Different Circumstances: Part 4A of ?

by Marzee Doats

Rating: PG-13.

Useless Disclaimer: I don't have any rights to anything related to Jericho. 

Acknowledgment:  Fairly significant chunks of dialogue are borrowed from theJericho episode Walls of Jericho, written by Ellie Herman.  Some dialogue has been altered to fit the story line, others portions are intact. 

Teaser: 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. 

Author's Note: I'd hoped to be able to post this chapter in two parts, but I'm having a helluva week, so it's going to have to be in three parts.  For some reason, my boss expects me to be productive, and I have to find some time to do my taxes.  The way this chapter worked out, it's nine scenes (5 'present day', 4 flashbacks) and I couldn't get the 4th scene written to my satisfaction.  Keep your fingers crossed for the weekend.  Hopefully, this will tide you all over.

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

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

Sunday, September 24, four days after the bombs

People fleeing, terrified; the sky burning orange over an abandoned freeway interchange; more people running for their lives.  The video loop took about twenty seconds to run through, so at this point, Jake estimated he'd seen it a million times, give or take.  He just couldn't stop watching, and he wasn't the only one.

"I'm telling you, it's the Midwest," Eric argued from behind Jake, for the tenth time in fifteen minutes.  "From the skyline, I'm thinkin' Cincinnati."

For the tenth time, Jake ignored his brother.  They were all resorting to talking just to fill up the empty air.  Jake concentrated on the TV, though he really didn't need to watch.  He could close his eyes and still see everything that was happening.  "I wish we could read the license plates," he said, only for the sixth time.

"Well, let's make Cincinnati a question mark," Eric suggested, which was a first.  Jake moved to his seat at the bar, watching Mary Bailey pick up a pencil, walk to the map they'd tacked up two days before, and draw a question mark over Cincinnati.  At least it was something new.

Jake crossed his arms on top of the bar, laying his head down on top of them.  He was tired, and possibly a little obsessed with the video running on the TV, and he knew he should go home, but for some reason he couldn't.

He heard the door open behind him, and turned to see Stanley come in with Bonnie.  Two days before Mary had made noises about the State pulling her liquor license when Stanley had brought Bonnie in with him.  They'd all stared at her, and Mary had started laughing at the absurdity of it all.  Now, as long as no one tried to, in her words, 'turn Bailey's into a day care center', she didn't care who came in.

"Jake," Stanley greeted, clapping his best friend on the back.

"Stanley," Jake returned, raising his hand in welcome.  "Hey, Bonnie."

"Anything new?" Stanley inquired.  He caught Mary's eye, and motioned for a beer.

Jake shook his head.  "Not since yesterday," he admitted.

"Shep and Gray shoulda been back by now," Stanley muttered.  Mary handed him his beer, and he nodded his thanks.

Mary placed another bottle in front of Jake, and he picked it up, then pushed it away.  He hadn't come to drink, not really, and though it'd be the easy thing to do, Jake knew better than to go down that road.  He was getting too little sleep, operating on too much adrenaline, and at times, teetering on the edge of depression; adding alcohol on top of all that would be asking for trouble.  "Our radios went silent about fifty miles out," he reminded his friend.

Stanley, who had already forgotten what he'd said, stared at the TV, mesmerized by the horror of it all.  "Makes you wonder what happened to whoever shot this."

Robert Hawkins, as Jake had learned was his full name, passed behind them.  "I think that mighta been the last thing they ever saw."

Jake buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes.  He'd been thinking the same thing, but it was still hard to hear out loud.  The lights flickered then, the TV turning off for a second, drawing Jake's gaze to the ceiling, distracting him momentarily from the thoughts swirling half-formed in his brain.

"Where's Heather?"

The lights had come back on, prompting a collective sigh of relief from the patrons scattered throughout the bar.  Jake looked sideways at his friend, grateful for the distraction.  "She fell asleep on the couch, at my parents, after dinner.  That left just Dad and me, so I went for a walk." 

The power flickered again, and then the lights went out.  Everyone groaned and waited, hoping the lights would come back.  They didn't, and Mary finally called out, "Sorry folks, we're closin' early tonight!  Take a flashlight, it's dark out there," she advised.

"What?  It's only nine-thirty," Stanley protested.

"Nine-thirty?" Jake repeated, grabbing his jacket and flashlight off the barstool next to him.  "Damn, I gotta go." 

He hurried out of the bar, a wave of guilt assailing him.  He'd left Heather asleep on his parents' couch more than two hours before.  His mother has insisted on observing the long-standing tradition of the Green Family Sunday Night Dinner, and none of them had been willing to disappoint her, especially not Jake since it had been so long since he'd been able to attend a dinner.  So, they had all ignored the fact that they were eating canned beef stew that had been heated over an ancient camp stove, and had acted like it was any other Sunday.   April had only been able to come for the actual meal, and she had asked his mother to go back to the clinic with her, desperate for another set of capable hands.  Eric had driven them over, and Heather had volunteered Jake and herself for KP.  Once they'd cleaned up, they'd joined Jake's father in the den, where Heather had promptly fallen asleep on the couch.  Jake and his father had never been very good at being alone together, and he'd bailed after ten minutes of stilted conversation, ostensibly to check on the satellite feed at Bailey's, promising to come right back.  Somehow his quick trip had turned into two hours. 

Outside Bailey's, Jake made it about ten steps before he spotted the familiar form of his wife loping toward him.  She'd abandoned her crutch halfway through the second day, and was now doing pretty well with just the walking cast, moving almost as fast as normal.  "Hey!" he called out, pointing his flashlight at her to get her attention.

"Hey," she returned, smiling at him widely.  The patrons of Bailey's were streaming out now, moving around them both as they headed to their cars and homes.  Heather came to a stop before him, aiming the beam of her own flashlight at his feet.  "Is the generator out?"

"Naw," Jake shook his head, grinning tiredly.  "Outta booze."

She laughed, the sound a balm to his ragged nerves.  "Any more images?" Heather asked, cocking her head.

An SUV passed them, and Jake pulled Heather close, out of the way of the car.  "Naw, just the same loop," he told her, transferring his flashlight to his other hand so he could lace their fingers together.  "Sorry I abandoned you," he apologized softly.  "Lost track of time," Jake admitted.

"Sorry I conked out on you," Heather countered.  "I don't know, I'm fine one second, and absolutely exhausted the next," she told him, stifling a yawn.

"How'd you get here?" he asked.

"Your Dad walked me over," she replied.  "He's sneaking into town hall for something as we speak," Heather explained, pointing at the darkened building across the street with her flashlight.  "Jake, it's only eight blocks," she argued, recognizing his disapproving look.  "I can walk eight blocks.  I can walk the eight blocks back, too."

Jake conceded her point with a nod, letting go of her hand so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders.  "So then, get the car, head home?"

"Works for me," she agreed with a grin, leaning into his embrace.

They started down the street.  "Still can't get used to Bailey's without the mechanical bull," Jake told Heather, kissing the top of her head, both of them chuckling.  "Stanley musta cried when they took that out."

"Ah, but you didn't see Mary when she got her first insurance bill after he broke his arm," she interjected.  "That was definitely not crying!"

He chuckled in acknowledgment.  "Doesn't sound pretty," Jake agreed.  "Hey, when did the Pizza Garden become the Cyberjolt Café?" he demanded, stopping to point his flashlight at the unlit storefront. 

"Ah, when the Health Department shut down the Pizza Garden," Heather reported, wrinkling her nose.

"What?"

Heather looked up at him, her expression sympathetic.  "Hon, the Pizza Garden hasn't been any good since Mags sold it and moved to Florida," she reminded.  "And, the Cyberjolt has really good coffee."

"I used to work there –"

"Washing dishes for gas money," Heather interrupted.  "Yeah, I've heard that story," she laughed.  "Of course, we both know your Mom would have given you gas money, so that means you were really working for beer money," she teased.  "But it is sweet how you try to protect my tender sensibilities."

He kissed her on the mouth then, lightly, murmuring, "Your tender sensibilities are important to me.”  He sighed, tightening the arm he had around her.  “Our first date was at the Pizza Garden,” Jake reminded.  “I’d think you’d at least be a little sentimental about that."

Before she could respond, they were both startled by the soft sound of breaking glass somewhere nearby.  Jake looked around, directing his flashlight over the buildings along the pitch black street.  “That came from the alley,” he declared, letting go of Heather and moving quietly in the direction of the side street. 

She followed Jake into the alley, though she knew he didn’t want her to.  When he realized she was there he didn’t say anything, just shook his head at her, then grabbed her hand, holding it tightly, forcing her to remain, shielded, behind him.  They proceeded quickly and quietly between the buildings, shining their flashlights in every direction, searching for the source of the noise.

“It’s the pharmacy,” she whispered to Jake, spotting a broken window in the back of the building as they came around the corner.
 
Jake turned his flashlight on the window, examining it quickly.  “Why don’t you go get some help?” he said, looking back at Heather.

She nodded, and he let go of her hand.  Heather hurried back up the alley, grateful that she’d learned to maneuver reasonably well with her cast.  Back on Main Street, she headed for the sheriff's station inside town hall, where she roused Jimmy and Bill, demanding that they come with her.  Leading the way, back out on the street, she ran into Stanley and Bonnie, who had finally given up on the generator at Bailey’s.  Heather explained the situation to Stanley, and he and Bonnie joined their hastily assembled posse. 

Jimmy and Bill jogged ahead, reaching the pharmacy first.  Forcing the door open, Jimmy cast his flashlight around the dark room, spotting Jake who was performing a cursory examination of a man, covered in red sores, passed out on the floor.  "Jake!  Who is he?"

"I don't know," Jake answered tersely, watching as Bill, Heather, Stanley and Bonnie all piled through the door.  "Help me get him outta here."

"Not without gloves or a hazmat suit," Bill objected.

Bonnie, held back by Heather, stared, horrified, at the man on the floor.  "Is that radiation sickness?" she asked, obviously upset.

"I think it might be," Jake confirmed reluctantly.  "Oh God," he swore a second later.  "Get out, Heather," he ordered, meeting her wide-eyed gaze.  "Get out.  You're pregnant," he reminded, forestalling her objection.  Jake glanced at Stanley then, who nodded at his sister.  "Take Bonnie, too," he added, watching, his heart in his throat, as Heather finally began to back out the door.

"Okay, let's go," Heather muttered, apprehension lacing her tone. Still holding onto Bonnie's arm, she pulled the teenager along with her.

Jimmy was also inching toward the exit.  "C'mon Bill," he urged.

"Help us pick him up," Jake demanded, standing up to glare at the two deputies.

"I'm not touching him, no way," Bill argued, holding his hands up.  "Not me.  He could be contagious." 

Jake watched his wife and Bonnie leave, shaking his head, not quite able to believe this was all happening.  "God," he murmured under his breath.

Stanley moved to help Jake, fixing Bill with an angry stare.  "He's not contagious, Bill."

"You seem to think he's contagious to Heather and Bonnie," Bill argued, his expression obstinate.  "I'm sorry, Stanley," he mumbled, "But no way."

Jake shook his head, disgusted.  "That's a completely different situation, Bill."

"What if it was me lying here, Bill?" Stanley demanded.   He and Jake stooped down, then lifted the stranger between them.  "Wouldja walk away then?"

"It's not like with you, Stanley," Jimmy objected.  "We don't – we don't even know who this guy is."

Both Jake and Stanley ignored the deputies' protestations as they carried their burden back up the alley to Main Street.  "We can get him in my truck, and to the clinic," Stanley offered, but otherwise they didn't speak.

Back on Main Street, Jake spotted his father waiting with Heather and Bonnie, a protective hand on each of their shoulders.  "Stay back," he called to them, as they drew close to Stanley's truck.

"Headed for the clinic?" Johnston asked, dragging the two women with him as he backed away from the street, onto the sidewalk and then the lawn.

"Yeah," Stanley answered distractedly, helping Jake load the stranger into the bed of his truck.

"We're right behind you," Johnston assured, collaring Jimmy, who looked relieved to be drafted for the simple duty of ferrying the other three to the clinic.  The group started down the street to where Jimmy's squad car was parked.

"I'll stay back here with him," Jake decided, loosening the stranger's shirt.  The man's breathing was labored, and Jake wasn't even sure he'd make it to the clinic.  "Just go."

Stanley nodded, and closed the truck's tailgate.  "Heather's pregnant?" he asked, looking Jake in the eye.

"Yeah," Jake confirmed, his expression inscrutable.

"Wow," Stanley murmured.

"Yeah," Jake agreed.

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

Saturday, October 13, five years before the bombs

Jake Green had looked good in a suit, better in a t-shirt and jeans, and Heather couldn't help think, overwhelmingly handsome in the slacks, open-necked shirt, and sports jacket he was now wearing.  "Hey," she greeted softly, opening her front door to admit him to her house, all the while trying to remember to breathe and to not stare too obviously.  The butterflies she'd been suffering almost constantly since they'd parted company at the Richmonds five hours earlier returned with a vengeance.  "Come – Come in," she invited, stumbling over her words.

"Hey," he replied in turn, smiling gently.  "You look great, lovely," he said, suddenly plagued by his own set of nerves.  "Um, these are for you," Jake added, presenting her with a small bouquet of mixed flowers.  Then he leaned in, kissing her quickly on the cheek.

Heather, wide-eyed with surprise, accepted the bouquet with one hand, taking Jake's hand with the other.  "Thank you," she said shyly, leading him into her living room.  Somehow, she managed to keep herself from blurting out that she'd never before received flowers from anyone she didn't share a close, genetic relationship with.  "Would you like something to drink?" she asked next, mainly to have something to say.

"No thanks," Jake answered.  "I'm good."

"Okay," Heather nodded, letting go of his hand because her own was starting to sweat, and that was about the last thing she wanted him to know at that moment.  "Wait here, have a seat," she invited.  "I'm gonna find a vase."

Jake nodded, admiring Heather as she walked across the room and into the kitchen.  He'd told her she looked lovely, but Jake didn't think that covered the half of it.  She was wearing what he could only classify as a 'flirty' dress, not exactly revealing in the traditional sense, though it did accentuate her petite figure, showing her legs off nicely, and dipping in a V at the neck that, while not immodest, was certainly tantalizing.  She'd curled her hair, and was wearing a berry-colored lip gloss that he couldn't help but want to kiss off. 

Shaking his head to clear it, Jake forced himself to move around her living room, idly examining her bookshelves.  Heather had an eclectic collection of books, everything from college texts with the 'used' stickers still on their spines, to classic novels he remembered being required to read in high school, not to mention every book written by John Grisham or Michael Crichton.

He heard Heather come back into the room, and glanced over his shoulder in time to see her place the vase of flowers on the coffee table.  She smiled at him, and after rearranging a few blooms to her satisfaction, crossed to his side.  "You have a lot of books," he observed, glancing at her as their arms brushed together.

"I do," Heather agreed, "And this isn't even all of them," she chuckled self-consciously.  "According to my brother, I had twenty-two boxes when I moved here.  He's still complaining about having to carry all of them in," Heather continued, and Jake could actually see her getting nervous as she started to babble.  "But, I do have other interests, other things I –"

"Heather," he interrupted, "All I said is that you have a lot of books."  The grin he offered took out any sting she might have felt at his words.  "And believe it or not, I do read on occasion myself."

She gave him a relieved smile, which he returned, and then, in the next second, she was kissing him, softly, quickly, surprising the hell out of Jake.  Almost before he realized what was happening, Heather pulled away, blushing and stammering, "I – I'm sorry.  I – I don' – don't know –"

"You're sorry?" Jake echoed. He reached for her hand, stopping her from backing off farther, wanting nothing more than to drag her into his arms and try it again.

"Well, yes.  No.  I don't know," she confessed, her voice strangled.  "I don't know what – I've never done that."

"You've never done what?" he asked, hoping to God that she wasn't about to say 'kiss a guy', but also unable to think of anything else it could be.

Heather expelled a deep breath.  "Kissed somebody first," she told him, looking down.  "I've never kissed anybody who hadn't kissed me, already, first."

"Thank God," Jake muttered.  He still had a firm grip on her hand, and he pulled her close, forcing her to look up at him.  He caressed her cheek with his free hand, finally pressing his mouth to hers.  They kissed leisurely, Jake cupping the back of Heather's neck in order to gain traction as he nipped at her lower lip.  She pushed against him, opening her mouth slightly, but he didn't deepen their kiss, content for the moment to simply feel her flesh against his.

When they separated it was slowly, Jake studying Heather, waiting for her to open her eyes.  She looked dazed, and he couldn't help but smile at that, feeling strangely powerful from the knowledge that he'd induced her befuddled expression.  "Okay?" Jake murmured.

"Okay," Heather agreed, her eyes fluttering. 

She touched her bottom lip with her tongue, and it took all of Jake's willpower to keep himself from sweeping Heather back into his arms and finishing what they'd started by kissing her senseless.  He did allow himself to pull her into a loose embrace, holding her against his chest, her face buried against his shoulder.  "I did kiss you first," Jake told her, chuckling, resting his chin on top of her head.  "I kissed you when I got here."

