he replied, snaking his arm around Heather's waist and drawing her against his side.  "She's been pretty much all I've thought about since we met," he added, kissing the shell of her ear.

"Ugh, if you weren't just so cute together, I'd be forced to be sick," Jessica protested with a groan.

"Yeah, well, you'll have plenty of chances, trust me," Michael threw out, rolling his eyes. 
 
"Which is exactly how young love is supposed to be," Lois opined then, smiling at Heather.  The younger woman smiled in return, a soft blush suffusing her cheeks, but it wasn't anywhere even close to the beet red Lois would have expected.  "Your sister-in-laws are all dying to see that beautiful ring and to meet Jake," she prompted, waving them toward the door, laughing, "Well, probably not in that order."

"No, I think you got it right," Heather snickered as Jessica grabbed for her hand, declaring, "I can't believe I forgot to look at the ring!"

"Now, shoo!" Lois commanded, "Except you, Michael.  I need to twist your arm to take some more hours in this weekend's schedule," she informed him.
 
"Oh, so I'm not off the payroll?" Michael inquired sarcastically, rolling his eyes at his cousin.

Already heading for the office door, Jessica answered with a smile.  "You came through for me, Mikey," she laughed, "And your loyalty will be rewarded.  Of course," she added as soon as the office door was closed behind them, "His reward involves opening up tomorrow at five AM.  And, stopping to pick up the doughnuts and muffins for the snack bar on the way."

"Ouch," Jake murmured, feeling a strong wave of sympathy for his future brother-in-law.  "You really get a lot of people in here at five in the morning?"

"Ice time's at a premium," Heather's cousin explained with a shrug.  "And we get figure skaters in looking for a couple of hours of practice before school and it just goes all day from there.  Open skating, group lessons, private lessons, birthday parties, hockey leagues, all day long.  We have two adult leagues that regularly have practices and matches beginning at nine, ten PM."

"Huh!" he acknowledged, shaking his head and admitting, "It never would've occurred to me."

Squeezing Jake's hand to get his attention, Heather announced quietly, "Okay, I have to warn you ....  You're probably gonna get hugged again."

"Oh, jeez, sorry, Jake," Jessica apologized, though her tone had a rather mocking quality.  "But I never would have guessed from your pictures that you had personal space issues," she teased.

Jake rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around Heather pulling her against his hip.  "Yeah, that's not really a problem for me," he assured before pressing a kiss to his fiancée's mouth. 

"So I see," Jessica snickered leading them down the narrow concourse, past the skate rental desk, snack bar and pro shop toward a set of aluminum bleachers, the lower half populated with mothers trying to keep track of toddlers or piles of winter coats and boots or both, while on the ice, their older children had been set loose with their hockey sticks. 

They were spotted before they could even mount the first step of the bleachers, as three women - one with a baby on her hip - who were sitting in the fourth row jumped to their feet, shrieking "Heather!" in unison.  The one on the end moved quickly out from between the benches, jogging down the bleachers to throw her arms around her sister-in-law, while the other two pointed at Jake, explaining to the other mothers around them that he was Heather's fiancé.

"So, Kerry, what?  I was gone for three days, and you managed to have a four year old?" Heather joked, shaking her head.  "This is Cub Club," she reminded pointedly.  "You're supposed to have a kid."

"Well, she can borrow mine for the weekend," the woman with the baby chuckled, holding onto the railing with her free hand as she made her way down to them.

"Hey, I have the day off," Kerry defended herself, "And a perfect right to spend my free time watching my nieces and nephew practice." Grinning, she turned to face Jake.  "I'd know you anywhere.  It's nice to meet you in person, Cowboy Jake."

"It's nice to meet you, too, Kerry," Jake laughed, holding his hand out to her, though she ignored it, hugging him quickly instead.

"Oh that's right, you two talked on Christmas Eve," Heather's third sister-in-law - standing on the second step behind the other two - remembered.  "I'm Deb, and this is Mandy," she introduced.

Mandy smiled at Jake and hefted her daughter higher on her side, the baby clutching her shirt with one pudgy fist.  "And this little munchkin is Hannah."

"We should get out of the way.  Come sit down," Deborah invited, already turning to lead them up the bleacher steps. 

Mandy and Kerry followed, Jessica slipping past Jake and Heather, who were acutely aware of the appraising gazes of the twenty other women present.  "What you guys really need to see is the ring!" Jessica declared seating herself on the bench behind the one Heather's three sisters-in-law had returned to.  Jake, letting Heather precede him into the row, traced his thumb over the stone, flashing her a quick smile when she looked back over her shoulder at him. 

"Here," Heather declared, extracting her hand from Jake's and holding it out for inspection after they had settled themselves on the aluminum bench.  The two women sitting in front of them - both of them familiar to Heather, though for the life of her she couldn't think of their names - turned around to look as well.  "It belonged to Jake's grandmother."

"Wow, that's really pretty," Mandy said, trying to pass her daughter over to Kerry.

Kerry though avoided ending up with her niece by scrambling over the bench to join Jessica in the row above.  "John and I'll babysit any weekend you want, just name it," she promised, "But right now I need to see this ring."  Smiling, she leaned over, trying to wrest Heather's hand from Mandy so she could get a closer look.  "That really is nice."

"Speaking of weekends away, aren't you supposed to be in Vermont?" Heather asked, frowning softly.

Deborah, who had ended up with little Hannah in her lap, snorted softly.  "John and Kerry literally raced one another for the phone to call and cancel when your Dad told us all you were bringing Jake back this weekend," she explained, catching Heather's eye.  "I told Kyle not to run in the house yesterday and he said 'but Auntie Kerry and Uncle Johnny did,' so thanks a bunch for that," she added, rolling her eyes at her sister-in-law.

"Sorry," Kerry apologized easily, though she had the good grace to look a little bit embarrassed when she looked up, offering, "Can I interest you in a free weekend of babysitting?"

"Oh, yeah.  That I'll take," Deborah chuckled.

"Well, my parents will always have their condo for a week in January," Kerry told Heather, "But you're only gonna bring Jake home to meet us all for the first time once.  No way were John and I gonna miss that.  Besides, as soon as I told my Mom, she totally understood."

"Mine too," Mandy interjected.  "This is supposed to be the Sunday we have dinner at my parents, but as soon as I said you'd gotten engaged, Mom said that this was where we needed to be," she chuckled.  "That's how well she knows Tommy."

"Ugh, Tommy," Heather complained, grabbing her sister-in-law's arm.  "Mandy, you have to tell me what he's planning.  We heard him on the radio, coming over here.  He told all of Buffalo that he and Andy and John have 'plans' for Jake."

"He said something about getting hockey tickets until he remembered that the Sabres are out of town 'til Tuesday," Mandy shrugged.

Groaning in frustration, Heather shook her head.  "No!  They're totally up to something, and it's not male bonding at the hockey game.  You guys need to talk to them," she insisted, glancing over at Deb and then back at Kerry and Jessica.  "Threaten them," she suggested, "Withhold ... something if you have to."

Heather's three sisters-in-law, her cousin, and a number of the other women sitting around them immediately erupted in laughter.  "Oh my God," Deborah gasped out, "I can't believe she just said that!"

"You can't?" Kerry hooted.  "'Cause I think Jake's the one who's really shocked," she continued, giggling and pointing at the suddenly beet red Heather and at Jake, who indeed looked stunned and maybe just a little bit amused by his fiancée's outburst. 

"No!" Heather protested with a yelp, "That's not what I meant!  Or - I mean - I kinda meant it, but they just get so outta control," she complained, grimacing in frustration.  "They - they need to be nipped in the bud, and - oh my God."  Eyes wide, she gaped for a moment, staring at one of the women sitting in front of them.  The other woman met her gaze with a friendly smile.  "You're - you're Leslie Frye," she groaned.  "I knew - I knew I recognized you, but I couldn't quite place your face."

"It's Leslie Huntzinger now," the other woman corrected gently, "And I definitely had an advantage.  I figured out weeks ago that all the Lisinskis running around here were probably relatives of yours," she explained, laughing.  "And then today, I overheard some talk about your engagement.  Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Heather sighed, her blush beginning to subside and a genuine smile creeping onto her face.  She glanced sideways at her fiancé.  "Leslie and I played field hockey together.  You were even team captain one year," she reminded, turning back to face Leslie.

"So, I hope you weren't the one who whacked Heather in the knee," Jake said, though it was obvious from his tone that he was making a joke.

"You got whacked in the knee?" Leslie asked, sounding surprised.

"You'd already graduated.  Pre-season tournament my junior year," Heather dismissed with a wave.  "Caught a stick to my knee cap, had to get stitches."

"It's an impressive scar," Jake added, playing with Heather's fingers.

She laughed, flashing him a smile, their eyes catching and locking.  "Yeah, well you've got some that are more impressive," she teased.

Again, her sisters-in-law, cousin, and the other women around them, all burst into laughter.  "Uh, Heth..." Mandy giggled somewhat uneasily, advising, "You might wanna try not to say things like that in front of your Dad.  Or Tommy," she added after a second's pause.

"Or Drew, or John," Deborah added, fighting a smile as she glanced back at Kerry who nodded vigorously in agreement.

In an instant, Heather turned a deep, crimson red once more.  "That's - that's not - " she sputtered before giving up and slumping against Jake, her head hanging down.  A quiet, somewhat strangled, "Oh, God," escaped her.

"Well, I do have a really nasty scar on my calf and ankle," Jake defended his fiancée, his arm tightening around her.  "It's pretty new, ya know.  Busted it bad when some ... things went wrong on a case I was workin' back in June."

"Awwww," Kerry intoned, leaning forward to squeeze Jake's shoulder.   "Aren't you quite the gentlemen?" she joked, chuckling softly.  "I don't know what we're gonna do with you."

"So, you're gonna live in Kansas?" Leslie asked, catching Heather's eye as she finally dared to raise her head.  "That's gotta be different."

Grateful for the helpful change of subject, Heather forced a friendly smile, nodding.  "Not that different," she assured.  "I mean, it's hot in the summer and cold in the winter, just like here.  Less snow overall, I think, though that may just be this year," she realized, throwing Jake a questioning look.

"But tornadoes, right?" Leslie interjected, chuckling, "Or was the Wizard of Oz all just a big lie?"

"Well, I haven't met up with a tornado yet," Heather explained with nervous laugh.  "Knock on wood," she added, rapping her fist on the aluminum bench before looking around, complaining, "Oh, come on, somebody's got to have a stick I can knock on."

"Down there," Jessica said, pointing at an equipment bag that was shoved against the wall next to the rink entrance.  "Brian's always got a few extra with him.  Hey, Mikey!" she called out, spotting her cousin as he appeared at the foot of the bleachers.  "We need a stick up here."

Michael's expression was clearly dubious.  "Who you planning to kill?" he yelled back.

"It's for Heather," she responded, snorting loudly.  "She needs to knock on it to ward off tornadoes."

"Nah, that's Jake's job now," Michael shouted, dismissing his cousin with a shake of his head before turning and walking toward the rail so he could watch the practice.  The children were now working on a puck control drill with varying levels of success.  "C'mon, cubs, concentrate!" he hollered, clapping his hands together.

"He's your brother," Jessica reminded Heather.  "And I'm not gonna threaten to fire him for that."

"Looks like it's all up to you, Jake," Deborah told him, smiling as he exchanged a quick kiss with Heather.  "And I wish I could tell you we aren't always like this,"   she laughed, trying to disentangle baby Hannah who, with one slobbery fist, had gotten a firm grip on the placket of her aunt's shirt, managing to undo two buttons.  "But this is pretty much ... us." 

Extracting herself from Jake's loose embrace, Heather reached for the baby.  "Here, Deb, I'll take her."

"Thanks," her sister-in-law sighed, wiping her damp blouse with one hand which she then wiped on her jeans before she re-buttoned her shirt and zipped her sweater up to her chin.  "But we're harmless, really," Deborah continued, glancing past Heather at Jake.  "It's just - well, I've known Heather since she was eleven," she explained, adding, "Kinda before that, really.  I mean I knew who the Lisinskis were, but that's when Drew and I first started going out."

"That was the summer you stalked Andy," Jessica laughed, drawing an interested glance from Jake.  "Terri Panchik's mother had twins that year - numbers five and six - so Terri's dad hired Deb as a mother's helper, and she'd always get Terri to get Heather and me to come over to play so she could walk us back to Heather's at the end of the afternoon."

"That's right," Heather giggled, resting her hand on Jake's arm.  Their eyes met and she offered him a big smile over her niece's head.  "And I so talked you up," she  added, glancing sideways at Deborah as Jake snaked his arm around her waist, resting his hand on her hip.  "Just like you told me to," she accused her sister-in-law, laughing. 

"Well it worked, didn't it?" Deborah returned, unrepentant.  "Drew finally asked me out in August, and the rest, as they say, is history.  So you see, Jake," she continued, smiling as she watched Jake make a quick face at baby Hannah, who responded with a giggle.  "Heather's my little sister, no 'in-law' about it.  I'm not as vocal as the boys, but you still better take care of her.  Got it?" she demanded sweetly.

"Got it," he confirmed, pressing a kiss to the top of his fiancée's head.

"Jake does a very good job of taking care of me," Heather insisted, looking back at him over her shoulder.  He detected a tightness in her smile, one he assumed was caused by her worry that he'd take offense at her family's inquisition, and so he smiled in return, gently brushing the tiniest - so tiny, the women sitting around them weren't sure it was actually there - wisp of hair off her face.  "And you're gonna love this," she decided, clearing her throat softly a second later.  "That was the summer I went to horse camp, and it was Deb who drove the three of us every day, for the whole week."  Glancing at Deborah and Mandy, she explained, "Jake thinks horse camp is the funniest thing he's ever heard of."

"Nah, I think it's a racket," Jake corrected, shaking his head.

"Well, we can't all grow up on a ranch," she reminded.  "And, thank heavens I went to horse camp.  At least I had some clue what I was doing, sort of, when we went riding."

"Soooo, Jake," Jessica inquired, leaning in close, "How'd Heather do?  Can we tell Uncle Joe that those lessons were worth it?" she laughed.

Jake grinned at Heather, enjoying the picture she and her baby niece made together as Heather helped Hannah clap her mittened hands.  "She did great," he answered, finally - reluctantly - glancing back at Jessica.  "Just need to get her some boots and her own horse and she'll be a total pro."

"Okay, wait a minute here," Kerry interjected with a squeak.  "Heather gets a horse?  All her own?  Really?  That's so unfair."

"Not my own," Heather argued only to be contradicted by Jake.

"She can have her own.  We've got a whole ranch full of horses," he reminded.  "We'll find the right one for her."

"I always wanted a horse," Mandy sighed, declaring a second later, "I think I'm gonna hafta move to Kansas!"

"Yeah, me too," Kerry grumbled softly.  "So, how d'ya think Johnny's gonna take the news?" she joked.

"Jake, I don't need a horse," Heather whispered at him urgently.

He shrugged, leaning closer to remind her, "Hey, Gramps gave April one.  Two, actually, since Arabella's gonna foal in a couple of months now."

"Yeah, but April's dad is a vet," Heather protested quietly, biting her lip.  "She grew up riding, been doin' it as long as you have."

  "Babe, really, he's gonna give you one," Jake said, his voice pitched low.  "You might as well get used to it."

"Oh, take it," Leslie advised.  She hadn't said anything for awhile, but she'd been following the conversation closely all the same.  "For all of us stuck back here in Buffalo who will just have to make do with memories of our 'My Little Pony' collections," she joked.

"My Cabbage Patch Kid had a horse," Mandy announced then. 

Deb laughed, shaking her head.  "Of course it did."

"You were so spoiled," Kerry grumbled, complaining, "I really think you had every toy made in the seventies and eighties, including the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine my mother always said was too messy."

"Whereas the rest of us just had to settle for Western Barbie," Jessica sighed.  "With her sparkly white cowgirl outfit, blue eye shadow, and the one eye that winked when you pushed the giant button in her back."

"I remember that!" Leslie laughed.  "It was the Dolly Parton Barbie doll.  I mean, the most Dolly Parton-like Barbie," she clarified, sighing, "But I never got the horse."

"Me either," Deborah agreed.  "Mandy?"

Mandy however was spared from having to answer by the sudden ear piercing sound of the whistle signaling the end of Cub Club.  All the mothers jumped immediately to their feet, while on the ice their children all began to skate - not always gracefully - for the exit.

"I'll think about the horse thing," Heather murmured, turning sideways - as did Jake, their knees pressed together - to allow her sisters-in-law to squeeze by.

"Heather?" Mandy asked expectantly, and Heather nodded, jiggling the baby in her lap. 

"I've got her," she assured, shooing Mandy along after Deborah.

"And, I better get over to the snack bar," Jessica decided, "Help deal with the coming onslaught."

Jake watched the commotion going on around them for a few seconds and then turned back to face his fiancée.  "You can think about it, but Gramps is gonna do what he wants to do," he reminded, grinning at her.  He caught the baby's eye - she was drooling on the sleeve of Heather's coat - and surprised himself by saying, "You tell Auntie Heather.  Gramps does what he wants."  Heather stiffened at his words, surprising Jake.  "Hey," he frowned, laying his hand over hers, "I - if it's really that big a deal, I'll -"

"No, Jake, no," she muttered, leaning toward him, her eyes falling closed.  "I just - I spotted Mark Metzger's cousin Charlene, and I shouldn't even care because why do I even care what she thinks of me, but -" Heather cut herself off with a frustrated though quiet groan. 

She opened her eyes, her gaze locking immediately with his.   "Hey, it's okay," he smiled, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand.  "You really shouldn't care what the prick's cousin thinks, but it's still okay."

"Heather!" Deborah called out startling Jake, Heather, and even the baby on her lap, whose limbs flailed wildly so that she hit her aunt on the breast and kicked Jake on the thigh with one tiny foot.  "Heather!" Deborah shouted again, urgently waving her down from the bleachers.

Instinctively, Heather looked around for someone to hand her niece off to and, immediately realizing that Jake was the only candidate, moved to transfer the baby to his lap.  "Wait!  No!  Heather," he protested, clearly panicked.

"Jake, you just have to hold her," Heather argued, plopping the baby in his lap.  "Two minutes, you just have to sit there, really."

"I don't know what to do.  I've never done this," he protested.

"Never?" she questioned, "Your Mom used to babysit Dale."

"Yeah, but I didn't.  Until he could go to the bathroom by himself and - and - you know, talk -"

"Heather!" Deborah yelled.

She glanced toward her sister-in-law and then back at Jake.  "Look, just hold onto her and sit," she instructed.  "Put your hands under her arms, and hold on - not too tight - and I'll be right back," Heather promised, smiling at him when he did as directed.  She let go of the baby and leaned toward him, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, though it did nothing to ease his rather terrified expression.  "Thank you," she added, standing up, "I love you."

Jake didn't even bother to nod, ordering through gritted teeth, "Just go and come back."  He looked down at Hannah then, chuckling nervously when he saw that she was sucking on two fingers and staring back up at him, her eyes wide. 

"Okay, what's up?" Heather asked, skidding to a stop in front of her sisters-in-law.  She looked around, expecting that there was a kid who needed help getting out of their equipment, but Mandy was helping Ali, Deborah was with Kyle, and Rebekah was handing her things to Kerry as she took them off, chattering about how she wasn't really a cub anymore, and how she and her best friend Samantha were Coach Brian's - Samantha's dad's - assistants.  "Whaddya need?" Heather inquired, her expression turning quizzical.

"Oh!" Deborah exclaimed, pulling her son's jersey off over his head.  "I just wanted to say I'm sorry," she continued, her voice dropping, "I should've warned you about ...."  Deborah cocked her head toward Charlene, who had gotten her son's skates off and was now hurrying him away in his socks, but otherwise still dressed in the rest of his equipment.  "We pretty much just ignore her and she ignores us, so it didn't even occur to me -"

"Right!" Mandy confirmed, nodding her agreement.  "No way are we having anything to do with the rhymes with W - I - T - C - H who called you a S - K - A - N - K," she spelled, stooping down to unlace her daughter's skates.

"Somebody called you a skunk, Auntie Heather?" Rebekah asked, her forehead wrinkling.  "Why?"

"Well, that's what I'd like to know," Heather grumbled, rolling her eyes.  "'Cause I still don't get how I'm a - uh - a skunk when I never went - went past second base with Mark.  I don't even think I was a tease, but definitely not a skank.  By definition."

"Auntie Heather, you're not supposed to tease people.  It's not nice," Rebekah admonished, while Ali, her expression puzzled, questioned, "What's second base?"

"Baseball," Kerry answered the little girl, clearly fighting to keep from laughing. "Just baseball.  Heather was playing baseball." A wicked gleam crept into her eye and she threw her sister-in-law a knowing look.  "And, I just bet Jake loves to play baseball."

"Kerry!" Mandy and Deborah scolded in unison.

"So, uh, Heth," Mandy continued, chuckling, "You guys want kids, right?  Because, boy, he looks scared to death.  I thought everyone loved my Hannah Banana," she said, slipping into her baby talk voice.

"We want kids eventually," Heather emphasized.  "Eventually.  And, he's doing okay," she insisted, glancing up at her fiancé in the bleachers.  He was still holding onto the baby rather stiffly, but at least he'd managed to settle her on his lap.  For her part, Hannah had grabbed Jake's sleeve and seemed to be holding on for dear life.  "This is just new for him, but he'll - he'll get it.  It's not like he's gonna hurt her."

"I'm actually more worried about him than her," Mandy admitted, trading Ali a sweatshirt for her hockey pads, which she then dropped into a sports bag.  "You should go rescue him before he has a heart attack."

"Sorry 'bout that," Heather apologized fifteen seconds later as she pulled - with some difficulty - little Hannah from Jake's grasp.  "Was it too awful?" she asked, seating herself on the bench next to him and playfully bumping her shoulder against his. 

"Nah, not too bad," he answered, though relief was clearly evident in his voice.  He reached for the baby's foot then, tugging it gently and prompting her surprised squawk.  "She's a cute kid," he mumbled before clearing his throat.  "So, what'd they want?"

"I think it was hazing," she snorted.  "Of you.  They said they were apologizing for not telling me about Charlene, but I think they really just wanted to see you with a baby."  Heather leaned against Jake's arm, offering him a sideways smile.  "But you totally passed.  They all think you're great."  Holding Hannah securely against her chest with one arm, she reached for his hand with her free one.  "So, the next part of the ice rink, hockey practice thing is a trip to the snack bar.  Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" she asked, "Hot chocolate?  They make a mocha, but since I have worked in that snack bar it's only fair to warn you that they make it by pouring the coffee over the chocolate powder and it's not especially good."

"I'll take a cup of coffee," Jake agreed, standing and then helping Heather to her feet.  "But I'm buyin'.  So what d'ya think they'll want?" he asked, gesturing at the six Lisinskis waiting at the foot of the bleachers.

"Jake, you don't have to do -"

"Hey, I want to," he countered.  "How 'bout some candy, huh, Hannah," he asked, touching the baby's hand with two very tentative, very gentle fingers.  "Or an Icee.  Auntie Heather says they've got Icees," he teased, flashing his fiancée a quick grin.

Shaking her head, Heather smiled in return.  "Hannah's too little to have anything at the snack bar, poor baby.   But Auntie Heather thinks coffee sounds good."

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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

"Hey.  Hi.  Uh, so, welcome to Jericho."

Maggie spared the newcomer - early twenties, she guessed - lurking in the doorway an annoyed and distracted glance before finally muttering a put upon, "Hi."  Jake was already out of sight, and she had no flipping clue what had just happened.  Twisting around in her seat she met the younger man's eye, her gaze narrowing.  "So, the pregnant girl, that was his..." she prompted.  But he didn't answer immediately and so she tried again, guessing, "She's his girlfriend?  His - "

"His wife," he supplied finally, his expression sheepish or sympathetic or maybe something else.  Apparently she couldn't read anyone anymore - an unnerving thought, indeed.  "Heather.  She and Jake are married.  She's - she's my sister," he added, stepping into the room and offering her his hand.  "And, I'm Mike."

"Your sister?" Maggie repeated, ignoring his polite overture.  She shook her head, groaning.  "Well, that's just great.  Of course she's your sister.  Your pregnant sister," she mumbled, though Michael was pretty sure she was talking more to herself than to him.  "And for the record," she informed him, eyes flashing, "He didn't tell me he was married."

"Probably didn't think he had to," Michael said, his hand dropping back to his side.  "He usually wears his wedding ring, but he was in an accident a few days ago.  Frostbite, hypothermia, the whole nine yards," he explained.  "We had to strip him down at the med center, and that included his ring.  Hasn't put it back on, but he probably doesn't know where it is."  Noting her incredulous expression, he shrugged, finishing, "I just mean, maybe he thought you just knew."

"Yeah, well, I didn't," she snapped, turning back to her project.  She picked up the soldering iron and made a show of getting back to work.  "I don't flirt - not that we were really flirting," Maggie insisted, "Well, maybe he was - he started it!  But I don't flirt with married men."   She paused a moment, sucking down a deep breath, sparing him a suspicious glance.  "Though, hafta say, it's a little weird that you'd defend him, seeing as she's your sister."

"Heather can take care of herself, don't worry," Michael chuckled, stepping closer so he could observe her progress.  "So can Jake.  Of course, he also knows when to grovel, and I'm thinking this is one of those times when groveling is the way to go."

"Yeah." Maggie's answer was clipped.  She could feel him standing behind her and so she forced herself to concentrate on her task - a losing battle really - refusing to look back at him.  She could feel the heat in her cheeks and realized she was embarrassed.  Had she learned nothing since the bombs?  Did it really only take someone being halfway nice to her - a reasonably good conversation - and she'd just let down her guard?  Stupid, stupid, stupid, she berated herself while at the same time willing the young man standing behind her to go away and leave her alone.

"You want some help?" he asked, apparently not recognizing that she was literally giving him the cold shoulder.  "I - I built a radio from a kit for my ninth grade science fair project."  Heather had done the same when she was a freshman, but Michael knew better than to mention that.  Still, he'd taken great advantage of the fact that he had a science brainiac sister who was four years older and who hadn't attended the same high school anyway, and the opportunity it had afforded him to duplicate all of her projects.  Of course, future teacher Heather had made him cite her work and expand upon it, but she'd been a great resource, and Michael had not only done well every year, he'd actually learned a lot.  "It worked.  Gotta signal as far as Quebec one night, talked to long haul trucker for a good twenty minutes, all in first year French," he chuckled.

Looking back over her shoulder, she studied him for a moment, her expression guarded.  "Well ... you're not married, are you?"

Michael snorted.  "No, don't worry.  I am pathetically single."

Maggie spun her chair around then, arms crossed protectively over her chest, their eyes meeting.  "Pathetically, huh?" she echoed, cracking the slightest of smiles. 

"Seriously," he nodded.  "My college girlfriend?  Went JYA to Ireland, fell in love with someone else, got pregnant, got married, moved Seamus back to the States with her which got him a green card, and, well, I got a Christmas card with a picture of their kid.  The kid's cute at least."

"Ouch," she murmured sympathetically.  "Is his name really Seamus?"

"Nah, it's David," Michael admitted, "But it felt good to call him Seamus that first week after she dumped me, and now it's just stuck in my head."

"Maggie," she announced a few seconds later, holding her hand out to him.  "That's my name.  Maggie."

"Nice to meet you, Maggie," he grinned, shaking her hand. 

"And, for the record, I don't think that exactly makes you pathetically single," she informed him.  "Unlucky, maybe."

"Yeah, unlucky sounds right," Michael agreed, looking down at his boot.  "After Caitlin, I swore off girls for awhile, you know.  Then, when I got to med school, there was this one girl.... Delia.  She was smart, funny - we had a couple of classes together.  I finally got up the nerve to ask her out, oh... two hours before the bombs.  Then, the whole school got drafted by the National Guard.  I walked her to a helicopter - supposed to take her to a FEMA camp to work in the clinic - and it took off ten minutes before the EMP."


"That's - wow.  I'm sorry."  She didn't know what else to say, a fact which showed on her face, Maggie was sure.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, "We all have our hard luck, after the bombs stories, right?"

"Right," Maggie agreed, her throat tightening painfully.  "So, uh," she continued, blinking hard, "You were in med school?  Isn't - isn't the med school in Kansas City?  The one in Kansas?  How'd you get here?"

"I was at Yale, actually," Michael admitted, "It's - it's in Connecticut."

She rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, I know.  I've heard of it," she snorted.  "Good school.  But how the hell did you manage to get from there to here?  That's - that's not an easy trip these days."

"Well, it wasn't," he agreed, shuffling his feet.  Turning he crossed to the other desk in the room and grabbed the rolling chair, steering it over to where Maggie sat.  "Coupl'a buddies and I, we ... we made it," Michael offered, straddling the chair backwards.  "We were pretty lucky.  Second day, we found this gas station.  Abandoned.  The mini mart was just ... trashed," he recalled.  "But we managed to get into the storage tanks and get some gas.  And, Drake, he went through the office.  I never would have thought of it," Michael admitted, allowing a humorless chuckle.  "Found the company wide directory of every franchise in North America.  With that and a set of triple 'A' maps, we just started following a trail from gas station to gas station, the more rural the better.  We learned pretty early on to avoid the National Guard as much as possible, no offense."

"None taken," Maggie assured.  "Those weekend warrior yahoos?" she joked, "We avoid 'em too."

"Right," Michael acknowledged with a grin.  "Anyway, that's what we did.  Not that we didn't have trouble finding gas and food," he continued, his expression sobering.  "We'd find something, if we were lucky, maybe one in ten times.  Cities are bad - but you probably know that."  Maggie nodded.  "And, sometimes out in the sticks, people were still actin' like things would work out eventually.  This one place, some guy took an imprint of my credit card and sold me five gallons.  Said that was all he could sell, given the national emergency and all."

"Wow, that's pretty unreal," she murmured.

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure he was insane," Michael grumbled.  "No way he survives the winter."

"But you made it home," Maggie reminded.  "That's pretty good."

He shook his head.  "I'm not from here, actually.  We grew up in Buffalo - upstate New York," he explained.  "But Heather moved here, and then she and Jake got married -"

"And I hope she's giving him hell right now," Maggie interjected, annoyance bleeding into her tone.  She turned back to her work.  "Still, this is a pretty good place to land," she added a moment later, glancing over her shoulder at Michael.   "After everything I've seen ... this is the sort of place I'd like to end up.  Nice little town - functioning - and you just settle in for the duration.  So what are you gonna do?" she asked a moment later, leaning over the radio to examine a couple of wires.  "Come spring, come next year, or whenever all of this is over?  Go back to med school?" she guessed.

"Don't know," Michael admitted.  "We work at the clinic here, try to keep up on our studies....  But after everything that's happened, I don't know that I could do it, don't know that I could go back."  He exhaled deeply, offering her a crooked smile.  "Sorry.  Didn't mean to get all - whatever - on you."

Maggie returned his smile, waving his apology off with one hand.  "That's okay," she assured as she closed the radio up, satisfied with her repairs.  "Okay."

 "So, who are you trying to call on that thing anyway?" he asked, scooting his chair closer to the desk, his arm brushing hers in the process.

"Division headquarters in Dodge City," she replied, her tone turning business-like. 

"It's about two hundred miles away..." Michael informed her, clearly skeptical about her chances.

"This thing's made it farther," Maggie assured, standing up.  "Of course, that was before it took some rounds," she conceded as she raised the handset to her ear.  "Fourth Mar Div, Fourth Mar Div," she called into the mouthpiece, "This is First Platoon, Charlie Company authentication Thunder, over."  She paused for a second, adjusting the radio frequency, and then repeated herself.  "Fourth Mar Div, Fourth Mar Div, this is First Platoon, Charlie Company authentication Thunder, over."

The radio crackled with static and then suddenly a stiff male voice answered.  "Charlie Thunder, this is Charlie Company Actual.  We've been trying to reach you on this frequency for days," the operator at the other end complained.  "Division needs the entire Fourth Tank Battalion RTB ASAP.  Do you copy?"

"Aye aye, sir," she replied, expelling a somewhat anxious breath.  Maggie glanced at Michael, their eyes locking for a moment.  A concerned smile twisted his mouth and she couldn't help but offer a nervous one in return, wishing that she could do something to alleviate his worry.

"Make that most ricky tick, Corporal," the nameless operator back in Dodge City commanded brusquely. 

Maggie nodded, acknowledging the order quickly.  "Roger that, Charlie Company.  Actual out."  Shoving the handset back into the radio case, she gripped it tightly and turned away from Michael, moving to retrieve her pack and weapon from where she'd left them earlier, sitting on a chair and leaning against the wall.  She risked a glance in his direction, encountering his confused frown.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Maggie closed her eyes, unsure of why it was so hard to tell him this.  "We just got ordered back to Dodge City," she mumbled.

* * * * *

"Dammit, Heather," Jake grumbled, already at a jog as he entered the bullpen in the center of the sheriff's station.  She was moving surprisingly fast - or maybe he was just slower than usual, he realized, wincing as his still sore body protested the jarring action.  "Heather, c'mon!" he shouted as she yanked open the door that exited into the building's foyer.  "Heather!"  Bill, the only other person in the office, watched the scene playing out in front of him with obvious interest, at least until Jake caught his eye, after which the blotter on his desk suddenly became very fascinating.  "Heather!" Jake yelled after his wife again, scrambling around the front counter after her. 

He caught up with her three steps from the front door, grabbing the sleeve of her coat. "Don't!" she protested, trying to shake him off.

"You don't," Jake snapped in return.  "Just - just stop!"  He tugged her back toward the center of the lobby.   "Just stop for a minute," he repeated, his voice softening, "Please.  Please, babe."

Clearly reluctant, Heather allowed him to guide her to his brother's office.  He pushed open the door without knocking - Eric wasn't inside - gesturing for her to enter before him.  She marched into the middle of the room, and then turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest, glaring.  "So?" she demanded after a few seconds, her voice cracking softly, her lip - Jake spotted, cringing as he did - trembling softly.

"Babe, I - I'm sorry," he apologized.  He didn't know what else to do, but he did know that he didn't want her mad at him, and he didn't want to hurt her.  "I'm just sorry," he repeated.

She took a deep, fortifying breath, forcing a smile.  "Well, okay then.  Thank you.  Excuse me."

Her words were delivered with a painful and obviously forced pleasantness that caused Jake to instinctively grit his teeth.  She started to move toward the door and he stepped in front of her, reaching for her hand.  "Babe, please."

"No!" Heather contradicted, pulling her hand away.  "You're sorry.  Great.  But you - you were flirting with her!" she accused, an angry glint sparking in her eye. 

"We weren't flirting," he argued, shaking his head 'no'.  "We were just talking, that's all."

"So, you'll talk to a complete stranger, but you won't talk to me," she protested, turning on her heel and stomping over to Eric's desk.  "Thank you, Jake," Heather drawled out sarcastically. "I so appreciate your - your trust in me."

More than a little annoyed, Jake scrubbed a hand over his face, allowing an aggravated groan.  "I talk to you," he insisted.  "I talk to you all the time."
 
"No, you don't.  Or you haven't, not since the accident.  I ask you how you are, how you're feeling, and you blow me off," Heather complained.  "You're fine or you're tired, but you never wanna talk ab -"

"It was an attack," he interrupted, his voice raised.  "And calling it an accident might make the rest of you feel better," he continued, unconsciously grinding his fist against his thigh, "But it doesn't change what happened."  He paused, moving across the room, limping slightly, to perch himself on the edge of his brother's desk.  Facing her, he crossed his arms over his chest.  "You wanna talk?  Not today," he accused quietly. "You left without even saying goodbye."

"I did not," she contradicted, clearly annoyed.  "You were asleep.  I said goodbye.  I even - I kissed you goodbye.  Your Dad had to fake a coughing fit, trying not to laugh at me," Heather admitted, glancing down at her hands which were folded protectively over their baby.  "And while we're busy changing subjects," she grumbled, rolling her eyes in his direction, "You are not as recovered from the acc - from what happened out there as you think you are.  You're still sleeping in the living room, for goodness' sake," she squeaked in protest, "And you're sure not ready to be gallivanting around with the Marines."
 
"I'm fine," he insisted.  "And I didn't tell her anything - anything important, I swear," Jake added, meeting his wife's wary gaze.  "Told her that we were run off the road and that we tried to stay alive, that's all.  That's all," he repeated.

'Well, what about you being a 'brooding bad boy'?" Heather challenged.  "That - she seemed pretty ... friendly to me," she sniffed, her nose wrinkling.
 
Shrugging, Jake shoved a guest chair over a few inches with his foot, silently offering it to her.  "We were talking - just talking.  And ... something she said - it - it got to me," he admitted.

"Okay," she acknowledged a few interminable seconds later.  She laid her hand on the back of the chair, pulling it out another few inches from the desk before seating herself in it, facing her husband.   He flashed her a tentative smile, letting out a relieved if somewhat uneven breath when her hard stare softened somewhat.  "I just -  Jake -"

"I thought I was gonna die out there, Heather, I really did."  He paused then, inhaling deeply, their eyes locking.  "I thought I was going to die, and - and -"  Jake broke off, squeezing his eyes shut, his lips pressed tightly together in a hard line.  "There wasn't anything I could do - nothing but lie there and wait for it to happen," he muttered.  "And think."  Letting out a slow, hissing breath, he opened his eyes, blinkingly meeting her gaze once more.  "My life didn't - didn't flash before me, but all my - all the things I regret - my regrets, I thought about them," he confessed quietly.  "Went over them, again and again."

Heather allowed a slight nod at his uncharacteristic admission.  Most times, Jake would rather chew glass than bare so much of his soul, even to her.  She was stunned, in a good way, though contrarily, tears pricked behind her eyes and tightened her throat.  "I - I see," she murmured.

"And, my biggest regret was that I'd be leaving you alone in - in all this," he told her, gesturing at the room around them - and, she inferred - the uncertain world outside its walls.  "You and our baby," Jake added, grimacing as he tried to find the words to express everything he'd been feeling that night.  "That -- that I'd never even get to see him - see him born," he explained quietly.  So quietly that Heather strained, holding her breath, to hear his words. "Or - or get to hold him," he completed, heaving a ragged sigh.

Looking at Heather for her reaction, Jake was surprised to find her staring back at him, her expression almost blank though her eyes were wide and bright.  He didn't know what to think.  Didn't she understand?  Didn't this affect her the way it did him?  Lifting himself off the edge of the desk, he turned away from her and moved over to the window, gripping the sill with both hands.   "So, you get it now?" he demanded, his voice raw with emotion.  He couldn't bring himself to look back, to see that she wasn't getting it.  "Talking about what happened out there -"

"I do, Jake - I do get it," she interrupted quietly, touching his arm, sending an electric jolt through his body.  She was standing just behind him, he realized, dazed, though he hadn't heard her get up or walk across the room.  "Thank you for telling me," Heather added, sighing deeply.  "I get it.  I - it helps - in a weird way, it helps to know that we were thinking about the same things.  That's what - everything - it's what I was thinking about - what I was so, so scared of - while I was waiting at the clinic for them to bring you in," she told him, taking a step back as he turned to face her. She reached for his hand, now stripped of its glove, and laced their fingers together, keenly aware of his still chapped skin, rougher against her own tender flesh than was normal.  "How if something happened to you.... I wouldn't - I wouldn't want to live -"

"Babe," he rasped in protest, bringing his free hand up to cup her cheek. 

"I just - I love you, Jake," Heather declared, her eyes glistening with unshed tears though a genuine smile had bloomed on her lips.  "And, we don't have to talk about it, but don't shut me out either, okay?"

Leaning into him, their baby safe and snug between them, she tilted her mouth toward his, and then brushed her lips across his, her eyes falling closed while they kissed.  "I - I wanted to go with the rescue party to save you," she told him as she pulled away, giggling anxiously.  "Not really sure what I thought I was going to do, but if you needed me...."

"I always need you," he returned, "But honestly, I don't remember them getting me outta there," he explained, squeezing her hand.  "I don't remember anything between my Dad showing up - God, he just kept yelling at me," Jake grumbled. He could still hear his father's words - 'stay with me', 'hang on, Jake', 'it's okay' - could remember his father's tight grip, like he was physically fighting to keep him there, and he could remember his father comforting him, offering absolution, as he'd drifted off into what Jake had assumed would be his final sleep.  "Anyway," he completed, clearing his throat, "Next thing I knew, I woke up at the med center with you there."

"Well, Stanley and Mikey put the kibosh on my going," Heather complained, still giggling, as she let Jake lead her back to her chair. 

"Good, remind me to thank them," he requested, squatting down next to her knee.  Reaching over, he took her hand, cradling it in both of his for a moment before raising it to his lips to place a kiss on her wrist.  Catching her eye, he inquired huskily, "We okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "Yeah, I think we're okay."

"Good," Jake repeated, offering her a gentle smile.  '''Cause I'm tired of sleepin' in that old recliner, and was thinkin' I'd actually go upstairs tonight."

Grinning, Heather brushed a lock of hair off Jake's face, resting her hand on her belly when he started to stand up, letting it go.  "Now that sounds like a plan."

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

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 14C

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz was a book written by L. Frank Baum and W.W. Denslow in 1900 and adapted as a movie in 1939 under the title The Wizard of Oz.

My Little Pony is a line of colorful toy ponies introduced by Hasbro in 1983 and marketed to young girls.

Cabbage Patch Kids are a doll brand created in 1978 by Debbie Morehead and Xavier Roberts.  In 1982 toy manufacturer Coleco began mass production of the dolls, and they became the must have toy of 1983 and 1984. 

Western Barbie was released in 1980 and came dressed in a one piece, white western style jumpsuit with silver lame trim. Her accessories included a white cowgirl hat and boots. She has one winking eye which is activated by a button on her back.  Western Barbie had a horse named High Stepper, available for separate purchase.

Dolly Parton is one of the most successful female artists in country music, known for her distinctive soprano, sometimes bawdy humor, flamboyant dress sense and voluptuous figure.

Snoopy Sno Cone Machine was introduced in 1979 and allowed children to make snow cones and slushies by just grinding ice cubes and adding flavoring. 

Part 14C by Marzee Doats


Different Circumstances: Part 14C of ? by Marzee Doats


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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

Daylight was a fleeting thing.  Barely five o'clock in the afternoon, it was already dark out - and darker still thanks to the affects of the EMP and the almost complete lack of light pollution.  But this evening, in spite of the gloom, Main Street was bustling.  The citizens of Jericho milled about as they had all day, keeping their watchful eyes on the Marines and their tank, fearing irrationally that it would all disappear, afraid that if they went home they would wake up in the morning and find that it was all a dream. 

That fear, it turned out, wasn't so irrational after all.  The tank parked in front of town hall rumbled to life, sending a wave of worried whispering through the crowd and Gray Anderson chasing after Gunnery Sergeant Hill.  "Hey, Gunny!" he called out to the younger man.  "Gunny!  Why are you leaving?" the mayor demanded, catching up.

"'Cause we were ordered to," the gunnery sergeant answered.  He spared a glance in Gray's direction before returning his attention to scribbling something in a notebook, though it seemed highly unlikely that he could see what he was writing in the gloom that had settled over Jericho like a blanket.  "Sorry," he grumbled softly, "But I can't reveal operational orders." He looked sideways at the mayor, taking stock of the desperation in the other man's expression.  "Army Corps of Engineers will be through eventually," he offered, throwing a bone.

"Eventually?" Gray questioned, a desperate note sounding in his tone.  "How - how long?"

Sergeant Hill tucked his notebook into his jacket.  "Sir, listen," he began, letting out a long sigh, "I'm sorry, but I just don't know."  One of his men appeared before them then and, clearing his throat, the sergeant barked, "You ready to roll?"

"Good to go, Gunny," the young Marine confirmed, "But I don't know about the tank," he admitted, his eyes on his boots.  "I don't know if we'll have enough fuel to make it back to Dodge City."

"Leave it behind if we hafta," the sergeant decided, his tone gruff.  "We'll post Siglock and Kantor until we can make it back."

"Sergeant, without armor we're sittin' ducks on those highways," the young man argued.

Sergeant Hill, however, wasn't having it.  "We're Marines," he reminded, dispatching his subordinate with a glare.  "We'll make do."

Gray, who knew in his bones that he was watching Jericho's best chance for survival pack up and prepare to head out, had to fight the trembling of his knees to bark out the offer he wasn't sure he could back up.  "I - I can get you fuel," he claimed, feverishly refiguring the calculations he'd been arguing over with everybody and their brother for a week.  He'd find some - something - a few gallons at least, he told himself, whatever he could bargain them down to.  Jericho just needed a boost, that's all, with a boost they'd make their own luck, they'd make it through the winter. 

"I can get you fuel," he repeated in a rush of breath.  "Uh, not much," Gray admitted, frowning, "But, uh, enough - enough to get you back to Dodge."  Of course, it was two hundred miles to Dodge and he'd been lucky to get twenty miles to the gallon in his Silverado...and the tank would be good to get half that, he figured.  So where the hell was he going to get twenty, twenty five gallons? Gray wondered, biting the inside of his cheek.  "Just give me an hour," he requested, managing to sound much more confident than he actually felt.

