Different Circumstances: Part 11B of ?
by Marzee Doats
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Monday, November 27, two months after the bombs
"Here you are!" April exclaimed as she entered her office. Juggling two bowls - she'd managed to open the door with her elbow - she moved across the cramped space, setting them both down on the desk. "Now I feel bad," she confessed, dropping into a guest chair. "I sent Drake down to the basement to get you," she told Heather. "And, that's after he made lunch for us. You okay?" April asked finally, peering across the desk at her sister-in-law.
Manufacturing a smile, Heather nodded. "I'm fine," she insisted, sniffing and blinking rapidly. "Really," she claimed, starting to get up. "And, I'm sorry, I needed a few minutes alone," she continued, emitting a sigh. "Here," Heather declared, stepping out from behind April's desk. "Thanks for the loan."
"Sit, sit," April argued, waving Heather back into the chair she'd just vacated. "Mi oficina es su oficina," she joked. "Though I'm not usually over here," she admitted with a wry smile, "View's a little different." April paused, frowning softly, and studied the younger woman for a moment. "So, seriously, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," Heather denied, shaking her head. She swiped her arm across her eyes quickly and took a deep breath. "You said I was in the happy hormone stage," she grumbled, "But I don't know, I'm not feelin' it today. And, hey," Heather declared, clearing her throat and squaring her shoulders, "What's got you so happy?"
"Oh, God," April groaned, slumping in her seat slightly. "If you're buying this as me, happy, just -" She stopped, groaning again. "I'm trying a positive attitude, that's all," she explained, leaning forward to pick up one of the bowls. "Lunch. Strawberries and cream oatmeal, which I'm pretty sure is nasty stuff, or I'm thinkin' it wouldn't still be in the break room."
"It's hot, that's enough for me," Heather returned, accepting the dish.
"Hot's good," her sister-in-law agreed with a shrug, spooning up her first bite. She tasted it, and then made a face. "Positive attitude," she repeated mushily, forcing herself to swallow. "Before I alienate all of you who have to live with me, I figured I better find one. But happy?" April murmured, "I'm gonna have to work up to that." She took another bite, watching Heather as she choked down her first mouthful. "So, spill. You're not getting off that easy. What's wrong?"
Heather closed her eyes, fighting the trembling of her lower lip. Setting her bowl down, April reached across the desk, laying her hand over her friend's. "Jake," Heather began and then she paused to breathe. "Jake - He's got Jonah Prowse. He's - Jonah's injured, so that's what Jake needed Kenchy for, for real. To get Jonah some medical treatment and then bring him in."
"Well that's just crazy," April complained, sitting back in her chair. "He tried to kill Jake. I was there, in the emergency room at four o'clock in the morning," she reminded, shaking her head. "And Gray's hot to get Jonah. Why not just let 'im?"
"Jake says Jonah says he didn't kill Gracie," Heather reported dully. "He - He wants to get Jonah to the jail so they can take a step back and sort things out, I guess." They both took bites of their cereal, neither speaking for a few seconds. "I've been sitting here - I dunno, the last twenty minutes - trying to decide what's better for Dad, for the election," Heather admitted, looking down at the bowl cupped in her hands. "Jake bringing Jonah in, or Gray Anderson shooting him dead in the street."
April grimaced. "Those are the choices? I don't think - the way that people are talking..." She didn't bother to complete the thought. "You know, I don't even know what Jonah Prowse looks like. He could've walked in here this morning and asked for treatment, and I wouldn't have known any better."
"You would've still treated him, even if he introduced himself," Heather argued. "You're a doctor. Hippocratic Oath and all that."
"Yeah," April acknowledged softly, stirring her oatmeal absently before taking another bite. "And you wouldn't want Gray Anderson shooting him dead in the street."
"Well, I wouldn't want anyone shot dead in the street," Heather agreed, shrugging. "Because I don't want to live in that kind of world. I don't want to bring a child into that kind of world," she added, making a face. She set her bowl down and sat back in her chair, wrapping her arms around herself. "That's why Jake's doing this, I guess. I just wish it didn't have to be him," Heather admitted, "As selfish as that is."
"Hey, in my office you can be as selfish as you want," April assured her, offering a lopsided smile. "And, I guess it's not so crazy after all. Jake, I mean," she explained, spotting the question in Heather's gaze. "I don't think he wants to bring a child into a world where people take the law into their own hands like that either."
Pressing one hand protectively over her baby, Heather nodded. It occurred to her at that moment that this was a good part of what Jake had been trying to tell her for the past month, ever since their blow-up over the Ravenwood incident. He'd been loathe to explain any of what had happened in Rogue River, but she'd gotten enough out of him that she knew it had been bad, that things had gone wrong in every way possible. Jake, she realized, was hell bent on shielding her and their child from everything awful the world had to offer these days. But she'd fought his protectiveness, seeing it as an indictment of her own abilities rather than as an indication of his love for her, and their baby, too.
She was guilty, Heather admitted to herself, of thinking that she was more invested in the life they were building together than he was. After all, she'd been the one who'd decided that it was time to have children, and she was the one who was pregnant; but Jake had agreed - perhaps a little reluctantly - that they were ready, and he certainly showed his concern and devotion every day. Heather recalled the way he'd rested his hand over her belly not an hour before when he'd promised her - and their baby - that he'd be careful and that everything would turn out fine. She remembered, too, his declaration on Thanksgiving, that he was thankful for his family and for impending fatherhood. She'd been happily surprised by his public pronouncement of his feelings and she decided now that all she could do was hold onto the trust and love she and Jake had for one another - and believe it was enough.