Jake felt Heather tense against him for a second, but then she started to giggle.  "On the cheek," she complained against his shoulder.  "My brothers kiss me 'hello' on the cheek."

He groaned.  "Just so we're clear," Jake said, "Do I remind you at all of any of your brothers?"

Heather looked up at him, their eyes locking.  "You remind me of my brothers the least of anyone I've ever met," she told him somewhat incoherently.  She licked her lips, drawing another groan from Jake, and then smiled at him, chuckling soundlessly.  "Who's Megan?" she asked.

"I told Stanley you'd heard him," he laughed, shaking his head.  "Megan is Stanley's cousin."

"And, kissing me is like kissing Megan?"

"I've never kissed Megan, never wanted to," Jake responded quietly.  He let go of Heather finally, stepping back, still watching her closely.  He wanted to tell her that kissing her was wonderful, that she reminded him of no one else, and that he couldn't wait to do it again.  But, Jake couldn't come up with anything that didn't sound cheesy, or that wasn’t likely to scare the hell out of her.  He settled for smiling at her lopsidedly.  "You ready to go?"

"Okay," she nodded.  "Gimme a sec."  Jake waited while Heather retrieved her purse and sweater, and then, taking her hand, escorted her out of the house and to his car.  He opened the car door and handed her in, eliciting a giggle from Heather.  "Thank you," she murmured, smiling at him.  "I could get used to this."

Jake leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to her mouth.  "Feel free," he told her, stroking her cheek with his thumb.  They watched one another for a long moment, and then, clearing his throat, Jake stepped back and closed the door.

Heather sighed, leaning back in the seat, her hand against her mouth.  She'd already known that she was falling for Jake, and hard, but the previous ten minutes had left her giddy and happily confused.  She had never responded to anyone, never connected with anyone, never wanted to be with anyone, the way she did with Jake.  It was scary and exhilarating, all at once.  Forcing herself to concentrate, Heather followed Jake with her eyes as he crossed in front of the car, and then came around to the driver's side. 

He opened the door, and slid in.  "Hey," he said, glancing at her, one eyebrow raised questioningly.  Jake knew how to read people; in essence that was one of the more important aspects of his job: the ability to size someone else up without the other person really being aware that they were even on his radar.  Heather, in all her openness, all her honesty, was easier for him to read than almost anyone else he'd ever met, and Jake appreciated both the excitement and uncertainty pictured on her face.  "Hey," he repeated, reaching out to push a curled strand of her hair behind her ear, preventing her from hiding behind it.  He smiled at her.  "Ready?"

"Sure," she agreed, nodding, a grin blossoming on her face.  Jake watched, fascinated, as she took a deep breath, forcing all traces of insecurity out of her expression.  Heather's smile grew, and she turned it on him, asking teasingly, "Is it shallow if I admit that I really love your car?"

Jake laughed.  "Is it shallow if I admit that I really love my car?" he countered.  "My sixteenth birthday present," he explained.  "My brother got a Mustang that he wrecked years ago, but I campaigned for this."

"A Mustang's rather predictable for a sixteen year old," Heather dismissed, prompting a nod and chuckle of agreement from Jake.  He started the car then, neither of them speaking as he pulled away from the curb and drove to the first intersection.  "So," she continued, "Do you work on it yourself?  I mean, it runs great, it's beautiful, so obviously someone's putting some effort in."

"I do most things myself," Jake agreed, executing a left hand turn.  "But, I also know when I'm in over my head, and I'm friendly with a good mechanic in Rogue River."

"Well, the next time you're doing anything, even if it's just changing the oil, let me know," Heather requested.  "I'd love to get a look under the hood.  I mean, just as an assistant," she assured him quickly.  "If you don't mind.  I'm a tinkerer by nature, but I'll promise to keep my hands to myself."

They'd reached another stop sign, and Jake glanced at her sideways.  "Please don't," he told her.  Heather blushed prettily, and Jake realized that their words sounded more suggestive than either of them had truly intended.  "You fixed Stanley's tractor, right?" he continued, trying to follow her lead in this conversation, and back off from some of the intimacy they had fallen into earlier.  "If you managed that, you must be a master mechanic."

"I'd never worked on a tractor before," Heather admitted, "But an engine is an engine."  She shrugged.  "Cars are more fun."

They'd reached Jericho's small business district, and Jake pulled the car into a parking spot on the street, around the corner and half a block from The Jericho Grille.  He climbed out, moving around to the passenger's side to open the door for Heather who had, surprisingly, waited for him.  Grinning at this, Jake held out his hand to her, helping her out.  He held fast to her hand as they walked to the restaurant, still chatting about his car.  Both distracted by the other, they didn't notice the crowd milling in the street outside of The Jericho Grille until they were almost upon it.

A fire truck, its lights still flashing, was parked at the curb, and the restaurant's staff and patrons mingled together, talking anxiously and watching the door.  Jake spotted someone he knew, and asked, "What happened?"

"Kitchen fire," the other man explained, just as a firefighter and the restaurant's manager came out the door.

"Everything's fine, folks," the firefighter announced to the crowd.  "Fire's out, no one's hurt, but that's it for the night."

"I apologize for the inconvenience," the manager added.  "No charge, obviously, for anyone.  If I have your credit card, please come see me."

Jake and Heather moved a few feet down the sidewalk, away from the disappointed and disgruntled crowd.  "Wasn't expecting this," Jake said, running his hand through his hair.  "I'm sorry."

"I'm pretty sure you didn't come over here earlier and start the fire," Heather joked.  "No reason for you to be sorry."

He nodded.  "Yeah," he acknowledged, exhaling.  They were both silent for a moment, and then Jake hesitantly offered, "Look, why don't we just go over to Roma Italia."

"I think that's where everyone else is headed," Heather told him, pointing at the now dispersing crowd.  "Besides, didn't Stanley tell you that we went there?"

"There's no way you could have heard that," Jake argued, sounding just a little unsure of himself.

Heather laughed, shaking her head.  "The only thing I heard was Stanley say that kissing me would be like kissing Megan," she explained.  "But, I know you weren't talking about crop rotation this morning.  And, besides," she continued, cringing slightly, "You obviously know that I told Stanley he reminded me of my brother.  On our one and only, not to mention extremely short date," she emphasized.

"Yeah," Jake confirmed, his expression somewhat sheepish.  "I wanted to make sure I wasn’t, I don't know –"

"Going after your best friend's girlfriend?" Heather suggested.  "Jake," she sighed, "Trust me, if Stanley and I were anything like an item, I would not have been ogling you at the side of the road yesterday." 

It was dark now, but they were standing under a street lamp, and Jake could see clearly that she was blushing again.  He reached out, playing with her hair for a moment before tilting her chin up so that their eyes met.  "You were ogling me?" he teased.

Heather giggled unwillingly, shaking her head.  "You so knew that," she complained.  She took a step toward Jake then, surprising him again by kissing him softly.  "I didn't come out with you tonight because of what restaurant you'd take me to," she murmured.  "I came because you asked, and I want to spend time with you.  We can go anywhere.  We can go to the Pizza Garden, for all I care," she finished, throwing her hands up in the air for emphasis.

"The Pizza Garden?" Jake repeated, laughing.  "We're a little overdressed for The Pizza Garden."

"The pizza's reasonable, and it's almost Italian," Heather offered, shrugging.  "We are overdressed," she agreed.  "But, we'd get to eat.  Spend time together.  That's really all I wanted, anyway."

He studied her for a moment, recognizing, once again, the honesty in Heather's expression, in the way she conducted herself.  "You're sure?" he asked one last time, already knowing the answer.  She nodded.  "Okay," Jake said, holding his hand out to her, "The Pizza Garden it is."

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

Sunday, September 24, four days after the bombs

"Whoa, there!" Stanley declared, catching Heather by both arms before she could smack into him.  She'd come around the corner, not watching where she was going, at as close to a running speed as she could currently manage.

"Sorry," she responded breathlessly.  "Sorry, Stanley, I wasn't looking where I was going."

He pulled her to the side of the hallway, out of the way of traffic, not that there was anyone else in that part of the clinic at the moment.  "No problem," he told her, grinning.  "Congratulations, by the way, Mama," Stanley teased.

Heather exhaled deeply, pressing her lips together, obviously self-conscious.  "Thanks," she said finally, attempting, but not quite achieving, a smile.

"What's wrong?" Stanley demanded as her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"Nothing, really," she denied, wiping her eyes.  "I'm pregnant, so I keep crying for no reason, and falling asleep everywhere I go, and I can't stop peeing!"

Stanley made a face.  "Too much information, Green," he told her, trying not to laugh. 

"The peeing?" she asked, giggling and frowning simultaneously.

"Yeah," Stanley agreed, "That.  Look," he continued, throwing his arm around her shoulders, "This is good news – great news.  And, good news is exactly what we all need right now."

Heather shook her head.  "Stanley, there are a million things that could go wrong, especially now, with the uncertainty, the radiation, there's no electricity – April says they may not be able to keep the clinic running – and there's just no way to tell how any of this is going to work out."

"No, you can't think like that," he contradicted.  "You and Jake, you two have good luck, right?  I mean, he's supposed to be on the other side of the planet right now, but somehow he manages to come home right before the world goes to hell?  What's more lucky than that?" Stanley demanded, shaking Heather a little as he hugged her, trying to cajole a smile.  "This is gonna work out," he assured her.  "And, the best part is, I get to be an uncle," he declared, beaming.  "I do get to be an uncle, right?"

She smiled at him, laughing softly.  "Yes," Heather agreed, taking a calming breath, "You definitely get to be an uncle."

"Sweet!"  Stanley proclaimed.  "I've always wanted to be an uncle, and this is a really good way to be one, 'cause it doesn't involve my little sister having sex."

Heather laughed out loud at that, wiping her eyes again.  "Thanks, Stanley," she murmured.

"Any time, Mama," he told her, pressing a sloppy kiss to her forehead. 

"You're gonna call me that for the next seven months, aren't you?" Heather asked, groaning.

"You better believe it," Stanley grinned.

She chuckled along with him, shaking her head.  "I'm actually looking for Jake," she said finally.

Stanley let go of Heather, turning around to point at a door about fifteen feet down the hall.  "Locker room," he directed.  "Bonnie's around here somewhere?"

"Yeah," Heather confirmed, already moving toward the locker room door.  "I got caught up talking with April, and she wandered off."  Stanley nodded in acknowledgment, and then headed in the opposite direction. 

Heather walked to the door Stanley had indicated, and knocked, calling out "Jake!" as she let herself in.  She made it four steps in before she spotted her husband, standing in the middle of the room, a towel wrapped low around his waist.  "Oh," she murmured, eyes wide.

"Had to take a shower," Jake told her, their gazes locking.

"Go ahead," Heather replied, clearing her suddenly dry throat.

Jake grinned, amused.  "No, babe, I did," he said, pointing to the shower stall behind him.  "I just took a shower."

"Oh, right," she agreed, turning red.

"God," he declared, blown away as he always was by the passion for him that was so evident in Heather's expression.  "You have no idea what you do to me," he sighed, stepping toward her.  "We've been together nearly five years, and you still blush," Jake said hoarsely, cupping her face in both his hands and kissing her.

"It's been awhile," Heather whispered, wrapping her arms around Jake so that her hands were splayed across his bare, damp back.

He leaned his forehead against Heather's.  "Three months," he breathed, brushing his mouth across hers again.

"Ten weeks, actually," she corrected, giggling softly and opening her mouth to him.

It was Jake who pulled away first, groaning in frustration.  "We really can't do this here," he told Heather, holding her at arm's length.  "I'm pretty sure April'd kill us if we did," he completed, breathing hard.

Heather's laugh was shaky.  "No doubt," she agreed, wrapping her arms around herself.  "Not exactly comfortable, either."

"That too," he acknowledged, allowing an exasperated chuckle.

"I'll probably just fall asleep later," Heather warned with a wry grin.

Jake groaned once more, and stepped toward her, grasping her by the shoulders.  "That's a chance I'll have to take," he said, kissing her softly, chastely, twice before pulling back.  "Okay," Jake declared, having put three feet between them, "You go over there, please," he ordered, pointing to the bench that ran between the two banks of lockers.

Heather did as he asked, perching herself on the end of the bench, watching Jake while he wiped his face dry with his arm, then grabbed a pair of scrubs off a shelf.  "So, what's up?" he asked, pulling on the top.

"Oh, uh, April said the clinic was running low on gasoline for the generator," Heather answered, rather surprised that she could recall the original reason she'd come looking for him.  She took a deep breath, and continued.  "It occurred to me that if we had a length of hose and a funnel we could siphon gas out of our cars.  Then it occurred to me that there's all that gas in the tanks at Murthy's gas station, and if we could get enough suction, then we could get all the gas we wanted."

Jake slipped on the pants and tossed his towel at a hamper.  "Would a water pump do it?" he asked.

"Should," Heather nodded.

He crossed to where she sat, holding out his hand to help her up. "Well then, we'll find one."  Jake kissed Heather on the forehead, then turned her around, putting both hands on her shoulders to steer her out of the locker room.  In the hall he took her hand.  "C'mon."

Jake wanted to check in on the stranger, and so he led Heather back to room three.  Outside the room they found Bonnie, watching the man through the observation window.  Jake let go of Heather's hand, and moved next to Bonnie, touching her arm to get her attention.  "Bonnie," he greeted softly when she looked at him.

She was frowning, and he thought, trying valiantly not to cry.  "This could be my brother," she told Jake.  "Is this how they die?"

"Stanley didn't get it this bad," Jake assured her.

Bonnie shook her head.  "He could still get cancer," she protested.

Heather moved to the other side of Bonnie, putting her arm around the teenager.  "We don't know that," she comforted.

Stanley came through the fire door in time to hear Bonnie's last statement.  He called out to them, gaining Jake's and Heather's attention, who in turn urged Bonnie to look at her brother.  "Don't worry about me," Stanley told her, signing simultaneously.  "I'll be fine."

"Take care of him," Bonnie said, looking at Jake.  Then, she pulled loose from Heather, hurrying into her brother's embrace. 

Jake and Heather moved instinctively together, his arm going around her as they watched their friends.  "I need to go in there," he murmured, pointing to the stranger through the window.  "I'll talk to April about the gas," he promised, letting go of her.

"Hey, Heather, where's your car?" Stanley asked.

"Um, Jake's parents'," she answered, her eyes darting back and forth between her husband's departing form and Stanley.

"Want a lift over?" he offered.  "Then you can come back for Jake, or not."

Jake, halfway through the door, turned to glare at his friend.

Heather laughed, promising him, "I'll come back for you.  Gimme half an hour."

"Thanks," Jake answered.  "Tell Stanley your plan," he suggested.  "See if he's in."

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

Different Circumstances: Part 4B of ? by Marzee Doats

Author's Note: Jake's and Heather's pizza opinions are entirely their own. I've eaten, on pizza, most of the ingredients they consider to be crazy. I'm also from California, so you can take everything Jake says with a grain of salt.

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

Saturday, October 13, five years before the bombs

They walked the two and a half blocks to The Pizza Garden holding hands and talking about nothing important, certainly not anything Jake could remember later.  What he did remember was the way Heather laughed at his little jokes, and her own quick wit and clever sense of humor.  As with the previous evening, he realized that he truly enjoyed being around her, especially once they both were over the initial awkwardness that seemed to spring up between them each time they met.  Jake couldn't help but hope that would go away soon.

They reached the pizza parlor without either of them noticing the route they had taken or the people they had passed.  Jake stepped forward to hold the door for Heather, but felt it being pushed open from the inside, and moved out of the way.  In the next second, his parents appeared in the doorway, both looking as surprised to see him as Jake was to see them.

"Mom, Dad," he greeted quickly, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his mother's cheek.

"Jake!  Sweetheart!  What are you doing here?" Gail Green demanded.  Her gaze slid over Heather and him, and Jake could see the gears turning in his mother's head as she took in their clothing, their entwined hands, even Heather's mussed lip gloss.  

They were caught, and Jake knew that, if nothing else, he had to spare Heather whatever embarrassment he could manage.  "Mom, Dad," he repeated, forcing his voice into an even tone, "This is Heather Lisinski."

Letting go of his hand, Heather held hers out to his mother.  "Mrs. Green, Mayor Green," she greeted.  "It's nice to meet you again."

"Miss Lisinski," they replied in unison, Gail, and then Johnston, shaking her hand.

"You've met?" Jake asked, surprised, as Heather stepped back to his side, slipping her arm through his.

"School board meeting last month," Heather explained, emitting an aggravated chuckle.  "They made me stand up and introduce myself, which was awful," she grumbled, rolling her eyes.  "Twenty-four eight year olds I can handle, no sweat.  Seventy-five adults is a completely different story."  Heather's gaze drifted sideways, locking with Jake's. 

"Well, our methods of torture are quite subtle here in Jericho," Jake teased, grinning down at her.

"Exactly!" she agreed with a laugh.  "I was not adequately warned about the school board."