But it did the trick.  "I'm listening," Sergeant Hill answered, turning to face the mayor.

"Uh, plus whatever supplies you need," Gray offered, hoping to sweeten - and seal - the deal.  "But - but I just need assurances that Jericho will be taken care of."

Eyes met and an understanding was reached.  "There are three C-130's from the Red Cross that are supposed to arrive in Kansas in ten days."  The sergeant paused for a second, letting this information sink in.  "I guarantee you'll be at the top of the list."

Gray's relief was evident.  "That's all I ask," he sighed.

"All right, people, listen up," Sergeant Hill bellowed, stalking around the other side of the tank.  "We're gonna stand down for one hour!"

* * * * *
 
"So, when the relief effort comes, are you, uh, are you guys comin' with it?" Michael inquired, following two steps behind Maggie, where he'd been for most of the afternoon.  He hadn't been of much assistance to her - except as a tour guide to Main Street, Jericho - but she hadn't objected to his presence, so he'd stuck around.

"Nah," Maggie answered, looking back over her shoulder at him, her expression unreadable.  "You're gonna hafta flirt with a whole new batch of grunts," she teased, "And the Corps of Engineers are nowhere near as cute as I am."

Michael responded with a tight smile.  "Right," he muttered, "Story of my life."

"Hey," she protested, stopping and then rotating around to face him, her arms crossed over her chest.  "You better not be planning to add me to your list, list of all the girls you've loved and lost, because - well, I refuse," she declared.

"Don't flatter yourself," he grumbled, rolling his eyes.  "Though, if you think the Corps of Engineers would be more open to my sob story with you featured prominently...."

Fighting a smile, Maggie turned back around, chiding, "You are incorrigible.  Now c'mon," she added, cocking her head toward the front of Gracie Leigh's Market.

Michael hurried forward to open the door for her.  "But you know," he began again once they were inside the building, "You should think about, uh, coming back.  When you get out," he clarified, his gaze concentrated on his boots.

Holding her breath for a moment, Maggie moved to the counter and busied herself by fussing with the straps on the pack she'd come to retrieve.  She couldn't believe he'd come out and said it - she couldn't believe that she was actually contemplating it.  But it would never work, she reminded herself.  Chemistry and a couple of hours of easy conversation didn't change reality.  And yet, there was a part of her....  She risked a wary glance in his direction.  "And what would I do here?" she inquired, feigning disinterest.

"That's a question we're all asking ourselves," he reminded with a shrug.  "This isn't exactly where I ever thought I'd end up either.  Visit, sure.... But live?"  She kept her back to him, continuing to fiddle with her pack, and it was only when he saw her unzip, zip, and then unzip the same pocket without even checking inside it that he found the courage to say, "But you're - you're a good fit here."

"I am, huh?"  Shaking her head, Maggie risked a glance back over her shoulder.  "Something tells me your sister wouldn't agree."

"Oh, she'd be fine with it," Michael countered, though he couldn't stop himself from crossing his fingers behind his back or from advising, "Just don't flirt with Jake."

Maggie spun around, glaring at him.  "Yeah, well, Jake just better not flirt with me."

"I'll be sure to tell him that," Michael promised, fighting a smile.  He took a step toward Maggie, but her closed off stance and annoyed expression stopped him from taking a second.   "See?  Problem solved, you can stay," he declared.

"Stay?  Mike, I'm - I'm a Marine," Maggie reminded, nervously licking her lips.  "They're not - it's not optional.  I have to go."

"I know," he acknowledged with a grimace.  "But, it's not forever, right?  When your tour, your enlistment - whatever - when it's up, you could come back.  Please, just think about it," he implored, their gazes locking. 

She tried to paste on a smile but it faltered on her lips, dying almost immediately.  Taking a shaky breath, Maggie studied Michael, her expression wary.  She wanted to believe it was all as easy as he said it was.  He was a decent person - nice, funny, someone she could have a conversation with - and he'd held onto that even though he'd been out there too.  He gave her hope that she knew she didn't have any right to have, not anymore.  "You know, before all this started, I might have agreed with you..." Maggie shook her head against all the thoughts swirling through her brain.  It had to be better - kinder - to be honest with him now, as honest as she could be, than it would be to give him a false hope.  "But I won't make it back here."

It was his expression that undid her, a look like she'd killed his puppy or like he'd just been sucker punched.  All Maggie knew was that she had to make it go away, and without thinking she found herself moving toward him, pressed against him.  She'd surprised him with that kiss, but Michael caught on quickly, bringing his arms up around her, holding her against his chest, and Maggie let herself go, gave into the truly foreign and surprising feeling of being safe.

Much too quickly though, it was over.  The door rattled and they broke apart, jumping away from one another like they were suddenly both radioactive.  Stomping his feet, Sergeant Hill entered the small store, his gaze narrowing as he comprehended the scene in front of him.  "Corporal Mullin!" he practically bellowed.

She tensed, quickly extracting herself from Michael's embrace though she didn't bother coming to attention.  "Yes Gunnery Sergeant," she answered.

"Why's your gear not loaded up?" he demanded, eyeing the couple suspiciously.

"Uh...." Maggie began, though she knew she didn't have a good answer.  'Well, I've been busy crushing on a local,' wasn't likely to go over too well.

"Don't answer that," Sergeant Hill commanded then, holding up his hand as if to ward off her reply.  "We're headed over to town hall," he informed her, "Mayor wants to express his appreciation.  Somebody needs to stay here, and you just drew the short straw," he declared before turning on his heel, already headed for the door.

"Aye, Gunny," she called after him.  The couple watched his back, not talking, until he'd exited the building.

"So..." Michael began, reaching for Maggie's hand as she started to move away.  She stopped and looked back at him, her expression suddenly and painfully neutral.  "Well, I guess I'm gonna go get the last of the supplies from the sheriff's office," he told her, squeezing her fingers.

Nodding, she pulled her hand from his grip. "Okay."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
 
Thursday, January 3, five years before the bombs

The Lisinski house was a two story yellow clapboard colonial, somewhat narrow across the front, and smaller than the house on Chestnut Street in Jericho in which Jake had grown up.  It was comfortable looking, and well maintained, with a small covered porch in front and a long driveway that could easily park ten cars, running the length of the yard on one side and leading to a large, detached garage at the back of the lot. 
 
Pulling into the driveway, Michael parked beyond the end of the house, behind a late model Impala that was covered in a few inches of snow.  They entered through the back door, Michael leading them through the kitchen, dining and living rooms, and immediately up the stairs, barely giving Jake a chance to look around and get his bearings.  "That's Dad, that's the bathroom, that's Heather," Michael explained, pointing out doors as the three of them stood in the middle of second floor hallway.

"And, you'll be in there," Heather added, pointing to the door next to her own - and directly across from her father's.

"Actually, you'll be upstairs with me," Michael corrected, gesturing to yet another door.  "In the attic."

Frowning Heather scrutinized her brother.  "So who's idea is it that Jake should stay upstairs instead of the guest room?" she demanded.  "Dad's?"

"Tommy and John's, really," Michael shrugged, looking down at his feet.  "Dad just got tired of listening to 'em.  Besides," he added with a 'help me' glance at Jake, "The attic's like a bunkhouse.  Close as you're gonna get in Buffalo, anyway, so you should feel right at home," he joked nervously.

But his sister wasn't buying it.  "This is ridiculous," she complained, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

"Babe, it's fine," Jake assured, throwing her a quick smile.  He turned toward Michael, motioning for him to lead the way.  "You first."

Nodding, Michael moved toward the door, opening it to reveal a steep and narrow staircase leading up.  Reaching above his head, he pulled on a string, turning on a light.  "Uh, Heth, no girls allowed upstairs," he reminded when she reached for Jake's hand, lacing their fingers together, clearly intending to come along.

Heather was very familiar with her parents 'no girls in the attic' rule, but it had never applied to her and she had no intention of obeying it now.  "That's girls who don't live here," she protested.

"That's dates," Michael argued, "And that definitely applies here."  Her eyes narrowed and he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.  "Hey, none of this was my idea," he assured, "Just give us two minutes, we'll be right back down."

Jake squeezed Heather's hand and they exchanged a quick kiss before he moved to follow Michael upstairs.  Frowning, Heather turned and stomped into her bedroom, pulling her suitcase behind her.  She promptly abandoned it in front of the dresser, throwing herself down on her twin bed.  Three days before she'd made this bed up in a hurry, uncertain of when she'd be back.  She'd felt guilty, too, for not stripping and remaking it, though she'd soothed her conscience by reminding herself that the most likely candidates for using her room while she was gone were her nieces, who'd neither notice nor care that the sheets weren't completely fresh.  Definitely, she hadn't imagined that she would be back so soon, and she absolutely wouldn't have guessed - not in a million years - that she'd return as an engaged woman.

Forcing herself to sit up, Heather crossed her legs so that she was sitting 'Indian style' in the middle of the mattress.  She couldn't help but smile at the thought.  Engaged!  She was engaged, as wonderful and unreal as that was.  She took a moment to admire her ring, though in the dim light of the falling dusk it just didn't sparkle in the way she was now used to, and so she leaned over to click on the bedside lamp. 

"So, Dad said to just pick up a pizza at Geppetto's if that works for you," Michael announced, appearing in her doorway along with Jake. 

"Sure, sounds good," Heather agreed, swinging her legs around so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She held her hand out to her fiancé, who moved past Michael and crossed the room, dropping to a seat next to her.  "Just no Hawaiian," she ordered.  "Jake doesn't like it."

"Really?" her brother questioned. "I thought everyone liked Hawaiian," Michael argued before shrugging this information off.  "But, whatever.  Do you eat supreme, or should I just get pepperoni?"

"Supreme's fine," Jake assured, wrapping one arm around Heather, who snuggled into his side.

"Okay," Michael acknowledged with a nod.  "There's stuff in the fridge for a salad, and," he continued, waving his hand in their direction, "I'm gonna pretend that this isn't completely against the rules and go."  He turned around and then stopped, smirking at his sister over his shoulder as he threw out, "'Cause remember, engaged's not married."

"Jerk!" Heather shouted, twisting away from Jake to grab a pillow that she chucked after her brother, though it landed a good foot and a half short of the door he was no longer standing in.

"Engaged's not married, huh?" Jake repeated, drawing his fiancée's attention back to himself.

Heather shrugged, her nose crinkling softly.  "Oh, we used to torture Andy and Deb with that," she admitted with a sigh, letting her head rest against Jake's shoulder.  "They were engaged for like two years, and pretty early on, I overheard Mom telling Andy that," she explained.  "'Engaged's not married.'  You could just totally tell that Andy hated it, so I said it as often as I could get away with it, and taught Mikey to, too.  That was dumb of me, huh?" she chuckled.

"Well, you didn't know it was gonna come back to bite you," he argued.  "But engaged for two years?" Jake complained, kissing the side of her head.  "We're not doing that, right?"

"We're so not doing that," she confirmed, adding, "But they were still in school, and everything.  Couldn't give up on the parental financial supplement and health insurance.  And actually, they were both younger than me when they got engaged," Heather declared, flashing Jake a soft smile.  "So, totally different situation."

"Good," he murmured, scooting back on the bed so that his back was against the wall.  With a tug on Heather's hand, he drew her to him, and with a little maneuvering she was settled between his legs, her back pressed to his chest.  "So, I've never actually slept in a bunkhouse - unless you count, maybe, the cabins at summer camp - but I have to say, that attic is scarily like one," Jake told her.  "There are six beds up there."

"Right, the 'Lisinski Home for Wayward Boys'," Heather declared with a chuckle.  "At some point this became the place to crash among my brothers' friends if they were on the outs with their parents, or whatever.  My cousins, too - And one Christmas break, I swear, half of the Saint Mike's hockey team was sleepin' up there," she claimed, tilting her head back in a rather awkward attempt to catch Jake's eye.  "My mother would let anyone stay, but she'd start assigning chores if they were here more than three days."

"That'd get 'em out of the house," Jake laughed, wrapping his arms around her middle. 

"Mostly did," she agreed, "I think the longest anyone ever stayed was two weeks.  Well, my cousin Adam was here most of the summer one year, but that was different since he's family.  Andy, Tommy and John used to be crammed into the guest room," she explained, absently stroking his forearm with the fingers of one hand.  "And then, when Mikey was little, he was actually in here with me for a few years.  So the first day of summer vacation one year - I think I'd just turned nine - Dad took the week off and finished off the attic.  Put us all to work.  The three of them moved upstairs and Mikey moved next door.  Then when Tommy moved out, Mikey went upstairs with John."

"Okay, so you do know that Mike's got a way better deal than you, room wise, right?" he asked.  "Tell him that, next time he claims you're the favorite," Jake suggested as he pressed a gentle kiss on her temple. 

"Trust me, Mikey knows that we all think he's got the total 'Greg Brady' set-up, up there," Heather assured, chuckling.  "But this is my room."  She twisted around in Jake's arms then, accidentally elbowing him in the stomach, drawing a half-hearted "ow!" which he promptly forgot all about when she brushed her lips over his.  "My bed."

Somehow they ended up lying across the bed, facing one another, their legs tangled.  "Nice room," Jake murmured thickly against her mouth while his hands drifted down her back, over her bottom, and finally up under the hem of her sweater and turtleneck to rest against the bare skin just above the waistband of her jeans.  "Really tiny bed, though," he teased a moment later, stroking her skin with his thumb as he lifted himself up an inch, catching her eye.

Watching Jake watch her in return, Heather forgot to breathe.  His desire for her was plainly written across his face, as hers for him was undoubtedly mirrored in her own expression.  She knew that they were playing with fire, that they couldn't take this where they both wanted it to go - that would not be a good way for her father and fiancé to meet one another, she reminded herself, squirming against Jake - but, oh, he was hard to resist!  "It's got a trundle bed," Heather argued, giggling softly.

She rolled onto her back, her hair fanned around her, much too tantalizing of a picture for Jake to ignore.  "Well, if it's got a trundle," he joked, his mouth descending upon hers, "I take it back."  But then, outside, a car backfired, startling them both.  Jake pulled away, extracting his hand from beneath her clothing and expelling a shaky breath.  "So... we're supposed to make a salad, right?"

* * * * *

The backfiring car, Heather determined looking out of her window, was a signal that it was the Lisinskis' across the street neighbor who had returned home from work and not her father, but still they headed downstairs.  In the kitchen, she dug salad fixings out of the refrigerator and, after doing a quick reconnaissance of the cupboards, counters and cookie jar - finding nothing - suggested that she could whip up a quick batch of peanut butter cookies if Jake could handle the salad.  More than willing to take that deal, Jake got to work, chatting and joking with Heather about his first impressions of the Lisinski family.  Then, with the salad finished and returned to the refrigerator to chill, he offered her his 'crisscross' assistance.  Grinning, she turned the cookie sheet over and he got to work, though his progress was somewhat slowed when she planted herself in his lap and he had to reach around her to press the fork she'd provided him into the cookies.  Easily distracted, Jake managed to steal one kiss for every cookie he completed.

This was the scene that Joe Lisinski walked in on - two young people, lost in a world made up of only each other.  He paused in the open door, unmindful of the cold air he was letting in, and studied his daughter and the young man to whom she'd given her heart.  He'd had time over the previous month to get used to the idea that Heather had fallen in love for the first time, and he'd even enjoyed the new vibrancy - when she hadn't been pining - that seemed to exude from her every pore.  Still, he hadn't anticipated this.  An engagement.

But watching them, he couldn't help but be transported back in memory to when he had been newly married.  They'd lived in the world's tiniest apartment - Renate had jokingly referred to the kitchen as the hall closet - scrimping to make the rent every month while he'd worked hard to move up at work and his wife had put in long hours as the head cashier of the neighborhood drugstore.  But they had been so in love, so excited about the life they were building together, that none of the things working against them had mattered, instead becoming just another part of the adventure. 

They had brought Andrew home to that apartment when he'd been born.  As he now well knew, babies' things required exponentially more space than the babies themselves, and just turning around had been to risk bodily injury that last year in the apartment, they'd been so crowded.  They had moved to this house while Renate had been pregnant with Tommy and they had reveled in the space.  He remembered coming home an hour early one night a few weeks after they'd first moved in to find his six months' pregnant wife and toddler son running races across the empty dining room in their socks.  In the end, they had filled up the house - easy enough to do with five kids, their friends, and a large extended family.   But they'd been happy, even if they could have, as his wife had often laughingly reminded him, used another bathroom. 

He'd loved - still loved - his wife, and all he could wish for Heather and her intended was that same kind of love.  A lifelong love, a strong and abiding love, one that would withstand the stresses of everyday life and the small hurts they would undoubtedly inflict upon one another without meaning to.  He hoped, for his daughter's sake, that the passion, the romance, the giddiness, that was so evident in this new love would have staying power.

Finally remembering to close the door, Joe cleared his throat, announcing, "I'm home."

Immediately, Heather scrambled off her fiancé's lap, narrowly avoiding sending the cookie sheet on the edge of the table flying.  Jake followed her lead, jumping to his feet, bumping into her in the process and then reaching for her arm to steady them both.  "Dad!" she declared brightly.

"Mr. Lisinski," Jake added as the two of them moved around the corner of that table, an almost perfectly synchronized pair.  He held his hand out to his future father-in-law.  "I'm glad to meet you finally."

"Likewise, Jake," Joe agreed, shaking Jake's hand.  "But I believe we agreed that you should call me Joe," he reminded, holding the younger man's gaze over his daughter's head as they exchanged a quick hug.  "Sweetheart," he greeted, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Joe it is, then," Jake acknowledged, wrapping one arm around Heather when she stepped back, her shoulder brushing his.  "Thank you, sir."

Joe nodded.  "Peanut butter cookies?"

"Yeah," Heather confirmed, turning back toward the table.  "I didn't spot anything for dessert when I looked, so I thought I'd whip some up," she explained, reaching for Jake's abandoned fork so she could press crisscrosses into the last three cookies. 

"There's ice cream downstairs in the freezer," Joe replied, "But cookies'll be a nice treat."

"Oh."  She allowed a flustered chuckle, admitting, "Forgot to look down there.  But you know what goes good with cookies..." she reminded.

"Yeah, ice cream," Joe grinned.  "We can make those little ice cream-cookie sandwiches."

 "Just what I was thinkin'," she smiled in return.  "So, uh, Mikey's gone after the pizza, and Jake made the salad while I was mixing these up," Heather continued, carrying the cookie sheet to the oven which had just dinged to let them know it had finished pre-heating. "So as soon as he's back, we can eat."

"Sounds good," Joe answered automatically.  He watched as Heather placed the cookie sheet on the oven rack, and then gave it the last little shove in before closing the door.  Snapping on the light, she peered through the window, like she always had, as if she expected there was some chance the cookies could already be done.  Smiling to himself, he inquired, a chuckle in his voice, "Have a good trip?  You're practically livin' in airports these days, sweetheart."

Turning around, Heather shrugged.  "Well, once we get home on Monday, that'll be it for me for awhile."  Jake and her father were both still standing in the middle of the room, and Jake especially looked like he wasn't sure what he should do next.  Sidling up beside him, she reached for his hand, drawing him back toward the table.  "But oh, Dad!  Jake had some frequent flier awards so he got our tickets upgraded to first class, and it was - it was so cool," she declared, seating herself.

Joe nodded, following them to the table.  "Sounds like you had fun," he murmured, taking a chair across from the young couple, his gaze settling on Jake.  "Never have flown first class myself," he admitted, "But I don't travel much.  So, you do, Jake?" he asked, still watching his future son-in-law closely.  "Travel?  For work?"

"Dad!" Heather hissed in protest.  "Don't start."

"What's that starting?" her father countered, holding his hands up as if to show he was unarmed.  "That's a 'get to know you' question," he insisted, "Which I thought that was the point of this weekend? For Jake to get to know us, and for us to get to know Jake?"

"It's okay, Heather," Jake murmured, reaching for her hand and lacing their fingers together.  He flashed Joe a quick smile, well aware of what his future father-in-law was asking, and what Heather was trying to protect him from having to answer.  But Jake didn't want her feeling she had to defend him, or choose sides between her family and him.  "I have had to travel for work," he acknowledged clearing his throat, "Sometimes a lot.  And, I've taken assignments that as a single, unattached person I had no reason to turn down.  But obviously, from now on, I'll have a lot more to consider."

"Okay, Dad?" Heather demanded, her eyebrow arched in obvious displeasure. 

Her eyes locked with her father's, the two of them carrying on a silent but expressive argument.  Joe gave in first, looking down as he allowed a slight nod, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.  "Okay, Daughter," he agreed, a chuckle warming his voice.  "So, Jake, in all your travels -"  Heather let out an annoyed grunt at her father's words, but he ignored her, continuing, "Have you ever been to Buffalo before?"

The twitch of Heather's hand in his betrayed her surprise at her father's new tact.  Jake squeezed her fingers automatically, clearing his throat as he answered, "No, this is my first time.  First of many, I'm sure."

Joe laughed softly, a glint of appreciation in his eye.  He'd never cared for a hard sell -- though he wasn't completely sure that he was getting one from Jake - and he had to admire his future son-in-law's confident, unapologetic approach.  Jake Green was here to play ... and apparently to stay.  "Undoubtedly," he agreed.  "Well, I'm sure that Heather wants to show you the sights, take you up to the Falls.  You're welcome to use your mother's car," Joe reminded his daughter.

Heather smiled at that.  "Thanks, Dad.  But you know, you don't have to keep Mom's car just for me.  I mean, we can rent a car," she assured with a quick glance at Jake, "When we're here, so you shouldn't hold onto it for me.  Maybe - maybe you should drive it yourself," she suggested.

"No, no," Joe protested, shaking his head.  "I'm gonna sell it.  Just your Uncle Larry says I'd be better off waiting 'til spring, that's all."

"Okay," she acknowledged, though her tone was doubtful.  "Just don't keep it because of me."

"So, all right if I ask Jake about his job?" Joe inquired.  Frowning, Heather emitted a noncommittal squeak that earned her a smile from her father.  "Just so I can get a clearer picture of what it is he does," he assured.  "'Cause right now all I've got to go on is everything your brothers have told me, and I'm pretty sure they made half of it up."

"Try more like ninety to ninety-nine percent," Heather complained, rolling her eyes.  "And speaking of brothers' mine, you gotta talk to Tommy, Dad.  Seriously.  He's totally up to some -"

She was cut off, however, when the side door flew open once more and Michael marched in, bearing a pizza box with a large paper bag lying sideways on top, in the center.  "We've got pizza, and we've got wings," he announced, grinning.  "Gratis.  All thanks to you Jake," Michael explained, setting everything down in the center of the table.  "Joe at Geppetto's - not you, Dad -"

"Thanks for clearing that up," his father interjected with a soft snort.

"Right, sorry," Michael acknowledged.  "Anyway, he listens to The Home Run religiously, so he was askin' about you guys - said to give you his congratulations, Heth - and when I said it was Jake's first time in Buffalo, he insisted on throwing in the wings so you could have the authentic Buffalo pizza and wings experience."  Grinning, he pulled a cardboard container out of the bag and opened it to reveal a dozen wings doused in hot sauce along with two small containers of blue cheese dressing and a small baggie of celery and carrot sticks.  "Thanks, Jake."

"Any time," Jake chuckled.

"Well, let's get some plates and then we can eat," Joe suggested, standing up and moving around the table toward the cupboard.  "And talk."

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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

"So, where the hell have you been?" Jake demanded from his perch on the edge of a desk - Bill's, if Michael was remembering correctly - in the sheriff department's bullpen.  He put down the spiral notebook he'd been reading through, throwing his brother-in-law a curious look.  "Just swear to me that you haven't gone and joined the Marines."

Stopping in the narrow path between the front counter, bank of desks in the middle of the room and the offices off to one side, Michael faced Jake, shrugging.  "Haven't joined the Marines," he assured.  "I just came - came to get the radio," he explained, pointing at it through the window at the table inside the interview room Jake shared as an office with Mrs. Crenshaw. 

"Good," Jake declared, running a hand through his hair.  "'Cause I'm pretty sure I'd get the blame for that," he complained.

"Probably," Michael agreed with a chuckle.  As much as his sister got after him, nagging him, mothering him to death - and she'd been doing it since childhood, long before their own mother had passed away - she still tended to hold Jake responsible for any trouble that the two of them got into together.  Michael counted himself lucky, and Jake even luckier, that apparently she'd never learned of his rather expensive Jericho speeding ticket the summer before last.  "So speaking of Heather, where is she?"
 
Pushing himself up off the desk, Jake moved across the small space, stopping so that he was standing nearly toe to toe with the younger man.  He sighed, explaining, "Med Center.  Dad and Gray needed April's top three, five and ten medical supply needs to turn into Sergeant Hill, so we walked over to take the message to her, and Heather stayed down there when I brought the list back."

"Ah," Michael murmured, nodding absently.  "You two okay?" he asked, watching for his brother-in-law's reaction.  "'Cause you know how Heather is.  She can get really, really mad and blow up, but it usually doesn't last.  Starts feeling guilty for bein' mad and -"

"We're fine," Jake interjected, "Don't worry about it.  She was just cold and the Med Center's got some heat.   And, she's not -"

"Not a big fan of the Marines at this point?" Michael guessed, taking his turn to interrupt.  "Gee, I wonder why?" he added sarcastically.  "By the way, the Marines suggest that you don't flirt with them anymore."

Jake rolled his eyes, grumbling, "I wasn't flirting."  Though actually, he wasn't even sure of that anymore after Heather had insisted on discussing the topic yet again on their walk to the clinic.  She'd admitted to a twinge of jealousy, a moment of insecurity, telling him that he was a flirt.  He flirted with every female from Sally Taylor to Mrs. Crenshaw, she'd continued, and it had never bothered her.  But something about this particular instance - or this particular woman, he'd silently surmised - had gotten to her.  Jake wasn't quite ready to concede to being a pathological flirt, but neither had he been ready to mount the argument that he hadn't been flirting so much as falling back on the skills that had served him so well professionally.  Of course, Heather had never seen him at work, something he was glad of, and so he'd decided that avoiding a certain Marine for the remainder of her stay in Jericho was the most prudent option.  "So," he continued, squinting at his brother-in-law, "You and Corporal Mullin...?"

"Maggie."  The word - the name - slipped out of Michael as a sigh, one that was heavy with confusion and regret.  "She's...."  There were so many ways to complete that thought, all of which betrayed more than he was willing to admit to Jake at this point, despite the surprising closeness of their relationship.   But she was just so intriguing.  Fascinating.  Distracting.  He shook his head, clearing his throat.  "She's leaving.  They're - the Marines - they're packing up as we speak, got orders to return to Dodge City."  Heaving a frustrated breath, he cocked his head toward the window and the radio beyond.  "Promised I'd pack all this up for her," he explained before taking a hesitant half step toward the door.

"Well, just because the Marines are leaving doesn't mean she has to," Jake argued, wondering all the while why the hell he was butting in.  "I mean, what are they gonna do, court martial her?"

"Yeah, I'm sure that would go over well," Michael grumbled, "With the Marines, and with Heather. She'd just love -"

But he was interrupted by the crackle of the radio in the next room.  "Lima Charlie Thunder," someone hollered at the other end of the channel.  "This is Charlie Company Actual, do you copy?"  There was a momentary pause, one that allowed both Jake and Michael to shove their way into the office where they stood over the radio, waiting for something - anything - else.  "Lima Charlie, it's cold as hell out here," the operator complained.

The skin on the back of Jake's neck prickled, his hair standing on edge.   He reached for the radio's handset, beating his brother-in-law by a mere half second, calling "Hello!" into the receiver.  "Hello, this is Jake Green."

The two men held their breaths through another pause, but the operator soon responded, snarling, "Jake Green, this is an official Marine channel.  Get off this frequency," he ordered as a muffled burst of some sort - Gunfire?  Mortar round? - reverberated in the background.

"Hello, hello, are you taking fire?" Jake shouted into the radio, wincing at the noises he recognized as warfare continued, and then at the telltale click of a dropped connection. 

A dropped connection followed by another explosion.  Confused, Jake glanced toward the source of the noise, his gaze following Michael to the window.  Yet another 'boom' sounded, accompanied by a flash of red - or maybe it was purple - light.  "What the hell?"

"I th - it's - it's fireworks."

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

Thursday, January 3, five years before the bombs

"What are you - No!  Dad, make him stop!" Heather screeched as she leapt to her feet, abandoning her fiancé on the couch, where they had been going through her baby book.  During dinner, Jake had jokingly complained to Joe and Michael that she'd seen all of his most embarrassing pictures and it was time to even things up.  Joe had presented Jake with the album right after dinner  while Michael had made a beeline for the family room closet promising, over his sister's protests, to find the 'good stuff'.

Stomping across the room, Heather advanced on her brother, shaking a fist at him.  "Mikey, you're - you're so - you're such a jerk!" she sputtered.    

Jake, who'd found the pictures of infant and toddler Heather much more interesting than he'd ever expected to, looked up from a fading photograph of her first day of kindergarten, complete with braids, a plaid Catholic school jumper, white knee socks and a pair of pink Hello Kitty sneakers.  Following her with his eyes, he smirked when she smacked Michael on the shoulder to emphasize her point.

"Hey, I've got years of talent show video tape here that I know Jake wants to see," Michael informed his sister, holding five of the cassettes over his head.  He was taller than her, but not by that much, and had to take a step away when Heather tried jumping to knock them out of his hand.  "Coupl'a field hockey matches," he continued, backing up into the TV cabinet, "And at least one really nerdy science fair presentation."

"Somebody actually records science fair presentations?" Jake asked no one in particular.

Heather, hands on hips, whipped around to face her father.  "Dad!"

"Michael," Joe chided from his un-reclined recliner, fighting a smile.  "Though personally, I've always enjoyed the Burns and Allen routine you and John did when you were in first grade," he informed his daughter, adding, "'Look it's got a coat of arms. It's a bona fide castle.'"

Heather huffed a sigh, but responded immediately.  "'Oh!  That's where Napoleon comes from.'"

"'Napoleon?'" Joe repeated, his confusion obviously exaggerated.

"'Napoleon Bona Fide,'" Heather grinned.

"That's not the best one," Michael argued, placing the videotapes on top of the cabinet before choosing one out of the stack.  "The best one's 'Gracie, let me ask you something. Did the nurse ever happen to drop you on your head when you were a baby?'"

Rolling her eyes, Heather answered, "'Oh, no, we couldn't afford a nurse, my mother had to do it.'"

"Ba-da-bump-bump!" her brother declared with a grin.  He turned on the TV, shoved a tape into the VCR and, grabbing the remote off the shelf, backed up with it, pressing the play button.  "All Saints School Talent Show," Michael announced, throwing himself down on the opposite end of the couch from Jake.  "Circa what?  1984? 1985?"

"Eighty five," she grumbled, following him back to the sofa.  Catching her hand and shifting himself over two feet, Jake pulled her down so that he was seated between the two siblings.

Joe acknowledged the move with a nod and a soft smile.  "Jake, she was in pigtails, missing both her front teeth, and she delivered every line with such - such aplomb," he chuckled.  "Everyone loved it, they were the hit of the show."

"It wasn't that big of a deal," Heather insisted, blushing softly.  "It was Mom's idea, and she put our script together, made us rehearse."   She glanced sideways at her fiancé, the two of them exchanging a quick grin.  "You know, what I really wanted was Optimus Prime tennies," she informed Jake, pointing at the album in his lap, still open to the photographs of herself at age five, standing outside of the school, both alone and with her three older brothers.  "But Mom wouldn't let me get boys' shoes," she explained, resting her head on his shoulder, "So I settled for those."

Jake considered this information for a moment, and then nodding, said, "Yeah, I can see you bein' an Optimus Prime fan.  Leader of the good guy band of robot cars and all."

"Optimus Prime rocked," she giggled, reminding, "And he wasn't just a car -- he was a big rig, an eighteen wheeler."

"And when she was a little kid, she said she wanted to marry him," Michael interjected, rolling his eyes for Jake's benefit.

"Oh, I so did not," Heather protested.  She reached behind her back for a throw pillow which she tossed over Jake at her brother.  It bounced harmlessly off his knee.  "And, like you would know what I did or said or anything when I was in kindergarten.  You were a baby!"

"I have a very reliable source," Michael countered.  "Jess.  Champagne.  John and Kerry's wedding.  A lot of reminiscing.  This ringing a bell?" he questioned, smirking.

Heather let out a frustrated groan and then threw herself back against the couch, Jake's arm settling around her shoulders.  "Okay, so you really want to know what happened?" she inquired of the room.  "When we were little, for like the whole year, Jess was obsessed with weddings.  Not just playing bride - which she did a lot - but with the whole shebang.  She'd plan everything, and then she'd want to be the priest too, which was always getting her sent to Sister Georgiana's office -"

"I remember this," Joe interjected, chuckling.  "Burt thought it was the funniest thing ever, really encouraged Jess to keep playin' priest.  About the only time I ever knew that he and Geraldine really disagreed.  Gerri actually hit him over the head with a pie tin - empty - one night, so upset that she couldn't stop cryin'," he remembered, shaking his head.  "Said that she'd long before reconciled herself to the danger he put his own mortal soul into, but that she wouldn't let him endanger her only child's."

"Really?" both the Lisinski children asked, eyes wide.  This was a piece of family history neither had ever heard before.  "I - I just can't picture Aunt Gerri doing - doing that," Heather confessed, glancing up at Jake who offered her a sympathetic frown, before returning her rapt attention to her father.

"At the time, it was rather... shocking," Joe said, deciding on a word.  "Your mother was afraid that Gerri'd divorce him over that.  She'd never seen her so mad either.  But Burt took her worries to heart and had a talk with Jessie, told her that she couldn't play priest anymore, that he'd been wrong and that it wasn't funny after all."

"Jess just stopped playing wedding one day, all of a sudden," Heather sighed, resting her head against Jake's shoulder.  "I was so glad, I never asked why," she admitted, "I was just happy that I wasn't having to marry all my cousins anymore.  That's who she'd make me marry, at family get-togethers, so she could be the priest.  And that's why I said I wanted to marry Optimus Prime, to get out of marrying Lucas," she informed her brother, raising her head long enough to make a face at him.  "But Jess just claimed that Lucas was Optimus Prime, so a fat lotta good it did me to declare my undying devotion to a cartoon robot truck."

Fighting a laugh and losing, Jake pressed a kiss to the top of Heather's head.  "Sorry, babe," he snickered, squeezing her shoulder.  "I just never figured that my competition would be Optimus Prime."

"Not really competition, seeing as I've been over him for about seventeen years," she giggled, tilting her head up for a kiss.  Jake obliged, brushing his mouth across hers gently.  "Maybe only sixteen," she allowed with a sigh.

Joe found himself smiling at the couple - and at the face his youngest made over their display of affection.  So far, he liked Jake, liked how he treated his little girl, clearly not afraid to tease her, yet taking care to not belittle her.  And, he listened to her, Joe had noticed, feeling uncommonly grateful for this fact.  He hadn't realized until this evening that this was one of the problems - besides the fact that Heather hadn't loved him - he'd had with her previous boyfriend, Mark Metzger.  But Mark, for all his effort to appear attentive, really hadn't heard much of what Heather had had to say to him. 

"Michael, why don't you start the tape?" Joe suggested then, folding his hands in his lap.

"Okay, sure," his son agreed, aiming the remote at the TV.  "If I remember correctly, this is the one where Uncle Larry and Aunt Ava argue about whether or not he's started recording at least eight times," Michael informed Jake. 

"It was a new acquisition," Joe explained, defending his sister- and brother-in-law.  "Larry was always the early adopter - that's what it's called, right?" he asked, looking at Heather, who nodded her agreement.  "He was always the early adopter in the family, he'd just gotten the video camera, and I think out of somethin' like twenty acts, he was related by birth or marriage to six of 'em."   The tape was playing now and, as predicted, the camera moved jerkily over the crowded school auditorium then panned the floor, the ceiling, and finally the stage curtain, while Larry and Ava debated in hushed tones whether or not it was on and recording.  "Maybe you should fast forward," Joe suggested.

Over the course of the next two hours, much to Heather's embarrassment, her father and brother shared the video highlights of her first two decades of life with her fiancé.  Michael had managed to dig up a wide assortment, everything from the fifth grade Christmas concert to her turn as junior bridesmaid in Deb's and Andy's wedding to an athletics banquet where she'd received awards for both good sportsmanship and  achievement as a scholar athlete.  Jake, though,  seemed to enjoy it all, even the tape of her science fair demonstration on why the sky is blue, which ended with him commenting, clearly impressed, "I have a degree in Aeronautical Science, and I didn't know that.  Probably should've," he admitted sheepishly, "But I didn't."

"Well, if you didn't know before that I was a geek," she giggled, blushing softly, "I guess you do now."

"Yeah, but I like your geeky moments," he reminded, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her back against his chest.  "With your star charts and posters explaining osmosis," Jake teased.  "And hey, now I know why the sky's blue," he added, gesturing at the screen.

"And if he still wants to marry you after seein' all that, then I think we can all pretty much agree it must be true love," Michael opined.  Climbing to his feet, he pointed the remote at the TV set, turning it off as he moved toward the cabinet to deposit the remote in its place.  "See?  I look out for you, Sis," he insisted, throwing her a grin over his shoulder.

"Thanks," Heather returned, rolling her eyes.  "But I already knew that without reliving the humiliation of side pony tails and stirrup pants." She found Jake's hand then, lacing their fingers together and glancing up at him.  "We are still engaged after all that, right?" she joked.

"Yeah, think so," he smiled.  "And I think we're even now, too.  You've seen a picture of me in a mullet, my prom picture, the mutton busting picture my Mom dug up from when I was seven," he listed, deciding - after a glance at her father - to omit mention of the photographs of his naked baby butt.  "Seems pretty much even to me."

Confusion flashed across Michael's face and he asked, "Mutton busting?" though with his next breath he declared, "You know what?  Never mind, I don't wanna know."  Shaking his head, he continued.  "Well, I hate to break up the party, but I need to hit the books for awhile, and I better do it now since I hafta be up at four thirty."

"Ugh, that's mean of Jess," Heather commiserated, extracting herself from Jake's loose embrace and stretching her arms over her head.  "Night, Mikey," she called after her brother, who was already halfway up the staircase between the basement and ground floor.  "I need to run upstairs, too," she added, looking first at her father and then at her fiancé.  "Okay?"

Joe was pretty sure the question was directed at Jake, but he answered anyway.  "We'll be fine, sweetheart.  I promise, I won't try and scare 'im off."

"Thanks," she grumbled, shaking her head as she got up - Jake holding onto her hand to help steady her - from the couch.  "I'll be right back," she assured, squeezing his fingers.

It was an awkward thirty seconds as the two men watched her disappear up the staircase, then listened to her footfalls as she hurried across the floor above, headed - Joe assumed - for the half bathroom  just off the kitchen.  He cleared his throat, ready to ask some innocuous question, really just to have something to say, only to be surprised when Jake beat him to it.  "Mr. Lisinski - Joe -" his daughter's fiancé began, "First, thanks for having me here, for giving me the chance to show you that  I - how much I love Heather, and - I hope - maybe, uh, deal with your - your concerns.  Some of them, anyway," he clarified with a not completely comfortable chuckle.  "So, uh -"

"You tryin' to get me in trouble with my daughter?" Joe joked, one eyebrow raised in mock consternation.

"Uh, no sir," Jake replied.  He let out a long breath and, sitting forward on the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees.  "I just want - I want - you and I both - just want what's best for Heather, so if you have anything you want to ask, say, about my job or - or anything you're worried about...." He trailed off for a moment, inhaling deeply before finishing, "Go ahead.  Ask me anything."

"Well, thank you, Jake," he answered, his brow furrowing as he studied the young man sitting across from him for another, somewhat uneasy ten seconds.  "And well, I do have my - my worries," he admitted finally, lips pursed.  "Because I know how much you mean to Heather, how much she loves you.  And, I'm not sayin' you don't love her," he added quickly, "I see how you look at her, how you treat her, and I see that you love her."

"I do love her," Jake murmured, "More - more than I can say."

Joe nodded, adding this to the store of facts, feelings and impressions he was collecting about his daughter's intended, deciding that Jake probably wasn't thrilled to be having this conversation, but glad that he'd been willing to broach the subject.  "I appreciate that," he acknowledged, offering a fleeting smile.  "And I appreciate what - everything you do for Heather.  You've really helped her adjust and settle in, and I remember how you supported her at Thanksgiving, when her uncle died.  When she talks about you - even just thinks about you - she just lights up.  But that - that kind of love, that kind of devotion, dependence, whatever you want to call it, if something happens..." he trailed off for a moment, frowning as he tried to marshal his thoughts and emotions.  "If what you two have now doesn't have staying power, or if something happens to you - an accident, something at work - she'll be devastated.  And she'll be two thousand miles away, so that I can't even kiss it and make it a little better."

"Don't suppose it makes you feel any better to know that's how much - how I feel about her too, huh?" his future son-in-law asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"Actually it does, in a way," Joe chuckled.  "But don't think I'm ever not gonna worry about my little girl, even if you really are the best thing since sliced bread."

"All I want is for Heather to be happy," Jake said.

It was becoming more and more obvious to Joe just how uncomfortable Jake was with this line of discussion - not that he wouldn't have preferred dental work himself - so it was a bit of a blessing to hear the toilet flush from above and know that she'd soon rejoin them.  "That's what I want, too," he sighed.  "And while this might get me in trouble," he continued, glancing up at the ceiling as if he could see Heather's footsteps as she made her way back through the kitchen, "You did say I could ask, so I'll risk it," Joe decided.  "Outside of Heather's brothers' wild speculations, I don't know really even what it is you do."

"Okay," Jake nodded, "Well, I always thought I'd be a commercial pilot, flying for an airline or maybe a shipping company.  That's what I went to school for, what I trained for, what I wanted to do.  My Dad wanted me to go to West Point - join the army - but I didn't think I'd get to fly, at least not the way I wanted to."

"Huh," Joe acknowledged with a murmur.  Above them, he could hear Heather puttering around in the kitchen.  "But instead?" he prompted.

Jake shrugged.  "I went to this recruiting fair on campus and ended up talking to the DEA.  They needed pilots, so I signed up.  Ended up flyin' a surveillance plane in California, looking for illegal activity, mainly pot cultivation, on federal lands," he explained, and Joe could tell by the tone of his voice that this was easier for him to talk about than his earlier declarations of his feelings for Heather.  "My supervisor, some of the agents I worked with, they all kept saying I should apply for the special agent position, so eventually I did.  Went through the academy, and then got assigned to the field office in Denver."

"So, you're a special agent, just like in the movies, huh?" Joe asked, chuckling softly.

"Well, less guns and big explosions than in the movies, and they sure don't show all the paperwork and time spent talkin' to lawyers," the younger man laughed.  "But, yeah.  Surveillance, undercover work sometimes, apprehending suspects, plus paperwork and -"

"Talking to lawyers," they said in unison.  "A real favorite of yours, I can tell," Joe joked.

"Oh, yeah," Jake snorted.

"So, how do your parents feel about your job?"

"Dad!"  Heather was standing two steps up from the bottom of the staircase, a plate of cookies balanced across her arms and a glass of milk in each hand.  She glared at her father.

"Babe, it's okay," Jake countered, jumping to his feet and crossing the room to help her.  "I'm the one who brought it up, okay?" he added, taking a glass of milk from her, though she held onto the other glass and the plate, letting him steal a cookie. 

"Oh," she mumbled, glancing back and forth between the two men, clearly trying to assess the situation.  "Okay."

"My parents aren't really big fans of my job," Jake answered, taking a step back to allow Heather to pass.  He looked over at her father.  "But, since I had to lie to them for over a year because of it - ended up embarrassing them - I think they're allowed."  Heather handed Joe the other glass of milk, waiting while he selected two of the cookies, and then moved back toward the couch where Jake had already reseated himself.  "And, I wouldn't - I wouldn't take an assignment like that again," he declared, reaching for Heather's hand, pulling her down next to him, their legs pressed together.  "I'd resign before I'd let what I have to do for work hurt my family again."

Heather, eyes bright, smiled at that, leaning against Jake's shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her.  This left him with only one free hand in which he held his glass of milk, half a cookie balanced on top of the rim.  A few seconds later, Heather relieved Jake of the glass, handing him back his half cookie before she took a sip of milk.  Stifling a chuckle, Joe decided against reminding her of the time when she was sixteen, and she and Michael had gone with the newly wedded Tommy and Mandy to a Sabres game.  She'd come home and sounded off to him about how they had shared everything - down to their pop - and had ended up declaring to him that she'd never be so 'goopy in love' that she wouldn't get her own drink.

"I'd fly planes or raise horses with my grandfather full time, I guess," Jake continued, swallowing a bite.  "I could even drive a truck if I had to.  Had to get a commercial driver's license, go to trucking school for work," he explained, popping that last of his cookie into his mouth.

"Oooh!  We could call your truck Optimus Jake!" she declared, handing him the milk.  "Nice green and silver cab, and get that airbrushed on the door.  OJ," Heather suggested and then immediately changed her mind, "Well, maybe not."

"That'd be like the best of both worlds for you, huh?" Jake teased.  "But let's call that Plan C or D," he requested, raising his arm up and over the top of her head so he could snag another cookie off the plate balanced on her lap.  "I can do it," he added, "But long haul trucking's boring."

"Plan D it is," Heather agreed, "Behind the DEA, flying and ranching."

"Deal," he returned, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before leaning back into the couch.

"Well, I've got a few things to do before bed," Joe declared, finishing off the last of his milk.  "Thanks for the cookies, sweetheart," he smiled, standing up.  

He held out his hand for the cookie plate which, after she took her second cookie, Heather was more than happy to give up.  "Thanks, Dad."

"Sure thing," Joe nodded, instructing, "Now don't stay up too late, you two."

Heather yawned then, leaving it to Jake to answer her father.  "We won't.  Think her jet lag's kicking in, anyway.  Good night, Joe."

"Good night," Joe replied, "Glad to have to you here, Jake." 

"Happy to be here," Jake answered as Heather called "Night, Dad," after her father.  They watched in silence, Heather snuggling back into Jake's arms as Joe climbed upwards, neither speaking until they heard the snick of the door closing at the top of the stairs.  She tilted her head back, smiling up at her fiancé, inviting his kiss.  "So," Jake grinned at her a long moment later, "Where'd that baby book go?  I said we were even earlier," he reminded, tickling her side.  He leaned in close again, brushing his lips over hers.  "But we won't really be even 'til I get to see a naked baby picture." 

Giggling, she wrapped her arms around her fiancé's neck, kissing him again.

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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

"It's fireworks," Michael repeated, shaking his head at the sight before him.  The citizens of Jericho were gathered outside of town hall watching the display - though where the hell it had come from, he didn't have a clue - and they actually looked happy, like they were having a good time.  He let go of the blinds, turning to face his brother-in-law, consternation written in his expression.  "But the radio -"

"Yeah," Jake acknowledged, his tone strained, "C'mon."

Michael, jogging behind Jake, couldn't keep himself from wondering out loud, "We can barely feed ourselves, but somebody can come up with fireworks?"

"Gray," Jake guessed, leading the way down a narrow hallway that Michael realized wasn't open to the general public.  "Mine's got demo experts, and they do the Fourth of July show every year in that whole good corporate citizen crap thing."

"Right," Michael muttered.  They'd reached the end of the passageway, an imposing door, scuffed and knick-scarred, in front of them.  Jake took a second to pull his hood up over his head.  "You all right?" Michael asked as his brother-in-law wrenched the door open. 

"Just a little cold," Jake practically shouted, looking back over his shoulder.  "No biggie."

They stumbled out onto a small stoop off the side of the building that looked out over a barren patch of hard packed soil where even weeds didn't grow anymore, and the strip of paved road that took you around to the back of town hall to the dumpsters and the small parking lot.  There was a flash of white light which the crowd 'oohed and aahed' over, but which left Michael trying to blink away the spots that swam before his eyes.  He glanced around, trying to get his bearings - this just wasn't where town hall was on his mental map - realizing belatedly that he'd sat in the small park kitty corner to the building nearly five years earlier with his father, sister and all the Greens to watch the Fourth of July fireworks.  There was another burst of bright light, and shaking his head, he hollered to his brother-in-law, "Stanley told us about your turn at pyrotechnics.  Getting caught on the roof during a lightning storm."

Even under his hood, Jake's skeptical, 'you bring this up now?' expression was illuminated by a burst of light above them, but all he did was slap Michael lightly on the arm, cocking his head at the crowd.  "Stanley," he yelled, nodding once and shoving his not completely steady hands into his sweatshirt pockets.  "We need to find Stanley, do a little recon.  C'mon."

Another rocket exploded overhead, lighting up the sky and drawing more excited chatter from those who'd gathered to watch.  Michael quickened his pace, trying to keep up with his brother-in-law.  "The guy on the radio -"

"Could be anything," Jake argued, leading Michael around the edges of the crowd, searching for his friend.  "Gotta check it out."

"But -"

"Stanley!"  Jake pulled away, jogging toward the other man. 

Stanley was sitting on a wooden barricade having apparently been deputized for crowd control.  "Hey!" he called in return, grinning as yet another colorful burst brightened the sky above them.

"You need to grab some of our guys from patrol and do a sweep of the area, all right," Jake told him in a rush of breath.  "Take guns."

"What?" his friend questioned, gaping.  Stanley scrambled to his feet, frowning and repeating himself.  "What?  Are you kidding?  We got the US Marine Corps here," he reminded, gesturing toward the middle of the mob of people where the gunnery sergeant and most of his squad stood with Gray Anderson, admiring the pyrotechnic display.

Frowning, Jake shook his head.  "Something's wrong about all this, all right?  Trust me," he muttered, glancing sideways at his brother-in-law.

"Something weird's going on," Michael added reluctantly.  "Or one helluva coincidence."

"Okay, okay," Stanley huffed, holding up a hand to stop the tag team effort.  He didn't look completely convinced that he was needed, especially at this moment when he'd thought that they could all take a breather, enjoy the fireworks, and for once let their guard down, just for a little bit.  "Well, what am I looking for?" he grumbled.

"A guy with a radio, for starters," Jake answered, looking back over his shoulder as yet another rocket exploded overhead.  "Check anywhere within earshot of the fireworks," he continued, expelling a quick breath.  "All right, maybe it's nothing....  Just check."

"Okay," Michael began, "I'm gonna -"

"You're gonna not talk to the Marines, all right?" his brother-in-law interrupted.

"Jake -"

"Stanley!" Mimi called out hurrying toward the three men.  "Can I -"

Jake exchanged a look with his friend.  "All right, go," he directed.

Nodding, Stanley turned and moved away, hurrying past Mimi with a quick, "I can't talk."

"I need to talk to her," Michael barked out, drawing Jake's attention back from the irritated woman before them. 

"... nice talkin' to you," Mimi complained, throwing her hands up in the air.

Grabbing Michael's sleeve, Jake growled, "No!  If something's up, she knows all about it, and you tip 'em off."  His gaze narrowed as he contemplated his brother-in-law for a moment.  "I need to find Dad and Gray."  His grip loosened.  "Don't you go near her," he ordered before walking away.

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

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 14D.

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

It turns out there is a Geppetto's Pizzeria in Buffalo NY.  No infringement is meant, I just wanted to use the name since Geppetto is a nickname for Guiseppe, which is Joseph in Italian. 

Hello Kitty is a fictional character produced by the Japanese company Sanrio.  She was first introduced in the United States in 1976, and her likeness has appeared on pretty much everything including many pairs of little girls' shoes.

Burns and Allen are George Burns and Gracie Allen, an American comedy duo, who appeared together in vaudeville, films, radio and television from the 1920s until the 1950s.  On their TV show (The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show) Burns would always end the show with "Say goodnight, Gracie" to which Allen simply replied "Goodnight." She never said "Goodnight, Gracie," as legend has always had it.  The lines that the Lisinskis recited are some of my favorites from the wealth of material with which they have left us.
Optimus Prime is a fictional character from the Transformers franchise. He is the main protagonist and leader of the "heroic" faction (primarily the Autobots) in most of the various Transformers continuities.  The original Optimus Prime transforms into a cab over truck - Heather's eighteen wheeler. 

Credit must be given to SandraDee, who first wrote of Heather having a crush on Optimus Prime in her story Dangerous.  I loved that detail, even commented on how much I loved it at the time, and then convinced myself it was all my own original idea when I wrote it here in Different Circumstances.  Luckily, my theft was pointed out to me by our wonderful shared beta reader, Skyrose, and when I asked Sandra was quite willing to share this Heather "fact" with me, so it appears here with her permission. 

Part 14D by Marzee Doats

Different Circumstances: Part 14D of ? by Marzee Doats

Author's Note: Well, after much too long, I've finally completed the next installment of Different Circumstances!  It's been a rough 18 months or so for me, hence the long delay, but I am back to writing after my long hiatus and I promise it won't be another year and a half until the next update.

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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

Outside, the pyrotechnics continued, pops and booms resounding in the crisp night air. 

Harry Carmichael had grown up with the annual Fourth of July fireworks show, helping his father - head engineer at the mine before him - run things from the time he was ten years old.  He understood the concepts at work - exothermic reaction, detonation, deflagration - but there was just something about how it all came together that still dazzled him now as much as it had when he was a child.  And tonight he was determined to go all out and use everything he had on hand.  The display was, in a word, impressive. 

"Celebrated Y2K just like this," Harry reminded Ridley Cooper, who had not been invited to the hastily assembled dinner for the marines that was just beginning inside.  He took a step back as another rocket shot upward, screaming.  "Remember?" Harry shouted, glancing over his shoulder at the other man.  "Did fireworks for New Year's then, too.  It's a good omen, the marines comin' to town for New Year's.  Plenty to celebrate," he grinned, still yelling. 

Gray had invited Harry to the dinner upstairs, but he much preferred to stay behind to continue the show.  The marines had gone inside already, but the citizens of Jericho appreciated his efforts, if the satisfied "Oooh!" that went through the crowd as the rocket exploded above them was any indication.  Harry hurried to light the next fuse.  "Plenty to celebrate!"

Inside, the marines and the lucky few townspeople who'd been invited to attend the banquet were settling into their seats, passing plates, joking, smiling, and generally enjoying themselves.  The fire in the hearth was bright and warm, the mood in the room brighter and warmer still.  Finally, they had something to celebrate.

"I really am gonna hafta put together that cookbook," Gail grumbled under her breath as Johnston pulled her chair out for her.  They had been seated at the end of the head table, on the corner, a rather quiet marine corporal between them and where Gray sat with Gunnery Sergeant Hill.  "Forty minutes notice!" she complained, shaking her head, "And a box of unclaimed airdrop supplies.  Next time you get replaced as mayor, the new one better have his own wife to take on the miscellaneous duties as assigned, that's all I have to say."

"Everything looks delicious, sweetie," Johnston murmured, squeezing her shoulder before seating himself beside her.  "You and Caroline have outdone yourselves," he added with a glance at the table.  Before, he supposed it would have been gauche to serve potatoes and rice together, but Johnston hadn't seen such a full plate in weeks and his stomach rumbled with anticipation.  "This is a veritable feast."

"Well, if there's one thing I've learned," she chuckled, "It's all about the presentation."  Johnston smiled in response, reaching for her hand and raising it to his mouth so he could brush a kiss across her knuckles. 

Gray stood up then, tapping his water glass with his fork to get the room's attention.  "Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen," he called out, clearly enjoying himself.  "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," he declared, his voice rumbling warmly.   "Honored guests..." the mayor added, with a sideway glance at the gunnery sergeant before he looked farther down the table, toward the end where Johnston and Gail sat.   "And I was very hopeful that former Sergeant Green might say a few words."

Surprised by the request, Johnston looked automatically to his wife who flashed him a too wide smile that he interpreted to mean 'better you than me, buster'.  Clearing his throat, he climbed to his feet, feverishly contemplating what it was that he wanted to express.  "Well, ladies and gentlemen," he began, brow furrowed, "Um....  The Marine Corps has a motto.  Semper fidelis.  Always faithful."  He paused for a moment, swallowing.  "Never before in our nation's history has a motto been so tried.  And, so necessary."  Johnston reached for his glass and then held it up in a toast to the marines.  "So, uh, Gunny, Marines ... Semper fi."

"Hooah!" the young marines seated in the center of the room hooted, whistling and hoisting their water glasses.  Confused, Johnston couldn't keep from frowning or from glancing toward Sergeant Hill, who repeated his squad's toast, declaring, "Ooh-rah!" as he lifted his own glass.

Johnston's frown eased as he decided he'd misheard.  Gail - looking forward to three or four months in Europe - had been after him for weeks before the bombs to get a full physical, including an eye exam and a hearing test.  Finally, she'd resorted to nigh well embarrassing him, ambushing him with April in his office.  But he'd never gotten around to getting his vision or hearing checked, he realized, as he settled back into his seat.  And, he'd had the flu too, with a high fever and powerful drugs, all of which could've messed with his ears, he reminded himself, trying to make everything make sense as the happy chatter around him continued.

"So, uh, Gunny," he began, looking down the table, past the marine seated next to him.  "The Fighting Fourth.  Seen more than your share of action?"

"Yugo to Iraq.  If there's a war, there's the Fourth," Sergeant Hill answered, shrugging as if to dismiss the hardships that went along with that mission.

"Semper fi," Johnston responded automatically as he again tried to tamp down the traitorous niggling at the back of his brain that kept arguing that something was wrong here.

"Ooh-rah!" the gunnery sergeant returned, setting off another round of shouts from the more excitable of his men. 

"Hooah!" yelled one young marine, who grinned and looked around the room, his eyes meeting Johnston's for a split second. 

There was no way he'd imagined it, not that time, Johnston told himself, gritting his teeth.  He hadn't imagined it, and he hadn't misheard.  Quickly, he looked around the room, his heart starting to pound as he counted those in attendance.  Twelve marines, seventeen civilians including Gail and himself.  He reached for his wife's hand, offering her a tight smile with which he telegraphed as much of his concern and fear as he dared.  "Excuse us," he mumbled, standing up and pulling her to her feet as well.

Gail had noticed her husband's fidgety behavior, and she'd recognized the gravity in the look he'd given her before he'd dragged her away from her meal, and so she'd followed without comment.  But that didn't mean that she wasn't a little bit put out, or that she didn't want to know what was going on.  "What is the matter?" she demanded, stopping just outside the door.  She yanked her arm from his grasp and turned to face him, her hands on her hips, glaring.  "What is going on?"

Jake, his hood up and hands shoved into the pockets of his heavy sweatshirt, appeared at the top of the stairs, and Johnston allowed himself a short moment to be grateful of his son's ability to move so quietly, nearly silently.  He'd been the one who'd taught Jake the skill first, just one of the many lessons he'd imparted during the hunting trips he'd started taking the boys on before they were even in their teens, but he knew that Jake had continued to hone those abilities professionally for the last decade.

Spotting the question in his son's eye, Johnston tilted his head toward him, muttering, "Downstairs."  Jake acknowledged the command with a nod, already turning to head back down to the main floor.  "Downstairs," he repeated urgently, taking his wife by the elbow.

"What is going on?" Gail asked again once they were inside the sheriff's department offices, the door secured against anyone who might try to enter after them.  She looked back and forth between her husband and son, taking in the apprehension and disbelief in both of their expressions.  "Johnston -"

"I just - uh, I just heard the fireworks over the marines' radio," Jake interrupted, his arms crossed over his chest so that his gloved hands were tucked up into his armpits.  A small shiver ran through him, though it wasn't obvious whether it was a lingering effect of his recent bout of hypothermia or a reaction to his own statement.  "And - and Dodge City's two hundred miles away," he reminded.

"What?" Gail questioned, confused and not quite ready to comprehend what he was implying.

"They've got somebody at the edge of town pretending to be their headquarters," Jake returned, finally giving voice to the suspicion that had been building up inside him, the bitter taste of it gagging him, for the last fifteen minutes.  "I sent Stanley and Mike," he continued, hoping that his brother-in-law had listened to him and had stayed away from Corporal Mullin.  "And - and a couple of the guys to check it out."  He inhaled deeply and looked at his father, demanding, "Tell me I'm crazy."

"If you are then so 'm I," Johnston answered, letting out the breath that he'd been holding.  "Nobody calls an NCO 'sir', and a marine would never say 'hooah', that's an army thing," he explained quickly, laying out his argument.  It sounded silly - it had seemed silly all day long - to worry about such little things, but he trusted his instincts and his instincts were screaming that things just didn't add up here.  "These guys did both," he added, "And the marines are all about detail."

"Well, if they're not marines, who are they?"

The look Johnston gave his wife could only be described as grim.  "People with enough firepower to wipe us out."

"We gave them half the town's supplies," Jake muttered, shaking his head and grimacing at the thought.  "What do we do now?"

"We've got to tell Gray," Gail decided in a rush of breath.

"How do we get Gray alone?" Johnston argued, frowning.  "He's right next to 'em.  We've gotta do somethin' about that tank," he continued, "If that thing's turned loose on Main Street, it'd be a bloodbath."

'Oh God, Heather,' Jake thought, his heart starting to pound in his chest.  If word of the fireworks had gotten down to the med center...she loved this sort of thing and no way that she wouldn't try to come see it, dragging April, Drake, Jeff and anyone else she could convince with her.  'Please, babe,' he silently willed his wife, 'Please just stay there.  Stay put.'

"Even if you get that tank, they still have a roomful of hostages," Gail reminded, her voice laced with worry.

Trying to shake off his own anxieties - nightmare scenario was a better description, he thought sourly - Jake faced his father.  "She's right," he declared, "You better get back before they start to wonder. Try to get a message to Gray," he ordered quickly, "And I'll wait for Stanley."  Jake paused a second, thinking again of Heather.  "And I'll see what I can do about the tank," he promised, exhaling an unsteady breath.

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

 

Friday, January 4, five years before the bombs

 

"Aun'ie Heather!  Unc'a Jake!"

A blur of blue jeans, bright yellow sweatshirt and brown hair barreled across the kitchen, aiming for the surprised young couple standing just inside the door.  "Hi, hi!" three year old Kyle Lisinski chirped cheerfully as he attached himself to Jake's leg.  He looked up, grinning, and then added once more for good measure, "Hi!"

Deborah, his mother, turned from the sink, cringing guiltily.  "Sorry, Jake.  I was really hoping to get the chance to warn you," she groaned. 

"Engaged is a hard concept to explain to a three year old," Mandy interjected from the table where she sat between her older daughter and her niece, supervising the decoration of a dozen cupcakes.   "The kids called Kerry 'auntie' for like a year before she and John even got engaged, and Ali calls my brother's girlfriend 'Aunt Tiff', so -"

"We just hope you don't mind," Deborah said, picking up the argument as she dried her hands on a dish towel. 

"Doesn't bother me," Jake shrugged, "Though I just heard the other day that 'engaged's not married'."

"Uh, right," Deborah agreed, her surprise - followed quickly by embarrassment - registering in her expression.  She blushed softly, adding with a chuckle, "And you haven't even met Drew yet."

"Yeah, well, Mike's got me up to speed," Jake assured her before glancing down at the little boy still clinging to his leg.

Kyle, his eyes wide, met Jake's gaze, letting out a giggle.  "You a real cowboy?" he demanded, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Well, I've got a horse and boots," Jake answered, tousling Kyle's hair.  "That good enough?"

"You need a hat too," Rebekah opined from the table where she was kneeling on a chair in order to get a better angle for decorating her cupcake.  Abandoning her frosting tube, she fixed Jake with a fierce stare, their gazes locking.  "Do you have a cowboy hat?"

"Well, I could get one," Jake told her, his tone serious.  "But usually I just go with a ball cap, 'cause I look kinda dorky in a real cowboy hat," he admitted, flashing a grin at Rebekah, who cracked a smile, giggling.  "But I know where to go to get a cowboy hat, if I need one," he assured as Heather finally succeeded in peeling her nephew off his leg.

"So, what's all this?  What are you guys doing here?" Heather asked, trying to pick Kyle up. 

But the little boy was having none of it.  "No, no, no!" he screeched, throwing his head back and wiggling to get away.  "Unc'a Jake!" he cried out, reaching for him.

"What about me?  Don't you want Auntie Heather?" she cajoled her still struggling burden to no avail.  Kyle just pouted and pushed away, arms held out to Jake.

"Uh, here," her fiancé muttered, taking a half step toward them.  He reached for the little boy, barely getting a one-handed grasp on his waist before Kyle leapt at him. 

"Sorry," Deborah apologized again, making a face.  "Sorry, Heather.  He's going all boy-ey on me.  Thinks all girls - including me! - have cooties."

"Cooties!" Kyle crowed in confirmation as Jake, with a little help from Heather, got him settled on his hip, and then moved to take a seat at the table. 

"Guess us guys have to stick together, huh?" Jake joked, though a second later he let out a grunt, wincing as Kyle maneuvered himself into Jake's lap, his knee making contact with Jake's stomach - or possibly lower.

 "Sorry," Deborah muttered yet again when she saw Jake wince.

"So, really, what's up?" Heather inquired, leaning over the table to examine her nieces' handiwork.  "Butterfly and ladybug cupcakes?"

"They're for the picnic," four year old Alison answered.  She held the cupcake she was working on out for inspection, declaring, "That's why I put a ant on this one."

"An ant, Ali," her aunt corrected, examining the cupcake.  The single ant had been rendered at twenty times magnification and in black gel icing - requiring most of the tube, if Heather was not mistaken - on a field of grass green frosting.  "Good job with the antennae," she complimented her niece.  "And you got the different body segments and the six legs.  It looks so real no one's gonna want to eat it, 'cause who wants to eat an ant," she teased.

But Alison didn't share this concern.  "Daddy'll eat it," she decided, "Or Grandpa."

"Heather!"  Mandy affected an offended expression but it quickly dissolved into a smirk. "You - you just graded my kid's cupcake," she complained, chuckling.

"Well, yeah..." Heather acknowledged with a shrug, a soft blush suffusing her cheeks.  "But at least I gave her a good grade," she giggled.

"So, we're having one of your Mom's 'snowstorm picnics'," Deborah announced.

"Sans snowstorm," Mandy quickly added.  "But it came to me this morning - up at five AM with a teething baby," she grumbled, "That this would be a great way to do a family dinner tonight, let Jake and the boys get to know one another."

"A snowstorm picnic, with games and everything?" Heather asked, her expression skeptical. "You really think that's a good idea?"

"It's Monopoly or the hockey rink, which do you prefer?" Mandy returned. "Personally, I thought this was a brilliant idea."

 "So did I - and your Dad when I called him at work," Deborah offered then.  "He liked the idea, so we've been working on the food - macaroni salad, coleslaw, and I'm making your Mom's hot German potato salad for your Dad, 'cause he said he's been wanting some since before Thanksgiving."  She continued on, barely pausing for a breath.  "Kerry and John are picking up Polish sausage, bratwurst and steaks at Tomasko's, and the girls are doing cupcakes, so I think we can call it a snowstorm picnic, in spirit if not fact."

"Guess so," Heather chuckled, nodding.  She glanced at her fiancé.  "My Mom invented the snowstorm picnic to give us all something to do if the power went out. Dad always had to go into work of course, even if we still had electricity it was pretty much guaranteed to be out somewhere," she explained.

"Even Drew has to go in if there's a storm," Deborah interjected.  "To answer phones, if nothing else," she chuckled.

"Answer phones?" Heather repeated, eyebrows raised skeptically.  "He's in the engineering department, don't they need him to do engineering?"

"Engineering, phones, whatever.  Just so long as he isn't out with a crew.  He gets to play hockey if he wants a little adventure, he doesn't get to be a lineman too," Deborah declared, plopping herself down in a chair at the table.  She smiled at Jake and her son, still perched on his new uncle's knee.  "But the snowstorm picnic is definitely a Lisinski family tradition, so I guess you're being inducted tonight."

"It started when I was a baby," Heather said then, drawing Jake's gaze.  "So obviously I don't actually remember the first one, but the story's that the power was out for three days, and Dad was stuck at the plant 'cause it was a total lake effect blizzard, like five, six feet of snow, and the roads hadn't been plowed," she explained. 

Her fiancé nodded, aware that Joe Lisinski had worked for the power company for nearly thirty five years, and now supervised one of the teams that maintained the turbines at the hydroelectric plant on the Niagara River.  Heather's brother Andrew - and later Heather herself - had earned a partial college scholarship offered to the children of company employees who displayed an aptitude for the physical sciences, and Andrew had interned in the engineering department before eventually following in his father's footsteps and becoming an employee.

"With Dad MIA and a freezer full of thawing meat, Mom decided she better use up what was in it before it went bad.  So she and Andy ended up out back barbecuing hot dogs in the snow and a tradition was born," Heather completed.

"I remember my first snowstorm picnic," Mandy giggled.  "Tommy got your Mom to let me come over and get snowed in with you all.  It was winter break, and you and Andy had just gotten engaged," she continued, pointing at Deborah, "So you were here, too -"

"And she made the boys sleep in the dining room - Drew hit his head, I swear, five times on the underside of the table - and the three of us," Deborah laughed, gesturing at Mandy and Heather to include them in the 'us', "Got the living room, which at least has couches and carpet.  And Renate slept in the recliner, right in the arch between the two rooms, to chaperone.  Drew about died of embarrassment."  She looked at Jake and let out an amused sigh.  "Be glad you got an actual bed this weekend."

"I remember that," Heather jumped in.  "We played that epic three day game of Risk that ended up with Mikey and Mandy fighting it out over Kamchatka for like six hours."

"And I kicked his butt all outta Asia," Mandy declared smugly, eliciting a shocked gasp of 'Mo-oom!' from her daughter.  She leaned over, kissing the four year old on the head and clucking, "Oh, it's okay, Ali-Cat, promise."

"So can I frost one?" Heather asked then, glancing between her two nieces.  "I can do a flower, somethin' like that."

The two girls looked at each other, their expressions clouding over at the gravity of the decision to be made.  Finally, they both nodded, declaring "Okay!" in unison.  "But wash your hands first, Auntie Heather," Rebekah admonished as Heather reached for a cupcake.

"Big first grade hygiene unit just before Christmas break," Deborah offered as Heather guiltily withdrew her hand and then pushed her chair back from the table.  "You wanna frost a cupcake, Jake?"

"Uh, my artistic skills are pretty much limited to airplanes," he replied.  "Cars, robots - mechanical things, really.  Nothing that would fit into the picnic theme, and I know how Lisinski women are about themes."

"How we are about themes, huh?" Mandy questioned, her eyebrows arching.

"Uh -"

"He came to my 'school play work day', that's all he means," Heather defended Jake over her shoulder as she scrubbed her hands clean.  She caught his eye, flashing him a quick smile and reminding, "You told me you could draw a horse, too.   Side view only, of course."

"At this work day, you had a clipboard, didn't you?" Deborah guessed, attempting a frown that she couldn't quite maintain.

Mandy's endeavor to be serious was even more lame.  "Oh, Heather..." she clucked, shaking her head and trying to bite back a giggle.  "You don't show them the clipboard 'til after the wedding, don't you know that?"

"Exactly," Deborah agreed, snickering.  "Ix-nay on the ipboard-clay pre edding-way, uh, ay-day.  Gives 'em cold feet....  They see a future of 'honey do' lists up the wazoo."

Shaking off her wet hands, Heather rolled her eyes as she reached for a towel hanging on the refrigerator door.  "Oh well, no going back now," she informed her sisters-in-law, "Jake's seen my clipboard, my filing system, and my lesson plan template, so I'm pretty much organizationally naked at this point."  Ignoring her nieces gasps in response to this titillating declaration, Heather peeled a magnetic notepad off the refrigerator and carried it over to the table, setting it in front of her fiancé.  "Kyle, do you want Uncle Jake to draw you an airplane, or -"

"Airplane!" the little boy interrupted, clearly excited.

"I wanna a horse," Rebekah requested immediately, her cousin Ali chanting, "Robot, robot, robot!"

"Uh...."  Jake looked across the table at the two expectant little girls, then glanced quickly at each of their mothers, down at the little boy still in his lap, and finally at Heather standing behind him, unsure of what to do.  He really just wanted to give in and laugh, but he wasn't sure that would go over very well with any of the Lisinskis except Heather.  He cleared his throat and twisted back around to face the others.  "Okay," he agreed, frowning softly, "But, uh, I need a -"

"Here you go," his fiancée interrupted.  He looked back over his shoulder in time to see her retrieve a coffee cup crammed full of pens, pencils and even crayons off the narrow shelf that the telephone sat on.   "You'll have to draw all three," Heather advised, placing the coffee cup on the table next to the notepad.  "Airplane, robot, horse," she suggested.  "Youngest to oldest and easiest to hardest, right?" 

"Okay," he agreed, shrugging and pulling a couple of pencils - ones that still had some of their erasers - loose from the cup. 

"So, changing the subject," Deborah announced as she reached for a cupcake that still needed to be frosted. "What did you two do today?  Sightseeing?"

"Yeah, I took Jake to see the Falls," Heather answered, seating herself and accepting the cupcake that Mandy passed her way.  "Went into Canada, which was fine.  Fun.    But lucky we had lunch there because coming back was ridiculous.  Took almost two hours!" she complained.  "I mean I'm used to traffic on the bridge delaying things but I've never gotten the third degree the way I did today."

"Right," Deborah acknowledged, her nose wrinkling.  "I haven't been over since..."  She paused for a significant few seconds and then clearing her throat, added, "You know."

Jake did know, and he had to wonder if it really did any good to try and protect the Lisinksi kids from even a passing mention of the terrorist attacks three months before.  He wasn't an expert on child development, but they all seemed pretty smart to him, and probably knew that the adults were keeping something from them - maybe even knew what that was.  It had been all over television for days - weeks - after all.   It wasn't something he'd ever considered, but how did anyone protect their kids from knowing about anything that had that much impact?

"How big's da airplane?  Can ev'body go in?" Kyle inquired leaning close to the table to get a better look at Jake's drawing thus far. 

"Not everybody," Jake answered, his hand stilling because he couldn't see around Kyle's head to continue his sketch.  "It's a little plane, four people."

This seemed to surprise Kyle who pushed back, his head pressing into Jake's shoulder as he looked up at his soon-to-be uncle, eyes wide.  "Me go?" he whispered loudly.

"Uh, maybe," Jake agreed, casting Deborah a nervous look.

"Tommy went to Toronto to cover a hockey game for work," Mandy told Heather, chuckling softly at Jake's uneasy expression.  "Right before Christmas," she continued, "I coulda killed him for not getting Scott to take that trip.  But he said the same thing, about the border guards."

"This guy was so suspicious because I have a Kansas driver's license, but I was driving a car with New York plates," Heather explained as she finished applying a base coat of white frosting to her cupcake.  "Then he noticed the St. Mike's parking sticker on the window, and practically accused me of stealing the car - which makes no sense, because why would I take it to Canada and then try to come back?"

"Oh brother!" Deborah snorted, shaking her head.  "But you know, Heth, he was just doing his job."

"I know,"   Heather grumbled, "But really.  It was easier to go into Canada than it was to come back home.  I showed him the registration, to clear things up, and he said I wasn't Joseph or Renate.  Well, I'm not," she agreed, "But it's a bit of a coincidence that we're all Lisinskis if I stole the car, isn't it?  It's not like we're the Smiths or the Joneses," she added, exasperated, as she reached for a tube of red frosting.

"Or the Greens," Mandy teased.  "Oh, but wait, you will be," she reminded, chuckling, "That's gonna be so weird," she murmured.   "My maiden name's McKisson," she explained, catching Jake's eye, "Which trust me, you don't find on coat of arms plaques in gift shops anywhere, even Ireland, plus naturally all the boys called me Mandy McKisser from like fifth grade on.  Half the reason I wouldn't go to Homecoming with Steven Hurlbutt when he asked me.  What if I'd fallen in love with him?  No way I was gonna marry out of McKisser and into Hurlbutt."

"Are you seriously sayin' you married my brother for our three syllable, hard to pronounce and hard to nickname, name?"  Heather demanded then, giggling.

Frowning softly, Mandy defended herself.  "Well, it was a reason.  But one of the many reasons, and not like top five, or ten, or anything."  Lips pursed, she considered the situation for a moment before finally conceding, "But top twenty, yeah, probably."

"Oh, Mandy," Deborah snickered shaking her head, "Only you."  Letting out a deep sigh, she continued.  "But try finding Hammerschmidt on a plaque.  It'd have to be double wide.  I swear, it wasn't 'til I got married that I could really fit my whole name on one of those sticker nametags.  But you're right, that's gonna be weird," she agreed, glancing again at Mandy.  "Heather Green."

"Well, I'm glad I had Jake Green with me coming back over the border," Heather informed her sisters-in-law, flashing him a quick smile.  "If he hadn't shown the guy his badge, we might still be there."

"Lookin' for a little professional courtesy, huh?" Deborah guessed.  "I know somethin' about that," she informed Jake.  "I waitressed at the pancake house in college, and coffee for cops was always free."

He shrugged, answering, "Yeah, well, I gave him my ID to run and explained that we'd just gotten engaged and flown back here so I could meet Heather's family, but if he wanted to hold us so I couldn't meet her three big brothers, I wasn't gonna complain."

"Aw, man," Mandy giggled, "The guys would be so mad if that actually happened.  Tommy spent all last night tryin' to come up with a good excuse to come over here.  They weren't happy we got to meet you first."

 "So what should my game plan be?" Jake asked, tearing his airplane drawing off the pad, and handing it to Kyle.   "Here you go, bud."

"What do you say, Kyle?" his mother, aunts and sister all prompted in near unison.

"Thanks you, Unc'a Jake," the little boy said dutifully, wiggling off Jake's lap and then trotting around the table to proudly show his mother his prize.  "See my airplane?" he squealed happily.  "I'm gonna go fwy in it wiv Unc'a Jake."

Smiling at her nephew's enthusiasm, Mandy climbed to her feet and began gathering up the remnants of the cupcake decorating supplies.  "What's in your game plan so far?" she asked, scraping a finger full of chocolate frosting from a mostly spent tub.  This action earned indignant protests from her daughter and niece, and after a quick glance toward Deborah, Mandy placed the tub between the two girls, saying, "One finger, whatever you get on one try."

"And then pass it over here, please," Heather instructed her nieces as Rebekah carefully dipped her index finger into the frosting.  She looked over at Jake, who already had the basic form of a robot sketched out on his notepad.  "So, what is your game plan, Jake?  I mean, I trust you," she assured when he looked up, meeting her eye. "But so not my brothers," she concluded, accepting the frosting container that Ali passed to her.

"Well, avoid all discussion of scars and body parts, don't agree to play hockey, and don't arrest anybody."

"I wouldn't take arrest off the table," Heather snorted, scraping some frosting from inside the tub and then holding it out so he could do the same.

"And I'd avoid doing that," Deborah said a good ten or fifteen seconds later.  "That lost-in-your-eyes, no-one-else-in-the-world thing," she added, waving her hand widely in the couple's direction, not that it appeared to register with either of them.  "It's really, really hard not to notice."  She paused a moment.  "Really, the type of thing that'll send them all over the edge...."

"Uh, Heth...." Mandy tried then, exchanging a glance with Deborah.  "Jake?"

Finally, Heather let go of the frosting tub, and sucking her finger clean, fell back into her seat.  "What?"

Deborah could only shake her head, leaving the final pronouncement on the situation to Mandy.  "Avoiding scars and body parts, hockey, arresting people, all good.  And you probably want to set a wedding date.  Real soon."

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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

Michael waited, his back pressed up against the solid wall of the reception counter, counting slowly - very slowly - to sixty.

He'd always had a horrible sense of timing, one that had made him a perpetual loser at hide-and seek, and not just to his older siblings and cousins but embarrassingly - and more than once - to his eldest niece, Rebekah. It was an unforgivable quality in an EMT, even worse in a medical student, but one he'd compensated for with an expensive multi-function digital watch that hadn't survived the EMP, not to mention lots and lots of practice at counting very, very slowly.

'Fifty eight ... fifty nine ... sixty,' he finished off in his head, levering himself into a crouch. 

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Jake and his parents, not really, but following his first instincts had ducked down behind the counter when he'd heard the door rattle.  He hadn't known either that it would be the Greens who came in - had half-expected it to be Maggie, or worse, her sergeant - and he hadn't been able to force himself to stand up and admit that he was there, especially not after Jake, thinking wishfully, had said he was out looking for a fake marine radio operator.  So instead he'd listened in on their hasty conference, the pit in his stomach swelling as they came to the conclusion that the marines were imposters, that they'd all been lied to, and that the town was now in danger.

Well, he'd see about that, Michael told himself, picking up the radio he'd come back to retrieve.  Jake had told him to stay away from Maggie, that he'd tip her and them off, but he had to talk to her, had to give her the chance to explain. 

"Hey."

But that one syllable, along with the guarded, closed off look she shot him over her shoulder, told him everything he needed to know.  He'd exited town hall by the same ‘employees only' side door Jake had taken him through not even a half hour before, hurrying across the street, past the still pyrotechnically enthralled crowd, convinced - or trying to convince himself - that there was a logical explanation.  And now he realized that there was.  It just wasn't the one he wanted to hear.

Michael's grip tightened on the radio he'd gone to retrieve and he had to resist the urge to chuck it across the store, to lob it at her.  Instead, he set the unit on the counter, his stiff fingers giving it up reluctantly.  "So, how is Dodge City picking up our fireworks?" he demanded, feeling finally that he was a part of the 'our' of Jericho.  He'd come to town to find his sister, nothing more.  It wasn't his place, his home - wasn't supposed to be, anyway.  And two hours earlier, if she'd asked him to go with her - not a likely scenario for a marine, real or fake - Michael would have considered it.  But now he realized - just in this moment - that he was one of them, a citizen of Jericho, willing to protect this place that was a little oasis of good in an increasingly scary 'out there' world.

"We pick up pops and pings all the time," Maggie returned, refusing to look at him, even though she had to feel him standing right behind her.

There was a note of panic in her voice, one that infuriated Michael and he couldn't keep himself from grabbing her arm, forcing her to turn around and face him.  "Don't!" he ordered, shouting, "Don't lie to me!"

But before she could defend herself - though she appeared to be too shocked by his actions to even try - the radio, sitting on the counter where Michael had abandoned it, crackled to life.  "Hello...."   The speaker hesitated a moment, clearing his throat.  "Anyone - anyone out there?"

They both dove for the handset, but Michael, two inches closer and two inches taller, just managed to beat Maggie to it.  "Stanley?" he guessed, "Is that you?"

"Mike?" the man on the other end of the transmission - and Michael was sure it was Stanley now - replied.  "We, uh, we found this guy camping out here with this radio.  Says he's with the marines.  I'm gonna bring him back.  You better get Jake."

"Yeah, okay," Michael agreed, scrubbing a hand over his face.  "Uh, the market," he instructed, "Not - not town hall.  And, I'll get Jake."

"Ten-four, over and out," Stanley acknowledged - a joke, Michael assumed, though there was no humor in the other man's tone. 

"So, is any of this real?" he demanded, his frustration obvious, as he wheeled around to face Maggie, who had her weapon drawn and pointed at him.

"The gun's real," she assured him.  Her hard mask slipped slightly then, and she added, eyes bright, squinting, "I'm sorry."

Michael's jaw clenched, his gaze narrowing.  "So this is what you do?" he demanded.  "Con people out of stale food and enough fuel to get to the next town?"

"You don't know how bad it is out there," she defended, shaking her head against his accusation.

"Yeah, actually, I do," he contradicted, not quite yelling.  "I've been out there, remember.  I spent two months out there.  Had sixteen hundred miles of out there, so don't you ...."  Grimacing, Michael broke off.  It wasn't worth arguing.  The lines between right and wrong - the meaning - it had all changed.  Blurred.  Now, you did whatever you had to do to survive, that was the only right way now.  "So....  All this," he muttered, gesturing at the radio, a gear bag on the counter, her uniform, the gun in her hand.  "How'd you get all this?"

Maggie shrugged.  "There was a food riot in our refugee camp," she admitted, her tone defensive, her eyes wide.  "Dozen Marines never had a chance against ten thousand starving people," she finished, swallowing hard.

"So you killed them?" Michael demanded, his stomach turning over.  That was one line he hadn't crossed, wasn't sure he could cross.  To save someone else - his sister and her baby - maybe, but to save himself?  No.  Michael had wanted to be a doctor since the first time his mother had been hospitalized.  She'd given them all a scare, but while her family had only been able to stand around, helpless, the doctors had used all their knowledge and skills to keep her alive.  The bombs might have changed his values some, but they hadn't yet changed the value Michael placed on human life.

"No!" she contradicted quickly. "They - they retreated and we took what they left, tried to get some food in the next town."  Maggie frowned and shook her head.  "It worked so well we kept doing it."

"Okay," he muttered, taking a step toward her.

"Don't!" she ordered, raising her gun so that it was pointed at his head.

He held his hands up in compliance, telling her, "You're not leaving town with those - with our supplies."

 Maggie's expression hardened, and she lifted her other hand up to help steady her weapon.  'Don't get yourself killed by doing something stupid, Mike," she advised him, squinting.  "I don't want that on my conscience."

Michael sucked a breath in through his teeth, studying her, feeling hopeful.  She still valued life, he realized - or at the very least, she valued him.  "You don't have it in you," he informed her boldly, only - suddenly - to feel himself falling to the floor as he fought a losing battle to maintain consciousness.

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

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 14E.

Part 14E by Marzee Doats

Different Circumstances: Part 14E of ? by Marzee Doats


Author's Note: When last I posted I swore I would not wait 18 months to post again, but then real life intervened, most notably when both my parents ended up in the hospital early last summer, and now it's been more than 18 months. But, I can report that good health abounds and I am once again fully immersed in the Different Circumstances world.  So while I'm not going to promise a timeframe for the next installment, I can report that a good portion is already written.

Much thanks to everyone who has been waiting for the return of Different Circumstances.  A special shout out to Shadowflame who's recent reviews have been a great motivator.

Thanks to Skyrose for the fabulous (as always) beta job, and to PennyLane for checking in on me and for offering the Richmond perspective whenever I need it.


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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

“What’re you doing?” Maggie demanded.  She moved quickly around Hill to kneel next to Michael.  Of course Hill wasn’t really his name, it was just the one that came with his stolen uniform, but besides Steve it was the only name she knew for him.  Maggie wasn’t a medical student like Michael was – when the bombs hit, she’d actually been doing graduate work in Museum Studies, dreaming one day of curating exhibits at the Smithsonian – but she’d long been CPR certified, and she knew how to check for a pulse.  Michael’s was reasonably strong, and she breathed a sigh of relief.  He was going to be fine, she told herself, brushing his hair out of his eyes.  “Steve!  What -- You could have hurt him bad,” she complained, willing Michael to stay unconscious a little longer – long enough for her to get Hill out of there.

Hill glared at her.  “What am I doin’? What’re you doin’?” he barked.  “We were almost outta here and you told him, Maggie.  What were you thinkin’?”

“He figured it out,” she argued, standing up and making a show of dusting herself off.  “He heard the fireworks on the radio –“

“So what do we do with him now?” Hill interrupted, looking around the store.  “Gotta tie ‘im up or somethin’”

“Whaddya – whaddya mean?” Maggie questioned, panic in her tone.  Wasn’t what they’d done to him – to the whole town – enough?  “Let’s just leave,” she begged.

He threw her a look that clearly questioned her sanity.  “And what?” he growled, “Wait for him to tell the whole town when we’re half a mile out?  It’d be Greenville all over again,” he predicted grimly.

A shudder ran through Maggie.  “But we’re not killers,” she argued.

“I was a P.E. teacher who saw too many movies,” Hill snorted, “So now I’m a Marine.  I’m adapting.”

He started to move toward Michael, and Maggie had to scramble to block his way.  “No!”

“It’s him or us,” he snapped.

“And I vote for you,” an older, bearded man drawled, stepping out of the shadows at the back of the store, a rifle trained on Hill.  Jake and another man moved out from behind him, their weapons drawn.  They were outnumbered, and Maggie heaved a sigh of relief, glad that the whole charade was finally over.  “You know, ammunition being in such short supply, I doubt those weapons are even loaded.”

Steve, though, wasn’t going to give in so easily.  He pointed his gun at Michael – and then at Maggie, when she moved into the line of fire.  “You wanna take that chance?” he challenged.  “I’ll shoot her, and then him too.”

The older man cocked his rifle.  “I know damn well this one’s loaded.”

Maggie closed her eyes, afraid of what would happen next.  It was too much, it was happening too fast, it wasn’t – it just wasn’t right.  She took a half step back, ready to throw herself on top of Michael to protect him if it came to that.  Hill’s gun wasn’t loaded – none of theirs were – but Hill might still try to hurt the unconscious man at her feet.  But whatever he was going to say or do next never came; Maggie opened her eyes in time to see the mayor – who’d snuck in from yet another unnoticed entrance to the building – deck Hill.

Reeling from the punch, Hill stumbled forward, fumbling his weapon.  Maggie dropped to the floor next to Michael, shielding him as the older, bearded man charged Hill.  “Put your hands up, get ‘em up,” he commanded, grabbing him by the shoulder.  “Get up!”

Ignoring what was going on around her, Maggie leaned over Michael, shaking him.  “Mike, c’mon, Mike.  Please wake up,” she begged quietly.