"True," Heather sighed softly. She met April's gaze with a wry grin. "And he did promise me - me and B.G. - that he wouldn't get between Jonah and any gun, so I suppose I should just be grateful for that."
"B.G.?" April laughed, guessing, "Boy - girl? That's one way around the whole gender debate."
"Baby Green," Heather explained, "But boy - girl works, too. As long as it's not one of each," she chuckled. "I'm not ready for that, and Jake really isn't ready for that."
"Jake wants this though," April said, reaching across the desk to lay her hand over the younger woman's. "We all heard him on Thanksgiving. He loves you, and he can't wait to be a dad," she reminded, unknowingly reading Heather's thoughts. "Boy or girl, I'm guessing, no matter how many times he says boy," April smiled.
"He really doesn't care," Heather confirmed. "We've just been having fun debating it," she admitted, smiling to herself as she recalled those moments - always too short - which they'd shared over the past week, ever since Jake had first felt their baby move, arguing over its sex.
Well, just hold onto that, okay?" April instructed, withdrawing her hand.
Heather reached for her oatmeal, nodding in agreement. "Okay."
Spotting something out of the corner of her eye, April stood up, taking two steps across the small office. Frowning, she pulled a magnet off the side of her filing cabinet and turned, dropping it into the wastebasket. "Something Eric gave me," she admitted, returning to her seat.
"What was it?" Heather asked, her voice full of sympathy.
"It's stupid. Sappy," April answered, shaking her head. She picked up her own half-finished bowl, contemplating it for a moment before placing it back on the desktop. "Just a magnet he gave me back when we first started dating," she explained. "We'd been together three, four months?" April guessed, "And we were on our way here to Jericho, actually, for the weekend. Harvest Festival of all things, because Eric got it into his head that I'd really liked it when I'd lived in Jericho before," she continued, chuckling softly at the memory. "I'd mentioned it once," she stressed, rolling her eyes, "As in 'Does Jericho still have the Harvest Festival?' But anyway, we stopped at this gas station to fill up and we went inside for snacks or soda or something and it had this really tacky little gift shop. I went to use the restroom while Eric paid, and when I came out he handed it to me." April paused then, grumbling as she moved her chair over a few inches so she could retrieve the item from the trash. She looked at it for a moment, reading it again for herself before she handed it to her sister-in-law.
The magnet had a picture of Snoopy on it, sitting atop his doghouse and looking a little ill. "'It's either the flu or love. The symptoms are the same,'" Heather read, laughing quietly at the sentiment.
"Yeah," April acknowledged, letting out a held breath. "He gave me that and said, 'I'm pretty sure it's not the flu, doc.' That's how he told me he loved me," she admitted, pressing her lips tightly together for a moment. "Who knows?" she muttered, taking the magnet back from Heather in order to throw it away again. "He probably did just have the flu."
"He didn't have the flu," Heather contradicted immediately. "You know that, April. You do. When I first met you two," she said, a note of sadness ringing in her tone, "You were both so obviously in love."
April's eyes flooded with tears and she faced Heather across her desk without speaking. Finally, wiping her eyes, she muttered, "Well, we were never as obvious as you and Jake."
"We were a little out of control at times, I'll admit," Heather chuckled, blushing prettily. "Too much, maybe." She stopped for a moment, studying the top of April's desk while she considered what she wanted to say next. April had never kept as many photos around as Heather did, and so there was an obvious bare spot where she'd removed two - a wedding portrait of herself and Eric, and another candid of Eric alone - from one corner of her desk. All that remained was the last formal picture taken of the Green family, including both Grandpa and Eric, a photo of April with her sisters and mother, and a snapshot of April's nephew in Seattle. Heather frowned softly, aching once again for her sister-in-law and friend. "I think - I don't think you should throw this away," she said, wheeling the desk chair around so she could pull the magnet out of the waste basket.
"This is part of your baby's heritage," Heather told April, studying the item for a few seconds before holding it out to her sister-in-law. "No matter how things have turned out, your baby was conceived in love and this - this is proof of that fact," she sighed, glancing once again at the reduced cluster of framed photos on the right hand side of the desk.
"Top drawer," April explained, closing her eyes. "I didn't get rid of them, I just - I needed to put them away." She allowed a derisive snort then, blinking rapidly before her pain-filled gaze locked with Heather's. "And, don't think I don't know that Gail's hidden her copy of our wedding album. Which was never in any danger from me, anyway, I swear."
"I know," Heather soothed, "And so does Gail. She just didn't want you to - to come across it and be hurt," she claimed, deciding that, since she truly didn't know otherwise regarding their mother-in-law's motivation in removing the album from the den, it wasn't really a lie.
April studied the metallic plaque for a long moment, shaking her head again. "Fine," she decided grudgingly, handing the magnet to her sister-in-law. "You can put it in the top drawer."
"That works," Heather smiled softly, pulling the desk drawer open. She placed the magnet on top of the wedding photo and then looked up, catching April's eye again. "And you know, you can think of this a little differently now," she suggested. "I mean, when you were first pregnant, before you knew for sure? 'It's either the flu or love'," she quoted, "'The symptoms are the same'."
"The flu is respiratory, not intestinal," April argued, fighting a grin. Her hand settled over her abdomen, where she at least - if no one else - had noticed the early changes in her body that signaled the new life she carried. "But I think I get your point, as twisted as your logic is."
Heather's only response was a slightly wider smile. She picked up her bowl, and applied herself to it again, scraping the sides to come up with a heaping spoonful which she quickly swallowed. "If you eat it without breathing, it's not half bad."
