Fic: Jericho - New Day Rising - General 2/2

[tanaquiljall]

Title: New Day Rising
Fandom: Jericho
Rating: General
Words: 15,970
Summary: A time-travel AU, sequel to scribblesinink’s Times Like These. Sent back in time, Jake Green has successfully prevented the September nuclear attacks. Armed with the memories of nearly a year of events that haven't happened, he must pick up his life and find a way to fix relationships that are once more broken. (Minor crossover elements with Supernatural.)
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: These stories are based on the Junction Entertainment/Fixed Mark Productions/CBS Paramount Television series Jericho. They were written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from them nor was any infringement of copyright intended.
Author's Note: Huge thanks to optimouse for the awesome cover art and to scribblesinink for the cheerleading and beta! This story is part of the Timetravel!verse, being jointly written by Scribbler (scribblesinink) and Tanaqui (tanaquific). The titles of the stories in the ‘verse are taken from the lyrics of the Foo Fighters’ Times Like These, which plays out the end of the Jericho episode Coalition of the Willing (episode 1.21).

This story was written for the au_bigbang ficathon, and is initially posted only at my Dreamwidth journal as part of the Three Weeks for Dreamwidth fest. It will be posted over here (and at our private archive and AO3) on or after 1 June. Meanwhile, you can read it over there and comment there or over here. ETA: now posted here.

This way to Part One

After Hicks and his men left, Freddy steered Anna toward a seat at the table. Jake almost told him to stop, thinking he should keep them at the other end of the room, away from the sliding glass doors that led onto the balcony. But the palm trees outside blocked the view of anyone across the street. Even so, Jake didn’t switch on the lights, despite dusk beginning to fall, and he took a coke for himself, determined to keep a clear head, when he fetched a beer for Freddy and a coke for Anna.

Freddy downed half the beer in a single swig before he spoke. “CIA? Man, when did you start working for them?”

Jake pondered the question as he headed for the bed, knelt and fished under it to retrieve the case containing the gun Hawkins had given him. He guessed the answer was: ever since that winter’s day a few months back—or a few months in the future, now—when he’d ambushed Hawkins and learned about the bomb. “Umm, a while...?” he offered.

Freddy let out an unimpressed snort. Glancing back towards the two of them at the table, Jake noticed Anna hadn’t touched her coke yet. She seemed a little shell-shocked by the events of the past couple of hours, her expression uneasy as she watched Jake moving around the small apartment.

He turned back and, still kneeling, set the gun case on the bed and fumbled with the tumblers on the combination lock. As the clasps snapped open, Freddy—who’d apparently been silently digesting the news—spoke up again. “So what did they want?”

Jake smiled to himself. Freddy wouldn’t believe him even if he tried to tell him. He gave a slight shrug. “A little inside information on J&R.” It wasn’t so far from the truth.

“What? Like how they hire shitty mechanics and pay their drivers crap? And—. Jeez.” Jake heard Freddy suck in a deep breath. “How long have you had that?” He’d caught sight of the gun as Jake lifted it out of the case.

“Just since I got back.” Jake pulled out the magazine and checked it, before slotting it back in place. He didn’t like the Beretta Mini Cougar quite as much as the Beretta he’d carried back in Jericho—a 92FS—but it was better than no gun at all. Picking up the spare clip and shoving it in his pocket, he got to his feet.

“You got a permit for that thing?” Freddy indicated the gun with his beer bottle as Jake headed back toward them, dragging the cane chair from near the TV over to where, when he sat down, he could keep an eye on both the window and the door.

“It’s registered to the CIA.” Jake rested the gun on his thigh and raked his gaze across the darkening view outside. Absently, he leaned forward and snagged the coke bottle he’d left on the table. The trouble with no one being able to see in was that Jake couldn’t really see out, either.

“So, do we still need to leave?” Anna finally spoke, her words quiet and only the slightest tremor in her voice betraying her anxiety.

Looking across at her, Jake saw her gazed was fixed on the gun. He tried to give her a reassuring smile. “I don’t think so. But it’s probably best you stay here tonight, don’t go home. I’m guessing Ravenwood knows where Freddy lives—” That must have been how they’d found him last time. “—and if Hicks doesn’t sweep them all up straight away....”

Involuntarily, Jake looked back toward the bed, toward where his old self had once knelt and held Freddy as his friend’s life had slipped away, powerless to prevent it. Remembered, too, how Anna had arrived moments later and seen—.

“That’s why you’ve got the gun?”

Anna’s question pulled him from the memory. Looking back at her, he reminded himself that it was just a memory: Freddy was still very much alive, if somewhat less cocky than usual. His and Anna’s baby would grow up with a father. And Jake hadn’t just been able to change the fates of millions of people he didn’t know but also those of people he cared about.

He nodded at her. “Yes. I don’t trust them not to come after us.”

“Okay.” Anna wrapped her arms around herself, but she gave Jake a look that suggested some of her suspicion had lessened, and she trusted him to keep them safe.

Freddy drained his beer. “Man, I don’t know where you went those five days you were outta town, but you’ve changed. I haven’t seen you like this since Iraq. And even then....” He shook his head.

Jake mouth twitched as he suppressed a grin. Freddy was right. And it wasn’t just because nearly a year had passed for him, instead of the five days Freddy thought; it was what had happened in that time. Living under constant pressure; being forced to plan and act and react; being responsible for the lives of others. He wondered if, without all that to drive him on, he’d slide back to what he’d been before: drifting, trying not to get involved, even in his own future. Or whether—his father’s words came back to him—he’d finally become the man he was born to be.

He realized Freddy was still looking at him, still waiting for an answer. He shifted in his chair. “A lot of stuff happened.”

“Yeah. You said.” Freddy left the words hanging in the air, clearly expecting Jake to say more.

Jake looked away: another instinctive check out the window—it was fully dark outside now—and back to the door to the apartment and then back to the window.... He chuckled to himself. The past months really had changed him. Turning back to Freddy, Jake saw he was still waiting for an answer.

In the end, Jake got them to watch the news, while warning Freddy he couldn’t tell him any more than what they’d see on screen. He and Hawkins had only just managed to cobble together a credible story for Hawkins’ bosses, and it had relied a great deal on them not having a clue what Jake had been up to in the six months he’d been in San Diego. Freddy would be far harder to fool, but Jake knew he wouldn’t believe the truth either.

Fetching Freddy another beer—he and Anna were gawping at the ticker across the bottom of the screen that screamed “Nuclear attacks foiled. 25 US cities targeted”—Jake touched Anna on the shoulder. “You okay?” She looked up at him and caught his meaning: he wasn’t just asking if she wanted another coke. She nodded back at him.

Handing Freddy the beer, Jake propped himself up at the side of the door onto the balcony and took advantage of the different view to make another scan of the street below and the buildings opposite, or what he could see of them in the pools of light from the streetlamps. He ignored the flickering reflection of the TV screen in the darkened window, though he couldn’t quite tune out the TV anchors and reporters and talking heads in the studio as they discussed the planned nuclear attacks, and how high this might go in the government, in between running profiles of J&R and showing pictures of the executives arrested that morning.

Eventually, Freddy turned off the TV. “Man....” When Jake swung away from the window to look at him, Freddy puffed out his cheeks. “You were really mixed up in all that?”

“Yeah.” Seeing Freddy open his mouth, Jake added hastily. “I already told you: I can’t tell you any more.”

Freddy looked like he wasn’t really buying that, but he eventually gave Jake a reluctant nod. Jake suspected it wasn’t going to be the last he’d hear of it.

“They were going to attack San Diego? And Houston?” Anna’s softly-voiced question drew Jake’s attention toward her. He saw her shoulders were tense and her hands were clasped over her stomach. “My parents are there,” she explained, clearly expecting Jake to ask, not knowing that he already knew. When he nodded in answer, she added, “So we’d all be dead?”

“Maybe.” Jake wondered what had happened to her, to that other her, after he’d put her on the bus. She hadn’t been due to get in to Houston until long after the bombs went off, so maybe she’d been okay. But there hadn’t really been a chance to find out what became of her in the brief span when Beck and his troops had been in charge in Jericho, especially as Anna was probably somewhere in Texas, and cross-border communication had been pretty limited. He supposed he could’ve tried to get news of her while he was in San Antonio, but he’d had other stuff on his mind. And he suspected he hadn’t wanted to know the answer anyway, just in case.

Anna wrapped her arms around herself again. “But we’re safe now?”

Jake hesitated a moment, because Hawkins had thought they were safe—even if they’d lost their chance to expose the plot—when Cheyenne had gotten hold of the last bomb. And then John Smith had come within a whisker of getting his hands on it. But John Smith—or the man that the CIA was almost certain was John Smith, from the little information Jake had been able to supply, and the other intelligence they’d put together—was in custody now. “As far as I know, yes.” It wasn’t a very reassuring answer, but it was the best he could provide.

“Hey, I’ll keep you safe, baby. You know that.” Freddy put his arm around her and pulled her against him.

Anna managed a small laugh. “Call me a fool, but I believe you.” She and Freddy smiled at each other, and Freddy reached up to brush a loose strand of hair back from her face.

Jake looked away. He was happy to see them together, after what had happened before, but they were a painful reminder of what he’d given up himself. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. “I’ll make us something to eat.”

Shoving the Beretta into the waistband of his jeans, he clattered open the kitchen cupboards. While he pulled out canned tomatoes and pasta—when he’d gone to the grocery store on the next block earlier to pick up food and some more beer, the choice had seemed a little bewildering after the privations of the last year—he tried to ignore Freddy and Anna muttering endearments to each other.

After a few minutes, after Jake had started some sauce and scrubbed out a pan so he could heat water for the pasta, Anna stood. The movement made Jake glance over his shoulder at the two of them.

“I—.” With a blush, Anna indicated the door to the bathroom and headed across the apartment.

Jake took the chance to clear the empty bottles from the table and drop them in the trash. Freddy’s gaze remained fixed on the door once Anna had closed it behind her. After a moment, he said quietly. “That money you were going to use for plane tickets. The CIA give you that?”

“Yeah.” Jake reached for plates from the cupboard.

“Don’t suppose they gave you anything like what Ravenwood was offering us?”

“’Fraid not.” Turning back to the table, Jake saw the anxious expression on Freddy’s face. “Freddy—.”

“We’re gonna get married.” Freddy’s voice was flat as he made the announcement, no joy in his words.

