Disclaimer: I do not own Jericho; the show and all recognizable characters belong to their perspective creators.
Summary: Fill-in, missing scene one-shot for the episode, "The Day Before," from the first season. When Gail answers the phone and it's Jake, the look on her face was priceless. This is just my musing about their conversation. Spoilers for "The Day Before."
You Can't Go Home Again by Hedanicree
Jake stared at the payphone. He hesitantly reached for the black receiver, picking it up only to replace it quickly. His hands shook from nerves and fatigue. He tossed one through his hair, and then filled his lungs with a gulp of air. He didn't have the right to make this call, to ask his parents what he needed to, not after everything.
It had been five years since he had last seen or spoken to them. He had run out the night Chris' died. It hadn't been his original intent. He had only meant to go for a drive, to clear his head before he faced Jonah's wrath. However, the guilt over not being there for Emily's kid brother, the hurt over losing her because of his involvement, and the look on Johnston's face when his son's status as a screw up had been reaffirmed had been too much. He needed to escape the past to build a future, and so he had kept driving. He followed the road with the hope that wherever it took him, he'd find a way to become the man who would make his father proud.
'So much for that.'
Jake was still a screw up, to the tenth, even hundredth power. Freddie had died because of him, or so he saw it that way. In his eyes, the past twelve hours had been Chris and Jericho all over again. His best friend and Ana had been willing to run with him to escape the government's strong-handed tactics to get him to testify, as well as to escape from what Ravenwood would do to them if they discovered Jake's predicament. The mercenaries had found out, Freddie had died, and Jake hadn't even paused to think as he dragged Ana to the bus station and caught the next bus to Albuquerque. She was bound for her family in Houston, and he was bound for … But was he even welcome after five years? He was certain the old adage, 'You can't go home again,' applied in his case.
Jake took another shaky breath. He had been dancing around this particular phone call for at least a half hour, and he only had a half hour before the next train for Denver departed. There was no way he was just going to show up in Jericho without advance warning. He preferred to know what he was walking into, and that stubborn desire to keep his life in control ultimately settled the war within.
He picked up the receiver and pinned it between his ear and his shoulder. The palm of his left hand pressed against the wall to give him not only physical, but mental support; his right hand inserted a few quarters before he punched in the number he had memorized at age four.
It was 6:30 a.m. in Jericho. He thought of that fact as the phone started to ring. One ring and then he couldn't hear anything else — only the silence of the line and the steady noise of passersby behind him. "Hello," he said softly, hesitantly. He still had no idea what he was going to say. "Hello," he tried again with greater volume, wondering if the phone worked. "Is anyone there? … Hello."
"Jake?" his mother's voice finally responded, cracking in a way that he was sure she was about to cry. How many times did he have to make her cry? Her tears were just as bad as any of his father's looks, more so because he had never doubted her love.
He shifted the phone into his right hand and gripped it tightly. He wanted to hang up now, forget the idea of returning to them and keep moving. The sound of her voice made that route near impossible; he would just hurt her even more. "Yeah," he whispered. He closed his eyes, fighting back tears.
Her voice shuddered, and the sound felt like a knife to the gut. "Where are you, honey?" She always knew how to say things to make him confess, confide or whatever the situation needed. It was in her tone, her very demeanor. His father did nothing but lecture; Jake had spent the bulk of his life running from Johnston Green's disapproval. He was grateful the matriarch had answered; he always could talk to her.
"On my way home," he countered, and then braced for the rebuke that would put him on a different course.
"When?" Her gentle voice solidified his choice to brave his family. He was not a coward, but bad blood still flowed between father and son.
"This afternoon, but only for few hours. I have to be back in San Diego." He wasn't headed back to San Diego, at least not anytime soon, but she didn't need to know that. He was running again, the thing he did best, and it would only break her heart to know he was still the screw up, the person he had tried to leave behind in Jericho.
"What's in San Diego?" Clearly, his mother was full of questions, and she deserved answers — even if he wasn't sure he could give them.
"I've been living there for awhile." Technically, he had lived there for five years, but he had spent so much time abroad, he had never felt like a resident. He bristled over the half-truth. He clenched his fist, smacking the wall with the side of his balled fingers.
"Oh." Her voice cracked again, and she sniffled. Her pain twisted the knife, sending another surge of guilt through her eldest son. "Jake …"
"Please insert one dollar, twenty-five cents to continue," the automated voice interrupted.