April started to giggle at that, and then tried it herself, ending up laughing so hard that she almost choked on her mouthful. "Ouch," she complained, trying to catch her breath while Heather, giving into her own giggling, could only wave one hand in what April assumed was supposed to be an apology. Then both ended up laying back in their chairs, spent, panting softly. "Well, at least it's all gone now," April decided, allowing an amused sigh as she sat up long enough to put her bowl down on the desk. There was a knock at the door, and she called out "Come in," as she again slumped backwards in her seat.
"Are you okay?" Jeff demanded, pushing the door open and stepping into April's office. "I heard you laughing practically on the other side of the building. And, here you are!" he declared, spotting Heather behind April's desk. "We've been looking all over for you," he complained, glaring at her gently. "Drake couldn't find you downstairs, and the three of us have all been looking for you. There's a crazed killer on the loose, you know."
"I know all about Jake and Jonah Prowse, and that he's injured, and that you and Mikey helped Jake out," Heather returned, rolling her eyes and hiccupping through one last giggle. "So I really don't think there's a crazed killer on the loose," she informed Jeff, clearing her throat. "Though I guess Jonah's saying he didn't do it, so maybe there is a crazed killer on the loose."
"Well, either way, there's still a crazed mayoral candidate on the loose," Jeff offered, moving into the room and taking the chair next to April's.
She snickered at that. "Gray Anderson, crazed mayoral candidate," April chuckled, shaking her head. "God, that's so true," she groaned.
"Has he always been such a nut job?" Jeff questioned, looking back and forth between the two women. "Seriously, every time I've seen him, he's totally foaming at the mouth."
"This is the third time he's run against Dad," April explained. "And he knows this time he's got a chance."
"Too good of one," Heather muttered.
"Well, that's stupid," he frowned. "Mayor Green's done a great job around here as far as I can see, and you'd think people would know that you don't change horses midstream." Heather and April both snickered gently, and Jeff grinned in return. "Hey, that's the sort of thing you Greens are always sayin'. Tough row to hoe 'til the cows come home, but don't cry over spilt milk, and all that," he joked. "Me? I'm just trying to fit in."
"Yeah," Heather agreed, exchanging an amused look with her sister-in-law, "We Greens are all very down home like that."
"And he never even met Gramps," April chuckled.
"That's exactly what I was thinking," Heather declared, giving into a giggle.
There was a sharp knock at the door before it was shoved open again, and Michael and Drake piled into the office. "What's this?" Michael demanded, glaring at his sister. "Did you decide we were playing sardines without telling the rest of us? We've been lookin' for you for the last fifteen minutes!"
"I couldn't find you downstairs," Drake added, "And, I got worried."
"Jake told us to keep an eye on you two," Jeff admitted then.
"Of course he did," Heather sighed, fighting a smile. "And, I'm sorry," she apologized, rubbing her forehead. "I've been hiding out in here since he left, actually."
"It's my fault, really," April added, glancing over her shoulder at the two young men standing behind her. "I just figured you'd come find me first," she told Drake, her expression turning sheepish, "Before you called out search and rescue."
Drake surveyed the desk, taking in the two empty bowls. "It's okay," he decided. "You needed to eat, and at least everything's all right." He stepped forward, holding out one hand. "I can take those if you want."
"Oh! Thank you," April agreed, stacking their dishes together. "And, I really am sorry. We just got to eating and chatting, and ..."
"And, that's our cue to leave," Jeff announced, standing up. "I kinda busted in on them," he told his friends. "They were laughing pretty hard, so I'm pretty sure it was girl talk," he teased with a mock shudder. "I have an older sister. I remember slumber parties."
"Yeah, so do I," Michael groaned. He faced his sister, his expression grave. "Just - just don't leave without one of us, okay? You, too, April," he added, glancing quickly at the other woman.
"Okay, Jake," Heather teased, standing up and coming around the desk to give her brother a quick hug. "But I promise," she told him, kissing his cheek, "I'm gonna stay right here. You can check up on me."
"And me," April said, moving behind her desk. "I need to take care of a few things, and then I'll be out."
Jeff saluted. "Yes ma'am, Dr. Green," he grinned, "We'll get back to work now."
With that, he herded the other two out of the office. Heather, taking the seat her sister-in-law had vacated, watched April as she studied one of the photographs, the Green family portrait, on the end of her desk. She picked up a small sticky notepad and peeled one off, pressing the paper over what Heather realized was Eric's head in the picture. April met her sister-in-law's gaze with an embarrassed look which eased some when Heather flashed a sympathetic smile. "You need this?" she asked, holding up the legal pad Heather had been making notes on earlier.
Heather nodded, accepting the item. "Thanks."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Friday, November 23, five years before the bomb
Jake's cell phone trilled, pulling him back into the here and now - yet another lonely stretch of I-70 - and out of his reverie. He'd been thinking about Heather of course; she was never far from his thoughts these days, and especially not now after what had happened at the airport. He'd finally managed to get the words out, he'd told her he loved her - and Heather loved him, too, he'd seen it in her eyes - and then they'd gotten into an altercation with the only business traveler actually traveling on this Friday after Thanksgiving.
Shaking his head, Jake reached for his phone, lifting it out of the cup holder. He checked the number and smiled. It was her. He flipped the phone open and pressed it to his ear. "Hey," Jake greeted, surprised at the hitch he heard in his own voice.
"I love you, too," she said quietly - shyly, Jake thought - before exclaiming, "And, oh my God, are you okay? You didn't get arrested, did you?"
"That's a relief," Jake chuckled, checking his mirrors and finding no other vehicles in sight. "I don't know what I would've done if you'd said 'I really, really like you a lot, Jake,'" he teased, settling back in his seat. "Because I happen to love you, babe," he completed, his voice turning husky.
