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Different Circumstances: Part 14D of ? by Marzee Doats

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

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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Friday, January 4, five years before the bombs

 

"Aun'ie Heather!  Unc'a Jake!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Sorry," Deborah muttered yet again when she saw Jake wince.

"So, really, what's up?" Heather inquired, leaning over the table to examine her nieces' handiwork.  "Butterfly and ladybug cupcakes?"

"They're for the picnic," four year old Alison answered.  She held the cupcake she was working on out for inspection, declaring, "That's why I put a ant on this one."

"An ant, Ali," her aunt corrected, examining the cupcake.  The single ant had been rendered at twenty times magnification and in black gel icing - requiring most of the tube, if Heather was not mistaken - on a field of grass green frosting.  "Good job with the antennae," she complimented her niece.  "And you got the different body segments and the six legs.  It looks so real no one's gonna want to eat it, 'cause who wants to eat an ant," she teased.

But Alison didn't share this concern.  "Daddy'll eat it," she decided, "Or Grandpa."

"Heather!"  Mandy affected an offended expression but it quickly dissolved into a smirk. "You - you just graded my kid's cupcake," she complained, chuckling.

"Well, yeah..." Heather acknowledged with a shrug, a soft blush suffusing her cheeks.  "But at least I gave her a good grade," she giggled.

"So, we're having one of your Mom's 'snowstorm picnics'," Deborah announced.

"Sans snowstorm," Mandy quickly added.  "But it came to me this morning - up at five AM with a teething baby," she grumbled, "That this would be a great way to do a family dinner tonight, let Jake and the boys get to know one another."

"A snowstorm picnic, with games and everything?" Heather asked, her expression skeptical. "You really think that's a good idea?"

"It's Monopoly or the hockey rink, which do you prefer?" Mandy returned. "Personally, I thought this was a brilliant idea."

 "So did I - and your Dad when I called him at work," Deborah offered then.  "He liked the idea, so we've been working on the food - macaroni salad, coleslaw, and I'm making your Mom's hot German potato salad for your Dad, 'cause he said he's been wanting some since before Thanksgiving."  She continued on, barely pausing for a breath.  "Kerry and John are picking up Polish sausage, bratwurst and steaks at Tomasko's, and the girls are doing cupcakes, so I think we can call it a snowstorm picnic, in spirit if not fact."

"Guess so," Heather chuckled, nodding.  She glanced at her fiancé.  "My Mom invented the snowstorm picnic to give us all something to do if the power went out. Dad always had to go into work of course, even if we still had electricity it was pretty much guaranteed to be out somewhere," she explained.

"Even Drew has to go in if there's a storm," Deborah interjected.  "To answer phones, if nothing else," she chuckled.

"Answer phones?" Heather repeated, eyebrows raised skeptically.  "He's in the engineering department, don't they need him to do engineering?"

"Engineering, phones, whatever.  Just so long as he isn't out with a crew.  He gets to play hockey if he wants a little adventure, he doesn't get to be a lineman too," Deborah declared, plopping herself down in a chair at the table.  She smiled at Jake and her son, still perched on his new uncle's knee.  "But the snowstorm picnic is definitely a Lisinski family tradition, so I guess you're being inducted tonight."

"It started when I was a baby," Heather said then, drawing Jake's gaze.  "So obviously I don't actually remember the first one, but the story's that the power was out for three days, and Dad was stuck at the plant 'cause it was a total lake effect blizzard, like five, six feet of snow, and the roads hadn't been plowed," she explained. 

Her fiancé nodded, aware that Joe Lisinski had worked for the power company for nearly thirty five years, and now supervised one of the teams that maintained the turbines at the hydroelectric plant on the Niagara River.  Heather's brother Andrew - and later Heather herself - had earned a partial college scholarship offered to the children of company employees who displayed an aptitude for the physical sciences, and Andrew had interned in the engineering department before eventually following in his father's footsteps and becoming an employee.

"With Dad MIA and a freezer full of thawing meat, Mom decided she better use up what was in it before it went bad.  So she and Andy ended up out back barbecuing hot dogs in the snow and a tradition was born," Heather completed.

