Fic: Jericho - A Little Divided - Part Two of Three

[tanaquiljall]

Title: A Little Divided
Fandom: Jericho
Rating: General
Pairings: Jake/Heather, with references to Freddy/Anna, Hawkins/Darcy, Eric/April and Eric/Mary
Warnings: None
Words: 29,580 words
Summary: A sequel to (Follows You) Back Home. Sent back in time, Jake Green has successfully prevented the September attacks—at the cost of his relationship with the woman he loves, Heather Lisinski. While he has been working to rebuild his life and his relationships with his family in this changed world, fate has thrown him back into Heather’s path and he has been able to rescue her for a second time. Having won her admiration, he now has the opportunity to win back her heart. As their relationship develops, however, he finds it increasingly hard not to mix up the past he shared with the Heather in that other life with the history he’s creating with the Heather in this one. How can he build a successful relationship with this Heather while concealing the truth of who he is and what he’s done?
Author's Note: Part of the Timetravel!verse being written by Scribbler (scribblesinink) and Tanaqui (tanaquific) and a sequel to (Follows You) Back Home Thank you to susanmarier for creating the beautiful banner and cover art for the story. Thanks also, as always, to Scribbler (scribblesinink) for the cheerleading and beta.
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.

Part One (1) of "A Little Divided" | Part One (2) of "A Little Divided"

Part Two

Jake poured himself another cup of coffee and then sat down again to finish re-reading Heather’s letter. He’d found it waiting for him the previous evening when he’d arrived home from work, his heart skipping a beat as he’d opened the mailbox and seen the half-familiar handwriting on the envelope.

He hadn’t really been expecting a reply so soon, even assuming the US Postal Service would be kind to him. Such a speedy response meant she must have written him back almost immediately. Hoped had flared inside him that she did feel a little of what he felt, and that it could grow to more….

He’d thought about what he was going to say in his own first letter the entire flight back to San Diego. Once he’d arrived home, he’d sat down and worked through a dozen drafts before he had a version ready to be copied carefully, straining his chicken-scratch scrawl into something readable. He’d wanted to say so much, yet not so much he’d scare her. He’d also wanted to be himself as far as possible, because he needed to make her fall in love with him—and spouting love poetry had never really been his style….

In the end, he’d described his flight home: the view over the mountains and how he’d wished he could have shared it with her. He’d talked about how Jericho had changed and how things had stayed the same, and asked her to tell him about her life at school and how she was getting on with fixing up Charlotte. He’d haltingly told her how much he’d enjoyed their walk together and their visit to see Charlotte.

She’d written back almost as long a letter, recounting funny stories from school and telling him about how she was waiting on a part she’d ordered, so she was tackling more of Charlotte’s endless rust. She’d asked him about the Roadrunner—someone had mentioned he used to own one—and how she’d have liked to see it. Reading that, he’d regretted again that he’d had to sell the car—but he knew that the Heather he’d fallen in love with wouldn’t be impressed by the car alone, but by the man who drove her. That she could be just as impressed by that same man even if he was sputtering around in an old Toyota. And, as he’d asked, she’d also sent him her email address.

He wasn’t working today--he’d worked over last weekend—so he was planning in a while to head to an internet cafe and write her a long email. This time, he reckoned, he wouldn’t be lost for words: he’d been scribbling down ideas for the last two weeks, half afraid he was jinxing her reply and yet sure she’d write him back. She’d warned him not to expect an immediate reply by email: she’d only be able to check her account around once a week, at the Cyberjolt Cafe. But at least he wouldn’t have to depend on the whims of the postal service. Though maybe he’d write her, too: there were things he wanted to say to her that she probably wouldn’t want to read with the clatter of coffee cups around her and the chance of someone looking over her shoulder.

He was still so absorbed in her letter, and in thinking about his reply, that he only half-heard the soft knock at the door. It was only when it came again a moment later, more loudly and more impatiently, that he started up. Opening the door, he expected Freddy or Anna to be hovering outside. Instead, he found himself blinking disbelievingly at Hawkins.

“Hey.” He automatically stepped back to let the other man in, noticing as he did so that Hawkins looked surprisingly rough. He had a few days’ growth of stubble; his skin had an unhealthy tinge to it, much like it had after he’d taken a bullet in the gut in Cheyenne; and his clothes were rumpled, almost as if he’d slept in them. Given Jake had seen Hawkins come through a whole winter of hardship and the only time he’d looked anything like this ruffled had been after he’d lost the bomb to Cheyenne and barely escaped Beck’s clutches himself, Jake had to wonder what was going on.

Hawkins peered suspiciously around the tiny apartment as he stepped inside and dropped the bag he was carrying by the door. “You alone? Went by the airfield and they said you weren’t working today.”

“Yeah.” Jake closed the door behind him and gestured to the table and chairs. “You want some coffee?” He couldn’t help wondering what his employers had made of Hawkins, but he reckoned that after he himself had turned up half-drunk at Hawkins’ apartment a month ago, expecting to be let in, the least he could do was return the favor now. He was finding it hard to imagine what had happened to get Hawkins into this state, though.