"You couldn't have possibly thought I didn't love you," Heather protested. "Jake!" she groaned before giving into an anxious giggle. "It was so obvious," she insisted, pausing for a few seconds before adding quietly, "I was so obvious."
"Not that obvious," he complained, letting out a long breath. "Though I was pretty sure you liked me," Jake admitted with a grunt.
"I do like you," Heather returned, and Jake could hear the smile in her voice. "A lot," she declared loudly. In the next second, though, she was whispering into the phone, the rasping sound of her voice causing him to tighten his grip on the steering wheel. "I like talking to you. You listen to me, and I can - I can say anything and it's okay," she confessed. "And, I like hanging out with you, stargazing with you. I like going to the lake with you, dancing with you, playing the 'X' game with you," Heather teased, chuckling softly. "I even like flying with you," she admitted with a sigh.
"Babe -" Jake tried, but she cut him off.
"I like not talking to you, too," she murmured, pulling a soft moan from Jake. "And, I love holding your hand and being in your arms. I love kissing you," Heather practically purred, her voice dropping another half octave. "And more."
"Heather," Jake ground out in warning. "I'm trying to drive here," he told her, his tone strangled. His head was swimming and the muscles in his stomach actually quivered, all at just the sound of her voice. "And aren't you in an airport?" he demanded hoarsely.
"Yeah," she confirmed with a shaky laugh. "Gate C-23. Not a lot of people around yet. Flight's not for another hour. Where are you?"
"Middle of nowhere, Kansas," he answered, letting out his own less than steady breath. Jake spotted a mileage sign up ahead and squinted at it until he could make it out. "Not quite halfway home."
"Jake!" Heather exclaimed. "Seriously, what happened? I was kidding about getting arrested," she told him.
"Hey, I wasn't arrested," he assured quickly. "More like detained," Jake added a beat later, "But that was still only for ten minutes, at most."
She groaned. "I'm so sorry. And that jerk was in the seat ahead of me on the plane," Heather complained, making a frustrated noise. "I kicked his seat accidentally-on-purpose a number of times, if that makes you feel better. Made me feel better," she muttered.
"Defending my honor, Miss Lisinski?" Jake chuckled gently. "Here I thought that was my job."
"We can share," she decided. "I'll defend yours, and you can defend mine," Heather suggested, the warmth of her tone and the sentiment soothing Jake. "But you're sure you're okay?"
"Not a scratch on me," he swore, smiling to himself. In the past, if someone - even his mother - had questioned him more than once like that, Jake would have bristled at the inquiry, seeing it almost as an invasion of his privacy. But with Heather he could hear the love and concern in her voice, and it disarmed him. "I'm okay," he promised. "I love you, and I miss you already," he added a few seconds later, almost inaudibly.
Despite the guardsman having ordered her to continue on, and Jake's assurances that she should go, Heather hadn't hurried into the security line, and instead had walked slowly, checking them more than once over her shoulder. The soldier, too, hadn't seemed to be any rush and had allowed Jake to remain where he was until after she had gone through security, including having her bag searched and - Jake thought - something confiscated. He'd dismissed the other two guardsmen, sending the German Shepherd with them, but had left his meaty hand on Jake's shoulder as a reminder of who was in charge. "Your wife?" he'd asked at one point.
"Girlfriend," Jake had replied, not at all interested in starting a conversation with the other man.
To add to the confusion, a thirty person tour group had filed into the security line, little old ladies eyeing Jake and his companion with alarm as they'd marched past them, following their tour guide who urged, almost continually, "Keep together, Sunflower Travel! Keep together!"
"I need to see some ID," the soldier had informed Jake as soon as Heather had been allowed through security and onto the concourse.
"Right," Jake had muttered. He'd pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, asking, "All right if I turn around?"
"Sure," the guardsman had agreed, his tone annoyingly neutral.
Rotating around, Jake had gotten his first good look at the other man, who was his same height, though stockier and - he'd guessed - a few years younger. His expression had been stony, betraying nothing, as he'd examined Jake's driver's license. "Sergeant Douglas," Jake had begun, quickly checking the name patch on the guardsman's uniform. "I'm a Federal Agent. DEA."
Douglas looked up. "Is that so, Mr. Green?" he'd inquired, returning Jake's wallet to him.
"My badge is in my jacket, left hand pocket," Jake had offered then, figuring - hoping - that would be fastest way to clear up the matter.
"Okay," the sergeant had said, nodding once, sharply. "Slowly." Jake had reached into his jacket then - slowly, as ordered - while Douglas had watched him like a hawk. Jake had wisely opted to say nothing, remaining silent as he'd handed over his credentials. "Well then, Agent Green, how 'bout you come with me?"
Three minutes later, Douglas had ushered Jake into the airport security office, a small interior room, overcrowded with desks. After quickly explaining the situation to his commanding officer, a captain who looked like he was all of two minutes from retirement, Douglas had turned Jake over to him and had left the office to return to duty. From two desks away, the rent-a-cop security guard, who was manning a telephone that appeared to never ring, had watched the proceedings with undisguised interest. Grunting, Captain Costas had offered Jake a seat, throwing the security guard a dirty look that did nothing to dissuade him.
"Agent Green, is it?" Costas had inquired, examining Jake's badge and ID as he'd dropped back into his seat. He'd looked up, apparently comparing Jake to his picture. "Agent Johnston Green," Costas had muttered to himself, returning Jake's DEA credentials before making a quick note on a legal pad.
"It's Jake," he'd corrected, accepting the badge and tucking it back into his jacket.
"Do you have a supervisor, someone who can vouch for you?" Costas had continued.
"And if I don't, are you planning to arrest me?" Jake had returned, fixing the older man with a hard stare.