"I remember my first snowstorm picnic," Mandy giggled.  "Tommy got your Mom to let me come over and get snowed in with you all.  It was winter break, and you and Andy had just gotten engaged," she continued, pointing at Deborah, "So you were here, too -"

"And she made the boys sleep in the dining room - Drew hit his head, I swear, five times on the underside of the table - and the three of us," Deborah laughed, gesturing at Mandy and Heather to include them in the 'us', "Got the living room, which at least has couches and carpet.  And Renate slept in the recliner, right in the arch between the two rooms, to chaperone.  Drew about died of embarrassment."  She looked at Jake and let out an amused sigh.  "Be glad you got an actual bed this weekend."

"I remember that," Heather jumped in.  "We played that epic three day game of Risk that ended up with Mikey and Mandy fighting it out over Kamchatka for like six hours."

"And I kicked his butt all outta Asia," Mandy declared smugly, eliciting a shocked gasp of 'Mo-oom!' from her daughter.  She leaned over, kissing the four year old on the head and clucking, "Oh, it's okay, Ali-Cat, promise."

"So can I frost one?" Heather asked then, glancing between her two nieces.  "I can do a flower, somethin' like that."

The two girls looked at each other, their expressions clouding over at the gravity of the decision to be made.  Finally, they both nodded, declaring "Okay!" in unison.  "But wash your hands first, Auntie Heather," Rebekah admonished as Heather reached for a cupcake.

"Big first grade hygiene unit just before Christmas break," Deborah offered as Heather guiltily withdrew her hand and then pushed her chair back from the table.  "You wanna frost a cupcake, Jake?"

"Uh, my artistic skills are pretty much limited to airplanes," he replied.  "Cars, robots - mechanical things, really.  Nothing that would fit into the picnic theme, and I know how Lisinski women are about themes."

"How we are about themes, huh?" Mandy questioned, her eyebrows arching.

"Uh -"

"He came to my 'school play work day', that's all he means," Heather defended Jake over her shoulder as she scrubbed her hands clean.  She caught his eye, flashing him a quick smile and reminding, "You told me you could draw a horse, too.   Side view only, of course."

"At this work day, you had a clipboard, didn't you?" Deborah guessed, attempting a frown that she couldn't quite maintain.

Mandy's endeavor to be serious was even more lame.  "Oh, Heather..." she clucked, shaking her head and trying to bite back a giggle.  "You don't show them the clipboard 'til after the wedding, don't you know that?"

"Exactly," Deborah agreed, snickering.  "Ix-nay on the ipboard-clay pre edding-way, uh, ay-day.  Gives 'em cold feet....  They see a future of 'honey do' lists up the wazoo."

Shaking off her wet hands, Heather rolled her eyes as she reached for a towel hanging on the refrigerator door.  "Oh well, no going back now," she informed her sisters-in-law, "Jake's seen my clipboard, my filing system, and my lesson plan template, so I'm pretty much organizationally naked at this point."  Ignoring her nieces gasps in response to this titillating declaration, Heather peeled a magnetic notepad off the refrigerator and carried it over to the table, setting it in front of her fiancé.  "Kyle, do you want Uncle Jake to draw you an airplane, or -"

"Airplane!" the little boy interrupted, clearly excited.

"I wanna a horse," Rebekah requested immediately, her cousin Ali chanting, "Robot, robot, robot!"

"Uh...."  Jake looked across the table at the two expectant little girls, then glanced quickly at each of their mothers, down at the little boy still in his lap, and finally at Heather standing behind him, unsure of what to do.  He really just wanted to give in and laugh, but he wasn't sure that would go over very well with any of the Lisinskis except Heather.  He cleared his throat and twisted back around to face the others.  "Okay," he agreed, frowning softly, "But, uh, I need a -"

"Here you go," his fiancée interrupted.  He looked back over his shoulder in time to see her retrieve a coffee cup crammed full of pens, pencils and even crayons off the narrow shelf that the telephone sat on.   "You'll have to draw all three," Heather advised, placing the coffee cup on the table next to the notepad.  "Airplane, robot, horse," she suggested.  "Youngest to oldest and easiest to hardest, right?" 

"Okay," he agreed, shrugging and pulling a couple of pencils - ones that still had some of their erasers - loose from the cup. 

"So, changing the subject," Deborah announced as she reached for a cupcake that still needed to be frosted. "What did you two do today?  Sightseeing?"