"Or the PTA," Jake suggested, laughing along with Heather.

"Anyway," Heather continued, smiling at the elder Greens, "Your parents were nice enough to welcome me to Jericho after the meeting was over.  I appreciated that, a lot," she told them.  "I was still at the completely in over my head, 'oh my goodness, what have I gotten myself into' stage at that point."  She turned her attention back to Jake, and it was suddenly as if his parents weren't there.  "I'm beyond that particular stage now," she assured him.  "At least I'm pretty sure I know what I've gotten into," Heather joked.

"How did you two meet?" Gail interjected finally, after a long moment's pause.  Her interest was piqued not only by the physical picture they presented, as intriguing as that was, but also by the ease with which they interacted, the almost besotted way they looked at one another.  She was also astounded by the transformation in her son, who had been nearly impossible to live with for the last four months.  Suddenly, he seemed happy again, and she hoped, no longer tormented by the specter of Chris Sullivan.  "When did you meet?" she asked.

Jake shifted his focus to his mother somewhat reluctantly, forcing himself to remember his vow to get through this in the least awkward way possible.  "Gramps is helping Heather out with a local history project for school," he explained.  "We were going to have dinner at The Jericho Grille tonight," he continued, glossing over all the parts he knew his mother was fishing for, "But they had a fire."

"Is everything okay?" Johnston demanded, and Jake recognized an opportunity.  His father in full-on mayor-mode would speed things along.  "Was anyone hurt?"

"Fire's out and no injuries, according to the fire department," Heather reported.

"It started in the kitchen," Jake added.  "Didn't sound like it spread beyond that.  They just had to close for the night, maybe tomorrow, to clean up."

"When -"

Gail started to ask another question, but Johnston interrupted, putting his hand on her shoulder, and announcing loudly, "Maybe we should go by The Jericho Grille, just in case, on the way home."  He glanced at Jake, who nodded in return, throwing his father a grateful look.

"Of course," Gail conceded politely.  She looked back and forth between Jake and Heather, saying finally, "We'll let you two get on with your date."  She stepped forward to hug Jake quickly, reminding, "And, we'll see you tomorrow night for dinner."

"Gramps and I will be there," Jake promised, waiting while his father took his mother's arm and began to lead her down the street.  "I'm sorry," he apologized, looking at Heather, shaking his head.  "My mother tends to be a little too interested in the private details of my life."

"It's okay, Jake," Heather laughed, throwing him a reassuring smile.  "That was nothing, really.  I like your parents, what I know of them.  Your Dad could talk a little more," she suggested, "But they're nice people."

Jake snorted.  "Trust me, you don't want my Dad talking at you any more than he does," he declared, opening the pizza parlor door for her. 

The Pizza Garden was full of families and teenagers, though, Jake knew, not nearly as bustling at almost eight in the evening as it had undoubtedly been two hours before.  They were spotted immediately by Mags, the owner and manager of the restaurant, and a Jericho institution.  Mags was somewhere around seventy, but had the energy and enthusiasm of someone half her age.  She was inordinately proud of her 'big hair', which was always styled to perfection, and she adored Jake.

"Jake Green, whatever are you doing here, dressed like that?" she demanded, pulling him into a fierce hug.  "And, why haven't I seen you in over a month, young man?"

"I've been busy, Mags, I'm sorry," Jake told her, shrugging.  "Are you going to throw us out if I admit we'd planned on The Jericho Grille tonight?" he asked.  "Someone over there managed to set the kitchen on fire, so now we're here."

"Well, I just don't know," Mags declared, crossing her arms.  She glanced at Heather and winked.  "I suppose if you find your manners, and introduce me to your friend, I just might let you stay."

"Sorry," Jake chuckled self-consciously.  "Mags, this is Heather Lisinski. Heather, Mags Henry, who will put rat poison on your pizza if you call her anything but Mags," he warned.

"Don't listen to him," Mags ordered.  "I swear, Jake, if I ever get shut down by the health department, it'll be because of you, starting rumors like that," she complained.  She smiled at Heather then, continuing, "So, you're the new third grade teacher?  I've heard your name, and I've seen you in here once or twice before, but I hadn't put two and two together.  Glad to meet you, Heather."

"Glad to meet you, Mags," Heather echoed, returning the older woman's smile.

"Okay, then," Mags said, retrieving a couple of menus from the hostess desk.  "This way," she invited, leading them to booth near the back of the dining area.  Mags watched approvingly as Jake waited for Heather to seat herself on one side of the table, and then slid in on the other side.  "Now, you have to admit, our ambience might not be up to The Grille's standards, but at least here at The Garden, you can have a little privacy.  Here," she continued, handing them each a menu.  "Now, Heather, this one worked for me for a lotta years," Mags said, pointing at Jake.  "So, if you ever need advice on handling him, you come straight to me."

Heather laughed, eyeing Jake speculatively.  "I'll have to keep that in mind.  Thanks, Mags," she grinned.

"You do that."  Mags nodded at both of them, then turned, heading back into the kitchen. 

"I worked here in high school," Jake explained, "And, then the first couple of summers I was in college."

"So, you were a pizza boy," Heather observed, still smiling at him.

"Not even that exciting," Jake denied.  "I mostly washed dishes, bussed tables, though occasionally Mags would have me chop or shred something.  If it got really busy, maybe she'd let me put the toppings on," he chuckled.  "It sounds boring as hell, I know.  But Mags is great, and if she tells you to wash dishes, then you wash dishes."

Heather nodded.  "My uncle manages an ice rink.  I only worked there on Saturdays, occasionally, but no matter how often I offered to drive the Zamboni," she joked, "He seemed to think my talents were put to better use running the Icee machine in the snack bar."

"Icees at the ice rink?" Jake questioned, laughing.

"I know!" Heather declared.  "Sno-Cones, too.  It was ridiculous.  But there you have it."

"Okay," Jake said, opening his menu, "We have a very serious issue to discuss," he told her.  "What do we want on our pizza?" he asked, grinning at Heather over the top of the menu.  "And, please, tell me that you are a pizza traditionalist and not one of those crazy ingredients people."

"What do you consider a crazy ingredient?"

"Shrimp, Rosemary potato slices," Jake named.  "Jalapenos, corn, black beans, pico de gallo - really, anything where you try to put Mexican food on a pizza - broccoli, eggplant, spinach, zucchini."

"Ew.  I am definitely a pizza traditionalist," Heather assured him.  "Why would anyone do those things to a pizza?"

"It's mainly Californians," he told her, shaking his head.  "I lived out there for two years right out of college, and the food's generally good, though why they need ten million variations on what's basically just Mexican, I don't know.  But," he claimed, "They do weird things to pizza."

"Well, I vote traditional all the way," Heather proclaimed, "Starting with pepperoni."

"Pepperoni's a given," Jake agreed.  "What else?"

"Mushrooms."

He smiled at her.  "Acceptable.  Bell peppers."

"Also acceptable," she returned teasingly.  "Black olives."

Jake made a face.  "Okay, I'll give you olives for sausage," he bargained.

"And, I'll take that deal," Heather grinned.

"Then we have a pizza," Jake declared, smiling in return.  He closed his menu, then took hers, stacking them both on the edge of the table.

A waitress sidled up to their booth then, placing two glasses of water on the table.  "Hi, Jakey," she greeted in a sing-songy voice calculated to annoy.

Jake, who had been studying Heather across the table, looked up in surprise.  "Mindy!  What are you doing here?" he asked, half standing to give her a hug.  "You're supposed to be in Manhattan, cramming for exams and dodging drunken frat boys."

"I don't bother dodging drunken frat boys, not when I can torture them by using polysyllabic words," Mindy joked.  "But, I'm here now 'cause Colleen's got mono, along with like half the Jericho High volleyball team," she told him.  "I'm coming home weekends to help Mags out."

"Mindy, that's a four and a half hour drive," Jake reminded, frowning.

"Yep."  She shrugged.  "But, I only have an eight am Chemistry lecture on Fridays, and that's out at nine.  I'm on the road by nine-thirty, home by two, work Friday and Saturday nights, the Sunday after church crowd, and I'm back at school by eight-thirty, nine on Sunday nights.  It's just for another couple of weeks," she assured him, acknowledging his skeptical expression.  "It's okay, Jake.  Really."  She turned, looking at Heather, holding out her hand.  "Hi, I'm Melinda Henry, Mags's granddaughter.  I've been torturing Jakey for years."

Heather introduced herself, shaking Mindy's hand.  She glanced at Jake.  "Jakey, is it?"

"Only in Mindy's twisted little mind," he replied, chuckling, though Heather could see that he was still concerned by Mindy's explanation of her presence in Jericho.

"Melinda," Mindy corrected, glaring at Jake, her hands on her hips.  "No one's called me Mindy since I went into high school, except you."  She turned her attention back to Heather.  "When I was a little girl, I used to make Jake help me with my homework while he was washing dishes, and so naturally we bonded."

"I think you actually had it right when you said you tortured me," Jake interrupted, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.  He sat back, arms crossed, as Mindy continued, ignoring him.

"I'd make him quiz me for spelling tests, help me write book reports, that sort of thing.  He'd make up math problems for me to do.  Of course," she explained, rolling her eyes at Jake, "His math problems were always harder than anything Mrs. Owensby ever came up with."  Mindy smiled at Heather.  "Mags said you're the new Mrs. Owensby, so I thought you might like to know that Jake's third grade math skills are top notch."

"Interesting," Heather mused. "Stanley claims he can't make change, which is a third grade math skill," she teased, glancing at Jake.  "And, I'm starting to think I should just change my name to 'The New Mrs. Owensby'," she complained good-naturedly.  "That's what half the people in Jericho are calling me right now."

"That's Jericho for you," Mindy consoled.  "Things move slow around here.  People will start to get it soon.  And, I promise, I will never call you the new Mrs. Owensby again."

"Heather would be great," Heather invited, smiling at the other girl.

"Will do," Mindy agreed.  "So, Jakey, Heather," she said, pulling her order pad out of her apron, "What can I get you?"

They placed their order, and Mindy headed back to the kitchen, promising to put a rush on their dinner.  Jake leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, watching Heather.  "Hey," he murmured, smiling at her.

"Hey," she returned with a sigh, also smiling.  "So," Heather continued a few seconds later, "I think the burning question is, can you make change or not?"  She leaned closer as well, propping herself over the table, her hand next to his.

Jake laughed, covering Heather's hand with his own, stroking his thumb over her knuckles.  "I can, in fact, make change," he told her quietly, his voice taking on a husky quality that sent a shiver up Heather's spine.  "But don't tell Stanley."

She nodded, but otherwise made no reply, studying him carefully.  He still seemed a little distracted, despite the attention he was paying her.  Heather bit her lip absently, watching Jake, contemplating what she knew of him.  It seemed obvious to her that he was a good friend to those he cared about, a good person, as she'd told him the day before, although he'd argued that she shouldn't decide that on a half hour's acquaintance.  Her rational side insisted that he was right, and that she couldn't possibly be sure of anything, not really, not after only a day.  But Heather, for once, couldn't see the appeal of being rational, not when she was so wonderfully, irrationally sure of Jake.

"How long did you work here washing dishes so you could hang out with Mindy, and help her with homework?" Heather asked softly.

He looked surprised, but recovered quickly, answering, "I don't know," with a shrug.  "I mean, it was a job, a way to earn a little gas money.  For a long time she was just this bratty seven year-old with a Little Mermaid backpack who followed me around, reading and mispronouncing half the words."  He paused, his eyes unfocused as he contemplated his next statement.  "I was gonna be working anyway, and it's not like anyone else was dying to wash dishes.  Mags had her hands full with running the business and Colleen, who was maybe three?"  He shrugged again, struggling to figure out what he wanted to say.  "Mindy got lost in the shuffle.  Obviously.  She resorted to following me around," Jake chuckled, shaking his head.  "I felt sorry for her, and after awhile I guess I got used to her, and then I just liked her."

"The little sister you never wanted," Heather told him, misquoting Jake to himself.  She turned her hand over under his, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. 

"Yeah," he agreed, emitting a chuffing sound.  "Yeah, pretty much."  Jake smiled at her, pressing her hand in return.  He leaned back slightly, blinking.  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be -"

"Okay, seriously," Heather interrupted, "Are you apologizing for caring about other people?  'Cause you don't need to," she assured him.  "It's actually an attractive quality," she added, chuckling.  "Kind of a turn on."

"That's a turn on?" Jake questioned, grinning at her, one eyebrow raised.

She smiled at him, nodding.  "Yeah."

* * * * *

It had taken them nearly forty five minutes, but somehow, between the two of them, they had polished off all but one slice of the medium pizza they'd ordered. They had dined at a leisurely pace, talking, enjoying each other's company, finding more and more that they had in common.  Their opinions were not necessarily the same, but they were both of a temperament that allowed for a good debate without any hard feelings; they liked one another too much to care about what felt like minor differences.

Heather groaned.  "I really shouldn't have eaten that last piece," she said, laughing at herself.  "Why in the world did you let me?" she demanded, shooting a mock glare at Jake.

"How's this my fault?" Jake wanted to know, his tone teasing.  "You were enjoying yourself.  Besides, you only ate three pieces," he argued.  "That's nothing."

"They were big pieces," she protested.  "Twice the normal size."  Heather laughed again.  "I am officially stuffed."

"Maybe," he conceded, shrugging.  "But, you know, it bugs me when a woman won't eat in front of me.  Am I really supposed to believe that she doesn't eat?  Ever?"

"Well, obviously I don't have that problem," Heather chuckled, rolling her eyes.  "And, maybe she just wants you to think she's a cheap date," she joked. 

Their gazes locked, and Jake leaned forward, over the table, murmuring, "I'm not looking for a cheap date."

Mindy walked up to their booth then, hurried, effectively ending their conversation.   She pulled their bill out of her pocket.  "The football bus just pulled in across the street," Mindy informed them.  "Here you go," she continued, handing the slip to Jake.  "It looks like the Raiders actually beat the Prairie Dogs, so you two might want to leave before we're completely overrun," she advised.  "It's gonna get crazy in here."  Mindy smiled at Heather.  "It was really nice to meet you, Heather.  Please feel free to torture Jakey on my behalf as you see fit."

"I'll keep that in mind," Heather giggled.  "Great to meet you, too, Melinda."

Jake sighed.  "Some friend you are," he grumbled lightly at Mindy.  He pulled his wallet out from inside his jacket, removed three bills and handed them, along with the receipt, to her.  "Keep the change," he instructed.

Mindy looked down at the money in her hand, shaking her head.  "Jake, you totally overpaid," she objected.  "This is like a sixty, seventy percent tip."

"You know, you're making it very hard for me to impress my date with my generous nature," Jake complained to Mindy, winking at Heather.  "You're a broke college student.  Take it."

The front door pushed open, causing the bell to tinkle, and the first, excited football players and cheerleaders entered the pizza parlor.  Mindy rolled her eyes at him, sighing.  "Okay, you win.  But only because I like Heather, and you need some sort of chance with her," she insisted jokingly, pocketing the money.  "Thanks," she added, grinning at Jake as he climbed to his feet.  "Have a good rest of the night, both of you," she told them, hugging Jake quickly before marching to the front of the restaurant, ready to assist Mags with hostess duties.

Jake looked at Heather.  "Okay, I remember this part from high school.  Lots of posturing and teenage hormones.  It'd be painful to watch for too long.  Are you ready?" he asked, holding his hand out to her.

"Sure," Heather agreed, allowing him to help her out of the booth.  "I made the mistake of trying to come downtown for ice cream on Homecoming Weekend," she told him, pulling on her sweater.  "You really do forget just how dramatic being a teenager is," she laughed quietly.

"Exactly," Jake agreed, taking her hand. 

They threaded their way through the growing crowd, smiling at each other as they caught snippets of the animated conversations going on around them.  The Jericho High Raiders' upset of their main rival, the New Bern Prairie Dogs, had been nothing short of epic, if the early reports were to be believed.  Fighting through the swarm coming into The Pizza Garden, they were almost to the door when Emily Sullivan entered, walking with the assistant football coach.  She was laughing at something he'd said, and Jake stopped Heather, hoping to move to the side and perhaps avoid Emily altogether.  It didn't work.  In the next instance, the assistant coach abandoned, Emily was standing right in front of them.

"Heather," she greeted, smiling brightly.  "With Jake," she added, an unmistakably hard edge creeping into her tone.  "This is a surprise."

"Hello, Emily," Heather answered cheerfully.  She felt Jake's hand tighten over her own, and could sense the tension that was suddenly coming off him in waves.  "It's a good night for the high school," she continued, returning Emily's faltering smile.  "But, you know, I think we're just gonna get out of the way of the celebration."

Next to her, Jake exhaled, relieved.  Heather looked at him in time to see a grin begin to materialize on his face.  "That we are," Jake agreed, turning that grin on her.  He spared Emily a quick glance.  "Nice to see you, Em," he said quietly, then led Heather around her and out the door before the she could respond.