"This would all go easier, if you'd just cooperate," Costas had countered. "You caused a bit of an altercation out there," he'd grumbled, "And I'd like to get this resolved as quickly and painlessly as possible."
"I didn't cause the altercation," Jake had snapped, "The asshole who tried to mow down my girlfriend did that."
Costas had elected to ignore Jake's outburst. "Are you on duty at the moment, Agent Green?"
"No." Jake's reply had been clipped, his tone, aggravated.
"And, do you have a supervisor I can contact?" the captain had requested again, pushing a legal pad and pen at Jake.
Jake had given in, providing Captain Costas with Gretchen's name and cell number. He'd been hoping for a little 'professional courtesy' and his ploy had clearly backfired on him. He hadn't been anywhere but Jericho and Denver since June, and even in Denver he'd stuck to a very few haunts: the federal prosecutor's office, his hotel, Coors Stadium when the Rockies had been in town. That morning, sitting in the stuffy airport security office, it had started to become clear to Jake how much the world had changed and was changing.
"But it was no big deal, babe," he continued, shifting in his seat. "I showed the sergeant my badge, we went by the security office," he explained, purposely glossing over the more humiliating details. It had occurred to him about mid-sentence that Heather wouldn't necessarily approve of his using his position that way. "And - and then they called Gretchen to verify that I really work for the DEA," Jake completed.
"They made you prove your identity?" Heather gasped out. "That's so unfair! They didn't stop that - that jerk!"
"Well, you took care of him," he reminded, grinning at the mental picture he now had of Heather - his sweet, wonderful, indignant Heather - kicking the crap out of the other man's seat. "Better than the National Guard could've or would've."
"Maybe," she conceded reluctantly. "But it doesn't seem fair, and I'm sorry."
"Nothin' to be sorry for, babe," Jake assured. "They called Gretchen and she told them I wasn't a terrorist. I was outta there in ten minutes. Bought a cup of coffee on my way out, and watched your plane take off."
"Really?" Heather asked, sounding rather pleased by this information.
"Yeah," he confirmed, recalling how he'd first headed back to the truck, but then, after grabbing one of Heather's peanut butter banana muffins, had wandered back to the terminal. Jake had stood outside, at the end of the sidewalk, his cup of coffee in one hand, the muffin in the other, to watch her airplane - a Canadair Regional Jet, a CRJ-100, he'd identified - back out of the gate and taxi out onto the tarmac. Within just a few minutes it had sped down the runway and taken off toward the east. At one point, he'd started to raise his hand, spilling his coffee. He'd been about to wave good-bye, Jake had realized, groaning. "Man, you've got it bad," he'd laughed at himself, setting the cup down on top of a concrete barrier so he could shake the extra moisture from his skin and then wipe his hand clean on his jeans.
Once the plane was airborne, Jake had finished off the last of his coffee, throwing the cup and muffin wrapper in a trash can as he'd walked back toward the short term parking lot. Five minutes later he'd been on the highway, driving away from the airport, feeling decidedly out of sorts. He'd tried the radio, hoping to distract himself, but the Wichita stations had all been doing 'Black Friday' remotes from the malls and running obnoxious shopping spree contests that had seemed designed for the sole purpose of producing inhuman screeching from the women competing in them. Punching off the power, Jake had caught a whiff of Heather's shampoo, the scent having lingered behind in the truck's cab though she was gone. He'd been forced to admit to himself then that the ache in the center of his chest and his foul mood were all because, for now, they were separated.
A half hour down the road, his cell phone had rung. Working one-handed, Jake had extracted the phone from his inside jacket pocket, thumbing it on just before it went to voicemail. "Hullo?" he'd answered not bothering to check the number.
"Do you have any idea where I am, or what I was doing when a Captain Costas of the Kansas State National Guard called to tell me that an employee of mine had gotten into a fight in the middle of the Wichita airport, and needed me to attest to his upstanding character and moral virtue?" Gretchen Tolliver had demanded, finishing with a put-upon sigh.
"No," Jake had answered truthfully. "And for the record, I didn't get into a fight. This complete jackass bumped into - into a woman, and then he started yelling at her -"
"Some woman?" Gretchen had interrupted, laughing at him softly. "Not your new girlfriend by any chance?" she'd inquired with a snort. "Captain Costas mentioned that you were coming to the defense of your girlfriend," she'd reminded, "Which I assume you know, since you were there to hear him. Who is she?"
"Gretchen -" Jake had started to protest, but again she'd cut him off.
"Where I am is at my niece's home, outside of Seattle," she'd informed him. "For Thanksgiving. It is just now six AM. The baby - and my grandnieces are the closest I'll ever get to having grandchildren, so do understand, I love them dearly. But, the baby was up at two and then again at four. And, I had just fallen back asleep when my cell phone rang, and what do you know but Captain Costas of the Kansas National Guard wants to know if Jake Green is a dangerous criminal who should be locked up," Gretchen had groused loudly. "I almost told him 'yes'!" she'd claimed. "'Lock him up, and send me the key!'"
"I'm sorry, Gretchen," he'd muttered. "I didn't want to involve you. I told him that."
"But given that you did involve me," she'd returned, her tone suddenly overly sweet, "You can at least tell me about your new girlfriend. We had lunch a week ago and you never said a thing," Gretchen had accused.
"I don't talk to you about my love life, Gretchen," Jake had replied, exasperated.
"Now, now," she'd chided, chuckling huskily. "Indulge an older woman," Gretchen continued, emphasizing the 'er' in 'older' rather than the 'old'. "And allow her to live a little vicariously for a bit. Especially the one who saved you from an embarrassing arrest. So, what's her name?"
Jake had grumbled at her, complaining wordlessly. "Heather," he'd answered after a ten second's pause.