"Yeah, I took Jake to see the Falls," Heather answered, seating herself and accepting the cupcake that Mandy passed her way.  "Went into Canada, which was fine.  Fun.    But lucky we had lunch there because coming back was ridiculous.  Took almost two hours!" she complained.  "I mean I'm used to traffic on the bridge delaying things but I've never gotten the third degree the way I did today."

"Right," Deborah acknowledged, her nose wrinkling.  "I haven't been over since..."  She paused for a significant few seconds and then clearing her throat, added, "You know."

Jake did know, and he had to wonder if it really did any good to try and protect the Lisinksi kids from even a passing mention of the terrorist attacks three months before.  He wasn't an expert on child development, but they all seemed pretty smart to him, and probably knew that the adults were keeping something from them - maybe even knew what that was.  It had been all over television for days - weeks - after all.   It wasn't something he'd ever considered, but how did anyone protect their kids from knowing about anything that had that much impact?

"How big's da airplane?  Can ev'body go in?" Kyle inquired leaning close to the table to get a better look at Jake's drawing thus far. 

"Not everybody," Jake answered, his hand stilling because he couldn't see around Kyle's head to continue his sketch.  "It's a little plane, four people."

This seemed to surprise Kyle who pushed back, his head pressing into Jake's shoulder as he looked up at his soon-to-be uncle, eyes wide.  "Me go?" he whispered loudly.

"Uh, maybe," Jake agreed, casting Deborah a nervous look.

"Tommy went to Toronto to cover a hockey game for work," Mandy told Heather, chuckling softly at Jake's uneasy expression.  "Right before Christmas," she continued, "I coulda killed him for not getting Scott to take that trip.  But he said the same thing, about the border guards."

"This guy was so suspicious because I have a Kansas driver's license, but I was driving a car with New York plates," Heather explained as she finished applying a base coat of white frosting to her cupcake.  "Then he noticed the St. Mike's parking sticker on the window, and practically accused me of stealing the car - which makes no sense, because why would I take it to Canada and then try to come back?"

"Oh brother!" Deborah snorted, shaking her head.  "But you know, Heth, he was just doing his job."

"I know,"   Heather grumbled, "But really.  It was easier to go into Canada than it was to come back home.  I showed him the registration, to clear things up, and he said I wasn't Joseph or Renate.  Well, I'm not," she agreed, "But it's a bit of a coincidence that we're all Lisinskis if I stole the car, isn't it?  It's not like we're the Smiths or the Joneses," she added, exasperated, as she reached for a tube of red frosting.

"Or the Greens," Mandy teased.  "Oh, but wait, you will be," she reminded, chuckling, "That's gonna be so weird," she murmured.   "My maiden name's McKisson," she explained, catching Jake's eye, "Which trust me, you don't find on coat of arms plaques in gift shops anywhere, even Ireland, plus naturally all the boys called me Mandy McKisser from like fifth grade on.  Half the reason I wouldn't go to Homecoming with Steven Hurlbutt when he asked me.  What if I'd fallen in love with him?  No way I was gonna marry out of McKisser and into Hurlbutt."

"Are you seriously sayin' you married my brother for our three syllable, hard to pronounce and hard to nickname, name?"  Heather demanded then, giggling.

Frowning softly, Mandy defended herself.  "Well, it was a reason.  But one of the many reasons, and not like top five, or ten, or anything."  Lips pursed, she considered the situation for a moment before finally conceding, "But top twenty, yeah, probably."

"Oh, Mandy," Deborah snickered shaking her head, "Only you."  Letting out a deep sigh, she continued.  "But try finding Hammerschmidt on a plaque.  It'd have to be double wide.  I swear, it wasn't 'til I got married that I could really fit my whole name on one of those sticker nametags.  But you're right, that's gonna be weird," she agreed, glancing again at Mandy.  "Heather Green."

"Well, I'm glad I had Jake Green with me coming back over the border," Heather informed her sisters-in-law, flashing him a quick smile.  "If he hadn't shown the guy his badge, we might still be there."

"Lookin' for a little professional courtesy, huh?" Deborah guessed.  "I know somethin' about that," she informed Jake.  "I waitressed at the pancake house in college, and coffee for cops was always free."

He shrugged, answering, "Yeah, well, I gave him my ID to run and explained that we'd just gotten engaged and flown back here so I could meet Heather's family, but if he wanted to hold us so I couldn't meet her three big brothers, I wasn't gonna complain."