They made it about ten feet from The Pizza Garden before Heather spoke.   "So that was weird," she said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and looking up at him.

Jake nodded.  "Yeah, well, Emily pretty much hates me right now."  He allowed a humorless chuckle.  "We've known each other since we were six years old, we dated in high school, it's awkward."  He shook his head, breathing deeply, again.  "Thank you," he said, looking down at her, his expression both serious and sincere.  "I know Emily, and she's not above making a scene.  I wouldn't want to embarrass you - hell, I wouldn't want to embarrass me," Jake corrected himself, "By having that happen in front of you."

"Yeah, it seemed like a good idea to get out of there before we ran into Emily," Heather agreed, biting her lower lip.  "More so after."

Jake watched her for a moment, captivated, as she worried her lip.  It gave him all kinds of ideas, and he tugged on her hand, whispering, "C'mon."   Silently, he led her the twenty feet to the darkened entrance of Gracie's Market.  Moving under the awning and into the doorway, he pulled her into his arms, and brushed his mouth over hers.  "Okay?" he asked gruffly.

Heather's answer was to wrap her arms around his neck, and shift onto tip toe, backing up until she was braced against the store window.  Jake ravished her mouth, and this time when she parted her lips for him, he accepted the invitation, exploring tentatively to start, but then more boldly.  She tasted like the pizza they'd split, the half glass of beer she'd drunk, even, he thought, a little bit like minty toothpaste.  He felt drunk, not from the one beer he'd consumed, but from Heather.  Her scent, her taste, the texture of her skin, the feeling of her crushed against him; it was all too heady for words. 

They pulled apart finally, panting, to breathe.  But, a second later they were kissing again, both ravenous for one another.  "We need to stop," Jake whispered, who knew how much later.  He kissed the corner of Heather's mouth, and then worked his way along her jaw.  "It'll be all over town tomorrow morning otherwise," he chuckled in frustration.   "The new third grade teacher and Jake Green, makin' out in front of Gracie's Market."  He moved back to her mouth, kissing her one last time, then stepped back, expelling a nervous breath and running his hand through his hair.

He studied Heather, who was still leaning against the window, her eyes closed, looking thoroughly kissed.  She was gorgeous as far as Jake was concerned, and he almost gave into the impulse to drag her back into his arms and just keep kissing her until neither of them could think anymore.  But, he also couldn't help but remember the look in Emily's eye back at The Pizza Garden.  He knew that look, and he knew Emily would get to Heather, somehow, when she got the chance.  Jake realized then that Stanley had been right when he'd advised him to tell Heather everything first.

"Hey."  She smiled at him, her eyes open, reaching for his hand across the two feet of space he'd put between them.  "Jake," Heather breathed, stepping toward him.

He allowed her into his arms, holding her against his chest.  "Heather," he sighed, kissing the top of her head.  "Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked.

"A walk?" she laughed, incredulity tingeing her tone.  "Sure.  Why not?"

"Okay, thank you," Jake said.   "I - There's a couple of things I need to tell you." 

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

Monday, September 25, five days after the bombs

"But it's not my gas," Mr. Murthy, the gas station manager argued for the third time.  He'd listened politely to their proposition, had even been sympathetic to the fact that the clinic would be shut down without any way to run the generator, but in the end it all came back to the fact that the gas wasn't his.  "It belongs to Noroco." 

Jake glanced at his wife, who like him, was limping along as they hurried to keep pace with Murthy.  She shrugged at him, and Jake sighed, figuring it was his turn to try and convince the other man to give them the fuel the clinic needed.  "It's no use to anyone, Mr. Murthy," he tried.  "Without electricity, the pumps don't even work."

"We'll leave you an IOU for the five hundred gallons," Heather offered.  She shot Jake a look that was somewhere between amused and apologetic.  "Jake's good for it."

"Hell, I'll give you my credit card," Jake added.  "If the electricity comes back on, if the computers start working again, you can just run it through."

Murthy still looked skeptical.  "I could be fired."

Exasperated and not doing the best job of hiding it, Jake asked, "With all due respect, who's going to fire you?"  He paused, dropping the volume of his voice.  "It's a different world now, Mr. Murthy," Jake muttered, addressing the manager but watching Heather.  Their eyes locked for a second, and he saw the realization that their reality was completely changed hit her again, almost like it was the first time.  She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her.  Jake wanted nothing more than to comfort her, but had to abandon that thought when Murthy nodded, finally consenting to give them the gas.  "All right," Jake exhaled, "Let's get 'em open.  Stanley'll be here any second."

Heather and Jake followed Murthy to the tank inputs, hovering anxiously while he unlocked the cap on one.  He pulled the cover loose, and then stood, shaking his head.  "They're never coming back," he mumbled.  "District manager - any of them - are they?"

Jake watched as Heather put a reassuring hand on Murthy's arm, impressed as he always, by her strong sense of empathy.  "No," he confirmed softly, shaking his head.

Murthy stepped back, dropping the tank cover on the ground a few feet away.  Heather and Jake were already working together, snaking a garden hose down through the inlet.  Jake looked around, and saw Murthy wander away, back into his office to monitor the gas station for a company that, in all likelihood, didn't exist anymore.  But, any thought he might have had about what he could do for the other man was driven out of Jake's head by the noisy arrival of Stanley, driving like the devil himself was after him. 

Stanley threw the door open and was out of the truck, almost before he'd put it into park.  "Couldn't find an empty pesticide container, thought this water tank might do," he shouted to them.

Jake grabbed the free end of the hose, and started toward the back of the truck, Heather following closely behind, protesting.  "No, no, no, no!" she argued shaking her head.  "We can't use steel.  There's too much risk of static.  One spark, the whole thing could blow sky high."
 
"We don't have time to look for something else," Jake returned, frustrated.  He saw Heather flinch, and realized she thought he was yelling at her, but he was too wound up to articulate an apology at that moment.

She seemed to recover, recognizing the seriousness of the situation they'd found themselves in.  It was nearly ten o'clock in the morning, and April hadn't been sure that the gas she'd had on hand would last the night.  They had to get something to the clinic, now.  "Okay," Heather sighed, a distressed note coloring her tone.  "Okay," she repeated, biting her lip.  "W - well, who's gonna fill it?"

Jake and Stanley had both climbed up onto the flatbed, and both had a good grasp on the hose.  They looked at each other, trying to decide what to do.  "Well, what do you want to do?" Stanley demanded.  "Draw straws?"

"No, I'll do it," Jake decided obstinately.  "You've got Bonnie to take care of."

"No, no, no."  Stanley rolled his eyes, arguing, "You're married, and your wife's pregnant.  Don't be a martyr."

Heather took two steps back, her hand pressed to her forehead.  She felt ill, her head pounding and her stomach churning, and she couldn't stand to listen to them argue about who should risk their life, or about her.

"I'm not being a martyr," she heard her husband say.  Heather closed her eyes, forcing herself to take regular, deep breaths.

"I've already been irradiated," Stanley claimed.  "I'm doomed."

"No!" Jake disputed, "We're gonna live to be a hundred, remember?"

Stanley shook his head, grumbling, "Our pacts never work out."

Even in her distress, Heather couldn't help but smile at her husband's claim, and Stanley's counterargument.  With her, Jake made deals, but with Stanley he continued to made pacts, still always undertaken with the solemnity of the seven year old boys who had first instituted the practice over a 'no girls allowed' tree house club.  Despite Stanley's blanket claim that their pacts never worked out, Heather knew that many of them actually had, and she felt irrationally relieved to know they'd decided to live to a hundred.  Maybe, just maybe, she thought, they wouldn't manage to kill themselves today. 

"Let's just do this before we think about it to much!" she interjected, her voice cracking. 

Jake took her words to heart, ordering, "Get off the truck, Stanley.  Get off the truck!"  He pushed his friend, forcing him down off the flatbed, yelling at both Heather and Stanley to move away.  "Back up!" Jake demanded.

Stanley took Heather by the arm, making her move away as Jake began to crank the hand pump.  "It'll be okay," Stanley assured her quietly, rubbing her arm absently.  "It's Jake," he argued, "He's like a cat.  He's got nine lives."

"And he's probably already used up seven of 'em," Heather answered in return, frowning.  The strain she felt showed readily in her face.  She concentrated her gaze on Jake, watching him, willing him to not blow himself up.  Stanley didn't know what else to say, and so he stood next to her, silent, supporting her in the only way he knew how.

It soon became obvious that it would take awhile to siphon the five hundred gallons of gas they'd estimated would fit in their tank.  After all, they were extracting it through a garden hose, and although they'd established suction, and now had nothing to do but wait, the flow rate was unimpressive to say the least.  Stanley gave Jake eight minutes, and then demanded his turn, climbing back up on the truck.  "Talk to Heather," he commanded quietly.  "She's freaked."

"Okay," Jake nodded, turning the hose over to Stanley.  "Thanks."  He climbed down, walking slowly toward his wife.  She watched him approach, not blinking, her arms crossed protectively over her chest.  "Babe," he breathed, coming to a stop in front of her, "It's gonna be okay."

She ignored him.  "Stanley," Heather called out, using her best, aggravated teacher voice, "Stop moving the hose so damn much.  You need to minimize friction."

"Heather," Jake tried again.  "Look, when we take the gas to the clinic, I want you stay -"

"No way," she interrupted, finally meeting his gaze.  "Neither of you are thinking about what you're doing.  You're just doing, and that'll get you killed.  You need me," Heather insisted, "'Cause I'm the only one who is doing any thinking at the moment."  She took a shaky breath, her eyes turning suspiciously bright.  "Look, I know we made a deal the other night that you get to be overprotective but," she stopped, inhaling again, and chewing her lip.  "What you said to Mr. Murthy is absolutely true.  The world's different now, more dangerous.  You can't protect me from all of it, Jake," Heather said, offering him a tremulous smile, "And, especially not by taking it all on yourself." 

She gave into the frown that she'd been fighting, and wiped her eyes.  "Do you really think I'm any more okay with the idea of you in danger than you are about me being in danger?" she demanded.  "You just have the advantage that, most of the time, I have no clue when you're out somewhere, risking your life."  Heather emitted a humorless chuckle.  "Last week, before this all happened, how many times did you come close to getting yourself injured or killed?"

"Two or three," Jake admitted.  "But that's just part of being in Baghdad."

"Slow week," she muttered in return.

Jake nodded.  "Yeah, it was," he agreed, reaching out to play with a strand of hair that lay on her shoulder.  She'd pulled her hair back in a clip, to get it out of her face, leaving him without anything he could readily tuck behind her ear.  Heather knew what he was up to, that she'd thwarted him without meaning to, and she laughed at that, biting her lip again. 

"I had everything I needed on my suspects," Jake continued.  "Last week, it was all surveillance and waiting for them to make their move so we could catch 'em red-handed, stupid idiots.  Nothing too dangerous at that point."

"You never tell me things like that," Heather sighed.

"It's a different world," he reminded.  They faced one another silently for a few seconds, and then Jake put one arm around her, testing for a reaction.  She didn't reject him, and he pulled her into a hug, holding her against himself.  He felt her relax some, and kissed the top of her head.  "We're gonna be okay, okay?"

"I'm gonna hold you to that," she said, her words muffled against his chest.  Heather lifted her head, looking at him, her gaze steady.  "I wanted - I want a child with you, Jake," she told him.  "Not by myself, with only my memory of you.  With you," Heather repeated.  "Please, remember that," she requested.

His throat tight, Jake nodded.  "I will," he promised.  "I do."

"Okay, guys!" Stanley called out then, mentally kicking himself for interrupting right when it appeared that they'd come to some sort of understanding, but also knowing it couldn't be helped.  "We're at fifteen minutes," he continued as they both walked closer.  "It's after ten. Do we keep going, or what d' we do?"

"How full is it?" Heather asked.

Stanley peered into the inlet, and then knocked on the side of the tank, causing Heather to cringe reflexively.  "I don't know, two thirds, three quarters, not more than that."

"April needs the gas," Jake pointed out.  "We can take what we have over, and it'll hold the clinic for a few days.  We can always find another container and do this again later."

"Less headspace would be safer," Heather countered, shaking her head.  She covered her face with her hands.  "I don't know," she muttered, looking back and for between the two men.  They had conceded this decision to her she realized, and Heather froze momentarily, unsure of what to do.  "Okay, pull it, Stanley," she ordered a few seconds later.  There was no way they could make it completely safe, and the clinic really did need the fuel.  "Let's go."

Jake and Stanley sprang into action, pulling the hose from the tanks at both ends.  Stanley replaced the water tank's cap, following Heather's directions of 'not too tight, just so it won't fall off,' while Jake coiled up the garden hose, wedging it, along with the hand pump, into the corner of the flatbed.  Heather had climbed into the truck cab, and had already managed to dig out the middle seatbelt, one that Jake was sure hadn't seen the light of day in at least ten years, by the time he and Stanley followed her in. 

None of them spoke while Stanley started the truck, and then eased out on the highway, taking the most direct route to the clinic.  The truck bounced down the road, and Jake could see that Heather was gritting her teeth, trying not to react to each pothole and bump Stanley managed to hit.  She reached for his hand without looking, gripping it so hard in hers that Jake actually wondered if she might not somehow manage to cut off blood flow. 

"It'll be okay," he assured her quietly.  "It'll be fine."

"At least if we get blown up, we go together," Heather muttered, looking sideways at Jake.  "Then I can't be mad at you."

"What makes you think we'd die?" Jake grumbled in return.  "More likely we'd just be burned and maimed."

Heather groaned.  "Well, that's a happy thought."

"Shut up!  Shut up, both of you," Stanley commanded.  "I don't have a death wish, and I certainly don't have a burned and maimed wish, so both of you just shut up!"  He shifted the truck into a higher gear, and pressed on the gas pedal, speeding up.  "We're gonna get there, and we're not going to blow anything up, and everything's going to be fine."

Jake and Heather looked at each other, silently agreeing to comply with Stanley's edict.  Sighing, she leaned her head on Jake's shoulder.  He kissed her on the forehead, three times, once for each of the words he was thinking.  'It'll be okay.'

Though it felt much longer, it was actually only three minutes later when they arrived at the clinic, Stanley driving up behind the building to the service entrance where the generator was located.  He and Jake hopped out immediately, Heather following a second later. 

"Let's go!" Jake shouted, already uncoiling the hose.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Heather climb up on the flatbed to test the tank cap.  She jumped down, just as he was about to yell at her, prompting him to sigh in relief.

"Uh, guys!" Heather called, looking between Jake and Stanley.  "We have a problem.  It's stuck," she explained, pointing at the cap.  Stanley, standing next to her, started to climb up onto the truck.  "No, no, no, no!  Wait!" Heather tried, to no avail, to pull him down, tugging on his jeans.  "Wait, wait, wait, wait!" she yelled, frantic to stop him.

Stanley looked down at her, annoyed.  "Don't feel bad," he told Heather, "I'll loosen it up for you."

"No," Heather protested.  "The gas has been sloshin' around in there, building up fumes," she explained.  "Force the cap, and it sparks," she warned.

Jake grabbed her arm, dragging her away from the tank and truck, concern evident on his face.  "What do you want to do, huh?"

"Look," she started, watching him closely, "With all the static electricity built up, we could blow the thing to kingdom come!"

Neither had noticed Stanley go the other way around the truck, and retrieve a crow bar from the cab, only looking up in time to see him poised over the tank cap, ready to pop it off.  Heather watched, horrified, as he jammed the crow bar under the cap, closing her eyes, waiting for the explosion, when she heard the unmistakable clink of metal against metal.

"That was dumb," Stanley breathed finally, interminable seconds later, after they were all sure they weren't going to die - or be badly burned and maimed.

"Yeah," Jake agreed, his expression still one of shock.  He thrust one end of the hose at Heather.  "Get that to him," he instructed before sprinting away, calling "Let's go!" over his shoulder.

Heather carried the hose end to Stanley, handing it to him wordlessly, shaking her head at him.  She turned, following Jake to the generator.  He threw her a quick smile, then handed her the water pump.  "Let's go!"

The three worked together quickly, Heather cranking the water pump, Jake directing the fuel into the generator's tank, and Stanley waiting to flip the unit's switch back on.  Jake stood nervously, tapping his thumb and index finger together, watching the fuel gauge.  Finally, the needle moved.  "All right.  Got it.  Go, Stanley!" he directed.

Stanley turned on the generator and it rumbled to life.  Jake checked the security of the hose, and then walked over to Heather.  "You can stop now," he told her quietly.  "It'll work on its own," he reminded.  She stood up, smiling at him tiredly.  Jake pulled her into a loose hug, kissing her forehead.  "Your plan worked."

"And, we're not even dead, burned, or maimed," Heather joked, kissing him quickly.  "Go ahead," she sighed, motioning to the clinic's back door.   "Check things out.  We can handle everything out here."

Jake nodded, taking a step back.  "Love you," he declared.

She grinned.  "Love you, too."

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

Different Circumstances: Part 4C of ? by Marzee Doats

Author's Note:  A few things...