"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" she'd questioned cheerfully. Jake who'd learned to be suspicious of any sign of enthusiasm in Gretchen caught himself clenching his teeth. "Blond?" she'd guessed next. "Most Heathers seem to be blonds for some reason."
"Brunette," he'd corrected.
"Ahhh," Gretchen had acknowledged. "And what does she do?"
Shaking his head, Jake had waited until he had passed a big rig to answer. "She teaches third grade."
"So, she knows how to handle you," Gretchen had laughed. "That's good."
He'd caught himself smiling at that - and agreeing. "Yeah, probably," he'd muttered.
"Well, I'll let you go," Gretchen had announced after another long pause, yawning. "Just do try to avoid causing any more security incidents for the rest of the weekend, if you please."
"Sure thing," Jake had sighed. "Luckily, she doesn't come back 'til Monday."
"Then let's say the rest of the month," Gretchen had amended with a snort. "Ending up on the FAA's 'no fly' list would really torpedo your career," she'd suggested, chuckling softly. "And, I'm going to try and go back to bed now."
"'Kay," he'd replied. "See what I can do. Happy Thanksgiving."
"Happy Thanksgiving, Jake," she'd echoed. "Give me a call the next time you're comin' to town," Gretchen had ordered then. "It's past time we had a little chat about that career of yours," she'd reminded, her tone turning serious.
Jake had allowed a frustrated sigh. He knew she was only looking out for his best interests, and she'd been more than patient with him, allowing him to stay on indefinite administrative leave though it left her a man down when she was already short-handed. He knew, also, that Gretchen was itching to get him back out in the field, either undercover or at least doing investigatory work. There was plenty that Jake missed about his job, too, but also plenty that he didn't - and there was Heather. Right now, the idea of three days apart from her drove him crazy, so how were they going to handle the two or three week separations - or longer - that his job would require when and if he went back?
"January," he'd muttered finally. 'I'll be in Denver sometime in January."
"So you're not bringing Heather to the office holiday party, then?" Gretchen had teased, yawning again.
"We've got other plans that night," Jake had lied easily. He'd seen the email Gretchen's assistant had sent out to the entire staff, but he actually had no idea of the date the party had been scheduled for.
"Hmmm," she'd murmured, "We'll see."
He'd laughed at her, recognizing that, for Gretchen, this wasn't a dead issue. Well, Jake thought, it was; he wasn't going. "I'll talk to you later," he'd told her.
"Good-bye, Jake," she'd returned. "Stay out of trouble."
"Will do," he'd sighed. "Bye, Gretchen." Jake had folded his phone closed, shaking his head, still chuckling under his breath at his boss. He'd always refrained from telling her that when she really got going - when she got personal - her pushiness reminded him very much of his mother. He doubted that she'd see it as a compliment - though it really was - and selfishly, if he ever did tell her, he wanted to do it in person so he could see her reaction. "Stay out of trouble," he'd reminded himself as he'd deposited his phone in the cup holder next to him.
"You watched my plane take off?" Heather asked. "That's so sweet!" she declared, giggling softly and drawing Jake's attention firmly back to the present.
"Sweet?" he questioned, allowing a shaky laugh. Holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, Jake reached over for a muffin. "Watching your plane take off is sweet?" He asked, peeling off a few inches of paper before taking a bite.
"Yeah," she confirmed, with a contented sigh. "It's sweet that you'd wait for that. For me. So," Heather continued, teasing, "Did you wave?"
"Actually, I did," Jake admitted, snorting at himself. "Well, I started to. But then I spilled coffee all over myself."
"Oh, no," Heather groaned sympathetically. "You can't go wasting good coffee!"
Swallowing a mouthful of muffin, Jake laughed at that. "Don't worry, babe. It wasn't that good. Hot though," he told her, popping the rest of his snack into his mouth and then catching his phone in his now free hand.
"You keepin' awake?" she asked, her voice turning husky again. For Jake, it was a verbal caress across the distance that separated them.
"I am," he agreed, clearing his throat, "And not a single narcoleptic trucker in sight. Actually, I keep getting phone calls. Gretchen called to ream me out, though she doesn't ever yell, just makes you feel all of two years old," Jake grumbled.
"Why'd she get mad at you?" Heather questioned, sounding annoyed. "It wasn't your fault."
"Yeah, well, Gretchen doesn't like to look bad, and she thinks that what I do reflects on her," Jake explained. "She can be as bad as my Dad that way. Plus, she was in Seattle, so they woke her up when they called. Five, five thirty in the morning. I promised to avoid causing security incidents," he offered. "Everything's fine, promise."
"Okay," Heather acknowledged, somewhat reluctantly, a moment later. "It doesn't seem fair, though."
"I can handle Gretchen," he claimed, "Don't worry. But I do love how you defend me," he told her, betraying himself with a nervous chuckle.
"So, that's what you love about me, huh?" she teased in return, an equally anxious note creeping into her tone. "I - I said what I love about you," she whispered so quietly he had to strain to hear her over the ambient noise of the road and their cell connection.
Ahead of him, the highway curved slightly and for no obvious reason, giving Jake an excuse to tighten his one-handed grip on the steering wheel. "Everything," he mumbled, his voice not much more intelligible than hers. "I love everything about you." It was true, Jake insisted to himself, but it was also a bit of a cop out, and he knew that, too. He'd tell her, he promised himself, tell her all the reasons he loved her, but he just couldn't quite articulate them, not now.
"Everything about you," Jake repeated. "'Cause you're perfect. Though, I did notice that they stopped you goin' through security," he teased, grateful for the chance to change the subject. "So, what'd they get you for?"