“You could always try kissin’ him.”  Maggie looked up and glared at Jake as he sauntered toward them, “I’m pretty sure he’d like that.”  Stopping at Michael’s feet, he tapped the bottom of his brother-in-law’s shoe with the toe of his own boot.  “Hey, c’mon, sleeping beauty, time to get up.”

Michael groaned and tried to push himself up into a sitting position, Maggie moving immediately to help.  “Ow,” he groaned, “Ow, ow, ow.”

“Oh, quit your complain’,” Jake grumbled, jerking his head toward Hill, whom his father had turned away from them, and was hustling into handcuffs.  “It’s just a bump on the head,” he emphasized, “No big deal.”

Maggie and Michael both looked offended at this remark, but then they seemed to catch his meaning.  Maggie’s mouth snapped shut, her lips curling into a frown as she swallowed her protest, and Michael heaved a sigh, muttering, “Guess we all can’t have a truck fall on us.”

“That’s Jake for you, Mike,” Eric said, joining the other three.  “Always wins in the injury department,” he complained, offering Michael a hand.  The younger man hesitated a second – no doubt weighing his loyalty to April against accepting his assistance, Eric thought – but then he took it, letting Eric help him to his feet.

“Pretty much,” Jake agreed, “Except for that time Heather got you in the nose playing football.  You talked like Elmer Fudd for a week.”

“How dare you wear that uniform,” Johnston demanded roughly as he forced Hill to turn around. 

Michael found himself facing his attacker, and was grateful that his brother-in-law had goaded him into doing so on his feet.  He knew he would have felt like an idiot – like a victim – if he’d still been lying on the ground, moaning about the goose egg that was forming on the back of his head.  This was confirmed for him as, smirking, Hill snarled, “It’s not a uniform, it’s a costume.  Half the towns we go through don’t even fly the flag.”

“And the things you said about the war – North Korea – it was all a lie?” Eric accused.

“Some of it we heard,” Hill shrugged, unrepentant, “Some of it we made up.  It’s anybody’s guess what’s really going on out there,” he finished, gesturing at the world outside the store’s walls.

“Well, whatever’s goin’ on out there,” Gray Anderson declared, turning Hill’s dismissive remark against him, “We still have laws in Jericho.  Tomorrow, I’m gonna let the town decide what to do with you.”  He glanced at Maggie then, including her in his threat when he added, “All of you.”

Johnston, though, shook his head.  “We can’t do that, Gray.”

“The hell we can’t!” Jericho’s mayor snapped, glaring at his predecessor.  “People need to know what we’re up against.”

“Not like this.”  Johnston’s voice rumbled soft and low in his chest, tinged with exhaustion, frustration, even a hint of defeat.  “It won’t work, not like this.”

Gray threw up his hands, clearly exasperated.  “Well, they’re gonna find out eventually –"

"Yeah, they will," Johnston interrupted, his voice raised.  "They will," he repeated, more quietly, "And by then the worst of it will be over.  But food's not enough," he argued, exhaling deeply.  "You said it yourself, without some X factor we don't make it through the winter.  Well, this is it," Johnston declared, glancing at his sons and Michael before fixing his gaze once again on Gray.  "People need faith as much as they need food.  And, you get to give it to 'em."

It was obvious from Gray's expression that he was considering the option he was being offered.  But he still wasn't convinced.   "Okay then, what the hell do we do with them?" he demanded, gesturing at Hill and then at Maggie.

"Them, we give a heroes exit," Johnston suggested, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if to assuage a headache.  "Ooh-rah."

Gray frowned at Johnston and at Hill, whom Johnston still had a hold of, the imposter's arm twisted behind his back.  "You really think he's just gonna play along?"

Hill started to snarl, but Johnston tightened his grip, twisting a little harder.  "If he knows what's good for 'im.  They can take their chances out there, and we don't hafta –"

Whatever the former mayor was going to say though was cut off by the ringing of the bell that still hung on the front door of the grocery store.  Gray, Jake and Eric immediately drew their guns, training them on the front door, while Johnston thrust the barrel of his rifle up into Hill's shoulder blade – inches from his heart – gritting out, "Play along."

"Jake!" Stanley called out, scanning the darkened store for his friend.  He had the Davis brothers with him, and there was a marine that none of them had seen so far, walking between Stanley and Brett – they each had a good grip on one of the man's arms – with Zack following closely behind, carrying a set of radio equipment.  "You were right," Stanley informed the group, joining the semi-circle that had formed around Johnston and Hill.  "Found this guy hidin' in the field just off Mott Avenue, right outside the town line."

This marine wannabe really didn't look like a marine: he was short, balding, and still looked rather doughy despite the deprivations of the previous three months.  It was easy to understand why he was the one left behind to play division headquarters.   He was also obviously scared of Hill, yelping out, "Steve, it's not my fault," as he met the murderous glare of his supposed superior officer. 

"Aw, shuddup, Bradley," Hill growled.  He looked at Gray now, his expression smug.  "Fine, Mr. Mayor, we'll play along.  But you're the one who's gonna hafta keep this all a secret.  Good luck with that."

"Now, Gray," Johnston began, "We can do this –"

"Maybe we could've," the mayor interrupted, "Before Stanley went and brought the Davis kids into this," he reminded, shooting a dirty look in Stanley's direction.  "It was five of us, and now there's – there's eight of us who know what's goin' on –"

"Nine," Jake corrected with a shrug, "Mom already knows."

"We hafta tell April, too," Eric added, his tone insistent.

"Right," Gray scoffed, "I let you tell your wife, and then you'll wanna tell your girlfriend, too.  I don't think so."

"April needs to know.  She's runs the clinic, it's nearly our most important public resource.  She – she – needs to know that supplies aren't just around the corner.  And, Mary –"

"No way," Gray protested, shaking his head.  "You get to tell April and Mary, then Jake gets to tell Heather, and this one," he said, pointing at Michael, "Tells his buddies.  Stanley tells Bonnie and – and –"

"Mimi," Stanley supplied, nodding, "Yeah.  Yeah, you better believe I'm gonna tell 'em."

"And then all the Davises get to know, too, and suddenly half the town knows the truth about the X factor, and no way that stays a secret 'til spring," Gray predicted.  "This blows up, it blows up in my face, and you Greens can make it look like you're the good guys in all this.  Well, I'm tellin' you now, that's not happenin'."

"You're right, it's not gonna happen," Johnston retorted.  Hill glanced back over his shoulder, a sneer curling his lips, clearly enjoying the conflict he'd been more than happy to sow.  "Wipe that smirk off your face," Johnston growled.  "Mike, Zack, I think you two better take our play actin' friends in the back room, please."

"What – what for?" Gray demanded, though he took a step back so Zack could drop the communications equipment on the counter.

"We need to have a negotiation here, and we don't need an audience," Johnston informed his successor.  "Here, Zack," he said, handing the fifteen year old his rifle, before then turning his prisoner over to the young man.

"Stanley, over here," Jake instructed, cocking his head toward his brother-in-law.  "Here, Mike," he continued, offering him his gun.  Michael reached for the weapon, eyes wide as he met Jake's gaze.  He'd never used a gun – something he was sure Jake knew – and for a moment he worried that Jake would say so, but all he did was warn, "Safety's off."

"C'mon," Michael ordered, taking custody of Bradley from Stanley.  "Maggie, you first."

"Brett, you need to go with 'em," Gray decided, only to be cut off by Johnston.

"Brett stays," Johnston contradicted.  "We all have a stake in this, Gray, Zack and Michael, too, but Brett can represent his brother's interests and his own, and Jake –"

"Can have my proxy," Michael agreed, over his shoulder, before shoving Bradley into the stockroom and then following him in.

Johnston watched the door, waiting to see and hear it latch closed.  "Now, this is not some pissin' contest between you and me, Gray," he informed his former rival.  "You won," he reminded, "And now, you and I have the same objective – seein' this town survive, intact, 'til spring.  We all know what's happened here," he reminded, meeting each man's gaze in turn, Gray's last of all.  "And, let me tell you this: it's gonna be damn near impossible for all of us to go home to our families and keep this secret.  That's the kinda burden… it'd eat at anyone of us."

"Seems to me, you're gonna tell no matter what I say," Gray complained, his breath coming out in a frustrated puff.  "But what's to keep Gail from tellin' Marilyn Thom, or Heather from tellin' Sandy McVeigh, or Clyde Davis the whole damn town?  He's the newspaper editor, for Pete's sake."

"My dad's not gonna tell, not if he knows there's a good reason not to," Brett assured.

"And, I'll go with Brett and Zack to explain everything," Johnston offered, "Or you can go, Gray, if you prefer.  As for my family, we will take care of it, and Stanley will do the same with Bonnie and Mimi."

"We need to tell the town council, too," Eric interjected then.  "We've been negotiating over rations for days, ever since the airdrop.  We hafta work it out now, now that we know there's no rescue.  The council, they need to know why we have to stay conservative, stick to the calorie limit and," he continued, glancing at Stanley, "Work to reach an accord with the farmers.  Besides," he reminded, offering the mayor a tight smile, "We bring in the council, then we Greens can't double cross you, Gray."

"Okay," the mayor muttered, momentarily distracted.  "Okay, okay," he began again, his attention focused on Johnston.   "So I agree to do this your way, you're all gonna do somethin' my way.  Those refugees that Roger Hammond brought here, they hafta accept half rations until relief –"

"Half rations?" Jake repeated, incredulous.  "That's – that's a death sentence for fifty, sixty people!"

"You wanna have somethin' to eat in a month?" Gray demanded, "Food for your wife, your mom?  This is the price."

"Better to cut 'em off totally," Stanley argued.  "At least if they had to leave, they'd have a chance."

"But we do that, we lose our X factor," Johnston sighed.  "This – this is the only way."

Gray let out a humorless bark of laughter.  "Well, you know, like I used to tell Stevens, you know the deal's done when everybody feels a little bit screwed."



* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
 
Friday, January 4, five years before the bombs


"I'm goin' with Mr. Green, revolver, aaa-and library," Andrew Lisinski informed his brother John, elbowing him gently in the side.

"Revolver's good," John agreed, "Goes with the badge and all. But lounge, not library."

"Wope, Daddy," Kyle interjected then, holding one of his Clue cards – the rope card – above his head for his father to see. "Unc'a Jake's a cowboy so he needs a wope fo' his lasso."

"Don't show your cards, Ky!" Rebekah screeched, "And don't be a dummy," she added, her tone making it quite clear that she considered herself to be one very put upon older sister. "They're talking 'bout how Uncle Jake would murder someone, they don't care he's a cowboy."

"Hey, Bub, don't call your brother a dummy," Andrew admonished.

"And?" Kerry prompted when it became apparent Andrew wasn't planning on addressing his daughter's spot on assessment of the situation.

"And?" Andrew parroted, his expression one of exaggerated puzzlement.

Kerry rolled her eyes at her brother-in-law.  "How about: Sorry, Bub, I shouldn't have made a bad joke about Uncle Jake being the murderer –"

"It's fine, Kerry," Jake interrupted.  He smiled at Rebekah, telling her, "It's just a joke, the kind that boys like."

"Boys have really stupid jokes," the six year old grumbled.

"Yeah, boy jokes are stuuuu-pid," her cousin Ali giggled, bouncing in her seat.

Once the cupcakes were frosted, Deborah and Mandy had sworn that all the food was prepped and now they just needed to wait for the rest of the family to arrive.  Rebekah had asked if they could play a game, and Heather, shooting Jake a questioning look had suggested Candy Land, Sorry, or Clue.  He'd countered with Twister, but Deborah had shut that down, laughing, "Not in front of my kids, not until you two have been married about five years."

"For these two, you better make it ten," Mandy had snickered. 

"Can't blame a guy for tryin'," Jake had shrugged, throwing them both a grin.  "So how 'bout Clue?" he'd suggested, "More of us can play that, right?  And, I can be Mr. Green, right?"

Mandy and Deborah had decided against playing, saying instead that they would offer counsel to their offspring as needed.  Heather had sent the kids into the dining room and then, taking Jake by the hand, had led him to the hall closet to retrieve the game.  He'd trapped her against the door after she'd triumphantly pulled the box free, kissing her deeply.  Finally, forced to surface for air, he'd asked, "Now, we should try and let one of them win, right?"

"Yes, if we can," she'd smiled, squeezing his hand.  "I always try to guess at least one card I have so I don't accidentally win."

The first game had lasted only fifteen minutes.  Ali, with her second guess, had solved the mystery, much to her older cousin's annoyance, though Rebekah had tried to be glad for her.  Jake had offered both girls and Kyle high fives, which had served to replace all bad feelings with happy giggles.  They had started a second game, and would have probably finished up already had they not been interrupted by Kerry's and John's arrival a half hour before, and then Andrew's twenty minutes later.

Once Jake and Andrew had been introduced – without incident – and she'd taken her next turn in the game, Heather had handed her cards to Kerry and excused herself to the bathroom.  Jake had tried to keep the game moving – he was pretty sure that if Rebekah could just get from the Hall to the Study, she'd win – but emboldened by their sister's absence, John and Andrew had begun throwing out accusations that all started with "Mr. Green".

"Boy jokes are really stupid," Kerry told her nieces, sticking her tongue out at her husband and brother-in-law.  "And you two better watch it, or Heather's gonna...."  She paused a second and then mouthed, "Kill you."  Shaking her head, Kerry returned her attention to the game.  "Okay, Kyle, I think it's your turn," she prompted.

The little boy rolled a six, which got him into the Conservatory.  Andrew, looking somewhat chastened, picked his son up and then seated himself with Kyle on his lap.  "Whaddya gonna guess, kiddo?" Andrew asked, kissing the top of the little boy's head.

Kyle guessed Professor Plum, Candlestick, and Conservatory, which his cousin Ali was able to disprove.  Rebekah's turn was next and she made it into the Study and won the game, correctly guessing that Colonel Mustard had done it with the Knife.  "Good job!" Jake grinned, congratulating her with another high five.

Mandy came into the dining room then, carrying baby Hannah who was just up from her nap.  "Okay, if you're all done with the game, it needs to get put it away," she told the kids. And then you can go downstairs and watch a video.  Finding Nemo?" she suggested.

"Just keep swimming!" Kerry teased.  "So, we're holding dinner for a while, I take it?"

"Tommy can't leave the station until seven after all," Mandy explained.  "Traffic's a mess –"

"Traffic sucks," Michael grumbled, entering the dining room from the kitchen, followed by his father and sister.  "Took twenty minutes just to get home from the rink!"

"Bad wreck on the freeway," Joe Lisinski confirmed.  He made a grab for his granddaughter, Ali, as she moved past him with her cousins, heading for the family room in the basement.  The little girl shrieked with glee – this was Grandpa Joe's usual game – dodging her grandfather, who settled for swinging his grandson up into his arms to blow raspberries on his belly.

"Whoa, careful," Heather admonished, maneuvering first around her father and then her nieces.  She was carrying a plate of cheese and crackers and she lifted it above her head for safety.   Jake was still sitting at the table, observing the activity all around him with some amusement.  Reaching him, Heather held out her hand, which he accepted, pulling himself up out of his chair and allowing her to lead him into the living room.

"Hors d'oeuvres," she called out, "Though Deb's bringing the real junk food."  With that, she placed the plate on the coffee table, shoved Jake gently to a seat on the loveseat, climbed onto his lap, and proceeded to kiss him quite thoroughly.

Although her brothers were at least fifteen seconds behind Heather, they arrived in the living room – along with their father – in plenty of time to get a good show.  With the three Lisinski wives following behind, there was nearly a pile-up in the arch the separated the living and dining rooms when Michael, John and Andrew came to a very sudden stop, gaping at their sister and her fiancé.

"Ew, Dad!" Michael protested, "Aren't you going to make this stop?"

"Yeah, that's – that's against house rules," John insisted.

Deborah threaded her way between her husband and father-in-law and entered the living room, depositing a bowl of potato chips and a tub of bacon ranch dip on the coffee table.  She shook her head at the couple.  "You two," she complained fondly.

Joe Lisinski knew that his sons believed that Heather was his favorite child, and while it wasn't true – not really – it was true that his relationship with his daughter was different from that with his sons.  There were times when she was completely unfathomable to him, but more often he felt that he understood Heather the best of all his children.  And this was one of those times.  Her brothers' teasing over her relationship with Jake, the fact that they had treated her falling in love as if it were a joke, their idle threats to interrogate him – these things had all worn on Heather, and she certainly wasn't above getting a little payback.  "I'm not seeing anything I haven't walked in on before in this house, Andy-Deb-Mandy-John-Kerry," Joe responded, "And," he continued, catching his daughter's eye, "I think your sister might be trying to torture you all, just a little bit."

"I feel so used," Jake murmured, loud enough for everyone to hear, nuzzling Heather's ear.

Her not entirely sincere, "Sorry," was swallowed up in a squeal as Jake trapped her in his embrace, one arm catching her under her knees so that she was cradled against his chest.

"Well, feel free to use me like that any time you want, babe," he teased, kissing the tip of her nose.

"If Mom were here, she'd say 'engaged is not married'," Andrew reminded, moving to join his wife on the full- sized sofa opposite the loveseat.

A hint of grief flitted across her father's face, reminding Heather that he was still very much in mourning for her mother.  "That she would," Joe agreed, clearing his throat.  "But then again, Heather and Jake aren't planning to be engaged quite as long as the rest of you managed to be, and your mother always relaxed once there was a wedding in sight."

"You already have a wedding date?" Mandy asked, surprised.  She'd settled herself, along with baby Hannah, in the recliner that had been a Father's Day present to Joe nearly fifteen years before.  "Not that I don't think that's a good idea…."

"We have a wedding month," Heather corrected quickly.  "Date to follow.  But we're getting married in July," she explained.

John had started to move toward the loveseat, but Kerry had intercepted him, and now they were ensconced on the opposite end of the sofa from Andrew and Deborah.  He stared at his sister and her intended, a horrified expression creeping onto his face.  "Are you – are you preg – pregnant?" he stammered out.

"Oh, Johnny," Kerry murmured, pressing one hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle or a rebuke, Jake wasn't sure which.

"No!" Heather squeaked indignantly, reacting a mere half second after her sister-in-law.  She pulled free enough of Jake that she could dig around behind him, extracting a throw pillow that she immediately chucked across the living room at her brother.  He took evasive action, but Jake still silently admired the accuracy of her aim.  "That – that doesn't even make sense," she sniffed, a soft blush suffusing her cheeks.  "We're gonna get married in seven months when I'd be extremely pregnant?"

"Oh, right," John sighed, nodding, "Right.  Sorry."

But any sense of relief he felt was immediately torpedoed by Jake who, after catching Heather's attention by lacing their fingers together, said, "Hey, I told you we should get married sooner."

Heather's brothers all emitted strangled sounds, though her father and sisters-in-law seemed to see the humor in the situation, chuckling at John's, Andrew's and Michael's reactions.  Heather giggling almost uncontrollably, settled back into Jake's always open embrace.  "I – I've nev – never seen – John – John's eyes bug – bug out like that," she gasped.  Twisting around, she met Jake's gaze, eyes dancing.  She pressed a kiss to his jaw, whispering, "Thank you."

"This isn't funny," John protested.

"It kinda is," Heather countered.  "I mean, Jake would like to get married sooner – heck, elope, if I'd go for it – but I don't think he realized that everyone, including my brother," she emphasized, snorting, "Would just assume that meant I was pregnant."

"Which she isn't," Jake assured.  "And, I'm on board for the big wedding in July," he announced.  "You went to the bathroom on New Year's, and my Mom and April both took the opportunity to smack me and tell me in no uncertain terms that I was to drop it," he informed Heather, squeezing her hand.  "I'm supposed to let you enjoy being a bride."

"Awww!" Heather smiled, "That's why I love your Mom and April.  And you know, I only get to be a bride once," she reminded, playing with his fingers.  "I would like to enjoy it.  Be all girlie."

"Well, I just happen to love your girlie side," Jake grinned, "So that works.  Plus, we get married in July, I can plan as long of a honeymoon as I want."

"I do have to be back at work in mid-August," Heather chuckled, "Just keep that in mind."

Deborah had her suspicions of where this was heading, and a definite desire to cut them off at the pass.  "Okay," she said, leaning forward to grab a couple of crackers and slices of cheese.  "Before you two get lost in each other's eyes again….  Heather," she continued a few seconds later, after her sister-in-law had turned to look at her, her expression sheepish, "You never did tell us how Jake proposed…."

"Oooh, yeah, this I want to hear," Mandy practically sang.

Michael groaned, but Joe's gentle, "Go ahead, sweetheart," was enough to convince Heather to begin.

"Okay, well, it really starts with me going back to Kansas on New Year's Eve," Heather began.  "It's a three, three and half hour drive from the airport to Jericho –"

"Wait a minute," John interrupted her then.  "So when Heather came home for Uncle Burt's funeral, and then for Christmas, you drove her to the airport, three and a half hours, and then turned around and drove home?"  John's brow was furrowed as he reached for a couple of chips and then dipped them.  "That's twelve, thirteen hours each trip."

Kerry poked him in the side, stealing a chip.  "So, what?  You wouldn't drive twelve hours to and from the airport for me?" she teased.

"No, for you I would," John answered, "But you're probably the only one."  The look he gave Jake then was one of grudging approval.  "Okay, what I think I hear you sayin' is you love my sister."

"Yeah, guess that's the part I wasn't being clear on, huh?" Jake joked.  He accepted the cheese and cracker sandwich that Heather handed him, flashing her a quick smile.  "Thanks, babe."

"You're welcome," Heather replied, adding teasingly, "And sure it ends up being twelve hours, but you get to spend six of them with me."

"Hey, I'm not complainin'," Jake defended, holding both hands up in a show of surrender.

"So, anyway, my plane landed at like five thirty, and it takes a little bit to get out of the airport and everything.  Plus we had to stop for dinner on the way…. So it was almost nine thirty before we got home to Jericho," Heather told them.  "There were New Year's celebrations downtown, but we were tired, so we decided to just go out to the ranch."

"This is your ranch?" Andrew asked.

Jake nodded.  "My family's – well, my grandpa's."

"And, Gramps was there," Heather said, continuing the story.  "So we were hanging out, waiting for midnight….and then it was midnight, and we had champagne.  Gramps went to bed, and Jake was gonna take me home, but you know, I was tired, plus I'd had alcohol, so…." Heather looked around the room, checking the expressions of her family.  None of them looked freaked out by this admission, not even her father, so she plunged ahead, admitting with a shrug, "I fell asleep in the family room." 

"Me too," Jake added, catching Heather's hand.

"Well, the next morning, Gramps wasn't very happy about that," Heather declared with a nervous chuckle.  She glanced at Jake then, and he was pretty sure he could read an apology in her eyes – as if he would object to her editing of events, especially for this audience!

"Yeah, he pretty much ripped me a new one," Jake snorted.  He massaged the back of her hand with his thumb, hoping to take away any sting she might feel at his next words.  "Heather, he apologizes to – me, he would've grounded if he could've."

The Lisinskis all laughed appreciatively.  Joe, sounding relieved to Jake's ear, added, "I think your grandfather and Heather's mother would have gotten along quite well."

"I think Gramps and Andy would get along just fine, too," Jake joked.

"So, that's when you proposed?" Deborah prompted, "With your grandfather there and everything?"

"Not exactly," Heather replied for Jake.  "And, believe it or not, that was all just background, so you'd know why I was at the ranch at seven in the morning."  Her head was resting on his shoulder, and she glanced up at her fiancé then, their gazes locking for a moment in silent communication.  "So, I decided I better leave," she told her family, offering a wry grin as she glanced around the room.  "And Jake really didn't want me to, so finally I had to ask Gramps if he would drive –"

"You didn't need to leave," he interrupted, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.  "I didn't want you to have to leave, ever.  I just – I just think we should be together, in the same place, as much as possible," Jake finished.

"Awww!" Deborah, Mandy and Kerry crooned in unison, Mandy adding, giggling, "I still don't know how you proposed Jake, but I certainly wouldn't have turned you down!"

"And she can get away with saying that 'cause Tommy's not here," Deborah teased. 

"Oh, in another life, I'm tellin' ya," Mandy sighed, grinning at Jake. 

Heather shook her head at her sister-in-law, then caught Jake's eye, saying, "Okay, I'm gonna sound like a killjoy here, but what about when we hafta go to work?"

"Well, yeah we have to go to work," Jake answered with a shrug. "Gainfully employed," he reminded, "I know what's on your requirements list."

"Requirements list?" Kerry inquired, frowning absently.  "I should be afraid to ask," she chuckled, "And yet I'm asking."

"Somehow, somewhere along the line, Jake got the impression that I have a list of sixty, seventy, qualifications to be my boyfriend," Heather explained, fighting a giggle.

Jake snorted, "Yeah, where did that idea come from?  And the Heather husband requirements list has gotta be three times as long, right?"

"Well, yeah," she confirmed, kissing him on the cheek, "But you're still good.  So, where was I?" Heather asked a few seconds later.

"You were asking 'Gramps' to drive you home, I think," Deborah prompted.

"Right," Heather agreed.  "So he was gonna take me home.  I mean, we were in the truck and everything, and then Jake comes running out of the house, no shoes, chases down the truck, pounding on the side, shouting stop…."

"And?" Andrew demanded when she didn't continue.

"He walked around the truck to the passenger side, opened my door, and he says…. 'Will you … go for a walk with me?'"

With the exception of baby Hannah, who was happily engaged in sucking on her fist, all the Lisinskis let out aggravated groans.  "Heather," Joe admonished.

"What?" his daughter returned. She was clearly enjoying herself.  "That's what he said," she insisted, Jake's hand cradled in both of hers.  "'Will you go for a walk with me, check out the view from the water tower.  I have a question I need to ask.'"

"Wait a minute," Michael said, "You proposed on a water tower?  What is that, some sorta weird cowboy custom?" he snickered.

"Actually, it's where Heather told me to propose – if I ever wanted to propose – on our technical second date," Jake replied, smirking softly at his fiancée.

Heather groaned, and blushing, brushed a quick kiss across Jake's mouth, scolding, "You weren't supposed to tell them that minor detail."

"My next question has two – three – no, two, I think, parts," Deborah announced, frowning to herself as she tried to work out all that she wanted to ask.  "And a comment.  You two have the weirdest, most convoluted proposal story, ever.  I just thought you should know that."

"It really is," Heather agreed, her tone sympathetic.  "I lied to our flight attendants, between Wichita and Chicago, told them he proposed at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve.  They loved it.  But family gets the real story," she insisted, squeezing Jake's hand.

Or close enough to the real version, Jake thought, returning the squeeze.  And a version that would allow him to leave Buffalo unmaimed and still engaged.

Deborah shook her head as if to clear it, and continued.  "First question – and now I think there's three – why was your second date on – at – whatever – a water tower?  Two, what is a technical date?  And, third, Heather, why?  Really, that's the question: why?"

Jake and Heather looked at each other.  "I can take one and two, probably," he shrugged, "But three's all yours."

"Right," she agreed, turning back to face her sister-in-law.  "Well, why what?   Why do I like the water tower, or why did I tell –"

"Why did you tell Jake – on your second date – where he should propose?" Deborah clarified.  "It's … presumptuous."

"Yeah, it should have sent him running, screaming, for the hills," Mandy interjected.

Heather glanced at Jake again.  He smiled at her sympathetically, and continued to stroke the small of her back with one hand, but didn't say anything.  There was a glint of interest in his eye too, and she knew that he was curious as to how she was going to answer this question, that really, got to the very heart of their relationship. 

"We were on top of the water tower," Heather began, "It's like  forty, fifty feet up, so you know, he'd hafta climb down before he ran, and that would have left me up there, which Jake's too much of a gentleman to do."  She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath as she screwed up her courage to continue.  "That's not the serious answer, so hold on," Heather said, cutting off the protests from her sisters-in-law. 

"We've – we've been super honest with one another, since we met, really.  Frighteningly honest, nothing's off limits," Heather told her family.  Her voice and expression were strained, and that was enough to keep their questions and comments at bay.  Heather inhaled slowly, through her teeth, trying to steady herself, trying to figure out what she should say – how she should say it – next.  She felt almost as if she were betraying a confidence, and only the steady pressure of Jake's hand on her back convinced her that it was okay to proceed. 

"And, I know that it sounds like a weird topic of conversation for a second date – though it was pretty in line with what we talked about on our first date – but I ended up telling Jake about the whole Mark Metzger thing – debacle –" she corrected herself, "So that introduced the topic of marriage proposals, and somehow I ended up saying that he'd picked a great place to not propose to me."

"You know, we know each other pretty well," Heather continued, pointing at Jake and then herself, "Even if we've only known each other for three months.  We talk.  A lot.    And he talks too, it's not just me," she told her family, chuckling along with them.  "And, yeah," she declared, glancing at Mandy and then Deborah, "Jake has seen me with a clipboard, so he knows I can be a little bit of a control freak –"

"Just one of the things that makes you good at your job," Jake defended.

Heather laughed, grinning at Jake.  "Well, thank you for that," she told him, "Though I really can be a control freak.  And, I can lose it, which Jake has seen.  I mean, I really flipped out.  And we've had the big fight, but more importantly, we got past it.  So, it’s not all romance and roses –"

"And dates to other states," Michael threw in.

"Right, out of state dates," Heather confirmed.

"Diamond earrings," Kerry supplied.

Andrew groaned at that.  "Ouch, Ker.  You just had to bring that up, huh?"

Deborah patted her husband on the shoulder.  "The new vacuum cleaner is way better than the old one, honey," she assured him.

"But remember her birthday is coming up," Kerry said.  "Resist the appliance urge."

"Thanks for the advice," Andrew returned dryly. 

"Have I sufficiently answered 'why'?" Heather asked then.

"I…I really don't know," Deborah laughed.  "But obviously you guys made it to your third date, and to a proposal, so I guess the 'why' isn’t so important."

"Think that means I'm up," Jake decided.

"You don't have to," Heather argued, but he stopped her with a quick kiss.

"I talk," he teased.  "So, question two," Jake began, looking at Deborah.  "The important thing is, what's not a date.  Just hanging out, or – more importantly – having dinner with Gramps.  Actually having dinner with any fam –"

"But we had dinner with Gramps that night," Heather interrupted.  "And that was definitely a date."

"We went to Niagara Falls today, had lunch – that was a date.  Tonight we're hanging out with family, not a date," Jake argued.  "Having dinner with Gramps is having dinner with Gramps.  Going out to the water tower, that was a date."

"What about when we have a double date with April and Eric," Heather countered.  "Or John and Kerry," she added, gesturing at her brother and sister-in-law.

"Oh, good idea," Kerry enthused.  "Dinner, tomorrow night.  We're buying."

"We are?" John muttered, quickly switching to, "Sounds fun!" when his wife elbowed him in the side.

"So I'm rather interested in question one, myself," Joe informed Jake, reaching for a piece of cheese. 

"Right," Jake acknowledged, meeting his future father-in-law's eye.  "Well, the water tower isn't just a water tower – really, it's an astronomical observation deck.  See, when my grandparents got married, and they were building their house – the water tower was for the house – Gramps designed it with the observation deck for Grams because she was an amateur astronomer," he explained.

"I mean, it's not like she could go to college – her parents couldn’t afford that, not during the Great Depression and the dust bowl, she was a Kansas farm girl after all.  But she loved lookin' at the stars.  She even built her own telescope while Gramps was in Europe during World War Two," Jake told them.  "And they built a couple more together after they got married."

"After my great-grandmother died, my grandparents moved into the ranch house, and they ended up taking down the little house," Jake continued, "An unoccupied building just becomes a nuisance after a while. But Gramps insisted on leaving the water tower up so Grams could look at the stars whenever she wanted."

"Jake told me that story when he was giving me a tour of the ranch, the first time I was out there," Heather added, explaining, "I mean, we were up on the water tower, so I could get a view of the place…. Anyway, when he asked me if I wanted to go stargazing for our second date, I of course jumped at the chance."

"She actually did kinda bounce a little," Jake confirmed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

"You musta been in nerd-vana, Heth," Andrew teased, "And you probably thought that was adorable," he guessed, giving her fiancé an appraising look.

Jake shrugged off his future brother-in-law's razzing, correcting him.  "I believe she prefers the term 'geek', and it’s not like I can't have a geeky moment of my own," he argued. "I do have a science degree, and when I was a kid, I spent most of my summer break at the ranch.  Grams had us all up on the water tower stargazing once a week at least."

Laughing softly, Heather kissed Jake on the cheek, saying, "Thank you, but the great bottle rocket experiment notwithstanding, I think we both know that I am the bigger geek in this relationship."

"Hey, my data was rock solid," he reminded, wrapping a lock of her hair around his finger, "And, I like your geeky side."

"So that was your second date?" Michael asked, not waiting for their answer.  "Cheap date."

"It was not," Heather grumbled, rolling her eyes at her brother.  "I mean, sure, Jake didn't spend gobs of money, but he spent a lot of time making sure everything was perfect, and it was.  When we got out there that night, it was all set up with everything we needed," she insisted, flinging her arms wide to emphasize her point.  "The telescope, camp chairs, a radio, sleeping bags –"

"Excuse me, sleeping bags?"  John interrupted.

Get your minds out of the gutter," Heather returned, her tone making it clear that her brothers had better not continue this particular line of questioning.  "They were for padding when we lay down on the deck to look up at the stars.  It was perfect," she repeated, "Absolutely perfect."

"Whoa, John," Michael snickered, "You just got teacher voiced."

"That wasn't just a teacher voice, that was channeling Sister Roberta the Wretched," Andrew muttered, eyeing his sister suspiciously.  "That was freaky."

"I liked Sister Roberta," Heather argued.

"And you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead or of nuns," Joe reminded his son, "And especially not dead nuns."

"Yeah, you'll burn in hell for that, Andy," Kerry joked.

"I told you they were scarred by their Catholic educations," Heather said, leaning against Jake.  "I'm the only one who emerged unscathed."

He nodded.  "Yeah, but don't your kids go to Catholic school?" Jake asked looking between Deborah and Mandy.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Mandy returned, chuckling.

"Well, obviously you two are engaged," Deborah began, hoping to steer the conversation back to the proposal.  "I mean, you've got that shiny ring."

Heather looked down at her hand, smiling and wiggling her finger so she could see the star in the stone.  "The ring came a little later," she told her sister-in-law, looking up.  "I made Jake put on shoes, and then we headed out to the water tower –"

"She giggled the entire way," Jake threw in.

"I was nervous!" Heather protested.

"And you being nervous was making me nervous," Jake complained.

The Lisinskis all laughed softly at their exchange, John telling Heather, "That's not cool, sis."

"What?  It wasn't her fault, she was nervous, Johnny," Kerry defended.

"Yeah, but I don't know if I coulda proposed to you if you'd been laughin' at me for…." John glanced at Jake.

"Ten minutes," his future brother-in-law supplied.

"Ten minutes!" John repeated, while Andrew shook his head, agreeing, "Not cool, Heth."

"I was nervous!" she protested, looking around the room at the censuring gazes of her brothers, the amused expressions of their wives, her father's kind smile.  Finally Heather glanced sideways at Jake.  "I'm sorry – sorry I got nervous and then made you nervous," she apologized, puckering her lips at him.

"Apology accepted," he returned easily, cupping her face with both hands and then kissing her. 

"So… then you were at the water tower," Mandy prodded, "And…?"

"We climbed up," Heather answered, "And, well, it was flurrying – I don't think I mentioned that before – but there were flakes in the air, and it was colder and a little bit heavier at the top which I wasn't really expecting, and …." She paused, glancing first at Jake and then her family.  "Jake told me he loved me, and then … I knew when he asked me to go for that walk that he was probably going to –"

"Probably?" Jake interjected, his tone both amused and incredulous.  "You said it was nerve-wracking to know what was coming."

Licking her lips, Heather looked sideways at Jake, their gazes locking.  "No, you're right, 'probably' was the wrong word," she assured him.  "I knew – I knew you were going to ask me to marry you, and I knew I was gonna say 'yes'.  I just …. What you said –"  

Heather's eyes filled then, but she was smiling, and Jake raised her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles, encouraging her to continue.  Blinking, she broke eye contact and turned to face her family.  "I knew I was gonna marry him," she repeated, "But what he said – and I can't remember the words exactly, just the feeling, how they – he – made me feel.  And I wanted to marry him a hundred times as much as before."

"You really think we're gonna think your cowboy, rodeo-winning, pilot, federal agent husband-to-be is a wuss if you tell us what he said when he proposed, Heth?" Andrew snorted.

"No," she denied, "I just – I just really can't."

"Well, I pretty much said that I couldn't imagine life without her," Jake explained slowly.  "That I didn't want to imagine life without her, because – because it would – would just suck.  I said it a little differently, I think," he admitted, looking at Heather, who nodded a silent confirmation. 

"You said a few other things, too," she added, her voice rumbling with emotion, "But that was the gist."

"And, just for the record," Jake continued a long moment later, "It's been ten years at least since I was in a rodeo, so if I tried it now I'd probably end up killing myself."

"Please don't do that," Heather ordered, wrapping her arm around his and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Just don't tell the kids you're not a cowboy," Deborah warned, "It'd break my little Ky guy's heart."

Jake grinned, promising, "I won't.  And, you guys come out to Kansas, I'll even find a hat, maybe some chaps, so I can pass Rebekah's inspection."

"Thank you," Deborah returned, smiling.  "And not that you need it," she continued, reaching for her husband's hand, "But you definitely have the Sycamore Street Lisinskis' blessing."

Andrew nodded.  "Yeah, I guess you can marry my little sister."  He started to get up from the sofa, adding, "And on that note, I think I'm gonna grab a beer –"

"Grab a beer and start the barbeque," his wife instructed, glancing at Mandy.  "I think we've stalled enough, right?"

"That movie's not gonna hold the kids much longer, and Tommy's not gonna object if he gets here and everything's ready," Mandy assured.  "And if we have to start without him…" she shrugged, "Oh well."

"Isn't the first time I've been stuck covering for Tommy," Andrew joked.  "John, Jake," he continued, looking between the two men, "You comin'?"


* * * * * * * * *

"I told him to say he'd had a seizure and knocked the lamp over," Jake explained to his future brothers-in-law, chuckling and shaking his head, "But Eric totally cracked under the pressure.  I coulda killed him," he finished, taking a sip of his beer.

"Aw, man, I feel ya," Andrew insisted, laughing along with Jake.  "This lot's never listened to me like they should've," he accused mildly, pointing a set of tongs at John, who rolled his eyes.  "Though, I guess it's different with twins, right?"

Jake nodded.  "Yeah, I'm three minutes older.  It's not like our parents ever left me in charge."

"I was left in charge all the time," Andrew returned, "Doesn't mean they did what I told 'em."

The back door opened then and Michael stepped out onto the deck followed closely by a man that Jake would have recognized as Tommy Lisinski even if he'd never seen his picture.  The Lisinski brothers all looked very much alike, though Tommy had an inch or two on the rest of them, while Andrew and John both had ten pounds on Tommy.

"Glad you could join us, Tommy," Andrew greeted his brother.  "This is Jake," he introduced, tilting his head toward his sister's fiancé.  "Jake, meet Tommy."

Tommy was carrying two beers, but he handed one off to Michael, then offered Jake his hand.  "Nice to meetcha."  Taking a drink, he studied Jake silently – appraisingly – then glanced at his older brother, joking, "You getting a lotta good barbeque advice from a real cowboy, huh?"

"C'mon, Tommy," Andrew admonished, turning a bratwurst.  "Jake's cool."  Out of the corner of his eye he saw his youngest brother take a swig from the bottle Tommy had given him, and he shook his head.  "Mike –" Andrew began, his voice terse.  He stopped himself, and settled for advising, "Just don't let Dad or Deb see, okay?"

"Oh, give 'im a break, Andy," Tommy argued gruffly.  "It's just a beer, and it's not like we're leavin' the property."

"And Dad would've given you or me hell for the same thing," Andrew reminded.  He looked at Jake.  "Heather went so easy on Dad when she was a teenager, he completely let down his guard and Mike can basically get away with murder now.  Though," he continued, frowning softly as he glanced between Michael and Jake, "You don't have to arrest him or something?"

"Sorry," Jake told him, shrugging.  "I'm not on the clock, and alcohol's not really in my job description.  I'm DEA, that's ATF," he explained, "And even the ATF's more worried about illegal trafficking and whether all the right taxes have been paid."  Jake took a drink, and then added, "Besides, I try to avoid arresting anybody for something I've done myself.  But," he finished, glancing at Michael, "Don't let Heather see either."

"Well, I'm not an idiot," Michael huffed softly.

"So – just curious – what is in your job description?" John asked, leaning against the porch railing, his legs crossed.

"Mostly it's about cutting off as much of the illegal drug supply as possible," Jake replied.  It was vague and truthful, and suited his purposes well enough.  It would be nice if he could be friends with Heather's brothers, but he was willing to settle for them not hating his guts or worse, trying to talk her out of marrying him.  "I don't really care 'bout the sixteen, eighteen year old kid smokin' a joint, but it is my job to make it as hard as possible for him to get that joint."

"Why're you all looking at me?" Michael demanded a few seconds later.  His brothers and Jake were in fact all watching him, making Michael nervous, and he took a big gulp of his beer then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  "I don't – I've never even seen a joint – in person – let alone smoked one," he admitted.

"Keep it that way," Tommy advised, "So you can keep your scholarship."

"Yeah, those drug screenings really are random," John reminded.

"And, Jake, talk to me in fifteen years," Andrew snorted, cutting open one of the steaks to check it.  "After you have kids, we'll see whether or not you care who's smokin' and drinkin'."

Jake couldn't help but think it would probably be more than fifteen years before he'd be worrying about his teenaged children getting drunk or worse, but he wasn't going to quibble with any Lisinski male who assumed fatherhood was in his future.
 
The subject of children had come up again that afternoon, at the end of lunch, when Jake had caught Heather watching a young family settle in at the next table.  "Just thinking ahead," she'd told him, blushing, as they had made their way out of the restaurant.  "Those kids were adorable, and the parents were really good with them."

"Yeah," he had agreed, "But there were three of 'em.  And I don't think that sorta thing is gonna come natural to me."

"That little boy was six or seven," Heather had argued, stepping through the door he'd held open for her.  "I'm sure that guy didn't know what he was doin' back when that boy was born – he figured it out, and you will, too," she'd assured, moving out of the way of an elderly couple who had been entering the restaurant.  She'd tugged on his hand and Jake had stepped close enough that she was able to give him a quick kiss.  "You're very, very good at figuring things out," she'd flirted, playing with his fingers.

"Yeah, okay," Jake had agreed, fighting a grin.  "I mean, if Stanley can do it, how hard can it be?  But, three kids?"

"Personally, I think I could handle four or five," Heather had confessed.  "Just because – because of my family.  But I'm willing to compromise," she'd quickly backpedaled, no doubt in reaction to his stunned expression.  "And say at least two, but maybe three?  And, we're still talking three or four years from now, Jake," she'd reminded.  "At least."

He'd thought about it for a moment before pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing the tip of her nose.  "Deal," he'd sighed softly, offering her a lopsided grin.  "Long as you're there with me, having three kids probably won't kill me."

"I'm not saying I wouldn't bust 'em, just not arrest 'em," Jake told his future brother-in-law, chuckling.  He tipped back his beer bottle, thinking for the first time in a long time of the weekend when his father had had him arrested, or at least had left him cooling his heels in a holding cell at the sheriff's station.  He'd hated Johnston then – and Jake certainly hadn't been his father's favorite person at that point, either – but now he could at least acknowledge to himself that his father had very likely done him a favor.  It was an important moment in his life – perhaps a pivotal one – just as talking to the DEA recruiter had been.  It was all tied together, and it had all led to where he was now, standing on a porch in Buffalo, New York, trying to make friends with the brothers of the woman he loved.
 
Swallowing, Jake coughed softly, declaring, "Though if I'm lucky, our kids will all take after Heather, and it won't even be an issue."

"Dream on, hon," Heather laughed, stepping out of the house, pulling the door closed behind her.  "And, why are you guys talking about our future offspring?" she asked, casting a suspicious eye over each of her brothers.  "I don't think I'm comfortable with that."  She held a package of hot dogs out to Andrew.  "Deb and Kyle had a little negotiation, and this is what he wants to eat."

Jake, taking advantage of Heather's momentary distraction, caught Michael's eye and gestured at him to hide his beer.  Michael looked around, not sure where to put the bottle, and ended up shoving it into John's free hand.  "We brought the good stuff," John complained to Andrew while also shooting a dirty look at his little brother.  "And your kid wants to eat, uh –"

"A chicken hot dog," Heather supplied, moving across the small space to join Jake.  "Deb says to cook two of 'em."

She reached for Jake's beer bottle, but he evaded her, holding it above his head.  "Uh-uh, I don't think so.  You don't even like beer."

"I like beer with pizza," she argued, standing on tiptoe and leaning against Jake's chest, even though she knew she had no chance of getting the bottle from him.

"We're not having pizza, and I don't think you're gonna really like beer until they make it coffee flavored."