1. I think that the Jericho writers/producers tried to rehabilitate Jonah's character a little too much in Vox Populi. I think he's a rather nasty piece of work, and that's how I portray him. If you're a Jonah fan, you might not like what Jake has to say. Sorry!


2. I couldn't remember if we've ever been given a name for Emily's mom, so I made one up. If it turns out she has a name, then I know how to edit.


3. The book Heather and Jake discuss is Second Foundation by Isaac Asimov. Everything Heather says is my little Mary Sue moment. Hopefully it's not too bad. Obviously, it would be hard for me to have Heather reading a book I hadn't read myself!

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

Saturday, October 13, five years before the bombs

Heather pulled away from Jake, giggling nervously.  "Okay, that's a little bit ominous," she said, studying him closely.  "Uh -"

"It's not bad," he assured her, taking her hand into his own.  Jake sighed, annoyed at himself.  Belatedly, it occurred to him that announcing 'There's something I have to tell you' was more than a little dramatic.  "Whatever you're imagining, it's not it, I promise," he told Heather.

"Okay, well, good," she murmured.  "Because I have a really good imagination," she joked uneasily.

"You work with eight year olds," Jake returned.  "I'm guessing it's a job requirement."

Heather closed her eyes.  "Jake, please just tell me that you're not married, dying of an incurable disease, or wanted by the FBI," she requested softly.

Jake groaned, shaking his head.  "Heather, I am not married, I've never been married," he declared, letting go of her hand so he could cup her face between both his hands.   "And, I'm not dying," he continued, "And, you really do have a good imagination."

"You didn't deny the FBI," Heather reminded, her gaze locking with his.  "Though, not married and not dying is good," she allowed, trying to smile.  "Either of those would really suck."

"I'm also not wanted by the FBI."  He kissed her quickly, hoping Heather would take it as a reassuring gesture, and then dropped his hands from her face.  He reached into his jacket, and pulled a leather wallet out of his inside pocket.  "Here."  He found her hand again, and the dropped the well worn case on her open palm.

"You're giving me your wallet?" Heather asked, her forehead wrinkling in confusion, as she looked back and forth between Jake and the item, sitting heavy on her hand.

He hooked his thumb in the fold of the wallet, opening it.  "My badge, actually," Jake explained.  He didn't usually carry it with him these days, but he had put it in his jacket just before he'd left the ranch earlier in the evening.  At the time he'd told himself it was just in case, but now he realized, after wrestling all afternoon with Stanley's advice about telling Heather 'everything', he'd been leaning toward doing so all along.  Their evening together, not to mention the run in with Emily Sullivan, had only cemented a decision Jake had already been on the verge of making.  

Heather looked at the badge without really seeing it.  With only the light of a nearby streetlamp to see by, she could identify a brass shield, and a photo ID, but not much more.  She glanced up, staring at him, uncertainty written across her face. "You're a cop?" she asked.

"No," Jake denied, shaking his head.  "Federal agent," he corrected.

"Okay," Heather nodded, licking her lips.  "So, you work for the FBI?  How very Fox Mulder," she chuckled, her expression dazed.

"I've worked with the FBI," Jake replied, modulating his voice so that it was as soothing as possible.  He could see that she was shocked by his admission, and he was suddenly afraid of scaring her off.  "But, I work for the DEA."

She nodded again.  "Drug Enforcement Agency?"

"Administration," Jake corrected, adding quickly, "But, I don't know what the difference between an 'agency' and an 'administration' is.  I must have slept through that part of orientation."

"Wow," Heather sighed.  She was beginning to look a little less stunned, though her eyes were still wide.  "Wow," she repeated, starting to giggle.  "I mean yesterday I thought you raised horses with your grandfather, and this afternoon I thought you were a pilot."  She paused, taking a deep breath.  "When I got home today, I looked up Aeronautical Science on the internet," Heather confessed, blushing.  "I wanted to know what it was, exactly."

Jake caught himself starting to smile.  Heather was just so ridiculously upfront and honest, it took his breath away, just as much as kissing her did.  "You looked up my degree?"

"I did," she admitted, unable to meet his gaze.  "I wanted to know about you."

"Heather, it's -" Jake stopped, feeling suddenly tongue-tied.  He placed both his hands on her shoulders, moving a step closer.  "You could have just asked," he told her.

"Next time I will," she promised, offering him a smile.  "So," she continued, taking a deep breath, "You work for the Drug Enforcement Administration."

He nodded.  "I do, though right now I'm on administrative leave, except when I have to go to Denver to talk to a couple of federal prosecutors.  And, I do raise horses," he continued.  "Right now, I am working for my grandfather.  And, I am pilot.  I was recruited by the DEA, as a pilot, right out of college." 

Jake sighed, studying Heather closely.  She was watching him in return, and he could practically see her processing what he was saying.  At least, he thought, relieved, she didn't look like she was planning to run.  Of course, he'd hardly started.  He caught himself wanting, obstinately, to make sure she couldn't leave, and so Jake pulled her against himself.  "I flew aerial surveys, an automatic camera in the belly of my plane, taking pictures of forests, public land mostly, looking for signs of illegal pot cultivation," he explained.  "Wasn't exactly what I thought I'd be doing with my life, but it satisfied the Green family public service gene, anyway."

Heather laughed at that.  "There's a Green family public service gene?" she asked, still giggling.  She maneuvered herself halfway under his jacket, and he felt her shiver against him.

"You're cold," he observed.  "We should go inside," he suggested.

"We could just go for your walk," Heather countered, shuddering again.  "I'd warm up then." 

"Your teeth are practically chattering," Jake argued, stepping back, and slipping out of his jacket.  He dropped it over her shoulders, waiting while she fit her arms into the sleeves.  "So now you do have my wallet," he teased, offering her his hand.  "C'mon."

They stepped out of the minimal shelter offered by the market entrance, and back onto the sidewalk proper.  Jake looked around, deciding that, perhaps, they had escaped becoming grist for the Jericho gossip mill.  The southern end of Main Street was deserted, though high school students swarmed around The Pizza Garden and a few other open shops to the north.  It appeared that the adult population of Jericho had left the town to the teenagers for the night, and with nothing beyond Gracie's Market but town hall and Bailey's Tavern, there really wasn't anyone around to see them, despite the fact that it wasn't even ten yet.

"Where are we going?" Heather asked, realizing that they were walking away from the active end of Main Street. 

Jake led her to the left and across Spruce Street.  "Town hall," he replied.  "But, we have to be quiet."

"Okay," Heather agreed, her tone skeptical, though she followed him up the walk.  "We're gonna break in?" she asked quietly, a few seconds later.  "Is that a good idea?  You're a federal employee, and I'm - well I work for the JISD, but my retirement's through the state of Kansas."

He glanced at her, laughing soundlessly.  "We're not old enough to be worrying about retirement," Jake said, squeezing her hand, still held in his.  "And, you can't break into town hall," he reasoned, "Because the door's never locked.  The sheriff's station is right inside," he reminded.  "And, it's open twenty-four, seven.  Besides," he added, "If we're caught, I'll take the blame.  Trust me, no one would believe otherwise."

"This is crazy," Heather grinned, "But okay."

They mounted the stairs, both trying to stay as quiet as possible.  Jake halted at the top, whispering, "Take off your shoes."  He toed of his own, and picked them up.  "The floor's stone inside, and it's hard to be quiet in shoes," he clarified.   "We go in the door, and go to the right - sheriff's station's to the left - then turn left into the hall after the staircase.  At the end of that hall is the town council room."

Heather shook her head at him, and Jake could tell that she was still unsure about what they were doing. Still, she removed her shoes as he had asked.  "You've really thought this through," she murmured.

"I am a trained operative," he replied, winking at her.  "C'mon, it's an adventure," he invited, moving forward to cautiously open the front door.  They slipped into town hall, Heather following Jake to the right, away from the light spilling out into the corridor from the sheriff's office.  They continued along the route Jake had outlined and, after they accidentally glanced at one another, they both found themselves struggling to keep from laughing out loud.  Reaching the door to the council room, Jake placed his shoes on the floor, and then retrieved a chair from against the wall, moving it into the doorway.

"What are you doing?" Heather asked, whispering.

Jake stopped, turning to face her. "I pretty much grew up in this building," he explained.  "So I happen to know that the janitor keeps spare keys to all the rooms above the doors."  He climbed up on the chair, feeling along the top of the casing until he found what he was looking for.  "Here it is," he declared quietly, stepping down off the chair. 

The hallway was dark, but Jake could see well enough by the outdoor safety lighting that streamed in through the windows along one side.  He fit the key in the deadbolt, and unlocked the door, pulling it open and motioning Heather inside.  Jake retrieved his shoes and followed, flipping on the light switch next to the door.  "Welcome to the Jericho town council chambers."

"The 'Eric Jacob Green Council Room'," Heather read from a small brass plaque mounted next to the light switch. 

"Yeah," Jake acknowledged, exhaling.  "I think that was my father's first official act as mayor, getting the rest of the town council to vote for that."

"The Green family political dynasty," Heather observed, her expression thoughtful.

"Public service gene," Jake corrected.  "I've had enough of politics from the sidelines.  Believe me, I have no intention of ever being mayor of Jericho.  That's what I have a brother for.  Eric can be mayor.  He went to law school."

Heather nodded, though she was still trying to wrap her mind around the assumptions that apparently came with being a Green in Jericho.  It made sense, she guessed, that Jake didn't consider what they were doing to be breaking into town hall; could you truly break into a room named in honor of your grandfather?  And, he spoke like it was a given that the next mayor of Jericho would be a Green.  Of course, Heather supposed, if she'd never known a time when she wasn't related to the mayor, she might end up thinking the same way.

"So, you're named after your grandfather?  You, and your brother?  Eric and Jacob?" she asked, gesturing at the plaque.

"Eric is," Jake responded.  "We all have the middle name 'Jacob'.  I'm named after my Dad."  He stepped toward Heather, taking from her the badge case she still had in her hand.  He opened it, holding it up at head-level out of habit.  Heather peered closely at his identification, and Jake ended up shaking his head, laughing at himself.  "Sorry," he apologized, returning it to her.

"'Johnston J Green, Jr.'," she read.  "'Agent, Drug Enforcement Administration'."  Heather paused for a second, contemplating the object in her hand.  She folded the case closed, and gave it back to him.  "You don't seem like a junior to me," she told him.  "Just 'Jake' fits you better."

Jake smiled at her, a smile that caused Heather's heart to race slightly.  "That's what I've always thought," he agreed. 

He started to put his badge away in his back pocket, and Heather realized she was still wearing his jacket.  "Oh, here," she said, quickly shrugging it off.  She handed it to him.  "Thanks for the loan."

"Sure you're warm enough?"

"I'm fine, really," she assured him over her shoulder, walking farther into the room, looking everything over.  "I can handle a little cold," Heather continued, examining a photo of Main Street, circa 1920.  She looked at him again, smiling.  "But thank you."

Jake draped his jacket over the back of a chair in the last row of the gallery seating.  Watching Heather move around the room, he seated himself at the end of a row in the middle.  After a few moments she glanced at him, and then walked back to where he was, slipping past him, their knees bumping, to seat herself next to him. 

"So," Heather began, looking at him sideways, "You were saying?"

"Yeah, where was I?" Jake muttered, leaning back in his chair.  "I went to work for the DEA right out of college," he repeated after a moment's pause.  "They sent me to some pretty basic training to start, enough so I'd have a clue what I was looking for.  And, I was never alone.  I always had someone else with me, an experienced agent.  I was good at it," Jake claimed, grinning softly at Heather as she found his hand, lacing her fingers through his.

"Aerial survey isn't that hard, it just requires a pilot's license and some common sense," he told her.  "The growers know we're looking for them, so they look for planes.  You can't fly like you're looking for them.  I was good at it," he repeated.  "Pretty soon, I could spot an illegal grow, find an illegal camp, without even thinking about it, really.  I got friendly with the agents I was working with," Jake continued.  "They started inviting me along into the field, mostly for the boring stuff.  I've thrown a lot of pot plants into the back of trucks.  Millions of dollars worth."

"Well, that puts confiscating slam books from third graders into perspective," Heather giggled, her eyes wide.  "Jake, I hope you won't be offended if I don't invite you to Career Day at school," she teased.  "I can't imagine having to do your job."

Jake laughed along with Heather.  "Yeah, I'm sure that wouldn't go over well with the PTA, either," he agreed.  "And, I know your job isn't a piece of cake, 'cause I know what I was like in school."

"Ah, yes, your history of detention," Heather intoned knowingly, pursing her lips.  "I may just have to go over to the records room and see if I can find your cumulative folder," she threatened with a smile.  "That's probably some pretty interesting reading, and then there's always the pictures."

"Funny, you don't look like someone who would abuse their power," Jake complained lightly.  He leaned over, bestowing a gentle kiss on her mouth.  "Anything I can do to talk you out of it?" he murmured against her lips.  Jake pulled back slightly, his gaze locking with hers.  "'Cause I had a couple of really bad haircuts for picture day during the eighties."

"I'm sure I could be persuaded," Heather flirted in return, shocking herself a little.  "Whatcha offering?"

"What do you want?" he asked, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Heather blushed, fighting a nervous smile.  "Nothing," she whispered, "Nothing more than this." She leaned toward him this time, pressing her mouth to his.  Jake cupped the back of her head, and tried to pull her closer, but quickly realized that the folding chairs they were sitting on made that a dangerous move.  Both laughing, they separated.  "Just finish telling me about your job," Heather requested, biting her lip.

"That'll take longer than you think," Jake predicted, shaking his head.  Still, he complied.  "I got sent back east after about nine months in," he told Heather, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, which he figured he could do safely despite their seating.  "They put me through a full field agent course at the academy, after which I went back to California for awhile, and then transferred to the Denver office three years ago."

"I did the normal field agent stuff.  Investigative work, the occasional raid on a farm or a lab or a warehouse, lots of paperwork." Jake continued.  "I even flew aerial surveys when they needed someone to fill in, though that wasn't my job any more."  Jake paused, taking a deep breath.  "And then, my boss started giving me undercover assignments.  Nothing big at first, but it turned out I was good at them, and that's where she put me.  She says I'm very good at appearing disaffected," Jake explained, rolling his eyes.  "Apparently that convinces idiot drug lords and suppliers to trust me."

"Your boss is a woman?" Heather sounded more intrigued than suspicious, which was confirmed when she asked, "Isn't that unusual?"

"In the DEA?  You better believe it," he answered.  "She clawed her way into her job, and it took her twenty years.  But, Gretchen is brilliant, not to mention a pain in the ass, most days."  Jake glanced down at Heather, who was now snuggled against him, balanced somewhat precariously on the edges of both their chairs.  "Do you know who Jonah Prowse is?" he asked, catching her eye.

She stared at him blankly.  "No," Heather answered, shaking her head.  "Should I?"

"Not if you're lucky," Jake grumbled.  "Jonah Prowse is a low life thug with a nasty mean streak," he explained.  "Do you know the West Kansas Shipping and Freight center out Route 40, east of town about six miles?  That's his place." 

"I've seen it," Heather nodded.  "But it's completely deserted."

"How long have you been in Jericho?"

"Um, since the end of July," she answered.  "I applied for my job at the end of May, beginning of June, I think.  I don't really remember," Heather admitted, her expression sheepish.  "I was doing a lot of job applications right then.  I do remember that I was halfway through the application before I realized I was applying for a job in Kansas," she confessed, laughing at herself.  "There's a Jericho, Vermont, which I've driven through, and I got mixed up," Heather sighed.  "Anyway, I was here for a couple days right after Fourth of July to interview, and then I moved the last weekend of July."

"I've been wondering how exactly you ended up here.  Thank God for Jericho, Vermont," Jake murmured, grinning at her.

Heather shook her head, chuckling.  "How I ended up in Jericho, Kansas is a long, complicated, somewhat embarrassing story, and it touches on things I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to talk about on a first date.  Not that we're being all that conventional," she observed with an amused grin.  "I tell you what," Heather bargained, "I'll tell you the whole story on our next date."

"Deal," Jake declared immediately. "And, well played," he teased.  "So, what are you doing Monday night?"

"Grading the math test I'm giving Monday morning.  I'm sorry," Heather apologized, her tone regretful.  "Sometimes I really do have to claim 'school night'."

Jake nodded.  "I'll accept that for now.  But we are going out again," he promised, kissing her once more.  "Soon."  Heather smiled in acknowledgment, and then they both sat up, realigning themselves in their chairs. 

"I arrested Jonah Prowse and fourteen of his employees on June eleventh," Jake continued his explanation, his tone turning serious.  "It was the culmination of nearly two years of undercover work and investigation.  Big news in Jericho, for about three weeks, so I guess you just missed it."  Jake paused, frowning, trying to find the best way to say what he needed to say next.  "All of this, everything I'm about to tell you, I'm not supposed to," he admitted.  "I'm under a gag order from a federal judge, but it's fairly common knowledge in Jericho, and I need you to know what happened," Jake explained.  "And, I trust you."