"Aw, man," Mandy giggled, "The guys would be so mad if that actually happened.  Tommy spent all last night tryin' to come up with a good excuse to come over here.  They weren't happy we got to meet you first."

 "So what should my game plan be?" Jake asked, tearing his airplane drawing off the pad, and handing it to Kyle.   "Here you go, bud."

"What do you say, Kyle?" his mother, aunts and sister all prompted in near unison.

"Thanks you, Unc'a Jake," the little boy said dutifully, wiggling off Jake's lap and then trotting around the table to proudly show his mother his prize.  "See my airplane?" he squealed happily.  "I'm gonna go fwy in it wiv Unc'a Jake."

Smiling at her nephew's enthusiasm, Mandy climbed to her feet and began gathering up the remnants of the cupcake decorating supplies.  "What's in your game plan so far?" she asked, scraping a finger full of chocolate frosting from a mostly spent tub.  This action earned indignant protests from her daughter and niece, and after a quick glance toward Deborah, Mandy placed the tub between the two girls, saying, "One finger, whatever you get on one try."

"And then pass it over here, please," Heather instructed her nieces as Rebekah carefully dipped her index finger into the frosting.  She looked over at Jake, who already had the basic form of a robot sketched out on his notepad.  "So, what is your game plan, Jake?  I mean, I trust you," she assured when he looked up, meeting her eye. "But so not my brothers," she concluded, accepting the frosting container that Ali passed to her.

"Well, avoid all discussion of scars and body parts, don't agree to play hockey, and don't arrest anybody."

"I wouldn't take arrest off the table," Heather snorted, scraping some frosting from inside the tub and then holding it out so he could do the same.

"And I'd avoid doing that," Deborah said a good ten or fifteen seconds later.  "That lost-in-your-eyes, no-one-else-in-the-world thing," she added, waving her hand widely in the couple's direction, not that it appeared to register with either of them.  "It's really, really hard not to notice."  She paused a moment.  "Really, the type of thing that'll send them all over the edge...."

"Uh, Heth...." Mandy tried then, exchanging a glance with Deborah.  "Jake?"

Finally, Heather let go of the frosting tub, and sucking her finger clean, fell back into her seat.  "What?"

Deborah could only shake her head, leaving the final pronouncement on the situation to Mandy.  "Avoiding scars and body parts, hockey, arresting people, all good.  And you probably want to set a wedding date.  Real soon."

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

Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs

Michael waited, his back pressed up against the solid wall of the reception counter, counting slowly - very slowly - to sixty.

He'd always had a horrible sense of timing, one that had made him a perpetual loser at hide-and seek, and not just to his older siblings and cousins but embarrassingly - and more than once - to his eldest niece, Rebekah. It was an unforgivable quality in an EMT, even worse in a medical student, but one he'd compensated for with an expensive multi-function digital watch that hadn't survived the EMP, not to mention lots and lots of practice at counting very, very slowly.

'Fifty eight ... fifty nine ... sixty,' he finished off in his head, levering himself into a crouch. 

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Jake and his parents, not really, but following his first instincts had ducked down behind the counter when he'd heard the door rattle.  He hadn't known either that it would be the Greens who came in - had half-expected it to be Maggie, or worse, her sergeant - and he hadn't been able to force himself to stand up and admit that he was there, especially not after Jake, thinking wishfully, had said he was out looking for a fake marine radio operator.  So instead he'd listened in on their hasty conference, the pit in his stomach swelling as they came to the conclusion that the marines were imposters, that they'd all been lied to, and that the town was now in danger.

Well, he'd see about that, Michael told himself, picking up the radio he'd come back to retrieve.  Jake had told him to stay away from Maggie, that he'd tip her and them off, but he had to talk to her, had to give her the chance to explain. 

"Hey."

But that one syllable, along with the guarded, closed off look she shot him over her shoulder, told him everything he needed to know.  He'd exited town hall by the same ‘employees only' side door Jake had taken him through not even a half hour before, hurrying across the street, past the still pyrotechnically enthralled crowd, convinced - or trying to convince himself - that there was a logical explanation.  And now he realized that there was.  It just wasn't the one he wanted to hear.