"Aw, man, Heth," Andrew said over his shoulder, "Does he have your number, or what?"

"Fine," Heather pouted, giving up and dropping back down.  Jake brushed a kiss across her mouth, pulling her back against him after she'd turned around.

"You want this one, Heth?" John asked, holding up the bottle Michael had foisted upon him.  He glanced at his younger brother, smirking and claiming, "I've got an extra."

Her expression puzzled, Heather turned down the offer with a wave.  "No thanks.  I just wanted one little sip of Jake's," she insisted, throwing her fiancé a beseeching look, "Not a whole a beer."

"You'll survive," he assured.

"So, what about Ali and Bub?" Andrew asked, holding up the hot dog package.  "Should I do a few for them?"

"Nope," Heather returned, a small shiver running through her.  She'd stepped out of the house without a coat, and while it wasn't snowing it was still quite cold.  Jake set his bottle on the railing and then wrapped his arms around her, folding his hands over her middle.  "Ali says she loves steak –"

"That's my girl," Tommy interjected with a proud chuckle.

"And, when I said I was having bratwurst, Bekah said she was too," Heather bragged, grinning smugly. 

"Well, you are her hero," Andrew returned, rolling his eyes.  "If I had a buck for each time I've heard 'Auntie Heather says…' I'd be richer than Jake," he teased.  "Maybe."

"Andy," Heather grumbled, whatever else she was planning on saying dying on her lips when Jake pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

"It's okay, babe," he murmured, "I can take a joke."

"Sure," she acknowledged, clearly unwillingly. Heather's narrow gaze drifted over her brothers, softening when she finally glanced up at her fiancé.  "So, why again, were you discussing our future children?" she demanded.  "And you do know," she continued, turning in Jake's embrace so she could wrap her arms around his neck, "You do not have to answer their questions, especially about that."

"We were actually talking about my job," Jake informed her, "And somehow kids came up. Which," Jake paused a moment, frowning to himself, "Happens more than you'd think," he decided, running the fingers of one hand through her hair.

"Whaddya mean?" Heather asked, giggling nervously.  "Jake?"

He looked past her for a moment, at her brothers, but with the exception of Tommy, they all averted their eyes, John even going so far as to join Andrew at the grill, complaining, "Jeez, Andy, have you heard of medium rare?  Some of us like it that way."

"Babe, you're good with kids," Jake said quietly, "You actually attract small children to you… people notice and … they point it out to me, just in case I was unaware." He stopped again, contemplating her face and the worry, acceptance, the love, he found in her expression.  Sure, Andrew had made a joke about their future children, but Jake had been wrestling with his thoughts on this matter since their walk back to the car after lunch six or seven hours before.  He'd asked Heather to marry him because he loved her, and couldn't imagine life without her.  But he also couldn't imagine Heather without kids – their life together without children, eventually, in the mix.  It was strange and wonderful and scary all rolled into one, and he sure as hell didn't know how to talk to her about it in front of her brothers.

"You're good with kids, too," Heather told him.  "The ones inside sure all like you," she reminded, cocking her head toward the house and smiling at him.

"I like them, too," Jake assured, kissing her gently before urging her to turn back around.  "You know," he began, raising his voice so that her brothers were forced back into the conversation.  "Everyone talks to me about the kids we're gonna have.  Gramps, my mom, your dad –"

"Dad?" Andrew repeated, chuckling, "Really?"

"Hey," Jake shrugged, wrapping one arm around Heather's shoulders, "You threatened me with drunk teenagers, your dad thinks I wouldn't enjoy finding out my daughter's marrying some guy I've never met.  I agreed with him on that, so, you know, we're here."

Heather was a little amazed that Jake was talking about this – and to her brothers! – but she also recognized that it was somewhat of a performance.  She'd come to realize that he had a public face – a persona – that was still Jake, just a little more friendly and gregarious.  Public Jake came out in social situations, like the Christmas parties they had recently attended.  It was, she thought, a kind of armor that allowed him to guard and protect the part of himself that he only shared with those he loved best, like her.  Still, he was making the effort to get to know her brothers, to befriend them, and she was grateful that he would do so for her.

"People – people don't talk to me about that," she told him, laying her left hand – her engagement ring displayed to all -- on his arm.  "I mean, they tell me I'm gonna marry you – they've been telling me that since we started dating –"

"And you are gonna marry me," he reminded with a grin.

"I most definitely am," Heather agreed, catching his eye and returning his smile.  "But people don't mention kids.  To me."

"Your boss," Jake told her.

"Mrs. McVeigh?" she practically yelped, turning her head so she could stare up at him.  "Are you kidding me?"

"Mrs. McVee, yes," he confirmed.  Jake looked at Tommy and Michael then, telling them, "And this is not just Heather's boss.  She was the principal the last few years I was at the Elementary, and she's a friend of my Mom's."  He glanced down at his fiancée again, adding, "Mom was there, too, actually."

"What?" Heather demanded, "Where?  When?"

"Why, who, how?" Michael suggested a beat later, earning himself a dirty look from his sister.

"Jake," Heather prompted.

"School play work …uh, day," he answered finally.  "Mrs. McVee told me to marry you, make sure you got your Master's – she's picked you as her heir apparent – have a couple of kids – a coupl'a grandkids for my Mom is what she actually said," Jake clarified, "And, whatever else I did, make sure we never moved away from Jericho."  He paused a moment, chuckling uneasily.  "I told you this."

Heather pulled free of his embrace and slowly spun around to face him.  "I don't think so," she contradicted, "I'd remember that."

"Okay, well, not the getting married and having kids thing…" he admitted, exhaling a frustrated breath.  "I didn't want to freak you out.  But I definitely told you….  It was a few days later.  That one night."

"That night?" Heather squeaked, her brow furrowing as she thought back.  "Oh…oh, you did," she murmured, hugging herself against the cold.  The night they'd made up after their big fight.  She looked stunned, and Jake couldn't keep from reaching for her hand, squeezing it encouragingly.  "You really did," she giggled, "But there was just so much going on, and I just thought you were making fun of my sucky stick figures, and I – I completely forgot."

"What the hell were you two doin' exactly?" Tommy demanded.  "That night?"

Annoyance flared in Heather's features, and she looked back over her shoulder, glaring at her brother.  "It's none of your beeswax, Tommy," she grumbled, "And it's not what you're thinkin' either."

"Yeah, sure," her brother muttered, taking a long drink from his bottle.

Heather turned back toward Jake.  Exasperation and bemusement warred in her expression, morphing into a smile as their eyes met.  "I didn't think that part was real," she told him, "Like one day –"

"Like one day you'll be Principal Green," Jake confirmed, pulling her close and rubbing her shoulders to warm her up.  "Or Principal Lisinski-Green, if you prefer."

"Nah," she shook her head.  "Mrs. Green, I already told you.  'Good morning Mrs. Lisinski-Green'," Heather said, affecting the higher, somewhat nasally and lispy tone that she used to imitate her students as a group.  "That'd take a kindergartener all day to say."  She paused a moment as the full import of what Jake was telling her started to register. 

"Oh my God," she muttered, covering her face with her hands.  "I mean – I'm – I'm supposed to go to a – an information session in Lawrence for the Master's program in February," Heather confessed, her gaze locked with Jake's.  "I was thinking – thinking about a science curriculum concentration, not – not educational administration.  That's – that's what you need if you're gonna be a principal," she explained, shivering.  "And with everything goin' on, I was thinking it'd be better to wait a year before actually starting –"

"Well, you can still go to the information session, babe," Jake suggested, shrugging out of his coat.  "That way, I don't have Mrs. McVee comin' after me for not followin' the plan.  Here," he said, holding his jacket open for her.

Smiling, she took a step toward him, but instead of pulling his jacket on, she folded it closed and pressed it gently to his chest.  "Jake, thank you, but you can't always be giving me your clothes, especially when you never remember to layer," she chided playfully.

"Seriously, Heth," John protested, "Things like that, you should just keep to yourself."

"Seriously, Johnny," she smirked in return, "Don't be so easy to squick.  Okay," she sighed a few seconds later, "I'm just gonna go back inside where it's warm.  Now, you guys play nice with my fiancé," Heather ordered her brothers, pointing an accusatory finger at each of them in turn.  "Or I'll be forced to do something drastic, like check out the Niagara Falls wedding chapel.  Tonight."

"Hey, we like Jake," Andrew assured, "And Bub really wants to be a flower girl, so no drastic measures.  But," he added, holding out a platter heaped with bratwurst, Polish sausage, and Kyle's two chicken hot dogs, "You can take this in, and let Deb and Mandy know that we're less than five minutes out for the rest?"

"You got it," she agreed cheerfully.

"Hold up, sis," Tommy said, moving to open the door for her.  "I'll walk in with ya."  They entered the small utility room, and he pulled the door closed behind them, placing a hand on Heather's arm to stop her from continuing on into the kitchen.  "Hey, real quick," he said, his expression full of concern.  "I just wanna – wanna make sure….  You don't have to marry him, right?  I mean, you're – you're not pregnant or anything?"

* * * *

"So that thing about being principal one day is true?" John asked, returning Michael's beer to him.

"Trust me," Jake snorted, "That's not the kinda thing I could ever make up."

"That's really cool," Andrew nodded, "My sister, the –"

He was cut off then by an outraged shriek from just inside the house.  Instantly, Jake was moving toward the door, only to be blocked by John, who advised, "Probably shouldn't go in there quite yet."

"Yeah…." Andy agreed.  "Better give her a minute."

"Oh yeah," Michael nodded.  Quickly, he finished off his beer, glancing around at his three companions.  "She's mad.  You know," he added a few seconds later, "He totally asked her if she's pregnant."


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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

The stockroom was mostly stripped of sellable goods, but inside the small space there were a small table, a couple of folding chairs, a cot, and a camp stove along with three cylinders of fuel.  Michael knew that Dale Turner and Skylar Stevens lived in this room off and on, though he understood that they also had a real house – hers – her parents' – on the outskirts of Jericho.  It seemed Zack knew this too, as he avoided the unmade cot and moved one of the chairs out from the table and into the center of the room before forcing Hill to take a seat.  Michael followed his lead, placing Bradley in the other chair a few feet away.  Zack stationed himself in front of the door, his rifle trained on Hill.

"Uh, Maggie," Michael began, looking around, "Can you go over there?" he requested, pointing with his free hand.  "By – by the table?" 

"Sure," she agreed, offering him a smile so fleeting Michael was almost convinced he'd imagined it.

His gun hand – that didn't sound right, but Michael didn't know what to call it, even in just his head – he kept aimed at Bradley's feet and legs, figuring that if he did shoot the other man, purposely or by accident, it at least wouldn't kill him.  Michael hoped that the negotiations went quickly.

"Hey, Romeo," Hill sneered, his gaze narrowing as he contemplated Michael, "You ever even used a gun before?"

It was Zack who answered for Michael when all he could come up with was "Uh…" 

"Of course he has, jackass," the teenager returned, his tone dripping with contempt for the phony marine who was now his prisoner.  "He came all the way from Connecticut to Kansas, after the EMP," Zack told Hill.  "You think somebody could do that without a gun?" he challenged.  "He's a doctor," Zack shrugged, his voice softening, "That's all."

"Medical student, actually," Michael corrected, catching the teenager's eye.  He only knew Zack and Brett Davis by sight, but Jeff had worked with them on the border patrol, and their father had been the one who had escorted them into Jericho five weeks before, so it made sense that Zack knew his story.  "But yeah," he finished, offering Zack a friendly smile, "I don't like … making my own patients."

"You know, Mike," Zack threw out, "You should take a shift now and then with the border patrol.  Like Jeff," he added, "Keep your skills up."

Michael nodded, not sure how else to respond.  He really had never held an actual, shoots bullets, gun – had never wanted to – but it was starting to seem pretty foolish not to learn how to use one if only so he had one more way to feed and protect himself and others.  It'd be a little embarrassing, but he decided then that he'd ask Jake to teach him.  Certainly he'd suffered other – even worse – humiliations in front of his brother-in-law and survived.  "Yeah, good idea," he muttered, "Keep my skills up."

Hill had been watching this conversation with undisguised interest.  "Now, I –"

"Dude!" Zack interrupted, his focus completely on their prisoner once again.  "How 'bout you just not talk," he advised, tightening his grip on his rifle.

After that, none of them spoke.  Michael mostly kept an eye on Bradley, who looked like he was about to throw up, and so probably wasn't much of a threat.  Every once in a while though, he couldn't quite keep himself from looking at Maggie, who'd seated herself on the small table, her arms propped on her knees with her hands held out, palms up, to show that she wasn't a threat.  It was, he assumed, for Zack's benefit; he certainly didn't think she would try anything, not after she'd tried to protect him from her comrades.  He also tried, a couple of times, to catch her eye, but Maggie avoided looking at him which set Michael's stomach churning.  He just couldn't figure her out, and he silently berated himself for needing to.

Finally, there was a knock at the door, and Brett Davis stuck his head in.  "You guys can come out now," he told the back of his brother's head, stepping into the room.

The Davis brothers got Hill and Bradley onto their feet and out of the stockroom, leaving Maggie to Michael.  "C'mon," he told her gruffly, jerking his head toward the door.

She nodded, crossing the room slowly, her hands held up in surrender.  Stopping six inches in front of him, Maggie pointed at the gun he still held awkwardly in his right hand.  "All right if I put the safety on for you?" she asked quietly.  "I'd just rather not –"

"I'm not gonna shoot you," he protested, annoyance bleeding into his tone.  "Well, not on purpose."

Maggie had already removed the gun from his hand.  He watched as she made the necessary adjustment, before giving it back to him.  "I wasn't worried about on purpose," she told him.

"God," Michael swore, "Does – does everybody but – everybody but me get taken aside at five and taught these things?"

"No," Maggie denied immediately.  "No," she repeated.  "Those kids, sure, but I couldn't have done that five months ago, I promise you.  Some days – not some days, every day – I think that there're… two separate Maggies.  Before Maggie and After Maggie," she named them, offering him a sour smile.  "Before Maggie couldn't do that.  And, After Maggie, that's about the best thing about her."

"Yeah, I think I have a Before Mike and an After Mike, too," he told her, watching her face.  Her expression was achingly neutral, but she didn't seem to be in any hurry, and he wasn't either.  As soon as they walked out of that stockroom, who knew what would happen?  "So, Maggie really is your name?" he asked. 

She nodded.  "Maggie, yes, but Mullin, no," she clarified, looking down at the name patch on her stolen uniform.  "That came with the shirt.  But Maggie, yeah.  Margaret."  She took a deep breath and offered him her hand.  "Margaret O'Reilly," she introduced herself, "But most people just call me Maggie."

"Michael Lisinski," he told her, shaking her hand.  "Most people call me Mike, and a few even still call me Mikey," he admitted.

"Mikey, I like it," she grinned. 

He rolled his eyes.  "That joke just never gets old."

"My mom used to call me Peggy Sue," she confessed.  "My middle name's Suzanne," she added, shrugging, "But she was the only one."
 
"Maggie O'Reilly," he murmured, trying her name out.  "Very Irish."

"Yeah, mostly," she agreed.  "And you have such a bad history with the Irish, too."

"Not all bad," Michael assured her, "Two of my brothers married mostly Irish girls."

"I used to –" she began, but a knock on the door interrupted whatever she was going to say.  Her neutral mask fell instantly back into place, and she muttered, "It's a stupid story anyway."

Jake pulled the door open and looked in at them.  "Hey.  We need our last marine so we can get this show on the road."

Maggie wouldn't look at Michael.  "That's my cue," she sighed.

* * * * *

Half the town turned out to wave the marines off.  Gray Anderson and Gunnery Sergeant Hill exchanged kind words and a handshake, and Jericho's citizenry cheered.  Michael, standing outside the market with Johnston, Jake, Stanley, and the Davises, thought he might be sick.

"A hero's exit," Johnston murmured.

"Movin' out," Hill yelled, starting to march.  "Let's go!"  Behind him the tank rumbled to life, the other squad members taking their positions in lines on either side of the behemoth.

Silently, the Greens and Davises moved into place, marching alongside the imposter marines.  None of them chose to march beside Maggie, leaving an obvious hole for Michael to fill in.  As if he would have gone anywhere else, he thought, jogging to catch up.

"Hey," Michael greeted, matching his pace to hers.

She spared him a quick glance.  "My own personal escort out of town," Maggie tried to joke, but her tone – against her will – ended up somewhere between accusatory and hurt.

He flinched a little at that, falling behind a step or two but then hurried to catch up.  They were making the turn onto Spruce now, and then in a few minutes they would reach the interstate, then the bridge, and they would be gone.  "You're a smart girl," Michael told her in a rush of breath, "You need to get out – get out before these guys get you killed."

"And go where?" Maggie snapped, pitching her voice low.  "Towns aren't taking refugees and," she chuckled sourly, "There's only one thing they want women for."

"Then stay here, all right?" Michael returned.  It came out needy, almost begging, and he wished he could be embarrassed by it, but he wasn't.  He wanted her to stay, he wanted to get to know her better, he wanted her to be safe – and he didn't think she would be as long as she stayed with this group.  "You'll – you'll be safe here."

"Oh, your sister would love that," Maggie sighed. 

"She'd probably hate it," Michael admitted, "At first.  But she'd get over –"

"It's not gonna work," she interrupted, frowning at him.  They were far enough from town hall and the crowd that they didn't really need to maintain the charade, and Maggie adjusted her weapon – her empty, useless weapon – so that she wore it over her shoulder by its strap.  "I almost wish I didn't like you so much, Mike," she told him, looking at him sideways and blinking hard.  "If I didn't, I could just stay here, and let the chips fall where they may.  One hundred percent After Maggie," she admitted.  "But I do like you," she said attempting a smile and failing miserably.  "It wouldn't work, not after the story we told.  And not with story you're all plannin' to tell."

"But –"

"Please, Mike.  Let me – just let me be Before Maggie again, okay?" she requested, her voice cracking with a suppressed sob.  "Anyway, she's the one you like."

Too soon they were out on the Tacoma Bridge, and the rangers on duty were pulling away the barricades, thanking the imposters for coming, joking that they would see them soon.  The tank drove onto the interstate, the escorts from Jericho accompanying the squad.  Finally after another ten minutes – a half mile down the road – Johnston called for them to halt.  "Okay, this is far enough I think," he yelled, pounding on the side of the tank to make sure the operator got the message.

Jake, Stanley and the Davis brothers moved to join Johnston at the front of the tank, Michael following reluctantly a few seconds later.  The driver climbed out the turret, tossing two gear bags down onto the pavement before jumping down himself.  "You've got enough food to get you a few days down the road," Jake reminded, pointing at the bags.  They had confiscated the communications equipment already and had offered the food as a bribe to ensure cooperation.

"How 'bout some water, man?" Hill grumbled.

But Johnston wasn't having any of it.  "Make due," he ordered.  "You will leave your weapons on the tank, and you will move out."

Hill threw one last glare in Johnston's direction.  "Do it," he told his comrades.  He turned toward the tank, unstrapped his rifle, and placed it on the tank.  "C'mon," he muttered, "Let's go."

Quickly, the phony marines dropped their gear on the tank, the operator and Bradley – the pudgy, completely un-marine like one – snatching up the bags containing the food.  Last of all, Maggie leaned her weapon against the tank, glancing over her shoulder at the Jericho contingent.

"Be careful," Michael called out.  She nodded.  And then she was gone.

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

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 14F.

Yes, despite the fact that Semper Fi was not one of my favorites – not by a long shot – there is really still more to come.  Go figure.


Citations shamelessly borrowed from wikipedia.org.

Clue is a popular murder-mystery themed deduction board game originally published by Waddingtons in Leeds, England in 1949.  It is now published by the United States game and toy company Hasbro, which acquired its U.S. publisher Parker Brothers, and Waddingtons.

Sorry! is a board game that is based on the ancient Cross and Circle game Pachisi. Originally manufactured by Parker Brothers, Sorry! is now manufactured by Hasbro.

Candy Land is a simple racing board game. The game requires no reading and minimal counting skills, making it suitable for young children.  The game was designed in 1945 by Eleanor Abbott, while she was recovering from polio in San Diego, California. The game was bought by Milton Bradley Company (now owned by Hasbro) and first published in 1949.

Twister is a game of physical skill produced by the Milton Bradley Company.  Twister was submitted for patent by Charles F. Foley and Neil Rabens in 1966, and became a success when Eva Gabor played it with Johnny Carson on television's The Tonight Show on May 3, 1966. However, in its success, Twister was also controversial. Milton Bradley, was accused by its competitors of selling "sex in a box". That accusation was probably because Twister was the first popular American game to use human bodies as playing pieces.


Finding Nemo is a 2003 American computer-animated comedy-drama adventure film written and directed by Andrew Stanton, released by Walt Disney Pictures, and the fifth film produced by Pixar Animation Studios. It tells the story of the over-protective clownfish named Marlin (Albert Brooks) who, along with a regal tang named Dory (Ellen DeGeneres), searches for his abducted son Nemo (Alexander Gould) all the way to Sydney Harbour.  "Just keep swimming!" is Dory's philosophy.

Part 14F by Marzee Doats

Different Circumstances: Part 14F of ? by Marzee Doats


Author's Note: I think I can safely claim to be back in the writing groove.  I can't imagine that I will be updating more often than every five or six weeks, but stranger things have happened.  I'm not one to demand feedback, but I will admit that it stokes the writing furnace, even if you just let me know that you're still reading and enjoying this "little" romance/drama, I would appreciate it... and I might just write a little faster!

Warnings: Bad smells, eavesdropping, and really, really cold showers ahead.

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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs
 

"So, what do we do?" Jake asked once the marine imposters had faded into the night. It had taken them less than a minute to disappear, out on the highway with the only light for miles around thrown off by the headlamps on the tank.

Johnston glanced at his son. "We soldier on," he told him.

"Okay," Jake shrugged, "But what do we do with that?" he inquired, pointing at the tank.

"Oh!" Johnston declared, feeling a little foolish now that he finally understood his son's question. They hadn't really had a choice when it came to the tank – they'd had to confiscate it – but this X factor conspiracy wasn't going to get very far if they left it where it was in the middle of I-70. "Well," he decided, "Stanley, you got room in your barn?"

"Seriously?" Stanley yelped.

Johnston shrugged. "Why not? Never know when you might need a tank. Besides," he continued, "You take the tank, Gray has to negotiate with you."

"That's a helluva insurance policy," Jake snorted, his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a sweatshirt with the hood up – and gloves – but he didn't have a coat, and it made Johnston feel cold just looking at him. "For all of us," Jake added, exhaling deeply. "And we may need it."

"Okay then," Stanley agreed, "But how do we do this?"

"Well, how 'bout I go back to town with Brett and Zack, talk to Clyde and Shannon, and then I'll get the truck and come out to your place, pick Jake and Mike up?" Johnston suggested. "That should give you three enough time to get the tank out there and put away."

"Sounds good," Stanley agreed. "But Mimi and Bonnie are still back there," he said, pointing toward Jericho. "And, I've got the keys," he added, fishing them out of his pocket. "So, can you get these to Mimi? Tell her I'll explain everything when they get home?"

"Will do," Johnston acknowledged, accepting the keys from Stanley.  He glanced at the Davis brothers. "We should get goin', boys."

"Why do we hafta go back to town?" Zack complained to his older brother, already moving toward Jericho. "I'd like to try drivin' a tank." Even Michael, whose thoughts were still concentrated on what was likely happening some ways down the road, found himself relieved by the proof that Zack Davis really was fifteen years old.

"So, Jake?" Stanley prompted, his expression expectant.

"Me?" Jake returned, clearly surprised. "Why you think I'm gonna drive? It's your tank."

"Yeah, I guess," his friend muttered. "But you fly airplanes, you drive semis. How different can a tank be?"

"You drive tractors," Jake countered.

"A tractor," Stanley emphasized, "The same one for – forever." He looked his friend up and down then, realizing that Jake was barely holding it together. No wonder he didn't want to drive, he'd almost died four days earlier, and it didn't matter what he'd been telling people all day, Jake wasn't fully recovered.

Stanley glanced over at Michael who squinted back, his expression clearly dubious. "Don't look at me. I never even drove an ambulance. That's a whole 'nother test I never bothered to take."

"Fine, whatever," Stanley grumbled, marching over to the tank. "Hand me in all this crap, okay?" he requested, pointing at the marine squad's weapons and then starting to climb up the side. Jake and Michael watched as Stanley lowered himself into the vehicle through the turret, popping back up not even five seconds later. "Oh God, it is so rank in here," he complained, gagging.

"Well, they've probably been living in there awhile," Jake guessed, reaching for the assault rifle that Maggie had left behind.

"Since there was a food riot at their refugee camp," Michael admitted, "Who knows, coulda been the one we read about at Black Jack." He reached for another of the phony marines' weapons then thought better of it, and withdrew his hand. "I don't – I don't know what you're supposed to do with one of these. How you do it."

"Well, first we need to make sure they're empty," Jake explained, demonstrating how to check the magazine. He showed Michael the clip, confirming, "That's empty. Once we know they're empty, they can go in the tank," he finished, handing the weapon to Stanley.

"That's – that's good," Michael acknowledged with an uneasy chuckle. "I mean, you wouldn't want one of these going off accidentally inside the tank, right?" He inhaled sharply. "But what I really meant…I don't know how to check a gun, use a gun, do anything with a gun, so I think maybe you should teach me…. Just in case."

Nodding, Jake reached for another rifle. "We can do that," he acknowledged, "But after New Year's, okay?"

Michael shook his head in agreement. He knew that Jake and his sister always celebrated New Year's together at the ranch, marking the anniversary of their engagement. They'd come to Buffalo for Christmas twice since they were married, but they always made sure they were home for New Year's. "That's fine, I'm not in a big hurry or anything."

"You don't have to do it," Jake reminded, handing the next rifle up to Stanley. "But it's a good idea. Never know what's gonna happen," he muttered, starting to check the next weapon. "Though, think we'll start you on something a little more basic than these."

Yeah," Michael chuckled, fighting with the rifle he was trying to clear. He'd watched Jake do it three times, but he still hadn't quite figured out how to eject the magazine. "I think I need gun training wheels," he grumbled. But then something slipped and suddenly the magazine was lying in his hand. "Okay," he smiled to himself as he confirmed that the clip was empty.

"Gimme," Stanley prompted, holding out his hand. Michael handed the weapon up, pleased with his success.

Jake and Michael cleared the rest of the rifles quickly – as Johnston had guessed the marine imposters had been completely out of ammunition -- and then, somewhat reluctantly, climbed up into the tank. The interior was small, with seats for four, and 'rank' didn't begin to describe the stench. Rotten food, blood, sweat, vomit, urine... the combination of odors permeated the cramped space. "Don't – just breathe through your mouth," Jake advised, the back of his hand pressed against his nostrils as he vainly tried to block out the smell.

Stanley lunged for the driver's seat. "How fast d'ya think this thing can go?" he croaked out.

"Forty?" Jake replied, starting to tear up. "That's what I – what I think they said back in Iraq."

"That'll take fifteen minutes," he complained, looking over the controls. "Hell, no," he grunted, fighting the bile that rose into the back of his throat. "I'm gettin' at least forty five outta this baby!"

* * * * *

Michael struggled out of the tank, clambering down the outside of the vehicle, and dropping to his knees on the floor of barn. Blinking away the tears that they had all dealt with over the last half hour, he looked up at his brother-in-law, announcing, "You – you so owe me!"

Stanley had tried to push the tank to its limit and beyond, but it had still taken twenty minutes – it had felt like hours – to reach Richmond Ranch road, and a few more after that before the tank was in the barn. He'd driven the tank to an older barn, one that his grandfather had built, and that his father had replaced with a bigger, more solid structure when Stanley was little. This barn was farther out from the house and little used, especially in the last few years when he'd given up on hay after the Hydes had found someone outside Fielding who only grew hay, who grew it cheaper, who could fulfill more of the dairy's need.

"Even if – if I'm the world's biggest gun imbecile, you don't get to say anything," Michael warned Jake.

The two of them had traded off riding in the open turret – though the heavy hatch door had posed its own set of problems – until finally Stanley hadn't been able to stand it any longer and had demanded his turn.  Jake had taken the controls, but he'd been unable to keep their speed up where Stanley wanted it, and so they had switched places once again two or three minutes later.  Jake didn't look like he was going to die anymore – a vast improvement on four days before – but that was about all Michael could say for him.  That was why, once they arrived at the Richmond Ranch, he'd volunteered to stay in the tank and hand out all the supplies inside.  Stanley had already taken his turn, leaving it up to Jake or him, and Michael didn't figure he wanted to explain to his sister why he'd let her husband pass out and die from the noxious stink inside that tank.

"That – that thing needs to be cleaned," Michael declared, fighting the weakness in his legs to stand up.  "And no way in hell am I doing it."

"Well, the EMP took out the electronics," Jake shrugged.  "So get every gallon of bleach Dale can find and flood it," he advised, "Or better yet, toss in a Molotov cocktail and let it do its thing."

"Not gonna worry about that tonight," Stanley decided making a face.  He could smell that … that tank stench on his skin and clothes, and it was making him sick to his stomach.  "There's a root cellar in the back," he said, gesturing at the pile of weapons and other equipment – a few flashlights, two small, single burner stoves, a couple of shovels – that Michael had pulled out of the tank.  "Let's just put it all down there."

"Sounds good," Jake agreed, starting to gather rifles up in his arms like firewood. 

Michael, though, shook his head, announcing, "I need to get some fresh air.  Clear my head."

"Sure, man," Stanley acknowledged, squatting to pick up the flashlights and stoves.  "So, uh, how're you doin'?" he asked a minute later, looking over his shoulder at Jake as he led the way to the root cellar.  "I mean, you're lookin' better.  Better than –"

"The other night?" Jake guessed, allowing a humorless bark of laughter.  "Well, since everyone keeps telling me I was about five minutes from dead, that's not saying much.  And trust me," he added, grimacing, "I feel like shit."

The entrance to the root cellar was in the back, right corner of the barn.  Stanley bent over, dropping the items he carried on the ground before reaching for the brass ring to pull the door open.  "Yeah, actually, you kinda look like shit, too," he told his friend – sympathetically – as he shoved the heavy plank door over.  "And smell like it."

Jake turned his head so he could sniff his hood.  "That's the one thing I didn't smell in there," he grumbled, shaking his head in disgust.  "But you're right... it all kinda marinates together."

"So, you know, the other night…" Stanley began, before pausing to clear his throat.  "Out there, on that road, you, uh… you said some stuff."

"Yeah?" Jake returned, his whole body tensing.

"You know, you said – you said to tell Heather you loved her," Stanley shrugged.  He stooped over to pick up the things he'd put down, and then stepped into the root cellar.  There were two crude steps – the cellar was only about three feet deep – and he stopped on the first one, looking at Jake.  "You said you're gonna call the baby EJ, like your grandpa.  And you talked about some … some girl," he muttered, glancing down at his feet. 

Stanley dropped the flashlights and the stoves on the cellar floor, and then, seeming to muster his courage, turned back, looking up, to face Jake.  "You couldn't break cover.  That's what you said, you couldn't break cover," he repeated, exhaling nervously.  "And I know you'd never – never hurt Heather –"

"It's not what you're thinkin'," Jake snapped, cutting him off.  Michael was outside and he'd closed the barn door behind him, but still Jake looked around to make sure he wasn’t there – wasn't hearing this – before taking a step toward Stanley, kicking one of the rifles out of the way.  "How could you think – think that?" he demanded, glaring at his friend.

Crouching next to the cellar so that his head was level with Stanley's, Jake repeated, "It's not what you're thinkin'.  You think I slept with her?" he guessed before immediately denying it. "I didn't sleep with that girl," he whispered harshly.  Urgently.  "I don't cheat on Heather.  Bein' married's built into my cover.  This time, being married to Heather was built in, just – just so we could stay in close contact.  We talked every other day, we emailed – God," he swore, scrubbing his face with his gloved hand.  "How could you think –"

"I didn't want to think that!" Stanley defended himself, yelping softly.  "I just couldn't figure out what – what you meant.  I just – I just wanted to keep you talking, keep you awake, and then you tell me this thing, and – and –"

"She was killed," Jake said, closing his eyes.  Slowly, he explained what had happened.  "She was – she was shot.  And I should've – I could've prevented it, but I didn't, 'cause I didn't want to blow my cover."

It was the truth, but not the whole truth.  He couldn't seem to force those words up out of his throat.  I killed her.  But Jake couldn't say it.  He didn't want Stanley to know that about him – he didn't want anyone to know that about him, and it was bad enough that his father now knew, but he wasn't going to tell his best friend.

"I should've stopped it," he insisted, finally looking at his friend again.  "Though, I might've ended up dead myself.  Who knows….  It all happened so goddamned fast," he mumbled.

"Jake … man," Stanley tried, reaching for the nearest of the rifles that Jake had dropped.

"It was my last assignment, you know?" he croaked then.  "Ten years was enough.  But I still wanted it to go right, leave on a success."  Jake was frowning and staring past Stanley.  "And I just needed to get in with this one guy, get his trust.  That's all I needed to really open things up.  And then, this one day, out on this road, no one around but us and this kid comes outta nowhere…. If I'd stopped it…."  He paused, shaking his head.  It shouldn't have happened – he shouldn't have done it – but there was nothing he could do to change it now.   "But she ended up … ended up collateral damage."

Stanley didn't know what to say.  There probably wasn't anything he could say, he decided, but that didn't mean it wasn't awkward.  "God, man.  I'm – I'm sorry," he muttered, unsure of where the words were coming from.  He reached for another of the rifles.   "God." 

Jake began to stand up, but that was apparently too much for him, and instead he ended up sprawled on the ground at the edge of the cellar.  "I just wanted it to be over," he admitted.  Now, slumped as he was, he actually had to look up to meet Stanley's gaze.  "I was gonna come home and raise kids and horses, make pancakes on Saturday mornings."  A smile began to creep into Jake's expression at the thought, the tension that had wracked his frame easing.  "Maybe coach some little league, you know?  Go to bed next to my wife every night."

"Kids and horses, huh?" Stanley grinned in return.  "What about flying?  You always wanted to fly, long as I can remember."

"I'm still a pilot," Jake shrugged, "Still have the planes.  Well, probably not now," he conceded.  The EMP had wrecked the electronics in that tank, and the planes, too, surely.  "But I could handle being a weekend pilot better than being a weekend husband, a weekend father.  I did that to Heather for four years," he reminded, "She deserves better."

"Yeah, she does," Stanley agreed, still smiling.  "And that all sounds like the good life to me.  Well, corn instead of horses, and French toast instead of pancakes," he decided.  "But, yeah, sounds great.  Hell, I'll coach the little league with ya," Stanley offered.

"You never were that good with livestock," Jake joked before letting out a deep breath.  "So… you and Mimi?" he asked, "She's the one, huh?"

"Hey, you knew with Heather, like right away," Stanley defended, taking a step forward and then stretching to snag the last two rifles that Jake had dumped on the ground.  "So don't –"

"Stanley," Jake interrupted, shaking his head.  "I'm not – I'm not questioning what you guys have," he informed his friend.  "I'm congratulating you, okay?  You wanna raise kids and corn with Mimi, have at it."  He held out his hand, and after a second's hesitation Stanley accepted it, and they shook.  "Congratulations, man."

"Well, I don't think she's quite ready to talk kids yet," Stanley admitted, his expression turning sheepish.  "But she says she can't live without me.  Says she can't stay here forever, either," he sighed.  "But she also doesn't know that this isn't real yet," he reminded, pointing at the phony marines' supplies piled behind him.  "So, maybe.  Eventually.  I dunno."

Jake nodded, frowning softly.  "Hey, if it's meant to be – if you can't live without her – then you'll figure it out, convince her that this is where she wants to be."

Chuckling, Stanley shot him a skeptical look.  "Man, if you're philosophizing like that… maybe that truck did some permanent damage after all."

"Probably," Jake admitted, making a face.

"So, uh, does Heather know about –"

"No!" Jake interrupted before Stanley could say it: the girl who was killed in Iraq.  The girl that he had killed in Iraq.  "No," he repeated, his voice rising with every word. "Nobody does.  Just – just you, and me, and – and Dad.  And I don't want anybody else to know, okay?  Especially Heather.  Okay, Stanley?" he demanded, "Okay?"

"Sure, you got it," Stanley agreed quickly.  "If I'm – If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'," he said, repeating the oath with which they had made all their childhood pacts.  He offered Jake his hand and they shook on it.  "That was a lot less morbid when we were kids, huh?"

"Just 'cause we didn't really know what we were sayin', doesn't mean we didn't mean it," Jake shrugged.  He started to laugh at himself, suggesting finally, "I must've hit my head real hard out there, huh?"

Stanley's response was cut off by the sound of a vehicle outside the barn.  The door opened at the other end, headlights brightening the dark space.  "They're here," Michael called out.

Ninety seconds later, the six of them – Stanley, Mimi, Bonnie, Jake, Michael and Johnston – were standing in a half circle, gawking at the tank.  By the time he'd found Mimi – and then she'd found Bonnie – Johnston had explained, he'd already spoken with the Davises and located Gail to bring her up to date on what was happening.  It had only made sense to caravan out to the ranch, a fact for which Stanley was extremely grateful.  Sure, facing off with Gray Anderson it had been easy to say he was going to tell Mimi and Bonnie everything, but now as he confronted their shock and incredulity over the situation, he was glad for the back-up of the three other men.

"What – why is the tank here?" Mimi demanded, her forehead wrinkled in confusion.  "Where are the marines?  Stanley, this doesn't make any sense." 

Bonnie was more succinct.  "What's going on, Stanley?" she asked softly.

"They – they weren't marines," Stanley explained, moving around Mimi to stand in front of his sister.  He wanted to be sure Bonnie could see what he was saying.  "Jake and Mike and Mayor Green –"

"I'm not the mayor, Stanley," Johnston interjected wearily.  "I think – I think it's time you just started callin' me Johnston."

"Okay, sure," he agreed, nodding.  "They – they all figured out the marines were – were lyin', they weren't real.  They – there was a riot – a food riot, right Mike?" Stanley continued, glancing quickly at the younger man. 

"Yep," Michael agreed, taking a step toward Bonnie.  "They overwhelmed – overpowered – whatever – the real marines and took – took the tank.  They were hungry," he explained with a shrug.  He knew he should speak carefully, so she could see what he was saying, but it all came out so jumbled.  "They started selling their story, conning people outta food and fuel."

"But – but they were in uniform," Mimi argued, her hands folded together and pressed against her mouth, hiding her lips from Bonnie's view.  "They were wearing uniforms!" she insisted, a hysterical note creeping into her voice.

"They stole those too," Michael muttered.  He hadn't let himself think about what that meant before, not even when Maggie had admitted that Mullin was the name that had come with her shirt.  Had they killed the other marines, the real marines?  Or had they just stolen their clothes?  The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth and he found himself spitting on the barn floor, trying to get rid of it.  "Stanley's right," he confirmed a few seconds later, looking between Bonnie and Mimi.  "It was all a lie."

"So – so none of it is true," Mimi decided, sighing tiredly.  She could feel her eyes filling with tears, so she stared at her feet, willing it all to go away.

"We don't know what's true or not true," Jake said.  "Maybe there was a war, maybe there wasn't.  Maybe there's one president, maybe there's still six.  Could go either way.  We're just back where we were this morning, that's all."

Stanley reached for Mimi's hand squeezing it tightly.  "Hey, Uncle Sam," he teased, "You'll still get to New York….  You just – just hafta hang out with us here a little longer, 'kay?"

"Right," she agreed after a long moment, clearing her throat.  Blinking hard, Mimi raised her head and met his gaze.  "I'm – I'm okay," she declared unconvincingly.  "I'll be okay.  I'm just gonna go up to the house, okay?"

Mimi stepped toward him and placed a kiss on his cheek before pressing the truck's keys into his hand.  "Hey, what?" Stanley protested.  "You're gonna walk to the house?  It's dark, and it's farther than you think," he warned, trying to give the keys back.  "Mimi, take the truck," he insisted.  "Bonnie and I can walk back.  C'mon," he said, forcing her hand open and folding her fingers around the keys.  "We'll walk back."

She closed her eyes, her lips pressed together in a thin line.  "Okay," she nodded slowly, "Thank you." 

Stanley watched her cross the barn and slip out through the door before turning back to face his sister.  Telling Mimi the truth had been hard, but he thought maybe that would turn out to be a piece of cake compared to what he needed to tell Bonnie.  They always seemed to be fighting these days, about Mimi, and about Sean, he thought, resisting the urge to make a face.  And, she sure wasn't going to like what he had to say.

"Bonnie –" he began.

"It was all a lie, made up?" she asked.

"Yeah," Stanley nodded.  "But, we gotta keep it a secret," he told her, signing his words to emphasize their importance.  "We made a deal with Gray, and it's gotta stay a secret so he won't try to cut us out of the air drop supplies.  Us and all the farms."

"Okay," Bonnie shrugged.

Stanley exhaled nervously.  "That means we can't tell anybody.  You can't tell anybody," he stressed, pointing a finger at her.  "You can't tell Sean."

Anger flashed in her eyes.  "You told her," Bonnie argued.

"I had to tell her.  Mimi lives here, and we're keepin' a friggin' tank in our friggin' barn!"  Stanley paused, clenching one hand into a fist.  Taking a deep breath, he started to sign again.  "Look, we've gotta negotiate with Gray about the supplies.  And I still don't think you should tell Sean, but can you – can you not tell him for a week, okay?  Just 'til we're done negotiating.  Then – if you think he'll keep the secret…" Stanley shrugged helplessly.  "Well, I can't stop ya."

Johnston moved toward Bonnie, offering her a tired smile.  "Bonnie, this is important.  You can trust Stanley."

She stared back at the two men, and then glanced at Jake and Michael before returning her gaze to her brother.  "Fine," Bonnie snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Fine, what?" Jake started to ask, "Fine, you –" but Stanley cut him off with a look. 

"Thank you," he said – and signed – to his sister.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
 
Sunday, January 6, five years before the bombs


"Well, time for me to hit the books," Michael announced, placing his lunch plate in the dishwasher.  "We have to leave here at five?"  He glanced at his father, who nodded in confirmation. 

Heather, squeezing by her brother to get to the sink, wrinkled her nose.  Michael had worked sixteen hours at the rink the day before, and had only dragged himself out of bed after he'd heard the three of them – Joe, Jake and Heather – returning from church.  He'd stumbled downstairs in a t-shirt and sweats – both a little ripe – to join them for a lunch of leftovers from Friday night's picnic supper.   "Make sure you take a shower," she ordered, "And – please! – do some laundry."

Michael didn't even bother looking back over his shoulder, settling instead for raising his hand in acknowledgment as he pushed through the door between the kitchen and dining room.  "Yes, Miss Bossy Heather."

"I think I'm gonna go take a little Sunday snooze," Joe informed his daughter and her fiancé as he got up from the table.  "But, I'm sure you can find some way to entertain yourselves," he chuckled softly.

"We'll be fine, Dad," Heather assured, moving back toward the table.  Resting one knee on her chair, she picked up the folder of wedding materials she'd picked up at the church that morning.  "Actually, I think we need to go through this.  That's a fun Sunday project."

Ignoring the note of sarcasm in her tone, Joe smiled.  "Good idea, sweetheart," he told her, kissing her on the forehead.  He started to follow his son out of the room, pausing in the doorway to say, "Oh, I wanted to let you know, I invited Geraldine and Jessica to join us for dinner tonight."

"That's fine, Dad," Heather smiled in return, "Actually, Aunt Gerri is the one person I really wanted Jake to meet this weekend that we didn't manage, so it's great."

The weekend had been a whirlwind, and now they were in the home stretch.  Joe was insisting on taking the whole family out for dinner that evening, and that would be the last official event before Jake and Heather headed home.  In eighteen hours, they would be on a plane, and by dinner time tomorrow night, they would be back in Jericho.  It had been a good weekend, and Jake truly liked Heather's family – even Tommy, as he'd told her on Friday night when they'd kissed goodnight at her bedroom door – but that didn't mean he wasn't looking forward to getting back to Jericho where they at least had the chance of privacy.

Friday's game evening had started out with Monopoly but it hadn't proved conducive to conversation, and after a half hour or so they'd abandoned it in favor of playing Oh Hell (though the Lisinskis had all referred to it as Oh Heck until the kids had fallen asleep).  Playing with two decks and thirteen people, the youngest of whom was three, was a new experience for Jake, but he'd had a good time.  He'd ended up dueling it out with Tommy during the last hand, their scores having far outstripped the others.  It turned out Tommy wasn't above a little trash talk, but at least he hadn't seemed to mind when Jake had given it right back to him.  The evening had finally broken up a little before midnight, Heather's brothers slinging their sleeping children over their shoulders as they headed out to their freezing cars.