"Just a second, Mom." He picked up enough change to keep the phone going. He didn't want to hang up, even if she was open to the idea of him visiting. The last conversation they had, she had tried to talk some sense into him, begged him even to cut ties with Jonah before things got out of hand. He had bailed on Chris and Mitchell, out of conscious, and in attempt to do the right thing, for himself, for her, for his family, for Emily. In his usual fashion, he botched his attempt to wipe the slate clean. "Sorry, I'm at a payphone."
"It's fine, honey. I'm just glad you called." Would she be so glad if she knew his reasons for coming home? Would she be pleased to know the only reason he had broken the silence was for money? No, not in the slightest, but he trusted her to understand that he needed it to patch his life back together now that it had come apart at the seams. He'd get to that though …
"How is everyone?" he asked nonchalantly, hoping to provide some idleness to the conversation before he had to reach the apex of thoughts on his mind.
"Emily is teaching at the high school now." Leave it to his mother to start with the love of his life. "Eric's working at City Hall; April took a job at the medical center. Your father is in the middle of another election." She laughed. Election season really did say it all for the state of the Green house. It had been the same cycle for the better part of Jake's life. "And, I was just contemplating Europe — Paris to be exact."
Jake chuckled despite his current mental state. His mother had set many dreams aside for her family. She had been pestering his father to take her to Paris and Rome since his childhood. Johnston had always been too busy with some crisis and the affairs of the town. With grace, she had put such notions on the back burner in order to keep the family unit strong. His mother never ceased to amaze him. If he had been more like her, his life might have been different, and he wouldn't have brought the Green household down. He had been stupid, stubborn and arrogant … he was the black sheep in a field of white ones. It bothered him to no end. Despite it all, his mother never stopped loving him, and his grandfather, well the elder Green had encouraged more than a handful of Jake's escapades. He loved that old man.
"And grandpa?" he asked hopefully. He wondered if his grandfather would be angry with him for the way he blew out of town.
Gail's voice hitched. "Honey — Jake — I don't know how to tell you this, but — E.J., he died last summer." Her words struck him like a ton of bricks. The perpetual lump in his throat that formed when Freddie died the night before hardened until Jake felt like he'd never find air. He held his breath, trying to control the pain. There really were no words for his devastation; he should have been there. "I would have called you but … I'm sorry. I know how much you loved your grandfather." That was an understatement.
"How?" he finally squeezed past the lump in his throat.
"He was eighty-five-years-old. His body just gave out, dear." Wasn't that the story of life? You were born, you lived and you died. If the men who killed Freddie caught up to him, no doubt his parents would put him in the plot right next to the man who had been the moon, the stars and fifty suns combined. Morbidly, he wondered how many days he had left; he definitely didn't have years by the way his life was going.
'I shouldn't go home,' he thought as a sense of fear came over him. His troubles would only harm his family, but he was desperate, too desperate to heed the warning bells. "Mom, you know that I love you?" he prefaced. The call, going home may have been about money, but his love for his family was as strong as ever. He would get-in, get-out, and hopefully the men after him wouldn't be any wiser to it.
"Yes." He could almost see her reassuring smile, the light of her eyes, the expression he had always read as unconditional love for him. Her cadence made him think of it.
"Then please don't be angry with me." His voice remained even, yet sad. He loved them, beyond reason, without doubt, but he had never fit into the perfectly crafted world his father wanted for him.
"The only way I will be angry is if I don't see your face." Gail's voice took an edge, the way it always did when she was two seconds away from calling Johnston or any of her boys on the load of crap they were giving her. She had no issues speaking her mind, and would do so again if her son opted out of a visit now. It was one of the certainties of life Jake had learned early.
"You might be in a minute." He cleared his throat, pulling the receiver away as he did. He ran his left hand down his face and then through his hair. His shoulder pinned the phone once more as he spun to place his back against the wall. His arms crossed his chest. "I — I need dad's signature to access some of grandpa's money from my trust account," he said flatly.
"And that's the only reason you called." Her curt response twisted the metaphorical dagger deeper into his gut..
He took a shallow breath; it was all he could manage. "I need help, Mom." Absolutely forlorn, there was no missing his plea. "I've been trying to find work for the last six months, but I can't seem to find anything. I have a plan, but …" He sighed. "I need the cash for a clean start. I was hoping dad would … well, that he'd let me have access to some of my money to do it." The seconds ticked away into eternity, and for a moment, he was certain she had hung up — effectively ending any ideas of returning to Jericho. "Mom?" he finally said. His voice cracked slightly with fear. His family, at this point, was his only recourse.