Heather turned her head, meeting his gaze with a solemn expression.  "I'll keep whatever you tell me in strictest confidence," she promised.

"Thank you," Jake acknowledged with a nod.  He reached for her hand, holding it tightly in his, needing some sort of physical connection with Heather.  He sighed, beginning again.  "There are a lot of turf wars between the various federal law enforcement entities, but it's not so bad in Denver.  Gretchen's the only female Special Agent in Charge there, and she uses that pretty effectively to maintain ties with the other local field offices."  He shifted in his seat, playing absently with her hand.  "It turned out that Jonah Prowse was on everyone's radar for something.  Drugs, illegal assault weapons, counterfeit cigarettes, you name it.  He was supplying street gangs in Denver, white supremacists and survivalists in Wyoming and Nebraska, and drug labs pretty much everywhere, all out of West Kansas Shipping and Freight."

"Everyone wanted to get Jonah," Jake continued, chuckling humorlessly.  "The FBI, the ATF, the DEA, we all wanted to bring him down.  Gretchen brokered a joint task force with herself in charge out of our office in Denver, and she offered me up as an in.  She knew I was from Jericho, and somehow she even figured out I was acquainted with Jonah."  Jake looked Heather in the eye, declaring, "Jonah's Emily Sullivan's father."

"Wow," Heather muttered.  "Well, I guess that explains why she doesn't like you.  If you arrested her dad."

"Nah," Jake denied.  "That's not why.  Emily hates Jonah's guts more than she hates mine.  He's always been a crappy father," he said.  "I don't even remember meeting Jonah until I was maybe fifteen, though I know he was around.  I was at Emily's, and he showed up, apparently to scare her mother into giving up on trying to collect on ten years of back child support.  There was a new DA in the county, and he was really putting the screws to Jonah.  They got into a screaming fight, and Jonah hauled off and smacked Carol." 

Heather could tell from the set of Jake's jaw, and the way his grip on her hand tightened almost imperceptibly, that he was still affected, still angered by what he'd witnessed more than a decade before.  "What'd you do?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing really," Jake replied, his voice gravelly.  "I got between Jonah and Carol, but he was bigger than me, and meaner, so I didn't try to do anything else.  Besides, Emily had already called the sheriff.  Jonah took off before anyone showed up."  Jake stared unseeingly past Heather.  "I tried to tell Gretchen that I couldn't get to Jonah.  As far as he was concerned, I was the mayor's punk kid, his daughter's worthless high school boyfriend.  I knew Jonah'd have absolutely no use for me." 

Shaking his head, he refocused, his gaze settling on Heather.  "This didn't fit Gretchen's plan, and she didn't listen, which turned out to be right in the end, I guess.  She started laying the groundwork so I could present myself to Jonah as someone he'd want to bring into his organization."

"But, didn't people in Jericho know that you worked for the DEA?" Heather asked, her forehead wrinkling with confusion.  "Your family, Stanley?"

"Exactly," Jake agreed, "Which is why Gretchen's solution was to have me investigated by Internal Affairs, and eventually fired for being on the take.  None of it was true," he assured Heather quickly, "But it did give me a way in with Jonah.  As a disgruntled, former DEA agent, Jonah suddenly had all kinds of use for me."

"So you lied to everybody you knew," she murmured, frowning.  "That's a lot to do for a job."

"Sure is," Jake acknowledged, exhaling deeply.  "It about killed my Mom, and Stanley didn't talk to me for almost a year.  Worse," he scowled, "It became obvious the longer I was in that they wanted to extract me with my cover story intact.  Gretchen's plan was for me to manufacture a falling out with Jonah, and take off.  They'd come in a few days or weeks later, and snatch Jonah and his gang up.  Then I could use the same disgraced DEA agent story for my next assignment."

"What happened?"

"A few months in, I'd convinced Jonah to bring in a 'friend' of mine.  In reality, another agent, ATF, named Ken," he explained.  "Ken wouldn't play.  The night we'd settled on for the fight we were going to stage, he balked.  Jonah was branching out, and he'd planned a bank robbery.  It was supposed to be me, Ken, Mitch Cafferty, this completely psychotic kid I'd gone to high school with, and Chris Sullivan, Emily's little brother."  Jake shook his head.  "She wouldn't have anything to do with Jonah, but Chris would, and Jonah had brought him in a few months before that."

"Anyway, I picked the fight with Jonah, told him I'd drive his trucks, make his deliveries, but I wasn't robbing anybody.  Ken was with me, and so Jonah sent Mitch and Chris out alone, then threw Ken and me off the compound."  Jake studied Heather, observing as her reaction went from simply disturbed to out and out appalled.  He decided, wisely, against telling her how Jonah had had four of his goons rough him and Ken up before tossing them out on the highway. 

"I thought that was it," he continued after a moment's pause.  "I was ready to drive back to Denver, go through my debrief, and then tell Gretchen I was gonna go sit on a beach somewhere for a few weeks, and don't call me.  But, Ken had had other ideas.  He'd called in a small army, FBI, ATF, US Marshalls - nobody from the DEA, 'cause Gretchen never would have gone for it - and we ended up turning right around and raiding the compound that night.  I have to admit, I enjoyed getting to be the one who slapped cuffs on Jonah Prowse, sonofabitch, rat bastard that he is."  Jake emitted a harsh bark of laughter.  "And, it completely blew my cover, so I got to tell my family what was really going on."

"Wow," Heather breathed.  She stared at him, unblinking, her gaze appraising.  "Just wow."

"Yeah," Jake muttered.  "Exactly.  But, the thing is, that wasn't it, that's not all that happened that night.  Chris and Mitch, they tried that bank robbery, just the two of them," he told her.  "And, Chris ended up dead.  That's why Emily hates me," he sighed, "And, I can't blame her for it.  I was so busy protecting the two year's worth of work that I'd done."  Jake paused, shrugging helplessly.  "I'd known Chris since before he could talk, really.  I should have stopped him, protected him, anything but let him go off with Mitch Cafferty alone."

"Jake, that's not your fault," Heather protested, studying him.  He wasn't crying, but his eyes were suddenly red, and there was a haunted look about him.  It was obvious that Emily Sullivan wasn't the only one who blamed Jake for her brother's death.  "They were committing a robbery," she argued.  "They were wrong -"

"I could have stopped him," Jake countered obstinately.  He looked away.  "Chris and I were friends, he would have listened to me if I'd told him not to go."

"You did tell him not to go," Heather reasoned, "When you said you weren't going.  That's a pretty big hint."  She caught both his hands in hers, gripping them tightly, forcing him to face her.  "You don't get to tell me all this, everything that other people decided and did, and then say it's all your fault.  What about Jonah?  He was Chris's father, for goodness sake.  He gets some - most - all - of the blame."

"Heather," Jake croaked tiredly.

"No," she told him, holding her finger to his lips.  In the next instance, she shocked Jake by shoving her own folding chair away and climbing into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly.  When Heather finally pulled back, her expression was serious.  "I wasn't there, and I know there are things that happened that I don't know about," she sighed, leaning her forehead against his, "But, God, Jake, I also know this wasn't your fault.  Just like I know that you're a good person," she added.

Jake buried his face against her neck and shoulder, reveling in the feeling of Heather's hands running through his hair.  She waited patiently while Jake worked to regain his self-control, holding him to her, offering him what comfort she could. 

"Thank you," he whispered a minute or so later, raising his head in order to meet her eye.  Jake frowned, laughing at himself.  "Hell of a first date, huh?"

Heather nodded, laughing with him.  "Definitely unique in my admittedly limited experience," she agreed.  Heather started to blush then, looking down to see the skirt of her dress rucked up to mid-thigh, remembering the sudden impulse that had driven her into Jake's lap without a thought to appearances or propriety. "Ah, excuse me," she muttered, turning even redder as she met Jake's once again even gaze.  She leveraged herself up, pushing off his shoulder, Jake reaching out to help steady her as soon as he recognized her intent.

They got themselves disentangled, and then they were both standing, facing one another.  Jake smiled at Heather, and hauling her into his arms, hugged her fiercely.  "Thank you," he repeated, kissing the side of her head.  "You're amazing."

Before Heather could deny his assertion, the council room door opened, and they both turned to see the Jericho Sheriff Department's newest hire, the rookie who always had to work Saturday nights, enter.  "Jake! What the hell!" the deputy exclaimed, eyes wide, his voice actually squeaking.

Jake glanced at Heather, who had her face buried in her hands, and was turning such a bright shade of red that he actually found himself worried for her health.  Jake took a deep breath, and then looked back at the deputy, meeting the other man's baffled gaze.  "Hi, Jimmy," he greeted.

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

Monday, September 25, five days after the bombs

He found her in his parents' den, on the couch, exactly where he'd left her twenty-two hours earlier, only this time she was awake, and struggling to read by the weak, diffuse light coming in through the east facing window.  "You're gonna ruin your eyes, doing that," Jake predicted, leaning against the doorjamb.

Heather looked up, smiling at her husband.  "Hey," she greeted, stretching her arms over her head.  "I wanted to finish the chapter," she told him, "But, you're right, it's probably not a good idea."  Heather shifted position on the couch, swinging her feet around so that they rested on the floor.  "C'm'ere," she invited, tossing back the afghan she'd been snuggled under, and patting the spot next to her.

Jake ambled across the room, dropping onto the sofa tiredly.  "Hey," he murmured, leaning over to kiss her 'hello'.  "Mom said you were taking a nap."

"I'm actually not tired, believe it or not," she chuckled.  "But, after the fourth or fifth time your Mom told me to go lay down, get some rest, I took the hint," Heather explained, scooting over a few inches to fit herself into Jake's embrace.  "I think she just needed some time to herself.  So, I came in here and raided your Dad's sci-fi collection." 

"Not getting enough science fact in daily life?" Jake asked with a snort.

"Well, there is that," Heather agreed, shaking her head.  "But, I was going for something escapist.  Everything else that your Dad has is military history," she reminded.  Heather rested her head against Jake's shoulder, turning her face into his neck, inhaling deeply.  "You smell good," she told him.

"'Cause I usually smell bad?" Jake questioned, laughing.

"I meant clean.  You smell clean," Heather corrected herself, giggling.  "And, aside from that one incident with the manure," she teased, "I have to say, you do usually smell good."

"The manure was completely Stanley's fault," Jake reminded, his hand finding its way into her hair to massage her scalp.  "And, I had to take a shower," he added, sighing.  "The people - all the people at the lake - they died of radiation poisoning."

Jake felt Heather nod against his shoulder.  "Yeah, Bill radioed your Dad with the news."

"So, what're you reading?" he asked.  Heather closed the paperback she held in her right hand, handing it to Jake.  He inspected the front cover.  It was Asimov's Second Foundation, which he remembered reading at some point during high school.  "Isn't this the third book in?"

"Yeah," Heather acknowledged with a shrug.  "But the main character, Arkady Darrell, was my childhood hero.  She might not have actually figured out where the Second Foundation was, but she was still very cool and kick ass," she laughed.  "I kinda needed that today," she admitted, turning her head to look up at Jake.  They exchanged weak smiles, and Heather continued.  "I wanted to be Arkady Darrell when I grew up.  And, if I couldn't be her, then I was at least going to name my first daughter 'Arcadia' in her honor."

"And, is that still the plan?" Jake inquired, his tone somewhat strangled, as he tried not to laugh.

"I was eleven.  Eleven," she emphasized, chuckling.  "I'm thinking a little more traditional now," Heather assured.  "There is no Arcadia Green in our future, I promise."

"Good," he agreed, resting his head on top of hers.  "'Cause Arcadia Green sounds like one of those new crayon colors they come up with so they can sell more crayons," Jake declared.  "That, or a golf course."

Heather laughed.  "Arcadia Green would have to be a golf course," she told him, tilting her head back, dislodging his.  Jake took advantage of the situation to plant a kiss on her mouth.  "Heather Green is a color," she continued a moment later, reaching up to lay her hand on the side of his face, caressing his cheek.

"Huh," Jake grunted, shaking his head.  "You're right.  I've never thought of that."  He glanced at her, his expression sheepish.  "Sorry," he apologized.

"I figured it out about five minutes after you asked me to marry you," she told him.  "Well, maybe ten," Heather conceded with a giggle, recalling those first heady, wonderful moments right after Jake had proposed; she hadn't been thinking about anything but him.  She sighed, "I knew what I was getting myself into, Jake, down to the name.  I was quite happy to be a color then, and I still am now."

"And, you know," she continued barely pausing to breathe, "I do have fun with this.  I've actually ordered things from catalogs in heather green," she admitted.  "And, I always wonder what the person putting the package together must think.  Can you imagine?" Heather asked, turning in Jake's arms so she could watch his face.  "I mean, she's checking the packing slip, right?  All ready to peel off that sticker and slap it on the box and she thinks, 'Okay, Heather Green of Jericho Kansas, here's your heather green sweater.'  Whoever she is, she's gotta think I'm nuts," Heather declared, chuckling and rolling her eyes for affect.

Jake started to laugh, quietly, almost silently at first, but soon giving in to a full-on belly laugh.  "Oh," he groaned.  "That's - I adore you," he told Heather, still chuckling.

She laughed, resisting the urge to check him for fever, even in jest.  "You adore me?" Heather repeated, grinning.  She was secure in Jake's love and affection for her, but he was rarely so effusive.  "It was a silly story," she reminded, "Frivolous, really, considering."

"Yeah," he agreed, grinning, too.  "But I still adore you," Jake repeated, insistent.  He gathered her closer then, pulling her onto his lap.  He pressed his lips to hers, and Heather responded eagerly, burying her hands in his still damp hair, kissing Jake back with an equal passion.  "I adore you," Jake whispered again, moving from her mouth to her jaw.  "Just don't name our kid Forrest or Olive," he requested, kissing his way to her ear.  "Okay?"

"Okay," she giggled in agreement.  "Deal."

"So," Jake sighed, resting his forehead against hers, "Where in the world did you find this?" He fingered the sleeve of the sweatshirt she was wearing.  It had 'Jericho High Varsity Baseball' printed across the chest, and Jake recognized it as his own, though he was sure he hadn't seen it since his first year of college.

"In the basement," Heather answered, adjusting herself so that she sat sideways in Jake's lap, her arms looped around his neck and her head resting on his shoulder.  "Your mother has literally everything in the world in that basement," she told him.  "It's amazing.  And, there's a lot down there that's probably going to come in handy.  She wanted to get some linens and clothing together, that sort of thing," Heather continued, gently rubbing his neck.  "In case, you know, the people from the lake needed them.  I helped her go through some boxes, and we found this.  She said that you wouldn't want to give it away, and I was cold, so I put it on."

"I'd wondered where it went," Jake admitted, fighting a yawn.  "Shoulda known it ended up in the basement.  Everything else does."

Heather nodded.  "Your Mom, she has a giant collection of your old baby clothes down there," she informed him.  "And, she has a story about literally every item.  'Jake's fireman shirt', 'Eric's railroad engineer's outfit', 'the boys' first pairs of cowboy boots'," Heather listed, pressing her lips to his collarbone.  "And, oh my God!  She found your first suits."  She raised her head, meeting Jake's weary gaze.  "You had the cutest powder blue suit, with a clip on Winnie the Pooh tie, when you were three.  It was seriously the most adorable thing I've ever seen."

Jake groaned, his eyes falling closed as he tried not to laugh.  "Powder blue?" he protested.  "What was she thinking when she bought it, and then why did she save it?"

"'Cause it's cute," Heather argued.  "And don't worry," she assured, "Eric's is worse.  It's not quite orange, but also not quite khaki.  Salmon, maybe.  With a Tigger tie," she added.  "You know, I bet you both wore them to your Dad's first inauguration."

"No doubt," Jake agreed, giving into a chuckle.  "So," he sighed, "Our kid's gonna get stuck wearing my thirty year old baby clothes?"

"Your Mom's pretty attached to them, so I don't know," she answered.  "And, there's still a lot of time.  Who knows what's gonna happen, right?  I mean, maybe things aren't as bad as they look on TV, right?"  Heather attempted a smile, but it never quite materialized, turning instead into a slight frown accompanied by a deep sigh.  "Though, I guess, to be safe, I should get her to teach me how to do more sewing than just reattaching loose buttons."

Jake didn't answer, and Heather didn't really mind.  She snuggled back down against him, his arms snaking around her to keep her secure.  They remained that way - silent, cuddled together, strengthened by one another - for a number of minutes before Heather finally murmured, "Rough day, huh," against Jake's neck, her warm breath causing his skin to goose pimple. 

"Yeah," he agreed, hugging her more tightly to himself.  "Yeah, it was," he sighed, glancing sideways at her.  "I don't think I'm gonna be as laidback as you think I am," Jake said.

"What?" Heather asked, not following.

"The other night, you said I'd be a more laidback parent than you," he reminded.  "But, I don't think so," he told her.  "As soon as I knew that Victor Miller's daughter was out there..."  Jake paused, shaking his head.  "I didn't know anything about her, except that he said she existed.  That's all I needed to know; I was obsessed," he confessed.  "I needed to find her, needed to save her, needed to reunite her with her father.  And, after he died," Jake admitted, "It was even more important."

