This is my first Jericho fic and completely unbeta-ed, so forgive any mistakes. This is meant to be a companion piece to "Why We Fight". It's a missing scene, so there are obvious spoilers, following just after the Jake/Emily scene on the porch and Hawkins' call on the radio. Jericho isn't mine, any delusional desires aside. I'm just borrowing the characters, they'll be returned relatively unharmed.

Blood on the Door

Jake pulled away from Emily, "Head back to the East Road blockade. Tell them what happened to my—tell them what happened. Keep them calm, I'm sure half of them are skittish enough to want to go. And—"

She gently squeezed his arm, but did nothing more as she walked past him, "I've got it, Jake." She hesitated, then looked at him over her shoulder, "What are you going to do?"

Looking at her, he felt a sudden longing for Heather. He missed her, missed the fact that there was a clean slate between them, missed the fact that, despite knowing him for only a few months (or maybe because of it), she trusted him and had never second-guessed any of his actions. He sorely yearned for her companionship now, her unquestioning presence so unlike Emily's familiar scrutiny.

He shook his head, ignoring the headache that tears always brought, and tried to keep his mind clear of her. She was dead, like his father. He would have time to grieve for them later…or not at all, but now was not the time. "I'm going inside to check on my mom."

She left and he headed for the front door, pausing before it to notice for the first time the blood smear left on the edge. His heart wrenched. He loved this house, had practically grown up here when he was younger. He remembered almost every time he and Stanley had run through that door, racing for Mrs. Richmond's sweet honey cakes or away from the latest prank victim. He remembered sneaking in and sneaking out and only sometimes being caught. God, he loved this house, but right now, he was moved to sorrow for Stanley's sake.

His hand paused before it touched the doorknob, then fell back to his side as he thought back to, was it only a few months ago? The coming of Ravenwood, and his friend's adamant insistence on staying. Because this place housed all of the memories he had had of his parents, before the accident; because this was where he raised Bonnie, almost all by himself. He recognized the change that Mimi had brought to his old friend, the acknowledgement that the memories were in the people, more than the places, but he knew, too, that Stanley would always love this house.

He touched the smear of red, so out of place. His father's blood. Not only on the door, but splashed across the Richmond family dining table and puddled on the floor. He wondered if, when this was all over, Stanley would be able to come back, to love the house as he had before a man close enough to be family had perished in it.

Jake knew he couldn't, would never look at it the same way, and sorrowed for his friend's dearest memories.

With a deep breath, Jake pushed open the door. He had been there when it had happened, so why did it feel like he was so unprepared for the sight of his father's body? His eyes lowered, he walked to the kitchen. He stood silent for a moment, then swallowed thickly before looking up.

He found his mother standing beside the table where his father lay, his hand clasped solidly in her own. With her other hand, she was gently caressing his face. He swallowed again as tears filled his eyes. And before he knew it, he was standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and holding tightly. She turned and returned the desperate hug, still holding Johnston's hand.

They stayed that way for a few moments, comforting and taking comfort before they both pulled away. Jake looked at his mother, "He really loved you. He wanted me to say."

Gail Green chuckled and looked at her husband's face fondly, "I knew that, Johnston, you silly man." Her gaze softened, "And I love you too."

Jake caught a glimpse of his brother from the peripheral. He had grown up with Eric, and knew the man better than either of them would want to acknowledge. He was still surprised that neither April nor his parents had known about Mary Bailey. To Jake, Eric had always been so easy to read. Just as he was now. "Come here, little brother." It was a name that Jake had given up, both at his brother's insistence in those teen years past and because of the unarguable fact that the 'littler' of the two of them now seemed to be Jake. But, it was appropriate now, and he knew that Eric needed to hear it, just like he needed to come forward and be here.

Eric did so, at first hesitantly, but then almost rushing into his mother's arms as Jake had. Jake looked away to study his father. So often had he seen anger and disappointment in that face as a youth. It had been the disappointment that had rankled and hurt him the most, now and then. There had been love there, and joy and concern and humor. But, remembering the expression on Johnston's face as he died, and his last words to him, Jake wondered if, in the past months, he had missed seeing the approval and pride there too.

A tear burned a trail down his face. Months. That had been all he'd had with his father before he was taken away. In those final moments, there had been so little time, and Jake's heart was filled with regrets about all the unsaid things. There had always been love between them, and, more often since his return, a measure of understanding; but they had only begun to regain the lost camaraderie, the easy friendship they had once shared.

And Jake wondered if his father knew how proud he was to have been Johnston's son. He wondered if his dad would have been surprised. After all, the sentiment was not something he had commonly expressed in his last years at home. But he truly was. After being so far away from home and meeting all the types of people as he had, Jake had realized how lucky he was to have been raised a Green.

"Once day you'll become the man I know you can be, the man you were born to be." He recalled his father's words, almost six years ago, "And what a day that will be."

Back then, he had been unsure to be happy or angry at the statement. Happy that Johnston saw such potential in him or angry that he never could seem to fulfill that image of a perfect firstborn.

Now, he laid a hand on his father's chest, pushing down anguish and horror because it no longer rose and fell with breath, "Just half the man you were, Dad. I couldn't ask to be anything more." Before Jake pulled away, he felt something beneath his hand.

"That's yours now, Jake." Gail said, and Jake's gaze snapped to her, unaware that she had been watching him.

He shook his head, "Maybe Eric—"

"No." His younger brother said softly, looking at Jake with steady eyes, "Mom's right. You should be the one to have them."

Jake closed his eyes, unable to deny that he wanted them. He leaned closer to his father, not bothering to hide or hinder the flow of tears, "I love you, Dad."

"He knew that, too, Jake Green." His mother said, "Such silly men. Put it on. He would've wanted it."

Jake Green left the house bearing a weight that he would carry for the rest of his life. His father's dogtags, physically so light, seemed such a tangible presence where they rested above his heart. They clinked against the metal of his grandfather's tags, and his own, beneath the heavy shirt he wore. Yet the weight was not unpleasant; the solidity instead comfortable and familiar. Not a burden, but a reminder. And Jake would remember always.

End.

There's a scene in the episode, I don't remember where exactly, when they close the door to the Richmond's, and I noticed a smear of blood on the left hand side near the doorknob. The stark contrast between the homey colors and atmosphere of the house and the blood just really got to me. So, the title and a portion of this story is dedicated to that.

This isn't verbatim from the show. Sorry. If anyone has the exact quote, please tell me so I can fix it. Thanks.