Saturday, it had been noon before Jake and Heather left the house.  After grabbing lunch at a sandwich shop Heather liked, she had detoured past her elementary and high schools – pointing out the snow covered field where she'd played field hockey – on their way to the ice rink.  At breakfast, Heather had reminded Jake that he'd promised Rebekah and Ali that he'd come see them skate during that afternoon's open ice hours and, as they'd walked in from the parking lot, Jake had rashly suggested that they skate, too.  Unfortunately, he'd only made it around the rink once – and even that wasn't technically a complete circuit – before he'd had to beg off, blaming his broken ankle from the previous summer.

"So, you think you can marry a guy who can't skate?" Jake had grunted as he'd unlaced his skate. 

"Absolutely," Heather had assured, frowning sympathetically.  "Actually, I think I'll prefer having a little less of my life revolve around this rink than it has," she'd admitted, leaning in close, her mouth brushing his ear so he was the only one who could hear her words.  "And, I should've asked this before," she'd continued, pulling away a few seconds later, "But you have skated before, right?"

"Sure," he'd shrugged, "When I was a kid.  Twice, maybe three times," Jake had confessed.  "There's an outdoor, holiday rink in Rogue River, and we'd go when we'd visit my Aunt Bridget."

"And the last time you did that was…?" Heather had prompted, biting back a chuckle.

"Nineteen eighty four, five?" He'd guessed, making a face.

Andrew had joined them then, clapping his future brother-in-law on the back as he sat down.  "Well, Jake, I hafta say, that took some ba – some guts to get out on the ice like that."  Ali and Rebekah had skated by at that moment and they'd all waved at the little girls, who – giggling – had waved back with twice as much enthusiasm.  "You kinda humiliated yourself," Andrew had informed him as his daughter and niece skated away, "But I think I gotta respect you for it."

"I figured – look, all these little kids can do it," Jake had replied, wincing as he tried to flex his foot.

"He has a bad ankle, too, Andy," Heather had defended.  "He busted it last summer."

"Sure," Andrew had returned, standing up.  "Well, like I said, gotta respect you for it.  'Cause, trust me, I'll be dead before I ever try to ride a horse in front of you."

For the remainder of the afternoon, Heather had babied him – not that Jake had objected – retrieving his shoes from the locker they'd rented, bringing him coffee and Reese's from the snack bar, and even sneaking him a couple of Tylenol from her purse.  Eventually, at his urging and her nieces' cajoling, she'd  returned to the rink for a half hour or so, skating around the oval with the two little girls a few times before they'd ended up on the ice directly in front of him.  They – Heather included – had shown him every trick they knew how to do on skates, while Jake had cheered and clapped.  Finally, Andrew had told the girls that it was time to go, and Heather had decided that they needed to head over to John's and Kerry's for their dinner date.

Dinner had been low-key, fun, and surprisingly enlightening.  Jake – who had already considered Kerry an ally – had been surprised by how much he'd enjoyed getting to know John, who was both more outgoing and more thoughtful out of his older brothers' shadows.  Heather had said that Stanley reminded her of Andrew, but for Jake, it was John who reminded him of Stanley.  Remarkably, John had even sympathized with Jake about his ankle, talking about the knee injury that had put an end to his college hockey career – and all hope of turning pro – halfway through his senior season.  "They didn't yank my scholarship, luckily, and there really wasn't much chance I coulda actually made a career of it," John had shrugged, "But it still sucked."

"No, I get it," Jake had said.  "I like my job, but I'm still not sure I wanna go back in the field," he'd surprised himself by admitting.  "Not – not after taking a tire iron to the ankle.  I'm pretty sure he was aiming for my knee, but he was high or drunk or both, so…."

Heather had never heard that detail before, and it had taken her a moment to react.  "A tire iron?" she'd repeated, her voice cracking.  "I mean, I knew you were in the hospital, had a concussion, but you never – you never told me that."

Under the table, Jake had found her hand, gripping it gently.  "I didn't think you'd like that part too much," he'd told her, "And it's not really a great memory for me."

"Crap, man," John had interjected, "I wouldn't want to go back to a job that landed me in the hospital, either."

Stroking the back of Heather's hand with his thumb, Jake had shrugged.  "It's not all the time.  Honestly, it's pretty boring a lotta the time.  That particular day was just … really, really bad."

"You okay, Heth?" Kerry had asked then, smiling sympathetically.

"Yeah," she'd nodded, her eyes on Jake.  "Doesn't mean I don't wish you hadn't had to go through that," she had told him.

"But if I hadn't, I wouldn't have taken leave, and I'd be back in Denver – not Jericho – and I wouldn't have met you," he'd countered.  "Busted ankle and a coupl'a days in the hospital?  Versus you?" Jake had continued, pantomiming weighing the choice.  "I'm good with how things turned out."

"Fine, if you're gonna play the destiny card," Heather had grumbled, offering him a wobbly smile and then a kiss.

"Still, a tire iron?" John had muttered, shaking his head.   "God, that's gotta hurt.  I mean, all I did was zig when I shoulda zagged, and at least I can still play hockey."

"Hey, I can still do my job.  And, most days, my ankle's fine," Jake had assured, draping his arm over the back of Heather's chair.  "But," he'd added, chuckling softly, "I've never played hockey, and I don't think I'll be takin' it up now."

"Well, you've got a good excuse," John had told him.

"And, you'll just hafta hang out with Deb and Mandy and cheer," Kerry had teased.  "They'll love it."

At breakfast that morning, Heather had told Jake that she was going to mass with her father.  "Not that I require my grown children to attend church," Joe had been quick to inform Jake when he'd said that he'd like to come too.  Heather, getting Jake alone ten minutes later, had reminded him that he really didn't need to come with them but, kissing away the skeptical look she'd given him, Jake had promised not to fidget too much, and Heather had conceded that, maybe, this qualified as a special occasion.  At the church, they had run into Tommy, Mandy and the girls, ending up sitting in the pew behind the young family.  Jake, warned ahead of time by Heather, had stayed behind while the Lisinskis had gone up for communion, Tommy somehow managing it all with his baby daughter asleep against his shoulder. 

After the service, Mandy had held them back, waving over an older couple that had turned out to be her parents.  "Mom, Dad," she'd gushed, "This is Jake, Heather's fiancé."  They'd attracted some attention, and in the end, Jake had been introduced to the Lisinskis' three doors down neighbors, one of Heather's grade school classmates, and Sister Patricia, Heather's high school principal. 

Then on the way out of the church, Joe had suggested they stop by the office to see if they could get a wedding packet.  Heather had balked at first, only agreeing when her father had reminded, "If you want to get married in July, then you need to start the process now.  The six months is required, sweetheart."

Jake waited until Joe left the kitchen before catching Heather's hand in his own.  He pulled her toward him, and grinning at him, she dropped onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.  "Hello!" she teased, kissing him gently.

"Hey," he murmured, watching her intently as she pulled, reluctantly, away.  "So this six months thing your Dad mentioned…" he questioned, playing with her hand. 

"It's a Catholic thing.  The required premarital preparation period," she shrugged.  "Six months at a minimum.  Plus there's classes and some other stuff." 

"Huh," Jake nodded.  "Well that explains why my parents weren't married in the Catholic Church," he told her.  "I always figured it was to appease Grams, but maybe not.  They were engaged for over a year, but when they got married it was a pretty quick thing, over Dad's two week leave between his first and second tours in Vietnam."

"Well, in your mother's place, I'd have done the same thing," she said, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.   "Now, if I'd been thinking," she continued, sighing, "I guess I would have gone by the church on Friday, and saved Niagara Falls for another day.  But frankly," Heather admitted, "I was more interested in spending time with you than complying with church law."  She offered him a thin smile and pointed at the blue folder that lay on the table.  "When we get back to Jericho, I'll just have to see how much of this I can do by phone."

"'Kay," Jake agreed.  "But there's stuff we can do now?" he prompted, reaching around her for the folder. 

Heather stopped him, putting her hand over his.  "Well, there's stuff in there we probably should talk about."  She'd made Jake take the front passenger seat when her father had driven them home from the church, and while the two of them had chatted, Heather, sitting alone in the backseat, had looked over the materials in the folder.  It was all information that she supposed she'd always known, but it had never really been pertinent until now, and she wasn't sure how she felt about some of it. 

Letting out another deep breath she puckered her lips at him, smiling against his mouth when he correctly interpreted the invitation to kiss her.  "There's some forms and some handouts.  How 'bout we adjourn to the living room, and we can just look at everything?"

"You got it," he agreed, holding onto her hand as she stood up and then for as long as he could before he was forced to let go so she could cross the room to retrieve a couple of pens from the cup next to the phone.  Jake picked up the blue folder, following her out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the living room.

"Okay, we're each supposed to fill this form out," Heather told him, pulling a piece of paper out of the folder.  They were once again sitting on the love seat, Heather with her legs crossed underneath her and leaning against Jake, who draped one arm around her shoulders as she handed him the form.  "We'll have to meet separately with the priest – Father Bouchard from this morning, probably – and these are the questions he'll ask."

Heather watched Jake as he read the front of the form and then flipped it over to read the back.  "So, some paperwork and a meeting with a priest," he acknowledged, nodding.  "I guess we're gonna hafta come back sometime soon to do that."

"Yeah, probably," she agreed.  "But, Jake, there's more.  Your parents have to both fill out one of these," Heather informed him, fishing another form out of the folder. 

Taking the paper from her, Jake looked it over quickly.  "You're sure my Dad needs to fill this out?" he asked.  "I don't know that he'll actually sign something that says he believes I'm 'sufficiently mature' enough to handle marriage."

"Jake…" she reproved gently. 

"Well, he likes you, so he'll probably sign it," he conceded.

"Obviously my Mom can't do one of these for me, so I think I'll ask Aunt Gerri," Heather sighed.  Licking her lips nervously, she turned her head so that their gazes locked.  "So, you're really okay with these?  Some of this stuff… it's pretty personal."

"I think that's the point," Jake chuckled, cupping her chin with one hand and then kissing her.  "It's like the first step to weeding people out, right?  Separating the men from the boys," he teased.

"And, we both know which you are," Heather flirted in return.

Jake smiled at that, telling her, "I sure hope so.  Look, babe," he continued a few seconds later, retrieving the now slightly crumpled forms from the arm of the loveseat, "There isn't anything here that I don't agree with, that I'm not willing to sign.  'Do you sincerely intend a permanent marriage, one that excludes divorce?'" he quoted.  "Yes, absolutely," Jake confirmed, squeezing her hand.  "And you know what, Stanley and I made a pact when we were kids that we'd live to a hundred, so that pretty much means one day we're gonna be celebrating our seventieth anniversary, okay?"

"So now I have to live to be ninety five?" Heather giggled.

"Yup," Jake confirmed.

"Why'd you make the pact?" she inquired, wrapping her arm around Jake's and letting her head rest against his shoulder.

"We were like eight – maybe nine – and we were mad because everyone kept telling us what to do," Jake explained, pressing a row of kisses along her hairline.  "And there was this one day, coupl'a days, really, when our Moms nixed everything we wanted to do, and then made us do what they wanted us to do," he chuckled.  "Chores, mostly.  Finally, we were so mad we hid out in my tree house for a really long time.  Felt like it anyway, though probably it wasn't even an hour," he admitted.  "But we talked about it, and decided that by the time we lived to be a hundred, then there couldn't possibly be anyone left who could tell us what to do, so…."

"That…" Heather breathed, turning so she could twine her arms around his neck, "Is…."  She pressed her mouth to his, "Adorable."

"You know, you completely wrinkled these," Jake accused, grinning, when they finally separated. He held up his copies of the forms.  "This one's even torn."

Heather rolled her eyes.  "I've got another set I can always photocopy."

Making a show of smoothing out the paper, Jake cleared his throat and then read the next question.  "'Do you sincerely intend to be faithful to your partner always?'  That would be another definite yes," he declared.  "And, 'are you open to having children from this marriage?'" he quoted, "Yes.  Eventually."

"Well, don't write that down," Heather warned.  "I mean, a priest – and, who knows who else – is gonna read that," she clarified.  "Plus, there's a flyer in the packet for a Natural Family Planning class that is also recommended we take."  For a moment they simply stared at one another.  Finally, she let out a sigh.  "Jake, I told you, I'm really not that Catholic."

"I thought – I thought this is what you wanted, since you were ten and your uncle paid you to get married after Easter," Jake reminded.

Heather nodded.  "That was so he could take communion," she explained.  "But you can't take communion since you're not Catholic.  The packet recommends that we don't have the full wedding mass, just the wedding ceremony itself."  Heather covered her face with her hands and emitted a long, frustrated noise.  "Right now, I don't think I know what I want," she confessed finally.  "I mean, I used to want all that," she said, pointing at the folder on the coffee table.  "I wanted the pretty dress, and my Dad walking me down the aisle, and all my family there….  I even wanted the mass.  But now… you're the most important part, that's all just … just trappings."

She reached for the form he still held, forgotten, in one hand.  "This bothers me," Heather announced, pointing at the offending words at the top of the backside of the form.  "It says that you not being Catholic is an obstacle.  That it's a diri – a diriment impediment," she read, "Whatever the heck that is – just like impotence or consanguinity."

"Or adoption," Jake added, taking the paper away from her.  He flashed her a tentative grin, adding, "See, it's a good thing I warned you not to sign anything my mother gave you, just in case it was adoption papers." 

A smile teased at her lips, but died without fully developing.  "If we get married in the Catholic Church…. Well, actually, we can't, not without approval from the Diocesan Marriage Tribunal, which sure sounds like a fun bunch," Heather grumbled.   "And I'll have to sign a form swearing that I'll do everything I can to raise our children as Catholic –"

"You should raise our kids Catholic," he interrupted, capturing her hand tightly in his.  "I mean, they have to be raised somehow – with something – and Catholic seems like the logical option."  Jake paused a few seconds, studying her expression, before asking, "Babe, you do know I believe in God, right?"

"I know that," she assured, "Of course I know that, Jake.  You just have issues with omnipotence and other stuff.  It's okay to question."

"Exactly.  Issues with omnipotence," he agreed, squeezing her fingers.  "But absolutely no issues with impotence," Jake added with an affectionate leer, "'Cause that is a completely different thing."

Heather chuckled huskily.  "I know that, too."

"That ended up sounding a little crasser than I meant it to," Jake confessed a moment later, tipping her chin up and then running the pad of his thumb over her lower lip.  "You said it first," he reminded, "And then it was in my head, and … I really just wanted to make you laugh," he told her, brushing his mouth over hers.

"I know that, three," she joked.

"But, babe, I swear to you, I believe in God," he continued, pulling far enough back from her that he could see her entire face, watch her eyes and expression.  "I think there is one, and I don't have anything – anything against him.  I just – I just can't do the 'go to church every week' thing.  But when we have kids, I want them to know about God, about everything.  I want – I want our kids to have your faith."

He held up his hands then, smiling at Heather when she recognized his intention and pressed her palms to his, weaving their fingers together.  "I wanna marry you, Heather," Jake declared.  "And, I want to be married to you for the rest of my life – forever.  But I don't really care how we get there.  If it’s the big church wedding you played at having when you were a little girl, great.  If we just go to the courthouse, that's fine too.  Buffalo, Jericho, wherever.  I just wanna get married however will make you feel like we did it right, however makes you feel married."

Jake watched as Heather's eyes filled up, but she was smiling, too, so he assumed he'd said the right thing.  She started to lean toward him, murmuring, "Jake –" but whatever else she was going to say was cut off by the sound of a throat being cleared behind them.   She whipped her head around to see her father standing just outside the living room, at the foot of the staircase, in the entry.  "Dad!" Heather squeaked, "Oh my God!  How long have you been standing there?!?"

Joe looked almost as embarrassed as Heather did – and she'd turned pretty red – but somehow he managed to answer, chuckling softly at himself.  "Well, I think all eavesdroppers end up hearing more than they want to," he told them, "Though I was an accidental eavesdropper, I promise you.  I only came downstairs to get a glass of water," he explained, "Not – not to interfere."

But despite his claim that he wasn't interfering, Joe didn't continue on into the kitchen, and instead just stood there, studying them.  Finally, after watching each other uncomfortably for nearly a half minute, Heather gave in, surmising, "You think we should get married in the church."

"Of course I do," Joe replied mildly.  He moved into the living room, taking a seat on the edge of the arm chair closest to the loveseat Jake and Heather were sitting on.  "That's how your mother and I raised you, sweetheart.  What we always assumed."

"You also assumed I'd marry someone from Buffalo, someone who's Catholic," she argued.

"Yes," he conceded with a sigh, "But that doesn't mean I'm unhappy with how things are turning out.  Far from it."

"Well, when I read these papers," she said, retrieving the forms from Jake's lap, "What I get is that my church is making the – the bureaucratic judgment, I guess – that it would've been better for me to marry Mark Metzger than Jake.  Just – just because Mark's baptized Catholic, and Jake's not.  That doesn't make any sense."

"Heather, that's not what those forms are about, and it's not what the church is about either," Joe chided.  "The church doesn't want you marrying anyone that you don't love with your whole heart, and all of this… hoopla, it's just to make sure that's true." 

"Right," she mumbled, though it was clear that she didn't completely agree.  Heather glanced sideways at Jake, taking reassurance from his gentle smile and the love she saw in his eyes.  "But, Dad, it is true."

"I know that," Joe confirmed.  He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath.   "I want you both to know that you have my blessing," he said, meeting first his daughter's gaze, and then her fiancé's.  "So while I would prefer that you marry in the church, what is most important to me is that whatever decision you make, you don't make it in haste or out of spite, okay?"

Nodding, Heather agreed.  "Okay, Dad.  Thanks.  But however we decide to get married, that's our decision."

"That it is," he conceded.  Joe offered them both a tentative smile and, standing up, announced, "I'm going to get that glass of water.  And then, next time I come downstairs, I'll try to make a little more noise, save us all some embarrassment."

With that, Joe headed into the dining room and then the kitchen.  Jake and Heather sat together, not talking, until he came back through the house – not even a minute later – carrying his glass of water.  Finally, when they could no longer hear his stomping on the staircase, Heather was able to relax, leaning back against Jake who tugged on her hand to get her attention.  "I'm, uh, sorry, I accidentally told your dad we're sleeping together."

She chuckled nervously.  "That's okay," Heather assured him, turning to kiss his cheek.  "I'm sure the thought had already crossed his mind anyway, especially since my brothers kept accusing me of being pregnant.  Besides, I think at this point he's a lot more concerned about the state of my immortal soul than with my virginity," she declared, resting her head on his shoulder, her nose and mouth pressed against his neck.

"Babe…" Jake protested feebly.

"It's gonna be okay, Jake, I promise," she interrupted.  "In my head I know all of this is pro forma, and I just need to get over it.  And, I will," she sighed, smiling against his neck.  "Long as you don't mind, 'cause whatever we end up doing, you're probably gonna hafta sign that form, or one just like it.  For the preservation of my immortal soul."

"Hey, I'm good with the form," Jake insisted, shifting so that she lifted her head from his shoulder.  "Though, I hafta say," he teased, showing her his now completely destroyed form, "This particular copy is pretty much toast."  Then, cupping her face in both his hands, Jake brought his mouth down on top of hers, kissing her gently, sweetly, and completely.  "However you want, babe," he reminded when they finally broke apart.  Jake rested his forehead against hers, smiling, "Whatever we have to do.  Because I love you."


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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs
 

"Kansas City," April announced suddenly and loudly, drawing the attention of her three companions.  "Oh my God!" she complained, sitting up so she could reach over, across the space that separated them on the sofa, and hit Jeff in the stomach with the paperback novel she'd been trying to read for a month.  She'd gotten further into the book over the last three days, since the airdrop, than she had during the rest of December.  It was a lot easier to read or play a game, to while away time, when you weren't constantly faint with hunger.

"That's what you've been humming all day, driving me crazy?" she accused the younger man, shaking her head.  "Kansas City!?!"

Heather exchanged smiles with her mother-in-law.  The two of them were sitting in chairs on either side of the fireplace, Gail crocheting a baby blanket by the light of the fire.  Heather had been working on one of the last puzzles in a Sudoku book she'd bought at LAX the summer before as she'd travelled between Hawaii and Buffalo, but she had felt the beginnings of a headache from straining so hard to see the page, and she'd set the book aside.  She could have joined April and Jeff, availing herself of the light thrown off by the lantern they were sharing, but she hadn't wanted to give up the warmth of the fire.

"You mean like, 'I'm goin' to Kansas City, Kansas City here I come'?" Heather sang, laughing at herself.

Grinning, Jeff confirmed the song, singing in return, "'They've got some pretty little women there, and I'm gonna get me one.'"

"Those aren't the words," Gail said then, her mild tone hinting at a suppressed chuckle.

"Sure they are," Jeff contradicted, though a second later he asked, "Well then, what are the words?"

"'They've got a crazy way of lovin' there, and I'm gonna get me some,'" she answered, giving into laughter.  "Those are the original lyrics, at least.  I was twelve or thirteen when that song first became popular, and I assure you, it was scandalous, at least in my house.  My father wouldn't let my little sister or me listen to the radio for a month after he caught us singing along with Kansas City," Gail confessed.  "Oh, the fifties."

"I can work with those words," Jeff declared, grinning and making a clicking noise with his tongue.

"Of course you can," April snorted.  "So," she continued, peering at him closely.  "Are you goin' to Kansas City?  Or is this just part of the karaoke machine in your brain?"

"Karaoke," he returned easily, "I'm not goin' anywhere, perfectly happy where I am."

"God, I wish August could meet you," April announced suddenly.  She threw her book down on the coffee table and stretched her arms over her head, yawning softly.  "You are just the kind of guy for my sister, karaoke brain and all."  She smiled at him.  "She'd probably love that the most."

"Well, maybe now that the worst of it's over, the Glendenning girls will get together again," Heather suggested with a grin. 

Jeff nodded his head absently.  "So is August like you?"

"We're both redheads," April informed him.  "Other than that, not really," she laughed.  "For one, she pretty much passes out or hurls at the sight of blood.  She's a speech therapist," April sighed, "And she's just a lotta fun."

"They're all redheads," Heather told Jeff.  "When the Glendenning girls come to town, and we go somewhere, I'm always the odd one out," she explained, waving a lock of her chestnut hair at him. 

"You're still an honorary one of us," April assured.

"Is this the one with a kid, or the one without a kid?" Jeff inquired.

April's gaze narrowed.  "Does it matter?"

He grinned at her bravely.  "Nope, just tryin' to get the full picture."

"Blake is Autumn's son," April answered.  "August is completely unencumbered.  As far as I know, she doesn't even have a boyfriend.  And she's the right age for you.  Twenty five."

"Where's she live?" Jeff asked, starting to sound interested.

"Las Cruces," was all that April had time to say before they heard a key rattling in the front door, and their collective attention turned toward the entry.

Johnston entered the living room first, followed closely by Jake and Michael, both of whom were without their coats.  Seeing them, Gail jumped to her feet, abandoning her crochet project on her chair.  "Jake!  Look at you!" she clucked, "You've – you've been running around all day in nothing but a sweatshirt –"

"Against medical advice," April interjected.

"– And now you don't even have that," Gail complained, reaching her son's side.

Somehow, April appeared at his other elbow.  "You were hypothermic three days ago, Jake," she reminded.  "Three days!  Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"Come, sit," Gail directed, leading him toward her chair next to the fireplace.  She retrieved the half-finished baby blanket, and pushed on his shoulder until he sat down.  "You need to warm up," she insisted.  "What happened to your sweatshirt?"

"Shush," April ordered when he tried to answer, shoving a thermometer into his mouth.  "I need to take your temperature, make sure you haven't undone all our hard work."

Vacating her seat, Heather moved the two steps to Jake's side.  "Sorry," she whispered leaning close to his ear, her hand finding its way into his hair.

Now Gail's eyes fell on Michael.  "Where is your jacket, young man?" she demanded.

"Mikey, you sit by the fire, too," Heather instructed, pointing him toward her empty chair.

"Everything – everything's just on the porch," her brother muttered.  For a moment, Heather thought he was going to ignore her offer, but finally he trudged across the room.  "Our clothes," he complained, dropping into the chair, "They smell bad."

"Jake and Michael were helpin' Stanley out with somethin'," Johnston volunteered.  He hadn't thought the odor was nearly as bad as they claimed – though he'd declined the three men's invitation to stick his head in the tank and smell for himself – but they had driven back from the Richmond Ranch with the windows rolled down, all of their teeth chattering some from the cold.  Still, Michael had pulled his jacket off as he'd exited the truck's cab, and seeing this, Jake had quickly followed suit.   "It's a long story.  But I think a cup of tea would be good for us all.  Warm us up nicely."

"Yes, good idea," Gail agreed.  "And dinner.  You boys need to eat dinner."

"I'm on it," Heather announced, extracting her hand from Jake's hair and pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head.  "Three teas, coming right up," she promised.  Gail had left the kettle heating on the fire after she'd made her own cup of tea forty five minutes before, and so Heather had only to remove – with oven mitts – the kettle from the fire and then pour the hot water into mugs.  Johnston joined her at the mantle, taking his cup and Michael's, leaving Heather to carry Jake's tea to him.

"This is every unclaimed coat I could find in this house," Gail announced, coming back into the living room from the dining room with an armful of parkas, ski jackets and barn coats.  She dropped everything onto the coffee table.  "Jake, pick your favorite," she commanded.

"Ninety seven and a half," April declared, shaking down the thermometer.  "Not hypothermic," she admitted, "But still not good."

"Okay," Heather said, cutting off both her mother- and sister-in-law before they could launch into their next round of lecturing.  "Jake's starting to look a little hen-pecked," she claimed, perching herself on the arm of her husband's chair.  "Time to back off or I'm gonna be in trouble for letting you guys do my dirty work."

Jake, his hands wrapped around the mug as he tried to soak up its' heat while his tea steeped, blinked hard, twice.  "Yep, you're in big trouble now, babe," he yawned.

"So Mikey," April began, turning to eye the younger man.  "What happened today?  You totally blew off your shift," she complained. 

Michael glanced toward his sister, but apparently, tonight, her protective impulses did not extend to him.  "I'm sorry," he grumbled.  "Something important came up."

"I hope it was," April returned.  "Drake's pulling a double tonight to cover for you, so you need to be at the med center by six tomorrow morning to relieve him," she informed him.  "For your own double shift," she added.

"You didn't stay?" Michael asked Jeff, frowning.  The two of them never made a big deal of it, but they didn't usually let Drake stay at the clinic overnight without one of them with him, just in case.

Jeff got up from his seat on the couch, sauntering across the room. "I've got border patrol at six AM tomorrow, double shifts, all through the holiday," he explained, stopping next to Michael's chair.  He wasn't standing exactly in front of the fire, but it was warmer, and he couldn't keep from holding his hands out to thaw them out some.  "Mrs. Crenshaw was havin' a hard time filling slots, so… unless things have changed?" he suggested, glancing at Jake.

"Nothin's changed," Jake returned, shaking his head tiredly.  He took a testing sip of his tea, holding the warm liquid in his mouth for a long moment.  His father had told them during the drive home that he and his mother had decided they would tell April the truth about the marines in the morning, over breakfast.  Jake and Michael were welcome to tell Jeff, Drake and Heather however they wished – or they could leave it until breakfast – but Johnston and Gail had thought that the truth might be easier to face in the light of day.  "We're keeping the border patrol in place for the foreseeable future," Jake offered, "Until we see how things shake out."

"Gotcha," Jeff acknowledged.  "Well then, I think I'm gonna head to bed."

"Yeah, me too," Michael said, finishing off his tea and forcing himself to stand up. 

"After you have your dinner, Michael," Gail admonished.  Wrapping one arm around him, she pulled him toward the kitchen.  "There's some for you, Jake," she reminded, "And you, too, Johnston."

A moment later, only Jake, Heather and April were left in the living room.  Jake gulped down the rest of his tea, and pulling himself up out of his chair with a groan, moved to the pile of coats that his mother had left on the coffee table, picking through it quickly.  It was obvious to Heather that there wasn't much there that interested him.

"I know where I moved a couple of your old coats last time I organized the hall closet at home," she said, looping her arm through his.  "Actually, there's probably one or two in the hall closet still.  Wasn't thinking far enough ahead back in October when we packed up.  Just pick one for now," she advised, "And we can head out there…."  She looked at her sister-in-law.  "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," April answered a few seconds later.  "Yeah, tomorrow's okay.  But, in general, my medical advice is to take it easy, okay?  And," she continued, fixing a hard stare on Jake, "Avoid strenuous activities for the next few days, okay?"

"You're makin' Heather blush, you know," Jake returned blandly – and without bothering to look at his wife, who had pressed her face into his shoulder, most likely to hide her embarrassment.

"With good reason," April smirked.  "That definitely falls into the category of 'strenuous activities' you need to avoid," she declared, rolling her eyes at him.  "And another thing –"

Heather lifted her head off Jake's shoulder, her nose wrinkling.  "You still have something to say after that?" she interrupted, her tone incredulous.

"Yes," April confirmed.  "Because I know it's tradition and all, and you two are headin' out to the ranch, but this year can you skip the pilgrimage to the water tower, please?"

Jake glanced at Heather, shrugging and offering her a tired smile.  "That we can do," she agreed, answering for them both.  "Given my condition I didn't think the climb would be such a great idea anyway, and now that we're the walking wounded and the waddling with child… that," she sighed, "We can skip."

Jake, though, had another concern.  "So, this avoiding strenuous activities thing….  Is that two days or three?"

"Yes!" April huffed, trying not to laugh.

"Fine," Jake grumbled.  "Can I take a shower?  'Cause it's been awhile, and now –"

"His clothes really do smell kinda funky," Heather supplied.  "See for yourself," she suggested, pulling at Jake's shirt.

"I'll take your word for it," April assured, rolling her eyes and taking a step back – away – from the couple.  "And yes, you can take a shower," she agreed, "Better if you waited 'til tomorrow, but since you're not gonna listen to me, keep it short and sweet, okay?"

* * * * *

Heather knocked perfunctorily on the bathroom door before pushing it open enough to stick her head in.  "Jake, I'm coming in, okay?" she called out, stepping into the cold room and closing the door behind her.

"You gonna join me?" he teased in return, though she could also hear a shiver – not the good kind – in his voice.

"Not that far in," she laughed, "I'm not seein' any steam coming out of that shower, so that's a definite pass."  Heather paused a moment, sighing, "I'm just here to steal your clothes, hon."

"And, if I just had a dollar for every time you've said that to –"

"You'd have five, ten bucks, max," Heather interrupted, giggling softly.  "Now, if you had a dollar for every time I've actually borrowed your clothes – especially the last few months – then you might be a hundredaire," she reasoned, picking his jeans up off the floor where he'd dropped them.  "But I usually don't tell you when I'm taking them.  Just take 'em."

"Okay, I'll give you that," Jake conceded, turning around in the shower. 

Heather checked Jake's pockets, and was momentarily surprised to find them empty.  But he hadn't been upstairs since before he'd left on that disastrous hunting trip, she realized, and he'd left his keys – Stanley had been driving after all – and pocket knife on the dresser that fateful morning four days earlier.  "Though it should be noted that I say this as the woman who is currently wearing your sweatshirt," she informed him, folding his jeans and holding them against her pregnant belly while she bent over, reaching for his shirts and underwear.  "And your flannel shirt."

"Duly noted," Jake acknowledged, his teeth chattering.  "So why're you stealing my smelly clothes?"

"Because they need to go outside," she informed him, catching a noxious whiff off the t-shirt he'd been wearing.  "Yuck!" Heather declared, grimacing.  "And, I'm even gonna wash them for you – probably not tomorrow, but soon.  But remember, you don't tell Mikey or it's a fate worse than death, mister."

Chuckling quietly, Jake turned off the water and pulled the shower curtain back, reaching for a towel. "Hope that was short enough, 'cause it sure wasn't sweet," he groaned, trembling from the ice cold water. He made a strangled, frustrated noise and began scrubbing himself down with the towel, figuring that the friction would warm him, at least infinitesimally, if nothing else.

He glanced then at Heather, who was standing in front of the sink, his clothes balled up under one arm and her other hand over her mouth. Her expression was stricken. "Babe, what's wrong?"

Eyes wide, she stared back at him. "I – I can't believe I said that," she confessed, a hint of hysteria in her tone. "Jake, I'm – I'm so sorry."

"Said what?" he asked, confused.

"Fate worse than death," Heather squeaked, her eyes cast downward.  "I – I wasn't thinking."

"Babe – Heather, it's okay," he told her.  Taking one last swipe at his chest, Jake quickly tied the towel off around his hips and took a step toward his wife. "I thought it was funny," he insisted, adding "I did," when she looked up, her expression incredulous.  Pulling his clothes out of her arms and dumping them on the floor, he grabbed both of her hands, clutching them in his. "I'm not dead, Heather. I probably should be, but I'm not, okay?"

She frowned at him. "Jake, you're freezing," she complained as he continued to shiver.  "And -"

"I'm freezin' my ass off here," he agreed, "But I'm not dead."  Jake let go of her hands so he could cup the back of her head, gently forcing her closer until he could brush a kiss across her mouth.  "I think that's good news for both of us," he told her, attempting a grin.  "And since I can think of about five fates that are worse than death – and four of 'em would pretty much start with me pissin' you off – I will somehow manage to not tell your brother you're washin' my clothes," he promised as another shudder ran through him. "Even though –" Jake paused long enough to exhale shakily, "Even though I'm pretty sure he's aware that our laundry regularly comingles."

"Jake," Heather protested, her eyes filling with tears.

"Hey, that was s'posed to be funny.  You're s'posed to laugh, not cry," he argued, squeezing her hand.

"Fine," Heather returned, fighting a smile.  "But you know what will really piss me off?" she asked rhetorically a few seconds later.  "If you get pneumonia or come down with hypothermia again, that's what."

"That'd piss me off too," Jake agreed, offering her a lopsided grin. 

She started to lean down to pick up the clothes he'd thrown on the floor, objecting when Jake tried to help her.  "I can still bend over," Heather insisted, "This week at least.  I can't make any promises about next week."  Standing back up, she glared benignly at him, ordering, "Go put some clothes on, Jake.  Your dinner's sitting on the desk, and it's not gonna get any warmer.  I'm gonna take care of these," she added, adjusting the bundle of clothes in her arms.

"Okay," he sighed, following her out the bathroom door.  "Hey," Jake said, stopping her when she turned toward the staircase.  "We're good, right?"

"We are better than good," Heather smiled.  "Now stop tryin' to piss me off.  I'll be right back."

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

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 14G.

I really can't believe I need a part G (for Semper Fi!) but our lovebirds needed to have long talks in both timelines, so there is still more to come.


Oh Hell is a trick-taking card game that's lots of fun, especially in a group. 
"Kansas City" is a rhythm and blues song written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller in 1952.  More than 300 versions of the song have been recorded.  The version Gail heard as a child would have been Little Willie Littlefield's recording.  April, Heather and Jeff are more familiar with Fats Domino's recording.

Lastly, the requirements for marriage within the Catholic Church vary from diocese to diocese, but I did try to choose requirements that are reasonably universal (the six month pre-marital preparation period, pre-cana classes etc.).  The forms that Heather and Jake were looking at are actual forms, but they are not from the Diocese of Buffalo. (Though it is possible/probable that Buffalo has similar forms.)

Part 14G by Marzee Doats

Different Circumstances: Part 14G of ? by Marzee Doats


Author's Note: Giant gobs of thanks to my magnificent beta reader, Skyrose, who helps rein in (some of) my too long sentences, and who made some very important suggestions and asked some piercing questions that really helped improve this part (and added 3 to 4 additional pages).  Thanks also to Sherry, for all her positive feedback and encouragement. 

Warnings: So this is a really long part, even for me.  It's close to 20,000 words of actual story, and my copy of the files says that it's 43 pages long.  This one may take some time to read.  There aren't any real content warnings on this one… just beware that I've delved into my box of untold backstory quite a bit for this part, so plenty of revelation ahead!

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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

The bedroom was dark except for a small and – Jake presumed – battery-powered lantern that was sitting on the dresser. The lantern was new, from the airdrop he was sure, given its resemblance to the Italian flag: green cap, white LED glowing from within the globe, and a red base. Right next to the lantern, Heather had put out a pair of long underwear, a not so subtle hint to layer, and he caught himself chuckling appreciatively through his chattering teeth. He picked up the thermal shirt and sniffed it, enjoying the clean, line-dried scent. Despite her claims to the contrary, Heather did more of his laundry – now, especially – than he did, a fact he was gratefully aware of as he dug a clean t-shirt, sweatpants and two pairs of socks out of the dresser.

Hurriedly, he pulled everything on but the socks and then, taking the lantern with him, crossed to the desk and threw himself down in the chair so he could don those as well. There were four packages of bright yellow "D" batteries sitting on the desk – for the lantern Jake assumed, recognizing their origin as IKEA, so maybe they owed some thanks to the Swedes as well as the Italians. And, as Heather has promised, his dinner was waiting for him: a small piece of grilled fish on top of a bowl of what Jake was pretty sure was wild mushroom risotto. It was warm – though not hot – and easy to swallow, and it tasted pretty good, too, after days – weeks – of nothing but corn supplemented by the occasional egg. There was a giant insulated mug of tea as well, and that was still hot, nearly boiling, and even though it practically scalded his throat, Jake downed it eagerly.

"Are you decent?" Heather asked, sticking her head through the door and pulling Jake out of his meditation on his meal.

He yawned. "Are you bringing someone with you?" Jake inquired in return, frowning. He was tired – exhausted, really – and even though he loved his mother – loved April – he didn't really want to deal with either of them any more tonight. He wanted Heather there, but only her, no one else.

"Nah," she answered, closing the door behind her. She turned toward him, flashing a smile and holding up the now familiar thermometer. "Unless your temperature is less than ninety-seven," she explained. "April's freaking out about letting you take a shower. So if it's really low I'm s'posed to get her."

"Hand it over," he demanded, sighing.

Smiling, Heather shook her head. "Eat your dinner first," she ordered, moving to perch herself on the edge of the bed.

"Here," Jake offered, starting to stand up. The bed, dresser, and desk were all the same furniture that he'd grown up with, after he and Eric had been given their own rooms, and more than twenty years later, there was still only the one chair. "Babe, take it."

"I'm fine, Jake, I swear," she told him, waving him back into his seat. "You're eating, and it's just better this way."

They stared at one another for a long moment before he gave in, conceding, "Yeah, okay, no food in the bed."

"Exactly," she chuckled. "Do you want more?" Heather asked, quickly assuring, "There's more of both, but I only brought you a small bowl, because the rest of us overate the first day and got sick," she admitted, making a face. While the rest of the family had been partaking in the bounty of the airdrop, Jake – who'd slept through most of the excitement anyway – had been restricted to broth and a few crackers. "First time I'd thrown up in two months, and just a big waste of good food," Heather declared.

"Nah, I'm good," he said, shaking his head. "This – this seems like a lot, actually." Hearing his own words out loud, Jake rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean," he told her. "And if eating's gonna make me sick…." He yawned again, staring into the bowl. He'd finished off the fish in four bites, but there was still some of the risotto left, and he held the bowl up, showing Heather. "You want this?"

"What I want is for you to eat it," she countered. But there was nothing but affection for him in her voice, and so he took a deep breath and then his next forkful. "This is gonna sound crazy," Heather continued, "But I think I'm actually full."

"Three meals a day'll do that for ya," Jake reminded, snorting. Gray had hit him where he'd known it would hurt when he'd asked if Jake wanted his wife to have food in a month. Of course he did. And the fact of the matter was, he'd sacrifice a lot to make sure that Heather, their baby, and the whole family could eat; he'd even sacrifice Roger's band of refugees. That thought left a sour taste in his mouth which he tried to banish by taking another long drink of tea. "So, does B.G. like risotto?" he asked teasingly a few seconds later.

Heather grinned at that. "B.G. loves risotto," she declared. "And pesto and Alfredo sauce and minestrone, which was a surprise," she joked, "Because it's never been my favorite. And, ooh!" Heather continued, getting up and then moving to his side. She reached over him, past the pile of batteries, to pick up a small salad plate on which sat three dried apricots. She handed the plate to him. "B.G. loves apricots. And so does the other B.G.," she laughed. "April and I really had more than our fair share, but you know things are getting better when we sorta have dessert again."

"You guys can have 'em," he said, trying to give the plate back. He stood up slowly, shifting so he could rest his free hand on the flannel-covered mound of her pregnancy. The baby wasn't moving, at least not enough that he could tell, but he left his hand where it was, soaking up the warmth that radiated off of Heather. "You want the chair?"

"Uh-uh," Heather returned, a note of exasperation coloring her tone. "I've had seven already," she confessed, "So definitely more than my share. And Jake," she insisted, groaning a little at the memory, "They are so, so good. Just – eat them slow. They seriously need to be savored."

"That's your share, and B.G.'s," Jake reasoned, retaking his seat.

"It's not really supposed to work that way," Heather argued, "But that is how April and I figured it, egged on by your mom, of course."

"Grandma Gail strikes again," he teased, biting one of the dried apricots in half. The flavor surprised him, and he found himself – as Heather had instructed – savoring each bite as he chewed slowly. It had been a long time since he'd even thought about tasting what he ate; their meals were so skimpy, so monotonous, so completely unsatisfying, so quickly inhaled without a thought given to enjoyment. "This is good," he sighed, finally, grudgingly, swallowing.

"Told ya," she smiled, returning to her spot on the edge of the bed.

"Well, don't change your mind now, 'cause it's too late," he told her, popping the other half apricot into his mouth. "These are mine now." He focused his gaze on Heather. She was only a few feet away, but he had to squint to see her in the dim light, sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands folded protectively over their baby.  "We need another chair in here," he complained.

"Can we go out to the ranch tomorrow?" she asked, "Or do you need to put in an appearance on the border patrol?"

"Long as my doctor is restricting my activities, I think I can call in sick," Jake grumbled. "Mrs. C has it under control," he assured, "And today… probably, I did too much," he admitted.

"Probably," she agreed, snorting softly.

Jake took a bite of the second apricot, choosing to ignore the slight dig inherent in her comment. "So, I'm all yours for the next few days," he informed her. "Though apparently you can't just do anything you want with me," he reminded, leering at her tiredly, "But at least we can go out to the ranch."

"'Pesky restrictions," she complained, throwing him a sympathetic smile. "But do you think, between the two of us, we can get your grandmother's old rocking chair into Charlotte?" Heather inquired. "It's in the sewing room," she reminded, unnecessarily, "So we don't have to get it down the stairs, just into the truck. Well, there are stairs here," she realized, "But I can probably talk Jeff or Drake into moving it upstairs for me.  Probably not Mikey, 'cause, you know...."

"He hates getting stuck with jobs he thinks should go to me," Jake supplied.  "And yet he takes orders from my mom without asking why she's not givin' 'em to me."

"That's because she's a mom and now he's just one of her many kids," she explained, chuckling softly.   "Whereas, I'm Miss Bossy Heather.  But Jake, I love that chair, it's so comfortable and so well made, it's like a piece of art. Besides, we'll need it soon enough," Heather sighed, rubbing circles across her belly, "And it would solve the chair problem."

All Jake could do was nod. The sewing room had always been misnamed, though his grandmother's sewing machine had occupied one corner of the sunny room at the back of the ranch house. Heather, too, had added her own sewing machine the first winter after they were married, but despite some initial enthusiasm for learning a new skill, she had never really gotten the hang of it, instead utilizing the room mostly for storing her teaching supplies, alongside his grandmother's fifty plus years of astronomical logs. Jake knew the rocking chair she was interested in, too, having sat in it more than once when he'd kept her company while she sorted through a box or searched her collection of children's books for a specific title.  And now, in his mind's eye, he could see her sitting in that chair, nursing or just soothing their baby.  His throat tightened.  "We can handle it," he assured her thickly.

"Maybe … maybe we don't need to, though," Heather argued, "If things – if things are really gonna get better, if the worst is over… maybe, by the time the baby's born, we'll be taking him or her home to the ranch, like we always planned."

Despite the near darkness of the room, their eyes locked and she offered him a tentative, hopeful smile. Jake's stomach clenched as he realized that he'd missed his chance – for tonight anyway – to tell her that the marines weren't real, that they were the victims of a cruel hoax. He'd meant to tell her, he reassured himself, but he was tired, cold, hungry, and fixing all of that – just spending a few moments alone with her – had taken precedence. But he wouldn't – he couldn't – dash her hopes now. Not tonight.

"Heather, I hope so," he muttered, scrubbing his hand over his face so he didn't have to meet her eye. "That – that's what I want, too," he reminded, "You know I do. The ranch, it's our home. But I think – I think we need to wait and see how things shake out," Jake sighed, repeating the words he'd used earlier with Jeff. "God," he swore, "This was never the plan. Living in my childhood bedroom at this point in my life – our life."