“Yeah, sure.” Hawkins sounded distracted as he headed toward the table—and then bypassed it so he could squint out through the window, checking the street below without making himself visible to anyone who might be down there watching.

Jake frowned, pausing as he headed for the kitchen area and the coffee pot. He’d be the first to agree Hawkins was always a little jumpy and hyper-vigilant, apparently unable to switch off the habits of a lifetime spent half undercover, but he seemed overly twitchy even by his usual standards. Or maybe whatever had him looking so out of sorts meant he wasn’t hiding it the way he normally did. Whatever the reason for it, Hawkins’ behavior was making Jake nervous. He glanced toward where the gun the CIA had given him was still stashed in its case under his bed. “What's going on, Hawkins? Are you in trouble?”

Hawkins turned to look at him, his brow furrowed, almost like he didn’t understand the question. He went on staring at Jake for a long moment, before he drew in a sharp sniff, his face twitching. He still didn’t answer Jake, though— just sank down on the nearest chair and put his hands to his head, rubbing his temples.

Jake shook his head and went back to making a fresh brew of coffee. He reckoned that if bad guys were about to come bursting through the doors waving guns, Hawkins would’ve mentioned it. Which meant his troubles were less immediate, if apparently no less real.

He heard another sniff from Hawkins as he finished setting up the coffee to brew. “So you’re picking things up again with that girl you liked? The one you got to steal the report?”

Turning, Jake saw Hawkins was staring at the letter he’d left spread on the table. He must have been scanning it. Feeling a little annoyed—did Hawkins have no understanding at all of the concept of private?—Jake crossed to the table and gathered up the sheets. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Hawkins looked up at him again for another long moment and then gave a small shake of the head, letting out another soft snort. Jake was suddenly tired of his cryptic games. “What do you want, Hawkins? What’s going on?”

Again, Hawkins crinkled his nose, his lips twitching. Then, just when Jake thought he still wasn’t going to answer, he said curtly. “I talked to Darcy. Tried to, anyway…. It didn’t go well.” Abruptly he put his head in his hands, leaning forward, his shoulders slumped in weary defeat.

The whole story came out slowly, over a first cup of coffee and then a second. Hawkins had gone round to Darcy’s apartment the week before Christmas and attempted to talk to her, to tell her he was finally done with the CIA. She’d only let him inside the house to avoid a scene outside, but she hadn’t really wanted to listen. Why should I believe you? she’d asked. Why is this different to last time? And then she’d asked him to leave before the kids got home, before they saw him and got upset. Except, even as he’d been protesting, he’d heard a key in the lock, and Alison and Sam had walked in.

“Alison tried to talk to me, but Darcy wouldn’t let her. Ordered me out. Ordered the kids to their rooms when Alison objected.” Hawkins scrubbed his hands over his face. “I thought I’d better go.”

“I’m sorry.” Jake refilled his cup again. “Here.”

Hawkins took the cup, cradling it between his hands while he stared gloomily into its black depths. “I thought, after what you told me…. About how Darcy and I patched things up….”

“I’m sorry,” Jake repeated. He didn’t know what else to say. Apparently saving the world had broken more than he’d known.

“All those years undercover….” Hawkins shook his head. “They were what kept me going, you know? Even though Darcy told me that last time that if I took the job, I shouldn’t bother coming back. But I thought, when I was done… when they knew….” He lifted his gaze to Jake, his expression bleak. “I thought they’d still be there at the end of it.”

Jake nodded in understanding. The thought that he could one day maybe build a life with Heather again had helped sustain him through the ache of losing her in those first weeks in this other world.

Glancing surreptitiously at his watch, he was surprised to see more than an hour had passed since Hawkins had arrived. He cleared his throat. “So, are you in San Diego for work? Or—?” Much as Jake sympathized with the other man’s plight and wanted to help, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with him. He couldn’t babysit him for however long it took for Hawkins to get himself back together. And, frankly, he was a little freaked out at seeing Hawkins so out of control.

Hawkins drained half the cup of coffee before setting it down. “I’m supposed to be ‘on leave’. They told me to go get some rest, enjoy myself, get my life back together. They’ll call me back in if they’ve got any questions, but I’m pretty much done until the trial. I guess I just needed to—.” He gestured helplessly, leaving the sentence unfinished. Tipping his head back, he looked up at Jake and added, “You’re the only one who understands, Jake. Really understands.” He gave another self-deprecating sniff. “And this is all your fault, anyway. Telling me I stood a chance with Darcy.”

Jake thought that was overstating things a little. All he’d told Hawkins was that he’d managed to rebuild his family. Apparently, like Stanley and Mimi, that was another of those things that was only possible if the world ended first.

“Tell me about them,” Hawkins said abruptly, startling Jake out of his thoughts. “Tell me what it was like. Before.”

“You sure?” Jake eyed him cautiously, wondering if hearing about playing happy families, or at least giving the appearance of it, was going to help or simply drive Hawkins further down.

“Yeah.” The corner of Hawkins’ mouth twitched in a wry smile. “Maybe I can figure out what I did right last time.” For the first time since he’d arrived, Jake saw some of the tension leave him. “Come on, Jake. I think you owe me that.”