Michael's grip tightened on the radio he'd gone to retrieve and he had to resist the urge to chuck it across the store, to lob it at her.  Instead, he set the unit on the counter, his stiff fingers giving it up reluctantly.  "So, how is Dodge City picking up our fireworks?" he demanded, feeling finally that he was a part of the 'our' of Jericho.  He'd come to town to find his sister, nothing more.  It wasn't his place, his home - wasn't supposed to be, anyway.  And two hours earlier, if she'd asked him to go with her - not a likely scenario for a marine, real or fake - Michael would have considered it.  But now he realized - just in this moment - that he was one of them, a citizen of Jericho, willing to protect this place that was a little oasis of good in an increasingly scary 'out there' world.

"We pick up pops and pings all the time," Maggie returned, refusing to look at him, even though she had to feel him standing right behind her.

There was a note of panic in her voice, one that infuriated Michael and he couldn't keep himself from grabbing her arm, forcing her to turn around and face him.  "Don't!" he ordered, shouting, "Don't lie to me!"

But before she could defend herself - though she appeared to be too shocked by his actions to even try - the radio, sitting on the counter where Michael had abandoned it, crackled to life.  "Hello...."   The speaker hesitated a moment, clearing his throat.  "Anyone - anyone out there?"

They both dove for the handset, but Michael, two inches closer and two inches taller, just managed to beat Maggie to it.  "Stanley?" he guessed, "Is that you?"

"Mike?" the man on the other end of the transmission - and Michael was sure it was Stanley now - replied.  "We, uh, we found this guy camping out here with this radio.  Says he's with the marines.  I'm gonna bring him back.  You better get Jake."

"Yeah, okay," Michael agreed, scrubbing a hand over his face.  "Uh, the market," he instructed, "Not - not town hall.  And, I'll get Jake."

"Ten-four, over and out," Stanley acknowledged - a joke, Michael assumed, though there was no humor in the other man's tone. 

"So, is any of this real?" he demanded, his frustration obvious, as he wheeled around to face Maggie, who had her weapon drawn and pointed at him.

"The gun's real," she assured him.  Her hard mask slipped slightly then, and she added, eyes bright, squinting, "I'm sorry."

Michael's jaw clenched, his gaze narrowing.  "So this is what you do?" he demanded.  "Con people out of stale food and enough fuel to get to the next town?"

"You don't know how bad it is out there," she defended, shaking her head against his accusation.

"Yeah, actually, I do," he contradicted, not quite yelling.  "I've been out there, remember.  I spent two months out there.  Had sixteen hundred miles of out there, so don't you ...."  Grimacing, Michael broke off.  It wasn't worth arguing.  The lines between right and wrong - the meaning - it had all changed.  Blurred.  Now, you did whatever you had to do to survive, that was the only right way now.  "So....  All this," he muttered, gesturing at the radio, a gear bag on the counter, her uniform, the gun in her hand.  "How'd you get all this?"

Maggie shrugged.  "There was a food riot in our refugee camp," she admitted, her tone defensive, her eyes wide.  "Dozen Marines never had a chance against ten thousand starving people," she finished, swallowing hard.

"So you killed them?" Michael demanded, his stomach turning over.  That was one line he hadn't crossed, wasn't sure he could cross.  To save someone else - his sister and her baby - maybe, but to save himself?  No.  Michael had wanted to be a doctor since the first time his mother had been hospitalized.  She'd given them all a scare, but while her family had only been able to stand around, helpless, the doctors had used all their knowledge and skills to keep her alive.  The bombs might have changed his values some, but they hadn't yet changed the value Michael placed on human life.

"No!" she contradicted quickly. "They - they retreated and we took what they left, tried to get some food in the next town."  Maggie frowned and shook her head.  "It worked so well we kept doing it."

"Okay," he muttered, taking a step toward her.

"Don't!" she ordered, raising her gun so that it was pointed at his head.

He held his hands up in compliance, telling her, "You're not leaving town with those - with our supplies."

 Maggie's expression hardened, and she lifted her other hand up to help steady her weapon.  'Don't get yourself killed by doing something stupid, Mike," she advised him, squinting.  "I don't want that on my conscience."

Michael sucked a breath in through his teeth, studying her, feeling hopeful.  She still valued life, he realized - or at the very least, she valued him.  "You don't have it in you," he informed her boldly, only - suddenly - to feel himself falling to the floor as he fought a losing battle to maintain consciousness.

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

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 14E.



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