It's okay, Jake," she comforted, kissing the side of his face.  "It was a good thing, you were trying to do a good thing."

He didn't seem to hear her.  "At Bailey's, when I went to get help, everyone was just watching the damn video loop, over and over.  I couldn't stand it.  We're all worried about what happened out in the rest of the world, but they'd all rather keep watching the same old stuff rather than help anyone from outside," he complained, stroking her arm absently with his fingertips.  "I had to turn off all the damn TVs, yell at them, guilt some of them into coming with me.  And," he sighed, "In the end it didn't matter, 'cause everyone was already dead when we got there."

"We found three girls in the group," Jake continued quietly.  "A little one, four or five, another who was maybe ten, and a thirteen or fourteen year old.  I don't know which one was Miller's daughter.  I'll never know." He exhaled, shuddering.  "And there was this doll - your basic doll - that must have belonged to the four year old.  I found it, picked it up, and I just stared at it.  And, I just kept thinking, there was a little girl, a baby really, and now she's dead."   Jake looked at Heather.  "So, I'm not feeling very laidback right now."

"I know, hon.  I know," she crooned, hugging Jake tightly around the neck.  They clung to each other, Jake pressing his face into Heather's shoulder.  She waited, kissing him softly wherever she could reach, knowing that Jake wouldn't allow himself to be so vulnerable, even if it was only in front of her, for very long.  She was right, and he soon lifted his head, clearing his throat self-consciously, meeting her concerned gaze.

"You know, two completely un-laidback parents is probably the best thing you could give a kid these days," Heather told him, smiling softly.

"Probably," Jake agreed, chuckling.  "Probably."

"Your Dad's arranging a memorial service, kinda, for tonight," Heather explained quietly a few moments later.  "For the people at the lake, for every -"

"Dinner!"  Gail Green's shout sounded across the house, interrupting Heather.

"Uh, for the people at the lake," she repeated, "And for everyone to just take a moment to reflect, I guess," Heather sighed, smiling softly.  "I think we should go.  And," she added, "Your Mom insisted we stay for dinner, 'cause I think she's worried we'd starve without her."

Jake laughed, shaking his head.  "She knows I can survive on nothing but microwave popcorn, beef jerky, and peanut butter cookies, if necessary," he argued.  "This is all aimed at you, 'cause we all know how long my Mom has wanted a grandchild," Jake said, kissing her temple and placing his hand over her stomach. 

"Yeah," Heather agreed, joking, "Really, shoulda seen that coming."  She slid off his lap, and then they helped each other stand. 

Jake held his hand out to Heather.  "C'mon, dinner," he said, just as his mother yelled for them a second time.

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

Different Circumstances: Part 4D of ? by Marzee Doatsf

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

Saturday, October 13, five years before the bombs

"I'll have a small sundae," Heather ordered when Sam, the bored teenager working the counter at I Scream/U Scream, the latest incarnation of Jericho's one and only ice cream parlor, asked her what she wanted.  "Um, cookie dough ice cream, the peanut butter hot fudge, whipped cream -"

"Do you want the regular whipped cream, or the chocolate whipped cream?" asked Sam tiredly.  His nametag proclaimed that he was 'Happy to Help!' and Heather had dealt with him before when he'd been in a better mood.  She decided to chalk his current fit of attitude up to the fact that it was almost closing time.

"Regular whipped cream," she replied.  "Otherwise, that's too much chocolate.  And, gummy bears," she added, just as Sam began to turn away.  "What?" she demanded, looking sideways at Jake.  He was standing next to her, and most definitely smirking.

"I've never heard anyone order a sundae quite like that before."  He laughed.  "You really know what you're doing.  It's kinda awe-inspiring," he teased.

Heather laughed with him, shrugging.  "Just one of the many, many things on the list of things I'm good at," she told him.  She waited a beat, and then asked, "You're totally intrigued now, right?"

Jake nodded, his eyes locked on hers.  "I am intrigued, yes."

"Here," Sam said, dropping Heather's sundae on the counter, interrupting them.  He looked back and forth between Jake and Heather.  "Are these together, or -"

"Together," Jake interrupted, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  "And, I'll have what she had, minus the gummy bears," he said, shaking his head.  He glanced at Heather again.  "Gummy bears?"

"Don't know what you're missing," she assured him.

"I'm good with that," he laughed.

"The sundae comes with a topping," Sam informed Jake.  "Whaddya want?"

"Peanuts, almonds, something like that," Jake suggested.

"We've got both."

"Peanuts, then," Jake replied, managing somehow, to not sound annoyed.  "Thanks."  Sam wandered off to make the sundae, and Jake looked at Heather, who was holding her sundae, but not yet eating.  "You can go ahead," he told her.  "Why don't you pick a table?"

Heather looked over the nearly empty ice cream shop, then back at the laboring Sam.  "I don't think that's a good idea.  It's almost closing time, and it might send him over the edge if we sit down," she whispered, pointing at Sam.

"Good point," he agreed, watching, more than a little fascinated as Heather took her first bite of ice cream, obviously enjoying it.  "Um," he continued, clearing his throat, "Can we walk and eat at the same time?"

"I think we're both reasonably talented people," Heather proclaimed, sucking on her plastic spoon.  "Heck, you kept us from getting arrested," she reminded.

"Trust me, Jimmy was never gonna arrest us," Jake assured her.  "Like he said, too much paperwork involved." 

Sam returned with Jake's sundae.  "Two smalls, that's seven fifty."

"Keep the change," Jake advised Sam, handing him some money.  He grabbed his sundae and a spoon, and then looked at Heather.  "Ready?" he asked.

"Sure," Heather agreed, smiling at him.  She led the way out the door, and once they were back out on the sidewalk, she asked, "So, another sixty percent tip, meant to impress me?"

Jake laughed.  "More like thirty percent.  And, I figured if I asked for change, he might go postal on us.  Didn't seem worth it."

"No, probably not," she agreed, giggling.  They started walking slowly in the direction of Jake's car, not really having anywhere else to go.  "So - sorry to harp on this," Heather started after they'd gone a few steps, "But, I mean, just 'cause he didn't arrest us -"

"It'll be okay, I promise," Jake told her.  "He didn't actually have anything he could arrest us for anyway, and besides, Jimmy's a good guy."

"We kinda broke in.  Technically," Heather argued.

"We sat in a public building, in a public meeting room, for just under an hour," Jake countered.  "About all he could have really gotten us for is using an hour's worth of electricity."  Jake looked at Heather, trying to gauge just how concerned she really was about this.  "Look," he offered, "If it'll make you feel better, I'll give my Dad's secretary a buck to cover the lights we used."

"Well, that would be kinda ridiculous," Heather conceded, chuckling.  "Okay, you win."  She shook her head, cringing slightly.  "I may tend to be a little too much of a law-abiding citizen," Heather admitted.  "Even in college, the few times my friends and I went over to Canada to drink, I was almost always the designated driver."

"Violating alcohol laws and an international border," Jake teased, "I'm impressed.  Look," he continued a moment later, "I actually have a certain respect for the law myself.  After all, I arrest people on occasion," Jake reminded.  "But, I also know that it's all open to interpretation.  I've seen how it gets interpreted," he said, frowning. 

They had reached Jake's car, and now stood beside it, facing one another.  He placed his quarter-eaten sundae on the roof, and then reached for Heather's, which he set next to his own.  Jake reached for her hand, and turned her slightly, gently forcing her to back up until she was pressed against the car door, caught between him and the vehicle.  "Okay?" he asked, lacing the fingers of both their hands together.

"Okay," Heather whispered, nodding softly.  "Jake -"

"I like you," he told her, interrupting her.  "I like you, Heather Lisiniski, law-abiding, tractor-fixing, brilliant, pretty, amazingly nice person that you are."  Jake dipped his head then, capturing her mouth with his own.  He let go of her hands, pulling her into his arms even as he pressed her against the car with the rest of his body.  He kissed her fiercely, thoroughly, possessively, stealing her breath, and leaving them both panting. 

"I like you," he repeated, resting his forehead against hers.  "And, I'm sorry if I pushed you into going into town hall with me.  I didn't think about it," Jake admitted.  "I grew up in that building just as much as I grew up in my family home, and at my grandparents' ranch.  It's not town hall to me, not really," he shrugged.  "It's just another place where I used to play 'cops and robbers' with my brother."

"Okay," Heather nodded, smiling.  "I like you, too, Jake Green," she murmured a moment later.  "Enough, obviously, to sneak into town hall with you.  Enough to - I don't know -"

"Let's make a deal," Jake offered.  He took a step back, exhaling deeply, and then retrieved their melting sundaes from the roof.  He handed Heather's to her, then took a bite of his own.  "This is a first date, right?  So we probably don't want to get into all that 'don't know' stuff, right?"

"Yeah," Heather agreed, taking a deep breath.  She looked down, and then back up at Jake, facing him nervously.  "Though, really, I - There was absolutely no scenario, including you dying of an incurable disease, under which I was gonna sleep with you tonight, Jake."

"Wow," he murmured.  He studied her for a long moment, watching the blush that crept onto her cheeks, impressed that she still willingly held his gaze.  "Wow," Jake repeated.  "Yeah, that was the assumption I was basically operating under tonight, babe," he told her.  "It's the assumption I'd expect to be operating under for awhile, right?"

Heather still couldn't believe that she'd said what she'd said.  Jake had told her that they shouldn't talk about 'don't know', and she'd heard him, and she'd even known what he was getting at, but what had she done?  Blurted out the biggest 'don't know' there was, because that's where she'd been going in her mind.  How much did she like Jake? Enough to consider all sorts of possibilities she didn't normally consider, hadn't considered, ever.  Heather knew she'd shocked him when she'd announced she wasn't planning on sleeping with him; what he didn't realize was that she'd said it, more than anything, as a reminder to herself.

Biting her lip, Heather nodded.  "Yeah, pretty much," she confirmed.

"Okay," Jake continued, exhaling deeply.  "Back to our deal.  I like you, you like me, this is a first date, and we are not going to sleep together tonight," he declared firmly.  "But," he added, chuckling softly, "I am gonna kiss you again."

"You called me 'babe'," was Heather's only response.

"That I did," he agreed.  "Any strong objection?"

Heather shook her head.  "No," she told him.  "Just an observation, really," she shrugged, offering him a pleased grin.

Jake looked down at his soupy sundae, realizing that he absolutely no interest in finishing it.  He looked up at Heather.  "I should take you home," he told her.  "Are you done with that?" he asked, pointing at the sticky cup Heather held, forgotten, in her hand.

"Sure," Heather agreed, handing it to him.  "But, what about kissing me?" she teased.  "That's part of our deal, right?"

"I'm gonna kiss you goodnight.  Later," Jake said, taking a deep breath.  "Give me a second," he requested, turning and walking about twenty feet down the block to a public trash can. 

Heather watched Jake go, comprehending belatedly, just how much effort he was putting into maintaining his equilibrium at the moment.  She'd never had that affect on anyone, not really, and it was a scary and exhilarating realization.  It was also something Heather knew she shouldn't take lightly.

Jake returned, smiling at her sweetly.  "Ready to go?" he asked.  Heather nodded, and he stepped around her to open her door.  "Okay," he began, turning back to face Heather, only to be surprised when she kissed him softly, a mere peck, before sliding around him, and into her seat.

"Okay," she agreed, smiling up at him.

"Okay," Jake laughed, closing her door.

* * * * *

"So," Jake began, turning into Heather's driveway, and parking behind her car, "This is probably going to sound a little weird, but could I have your phone number?"

"Oh, my goodness," Heather laughed, her eyes widening in both amusement and embarrassment.  "You really don't have it, do you?"

Jake turned off the car, shaking his head.  "No.  And, I figure since Stanley does," he shrugged.  "I'd ask Gramps if he had it, but that would be kinda embarrassing either way."

"Jake, you can have my phone numbers, my email address, whatever you want," she told him.  "Well, whatever you want, as far as contact methods go."

He leaned over, cupping her chin, and then kissing her.  "'Contact method' covers a lot," Jake reminded her with a lopsided grin. 

Heather laughed.  "True," she agreed.  "Gimme a sec," she requested, opening her purse and pulling out a tiny notepad and pen.  She wrote quickly, and then tore out the slip of paper, handing it to him. 

'Heather' was written across the top and underlined, and she'd provided her home and cell phone numbers, and two email addresses, one for work, one personal.  "Thanks," Jake murmured, tucking the paper into his coat pocket.

"Turn about is fair play, or however that goes," Heather said, handing her notebook to Jake, who reciprocated, providing the same information she had.

Jake climbed out of the car, and came around to the passenger's side to help Heather out.  Heather, growing quickly accustomed to Jake's somewhat old-fashioned habits, waited for him.  She exited the car into the circle of his arms, and he kissed Heather quickly, teasingly, before taking her hand and leading her to her front door.

"You really can come in," Heather told Jake, turning to face him.

"No," he contradicted, shaking his head, smiling at her.  "It's not a good idea, and I can guarantee that Gramps is waiting up for me."  Jake started to play absently with a lock of her hair, twisting it around his finger.  "He likes you," he told her, "So he figures waiting up for me protects your virtue."

"I see," Heather chuckled.  "Well, I like your grandfather, too."

Jake leaned forward, brushing his lips across hers.  "So, I have to go to the weekly Green family dinner tomorrow night, and you're correcting math tests on Monday," he sighed.  "So, Tuesday?"

"A strong possibility," Heather agreed, wrapping her arms around his neck.  She kissed him, tugging at his lip, eliciting a groan from Jake.  "Call me, now that you can," she instructed him, pulling away slightly.

"Okay," he agreed, sighing.  Jake kissed her again, not with the same all-encompassing passion he'd displayed twenty minutes earlier, but certainly with enough fervor to leave Heather shivering deliciously and her heart pounding.  "Open your door," Jake instructed, taking a half-step back.  "I'm gonna go."

Heather complied, unlocking her front door, pushing it open.  She looked back at Jake.  "Good night."

"Good night."

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

Monday, September 25, five days after the bombs

"Well, I need to go to a staff meeting tomorrow morning," Heather explained to her mother-in-law, looking over her shoulder.  "I ran into Mrs. McVeigh between the clinic and your house this afternoon.  She'd been looking for me.  Apparently, we're gonna talk about when to re-open the school."

"Just the elementary, or the high school, too?" Johnston asked.

The four Greens - Johnston, Gail, Jake and Heather - had opted to walk the six blocks between the Green house and the church on Main Street.  Jake had argued against it initially, worried that it might be too much walking for Heather, and that she'd re-injure her already broken leg.  A compromise had been reached with Jake yielding to Heather's own judgment of her ability to walk as far as she wanted to, though she had had to promise that she'd tell him if she got tired, and let him go for the car then.  Now, Heather and Jake had the lead, allowing her to set the group's pace.  As far as Jake and Johnston were concerned, her speed had been good for the first block, but then Heather and Gail had started talking, and every time Heather looked back at her mother-in-law, she slowed down a little, unknowingly causing both Jake and Johnston to grit their teeth.

"I don't know anything about the high school," Heather replied, glancing back at Johnston.  "Staff meeting's just for the elementary."

"Too bad," Johnston grumbled.  "If the high school were back in session that'd solve half our problems," he complained. 

"Half your problems?  What are these kids up to?" Jake questioned, surprised.  "Besides drinking and drag racing, there's not a whole lot you can do to get into trouble in Jericho, if you're sixteen, seventeen.  You have to leave the county to find any real trouble."

"The voice of experience," Heather teased, squeezing Jake's hand and shooting him a knowing look.

Gail shook her head, groaning.  "All I can say is that you had better not have been drinking and racing at the same time, Jake."

"I was never quite that stupid, Mom," Jake reassured her.  "Stupid, but not that stupid." 

Johnston cleared his throat.  "Right now, we're dealing with vandalism, couple of burglaries," he told them, bringing the discussion back to its original point.  "Bill caught Sean Henthorn and Travis Bauer breaking into an empty house on Granville last night."

"Huh," Jake acknowledged as they reached the intersection with Berge Avenue.  "No wonder Jimmy spent half the day trying to talk me into being an emergency supply deputy."  He and Heather started to cross the street.  "I didn't promise him anything," he continued, "But I'm gonna go to the station tomorrow, see what I can do to help out."  Jake looked over his shoulder at his father.  "If you thought things were getting that bad, I'm surprised you didn't ask me yourself."

"Didn't think you'd be interested," Johnston admitted, his voice gruff.

"I'm not," Jake argued, shrugging.  "I'll help out where I can, but I'm not a beat cop, and I'm not ever gonna wear a Jericho Sheriff's Department uniform."

"Aw, I think you'd look good in a sheriff's uniform," Heather told him, moving a step closer and tightening the hold she had on his arm.  She actually thought the Jericho Sheriff's Department uniform was rather unflattering, and wouldn't look good on anyone, even Jake, but she was trying to dispel some of the tension that had crept into the conversation, assuage some of the hurt she'd detected in her husband's tone. 