With a regretful glance at the letter from Heather, stashed for safekeeping on top of the television, now likely to go unanswered today, Jake began to dredge up what he could remember of Hawkins’ family back in that other Jericho.

oOo


Two hours later, Jake was leading Hawkins into the beach bar that belonged to Anna and Freddy. Hawkins had been less than enthusiastic about Jake’s suggestion they head out there, but Jake had pointed out that his bosses had told him to get some rest and enjoy himself. When Hawkins continued to frown, Jake quickly invented a prior commitment to drop in at the bar that he couldn’t break and offered Hawkins the chance to come with him or stay where he was.

Truth was, Jake was at a loss what more to say after racking his brains to dredge up the little he could remember about Hawkins’ family back in Jericho. He was also coming up blank with suggestions for how Hawkins could possibly fix things. Not that he had much of a track record as a matchmaker; he winced at the memory of how badly he’d failed in his efforts to get Stanley and Mimi together. The only comfort was that neither of them seemed in the least aware of what they’d missed out on: when he’d mentioned Mimi to Stanley over Christmas, Stanley had first given him a blank look and then shrugged his shoulders and taken the topic—plans for the farm for the coming year—in an entirely different direction.

At least things had worked out for Anna and Freddy, Jake thought, catching sight of Freddy desultorily bussing tables and Anna perched on a stool at one of the end of bar with a pile of paperwork in front of her. Anna’s pregnancy seemed to be progressing well; Freddy had managed to stay out of trouble since they’d bought the bar and he’d started working there full time; and the bar itself seemed to be doing well, even if it currently exhibited the typical quietness of a weekday afternoon.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Freddy abandoned his tray when he spotted Jake. “How’re you doing, man?”

“I’m good.” Jake accepted Freddy’s brief embrace. When Freddy stepped back and raised an inquiring eyebrow in Hawkins’ direction, Jake added, “This is Hawkins. We… worked together. Hawkins, this is Freddy.”

Freddy took a long, calculating look at Hawkins, who stared back at him silently, apparently unfazed. Eventually, Freddy gave a quiet “Hmmph” and shot a look in Jake’s direction that indicated he’d worked out how Jake knew Hawkins—that he was somehow connected to Jake’s involvement with the CIA, Ravenwood and the scandal around J&R—if not the specifics. Jerking his head toward the bar, Freddy asked, “You two want a beer?”

“Sure.” Jake let Freddy lead them toward where Anna sat. She started to get up from the stool, but Jake waved for her to stay where she was. Freddy headed around the bar to set up the drinks, while Jake introduced Hawkins. “How are you doing?” Jake nodded toward Anna’s stomach.

She puffed out a breath, blowing a few strands of hair out of her face. “Okay. Though my feet have been killing me.”

Seeing the slightly puzzled expression on Hawkins’ face, Jake explained, “Anna’s expecting. Another three months, right?”

Hawkins, accepting the beer Freddy slid across the bar toward him as Anna nodded her confirmation, offered a “Congratulations.” He just about managed to make the word not sound like a condemnation of everyone everywhere who ever decided to have children, though it was a close-run thing to Jake’s ear.

Anna lifted her eyebrows, apparently thinking so too. Jake wondered if he could explain Hawkins’ own family troubles, but Freddy beat him to it, as usual managing to miss the undercurrents in the conversation. “You got children?” he asked Hawkins as he handed Jake his beer.

“Uh-huh.” Hawkins took a drink. “One of each.” He paused again and then unexpectedly added, “Haven’t really seen them in a while.”

Freddy barked a laugh. “You’re not their mom’s favorite person, right?”

“Right.” Hawkins compressed his lips into a thin line that indicated he considered the conversation closed.

“You don’t see them at all?” Anna asked softly. She had her head on one side, her earlier startled expression replaced by a sympathetic one.

Hawkins gave her a slightly confused look, before he shook his head. “I’ve been away a lot and Darcy, my wife, she says it ‘too confusing’.”

“Man, that sucks.” Freddy shook his head. “How old are they?”

“Alison’s fifteen. Sam’s eight.” To Jake’s surprise, Hawkins went on, “I think Alison’d—.” He broke off, shaking his head. “Not that it matters what she wants if her mom says no.”

“You think she might want to get in touch with you?” Jake saw that Anna had put her hand on her stomach, perhaps if feeling some kinship between Alison and how she’d feel about her baby in the same circumstances.

Hawkins shrugged and took another drink. “Maybe.”

“But you don’t want her to get in trouble going behind her mom’s back.” Anna nodded in understanding.

“Yeah.” Hawkins was looking like he wanted to change the conversation, but he didn’t quite know how. “I just want to know what’s going on with them.”

“Hey, maybe you could wait outside her school.” Freddy leaned forward on the bar, arms crossed. “You know, with your job and—.”

“Freddy!” Jake cut him of before he could say more. Before he started worrying Hawkins with what he might know about Hawkins’ work. Jake had seen what could happen to anyone that Hawkins viewed as a threat to him or his family.