"I know, Jake. But even I never had a plan for what's happened the last few months," she consoled. "And we both know, vacations aside, I'm a way better planner than you," Heather joked, slipping off the bed and coming to stand next to him. "Besides," she added, squeezing his shoulder, "I'd much rather live in this room with you than anywhere else without you, okay?"

"Okay," Jake agreed, craning his neck so he could look up at her. Heather took this as an invitation to kiss him. "But we will go home eventually," he told her when they separated. "I promise you that. You, too, B.G.," Jake continued, clearing his throat. He pressed his face into the side of Heather's belly, talking to their child. "'Cause you wanna learn how to ride a horse, doncha, B.G.?"

"You're plotting to turn our baby into a rodeo star, aren't you?" Heather accused, though she sounded perfectly pleased with the idea. "That'll completely freak my brothers out," she predicted, chuckling.

"Rodeo champ or pitcher for the Royals," Jake returned. "Either works for me."

"Me too," she confirmed, kissing the top of his head. "And now, I really do need to take your temperature," she reminded, taking a step back so she could again show him the thermometer. "And you don't get to drink any tea to try and spike the result."

"I would never do that," he protested, setting the mug back down on the desk.

Chuckling, Heather shook her head at him. "Of course not," she agreed, sticking the thermometer into his mouth. "Hold," she ordered, adding, "Two minutes," as she stepped sideways so she could better watch the time on her wristwatch by the light of the lantern.

"So tonight, April decided she wants to set Jeff up with August," Heather informed Jake a few seconds later. "She thinks they'd be perfect for each other."

"Ah-hus?" Jake mumbled around the thermometer clamped between his lips. "Heel-hy?"

"Why not?" she replied, shrugging. "Actually, most of the things August was crushing on you for – and, trust me, she was perfectly happy to tell me what those things were – are things you and Jeff have in common," Heather explained. Jake made a strangled noise at that, eliciting a soft giggle from his wife. "I thought it was a little weird at first, too," she admitted, "But I think it might actually work out as long as, you know, August could get to Jericho."

Heather sighed, smiling at him affectionately. "Honestly, it was just nice to see April – I don't know – a little bit happy. Actually, not just a little," she corrected herself. "She really was happy tonight, almost like the old April before everything with Eric… not two or three years ago April, but it was still nice."

"Yeah," Jake muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"Only forty five seconds to go," Heather told him, checking her watch. "So it could happen, right? August coming to Jericho? New Mexico isn't that far away, and there weren't any bombs that were really close, either…. That would be so great," she concluded, nodding to herself.

He allowed a non-committal grunt. Jake supposed it was possible that August was okay, maybe even better off than they were, since she was farther south. And, he knew what that…that miracle would mean to April, but still there was so much that could've gone wrong. He didn't want to think about it.

"I – I have a, well, a related fantasy, I guess," Heather stammered out then, her expression suddenly and oddly guilty.

"What?!?" he demanded, sitting up in his chair and spitting the thermometer out on his hand. "Oh my God," he muttered, eyeing her warily.

"Jake," she growled, snatching the thermometer from him. He caught her eye and she stared at him for a long moment. Suddenly, she knew exactly what he was thinking. "Ew!" she squealed, smacking his shoulder with her free hand. "Not that kinda fantasy!" she declared, "Seriously!"

"Ow," he complained piteously, going so far as to stick his lower lip out, though he couldn't maintain it, giving into a tired grin almost immediately. "Well, what am I supposed to think?" he asked, "You say, 'gee, wouldn't it be great if August came to town' followed immediately by 'I have this related fantasy' and that means …?"

Blushing, Heather shook her head. "Okay, first, ew!  I mean…. Ewwww!" she declared once more for good measure. "Second, the juxtaposition was probably a little too close," she conceded, letting out a long sigh.

"Just a little," Jake confirmed, yawning.

"By the way, your temperature is closer to ninety eight than ninety seven," Heather told him, placing the thermometer safely on the desk. "And that's without going the full two minutes, so that is very good."

"Good," he agreed, capturing her hand so he could pull her to him for a kiss.

"And it wasn't that kind of fantasy," she repeated a moment later, chuckling softly. "I mean, I do have those kind of fantasies, but they don't ever involve extra people, okay?" Squeezing his fingers, Heather took a deep breath and continued. "You know how I always tell you I'm not that Catholic?" she asked, "Well, in this instance, I am most definitely, one hundred percent, that Catholic."

"Thank God," Jake muttered, slumping a little in his chair. Heather started to move away, but he stopped her, keeping a firm grasp on her hand. "Babe, I …." He paused, frowning in concentration as he considered his words. "I love what we have, okay?" he asked rhetorically, "And that's nothin' to mess with."

"Exactly," Heather declared, smiling at him. "And you can't seriously have thought I was actually suggesting – suggesting a – well, that."

"Nah," he agreed. "Not when you can't even say it. But I could've been having a nightmare inside a coma or something," he grumbled.

She frowned at him, complaining, "Jake, that's not funny."

"I know," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry," he apologized, tugging on her hand, trying to pull her down on his lap.

"Jake!" Heather protested, even as she sat down, "I don't think this works right now."

"It's fine. And it's either this, or I give you the chair," he threatened. Wordlessly, they arranged themselves so that she was sitting sideways across his legs, her arms looped around his neck, his hands resting protectively over their child. "See? This works. And it's not like I can sit in your lap right now."

"And, you should not be making jokes like that right now, mister," Heather warned, rolling her eyes. "I'm feeling pretty darn pregnant today."

"Heather, when I was in Afghanistan and Iraq, do you know what I fantasized about?" he inquired, ignoring her statement.

"Chicken fried steak, burgers from the truck stop, and – ironically now – roasted ears of corn," she suggested, naming some of the foods she remembered him complaining about not having when he'd been in the Middle East.

"That's what I wanted to eat, yeah," Jake agreed, "But it's not what I fantasized about. I – I wanted to be home, be with you. I had fantasies about making you pancakes, bringing you breakfast in bed," he admitted, chuckling at himself. "And I'm not sayin' that's how they all ended…" he added, the low rumble of his voice sending a delicious shiver up Heather's spine.  "But sometimes, yeah. Just making breakfast for you and our kids –"

"You have fantasies about our children?" Heather squeaked, clearly delighted by the thought. "Jake, that's so –"

"Sweet?" he guessed with a snort.

"Yes," she nodded. "But also – the whole thing – it's domestic and kinda ordinary…." Jake groaned softly at that, but Heather recognized this as a knee-jerk reaction, all for show. "But in a good way," she insisted, smiling at him. "And, really, really sweet. I mean, I've been fantasizing about what our kids'll be like forever, but I always figured that was a girl thing."

"Well, it's not so much a fantasy anymore," Jake reminded, massaging her pregnant tummy. "And if we could get back to ordinary, that'd be good, too."

"You're tellin' me." Heather's chuckle quickly turned into a groan. "I've accepted that disposable diapers are probably not gonna be all that available for a while still, but cloth without a working washing machine is gonna be a nightmare," she complained.

"Way to sell the whole changing diapers thing, babe," he yawned, his fingers roaming over her stomach.

"Changing diapers is gonna be a piece of cake compared to all the laundry," she argued, "And I'll be in charge of that." Heather trapped his hand underneath hers. "Stop trying to wake B.G. up," she ordered, "I would like to go to sleep sometime soon." She peered at him, frowning. "Hon, you need to go to bed. You're exhausted."

"I'm pretty sure I could sleep a week," Jake admitted, offering her a wry smile. "But I wanna go out t' the ranch with you tomorrow, so I'll get up sometime."

"Let's just sleep in as long as we can," she proposed, starting to climb off his lap. "No schedule."

Jake stopped her. "One sec. There's something I have to tell you first."

"Okay," Heather agreed.

He caught both her hands in his, folding them together and brushing a kiss across her knuckles.  Finally, taking a deep breath, Jake began.  "I need you to know that Afghanistan and Iraq - Ravenwood, that was my last assignment," he told her.  "I'd told Gretchen that was it," he added, "I'd see it through to the end, but then I was done-"

"You didn't have to-"

"I did, babe, I did," Jake contradicted.  "Not because you were pregnant...I didn't know you were pregnant," he reminded, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand.   "But you were gonna be, eventually.  And that wasn't even it, really. I was burned out," he confessed, frowning softly.  "Or maybe I'd just finally grown up.  You've been waiting for me to catch up with you, be ready for kids, so I guess I finally did."

Heather shook her head.  "That's not true, Jake. I wasn't ready to have kids when we got married, I wasn't ready two years ago," she argued, her gaze locked with his. "We both had things we needed to do first," she insisted, squeezing his hand, "Together and individually."

"Yeah, okay," he acknowledged, clearing his throat. "But all I know is, it started to feel really, really stupid to be doin' this job that kept me away from you for weeks or - this last time - months at a time, so that we were apart more than we were together."

"Well, you did once say that we should be together as much as possible," she smiled, her eyes suddenly bright.

"You're right, I did," he confirmed.  "And I - I didn't have anything left to do in that job.  I wasn't bucking for a promotion, I sure as hell didn't want Gretchen's job... and besides I always said I wasn't gonna do it forever," Jake reminded, tucking a lock of her hair back behind her ear.  "Liking what I was doing didn't make up for being away from you, and in Iraq, I didn't really like what I was doin'.  So, I was gonna finish up the assignment, and then I was gonna come home to you. Permanently."

"Well, good," Heather acknowledged with a smile.  "So...what were you gonna do?" she inquired a few seconds later, her tone curious.

Jake knew why she was asking - he'd vacillated on his choice of a second career since before they had married - but still he couldn't resist teasing her a little. "So, comin' home isn't enough for you? I've gotta get a job too?"

"I'm just not sure I can support you in the manner to which you're accustomed," she joked. "Besides, even if you were a househusband, you'd go crazy without something to do."

"Changin' diapers isn't enough for you?" he returned.

Heather rolled her eyes, but at least she was grinning.  "Uh, since you've yet to actually change a diaper in your life, I hafta say no," she told him, chuckling softly.

"The ranch," he announced, capturing her chin with one hand so he could plant a quick kiss on her lips.  "I was gonna run the ranch," he repeated. "I mean, I know Mom's kept everything goin'. She's handled the books, made sales.... Even Dad got involved this year," he reminded.  "But it's been too long. She - they - can't run it the way Gramps wanted, the way he expected."

"But you can," Heather declared, smiling at him. "And you know she was only doing that for you," she reminded, "Until you were ready. Your mom knew - we all knew what Gramps wanted, that he wanted you to take over, to keep the Green legacy alive."

 

It was what his grandfather had wanted, what EJ had written into his will, and what Charles Gunnison, the Greens' longtime family attorney, had recited for all the Greens to hear during the reading of that will the day after the funeral.  Jake clutched Heather's hand - much as he had that day not quite three years before - as an echo of the staggered feeling he'd felt then washed over him.

"'The house and the sixteen acres surrounding, one tenth of the original homestead established by Cormac Green in 1861, is to be subdivided from the remainder of the ranch property, and ownership transferred to my grandson, Jake and his wife, Heather,'" Gunnison had read, his voice a monotone that betrayed nothing.  "This surveyor's report describes how EJ planned for the subdivision," the attorney had informed the six Greens, attempting to hand a manila folder to Jake.  "It's rather specific, especially with regard to the western border, including the old water tower, but excluding the barns," Gunnison had added, settling, finally, for passing the report to a gaping Heather.  "And of course, the family cemetery is included in your part of the subdivision."

He'd then continued to read from the will. '"The remainder of the ranch property, totaling two hundred eighty-two acres, is to be held in the EJ Green Family Trust for no more than six years following my death.  If within five years of my death, my grandson, Jake, chooses to take over day-to-day management of the ranch property and livestock, full ownership is to be transferred to him.  If after five years, Jake does not take ownership of the ranch, my grandson, Eric, may choose to do so within one year; if Eric does not choose to take ownership, then the ranch property is to be sold and the proceeds divided equally amongst my heirs'."

There had been much more to EJ's last will and testament - the document was over thirty pages long - but Jake had only heard half of it, and he'd comprehended even less.  And so, during the week that had followed, he had studied his copy of the will, more often than not soliciting Heather's opinion as to whether he had interpreted this or that clause correctly. Time and again, she had confirmed his understanding, each time reminding him that his grandfather had wanted him to be able to choose the path - the career - that would make him happy.

Always meticulous, EJ had made provisions for every scenario: if Jake accepted the bequest of the ranch, but later wished to give it up; if Jake outlived his parents and brother; if Jake predeceased his parents and/or brother without offspring; or with offspring; or with very young offspring; if Jake didn't take ownership of the ranch, but instead decided to exercise the trust's majority interest in Jayhawk Aviation; if Jake didn't wish to exercise that interest or didn't wish to act as majority partner but Johnston or Eric did.

And still the litany of items to be addressed had continued. Eric's and April's mortgage would be paid off; nine oil wells on the ranch property would need to be managed separately from the ranch itself; seven rental units and an interest in a strip mall outside of New Bern needed to be disposed of; arrangements were made for the upkeep and management of the hunting cabin; bank and brokerage accounts were to be transferred or liquidated; jewelry, heirlooms, memorabilia, family papers and other miscellaneous possessions were to be divvied up; charitable contributions were provided for; gifts were made to the hospice nurses who had cared for him in his last few months of life; even EJ's chickens rated a mention as their continued maintenance was entrusted to Heather.

The choice before him had weighed heavily on Jake, as had the need to return to work. He'd been away for more than two weeks, having abandoned his operation at a potentially critical point - not that he would have ever taken back that decision as it had afforded him two final, precious days with his grandfather.  But still, he'd needed to get back to it, to see what could be salvaged, and so a week after the funeral he and Heather had met again with Charles Gunnison and his parents to finalize the transfer of what they had all taken to calling the homestead property.

"Of course, there are large tax implications inherent in accepting the ranch property," Gunnison had informed Jake, "Which is why EJ separated the homestead from the business, and why he put the five years clause into his will.  That's going to take some planning."

Jake had nodded, recognizing that the lawyer fully expected that he'd accept his inheritance eventually.  Once all the right planning could happen.  "For now, I've got to get back to work, finish up my assignment," he'd told Gunnison.  "I've got eight months in on this operation, and I can't just up and quit."

Johnston, who had been present in order to sign the quit claim deed on behalf of the trust, had signaled his approval of the situation.  "We can deal with the ranch later," he'd agreed, "But it was important to Grandpa, above everything else, that this house remain in the family, with the two of you.  And that," he'd assured, signing the deed where Gunnison's assistant - a public notary - had indicated he should, "We can take care of today."

"And just because the two properties are split now, doesn't mean you don't have full rights to use of the ranch," Gunnison had added.  "After all, the first half mile of the access road is all on the homestead property. All part of EJ's plan," he'd chuckled.

"And setting it up this way, even if I mess up the business, the house is still separate and safe, right?" Jake had asked.  Heather and his mother had both protested that that wasn't going to happen, while his father had said something about the vagaries of the economy and the prudence of separating their home from their business.  Gunnison, who had clearly been surprised by Jake's statement, had nearly bent over backwards agreeing with Johnston.  "Okay, here goes," Jake had said, exhaling deeply, as he'd signed the deed.  Turning, he had offered Heather his pen, moving the paperwork in front of her.

"This is so weird," she'd complained, hesitation written plainly in her expression.

"If I have to sign, you have to sign," he had argued, practically forcing the pen into her hand.  "He left it to both of us," Jake had reminded, cajoling, "So we could have the joy of home ownership together. Besides," he'd reminded, brushing a chaste kiss across her mouth, "This is where we want our kids to grow up, right?"

They had shared a long look and then finally Heather had nodded. "Yes, it is," she'd sighed, picking up the pen and signing the deed.  "How come you're not freaking out right now?" she'd demanded once she was done, her forehead wrinkling.

"'Cause you got me covered on that," he'd teased, folding her hand into his.  "I'll freak out later," he'd assured before turning toward the attorney and asking, "So, we're official?"

"I'm going to personally take it to the courthouse in Fielding for recording on Monday morning," Gunnison had promised.  "But yes, the homestead is yours. Congratulations."

His parents had echoed the attorney's good wishes, Gail insisting on hugging them both.  "Your father's 'hired' me to manage the ranch for now," his mother had explained while Gunnison and his assistant had packed up their things.  "While he deals with the rest of the estate.  We're going to find a foreman, so really, I'll just be keeping the books. That way, everything will be ready for you when you take over, Jake," she'd promised.

 

"Yeah," he acknowledged, exchanging tired smiles with his wife. "And, she wasn't supposed to take care of things forever," Jake told her.  "Mom was starting to remind me of that, too, when I was in Iraq.  Kept sendin' me emails about the ranch, about decisions that needed to be made. That I needed to make," Jake admitted, frowning.  His mother had made a point of keeping him in the loop about the ranch, including him in decisions, always anticipating the day when he would take over.  "Said she was plannin' some big trip to Europe so she wouldn't be around to manage things for a while."

"I knew about the trip, though they were keeping it pretty quiet," Heather shrugged, "'Cause of the election."

"Right," Jake snorted, "Gray would've loved to have had that to use against Dad.  God, I shouldn't have taken so long," Jake muttered a long moment later. He stared past Heather.  "I should've just finished up what I was workin' on and then taken over the ranch."

"Gramps set up the five years thing so you could make up your mind," she argued, rubbing his arm.

"Yeah," he shrugged, "And to give me a time limit, make sure I'd hafta decide," Jake said, allowing a humorless chuckle.  "Gramps agreed with Dad - that I was bein' an idiot to keep on with the DEA when my life was here.  When you were here."  He offered her a wry smile.  "So, I guess I should tell Dad that I want the ranch, just in case."

"You have time," Heather reminded, "But I think he'd still like to know that."  She took a deep breath, then exhaling, plunged ahead.  "But what I don't get ... why didn't you tell me? That you'd decided?"

She sounded more curious than upset, but Jake still couldn't look her in the face.  "Babe, I wanted to tell you," He assured her, his eyes falling closed. "But I didn't know how long it all was gonna take, and I knew if I told you and it dragged on for months - and it did - I'd be tempted to just quit."  Frowning, he finally allowed his gaze to meet hers. "And I didn't want to just quit, I wanted to see it through to the end."

"Well, I get that," Heather acknowledged, nodding.   "You owed Gretchen that much.  I'm just... I guess I'm just surprised that you didn't say anything about it since you got home."  Resting her hand on his shoulder, she offered an encouraging smile.  "These last three months," she added, stroking her thumb along his collarbone.

"Yeah," he mumbled, flashing her an uncomfortable smile.  "Well, I had a plan, for how that day was gonna go, and I kinda liked my plan," Jake shrugged.  "But then, everything went wrong and it just never seemed like the right time... more like not the right time to tell Dad and Eric, not you," he clarified.   Heather nodded.  EJ had taken pains to ensure that Johnston, Jake and Eric would receive equivalent inheritances, but the fact was, if Jake didn't claim the ranch and it was instead sold, then the immediate cash value of all their inheritances, his included, would almost definitely be larger.

"But my plan was to tell you and Mom and Dad together.  And then after a while it didn't seem to matter anymore," Jake explained.  "Why talk about running a horse ranch when last week I was ready to slaughter the first horse I came across?  And I would've," he insisted.  "Agamemnon," he said, naming his own favorite horse.  "Arabella," he continued, naming April's horse, an animal that wasn't even owned by the Green Ranch, just boarded.  "Any of 'em.  I wouldn't have cared."

"Okay," Heather agreed, "I can see that.  What mattered before, what matters now..." she sighed, "Sometimes it feels like two different universes."

"Not all of it," he contradicted.  "Not us.  But the rest, yeah."

"Yeah."  She waited a moment, playing with the hair that was now long enough that it was starting to curl under at the nape of his neck.  "So, what was the plan?  For telling us all together?"

"I was supposed to be in Denver by ten AM, so I figured I'd be in Jericho by three at the latest," Jake told her.  "I was gonna buy flowers - roses, probably - and come to school like in the old days-"

"Jake, you did that the last day before Christmas break last year, so it's hardly the old days," Heather reminded, grinning at him.

"Okay then," he grinned in return, "I was gonna surprise you at school with flowers like I like to do, and I was gonna tell you to leave everything right where it was, 'grab your purse, Mrs. Green, I'm kidnapping you'."

"Not much of a kidnapping when you know I'd be racing you to the door, my pile of grading be damned," Heather giggled.

"Right," he chuckled along with her.  "Anyway, I figured we'd head over to my parents' and I'd tell Mom to put away whatever she was making for dinner 'cause we were takin' them out... and we'd go to dinner, and I'd tell you all I was ready to take on the ranch."

"It's a great plan, hon," she assured him, smiling widely, her eyes bright.  "I would have been totally annoyed that you wanted to go out to dinner with your parents, but it's still a great plan.  Although actually, I probably wouldn't have been at school yet.  I was on the field trip," Heather reminded, "And we weren't due back 'til four thirty, five."

"You would've been annoyed?" Jake questioned, unsure of whether to be amused or annoyed himself by this news.  "I was gonna tell you the big news you'd all been waiting two and a half years for, and that was gonna annoy you?" he snorted.

"Only at the beginning, and only because I would've wanted to tell you my big news," she explained.   "Privately.  Without your parents there.  I love them, and we would have told them - probably pretty soon - but I still wanted to tell you first, Jake."

"Mom had already guessed," he said, rubbing circles on her tummy.  "And you kinda lied to me on the bus," he accused mildly.  "Let me believe that you threw up because you'd hit your head and broken your leg."

"It was a bus crash," Heather argued, "Dave Collier was dead, you had to do a tracheotomy on Stacy Fuller, my whole class was there and they were scared... it didn't seem like the best time to inform you of your impending fatherhood," she reasoned.  "And it's not like my head and leg weren't contributing factors."

She paused, worrying her lip absentmindedly.  "I wanted to tell you, Jake, so badly.  I must've called you twenty times between Monday night and Wednesday, trying to tell you.  I was actually starting to get worried," Heather confessed. "I left you a couple of voice mails, and I sent you an email that morning, telling you about the field trip, telling you to call me.  I was even getting ready to call Gretchen and demand to know what was going on.  Gretchen or Ange Waller," she amended.  "It's not her job anymore but Ange would've helped me out."

"Well, that would've ruined my surprise," Jake grumbled.  "But actually, it was her job.  I was her job.  Ange had been handling me for three, four months by then.  She'd taken a step back those last few days - Gretchen wanted to deal with the Army brass herself - but no way Ange wouldn't have told you everything she could," he assured, pressing a kiss to her hairline.  "And she had complete access to my movements." 

Angela Beltran had been in the same DEA Academy class as Jake, and while he hadn't known her well, he'd still been glad to reconnect with her when she'd transferred to the Denver field office about a year and a half after he and Heather had gotten married.  She'd been newly married herself, to Stephen Waller, a forensic accountant with the FBI.  They'd met on a joint taskforce he'd been temporarily assigned to supervise in Chicago, and they had fallen head over heels for one another, so Ange had put in for a transfer and followed Steve to Denver.

Already pregnant when she'd reported in, Gretchen had temporarily reassigned Ange as her assistant, something she was known for doing in order to protect a good field agent who needed to stay out of the field for a while.  Ange had been in her last week of work before maternity leave when EJ had taken a turn for the worse and his doctor had warned the Greens that it wouldn't be long before he passed.  Heather had contacted Gretchen with the news, and Gretchen had immediately assigned the task of locating Jake to Ange, telling her she could turn in her timesheet and go have that baby just as soon as he was on a plane headed home.

"Why didn't you tell me that?" Heather wanted to know.  "I might have worried about you a smidge less, if I'd known that Ange was busy being your 'work wife'.  I mean, that's what a handler is, right?" she teased.

"That's pretty much what Ange was, yeah," he laughed.  "I was glad to have her as my handler, even if she was always raggin' on me to get more sleep and eat better.  And she was always on your side," Jake assured her.   "Kept telling me how wonderful you are, even though I already knew that.  And was perfectly happy - absolutely determined to - get me back to you.  My. Actual. Real. Wife," he emphasized, kissing her once for each word.  "Though, really, Ange was more like my work April - the work version of April.  That probably doesn't make sense," he frowned. 

"No, it makes sense.  Ange reminds me of April, too.  I was so grateful for her.  It took her two and a half days to find you the first time," Heather reminded him.  "I would've gone crazy if you'd been MIA much longer - either time," she sighed, running her fingers through his hair.  "And I know how hard she was tryin' to find you.  We were attached at the cell phone the whole time.  She said to call anytime, day or night, and I did.  I called at midnight the first night and got Steve - Ange was in the bathroom - and we talked for a minute or two. He said she'd woken him up and told him he had to answer if I called... and then she was there, giving me an update, telling me they knew where you were, that it just wasn't so easy to make contact, but that they would, and everything would work out."  Heather frowned, emitting a sad sigh.  "But I guess even if things are gonna get better now, the Wallers are probably dead, huh?"

Jake nodded.  It was the horrible truth that lurked in the background, always.  Denver was gone, and the only refugees they'd seen from the city had succumbed to radiation poisoning in less than a week.  Steve, Ange, and their son, Christopher had lived in one of the closer in suburbs, where city and county boundaries were just lines on the map that blurred away in the reality of how the Denver metro area all ran together.  "Well, it happened after six, right?   So, they were probably home - together - right?  At least there's that."

"Yeah," she agreed.  It was a very small comfort to think that the Wallers - their friends - had been together when they'd died.  Bonded by the experience of trying to locate Jake and get him home before his grandfather died, Heather and Ange had declared their undying friendship even before Jake had taken Heather to Denver so she could meet his 'guardian angel' for herself.  In the intervening two years they had spent three or four weekends with the Wallers at their comfortable and rambling home, and so it was easy for Heather to imagine that Steve and Ange had been eating dinner with little Christopher, or playing a game, or giving him a bath; that the three of them had been together at the end.  "I hope it was just over in an instant, from the initial blast, you know?  That they were together and that they didn't suffer."

"Me too," he murmured, tightening his arms around her.  Heather rested her head on his shoulder, and Jake craned his neck so he could press a kiss to her forehead.  "So," he began a long moment later, "How were you gonna tell me the big news if things had gone how you planned?  'Cause I assume the bathroom at Bailey's was not your first choice," he teased gently.

Lifting her head, Heather offered him a wan smile.  She knew he was trying to distract her - himself too - from their grim thoughts about the Wallers, and she appreciated it.  Still, it took some effort to put her speculations aside.  "No, I never planned for the bathroom at Bailey's," she confirmed, making a face.  "And that day, my only plan was the phone, so I was just hoping for a good cell connection," she chuckled softly.  "But really, I'd always imagined we'd be at home... I don't know, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom while I was throwing up?  I don't know that it matters where, just that we were together."

"That's what I wanted too," Jake sighed, his hand splayed over her pregnant belly.  "What I want.  To be together.  Run the ranch.  Breed horses.  Go to bed with you every night, see if we can't breed some babies too," he declared, leering at her affectionately.  "Though I guess we'd already taken care of that part," he chuckled, tickling her tummy.  "First round."

Heather blushed at that, but she laughed too, shaking her head at him. "Okay, first, I do give you major points for saying 'baby' - 'babies' even," she assured. "But second, I have to object to that juxtaposition. Horses to babies? That may make you a stud," she grumbled, complaining, "But it makes me a broodmare."

"Babe," he sighed, "Trust me, horse is that last thing I think of when I look at you."

"It sure better not be what you're thinkin'," she returned, smiling and leaning toward him.

Jake took the opportunity to kiss her, cupping her head with both hands as his lips roamed over hers. "How 'bout 'raise kids and horses'?" he offered when they broke apart. "Like that better?"

"Maybe," she replied, resting her forehead against his. "Kinda need the first to get to the second," Heather reasoned, giggling softly and pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. "But that's how you'd get your rodeo champ - bred and made."

"Coach little league," Jake yawned, slurring his words a little. "Get a pitcher, too."

She laid her hand on his cheek and he turned into the caress, his eyes closing. "Jake, you need to go to bed," Heather reminded, worry lacing her voice. "You're exhausted," she diagnosed unnecessarily.

"Ever been so tired you can't 'member to go to bed?" he mumbled.

"Yeah," Heather confirmed. She climbed off his lap then, bracing her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. "Which is why I know that you need me to make you," she declared, holding her hand out to him. "Get up, Jake," she commanded.

He surprised her, both by accepting her help and by doing as ordered without protest. However, it did not surprise her when, instead of moving toward the bed, he instead pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. "Whaddabout your fantasy?" he asked, "The one that's not 'bout you an' me an' August?"

"Ha-ha.  Funny," she grumbled, pressing a kiss to his t-shirt, right over his heart. "You're stalling," she accused kindly, pulling out of his embrace. Heather captured both his hands and, walking backwards, led him the three steps to the bed.

"Wanna know," Jake argued, watching blearily as she began pulling back the covers, which now included three blankets, a comforter, and two quilts.

"Tell you what, get in and I'll tell you, like a bedtime story," Heather bargained, patting the mattress.

Jake frowned. "You're not comin' to bed?" he yawned.

"Oh, hon, I'm coming to bed, don't worry," she chuckled, smiling at him sympathetically. "It's almost ten," she informed him, checking her wristwatch, "And that's way, way past my bedtime these days."

"Okay," he acknowledged, flopping onto the bed. They had all been spending more time in bed, more time sleeping, in an effort to conserve heat, light, their own energy – everything. He didn't suppose that the airdrop had changed that completely. "Tell me," Jake mumbled as she helped him settle in.

"It's not exciting or shocking or anything, Jake," Heather warned, "I mean, you could probably guess…." They watched one another for a long moment before she shrugged and confessed, "I wanna see my dad, I wanna wake up some morning and find out that he's here – that he's come to Jericho. Like Mikey did. Like April wants August and Autumn to do. That's all."

She'd perched herself next to him, on the edge of the bed, one hand resting over their baby. He snaked his arm out from under the covers, catching her other hand in his. "Sounds good to me, though I don't think your dad would come alone," he said, knitting their fingers together.

"Hey, you’re not s'posed to be waking up," she complained, "You're supposed to go to sleep."

"Well, you're s'posed to tell me a bedtime story," he countered, "And that wasn't very good. No details." He squeezed her fingers, teasing, "You're gonna hafta get better at that."

"Nah, I think you're gonna be in charge of bedtime stories," Heather told Jake. She glanced down at her pregnant belly and then back at him, grinning. "B.G.'s already used to your stories," she reminded. "And… in my fantasy, I guess, Dad doesn't come alone. I mean, I wanna see Andy and John and Tommy, too – everybody," she shrugged.

"So what, it was like seventy, seventy five in the Buffalo contingent at our wedding?" Jake asked, stifling a yawn.

Heather nodded. "That's about right."

Jake propped himself up on his elbows, laying his hand against her stomach. "There's your bedtime story, B.G.," he whispered, tickling Heather's tummy.  "Grandpa Joe is gonna come blazing into town at the head of a caravan of all your relatives. And, you're gonna have all kinds of cousins to play with. And, aunts and uncles…. Uncles who're gonna freak out when you turn out to be a great horseman –"

"Or horsewoman," Heather interjected, grinning at him.

"Right, or horsewoman," he confirmed. "Of course, evil Mayor Gray will banish me from town when I try to bring seventy five refugees in, even if they are all amazing, wonderful Lisinskis – and who wouldn't love to have some extra Lisinskis around?" Jake asked, winking at Heather.

"Evil Mayor Gray, I'm thinkin'," she returned, chuckling softly. "But if we get banished…."

"Then we go back to our rightful kingdom, the Green Ranch," he supplied, "And live happily ever after."

"You weren't supposed to wake B.G. up," Heather sighed, though she was also smiling. Carefully, she guided Jake's hand over a few inches so he could feel their baby's kick. "I think he or she approves of the bedtime story, Dad." She leaned toward Jake, kissing him gently. "Me too. Yours is way better than mine."

"I hope it comes true, babe," Jake assured, "I really do."

"Me too," she repeated, her eyes suddenly bright. Heather stood up, swiping the back of her hand over her eyes and clearing her throat. "That reminds me of something," she announced. "Wait right there," she ordered, "And don't fall asleep quite yet."

"Well, I'm not goin' anywhere," Jake snorted, his gaze following her movements about the room. She crossed first to the desk to grab the lantern, and then walked to the dresser where she opened her jewelry box and retrieved something inside. Returning to the bed, Heather sat back down next to him. She held out her hand so he could see his wedding ring, sitting on her palm. "I've been wondering where that was," he muttered, reaching for it.

"Not so fast," Heather teased, pulling her hand back, her fingers closing around the ring. "Mikey gave it to me for safe keeping at the clinic that night," she explained, sighing softly, "When they had to take pretty much everything off you."

"I figured," he nodded. "Can I have it back?"

Heather smiled. "Give me your hand," she requested. Wordlessly, Jake did as she asked, watching her as she slid the ring back into place on his finger. "With this ring, I thee wed," she recited, "With my body I thee worship, and… with all my worldly goods I endow – or, I thee endow," she corrected herself, giggling softly.

"That is not what we said," Jake argued, twisting the ring on his finger until it set exactly how he liked it. "That's what I wanted to say," he reminded, "But you wouldn't let me."

"Hey, that wasn't my call," she protested, "Those words are from the Anglican service, and we couldn't force Reverend Young and Uncle Leo to use them in our crazy Catholic-Presbyterian ceremony when they didn't want to."

"Right," he acknowledged. "But you know, that's the closest to what I'd actually say myself. I meant everything I said that day, babe," Jake told her, pausing a moment to yawn. "Still do, always will. But that's the closest."

"I do know that," Heather agreed. Her hand found its way into his hair, and she rubbed his forehead with her thumb, drawing a satisfied sigh from Jake. She leaned in closer, murmuring, "And that's why I said it."

"With my body I thee worship," Jake repeated, reaching for her hand so he could kiss her palm.

"Absolutely," Heather confirmed, kissing him on the forehead. "Just as soon as your doctor clears you for worshipping, hon." Jake groaned in response, and she pressed her mouth to his, whispering, "Love you."

"Love you," he mumbled in return, his eyes falling closed. She started to stand up, and he grabbed for her, ending up with a handful of her – actually his – flannel shirt. "Come t' bed," Jake insisted.

"Well, I hafta change into pjs," she countered, picking up the lantern and glancing over at the desk. Jake's dishes were still there, and Heather knew that she should take them down to the kitchen… but, exhaling a long breath, she decided to let it go just this once. "And brush my teeth," she added, "But I'll be right back. Five minutes tops, okay?"

"'Kay," Jake agreed, finally letting go of her shirt.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
 
Sunday, January 6, five years before the bombs


"You have now officially met every relative – by blood, marriage or shirt tail – that I have," Heather declared, looking around the banquet room at the Lisinski family's favorite German restaurant.  "At least everyone who's within a two hour radius tonight," she amended, wrapping her arms around his neck in order to press a quick kiss to his mouth.  "Seriously, Jake, thank you," she murmured.

Placing his hands on her hips, Jake drew Heather even closer, telling her, "Seriously, you don't have to thank me.  This was easy and kinda fun.  Way better than skating," he teased, kissing her in return.  "Though I hafta admit, I don't remember half their names."

"Totally understandable," she assured.  "Even I almost didn't remember my cousin Nathan's wife's name," Heather confessed, leaning against his shoulder so she could whisper this information to him.  "The girlfriend he had right before he met her was Stacy, and she's Lacey, so… still that would not have gone over well at all," she laughed.

"Yeah, no joke," he chuckled along with her. Their gazes locked then, and Jake couldn't help but give into the impulse to tilt her chin up and kiss her again.

They had arrived at the restaurant not quite an hour before to find out that the family dinner Joe had insisted on was actually a surprise engagement party with more than sixty relatives in attendance.  Joe, aided and abetted by Deborah – her maternal uncle owned the restaurant – had managed to organize everything in just about thirty hours.  "I was glad you two went out to dinner with John and Kerry last night," he'd told them when things had calmed down following the ruckus that had ensued upon their arrival, "Gave me a chance to make my set of phone calls.  Luckily, Deb helped out with that, too.  Anyway, I thought it would be good to give everyone the chance to meet Jake sooner rather than later, sweetheart," Joe had continued, "I hope you don't mind."

"Dad, this is great," Heather had told her father, hugging him.  "Thank you," she'd added, kissing him on the cheek.

Jake had echoed her appreciation, shaking his future father-in-law's hand.  Clearly pleased with their reaction, Joe had made a short speech, welcoming everyone to the party and urging them all to eat.  "I told you my father is thrifty," Heather had reminded, as she and Jake had hung back, letting her relatives line up for the buffet.  "And, he's seriously never done anything like this before," she'd smiled, wrapping her arm around his.  "I know he said he approves… but wow, he really approves."

This statement had been corroborated – sort of – when Tommy had detoured past them to tease Heather a bit.  "So, you still think you're not Dad's favorite?" he'd challenged, but any sting she might have felt at his words was soothed by the hug he'd pulled her into, complete with a noisy kiss on the forehead.  "Admit it, you were totally surprised," he had demanded, his arm slung around her shoulders.  "We got you good," he'd practically crowed, "But good surprise, right?"

"Great surprise," she'd assured, letting her head rest on his shoulder.  "Thanks, Tommy."

At Jake's suggestion, they had decided to get the 'meet and greet' out of the way first.  They had followed Heather's two grandmothers – who, in deference to their age, had been permitted through the buffet line first – to their tables.  That had set up the pattern of the next forty minutes.  Holding his hand the entire time, Heather had led Jake around the room, proudly introducing him to her aunts, uncles, cousins, and even her brothers' in-laws.  They were a striking couple, and as charmed as everyone was by Jake, it was even more that they were enchanted by the vibrancy he brought out in Heather and the way the young couple seemed to spark off of one another even while they listened to yet another story that began 'when this one was little ….'

"FYI, priest at seven o'clock," Michael warned, sidling up beside them.  "Might wanna tone down the kissy-kissy thing."

"Mikey," Heather growled, though both she and Jake glanced over their shoulders to see her father and her uncle Leo – actually her father's cousin, but as she'd explained to Jake earlier, "We've always called him Uncle Leo" – heading toward them.  She found his hand with her own and, leaning against his arm, whispered against the fabric of his dress shirt, "I'm pretty sure this is interfering."

"Heather, Jake," Joe called out. "After our discussion this afternoon," he continued, once he and Leo – a priest in his mid-forties – were standing with the young couple, "I thought it might be good if you had the chance to talk to Leo.  Just for a few minutes," he assured, "But I'm sure he can help with some of your concerns."

"That'd be great," Jake said surprising Heather, who'd been ready to turn the offer down.  He held out his hand.  "Thank you, uh –"

"You can call me Leo," Leo smiled, shaking Jake's hand.  "I'm never truly off duty, but I am with family tonight, so I can just be Leo."

Jake nodded.  "Thank you, Leo."

"Okay, you two really should grab something to eat, while there's still something left," Deborah informed Jake and Heather in a rush of breath, as she joined the small knot that had formed around them.  "I've got Rebekah guarding the last of the Leberkaese for you, Heth," she added, adjusting her son on her hip.  "But she's only six, so she can't hold 'em off forever.  Jake, I don't know if you have a favorite, but I think there's still enough of everything if you guys go now."

"Uncle Leo –" Heather began, glancing at the priest.

"Go," he advised.   "I'll be sitting right over there," he added, pointing at an unoccupied table in the back corner of the room.  "But if you see any Apfelkuchen…"

"Cake comes later!" Deborah laughed, throwing him an exasperated look.  "Three kinds, plus champagne.  Our bride and groom need to eat first," she reminded, sighing, "But there is coffee, would you like me to get you a cup?"

"So what is this Leberkaese that has to be guarded for you?" Jake teased, following Heather to the buffet table.

"Like really good meatloaf," she answered.  "Well, it's beef and ham ground together, so beef and ham loaf.  In a sandwich it's Leberkaessemmel, but I like it on its own with mustard.  Leberkaes mit Senf."

"Wir sprechen nur Speisekarte Deutsch," Michael, who'd tagged along with them, interjected.

Heather made a face.  "Mikey, your accent is horrible," she complained.  "And he said that we only speak menu German," Heather translated for Jake's benefit.  "Which is true.  That's what Mom always said about us, anyway.  She spoke pretty much perfect German, but they didn't teach it at Sacred Heart or St. Mike's, so none of us learned it, just picked up enough to order in restaurants." 

She immediately went to work proving that statement, leading Jake through the buffet, naming each of the dishes.  Michael, saying that he was still a growing boy – a claim that earned him twin eye rolls from his sister and her fiancé – followed along behind them, filling up a second plate.  He didn't get any Leberkaese, however, as it turned out Deborah had judged that correctly, and there really were only two servings left.  "Okay, Mikey, you're not invited for this next part, so we'll see you later," Heather told her brother, who shrugged and wandered off to join a table of teenaged cousins.

Joe was sitting with Leo when the couple appeared at their table, but with admirable grace, Leo dismissed his cousin, insisting that he would be more comfortable speaking alone with Heather and Jake.  "Thanks," Heather murmured, once she judged her father to be out of earshot.

"Your father means well, Heather," Leo reminded, smiling kindly.  "But the decision to marry is your decision," he continued, including Jake with a glance.  "As is how you decide to marry.  And, I understand that you have concerns, and perhaps I can help alleviate some of those."  He paused a moment, clearing his throat, then asked, "Would it be all right if we begin as I would with any couple who came to me, asking to be married?"

"Sure," Jake answered for them both, finding her hand underneath the table, and squeezing it.

"How did you meet?" Leo inquired.

"I stopped to help Heather change a tire," Jake returned.  "Though it turned out we would've met about twenty minutes later, anyway," he continued, stabbing together a bite of Kartoffelsalat.  "We were actually both heading to the same place."

"Jake's grandfather's ranch," Heather supplied, shifting in her seat.  "I was – I was meeting with Jake's grandfather about something for school, and Jake lives there."

"So you two are not cohabitating?  Or planning to?" Leo asked, glancing between them.  "It wouldn't be a problem, necessarily, if you were," he explained quickly.  "But I probably won't be the last priest to ask you that question."

"We're not," Heather declared forcefully.  "I've got a morals clause in my teaching contract," she admitted, "So that pretty much decides that.  Plus there's my dad."

"My parents, too – and my grandfather," Jake added.  "They wouldn't approve.  Besides," he shrugged, "Once we're married, we have the rest of our lives together, right?"

"You might choose to just answer 'no' when you speak with Father Bouchard," Leo advised with a dry chuckle.  "And, how long have you known one another?"

Heather and Jake looked at one another.  This fact hadn't come up in their discussion that afternoon, but they had both read that question on the form, and they had both recognized that this might prove to be a sticking point.  Heather licked her lips, and exhaling, replied, "Since October.  Three months.  And I know that doesn't seem like a long time but –"

"I'm not here to judge you, Heather," Leo interrupted, "Or you, Jake."

"All those forms we looked at this afternoon seemed pretty judge-y to me," Heather returned with a frown. 

"Those forms are ultimately a – well, a formality," Leo contradicted, sighing.  "A way to spark discussion, really.  Jake," he continued after a moment's pause, "You're not Catholic, but you are baptized?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, meeting the priest's eye.  Thankfully, Jake thought to himself.  "Presbyterian.  When I was a baby."

"So you will simply need a mixed marriage dispensation, and that truly is a formality," Leo said, sounding relieved.  "Heather, you'll have to declare and promise to rear your children as Catholic, but otherwise the priest – Father Bouchard, I presume – will forward his recommendation to the Diocesan Marriage Tribunal, and that should be that.  This is the same body that deals with divorce in the church," he explained, "And so the one thing they don't want to do is grant a dispensation, and then be dealing with your divorce three, four, ten years down the line." 

"Which they won't be," Jake assured, reaching for Heather's hand.  "We both intend a permanent marriage," he added, purposely quoting the form they had looked at that afternoon.

"Good," Leo acknowledged absently.  He leaned in closer over the table, his brow furrowed.  "Though… your father said that you will be living in Kansas?" he prompted.

Heather nodded.  "Yes.  And I read that in the folder, too," she confessed in a rush of breath.  "That marriage should take place in the parish where the 'Catholic party' lives.  I'd always heard it as the 'home parish' before…. I mean, this is my home parish, but I live in Jericho – in Kansas – now."

"Well then, the tribunal may require a declaration and permission from your priest in Jericho, just to confirm that you are continuing in your faith practice," Leo warned.  "Father Bouchard baptized you, gave you your first communion… I've no doubt that he'll recommend the mixed marriage dispensation, but the tribunal may require more."    He exhaled softly, then, frowning, continued.  "I mentioned this to your father, and don't think he really liked the idea, but you could get married in Jericho.  Then at least you wouldn't need to deal with coordinating everything between two dioceses."

Considering this, Heather took a bite of her Schwarzbroetchen, chewing it slowly.  "There actually isn't a Catholic Church in Jericho," she admitted finally.  "And I've tried a couple of the churches in nearby towns, but they're all rather small, and I don't really fit in, demographically speaking." 

"Older congregations, I take it?" Leo surmised.