Heather groaned into the phone, and in his mind Jake could picture her slumping down into the uncomfortable airport lounge chair she sat in. "They found my emergency sewing kit," she admitted, grumbling. "Apparently those two needles that I thought were really only good for sewing on a loose button are actually cleverly disguised weapons."
"Yeah, I'm sure you could bring down a plane with 'em," Jake agreed, chuckling. "You terrorist."
"I've come down in the world, let me tell you," she complained cheerfully. "Two weeks ago, private plane, my own personal pilot. Now I'm back to the cattle call, three ounces of bad coffee and a bag of peanuts," Heather sighed. "Not even the honey roasted kind."
"You want me to come rescue you?" he offered, half-joking, but also - Jake realized suddenly - half-serious. "I could fly up to bring you home," he suggested. As a pilot, he'd never flown east of the Mississippi, and it certainly wasn't as easy as getting in your car and following a map, but -
"And, what would you do if I said yes?" she asked, somehow reading his mind.
"Study a navigational chart for starters," he replied. "I'd have to do some research, and ask Gramps to borrow a plane - on top of the truck," Jake joked, groaning at the thought. "But I would," he added, softly, a beat later.
"I love you, Jake," Heather murmured. "And you're trying to spoil me," she giggled. "And while it's fun to think about, I'd never sleep again if I let you. I can't even imagine how much that would cost," she continued, her tone turning quite characteristically practical. "I think I better just stick to good ol' United Airlines."
"Okay," Jake acknowledged. "'Cause you know, if something's keepin' you up at night, it sure shouldn't be guilt," he told her, affecting a wolfish tone.
Heather's giggle was immediate and contained the slightest hint of hysteria. "Well then," she declared between titters, "We'll have to discuss good reasons to stay up all night. But not now," she added, declaring primly, "This is not a conversation we should be having by phone."
He knew she had to be blushing, especially when she punctuated her statement with a completely inarticulate squeak. Jake found himself grinning widely in anticipation of what was to come. "It does seem to qualify as more of an in-person discussion," he agreed. "In depth. So we can table it for now, if you'd like."
"We should table this phone call," Heather sighed. "You're driving, and it's not safe," she chided softly.
"I can drive and talk at the same time," he assured her, deciding against mentioning that he'd been eating and had finished off a large coffee while driving as well. "But 'gas two miles,'" he read from a roadside sign, "'Next gas thirty-seven miles'." Jake glanced down at the fuel gauge. "I could probably make it, but then again, I might not."
"You need to stop for gas," Heather ordered. "And you should never talk on a cell phone at a gas station," she argued, "That's really dangerous!"
"You don't actually believe that myth, do you?" he laughed, shaking his head. "I see somebody on a phone every time I'm at a gas station."
"It's not a myth," she contradicted. "The first cell phone I ever owned, I read the manual, and it said that the phone should not be used in any potentially explosive environment, particularly anywhere that you would turn off your car's engine like a gas station," Heather insisted. "Hopefully they're designing safer cell phones these days, but I still wouldn't use one at a gas station."
Jake smiled, teasing gently, "You actually read your cell phone's manual?"
"Well, not the whole thing, cover to cover," she giggled. "But the important parts, yeah."
"I love it," Jake crowed, chuckling. "You want my phone's manual?" he joked. "I'm sure it makes for scintillating reading."
"Uh, no thanks," Heather grumbled in return, though he could tell from her tone that she was fighting her own laugh.
"Aw, c'mon," he continued to tease, "If you read it, I never have to. Something goes wrong, I'll let you figure it out."
"Your cell phone's probably only ever gonna break because you've abused it talking to me for four hours straight, and then I wouldn't be there to fix it," she reminded. "You're just going to have to read your own manual."
"That happens, it's time to buy a new phone," Jake decided as he steered his way onto an off ramp. "But, hey, I'm almost to the gas station, so in the interest of not blowing myself or anyone else to kingdom come -"
"Thank you," Heather interjected. "I would appreciate it if you didn't blow yourself up."
"Definitely on the list of things to avoid," Jake agreed, distracted, as he guided the truck through the intersection and toward the gas station on the opposite corner. "For you, I'll turn off my phone at the pump. I love you, babe."
"I love you, too," Heather replied almost before he'd finished his own declaration.
"I'm gonna hang up now," he continued. "Call me when you get there, okay?"
"Absolutely. Love ya," she repeated, sighing happily.
"Love ya," Jake echoed. Turning into the gas station's driveway, he snapped the phone closed, cradling it in his hand and smiling to himself. "Love ya," he repeated, dropping the phone back into the cup holder before climbing out of the cab.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Monday, November 27, two months after the bombs
"You're harboring a criminal, Jake," Eric interrupted his brother less than three sentences into his report.
Jake turned to face his twin, shaking his head. "I'm not harboring him," he argued. "For all intents and purposes, he was holding Emily hostage, and me too, when I walked in on it. At least until he passed out. He's hurt," Jake reminded, glancing at his father. "He needed a doctor, so I got one, and then I came to you. We need to find a way to bring him in."
"Well, we have got us one hell of a problem, Jake," Johnston snarled, throwing his hands up in the air. "Because if anyone knows you've been hiding Jonah Prowse while the whole town's been out looking for him, they'll throw us all in jail."
"So you think the problem here is that I'm hiding Jonah Prowse?" Jake questioned, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Which, by the way, I'm not," he added, glaring at Johnston. Jake took two steps toward Eric and the window, pointing out at Main Street. "Do you know what is going on out there?" he demanded, fully aware that his father had been watching Gray Anderson's latest campaign rally from the steps of town hall when he'd shown up a few minutes earlier.