Fortunately, Hawkins’ only response was to grimace a little.

“Maybe you could see if she uses one of those friending websites?” Anna had sat up straighter and was rubbing the small of her back with one hand. When Jake looked at her blankly—he saw the other two looked equally lost—she said, “You know? The college kids that come in here use them. They arrange meetups with their friends and put up stuff about what’s going on with them. Which parties they went to or how much their professors suck, that kind of thing. But I think kids in High School have them as well.” She creased her brow in thought. “It’s called… MySpace, I think? Something like that?”

“Huh.” Hawkins gave her a sharp nod. “I might just try that. Thanks.”

Jake shifted his beer bottle along the bar a little, considering Hawkins thoughtfully. “You know, there’s an internet cafe just down the street from my place. Maybe we could swing by there in a while and you could check it out?” And maybe Jake would be able to reply to Heather’s letter today after all, if only with something short.

oOo

The internet cafe had proved a success, with Hawkins managing to track Alison down on MySpace and Jake finding time to send a quick email to Heather. However, over the following weeks, once Jake and Heather had started emailing each other regularly, Jake had quickly realized that using the cafe was going to drive him a little crazy: he could only make it there a few times a week to see if Heather had replied, and he never felt like he had enough time to re-read her messages or compose his own responses. Not to mention it had been costing him quite a bit to spend so much time there. So he’d splashed out on a laptop, reasoning that it would prove cheaper in the long run, even if it did eat into the money he’d begun saving toward the flight school. Besides, he’d need a computer to get the business off the ground, wouldn’t he?

Now, on a Saturday afternoon at the beginning of March, he sat staring impatiently at the laptop screen while it slowly booted, his heart racing a little in anticipation of the new email from Heather that he hoped was waiting for him. His frown changed to a grin when he saw there was a new email from her: she’d told him she’d gotten into the habit over the last couple of months of stopping by the Cyberjolt Cafe on Saturday mornings, after she’d done her grocery shopping at Gracie’s. He’d learned to keep himself busy until lunchtime so he wouldn’t sit obsessively checking for her reply until it arrived. There was also an email from his mom—she and Dad were halfway through their six-week trip to Europe; somewhere in Italy at the moment, he thought—but he ignored that for the present.

Today’s email from Heather was typical: fairly short and a little hurried-sounding, mostly answering his questions—yes, the part for Charlotte’s gearbox arrived, finally!—and letting him know she’d gotten his last letter in the mail and would send him a proper reply soon. As she often did, she told him a bit about what her class had been studying that week and recounted a funny anecdote about something that had happened. Sometimes she would also provide snippets of gossip about things that had happened outside school; this time, all she said was that Mrs Leigh was fit to burst with something Mrs Olsen had told her about your brother and April, but I said I had to get along….

Jake drew in a deep breath, appreciating Heather’s tactfulness in letting him know there was gossip while neither encouraging it nor foisting it on him. Eric and April had agreed to separate on a trial basis in the middle of January: Eric had moved back in with their parents, while April remained in their house near the East Woods. Jake had heard all about it from his mother, of course, when it first happened. He’d also spoken to his brother once, after Eric had picked up the phone when Jake had been calling his parents. Eric had told him that things had actually improved since he’d moved out: he was no longer a constant disappointment to April, no longer mentally somewhere else most of the time when he was with her. And though the town had gossiped, as it always did about everything, and more than a few people had been a little chilly toward him, people had largely taken it in their stride.

“And that other thing,” Eric had added hastily. “It’s over, for now. I apologized for the hurt, for handling things the way I did. Said I needed to get my head straight and it wasn’t right of me to go on hurting her and—oh, here’s Mom.” With that, he’d handed the phone over, but Jake had understood that Eric had made some kind of peace with Mary and hadn’t gone running straight from April to be with her.

Jake made a mental note to ask Heather to write him what was being said about Eric, if that wouldn’t make her uncomfortable. He also needed to figure out how to find out, without scaring her off, whether she’d be willing to move away from Jericho, to follow him wherever his own business eventually took him. While he’d already ruled out Jericho as too small, he’d come to the conclusion since Christmas that he didn’t much want to stay in San Diego either, despite the contacts he’d developed at the airfield. He liked the anonymity of passing people on the street who didn’t know who he was or what he’d done—and didn’t care—but the flipside was that it was a lonely place, and the friendliness in shops and diners and bars was forced and automatic. He hated the traffic, too, and the way the place sprawled on forever as you crawled nose-to-tail along packed roads. It might be a better city to live in than most other big cities, but it wasn’t somewhere he wanted to raise a family and build a life. He missed having horses and the wide open skies above him and driving along empty roads with only the occasional car coming the other way. He guessed it had taken going out into the world and being even more miserable out there to make him appreciate the good parts of home.

It occurred to him that he should write about all that—not just about San Diego but also the other cities he flew to, and what he liked and what he didn’t—and see if he could get Heather talking about it too, about big cities and small towns and whether she wanted to stay in Jericho for a few years or her whole life. After all, even Wichita, from what he knew of the place, was circled by a half dozen smaller towns the size of New Bern or Emporia: plenty close enough to get to an airfield without needing to live in the hustle and bustle of the city itself.