"Well, any help you can give would be appreciated," Johnston conceded.  "Jimmy and Bill are both overwhelmed, so whatever you can do to help them out would be good."

Jake nodded, looking back at his parents.  "Will do," he promised.

They walked on, a not completely comfortable silence falling over the party.  "What time's your meeting tomorrow, Heather?" Gail asked finally.

"Ten," Heather answered quickly, glancing at her mother-in-law, her expression relieved.  "Apparently there's one good thing to come out of the - this - everything that's happened," she stumbled over her words, chuckling uncomfortably.  "Staff meetings aren't at six thirty in the morning anymore."

"Come for lunch afterward," Gail invited.  "The meeting shouldn't run too long should it?  You come, too, Jake, if you're around."

"Told you so," Jake murmured sotto voce, kissing Heather's ear.

Heather grinned at Jake, somehow managing to keep from laughing.  She loved Gail, and appreciated the sometimes gentle, sometimes not, mothering the older woman bestowed upon her.  Now though, it appeared that Gail had found a focus for her nervous energy, and it was Heather, or at least her health and less than stellar eating habits.  Coming from nearly anyone else, Heather would have prickled under the scrutiny, would have been annoyed at the implied criticism.  But, Heather knew that Gail loved her as one of her own children, and that her mother-in-law acted from that love, and not from a sense of superior judgment.  For all the baggage, all the squabbles, that came with being one of the Greens, they were a family that, like the one Heather had been born into, looked after each other.

"Sounds good," Heather agreed, turning her head to smile back at Gail.  "I don't think it's gonna be an easy meeting," she admitted.  "We already don't have a music and performing arts teacher," she reminded, alluding to the death of Scott Rennie.  "And, if half the other teachers are willing to come back, I'd be surprised."  There had been some turnover in the five years that Heather had been teaching at Jericho Elementary, but she could still name four or five teachers she was sure would want to close the school, rather than continue its operation under the current sense of uncertainty.  "But the kids need it," Heather sighed.  "The sense of security and routine, even more than the academics."

"It's too soon to be makin' that decision, one way or the other," Johnston groused.  "Guess I better find Charlie Moore and -"

"He was in Topeka," Heather interrupted, stopping.  They were a half block from the church now.  Heather turned to face her father-in-law.  "Kansas State School Superintendents' annual conference," she explained.  "I was supposed to go to Topeka next weekend myself, for the Elementary Science Curriculum committee quarterly meeting," she laughed uneasily.  "The committee chairman called me a subversive at the last meeting, so he's probably glad at least that I won't be able to make it."

"We'll need to call an emergency school board meeting, then," Johnston sighed. 

"Miranda Stevens is board president," Gail reminded, shaking her head.  "She's in New York.  Skylar was complaining about being left behind to anyone who'd listen all last week."

"Well, crap," Johnston said, eloquently expressing what they were all thinking.

"Exactly," Heather agreed, nodding.  "Look," she sighed, "If it goes to a vote tomorrow, I'm voting to re-open.  And, if it's left up to each of us individually, well, I might be the only teacher who actually chooses to come back, but that's what I'm gonna do."

"It's a quarter to," Gail told them, checking her watch.  "And, this will keep 'til tomorrow," she suggested.  "For now, we should get to the church."

They all agreed, and Jake and Heather turned around, leading the way once again.  Jake draped his arm around Heather's shoulders, pulling her close.  "Thank God, you weren't in Topeka," he muttered.

She looked up at him, eyes wide.  Heather hadn't considered it before, but Jake was right.  If the bombs had gone off ten days later, she would have been in Topeka, and away from Jericho.  Again, she found herself thankful for the miracle of timing that had allowed both of them to be home when disaster had struck.  "Yeah," she breathed, wrapping her arm around his waist.

The four continued on to the church without speaking.  Arriving, they spotted Stanley and Bonnie, who were both climbing out of Stanley's truck, which he'd parked across the street.

"Hey there, Mama," Stanley called out, leading his sister across the street by the elbow.

Gail gave Stanley an odd look.  "Hello, Stanley.  Bonnie," she greeted.

"Oh, I meant that Mama," Stanley explained, pointing at the blushing Heather.  "Not that you're not a great mom, Mrs. Green," he assured her quickly.  "It's just that it bugs her, so of course I have to call her 'Mama' as often possible."

Heather closed her eyes, shaking her head.  "I knew I was gonna regret ever reacting, but I still did," she sighed, laughing softly at herself.

"Yeah, that wasn't too smart of you, Mama," Stanley agreed sympathetically, eliciting a frustrated groan from Heather.

"Well, play nice, children," Gail advised, amused by Heather's predicament, but trying to appear like she wasn't.  She accepted Johnston's hand.  "Don't stay out here too long," she told them, following her husband up the path to church door.

"Stanley, we haven't told a lot of people," Heather tried to reason with him.  She couldn't bring herself to voice her more serious concern that something would go wrong, or already had.  "And, we weren't going to, yet," she told him.  "And you," she added, glancing sideways to glare at Jake, "Feel free to jump in and be overprotective whenever you're ready."

"Sorry," Jake grinned, looking anything but.  "I thought it was funny."  He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head, and then affected a stern look, addressing his best friend.  "Stanley, stop calling my wife 'Mama'," he ordered. 

Stanley made a show of considering it for a moment, and then shook his head 'no'.  "This is really too good to give up," he explained.  "But, I'll say it really quietly for now, that way nobody will overhear.  Mama," he said in a stage whisper, demonstrating his solution.  "How's that?"

"Don't be such a jerk," Bonnie piped up then, hitting her brother lightly on the arm.

Heather smiled at Bonnie.  "Thank you."  She looked at Jake.  "Ready to go in?"

"Actually," Stanley interjected, his tone suddenly serious.  "Do you mind, Jake, if I borrow your wife for a minute?"

Jake snorted. "Hey, it's your -"

"I wouldn't trust him if I were you, Jake," Eric Green interrupted, joining them from behind, and clapping his brother on the shoulder.  "We all know that Stanley's been after Heather for years," he joked.

"Eric," April protested from beside him.  She looked like she had more to say, but she spotted Heather shaking her head, and refrained.

"You know, it really is a burden to be so adored," Heather said, emitting an exaggerated sigh, and throwing Jake a significant look on the word 'adored' that earned her a soft smile.

"I do adore you, Heather," Stanley argued, trying unsuccessfully to keep from laughing.  "And yet you resist all of my attempts to seduce you."

Heather giggled in return.  "I love you, too, Stanley," she told him.  "And, you're right," she agreed, "I do find you absolutely resistible."  Everyone laughed, and Stanley, hanging his head, conceded defeat. 

"So," April said, stepping around Eric and then Jake to stand next to Heather, "I hear that I have you to thank for the fact that my clinic is still up and running.  So, thank you," she declared, hugging Heather.

"I just had the idea," Heather answered, shrugging.  "The guys did all the dangerous work, while I supervised from thirty feet away."

"Exactly as it should be," April joked.  "Seriously," she said, glancing at Jake and then Stanley, "Thank you both.  I can breathe easy - I can leave work - at least for tonight."

"Yeah," Eric echoed grudgingly, "Thanks for your help."

"We could only get Mr. Murthy to agree to give us the gas by paying for it, so Jake took care of that, too," Heather added.

"Nah, I didn't," Jake contradicted.  "Murthy never took my credit card, which is probably a good thing.  The only one I had on me belongs to the federal government."

"Don't say that too loudly," Stanley advised, looking around at the arriving crowd.  "If my own personal IRS agent hears you, she'd probably decide to audit you."

"Your personal IRS agent?" Jake questioned.  "What's going on?"

Stanley shrugged.  "It's nothing.  Apparently I owe Uncle Sam some money.  No big deal."

"Ms. Clark?" April asked, rolling her eyes.  "She's an interesting one.  She was convinced that she was going to die after she put her hand in a puddle after the storm.  I checked her out, and she didn't have any cuts or burns, so I told her to wash her hands and go home," April recounted.  "She threatened to sue me."

"She's really not that bad," Stanley argued.

"Yes, she is," Bonnie interrupted, shaking her head.  "She wants our farm."

"She was just doing her job," Stanley reasoned.  "And now she's stuck in Jericho for who knows how long.  She's a little high-strung and all, but you know, I kinda feel bad for her."

More people were arriving at the church now, and the bell started to ring, signaling that the service would start soon.  "We should get inside," Eric suggested, everyone else nodding in agreement.

"Heather," Stanley reminded when she started to turn toward the church with Jake.

"Oh, right."  She looked up at her husband, tilting her head.  "I'll meet you inside," she promised.

Jake nodded, kissing her quickly.  "Just make sure you give her back," he told Stanley, then offered his arm to Bonnie, who accepted, giggling.

"So what's up?" Heather asked as Stanley stepped closer, his expression serious. 

"How's Jake?" he asked.

Heather frowned.  "What do you mean?  Jake's fine."

Stanley shook his head.  "Well, yeah, he seems fine right now," he agreed.  "But out at the lake....  It was awful, Heather.  All those people, dead.  It got to us all, but, for some reason, it really got to him. He was..." Stanley paused, trying to find the right word.  "He was really rattled by it," he decided.

"He told me about it, some," she admitted, pursing her lips.  "And, you're right, it got to him," she acknowledged with a sigh.  "I guess it's lucky I'm pregnant, and so I couldn't go out there.  I would have otherwise."

"I'm glad you didn't see that," Stanley told her.  "Not because you're a woman or anything like that," he continued, anticipating her protest.  "Just, you care about people, you love kids," Stanley argued.  "And, you didn't need to see all those people, dead.  We didn't do anything for 'em except bury them, and we didn't need you for that."

Heather nodded once.  "Okay," she agreed quietly.

"Just - not that you don't already, but - take care of him," Stanley ordered.  "It's just - It was only for a minute - less, really - but we were, you know, burying a body, and I looked at Jake," he explained, sighing.  "I've only seen him look like that once before.  Three days after Chris Sullivan."

"Okay," Heather acknowledged, shivering slightly.  She hadn't known Jake when Chris had died, but she had sat through Jake's week of testimony during Jonah Prowse's trial, and she'd seen how just recounting the events around Chris's death and Jonah's arrest had affected him.

"Just watch him," Stanley requested.  They stared at one another for a moment, and the he smiled weakly at Heather, offering her his hand.  "Come on, we better get in.  Mrs. Green will kill me if we walk in late."

"No doubt," she agreed, allowing him to lead her up the walk and steps, and into the church. 

Inside, they spotted Gail, Jake and Bonnie sitting in the first pew, with Eric and April directly behind them.  "There isn't room enough for me up there," Stanley told Heather.  "I'll go in here," he added, pointing to two empty spots about halfway up the aisle.  "Send Bonnie back, okay, Mama?" he whispered, grinning at her.

"Fine," she agreed, chuckling quietly.  Heather walked to the front of the church, and Bonnie stood up, ready to yield her seat.  Heather pointed her toward Stanley, and then sat down next to Jake, who laid his arm across the back of the pew and pulled her closer.

Reverend Young opened the service with a short prayer, and then handed the lectern over to Johnston.  "Earlier today, we buried twenty people," he began, slowly surveying the assembly.  Heather, taking Stanley's charge to heart, studied Jake, watching his reaction to his father's words.  "Refugees from Denver, people we, we didn't know, but were prepared to welcome into our town," Johnston continued.  "Unfortunately, they died of radiation poisoning."

Jake flinched involuntarily, and Heather reached for his hand on her shoulder, laying her own hand over his, squeezing it tightly.  He looked at her, offering a weak smile before lifting his arm over her head, and dropping his hand in her lap, where she cradled it in both of hers.  They returned their attention to his father.

"For those people from Denver, and for our own people, for Sheriff Dawes, Deputy Riley, for Deputy Connor and Deputy Salem," Johnston listed, "People out there, somewhere, we know nothin' about who might be sufferin' and dying right now.  I ask that we take a moment of silence."

On either side of him, his mother and wife bowed their heads on cue, Jake following suit a second later.  Quiet pervaded the church, but Jake's thoughts were racing, sounding loudly in his head.  'I'm sorry, Victor,' he caught himself almost praying, 'For what we did to you.  For not finding your daughter in time.'

Time trudged along slowly, the moment of silence Johnston had called for, drawn out almost unbearably.  Finally, to Jake's profound relief, his father cleared his throat, signaling for their attention.  Those gathered in the church all looked up.

"If you've lost a loved one, would you please stand?" Johnston invited softly. 

There was a rustling sound as throughout the sanctuary people climbed to their feet.  Jake watched his father looking around, making brief eye contact with each person. 

"If someone you love is missing, would you join those standing?" Johnston requested next.

Heather rose to her feet, thinking, Jake knew, of her father, her brothers and their wives, her nieces and nephews. Jake stood beside her, clutching her hand, then reaching for his mother's hand as well, when he felt her arm brush his.  He didn't look around, but Jake knew it was likely that everyone was standing.  Jericho was a small town, a close-knit town, one that welcomed new residents with open arms, and at the same time sent her children out to make their way in the world, with the hope that one day they would return.  Everyone had someone they were missing.

"We stand because we know that every life matters," Johnston told them, his voice rough with compassion.  "We have to fight for every life.  Even when it seems hopeless.  Even when we're afraid," he sighed.   "Because the battle ahead isn't just for our survival," he declared.  "It's for our humanity."

Both Heather and his mother squeezed his hands, and Jake glanced between them, taking in their nearly identical, teary-eyed but resolved expressions.  Jake had long had little use for politics, but he was willing to acknowledge his father's abilities as a leader, his gift, on occasion, for meaningful oratory.  Tonight, his father had said what they all needed to hear.

Someone in the back of the church began to sing, others picking up the song as it seemed to flow forward.  Jake didn't recognize it until Heather, and then his mother, joined in.  They were singing Amazing Grace, and Jake couldn't help but wonder how they all could possibly see any of the grace of God in their current situation.  Except, he realized, they were all alive, and mostly unharmed, and relatively safe, and with each other.  Whether that was God or dumb luck, it was something to be thankful for. 

Jake started to sing along, surprised to find the words, buried, somewhere within him.  He supposed it was like Take Me Out to the Ballgame, or the national anthem, or the words to the Gilligan's Island theme song; you learned them all at some point in childhood, and you knew them forever.

Reverend Young had planned to dismiss the short service with another prayer, but as the last notes of the song died out, he settled for pronouncing a heartfelt "Amen," and exchanging a quick handshake with Johnston.  The crowd began to gather their things and slowly depart the church.

"I'm going to wait for your father," Gail said to Jake and Heather, "But you two feel free to go on ahead."

"We're gonna head home," Jake reminded.

Gail nodded.  "We'll see you both tomorrow," she told them, kissing Jake and then Heather on the cheek.  "Good night."  She then moved on to Eric and April, Johnston still tied up in a small knot of people, all seeking a word with their mayor.

Jake and Heather exchanged quick 'good nights' with his brother and sister-in-law, and then made their way, holding hands, out of the church.  Outside, they waved goodbye to Bonnie and Stanley, who mouthed the word 'Mama' at Heather, causing her to laugh and groan and lean her head against Jake's shoulder.

Neither saw Emily approaching until she was standing directly in front of then, not exactly smiling, but looking pulled together and impervious.  This was the Emily they were most used to, the 'I don't care what you think' Emily that Jake had long ago decided to simply coexist with.  "Hey," she greeted them softly.  "Are you feeling better, Heather?"

"Better?" Heather repeated, lifting her head.

Emily nodded.  "Yeah.  You didn't come to the lake, which - I just thought you would," she explained.  "Jake said you weren't feeling well."

"Oh.  Yeah.  Right.  Well.  That.  Yeah.  Right.  I'm feeling better now," Heather answered.

"Good," Emily declared, smiling at her.  She glanced at Jake, and then surprised the hell out of him by kissing him on the cheek.  "Jake, you're a good man for trying to help someone you didn't even know," she told him.  Emily stepped back, and turned away, disappearing quickly into the unlit night.

"Well, okay then," Heather muttered, her expression stunned.

Jake smiled softly, trying not to laugh.  "You're not jealous of Emily Sullivan," he reminded her.

"I'm not," she agreed with a sigh.

"And, you have no reason to be," he added, wrapping his arm around her. Jake turned them both, steering Heather in the direction of his parents' house and their car. 

"I don't," Heather confirmed.  She waited a moment, and then looked up at Jake.  "You didn't tell her."

"Neither did you," Jake countered.

"I'm not telling anyone I don't love," Heather explained, "Not for now, anyway."

"Me either," he told her.  "Well, except for Bill and Jimmy," he admitted.  "Telling them was kinda collateral damage.  But I told 'em both today to keep it to themselves.  Okay?"

Heather stopped, stepping in front of Jake and reaching up to wipe off his cheek where Emily had kissed him.  He laughed at her, but ceased when she placed one hand on the back of his neck, pulling his head down to where she could reach him, and then pressed her lips to the same spot.  "Okay," she murmured.

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