"Yeah," Heather replied.  "Lately I've just been attending Jake's family's church.  "Which," she giggled nervously, "Probably doesn't give you the warm fuzzies about me raising our children as Catholics."

"I would encourage you to continue searching for a parish home," Leo countered, sidestepping the issue.  "And also tell you that you could choose to marry in Jake's church."

"Well, I don't –" Jake began, only to be interrupted by Heather.

"We could do that?" she asked, surprised.

"It would require an additional dispensation – on top of the first – so you would still need to work with a priest in your diocese," Leo explained, "But it is possible.  Of course, your father will probably be even less thrilled that I told you that," he chuckled guiltily, "But I think he's more concerned –"

"With me staying Catholic," Heather supplied for him.  "Which isn't even an issue," she insisted, taking a bite of Leberkaese.  She glanced sideways at Jake.  "We respect each other's beliefs."

"That's good to know," Leo smiled.  "And in that case, I would counsel that however you decide to marry, find a parish you're comfortable in.  Talk to the priest there, talk to Jake's pastor, and unfortunately, jump through all the hoops.  If you don't…." he sighed, "You won't be married in the eyes of the church, and, Heather, you won't be able to receive sacraments," he warned.

"Which would kill my dad," she muttered, slumping a little in her chair.  "And it would bother me, too," she admitted.

"So we just do what we need to do," Jake declared, squeezing her shoulder.  "Jump through the hoops," he added, gesturing at Leo, "And everybody's happy, right?"

"Hopefully," Leo agreed.  "And, if you need any advice – or just want to complain a little – you can always call me."

"Thanks, Leo," Jake said, offering the priest his hand.

"Yes, thank you, Uncle Leo," Heather echoed.

"So that wasn't too painful, I hope?" Leo inquired.

"It was helpful," Heather contradicted with a smile.  She glanced sideways at Jake, adding, "I'm still not sure what we're gonna do, but I usually start with research, so this was good.  Thanks," she repeated.  "And, you didn't ask if I was pregnant," she laughed, somewhat self-consciously.  "Which is a really nice change."

"Uh-hmmm," Leo responded.  "Well, it is a question that sometimes must be asked," he informed them, chuckling uncomfortably.  "But Joe took pains to assure me that you weren't, and – well – I got the impression that it was a sensitive subject."

Heather rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, thanks to my brothers."

"Your brothers love you, Heather," Leo reminded, offering her a kind smile.

"They do," she agreed.  "And they love to embarrass me, too."

Leo pushed back from the table and stood up.  "Well, think I'll get another cup of coffee.  Leave you two to finish your dinner."

"Thanks for your help, Leo," Jake repeated.  Beneath the cover of the tablecloth his hand found its way to her knee where he worried her soft skin with the pad of his thumb.  Watching for her reaction, Jake cut off a piece of Leberkaese with his fork and, after dipping it in mustard, ate it.  "You're right," he told her, "This stuff's pretty good."

"I thought you'd like it," she returned, a husky quality in her voice.  Heather leaned in close to Jake, brushing his lips with her own.  "I think I know you pretty well," she declared.

Grinning, he nodded.  "You do know what I like," he murmured, while under the table he quickly sketched out 'I ♥ U' on her leg.

"Me too," she giggled against his mouth, kissing him again.

A few seconds later, however, the arrival of no less than six of Heather's female relatives – Kerry, her aunts Heidi and Ava, Jessica, and two other cousins whose names Jake was pretty sure were Annaliese and Michelle – forced them to separate.  "Okay, break it up," Jessica teased, rolling her eyes. 

"Yeah," Kerry threw in, "There's kids and clergy present."

"And Uncle Joe," Annaliese – Jake guessed – added. 

"Besides, we're here to discuss important, official wedding business: the scheduling of your Buffalo bridal shower," Jessica explained as, en masse, the six women sat down at the table.

"And I think that's my cue," Jake announced, starting to stand up, though Heather's hand on his arm was enough to stop him.

"We don't actually have a wedding date yet, Jess," Heather interrupted.  "So planning a bridal shower might be premature."

Michelle looked surprised.  "Why were you talkin' to Uncle Leo then?"

"And, you have a wedding month," Kerry interjected, "That's good enough."

"This is an official duty of the maid of honor," Jessica reminded, "And I take my duty very seriously."

"Okay, I'm really leaving now," Jake declared, kissing Heather quickly before climbing to his feet.  "You don't need me for this," he assured as he picked up his dinner plate.

"Sorry," Jessica apologized, clearly unrepentant.  "So I have two words for you all – words that Jake'll like," she added, watching as he beat a hasty retreat to a table occupied by Heather's brothers and male cousins.  "Lingerie shower."

* * * * *

"Hey," Heather greeted, laying a hand on Jake's shoulder. 

"Hey," he returned, standing up and turning around in one fluid motion.  Heather was just behind his chair, flanked by Rebekah and Ali, who was dancing around so much that even Jake recognized that she needed to go to the bathroom.  "You're free," he teased, offering her a wide smile.

"We'll see," she laughed.  Heather had finally escaped her cousin's clutches by agreeing to a 'lingerie and linens' bridal shower – the addition of linens was her Aunt Ava's idea – and by promising to settle on a date before the end of the month.  "Right now, we're headed for the ladies' room," she explained.  "By the way, you're welcome, Andy and Tommy," she added, throwing them each a pointed look.

"What?  It's not like we can take 'em, Heth," Tommy protested, reminding, "There are urinals in the men's room, and I am not explaining that."

"Auntie Heather," Ali whined, tugging on Heather's hand.

"Fine, whatever," Heather sighed.   "But they're getting ready to serve dessert," she told Jake, "And it sounds like Dad wants to make a toast, and wants us to stand up there with him, so I wanted to warn you."

"That's fine," Jake agreed, "Whatever he wants." 

"Thanks," she smiled, kissing him.  Much too soon, Heather pulled away and looked down at her two charges.  "Okay, let's go," she told them before hurrying them across the banquet room.

Jake watched the three of them until they were out of sight, and when he turned around, his companions couldn't help but chuckle at his smitten expression.

"Oh man, do you have it bad," John snickered.

"Well, it's not like we could let Heather marry any guy who didn't look at her all goofy like that," Tommy argued, surprising them all.  "We want him to have it bad," he reasoned, looking around the table at his dumbfounded brothers and cousins.  "Though, in a completely pure and innocent way," Tommy finished, his narrowed gaze settling on Jake. "'Cause she still better not be pregnant."

Groaning softly, Jake sank back into his chair.  "She's not pregnant."

"I think he just suddenly realized what his life's gonna look like in seven or eight years," Andrew joked a few seconds later.  "Though, don't get me wrong, kids are fun."

"More like nine or ten years," Jake argued.  Andrew was right though, he had – in Heather's words – had a moment of 'thinking ahead' as he'd watched her walk away with the girls.  It was a future that, though it still sort of surprised him, he found he was looking forward to… eventually.  "We're gonna have kids," he shrugged, "We're just not in a hurry."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Heather's cousin Adam snorted.  "This family, everyone starts worrying when you reach your first anniversary and there's no sign of a baby."

"Most awkward conversation of my life," Andrew moaned.  "Oma cornering me at Easter Sunday dinner to tell me to wear boxer shorts, because Oprah says it promotes conception," he complained, shaking his head.  "Plus, Deb was already pregnant, it was just early and she didn't want to tell everybody yet." 

"Ha!" Tommy declared, "That's classic."  He glanced at John, his brow furrowing.  "And you know, John and Kerry are comin' up on a year here…."

Nathan – whose pregnant wife, Lacey, Jake had met earlier – flashed Tommy a conspiratorial grin.  "Maybe I should go find Oma," he threatened.

"Be glad you live in Kansas," John advised Jake, rolling his eyes.  "I'm startin' to think Heather had a plan for this from the beginning."

"You never know," Jake chuckled, though the fact of the matter was neither of them could have planned for their relationship.  There were a lot of things you could plan in life – weddings and bridal showers and when to have kids came to mind – but falling in love wasn't one of them.  Falling in love was a leap of faith, and somehow, despite her natural inclination toward planning, Heather had taken that leap for him – with him.  "Heather's plans are usually pretty good so…."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw the two little girls return from the restroom, Ali climbing into her father's lap and Rebekah stopping next to Andrew's chair.  "Where's Heather, bub?" he asked her, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Mark wanted to talk to her," Rebekah answered, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, "So she told us to come back."

Instantly, the hair on the back of Jake's neck stood up.  He glanced over at John, who also looked distinctly unhappy with this news.  "So you guys don't have a cousin Mark, right?"

"Three Michaels, no Marks," John returned, his tone clipped.

Jake nodded once in acknowledgment, and then he was out of his chair moving toward the door. 

"Hey," Tommy scowled at his brother over the top of his daughter's head.  "He's your friend," he reminded.  "Did you tell him we'd –"

"We're not friends," John interrupted, "Not any more.  After everything happened, he called me – once – to tell me what a bi – what a 'B' Heather is," he said, censoring himself in the nick of time.  The last thing he needed was his sisters-in-law on him for swearing in front of their kids.  "I told him the he was an A-hole and that was the end of that.  We're not friends," he insisted angrily.

"Nah, Tommy, Deb said that his cousin's kid is in Cub Club," Andrew added, defending John.   "She saw Jake when they were there on Thursday."  He paused a moment, looking between his two brothers.  "You don't think he'd start a fight or somethin'?"

"Which one?" Tommy returned.  "Though if Jake takes a swing at Mark, I hope he ends up out cold on the ground.  He deserves it."

"Maybe we should go out there," Andrew said, making absolutely no move to get up from his chair.

Frowning, John pushed back from the table and stood up.  "I'm gonna tell Dad what's goin' on."

* * * * *

Heather and Mark were the only people in the restaurant's lobby when Jake exited the banquet room.  Her back was to him, and Mark was talking, clearly angry, as he took a step toward her, trying to invade her space.  "You're such a lying, using bitch, Heather," he sneered.  "Six months ago you weren't ready to get married, but now you're all hot to marry some asshole you just met."

"I told you, I'm sorry that I hurt you, Mark," Heather replied, taking two steps back.  "I don't know what else you want from me."

"I want you to admit it," he demanded, moving toward her again.

"Admit – admit what?" she asked, her voice cracking softly.  "Mark, I didn't love you," Heather told him, "Of course I couldn't marry you!"

"Hey, babe."  Jake announced his presence, stopping at her side and wrapping his arm around her waist.

"Jake!" she declared, her relief readily apparent.  She leaned against him, offering him a shaky smile before her gaze darted back toward Mark.  "What – what's going on?"

"Time for dessert," he told her, working to keep his tone light.  "Your dad wants us for the big toast," he lied.

"So, you're the cowboy," Mark accused snidely, glaring at Jake. 

Jake stared at the other man.  Apparently Mark was getting his information from Tommy's radio program, he thought, suppressing a snort.  "Guess I am," he confirmed finally.

"Well, good luck, pal," Mark sneered.  He cocked his head toward Heather.  "'Cause with her, you're gonna need it.  She's nothin' but a two-faced, lying –"

"Okay, first of all, she isn't," Jake interrupted, raising his voice so that he cut off and drowned out Mark's vile accusation.  "And second, you're a prick.  You're not right for her, you're not good enough for her –"

"And you are?" Mark snapped.

"At least I try to be," Jake barked in return.  "You wanted to marry her?  What for?" he questioned, his tone clipped.  "So you could saddle her with a bunch of kids?  Trap her, have her handy to show off to the guys at work, or at some country club – wherever the hell it is you go that makes you feel like you're a big shot?"  He paused a moment, his free hand forming into a fist that he ground against his leg.  "Did you ever bother to just listen to her?  Find out what she wanted?" Jake demanded.  "Did you even care to figure out what she's passionate about?"

Mark laughed at that, a grating, almost menacing sound that made Heather cringe.  "Heather Lisinski, passionate?  That's a joke," he scoffed.  "She's an ice princess."

"Oh man, are you a goddamn idiot," Jake told him, shaking his head.  He glanced sideways at Heather, needing to know that she was okay.  Her hand on his arm was clammy, and she stared back at him, eyes wide, but she didn't make any move to stop him, and so he plowed on.

"She's got more passion in her little finger than most people have in their whole bodies," Jake informed Mark, who started to chuckle.  "And now you're laughing," he charged, "Because you think I have no idea what I'm talkin' about, when really, you should be scared shitless because you – you had her for two years," Jake reminded, moving toward Mark, who quickly stepped back.  Jake started to press in on him again, but Heather reached for his hand and it was enough to stop him.  He took a deep breath.  "But somehow you never figured out what turns her on."

"Right," Mark growled, his lip curling as he crossed his arms over his chest.

 "And now you're gonna smirk like you're some thirteen year old kid who just got his first look at a titty magazine," Jake accused.  "Because you think I'm talkin' about sex… when really, I'm talking about everything.  Everything," he emphasized.  "This woman," Jake continued, reaching for her hand and then clutching it in his own, "She's passionate about everything – life, her job, her students, her family, friends… about everything that's right and – and good in the world." 

"You watch –" he paused a moment, laughing softly to himself at the thought.  "You watch a nature show on TV with her, and she's passionate about the baby turtle that hatches on the beach and then has to crawl into the ocean and swim ten thousand miles for – I don't know why hell the turtle has to swim ten thousand miles," he admitted, "It just does, so you know what?  You cheer for the turtle, right along with her, 'cause if you don't think that kinda passion translates…."

"I don't know why I'm tellin' you this," Jake realized.  Mark just looked pissed, like he wanted nothing more than to take a swing at Jake, and why the hell should he care if this dipshit ever figured out the difference between his ass and a hole in the ground?   "You know what?" he decided then, "I should just thank you.  Thank you for being the goddamn prick that hurt her enough that she wanted to try somewhere new.  I could kill you for hurting her," Jake assured him, "But I wouldn't have met her without you… wouldn't be marrying her," he reminded, flashing Heather a smile.  "And that – that pretty much makes my life.  So thanks."

Twisting around, Heather threw herself into Jake's arms, which opened automatically for her.  She burrowed against his chest, her breath leaving a warm, wet spot on his shirt.  Jake, keeping his gaze on a seething, sputtering Mark, flashed the other man a smug smile before pressing a kiss to the top of Heather's head.

"Mark, I think you better rejoin your party now," Joe Lisinski ordered, moving to stand with the young couple.  "Please."

"Yeah, good idea."  He scowled at Jake.  "You can have her."

Heather lifted her head from Jake's chest, making a face as the three of them watched Mark stomp back into the main dining room.  "Uh, thanks," she muttered, "But it's not really up to you."  Shaking her head, she glanced at her father.  "Dad?"

"I honestly have no desire to eavesdrop on you two all the time," he assured.  "But your brothers were worried that Mark might punch Jake – or, the other way around, I guess," Joe sighed.

"You okay?" Jake asked Heather, tilting her chin with one hand so he could see her eyes.  "We okay?"

"Most definitely," she declared, wrapping her arms around his neck, "Though you know, I really do hate it when you insist on saying nice things about me, and defending my honor and all that."

"Sorry," he apologized, kissing her on the nose.  Clearing his throat, Jake looked sideways at her father.  "Joe, uh, I'm –"

"Jake, I've wanted to tell Mark off for months," Joe interrupted, "I probably would've been … less colorful in my word choice," he decided, chuckling softly, "But I'm not gonna complain about the delivery when I agree one hundred percent with the message."

"Okay," Jake acknowledged, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth.  "And, I wasn't gonna hit him," he assured, "Not first, anyway."

"Unfortunately, I doubt any of it will stick," Heather sighed, turning to face her father.  Jake pulled her back against him, hugging her around the shoulders.  "Mark is gonna think what he wants to think," she continued, shrugging.  "He'd already seen you when he ambushed me," she told Jake, leaning her head back so she could catch his eye.   "Peeked into the banquet room, I guess.  And, he already knew I was engaged from Tommy's show, so he must've put two and two together."  Heather paused for a few seconds before explaining, "He thinks I'm shallow.  Apparently, the reason I'll marry you when I wouldn't marry him is that you're better looking.  Which is true," she informed him, grinning shyly, "But still not the reason I'm marrying you."

"Oh my gosh!" she declared a moment later, pulling away from her fiancé.  "You're blushing!" she accused, giggling and gaping at him.  "I wasn't even sure you could blush!"

"I can't believe you're not blushing," Jake countered.

"Jake, you're gorgeous," she informed him, "Which I've thought since the moment I met you.  And I know you know I thought that," Heather chuckled, watching in amazement as the color crept down onto his neck.  "You knew I was ogling you the whole time you changed my tire," she reminded.

"Well, it's a mutual feeling," Jake replied, exhaling nervously.  He glanced quickly at her father – Joe's expression was somewhere between embarrassed and curious – and then back at Heather, offering her a smile.  "'Cause you're pretty gorgeous yourself."

"And you know what that means?  We're gonna have beautiful babies, that's what," she said, answering her own question.  "Ten – twenty – times prettier than my purely hypothetical and completely imaginary offspring with Mark."

Jake made a face at the thought, asking, "But doncha think it's more important that our kids be smart?"

"Oh, they'll be smart," Heather shrugged, "Smart's a given.  We're gonna have beautiful, brilliant, genius babies."

The hostess came back into the lobby then.  The restaurant closed early on Sundays – though they were staying open later for the engagement party – and the last of the patrons had been seated in the main dining room twenty minutes before.  "Is something the matter?" she asked Joe, frowning.

"Not at all," he assured her, "Thank you.  And, I think I'll get back to the party," he continued a few seconds later. "Let you two have a moment."

"Thanks, Dad," Heather smiled.

Joe started to turn toward the banquet room, but then stopped himself, rotating back around to face his daughter and her intended.  "Jake, one day you're gonna find yourself the father of a little girl.  Least, I hope so," he sighed.  "And on that day, I'm gonna take you out for a beer.  And, we're gonna talk about daughters.  Or maybe, I'll do all the talking," he chuckled, "And you'll indulge me because, you and I, we both love my daughter."

"Yeah, we do," Jake agreed, "And, I… look forward to it."

"Don't take too long," Joe advised, "There's a roomful of people in there that want their cake."

"Wait a sec, Dad," Heather requested as he started to turn away.  "I just – I wanted to let you know, when we get back to Jericho… we're gonna look into getting married there," she explained quickly.  "That's not a decision – not a final decision, anyway," she admitted, "But… that's where we live.  And it's gotta be easier to plan a wedding where you live than from fifteen hundred miles away," Heather reasoned, frowning gently.

"Well, that makes sense," Joe acknowledged.

"Are you sure?" Heather asked, biting her lip.  "I don't want – I'm not trying to hurt you."

"Sweetheart, the only way you could hurt me is if you didn't invite me to your wedding," Joe told her.  "That, I'd object to."

"Dad, you're definitely invited," she assured, heaving a relieved sigh.  "You even get to walk me down the aisle.  And wherever – however – we get married, it will be with all the paperwork and dispensations, and everything.  Promise."

"I'm glad for that," Joe acknowledged with a smile. "Though I hope, for Jake's sake, the paperwork isn't too bad." 

"Could be wrong," his future son-in-law shrugged, "But I can't see how the Catholic Church could have more paperwork requirements than the federal government."

Chortling softly, Joe nodded.  "I hope you're right," he said, shaking Jake's hand, "But it could be worse."  Next, he kissed his daughter on the forehead, telling them both, "Don't take too long.  Deb and Bekah can't hold 'em off forever."

Jake and Heather stood silently together as they watched Joe cross the small lobby and then re-enter the banquet room.  "You know what's the one thing I forgot to say?" Jake asked, guiding her so that she turned around and he could pull her into his embrace.  "That only a total jackass asks a woman to marry him two weeks after her mother died."

"So true," Heather sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck.  "But you know what?  I don't care a rat's ass about anything to do with Mark Metzger anymore.  I'm banishing him from my brain."

"Rat's ass?" Jake questioned, smirking.  "I think I'm a bad influence on you."

"Well, sorry to ruin the picture you have of me as this… super pure person, but I did occasionally curse before I met you," Heather argued.  "I've cursed since then too.  You've heard me."

"Barely," he scoffed.  "Like two, maybe three times."

 "Jake, Tommy taught me how to swear like – well, like a hockey player when I was eight," Heather informed him.  "And I actually have yet to encounter a new-to-me curse word since."  Chuckling at his incredulous expression, she kissed him on the cheek.  "He wasn't too smart about it though, 'cause he taught me what to say, and then he had me do it for all his friends which left them howling of course….  But he forgot to tell me not to do it for my dad."

"Oh man," Jake groaned, "Seriously, how is he still alive?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much the question," she confirmed, grinning.  "He spent the rest of that summer grounded – and this all happened, like, two days after school let out.  So, now any time I even consider making him my favorite big brother, that's what everyone reminds me of."  Linking their hands together, Heather led Jake over to the bench farthest from the hostess stand.  "It's just, I work with kids," Heather reminded, seating herself.  "And, the whole thing made a very vivid impression on me, seeing my father turn so many different colors in so short a time," she explained, letting her head rest against his arm.  "So I pretty much save my potty mouth for when I'm really mad or really scared."

"Well, I still don't want to be a bad influence on you," he told her.  "Or, I guess, a second bad influence on you," Jake amended, shaking his head. "And did we not run into Tommy in church this morning?" he complained.

"Trust me, he lives in silent, abject terror that one day I'll teach Ali my magic hundred and fifty seven words," Heather returned.  "'Cause it's not my brake lines Mandy'll be cutting if that happens." 

"A hundred and fifty seven words?" Jake repeated, his eyes wide.  "I don't know that I know that many cuss words.  And you said them all to your dad?"

"Well," she shrugged, "Some were the same words, just in different combinations.  And, I only got like twenty, thirty words out for my dad," Heather explained.   "'Cause, I'm pretty sure he knew where I was goin', and he –"

 "Didn't want to hear that comin' out of his little girl's mouth," Jake supplied for her.

"I don't think he'd enjoy hearing that particular string of words coming out of anyone's mouth.  But it really was a hundred fifty seven words," Heather insisted, smoothing the hem of her skirt over her knee.  "I wrote it all down once, and counted.  It's pretty much burned into my brain.  I could probably still –"

"No," Jake interrupted, holding up a hand to stop her.  "I'm not – I don't think I could take that," he admitted, chuckling uneasily.  "I mean, what if it gets really weird, and then I couldn't kiss you, or something?"

"Forever?" Heather inquired, trying not to laugh at him.  "You'd never, ever be able to kiss me again?" she teased, leaning toward him so that her mouth almost brushed his.

He kissed her.  "Probably not forever," Jake conceded a few seconds later, pressing another kiss to her forehead.  "But still, why risk it, right?"

"Why risk it," she agreed.  "And, honestly, some of those words – now that I know what they mean – I don't wanna say.  But, you're not a bad influence," she assured him, "And I'm not some wilting flower who's gonna swoon if you occasionally need to express yourself in, as my father says, 'colorful' language, okay?" 

Jake looked conflicted, but he nodded.  "Okay."

"Just try not to swear at me," she requested.  "Because I really don't enjoy being called a b –"

"Don't say that," he ordered, placing a finger on her lips.  "Now you're making me wish I'd hit him," he complained. 

"No need," Heather dismissed, kissing his finger.  "We don't give a rat's ass about him, remember?"

"You say so," Jake grumbled.

"But you know what I do like being called?" Heather demanded, grinning widely.  She didn't wait for him to guess.  "A woman.  You called me a woman," she told him, "Twice." 

"Babe, you are a woman," he reminded, throwing her a confused look.  "That's one thing I'm pretty damn confident about.  In fact, isn't that the question some priest is gonna ask me?  'Jake, do you take this woman to be your wife'?" he teased.  "And then I'm gonna say, 'Abso-friggin'-loutely!'"

"How 'bout you say 'I do'," Heather suggested, giggling, "But I'll know you really mean 'Abso-friggin'-loutely'?"

"Yeah, that'll probably go over better with your dad, huh?"

"Probably.  And with your mom," she added.  "Plus, your dad, Gramps, the priest and/or pastor," Heather sighed.  "All of whom, coincidentally, are people who refer to me – think of me – as a young woman.  And, I know, from their perspectives, that's what I am," she conceded, "But there's still a difference – a big one – and I'm just glad that you think of me as a woman."

Jake didn't really know what to say to that, so he settled for kissing her again.  "We probably need to get back in there, huh?" he asked when they pulled apart.

"Yeah," she agreed, accepting his hand and allowing Jake to pull her to her feet.  "Let's go."


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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs


Taking the lantern with her, Heather headed to the bathroom first, hurrying through her dental hygiene routine. There was real toothpaste again, a small tube from the airdrop that still needed to be conserved, but that was a million times better than the two weeks they had gone completely without – not that there had been much to eat, or much to brush away. Back in the bedroom, Jake was snoring softly, as he often did when he slept on his back. She paused for a moment, just inside the door, observing him, happy – thrilled – to have him back here with her where he belonged, even if he was snoring. Besides, it wasn't as if he ever sawed logs the way she was quite aware both his father and brother could.

She pulled a set of long underwear and then a pair of flannel pajamas out of the dresser, the same clothes she'd been wearing to bed for almost two weeks, changing quickly.  The pajamas were too big on her when she wasn't pregnant, the pants especially, but now she could pull them up over her baby bump without worrying about them falling down or being too long.   Starting to button on her pajama top, Heather found her thoughts drifting to another evening.

"Okay... I'm startin'... to think... maybe... I like... these pajamas," Jake had murmured, kissing his way along Heather's now exposed shoulder – undoing the top's first button had given him the access he'd needed – and then up her neck. "Least…on you."

"I can tell," she'd chuckled throatily. "Though, I did get them for you," Heather had reminded. She'd presented them to him earlier in the evening but Jake, having last owned pajamas when he was ten, had been less than enthusiastic about acquiring a new pair.  It had been then that she'd suggested that they split the pajamas, even performing a little striptease for him as she'd changed out of her street clothes and into the pajama top.  "Personally, I prefer the flannel to the sweats you wore the last time we were here," she'd sighed, trailing her hand down his bare chest to the waistband of his pajama pants.

"'Cause I was sharing a room with your brother," Jake had argued, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Couldn't really wear my usual," he'd reminded – his usual being a pair of shorts, if that.

"And now you get to share with me," Heather had reminded, twisting around until she could twine her arms around his neck. "Isn't that way better?" she'd inquired, brushing her mouth over his. "Plus, you still need something to wear to the bathroom or down to breakfast.  And, they're Christmassy."

"Way better," he'd agreed, undoing the next button on her pajama top. "But you can keep this," Jake had told her, fingering her collar. "Looks way better on you."

Giggling quietly, Heather had lain back on the mattress. "You might wanna see how you like it off me too."

Jake had groaned. "I'm not sure I can do this with your dad just across the hall, babe," he'd warned, though he'd continued to work on removing the pajama top she was wearing as a nightgown.

"Oh, I think you can," Heather had contradicted, wrapping her arms around his neck. "It's not … like he's … gonna … bust in … on us," she'd reminded between kisses.

"I dunno," Jake had argued as his lips traced their way along her jaw.

"We're married, Jake," she'd snorted, "He knows we make love."

"Yeah, but not here," he'd grumbled, pulling away. Lying on his side, Jake had propped himself up on one elbow. "I mean," he'd said, gesturing at the trundle bed a foot away from the twin bed – her childhood bed – they were laying in, "He set up the second bed –"

"Actually, I did that," Heather had interrupted, her expression sheepish. "This morning, before you got here." She'd been coming from Wichita, Jake from Denver, and while her flight had gotten out Friday evening, his had been canceled. "I didn't know for sure –"

"You didn't know?" Jake's tone had been incredulous. "Babe, I like – love – sleeping with you, even if I can't sleep with you," he'd assured, "You gotta know that."

"I know," she'd chuckled self-consciously, "But this really is a dinky little bed. I should've told Dad we were taking over the guest room, just wasn't thinkin'."

"It's fine, Heather," he'd told her, starting to work on her pajama top from the bottom this time. "I get it. This is your old room, you're comfortable here.  Just means the next ten nights we're gonna hafta sleep very, very close," he'd grinned.

"And that's such a hardship," she'd drawled, matching his mock-serious tone.

"Hardship, no," he'd shrugged. "But the photo of you and your parents at your first communion could be a real problem," Jake had decided, cocking his head toward the nightstand.  "Seriously, it's like your dad is staring at me. And he's totally thinking 'Jake, don't you go ravishing my daughter under my roof'."

Heather had rolled her eyes. "Okay first, I seriously doubt my father ever thinks the word 'ravish'," she'd countered. "It's a little too romance novel for him.  And second, I think you are in a bit of a quandary here, mister, because his daughter – also known as your wife – demands that you do your husbandly duty and ravish her."  Slowly, she'd dragged her fingers across his stomach to emphasize her point.  "Maybe more than once."

"Hmmm," Jake had murmured, pretending to consider her 'demand' while at the same time undoing the last button on her pajama top. "Well, when you put it that way, guess it's not much of a quandary after all, is it?"

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she had pulled him down for a kiss.  "I thought you might see it my way," she'd giggled against his mouth.  But in the next moment Heather had realized that he'd been distracted once again by the picture on the nightstand at the head of the bed.  "Don't stare at it – at him!" she'd growled.  "Fine," she'd muttered a few seconds later, scooting herself far enough up the mattress that she'd been able to twist around and knock the picture frame over on its face.  "Better?" she'd inquired.

"Smart thinkin'," Jake had confirmed with a grin.  "My wife's got beauty and brains," he'd teased, threading his hands through her hair.
 
"Well, you know what they say," she'd returned huskily.  Heather had shrugged away her top, enjoying the hungry gleam in his eye.  "Flattery will get you everything."

Finishing off the last button on her pajama top, Heather couldn't help but smile at her memory of that night just over four years before. Jake was right; what they had together was wonderful and precious, it was something they shouldn't take for granted and, as he'd said, it was nothing to mess with. Switching off the lantern, Heather left it on the dresser and made her way across the room by memory. She drew the covers back slowly, trying to keep from disturbing her sleeping husband. Then, with care, she lay down on her side, her back to Jake, before easing her way into the middle of the bed, closer to him.

"No, sleep this way," Jake mumbled, somehow finding and kissing the shell of her ear in the dark.

Heather knew what he was asking. Although their longtime habit was to sleep spooned together, in the last few weeks they had altered this practice as they'd found themselves spending so much time in bed, whispering away the hours while they cuddled together for warmth, their baby nestled between them. "Jake, you're supposed to be sleeping," Heather complained even as she forced herself to sit up and shift around so that when she lay back down she was facing him. "Better?"

"Good," he sighed in agreement, moving toward her until they were pressed together, Jake wrapping himself around both Heather and their baby. He brought his hand up to cup her cheek. "We're good, right?" he asked, their gazes, somehow, locking in the dark. "After this morning?"

"You got your second wind, didn't you?" she groaned.

"Maybe," he yawned, "Not really. I just – I know you said we're fine," Jake told her, stroking her cheek with his thumb.  "And, I think we're fine –" 

"Jake, this morning was like a million years ago," Heather claimed.  Under the covers she moved her hand so that it lay on his chest, her fingers grasping the soft fabric of his t-shirt. "And, we're good – we're great. You don't hafta keep asking." She paused, frowning and although at most a few inches separated them, she didn't think he could see that in the dark. "Seriously, if I could take this morning back, I would…. I kinda overreacted," she confessed, her voice squeaking softly. "I mean, I walked in on you talking to this cute, friendly, not  pregnant woman who's calling you a 'brooding bad boy', and I don't know, it just made me feel like … like a fat, pregnant, uninteresting –"

"Hey, hey, stop," Jake interrupted, covering her mouth with his own. "You're pregnant, yeah, but you're not fat.  Honestly, if you put on ten more pounds tomorrow," he murmured against her lips as they exchanged another kiss, "I'd be relieved, babe."  He pulled slightly away then, but continued to caress her cheek.  "And there's no way in hell that you're uninteresting," he contradicted.  "You're the most interesting person I know, and I'm not just saying that 'cause I'm married to you," Jake said, chuckling softly.  "Besides, you know what?" he asked, stifling a yawn, "I didn't even know she was a girl when I first saw her." 

"Yeah, right," she scoffed, not quite able to keep the disbelief out of her voice.

"Heather, I really didn't," Jake insisted, wrapping a lock of her hair around his finger.  "She was standin' right in front of me, in her helmet and BDUs and I just thought she was some scrawny teenager who'd probably just gone through basic before everything happened, and had never managed to really buff up," he explained. "I didn't know she was female until I heard her talk."

"Oh," she muttered.

"Oh?" he repeated.

"Well, that kinda makes things worse, Jake..." Heather declared after a long pause.  "Now, it's not just that I overreacted, now it turns out I was being irrational and suspicious and jealous.  And, I'm not jealous," she argued, pressing her face against his shoulder for a moment.  "I mean, obviously I'm more than capable of being jealous," she added, chuckling uneasily as she lifted her head, "But I trust you, Jake. I have to trust you, because if I didn't, I'd have made us both crazy long ago," Heather sighed.  "I mean, in your job... well, I've no doubt that you run into women who'd be more than happy to sleep with-"

"Yeah," he interrupted, "But I don't wanna sleep with them.  I haven't.  I've never cheated on you, Heather," Jake assured, leaning toward her so he could kiss her.  "Never wanted to," he whispered huskily, "Okay?"

"Okay," Heather agreed, expelling a warm breath that he could feel on his lips, mere centimeters from her own.  "I think… I think I always assumed that," she admitted slowly.  "I mean, I never thought you would or had….  But it's still really good to hear, so thank you."  She chuckled then, a slightly nervous sound that didn't make any sense to Jake until she added, "I haven't either.  Just so – so you know."

"I know," he confirmed with another kiss.  "But it's still really good to hear."

"And, I still don't know why I lost it this morning," she confessed.  "I could blame hormones, I guess, but that seems like such a cop out."

"We can blame hormones," Jake returned quietly.  He yawned again, and Heather thought maybe he'd be willing to go to sleep now.  "Works for me."

"I'm still sorry about this morning," Heather apologized, "And I'm really, really grateful that you're here, that you survived the – the –"

"Attack," he supplied, running his fingers through her hair.  "And, me too."
 
She kissed him.  "I love you, Jake.  And I trust you.  And as far as I'm concerned, we are absolutely, one hundred percent great.  So, unless for some reason you don't agree, will you, please, just go to sleep?"

"Yeah," Jake breathed, "I – we're great.  But I have to tell you one more thing, okay?"

"Jake!" Heather protested, starting to laugh hard enough to shake the bed.  "Oh my God," she gasped out, still giggling.

"What?" he inquired almost grumpily.  "Now you laugh?  Why?"

"I'm just picturing myself in three or four years, arguing with your child who won't go to bed," she informed him, stroking his arm.  "'One more drink of water, Mommy,' 'One more story, Mommy,' 'I have to tell you something, Mommy….'"

"If I'm in charge of bedtime stories, isn't that gonna be my problem?" Jake countered.

"You know, you're right," Heather agreed rather cheerfully, "That is gonna be your problem.  And don’t you think I won't enjoy seein' how that goes," she chuckled.  "So," she sighed a beat later, "What is the one more thing you hafta tell me?"

He shifted under the covers, bringing both of his hands to rest on her middle, splayed across the mound that protected their growing child.  "You said – you said you were feelin' 'pretty darn pregnant' today," Jake reminded, clearing his throat, "And I just thought – thought you should know that when I look at you… when I see you, carrying our – our baby…. Well, I'm just proud."

"Thank you," she murmured, a catch in her voice. 

"I don't know if you should be thanking me," Jake chuckled self-consciously. "I mean a big part of it is that I'm proud of myself," he admitted. "Like chest puffed out, strut around, just damn proud. You wanted a kid," he declared, massaging her belly, "I did my husbandly duty, and now we're havin' one.  But it's more than that," he insisted, fiddling with a button on her pajamas.  He inserted two fingers through the gap he'd created in her top, tapping them lightly against her belly button.  "It's hard to explain...."
 
"You don't have to, Jake," Heather assured.  "And you can be proud.  I walk around feeling rather proud of this myself sometimes," she admitted, trapping his hand against her abdomen. "Though some days I just feel pregnant and wish B.G. would hurry up some."  She emitted a long sigh, playing with his fingers.  "And you wanted a kid - a child - too," Heather argued. "I mean, maybe not this exact timing, this quick," she acknowledged, and Jake could hear the frown in her tone. "'Cause I know you weren't exactly thrilled when I brought it up."

"Babe, I was a complete jackass when you brought it up," he acknowledged tightly. "There's a lotta things you could call me for how I reacted, and I deserve every one of 'em," he grumbled. "I'm – I'm sorry for that, and I don't have a good excuse," Jake admitted, the pressure of his fingers against her abdomen emphasizing his point. He wasn't hurting her or their baby, but he was clearly tense. "I'd – I'd gotten too much into my own head, workin' the Ravenwood assignment, and I'm sorry I didn't react the way I should've."

Heather squeezed his fingers. "I know," she whispered. They had had this conversation a couple of times, by cell phone and video chat, but she'd long considered the issue resolved – she was six months pregnant after all. "And at the time it… stung," she confessed. "But you came around," she reminded, and when she kissed him, he could tell she was smiling. "Heck, by Hawaii, you were completely on board.  When the girl at the rental car place asked what we were planning to do in Hawaii, you said 'Get her pregnant'," Heather snorted.

"Well, that was the plan," he confirmed, "Only suddenly you were all 'just let nature take its course'," Jake complained.  "You confused the hell outta me, babe."

"Because I didn't want to be disappointed," she proclaimed.  "I didn't want us to be disappointed, and I didn't want the pressure.  That pressure – trying to get pregnant and then worrying about why they couldn't – that did April and Eric in."

"Babe, we're not them."  The response was reflexive at this point, a product of this uncomfortable conversation that they'd had a hundred times already.  Not so much in the last few weeks, he acknowledged to himself, when all they'd had time to worry about was survival.  But now that the topic had reared its ugly head once again, Jake found that he was back to gritting his teeth and silently cursing his brother for all the havoc he'd wreaked.

"I know, Jake," Heather returned quickly, "And I wasn't trying to re-open that discussion, trust me.  But trying to get pregnant is stressful when nothing's happening, and they're my closest examples, that's all," she sighed, pulling her hand away.  "And it's silly to say this now, because I am pregnant, but Jake if I hadn't gotten pregnant, all it would've meant is that the timing wasn't right.  Basic biology," she insisted.  "It wouldn't have meant that we didn't try, or that it wouldn't have happened the next time.  I just – I just didn't want to make a big deal about it, that's all."

Jake found her hand again, clenched into a fist against her hip, and covered it with his own.  "First, I think our timing's perfect," he told her, coaxing her into letting him lace their fingers together.  "It's the timing of everything else that's happened since that sucks.  But I'm glad we made our kid in Hawaii, 'cause we sure did try," he reminded.  Heather could hear the satisfied smirk in his tone, and couldn't help but chuckle along with him.  "We tried again and again," Jake teased, his voice rasping, "And again."

"Yeah, we did," she returned, giggling quietly.  She pulled her hand out of his, resting it against his chest and rubbing gentle circles over his heart.  "How many times?"

Even with the layers of clothing between them, Jake reveled in her touch, allowing a contented sigh.  "What?" he yawned.

"How many times did we try?" she clarified, still chuckling.  "And, don't tell me you weren't counting," Heather ordered.  "I know you, and that's exactly the sort of thing you would bother to count."

"I wasn't counting," Jake claimed, his outraged tone clearly affected.  A second later he added, "After, you know, the first coupl'a days, first ten, fifteen times."

Her laugh was louder this time, a sound that was happy and flirtatious and – to Jake's ear – sexy as hell.  "Well that does sound kinda low to me," Heather informed him.  "I mean, we were there sixteen days, and twice a day would be thirty two," she reminded, kissing his jaw.  "And twice a day's underestimating things, I think."

"'Specially when you consider the two days we never left the condo," Jake suggested, his voice a low rumble.  "That ups our number some, right?"

"Yeah," she agreed, pressing her lips to his neck.  "And, really it was four days if you count the other two days when we barely made it out to the beach," Heather countered with a husky whisper.   "And that was only for like an hour, two tops.  Three times a day would be forty eight," she calculated, "So I think we should just say fifty."

"Fifty's good," Jake concurred, chuckling.  "Nice, round number," he added, running his hand along the nice, rounded curve of her pregnant belly.  "Swear to God, babe, you're the only person in the world who could ever make basic arithmetic sexy," he teased.  "That's totally a word problem for Mrs. Green's adults only collection.  'If Heather and Jake go to Hawaii for sixteen days and they make –'"

"Jake!" she protested, covering his mouth with her hand.  "That's got school board inquiry written all over it, no matter who I'm related to!" 

"Well, I did say the adult collection," he defended, nipping at her finger so that, giggling, she pulled her hand away.  "I'm not sayin' you should put it up on the chalkboard at school."

In the next second, Heather felt Jake's hand brush over her nose – barely missing her eye – before settling on her cheek.  "Ow," she complained, "Why are you trying to poke my eye out?"

"Just checkin' to see if you're blushing," he informed her, caressing her cheek.  "I always figure I've gone too far if you turn too red."

"You didn't go too far, Jake, but you are still recovering from hypothermia," Heather reminded, "So my face and every other part of me is gonna feel hot to you."

"Yeah, you're pretty hot," Jake returned.  He waited a moment before adding, his voice pitched low, "So, fifty times…."

"That is what the math tells us," she agreed with a chuckle.

"Can't argue with the math.  It'd be weird if you weren't pregnant," he decided.  "Given all that… math we did."

"It was bound to happen, huh?" she laughed.  "Well, if you give the man a mission…."

"I just wanna be of service," he returned.  "Aim to please."

Heather giggled at that.  "Well, we both know you're a pretty good shot," she told him, pressing her hand down over his on her abdomen to emphasize her point. 

"I like that one," Jake acknowledged appreciatively. 

Their gazes locked in the darkness, and he knew she was smiling – hell, he was too – even before she spoke.  "You're a stud, Jake," Heather sighed happily, "You're my stud."

"Always, babe," he murmured.  "But, what I wanna know is, how come I could never get you to talk to me like this on the phone," Jake groused, leaning in for a kiss.  "All those times I was stuck in some godforsaken hotel room," he breathed against her mouth, "Thousands of miles away.  I could'a gone for some word play," he teased.

"Yeah, well, you were always on some government issued phone," she whispered in return.  "And I didn't know who else might be listening," Heather argued.  "I'll say these things to you, but I'm not sayin' them for an audience."

"They were supposed to tell me when and which phones they monitored," Jake informed her, playing with her hair.  "I never called you from one of those.  Still, I can't really argue with the instinct," he conceded, yawning.

They both fell silent then, Heather once again hoping that Jake would give in to his exhaustion and finally go to sleep.  On this night though, her hands had a mind of their own, and it wasn't until Jake murmured, "What's your plan, babe?" that she even realized she'd managed to snake her hand underneath both of the shirts he was wearing and that she was drawing lazy circles around his navel with her index finger.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," she giggled nervously, trying to withdraw her hand, but he was too quick for her, trapping it against his stomach with his own hand.  "Jake –"

"I didn't say stop," he reminded, and she could hear the smile – the leer – in his voice.  "Just asked what you were thinkin'."

"I wasn't thinking," Heather admitted, letting out a deep sigh.  "Or, I was, but about something else.  I was thinking about our first married night in Buffalo," she confessed a beat later.  He lifted his hand enough off hers that she was able to return to her ministrations, the pad of her finger skimming gently over his skin.  "I'm wearing those pajamas," she confided, allowing a sultry chuckle.

"The Buffalo Christmas pajamas," Jake identified.  "I've always liked those pajamas…" he murmured, raising his hand to cup her cheek.  "On you."

Heather's laugh was full-throated.  "All that lingerie from my bridal showers, and all I really need is a pair of flannel pjs."

"Nah, need all of it," he assured, leaning close so he could kiss her.  "I love those things too."

"Okay," she agreed, smiling, as she returned his kiss.  "Can you go to sleep now?" Heather asked, letting her hand still, but leaving it in place on his stomach.

"Yeah," he answered, and she could feel him nodding.  "Long as you're stayin' with me," he yawned. 

"Always, Jake," she promised, kissing him again.  "Always."


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

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 15!

As Different Circumstances, Part 15 will be a new story on this site, please check your "Favorites" settings and make sure that you either have me marked as a Favorite Author or Different Circumstances marked as a Favorite Series in order to ensure you receive an email when I post the next part.



The Kansas City Royals are a major league baseball franchise that plays in Kansas City, Missouri.  This is the team that the denizens of Jericho most likely grew up cheering for. 

The dishes served at Heather's and Jake's engagement party are all ones that I like.  My German is slightly better than the Lisinski siblings, but not much.

Oprah Winfrey used to host a daily television talk show.  I can't say that I ever saw an episode where she discussed fertility issues and men's underwear, but the odds are good that she did.

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