He re-read Heather’s email, trying this time to decipher what she wasn’t saying or only half-saying. She sounded happy to be writing him, pleased to be hearing from him, amused by his anecdotes. Was it enough to make her fall in love with him? The kisses they’d shared had seemed proof enough at the time that the attraction that had existed between them in that other life was still present in this one. And goodness knows, he’d somehow done enough before, without making any real effort, that she’d thrown herself at him on Main Street—and then still gone on loving him, without any real hope of return, after he’d ignored her and even gotten back with Emily. He suspected his own misery and uncertainty now was simply the universe justifiably paying him back for what he’d put her through before.

What was it he’d said to his mom at Christmas? That they’d figure it out if it was meant to be? He had to believe, from the way the universe had thrown them back together, that she was his destiny and he was hers. That surely had to be the truth of it. He just needed to not scare her away before she decided that as well.

Grabbing himself a beer from the fridge, he opening up a new blank document and began pecking away at the keys, slowly getting his thoughts down, with much changing of his mind and backspacing. Not forgetting, when he was done, to read the whole thing over and check he hadn’t let slip something he shouldn’t already know….

oOo

“Green house. Johnston speaking.” His father’s gruff tones were a little unexpected; Jake had been expecting his mother to pick up the phone. His parents had gotten back from Europe two weeks earlier, and he’d dropped back into the familiar pattern of calling them late Sunday afternoons. Not that he minded a chance to speak to his father—and how things had changed for that to be the case!

Making the mental adjustment that he’d likely have to do more talking and less listening, Jake said, “Hey, Dad. It’s Jake.”

“Hello, son.” As if he knew what Jake had been thinking, his father added, “Your mom’s not back yet. Still over at April’s.”

Jake frowned as he settled himself in a chair. “Is everything all right?” April had experienced some complications—something to do with the way the baby was lying or growing—but her physician had caught it early and she was getting the best care. There shouldn’t be a repeat of what had happened last time.

“Everything’s fine. Least, as far as I know.” Jake could almost hear his father shaking his head. “They never tell me anything. There was some nonsense about going to New Bern to buy maternity clothes, I think.”

“Ah.” Jake wasn’t surprised his father had kept well out of that. “So, how did you enjoy Europe?” He hadn’t spoken to his father since the vacation.

“All the better for being back home.” His father didn’t sound like he really meant it. “Your mom enjoyed herself, though. Still fussing over all the photos she took. Although I’ll give those French and Italian guys their due: they sure know how to cook.”

Jake laughed, suspecting any photo album his dad put together would likely consist of pictures of plates of pasta and filet mignon.

There was a moment’s silence before his father asked, “So how are things with you?”

Jake scrubbed a hand across his hair “Same as usual, I guess. Work’s still good.”

“Not been fired yet, huh?” His father chuckled—and that was different, too. Once there’d been real bite in comments like that: too close to the truth to be funny. “How’re the plans for the flight school coming along?”

“Slowly.” Jake puffed out a breath. “There was a business came up for sale at the airfield just the other week, so I guess there’s opportunities out there. But I’ll need a few more months of savings before I’d be anywhere near being able to put in a bid for something like that.” More than a few months, to be honest, even though Jake was doing his best to save every cent he could.

“Hmm.” His father was silent again for a few seconds, before he drew in a breath that was audible even down the phone line. “You know, if something like that comes up, your mom and I could help you get the money together.”

“What?” Jake sat up straighter, startled by the offer. While he’d thought he’d re-built some of his dad’s faith, he’d never expected to hear anything like that.

“Well, I’d hate for you to pass up a good thing….” His father sounded almost as uncomfortable making the offer as Jake was hearing it, and yet it clearly wasn’t a mistake.

“I—.” Jake swallowed, struggling to frame a reply. “Thanks, Dad. But, umm, I’m not really looking to stay in San Diego.” He’d more been interested in seeing that businesses did come up for sale from time to time, and what they cost; it’d be a lot easier to take over an established school—as long as it wasn’t half-run into the ground—than start something from scratch, even if it might take a little more cash upfront.

“You’re not, huh?” He could hear his father’s surprise.

“Not really.” Jake shrugged. “I was thinking maybe of coming back to Kansas. Wichita or Topeka.” Stringing together various hints and comments in Heather’s emails had confirmed his suspicion that she’d hate big city life even more than he did, but that she’d be willing to settle in another small town somewhere else in the state. “And anyway,” he hurried on, because that wasn’t the only reason he’d rejected the business in San Diego after taking a quick look at it, “it wasn’t a good fit in a lot of ways.”

“Well, I guess you know best what you’re looking for.” His father almost sounded disappointed he couldn’t invest in Jake’s future.

“Yeah. And, Dad…?” Now that Jake had overcome his surprise and gotten his thoughts together a little better, he realized he needed to make something clear. “I appreciate the offer. I really do. It means a lot to me that you’d—.” He struggled to find the right words. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. But… I reckon this is something I need to do myself. Even if it takes me longer.”