Her contemplative sigh reached his ears, and again he could picture her light eyes gazing at him with love. "Jake, honey, if you want me to tell your father, I will. It might soften him up a bit."
"No," the thirty-two-year-old said sharply. "I don't want dad to know any more than I just need it for a clean start." Jake scoffed. "I'm already the biggest disappointment of his life … I'd really prefer not to provide him with any more ammunition in the form of my failures."
"Jacob." The sound of his full name still silenced the adult in the same way it had when he was a child — at least she hadn't added the Johnston Junior part. "If you explain things, I'm sure he'd understand. Give him some credit, please."
He processed her words, dismissing them in his stubbornness. To explain in full, to account for every moment of his five years away, he wouldn't make it past the first sentence without losing it. He still barely slept, barely ate, and couldn't control the shakes and the nightmares that stemmed from his experiences abroad. Should he even tell his mother? He wasn't proud of his time away. On the contrary, he had hoped it would prove his father wrong. Instead, it had been one disaster after another and he was even more screwed up than before.
He remained silent for a few more beats of his now racing heart. "I — I can't explain things, Mom." His voice cracked. "If I tell him why I'm unemployed, he'll want me to account for the four and half years I was employed, and I just — I just can't." The words were breathless. He squeezed his eyes closed, forcing away the tears.
"Can you tell me?" she pleaded and, at the same time, tried to reassure him. If he had been in front of her, she would have wrapped her arms around him. Of that, Jake was certain.
He considered the question, warring if he could tell her any of it. He knew he couldn't tell her all of it. Already images of the gun battles he had lived through and the faces of the dead flashed like a slideshow in his mind. He didn't want anyone to know the kinds of things he had lived through. The dead and the battles were only a fraction of it ... The scars of the flesh may have faded, but the scars of the mind and soul would stay with him for the rest of his existence. He choked on the next words. "Don't tell dad."
"You have my word, honey. Just, please, Jake, you're scaring me." The tremble in her voice was unmistakable.
Salty droplets slide down his haggard face. He was beyond exhausted, and thoughts of the past drained him even more. "I — I worked for a government contractor — overseas mostly."
"Any good exotic destinations?" she asked a bit hesitantly. The question was based in hope, more than actuality. Gail could read him like a book through his voice or through his behavior whenever something was bothering him. She could read him now; he knew it. There was no point in lying.
"Iraq," he choked out. His fist brushed away the tears. "Afghanistan before that." He separated the locations in his mind, compartmentalizing them as mere facts instead of horrors he had lived through. He shuddered as he inhaled. "And a few more places worse than hell." His entire body blanched, reacting to the hellish memories now on repeat.
"Jake!" He had scared her.
"Mom," he cut her off before she could reassure him. No amount of reassurance, love and understanding could erase the past five years or the twenty-seven before that in Jericho. He was a screw up. The fact was etched in stone and outlined with the invisible blood staining his hands from those who had died because of him. Chris was only the first … he wasn't the last. "I — I can't talk about it. Please …" he begged.
"All right, honey. All right," she soothed. "Just come home. I need to see you, to know you're all okay."
Her pleas did not fall on deaf ears. Leave it to his mother to forget the past in favor of the future. Gail had been good at that. She had patched the family back together so many times because of him; she had fought with more courage than any soldier to keep her family together, even as he destroyed it. But there wasn't resentment in her words, only the love that would help him get through the next twenty-four hours, perhaps the next few months. As of last night, he had no one, he had nothing, but at least now he had a scrap of hope.
"I should be there sometime this afternoon," he reassured her. There was no turning back. The prodigal son needed the Greens of Jericho. "Mom, I have to go."
"Okay. We'll see you soon." He cringed at the plural, not relishing facing his father.
"Bye, Mom. I love you." He reached for the switch to end the call.
"Jake!" his mother's cry caught him just in time.
"Mom?"
"Everything is going to be all right," she stated definitively. He smiled, fighting back tears again in the midst of her well-intentioned words. "I love you. No matter where you've been or what you've done. This will always be your home."
A small smile crested his lips. "I'll see you this afternoon." He clicked the receiver, holding it for moment as he contemplated her words. He knew he could never stay in Kansas, too much had happened. But at least in the midst of the current storm, he'd have his mother to keep him rooted and focused on what was to come. For a brief moment, his turbulent future seemed clear, and he knew that everything would work out — one way or another. He only hoped the vision would stand past his visit with Johnston Green, the man standing between him, his grandfather's money, and a future not filled with fire and brimstone.