"Gray Anderson formed a posse this morning, and Bill Kilroy's his new right hand man," Jake continued, speaking through clenched teeth, forcing himself not to shout. "Which is funny, 'cause without a sheriff, I thought Bill worked for you," he practically sneered, glaring at Johnston.
"Jake," Eric tried to interrupt, but his brother ignored him.
"They went through the clinic," Jake ground out, looking back and forth between his father and brother. "Heather and April were both there. Mom is there most days. If they'd found Jonah there, you think Gray and Bill woulda cared who else was in their line of fire?" he demanded, unconsciously balling his hands into fists. "They would've busted down Emily's door and gotten into a gunfight in the middle of The Pines if Hawkins and I hadn't stopped 'em." Jake paused, pressing his lips tightly together, fighting for control. Taking a deep breath, he gestured toward the window again. "And, he's out there right now, turning this into a campaign issue -"
Johnston, glowering, took two steps toward his son. "This is not a campaign issue," he barked. "We are not discussin' that damn election here," he insisted quietly.
"Not a campaign issue?" Jake questioned, his tone turning incredulous. He scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. "So what? You think Gray's out there talkin' up her murder because he and Gracie were such good, close friends and he really misses her? He's makin' this a campaign issue, and you can't just say it's not."
"Gray Anderson will be Gray Anderson, but I will not go there with him," Johnston insisted stubbornly. Frowning to himself, he recalled his last disagreement with Gracie, over her business dealings with Jonah. But through it all, she'd never taken down the 'Re-Elect Johnston Green Mayor' sign that had hung in her store's front window, just as it had during four previous elections. Gracie Leigh had been his friend and he took her murder personally.
The Leigh family was as old of a Jericho family as the Greens, the Richmonds, the Stevens, and the now defunct Johnstons. Gracie Leigh's great-grandfather had founded Jericho's first general store, and the family had served as the town's leading merchants for over a hundred years. Gracie, an only child, had been a year ahead of Johnston in school and had been friends with his first girlfriend, Susannah Lawson. She'd been married briefly and disastrously in her twenties to an out-of-towner more than ten years her senior who'd turned out to be nothing more than a drunk. He'd hit Gracie once, which had been enough to send her home to her parents late one Saturday night. Johnston had been in Vietnam at the time, but he'd heard the whole sordid tale later; how his father and the sheriff had found Gracie's ne'er-do-well husband passed out behind the feed store on Sunday morning and had urged him to disappear, going as far as to drive him to Fielding and to put him on the only bus coming through before noon. It wasn't that EJ or the sheriff wouldn't have liked to have locked him up, but in 1968 there hadn't been much they could charge him with, and both were longtime friends of Richard Leigh, whom they feared might take the matter into his own hands if he discovered his errant son-in-law was still in town.
Gracie's father had paid for a very expensive, very quiet divorce, and there were plenty of people in Jericho who didn't realize or didn't remember that Gracie Leigh had ever been married. She'd taken back her maiden name, living in her parents' home with them until they died, and taking over management of the store when they were both too frail to work any longer. The whole experience had embittered Gracie, and left her highly suspicious of outsiders, including Gray Anderson who, having lived in Jericho a mere seventeen years, she'd still considered too new to the town to be one of them. She'd had her disagreements with Johnston over the years - many of them - but in the end she'd always supported her old school chum politically, which made Gray's use of her murder as a campaign issue stick in his craw more than Johnston was willing to admit, even to his own sons.
"Look," Jake said then, letting out a slow breath, his tone turning conciliatory, "Jonah says Mitchell killed Gracie and then set him up."
Eric, eyeing his father and brother warily, asked Jake, "What do you think?"
Jake shrugged. "He might be telling the truth, and he might not. Hell, they coulda done it together for all I know," he admitted, running a nervous hand through his hair. "But Jonah says that Mitchell led a mutiny and put him off his own place," Jake explained, "And somebody sure did a number on Jonah's arm. If Mitch really is in charge now, we've got other problems," he advised, shaking his head. "Jonah Prowse is a sonofabitch, no question, but Mitch Cafferty's psychotic and he's got half the parolees in the county workin' for him now."
"Well, that's not a problem we can solve right now," Johnston growled, "And, you are not a judge or a jury, thank God. First order of business is Jonah," he declared. "So we're gonna go get him, and we're gonna bring him in."
Nodding, Jake acknowledged his father's decision. "Good," he said, "That's what I came here for."
Eric and Johnston reached for their jackets and then moved to follow Jake from the office. Out in the hall, there were sounds of a scuffle. Before Jake could reach the door, it was shoved open and Emily Sullivan pushed her way past Jimmy Taylor, trailed closely by Kenchy Dhuwalia. Licking her lips, she faced Jake, her expression grim. "He's gone."
Jake gaped at Emily for just a second before he exploded. "What the hell? All you had to do was watch him, keep him there!" he shouted at her. "How can you mess up watching somebody!"
Emily flinched and took a step back into Dhuwalia, who draped one arm around her shoulders. "It was my fault," he insisted, his voice strident. "I wanted to wash my hands. There is no need to yell at her."
Groaning angrily, Jake threw his hands up in undisguised disgust. "This is perfect. Well, whatever happens now, Jonah did it to himself. You've got some father, Em."
She made a frustrated noise. "You think I don't know that?" Emily demanded before covering her face with her hands. Dhuwalia tightened his hold on her, glaring at Jake.
"Look, we don't have time to argue about this," Johnston announced, stepping around his son. "Jake, Eric, Jimmy," he said, looking at each of them in turn. "Let's go."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Throwing Kenchy in at town hall was slightly gratuitous I'll admit, but I skipped his actual scenes from the episode, and besides I think he likes Emily. ;)