There was silence from his father, long enough that Jake began to worry he’d taken the rejection of his tentative overture a little too hard. Jake knew it must have cost him something to make the offer, after all that had happened between them. But, Jake reminded himself, his father often took a while to reply, weighing his words. Jake had been misinterpreting that and jumping to the wrong conclusions about it his whole life—and that had been one of the reasons there’d been so much friction between them in the past. Things had gone much better ever since Jake had understood that and learned to wait to hear his father out.

His father cleared his throat. “I can respect that. Man needs to stand on his own two feet.”

Jake breathed out, a sense of relief sweeping over him. His father still sounded a little disappointed that Jake didn’t want his help, but there was also respect mixed in there. Before he could say anything, though, his father said hurriedly, “Oh, here’s your mother.” His voice grew distant, indicating he must be holding the receiver away from him. “Gail, sweetheart, it’s Jake.”

In the seconds before his mother came on the line and swept him up in her chatter, Jake wished he’d had a chance to thank his father again, to say all the things that remained unsaid between them. But he reckoned he’d only embarrass the old man if he tried—and that his father already knew.

oOo

The chilly April wind was stirring up sand devils on the boardwalk as Jake hurried into the beach bar, trying to spot Freddy as he pushed his way through the crowd. There’d been a half-garbled message on his cellphone when he’d landed at Montgomery Field a little earlier, but he’d understood it well enough to know Freddy would be at the bar—and that he wanted Jake to come and help him wet the baby’s head: Anna had given birth that morning, and all was well.

He caught a glimpse of Freddy behind the bar, handing over a pitcher of beer to a customer. Freddy must have seen him a moment later, because he waved in Jake’s direction, and then headed along the bar. Jake changed tack. They met a moment later, Jake slapping Freddy on the back as Freddy pulled him into a hug.

“Congratulations.” Jake pulled back and, still with his hands on Freddy’s shoulders, raised his eyebrows. “Everything went okay?”

“Yeah, they’re both doing great.” Freddy looked like he’d never be able to wipe the grin off his face. “She’s— she’s just perfect, Jake.”

Jake knew he meant the baby, though he reckoned Freddy probably meant Anna too. He was filled with a sense of satisfaction as he watched Freddy wave to one of the other bartenders to bring them some beers. It had never sat well with him that he’d let Anna get on that bus to Houston alone. He’d tried hard to convince himself that he’d done what Freddy had asked, as best he could at the time: getting her out of San Diego, giving her the money from Ravenwood, and getting the hell out of her life and whatever trouble he might still be dragging behind himself. Yet a part of him had simply wanted to get away from her, from being reminded, every time he looked at her, that Freddy was dead and that it was his fault. After the bombs had gone off, he’d tried not to think about her at all, likely stranded somewhere in Texas, without friends or family….

It was moments like this—seeing Freddy’s proud grin and knowing Anna had given birth somewhere safe, with people around her who care about her to support her—that confirmed that leaving Heather behind in that other world had been the right choice. Maybe even made it bearable. Especially as things seemed to be progressing well with the Heather in this world.

Freddy handed Jake his beer and clinked bottles with him. “Let’s party, man!”

Jake hoisted his bottle. “To—you picked a name yet?” Though Anna and Freddy had revealed they were most likely expecting a girl, they’d been tight lipped about what they were going to call her.

Freddy nodded. If anything, his grin grew wider. “Miranda.”

“To Anna and Miranda.” Jake completed the toast. He took another look round the bar, thinking that the place also seemed to be thriving. In fact, it was pretty lively for a Thursday night. A worrying thought crossed his mind. He turning back to Freddy, who was quietly beaming to himself. “You didn’t offer free drinks all round, did you?”

“What?” Freddy gave him a startled look, before laughing and punching Jake on the arm. “No way man. I may be dumb but I’m not that dumb. Anna’d kill me.” His expression turned more serious. “You’ll be godfather, right?”

Jake hesitated, wondering if he was really the right person to ask: he wasn’t Catholic or even particularly religious.

Freddy’s face fell a little. “I know you’re going to be a real uncle soon, but I thought—.”

“Freddy, I’d be honored.” Jake reached out and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “I just wasn’t sure I was the right person….”

“You’re always the right person, Jake.” Freddy’s voice dropped a little as he added, “I know that if anything happened to me, you’d take care of Anna and the baby. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Yeah.” Jake drew in a deep breath, pushing away the memory of the last time Freddy had asked him that, while his life bubbled away from the gunshot wound in his stomach.

One of the other bartenders called Freddy’s name. He gave Jake a rueful grin. “Duty calls. You’ll stick around? Celebrate properly later?”

“Sure.”

Jake leaned on the bar, watching as Freddy went back to work. He hoped he’d be celebrating just as hard in another two months when April had her baby: another child that was going to have a better life than in that other world, even if its parents were still separated. And, according to his mom, apparently getting on better now than they had for a long while.