Jake had noticed the ring, back at the bar, when Anna had served them, but hadn’t said anything. Because noticing stuff like that wouldn’t just have had Freddy wondering where Jake had been for five days but asking if he’d been replaced by aliens. He was glad Freddy had told him, though. It was one less thing to watch out for letting slip. Putting the plates down on the table, he reached out and punched Freddy lightly on the arm. “You finally pulled the trigger, huh?”

Freddy turned an anxious look up toward Jake. “I needed that money.” He took a deep breath. “Anna’s pregnant. We’re gonna have a kid.”

“That’s terrific! We should celebrate!” When Freddy’s expression didn’t change, Jake squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry about the money. But, trust me, taking the Ravenwood job wouldn’t have turned out well for you or Anna or the baby.” Freddy gave him a doubtful look. “I’ll figure something out, okay?”

Before Freddy could reply, the bathroom door opened and Anna came back out. She stopped halfway across the room, looking from Freddy to Jake and back again. “What?”

Jake shook himself. He guessed Freddy didn’t want Anna to know about his money woes, although he also suspected Anna hadn’t bought into whatever story Freddy had spun her, because she was a smart woman. But he plastered a smile on his face. “Freddy was just telling me the good news. Congratulations.” He moved towards her and offered her an awkward hug.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Freddy joined them. “I’ll thank my best man to keep his hands off my fiancée!”

“Best man?” Jake tried to sound as surprised as last time.

Freddy grinned at him. “You gonna make me ask? You're more a brother to me than the one I grew up with.”

“Yeah.” Jake’s smile faded. That was another thing he’d lost: Eric still thought his brother’s life was a joke, and that Jake was an embarrassment. He cleared his throat and, reaching out to grasp Freddy’s proffered hand, managed to croak. “Right back atcha.”

A hiss of water spitting out of the pasta pan reminded Jake that he was cooking dinner and gave him a chance to extricate himself from the conversation. He gestured in the direction of the kitchen. “I gotta....”

Later, while they ate, Jake asked them if they’d set a date, and Anna told him she and Freddy had been hoping to buy out the bar where she worked. The owner was looking to sell; if they could scrape together enough of a downpayment, Anna could get the rest of the asking price as a loan. While Anna talked, Jake thought of the money his grandfather had left him, which would more than cover what she needed—but he reckoned explaining he wanted to lend it to friends to buy a bar, of all things, wasn’t much likelier to persuade his father to sign it over than last time, when he’d refused to say at all why he wanted the money. Best not to mention it, and get Freddy and Anna’s hopes up unnecessarily.

“May I could get another driving job....” Freddy suggested.

“In Iraq? Or Afghanistan?” Anna looked at him miserably. Her expression was confirmation of what Jake had known all along: that she’d pressured him to go with Freddy only because Freddy was insisting on going, not because she wanted Freddy out there and Jake to watch his back.

Freddy shrugged. “That’s where the money is, babe.”

“Look—.” It had suddenly occurred to Jake that while his grandfather’s money had felt like the only option when he was running from Ravenwood and Hicks, it maybe wasn’t now. “There’s my Roadrunner. I could sell it and—.”

“No, man!” Freddy didn’t let him finish. “That car’s your—. No!”

Jake laughed. “Come on, Freddy. She’s been sitting in a parking garage for the past five years. What good’s she doing me?”

He could see Freddy wavering. And though selling the old girl would be a wrench, it seemed like exactly the right thing to do. She tied him to his old life: to Emily, and Jonah, and that guy he’d been six years ago who hung out with petty thugs like Mitch Cafferty. A little voice pointed out that he’d also never get to wow Heather with her—he knew she’d liked the car—but, then, he’d have to win Heather back first....

He spread his hands. “It maybe won’t get you everything you need, but it’ll help.”

“Jake, no. You can’t. We couldn’t.” Anna’s voice mirrored the distress on her face.

“Yes. Yes, you can.” Jake reached out and put his hand over hers for a moment. “You know what Freddy did for me in Iraq. You know I owe him my life. Let me do this. For Freddy, and you, and your baby.”

Anna was still shaking her head. “But that’s your money. I mean, you need a job just as much as Freddy does.”

Jake shrugged. “I’m good for a while. The CIA gave me a little help in return for helping them and....” He hadn’t been going to tell them until he’d been offered the job, but he was pretty sure the airline charter would hire him. The guy had practically made him an offer last time, despite the black mark against his name in the State Department’s records, and his patchy resume. “There’s this pilot’s job with a charter company out at Montgomery Field. I’m pretty sure they’ll call me for an interview....”

“I’ll lend you my lucky tie.” Freddy punched him on the arm.

“Thanks.” Jake didn’t reckon it was the tie that would make the difference, but swallowing his own damn pride. He looked back at Anna. “Look, we’ll make a deal. If I get the job, you’ll take the money. You can pay me back once the bar’s making enough.”

For a moment, Anna looked like she was going to carry on arguing, before she smiled at him and dipped her head. “Okay. And thank you.”

They talked some more about Anna’s plans for the bar while they finished dinner, and while Anna—insisting—did the dishes and gave Jake’s kitchen a far better clean than the cursory tidying it normally got. Talking about the bar seemed to cheer both her and Freddy up, though Jake suspected Freddy was just happy his money worries had apparently been solved. And while Jake would have willingly sunk his money into some fool venture for Freddy’s sake, because he did owe him, it was something of a relief to discover Anna really did seem to have a head for business, and to be capable of reining in Freddy’s wilder schemes.

