DISCLAIMER: JERICHO is copyright © by Junction Productions and CBS/Paramount productions, 2006-7. All rights to the characters in JERICHO belongs to the above. This is not meant to infringe upon rights held by others than myself. Comments are welcome.
DON'T YOU DARE...
Gail stands in the open arch between the dining room and kitchen of Stanley's house, eyes riveted on the wooden table. On it lies a man she pledged herself to in front of the altar many years ago. There is blood on his plaid shirt, on the towels, on the floor. The runner who came fetched her from the Medical Center only said Johnston was wounded before hurrying her into the Miller's old Nova. Questions were met with a shake of his head; he knew no details, just saying she should hurry. The kid follows orders, nothing more. On the ride to Stanley's farm, Gail plans what to do, how she will react. She is a trained nurse, and since September she's seen more than her share of tragedy. Even this isn't totally unexpected; Jericho is at war, after all, and her husband isn't the kind of man who sends others to do his bidding. He's right there on the front lines with them, placing himself in harm's way as one of them. Gail just needs to figure out how to handle herself, because this is the moment that will make or break her sons. She has to be strong for Eric, for Jake.
But, there's something about seeing a man with whom you've spent the past forty years with lying on a table covered in blood that makes a woman's heart stop. She remembers none of her well-rehearsed reactions, forget all the reassuring words for her sons. Life slows down, like in a movie running at half-speed. Everything and everyone around the kitchen table fades into the background. Voices are soft, muffled as composure flees at the sight of that pale, lifeless body whose eyes are ominously closed.
Damn it, I can't be too late! Johnston, don't you dare do this to me.
It takes a moment for Gail to work up the courage to cross the room, to approach the blood-stained table and look down at her husband's face. He looks to be sleeping. Like when he pretends to doze off watching television, expecting her to tease him into waking. She can almost t see the twitch of his lips, that little crinkle at the corner of his eyes. They've been together so long, sharing hopes and dreams, all the ups and downs of a marriage. The good times, and the not-so-good times. The early years Gail kissed him and sent him to that horrid war in Vietnam, then watched the nightly news hoping to catch a glimpse of him, and praying she wouldn't. The arguments, the separation. Not even the rough times kept them apart for long. She is his wife, his partner—until death do us part.
She's borne him two sons, and together they tended skinned knees, went to PTA meetings, ferried their boys to pee-wee football. Johnston taught them how to be men, but it was her job to make sure Jake and Eric understood the quality of mercy, of kindness. They watched their boys grow up, leave home, find their own lives, their own loves. She was with Johnston when he buried first a beloved mother, then father. More recently, burying a daughter-in-law and their first grandchild. Sometimes Gail thinks she knows Johnston better than she knows herself. She's loved him for all his strengths, and for his weaknesses. In spite of his flaws, in spite of that stubborn pride. She learned early on when to push him, and when to give him his own space.
Dammit, Johnston, you stop this. Get up off that table!
Gail steps up to the table, now, looking down at Johnston's pallid face. All the years disappear and she's 18 again, working at the brand new Jericho Medical Center. It's the summer before she heads to nursing school. Johnston's 20, home on leave from the Army. Such a handsome devil, cutting a swath through all the girls in western Kansas. He can have any of them he wants, and he knows it. Gail doesn't know how she caught his eye—she certainly didn't buy into that cock-of-the-walk, tall-hog-at-the-trough act of his!—but she's the one he chose. There are misgivings; from her father, from his mother. The formidable Stella Green was set on one Miss Dorothy Frederickson as a daughter-in-law, and she didn't make those early years easy for Gail and Johnston. She never truly accepted Gail, but somehow they managed, and here they are, still married forty years later.
He's so still. Too still. Gail reaches out, takes his hand. His skin is so cool to the touch, and there's no answering movement. No life. She's only vaguely aware of eyes watching her, of people murmuring softly, shifting quietly from foot to foot as heavy emotions fill the Richmond kitchen. Johnston's eyes are closed, and he looks too peaceful for sleep. The practical nurse side of Gail knows this isn't a nap. He isn't going to wake up and smile at her. Not as if she hasn't seen enough death in recent months. From the number of bleeding, wounded people she sees in her peripheral vision—this probably won't the last.
Damn it, Johnston, wake up! You can't be dead.
But Gail knows better than to cling to false hopes. There's no life in that beloved body, and his face is washed by the shadow of Death. She closes her eyes, leans forward, puts her head on his bloodied chest. She finds his left hand, feels the coldness of the ring she put on his finger in a war-time spring. There is no warmth there, the fingers are unresponsive, stiffening as the silent minutes lengthen. Her arms go around body of a man she's known and loved in sickness and in health since the instant he kissed her in front of that altar. There is nothing left of him, now. Her husband, that "never give up, do or die" man she married against his mother's wishes, is gone.
The scent of his blood fills her nostrils, and Gail feels the sting of unshed tears burning behind her eyes. She once imagined life without Johnston Green, but that was when he went to war, leaving his scared bride behind. He came home, and between that time and this, Gail forgot the fear. Not even when he was so recently sick, when Jake and Eric risked everything to save their father—there was no thought of him dying. Gail has never given serious thought of what it will be not to wake up beside him. Now, she has no choice, and the tears mingle with the blood on his chest.