He'd be back to see for himself in August: he’d booked a week’s vacation, planning to inspect his new niece or nephew, get the cropduster ready to sell—and see Heather again. See if all the emails and letters they’d exchanged had worked on her the way they’d worked on him: making him fall even more deeply in love with her as he got to know her better. See if he’d get his happy ending too.

oOo


Jake folded back the newspaper and tilted it to catch the dim light in the corner of the hotel bar in Georgetown. The first stages of various trials relating to the bomb plot, to Ravenwood’s weapons smuggling, and to the kickbacks that had been paid out by J&R to various government officials both inside and outside the US, had all begun during the last couple of weeks, as April turned into May. The courts were mostly occupied at this point with technical arguments or preliminary hearings, so the newspapers were largely rehashing the stories that had come out back in September and October. However, the occasional new snippet of information was emerging.

Today’s paper was picking over a few details that had emerged in court during the previous day about the covert CIA team which had helped expose the bomb plot. The front page showed photographs of the defendants entering or leaving the court building: Tomarchio, still protesting his innocence and claiming he had no idea anyone was planning to make him ‘President’ after the bombs went off, looking even waxier and more unhealthy than Jake remembered; Valente, a smug smirk on his plump face, as if he believed he was still untouchable.

“Catching up?”

Jake looked up, startled to find Hawkins looming over him. He huffed a laugh to himself: looked like he was finally losing some of the wariness he’d gathered in the year only he had lived through. Or Hawkins really just was very good at sneaking around. He nodded at the paper as he put it down on the table. “You going to be giving evidence?”

“At some point, yes.” Hawkins spoke abruptly, looking toward the waitress who was making her way over toward them, and then back at Jake. Jake got the message and kept silent until after the woman had taken their order and left.

“Everything okay with you? Nobody been bothering you?” Hawkins was still keeping an eye on the waitress, watching for her return.

“No. I’m good.” Jake was grateful that, because Hawkins wouldn’t ever be able to properly explain to his superiors exactly how Jake had come by his information, he’d concocted a story that had kept Jake out of the investigation entirely once they got past those first few days when he and Jake frantically worked to put a stop to the bombs. At the end of it, before Jake had flown back to San Diego, he’d signed some carefully worded statements—and that had been it. There’d been plenty of other, more convincing evidence that had come to light once the initial arrests had been made.

When the waitress had brought their drinks and gone again, Jake said, “How about you? You’re looking a bit better than last time I saw you.” Which had been back in January; Hawkins had, mercifully, flown back to DC after just forty-eight hours, looking a little more together. Now he looked almost back to his usual self.

“Yeah.” Hawkins gave one of his wry sniffs. “I appreciate what you did, Jake.”

Jake shrugged. “Beats dragging you into the back of an ambulance with a gunshot wound and then trying to avoid getting shot down while crossing into Texan airspace,” he pointed out dryly.

Hawkins’ lips twitched. “I guess it does.”

“So how are things going? With the family?” Jake wasn’t sure he’d get much of an answer, but he reckoned Hawkins owed him something.

The other man shrugged. Picking up his coffee, he blew on it to cool it, before taking a sip. “They seem okay. From what Alison says to her friends on that… MySpace thing.” He flapped a hand. “Sam’s doing well in school; Alison’s gotten herself a boyfriend.”

Hawkins’ face darkened as he mentioned the last fact and Jake took a moment to pity whatever unfortunate kid chose to date the girl. He suspected “overprotective father” didn’t even begin to cover it where Hawkins was concerned.

Hawkins set his cup back down, leaning forward, his hands resting on his knees, not looking at Jake. “Alison also said she’d tried talking to her mom about seeing me again. Said Darcy told her no.” He briefly scrubbed a hand across his face. “Said I’d only disappear off again, whenever the government decided it needed me. That I cared more about the job than I did about them.”

“You can’t explain?” Jake could sympathize, because it wasn’t as if he could explain parts of his life to Heather, but what Hawkins had been doing had been a little less fantastical than that.

Hawkins shook his head. “Confidentiality clauses,” he pointed out. “Besides, I already told her once that I quit. That I wasn’t going undercover again and that they’d promised they wouldn’t ask. And then—.” A snort escaped him. “How do you say no when someone tells you they need you to help them track down a rogue nuclear warhead that’s going to be used to take out 25 American cities?”

“You don’t.” Jake gave an understanding grimace. In a way, there’d never been a moment when he wasn’t going to accept Bill’s—Gabriel’s—offer to send him back to prevent the attacks. It had just taken his heart a while to catch up with his head. “But she wouldn’t trust you to mean it this time? If you made the same promise?”

Hawkins nodded. “I don’t really blame her.”

Something about his body language, about the way he spoke made Jake think he was going to say more. Jake waited, giving the other man the space to speak. He knew this kind of talk didn’t come easily to Hawkins.

At last, Hawkins drew in a deep breath and then let it go. “Alison said… she said Darcy’d been seeing this guy. Doug his name was. That she’d introduced him to the kids. But she broke it off end of January. And then Alison caught her looking through some old photo albums. From back when we were at college together. When we got married….”

Jake raised his eyebrows. “You think she does want you back?”

Hawkins sat up straight again, a rueful expression in his face. “I think it doesn’t matter what she wants or feels. She’s just never gonna trust me again. Not sure if I trust me. If they asked me to do the same again. If the stakes were as high…. What else can you say to something like that?”

oOo

Jake glanced again at the half dozen baby photographs spread on the table next to his laptop, before turning back to the email he was writing to Heather. Good thing he takes more after April than Eric! Can’t wait to see him when I visit in August. Can’t wait to see you again, either. Hope we can—.

The buzz from his cellphone pulled Jake from what he’d been about to say next. Still with his eyes on the screen, he scrabbled for the phone, before peering at the display. He forgot the email completely as he saw Hawkins’ name appear. His mouth went dry and his heart began to beat faster. Though at least Hawkins was phoning him—and not turning up outside Jake’s door with a gun in his hand. Which had seemed all too likely after the last time he’d called.

That time, the call had punctured the sense of quiet satisfaction Jake had been feeling as he watched the evening news while preparing dinner: seemed like half the report was devoted to The Man Who Stopped The Bombs, as the ticker across the bottom of the image so vividly put it. The story had broken in the San Diego Union Tribune that morning—Jake’s copy of the paper was spread out across the end of his bed—but it had gone national now. Hawkins’ face looked up from the page and stared back at him from the TV screen.

Jake had answered the phone without checking first who was calling. Though ignoring Hawkins would probably have been a worse mistake. “Jake Green.”

“Dammit, Jake! Are you completely insane?”

Jake’s smile slipped as he heard the anger in Hawkins’ voice. “Probably.”

“Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused?” Jake could almost hear Hawkins pacing up and down.

“Me? What did I do?” Jake tried to sound innocent, though he suspected Hawkins wouldn’t buy it. He was right.

“Come on, Jake.” Hawkins snorted. “A paper in San Diego blows my cover? You could at least have tried to hide your tracks and gone to the LA Times.”

Jake wasn’t sure that would have helped much. There weren’t many other people who knew Hawkins’ secret, and none of them would want his covert work exposed. Besides, going to one of the reporters who sometimes put in an appearance at the airfield when they were chasing stories about celebrities and tycoons had seemed the simplest route: the easiest way to being believed and not finding himself simply dismissed as some conspiracy nut. Trying to find the guy from the Modesto Bee—the one he’d met in that other life, during Tomarchio’s trip to Jericho, and helped put in a body bag—and then explaining why Jake had picked him, and what he knew, would have just proved he was crazy.

Still, Jake wasn’t about to admit anything to Hawkins. “The story on the news? Is that where that came from?”

Hawkins snorted again. “Right. Well, you’ll just have to hope that reporter doesn’t cave and hand over your name during the investigation into the leak. Outing an undercover operative is serious business.”

“Uh-huh.” Jake hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time, but there’d been a trial earlier in the year that was something to do with a diplomat’s wife who’d been outed. Valerie something. It was what had put the idea into Jake’s head. He cleared his throat. “Guess it’s pretty serious for you, too? You won’t be able to go undercover again. Not now your face is all over the news. Darcy might be pleased about that. Come to think of it, I guess she might quite like finding out what it is you’ve been doing as well.”

There was a long silence from Hawkins. Finally he said, “Just be glad I’m the other side of the country and they’ve got me locked down in a safe house.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

The media furore had died down after a couple of days, but Jake had spent the next week wondering if he’d wake up to discover Hawkins in his apartment, about to break his neck. Or if he’d find himself being run off the road on the way home from the airfield, or his brakes cut. As time went on, he’d slowly begun to relax, reckoning that if Hawkins had been going to turn him in or exact revenge, he would have done so by now. The reporter, too, had steadfastly refused to name his sources.

Now here was Hawkins calling again. Reluctantly, Jake answered. “Hawkins?”

“Jake.” To Jake’s surprise, Hawkins didn’t launch into one of tirades but hesitated. Then, even more surprisingly, he said, “I guess I owe you an apology. And a thank you.”

“You do?” Jake raised his eyebrows, wondering what had brought on such an unexpected change of heart.

“Yeah.” He heard Hawkins draw in a breath. “The papers tracked down Darcy and the kids, started hounding them. My bosses swooped in, got them out and… I suggested taking them out to Jericho, until things quieted down. I’ve still got a house there, you know? Anyway, Darcy was mad as hell, but she calmed down after a while and…. Well, I guess she believes me now when I say I’m not going undercover again.”

Jake grinned to himself, but he tried not to sound too smug as he asked, “She’s forgiven you then?”

Hawkins laughed grimly. “I wouldn’t go that far. But… she’s letting me see the kids and she’s talking to me. It’s a start.”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.” Jake scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Word of advice? Talk back to her. Trust her. Tell her what you can. It’ll help, I promise.”

Hanging up the phone, Jake looked back at the email he was writing to Heather. He wished he could take his own advice where she was concerned. But he didn’t just have a secret life to conceal. He had a whole shared past with her that she didn’t share. And that wasn’t just something you weren’t supposed to talk about; it was something you simply couldn’t.

Part Three of "A Little Divided"