After a while, when Jake noticed Anna trying to stifle a yawn for the third time behind her hand, he offered her the bed. Looking a little embarrassed, she curled up under the bedspread, her back to where Jake and Freddy still sat talking quietly.

Looking across at her, Jake thought Freddy was a lucky man. He told him so, later, when he thought Anna had fallen asleep.

Freddy grinned at him smugly. “I know.” He leaned back in his chair. “Hey, she's got some good-looking sisters.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively for a moment. When Jake didn’t respond, Freddy sighed. “Unless you're still all hung up on that farm girl back in Iowa.”

“Kansas.” Jake corrected him automatically. He’d never worked out if Freddy always got it wrong deliberately, just to annoy him, or if he really couldn’t remember.

“Same thing.”

“No, not the same thing.” Jake spoke without the rancor of the previous time. He was too busy thinking, Not the same girl, either, while the ever-present ache inside him sharpened to an intense need to hold Heather in his arms again.

oOo

Jake woke with a crick in his neck, the gift of a few hours awkward sleep in the chair in front of the TV. After Freddy had joined Anna on the bed a little after midnight, Jake had tried to stay awake and keep watch, in case Ravenwood came calling. But he must have lost the battle some time in the middle of the night: either he hadn’t really thought Goetz and his gang were a threat, or the past few days were finally catching up with him.

His hand was still curled around the Beretta, though, where it rested heavily and reassuringly on his thigh, so he guessed he hadn’t been that relaxed. Uncoiling himself from the chair, he grimaced and knuckled his back as his spine also protested the night in the chair, before he stepped up next to the window to survey the street outside again. It was early, the sky not fully light, and still quiet: only the occasional car and a single bus rumbled past, while a lone woman hurried along on foot, clutching a briefcase in one hand and a styrofoam coffee cup in the other.

If Goetz or any of his crew were around, they didn’t seem likely to make a move in the next few minutes. Putting the gun down on the table, Jake padded quietly to the bathroom. Passing the bed, he saw Freddy was curved around Anna, his hand protectively over her stomach. Jake turned away, trying not to think about what it would be like—how good it would feel—to lie like that with Heather.

Would it have been better or worse, he wondered, looking at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands and splashed water on his face, if he’d figured out what he really felt for Heather, and done something about it, back when he’d first met her? If they’d had months together, instead of days? If he knew for sure what he’d lost, instead of only guessing at missed opportunities?

Drawing in a deep breath, he shook off his gloom. Maybe, one day, he could win her back—but only by getting on with his life, by once again becoming the man she’d fallen in love with.

Back in the main room, he set the coffee to brew, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not wake the others. Freddy always was a light sleeper, though; he’d been half stirring as Jake had come out of the bathroom; by the time the coffee machine was grumbling at its loudest as it sucked up and spat out the final few drips of liquid, he’d hauled himself off the bed and made his way over to the kitchen.

Jake wordlessly handed him a cup of coffee.

“No sign of Ravenwood?” When Jake shook his head, Freddy raised an eyebrow. “You think Hicks got ‘em all? That we’re in the clear.”

Jake shrugged. “I don’t know.” Goetz had definitely seemed like the type to hold a grudge; maybe they’d never be in the clear. “I—.”

“Freddy?” Anna’s uncertain question saved Jake from having to give Freddy a less-than-reassuring answer. Peering past Freddy’s shoulder, Jake saw she was sitting up, running a hand through her hair, a slightly confused look on her face.

“I’m here, baby.” Freddy put his untouched coffee down and hurried over to her. They spoke quietly for a minute or so, and then Anna slipped off the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Freddy wandered back over to the kitchen. Jake had switched the TV on to drown out their conversation and give them some privacy; the news was still focusing on the attacks, although not much seemed to have happened since last night. Jake was only half-listening as he sucked down his coffee and tried to feel less tired.

He dipped his head at Freddy. “Anna okay?”

“Yeah.”

Freddy reached for the cup of coffee he’d abandoned. Behind him, the TV had switched to showing a perky blonde news anchor, with a picture of a nondescript chain motel over her left shoulder. “In local news, federal agents here in San Diego last night raided a motel in North Clairemont and arrested ten suspects—.”

The image changed to show a number of men being pushed into squad cars by agents wearing flak jackets.

“Freddy....” Jake gestured at the TV as, in the flashing blue and red half-light, he saw Goetz among the men being arrested. His hands were cuffed behind him, and he scowled into the camera as an agent put a hand on his head to guide him into the back seat of a car. In the rear of the shot, Jake caught a glimpse of Hicks with a satisfied smirk on his face.

He reached out and touched Freddy on the arm. “Ten? Was that all of Goetz’s squad?”

Freddy nodded. “Yeah. They told me there’d be twelve of us flying out.”

He was still watching the TV, while the news anchor continued to talk over the pictures. “—believed to work for Ravenwood, a subsidiary of Jennings and Rall, the government contractor currently embroiled in allegations of a conspiracy to overthrow the Government. Sources close to the investigation say the men were attempting to smuggle weapons to insurgents and terrorists in Afghanistan.”

The picture switched back to the studio, where a distinguished-looking gray-haired anchorman seemed to be holding court with a number of reporters out in the field. “So, Bob,” the anchor addressed one the reporters, who was standing in front of a J&R sign, “it looks like there’s another charge to add to the J&R rap sheet?”

“Yes, Bill. And with news that FBI and local law enforcement officers here at J&R headquarters in Sacramento have been joined by IRS Agents investigating—”

Freddy started speaking, but Jake wasn’t listening. He was too busy fighting down the cold, sick feeling in his stomach as the realization hit him that among all the lives that had gotten reset was Stanley’s. And while that meant Bonnie was alive and, God willing, would stay that way, and Stanley would never know the pain of losing her, it also meant that, right now, Mimi was probably preparing a report that would likely see Stanley lose the farm. He’d definitely lose Mimi, just like Jake had lost Heather—although at least he wouldn’t know it, the way Jake did....

"Jake!"

Freddy snapped his fingers in front of Jake’s face, and Jake came back to the present. He realized Freddy had been asking if it was safe for him and Anna to go home. Jake nodded. "Yeah. It’s over."

Once Freddy and Anna left—she’d watched the news for a couple of minutes, but refused coffee—Jake turned off the TV. Pouring himself the end of the coffee, he sat down and, leaning his head in his hands, tried to think.

He’d told Anna before she’d left that he’d get the Roadrunner sold as soon as he could, and that he’d come by the bar to discuss getting an agreement in place once he had an idea how much he’d make. She still seemed a little uncomfortable with the idea, but he knew that if he came up with the money, she wouldn’t say no. But now here was Stanley in real trouble. Not just hoping to build a future but in danger of losing his past: the house his grandfather had built; the farm where his great-grandfather had broken the first soil. Didn’t Jake owe him, too, just as much as Freddy? But he couldn’t help them both....

Suddenly, he sat up straight and snorted to himself, as he remembered there was still Grandpa’s money. He’d been so fixed on the idea that his father wouldn’t sign it over that he’d put it out of his mind entirely. And he still didn’t think Dad would let him lend it to Freddy and Anna. But he might be convinced to let Jake use it to help Stanley out.

He glanced across at the phone on the nightstand. Talking to Dad, persuading him to lend the money to Stanley, wouldn’t be easy. He’d have to get past the fact his father still thought he was—what was the phrase he’d used? A stupid little punk, that was it. Not to mention, the last time he’d spoken to Dad....

The memory of his father’s dying words—I’m proud of you—strengthened Jake’s resolve. Dad might have a low opinion of him right now, but Jake knew his father loved him, no matter how hard Jake had made things between them. Taking a deep breath, he stood and crossed over to the bed to pick up the phone, glancing at the clock as he did so: Jericho was two hours ahead, but Dad probably wouldn’t have left for City Hall yet.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jake dialed home.

"Hello?"

The sound of his mother’s voice made Jake’s breath catch; for a moment he couldn’t answer. When she repeated her greeting, he forced himself to focus and managed to croak, "Mom."

"Jake? Is that you, honey?" She sounded so pleased to hear from him that, again, he found it hard to speak. "Jake?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat. "Yes, it’s me, Mom."

"Oh, honey! Are you okay?"

"Yes." He swallowed hard, trying to get his emotions under control. "I’m fine. I...." He hesitated, and then made a promise to himself: no more lies. "I’m in San Diego. Everything’s fine. Are you and Dad...?"

"Yes. We’re fine. Your father and I have both had a bit of a cold, but we’re both over it now."

"He’s still impervious to mere germs, huh?" Jake’s laugh caught in his throat. He guessed that, without all the extra stress of the attacks, his father had shaken off the infection more easily.

"Uh-huh." His mother was silent for a few seconds. "When are you—?"

Jake didn’t let her finish. He knew what she going to ask: the same question she asked every time he called home. "Soon, Mom. I promise." He took a deep breath. “Look, is Dad there? I need to speak to him.”

“Sure, honey. I’ll just get him.” His mom’s voice had taken on the slightly flat tone he knew she used to conceal her surprise. Her voice faded—she must be holding the phone out to his father—as he heard her say, “He wants to talk to you.” Jake could also hear his dad’s unimpressed snort before he came on the line.

“Jake?”

Again, a lump rose in Jake’s throat at the sound of his father’s voice. He’d thought he’d never hear those gruff tones again. Even though they were frosted with disappointment and contempt for what Jake was, for what he’d made of himself and failed to make of himself. In this world, Jake had yet to make his father proud. But all that would change. It would be harder, but Jake was determined to make it happen. Even if Dad probably wouldn’t admit it until he was on his deathbed again. Which, God willing, would be many years from—.

“Jake?” His father’s puzzled tones cut into Jake’s thoughts. “Jake, are you there?”

“Yeah.” Jake swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’m here. Look, Dad, I need to talk to you about Grandpa’s money. I—.”

“Now, look,” his father interrupted, “your grandpa didn’t leave you that money to waste on—.”

“Dad, will you just let me finish?” Jake couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice, even though he knew that, right now, his father had every reason to jump to that conclusion. “I don’t want the money for myself. I want you to give it to Stanley. He’s having some trouble with the IRS. I want to lend him the money to help him get straight. A proper loan, with a repayment schedule, but it’ll give him a chance—.”

“Stanley? Stanley Richmond?” His father sounded disbelieving. “Are you sure? I saw him yesterday, and he said everything was fine with the IRS.”

“Dad!” Now it was Jake’s turn to snort. “We’re talking about Stanley. He probably hasn’t got a clue how much trouble he’s in. But, believe me, he is.”

There was a harrumph from the other end of the phone that suggested his father wasn’t discounting that possibility, though he didn’t say anything else for a few moments. Jake guessed he was turning over the situation. At last, his father let out a heavy sigh. “How come you know about this? No one round here’s seen you in five years. You’ve barely called your mother....”

“I—.” Jake racked his brains for an answer. Because he sure couldn’t explain that he was from the future, and that Stanley had told him about the IRS debt himself, if not in so many words. A memory of Hawkins, who could win a gold medal for evasiveness, flashed into his mind. “Does it matter?”

Even though his father was silent, Jake could sense he remained unconvinced.

"Please, Dad." The telephone was slippery in Jake’s hand, and he gripped it more tightly. "Stanley needs our help."

There was another long silence. Jake remembered how he used to think his father was judging him when he did that—and finding him wanting—because it was so obvious to him that his father should be saying yes to whatever Jake was proposing. But he understood now that it was simply that Dad took his time to evaluate things, even when his first instinct was to agree. That he’d learned not to be hasty when making his mind up. Something Jake had learned too, the last year, he realized, even if he sometimes forgot. So he stayed silent, giving his father the time he needed to think it through.

At last, his father heaved a sigh. "All right, I’ll talk to him. If you’re sure...?"

Jake let out the breath he’d been holding. "I’m sure. Thank you."

His father cleared his throat. "You could lose everything...."

"Yes, I know." Jake didn’t let him finish. "Stanley doesn’t just need the money; he needs help figuring out how to stay out of trouble."

He needs Mimi, Jake added to himself. Fixing that really would take a miracle: he remembered sitting up all night playing cards with the two of them—it had been the night after they’d buried the bodies they’d found at Bass Lake—and how Mimi had sniped and picked at Stanley back then—and not in a way that suggested she was secretly attracted to him.

"There’ll need to be conditions...," his father pointed out.

"Yes." Jake could understand his father’s caution. But he also knew Dad would want to help Stanley almost as much as he did. For Stanley’s sake. and for Jericho’s sake. "Whatever you think’s necessary."

Again, his father was quiet for a moment, before he spoke again. "And you’ll need to sign the papers. We can mail them, but I know your mother would like to see you...."

Jake held in the wry chuckle that bubbled up within him, because his father was so predictable. And it didn’t hurt so badly this time around that Dad couldn’t admit that maybe he’d like to see Jake too. Because Jake knew what his father felt deep inside. Knew it would take a lot of work to get his respect back, but that it was possible. That he and Dad weren’t a totally lost cause.

Though he wasn’t sure he was ready himself to try just yet. Clearing his throat, he offered his father the only answer he could: "Yes, I know. I’ll come home as soon as I can."

"Well, I know she’d like it if it was soon." His father sounded a little gruffer than usual.

"I know." Again, there was an awkward pause, before Jake extracted a promise from his father that he’d call Jake back once he’d spoken to Stanley, gave him his phone number at the apartment, and hung up.

oOo

After he’d finished speaking to his father, Jake crawled into bed and crashed for a few hours, the lack of sleep and excitement of the previous few days finally catching up with him. He was woken by the phone ringing. The machine caught it before he had a chance to pick up. Probably just as well, he decided, as he listened to the message and discovered the charter company did want to call him for interview.

The next morning saw him out at Montgomery Field, wearing Freddy’s lucky tie and his decent suit. The receptionist directed him to the company’s hangar, where he was met by John Grainger, the airline’s head of operations.

Grainger walked him through the hangar as they talked, and Jake got a chance to scout the planes. Although a few of the models he’d seen last time were missing, and there were a couple of new ones, the selection was much the same. Most of the planes were Cessna Citations, but Jake spotted some small Learjets, as well as two tiny Mooney M20s. “So these are all yours?” He waved a hand around to encompass the whole hangar.

Grainger, glancing at his clipboard, which held Jake’s resume, remarked absently. “Yes. As you can see, we have quite a varied fleet. You won’t get bored here, Mr Green.”

“No, I can see that.” Jake allowed himself a small grin. Though he doubted, tempting as it would be, he’d be pulling any of the stunts in the Mooneys that had been a regular feature of flying his grandfather’s similarly sized cropduster. “Nice planes,” he added.

Grainger looked up at him and nodded. "Yeah, every aircraft we operate is augmented with custom security and design features you won't find in any other fleet."

He paused, and Jake halted, turning to face him. Grainger gestured with the clipboard. "I see that you're an Embry-Riddle grad. ATP-certified, Sixteen hundred verified FAA hours. Clearly well qualified, Mr. Green."

Jake gave him a smile and dipped his head, and repeated what he’d said last time. "Flying's in my blood. I started working on my grandpa's crop duster when I was ten."

That brought a faint answering smile from Grainger—Jake suspected he was an ex-pilot himself—before his expression turned more serious. "Now you understand that we charter exclusively to top executives and celebrity clients, so absolute discretion is a must for our flight crew."

Again, Jake nodded. He’d thought about how he was going to handle the interview on the way out to the airfield and decided that, while Grainger probably wanted to see a certain level of confidence from someone he was going to hire to fly planes worth millions of dollars, Jake had maybe been a little bit too cocky in his responses last time. So now he said, keeping his tone a milder and more respectful than previously, "Yes, absolutely. My job’s about getting the plane safely from A to B. Anything else is none of my business."

"Good." Grainger glanced down briefly at his clipboard, flipping up a couple of pages to look at something underneath Jake’s resume. "Of course, finding out everything we can about the people who are piloting our planes is our business. Your visa records say you spent some time in the Middle East over the last few years. And your resume says you were working for Jennings and Rall during most of that time?"

"Yes." Jake resisted the urge to hunch his shoulders and stick his hands in his pockets.

"Hmm...." Grainger’s forehead furrowed slightly as he again looked down at his clipboard.

"Not the best name to have on your resume right now, huh?" Jake found himself saying, as the silence lengthened.

Grainger’s lips twitched. "Well, I’m sure you weren’t involved in planning to overthrow the government, Mr Green." He looked up and met Jake’s gaze. "Or were you?"

Jake forced a laugh. Not this government.... "No. I was just a very junior employee."

"Hmm." Grainger tapped the clipboard. "But your FAA records don’t indicate very many flying hours during your time with J&R. You weren’t employed by them as a pilot?"

"No." Jake took a deep breath, wondering how far Grainger would push the topic, and how much he’d have to explain himself. How much he’d have to explain just how messed up he’d been back then. "I was mostly driving supply rigs from Bagram Air Base, and up and down Route Irish to BIAP," he admitted.

Grainger raised his eyebrows. "With your qualifications, I would’ve expected...?"

Jake licked his lips. "I... I didn’t apply as a pilot." He shrugged. "They don’t ask their drivers as many questions, and back then.... Things had gone pretty sour back home. My father and I weren’t getting along, and I didn’t want my family to know where I was and what I was doing. Even just from someone looking for a reference."

"I see." Grainger gave him a long hard stare, before his expression lightened a little. "Well, we don’t get to choose our families, do we?" He looked back down at the clipboard and scrawled a short note—Jake couldn’t read it from where he stood—on Jake’s resume. "But in between your time with J&R, you had a spell working for an outfit called Shelby Aviation? With several trips overseas? A role more suited to your talents than driving trucks in Afghanistan...?" Grainger’s tone invited a response.

Again, Jake breathed in deeply. "Yes, but then I found out some of their clients were... less than reputable, and just what kind of stuff I was flying around for them...." Jake swallowed as he remembered the sick feeling in his stomach when, squinting against the bright sun bouncing off the tarmac outside a hangar at La Chinita, he’d realized that the carefully wrapped packages being stowed away in the back of the elderly DC-10 contained cocaine.

"Hmm." For a moment, Jake thought Grainger was going to ask, but he either decided to demonstrate some of the discretion he’d said he’d be expecting from Jake, or he had a pretty good idea what had been involved, given Jake’s last trip had been to Venezuela. Instead, he lifted a couple of the pages on the clipboard as if to check something else. "State Department has you flagged as a person of interest...."

Again, Jake swallowed. He really hoped Grainger wasn’t going to press for details on Saffa. But if he had to tell him.... Well, he’d survived worse. "There was an incident," he admitted. "Iraq’s not exactly...." He gave another shrug. "Things happen, and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Grainger made another note on Jake’s resume. "That seems to happen to you a lot, Mr Green," he remarked absently.

Jake held in a snort; Grainger had pretty much summed up his life so far. Except there had been a few moments in his life when he had been in the right place: like when he’d been hobbling along that road just as those kids from Heather’s class had been looking for help....

Forcing away the memory of how calm and collected Heather had been on the bus, despite her own injuries, and how much that had impressed him and—though he’d been too foolish to realize it at the time—attracted him, Jake concentrated on the present. "Look," Jake met Grainger’s gaze steadily as the other man looked up at him, "I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. But I’m not afraid of hard work. I’m reliable. J&R will tell you that. And you said yourself that I’m well qualified...."

Grainger nodded. "I appreciate your honesty, Mr Green. Trust is important to us here. We’re a small operation and we give our pilots a lot of responsibility. They have a lot of direct contact with our clients." Suddenly, he smiled. "I think you’d be a good fit, and I hope you’ll agree to joining us."

Jake gaped at him for a moment. "You’re offering me a job?"

Grainger’s smile turned amused. "Yes, I am, Mr Green. We’ll need to check your references with J&R, there’ll be a probationary period, and you’ll act as co-pilot for a few weeks while you learn how we do things around here, but we’d like to get you on board as soon as possible. If you—?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Yes." Jake nodded and took the hand Grainger held out for him to shake. "Thank you."

Grainger’s smile widened. "Welcome to Saber Airlines, Mr Green. Now let’s go see to your paperwork...."

oOo

After he left Saber’s offices, Jake thought about heading to the bar to tell Freddy and Anna that the interview had worked out, but decided against it. He’d feel more comfortable dropping by once he’d started making good on his promise to them and made some real progress on fetching the Roadrunner from Denver and figuring out how to get the best price for her.

Not visiting the bar seemed like an even better idea once he got back to his apartment and played the message his father had left on the answering machine. Best not to be talking to Dad with a few celebratory beers inside him. He reached for the phone but, looking at the clock, decided Dad would be home for lunch in a little while, and he’d be better off catching him at the house.

Half an hour later, having showered and changed, Jake lifted the receiver and dialed home. He smiled to himself while he waited for someone to pick up: while Jericho had always been where he’d come from and where his family was, he hadn’t thought of it as "home" in the five years he’d been away. Now? Yes, now it was "home", and there’d come a day—not too far off, he hoped—when he’d make it his home again. His home and Heather’s, if he was lucky....

"Green house." Johnston’s gruff tones cut into Jake’s thoughts.

"Dad, it’s Jake. Sorry you had to leave a message."

"Hadn’t woken up yet, huh?" It wasn’t just the words but the tone that spoke of Johnston’s frustration with his son’s choices. In the past, Jake had always read it as contempt, but he knew different now. He even felt a little of the same frustration himself when he thought about how he’d been squandering his life. At least these days—.

"I was at a job interview." He tried not to sound too defensive.

His father snorted. "Still wasting that expensive education your grandfather and I paid for?"

"Actually, no." Jake scrubbed a hand across his face and reminded himself he had no right to be irritated by his father’s assumptions. After all, given what his father—this version of his father—knew, he had no reason to think otherwise. "It’s with a charter airline. Executive jets. I start Monday."

"Hmmph. Well," his father hesitated, before finally offering a begrudging, "I hope it goes well."

"Thanks." Jake grinned to himself. He wasn’t sure his father’s congratulations would ever get much more fulsome than that. "So, you spoke to Stanley?"

"I did." There was a deep sigh from the other end of the line. "He denied it for a while, said it was no big deal. But I got him to admit it in the end." Jake could almost hear his father shaking his head as he added, "It’s a lot of money he owes, Jake. Your grandpa’s money won’t cover even half of it."

"I know. But it’ll help." Jake hesitated. "Dad, I don’t want to put more on you, but Stanley needs more than just money throwing at him...."

"Yes, well, I’m going to have a lot of free time on my hands." His father must have sensed Jake’s bewilderment, because he went on, "I’m standing down as mayor. Your brother’s agreed to take my place in the election. So I’ll need something to keep me busy. Well, your mother has some damn fool idea about a trip to Europe, but that won’t take more than a few weeks...."

Jake was only half-listening as his father rambled on. The world had shifted under his feet yet again as he tried to reconcile himself to the idea that his father would voluntarily give up being mayor. Dad had always been so wrapped up in the job that it sometimes seemed to Jake that he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been in charge of Jericho. He did know that most of his really good memories of Dad—like those weekends they used to go hunting together—came from back before Dad had gotten elected. After that, Jake had spent most of his time with Grandpa or with Emily—and conversations with Dad had always seemed to end in arguments....

Jake shook off the memories, though he couldn’t help wondering if this had been in the works last time around, before the attacks. If so, neither his father nor Eric had breathed a word.

He realized from the silence at the other end of the line that his father was waiting for a response. "I’m sure Mom’s pleased," he offered. He cleared his throat. "And Eric will do a great job." Jake pushed away the thought that, while the man his brother had become by the time Jericho declared its independence from Cheyenne would do a great job, maybe the man Eric had been a year ago wouldn’t. Or that his brother might have some trouble squaring standing as mayor with the fact his marriage was falling apart and he was in love with someone else.

There was an awkward silence, which Jake found he was expecting his father to fill with a barbed comment comparing Jake unfavorably to his brother. To his surprise, his father didn’t speak.

"So." Jake cleared his throat again. "Stanley.... Get him to let Bonnie help him. She’s got a better head for business than he has. And—" Jake caught himself in time from blurting out Mimi’s name, "—the IRS agent, too, if you can."

His father made a noncommittal noise. "I’ll see what I can do." There was a pause before he added. "I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where you’re getting your information from? Since Bonnie was, what, twelve, when you last saw her?"

Jake laughed. "Sorry, Dad. No can do. But I really appreciate you helping Stanley out."

"Yes, well, man deserves it." Johnston sounded gruff. "He’s a darned fool for getting himself in a pickle, but he’s a part of this town, and he’s done a lot for Jericho. I’ll talk to William Gerrity and get the papers for the loan agreement drawn up."

"Thanks, Dad."

"You’ll need to sign them." His father repeated the point he’d made the day before. Jake sensed he wanted to say more, but it was a few seconds before he added, "If you came back to town, I know Stanley’d like to stand you a beer in Bailey’s."

Jake scrubbed a hand through his hair. He wasn’t quite ready to face going home. He wasn’t quite ready—would he ever be?—to face running into Heather again. And anyway: "Sorry, Dad. I’m starting this new job next week, and I have stuff to do. If you mail them...."

"If that’s what you want." The slight edge of disappointment Jake could hear in his father’s voice brought a lump to his throat. "I know Stanley’s offer’ll be good whenever you can make it."

"I know."

Jake gave his father his address, and his love for his mother, and hung up the phone. Sitting on the bed, resting his arms across his knees, he reflected it had been quite a week. First helping Hawkins stop the attacks, and then the past forty-eight hours: saving Freddy from Ravenwood; getting Hicks off his back; getting a job—a real job; helping Stanley save his farm....

But there was still so much to be fixed. So much that maybe couldn’t be fixed. Stanley and Mimi. Eric and April and Mary. Him and Dad.

Heather....

He ached to be with her again. To be with her right now. But the Heather who existed in this world didn’t feel that way about him. And maybe never would. Yet as he got to his feet, planning to head out to the bus station to buy a ticket to Denver for the following day, he thought about how this world had already given him so many second chances.

Maybe he’d get a second chance at this, too?