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."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *