Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Note: This is a companion piece to the story, "Newton's Third." It's not necessary for you to have read "Newton's Third" to understand the events here. This is more of a prequel.

Newton's First Law: "A body continues to maintain its state of rest or of uniform motion unless acted upon by an external unbalanced force."

Inertia

When the subject of Jake Green came up in Jericho, as it invariably did, there was some debate about him. Was he heroically daring or horrifically reckless? That would've depended on who was asked.

Mrs. McVeigh, Jake's fourth grade teacher, would have opted for horrifically reckless. She had never forgotten the sight of that nine-year-old boy using the top of the swing set on the playground of Jericho Elementary as a balance beam, how he'd encouraged Stanley Richmond to do the same, and the broken arm that had followed. Over two decades later, she could still see glimpses of that reckless boy in the man Jake had become. She'd not been at the Tacoma Bridge when Ravenwood was closing in on the town, but her husband Bob was. Bob had told his wife of Jake's standoff with the leader—along with how Jake nearly blew up the bridge and himself along with it.

If asked, Jimmy Taylor would have offered that Jake was heroically daring. That was even after having known him practically all his life and (embarrassingly) having arrested him on an occasion or two. "Say what you might about Jake and the trouble he used to get into, but he's done a lot for this town." Jimmy felt so strongly about this that he didn't truly protest when Jake—who had absolutely no experience with law enforcement unless breaking the law counted—was appointed sheriff.

Yet if anyone would have bothered to ask Jake himself, he probably would have had a smart ass comment about how folks needed a new hobby. Not likely in a small town like Jericho. Then he would have privately asserted that he was something else entirely: a creature of habit.

From the time Jake Green went away to Embry Riddle and made the occasional sojourns home during his college career to the times he ventured away on business for Jonah Prowse, he'd been in the habit of stopping at the Richmond Farm and buying a pie to take to his mother. Preferably strawberry rhubarb, though he would settle for whatever was on hand. In his mind, he'd equated the pie with a peace offering—not that baked goods could fully compensate for his absences.

So as Jake now walked on foot down the tree-lined country road that bordered the Richmond property, this excursion was as natural to him as breathing. It was what he did when he returned to Jericho. Of course, this wouldn't be like the other times when he came home. Then, he could always count on the hearty laughter of his best friend Stanley, the quiet smiles of Bonnie, and the cacophony of noises that were indigenous to the farm, from the barking of the old dog Arthur to the mooing of the cows and braying of the donkeys. Later on when he'd gone home, he could count on hugs from his mother that would have strangled a bear and a disagreement or two with his father.

Now Jake wasn't sure what he would find.

When he'd left Jericho with Robert Hawkins months ago, the town was in a state of chaos. The Army was bearing down on the townspeople, who let their feelings on the matter be heard in the form of riotous acts of vandalism against all things related to Jennings & Rall, as well as a complete lack of cooperation with the A.S. Army.

Jake had wanted to stand side-by-side with his family, with his friends, with his town. And yet if he remained, the likelihood that Hawkins would have been able to retrieve the "package" and deliver it to Texas on his own was nil. Time was running out. So when he left, Jake had little chance to say goodbye. A scrawled note to his mother and Emily, a quick conversation with his brother, and he was gone.

While in Texas, Jake had heard that things were different now. Beck mutinied against his commanding officers, as did those who served with Beck. The regiment that Beck headed remained in the area, protecting Jericho as a base of operations.

Rounding the turn in the road, Jake caught sight of the Richmond farm house. It looked as welcoming as his memories had painted it, but that sense of familiarity was also accompanied by a sense of loss. So much blood had been shed on this land, at this house. The house itself seemed impervious to the goings-on, exactly as he remembered it, and Jake trudged ahead. He would have to go back sometime, just as he heard that Stanley and Mimi had gone back.

There was no pie stand, no vegetable stand, either. It had been foolish to think there might be, he acknowledged. He made his way, his feet crunching in the gravel driveway, expecting at any moment to see Stanley come from the house and stand on the porch, as he often did when visitors arrived, or to see his friend come from the barn where the hay was stacked in bales next to it.

A slight smile started at the corners of his mouth as he remembered one of their many scrapes, the kinds of scrapes that only two boys looking for a short cut out of chores could find. Everything about this place brought back memories.

Flaming hay bales, scurrying pigs, and hornets' nests.

Nights spent camping and looking at dirty magazines.

Making out with dates in the Richmond barn and hiding when Mr. and Mrs. Richmond came to check out the noises.

Throwing an oversized blow-up ball with a tiny little girl who could not hear her own laughter but whose laughter he loved to hear.

Drinking and contemplating life and women.

Playing War.

Living war.

Watching his father die on the kitchen table.

Seeing the farm turned into a whistle-stop photo opportunity for Tomarchio.

Trying to keep it together as his friend cradled the body of his dead sister.

Stanley often talked about how this place was his parents' legacy for Bonnie and him, but in so many ways, Jake felt connected to this place, too.

Guilt washed over him. He should've been there for Stanley and helped him through the aftermath, but as usual, he had been gone. For good reason, this time, he reminded himself, but still gone. Always gone when he was needed.

He heard sounds of metal clanging and humming. That wasn't from his trip down memory lane, he realized, as he followed the sound. What he saw brought a smile to his face.

She was wearing a blue sundress and leaning over the open hood of his old car, humming what he recognized as "Born to Be Wild". He had to blink a couple of times to make sure he was actually seeing what his brain was registering. He imagined her as being so resolutely practical and expected her to be wearing grease-coated coveralls, but for her to be wearing a dress working on his car at the Richmond farm seemed almost like the punch line of a joke. A very attractive joke. She had extended her body, giving him an ample view of her gentle curves, the lean muscle of her calves, her shapely back. Still unaware of him, she stepped back from the car and began to sweet talk the vehicle. She looked ethereal, impossibly glowing in the sun. Her hair was pulled back into a careless ponytail, but tendrils had fallen against her slender neck, and he found himself wanting to wrap those tendrils around his fingers.

He stopped, unsure from where those thoughts had come. This was his friend. Nothing else. They had agreed upon that fact long ago. But at that moment, he thought he was seeing an angel.

An angel in a blue sundress tinkering with his car.

And just like that, he had a new memory of the Richmond Farm.

Heather Lisinski could feel the sun beating through the thin material of her sundress as she leaned over the hood of the 1969 Plymouth Road Runner-Jake's old car. Truth be told, she had felt much like Pavlov's dogs each time she saw it-from the moment Jonah Prowse drove it into town right before Halloween last year to the times that followed- and longed to tinker with it. Was there anything more perfect than a car whose standard engine was a 6.3 L V8 rated at 335 bhp and had 425 lb·ft of torque? The Road Runner had recently been returned from New Bern, towed behind Russell's truck, intended as some semblance of a peace offering after the New Bernies credited the citizens of Jericho with "breaking in" the military. Despite the peace offering, the battle with New Bern was still fresh in people's minds, especially considering that Jericho still bore visible reminders of that war, as well as the intangible reminders, like the loss of loved ones. Folks were suspicious when Russell came at first with the Road Runner as an offering. Bill Kohler had muttered something about Greeks bearing gifts, which completely surprised Heather that he was familiar with The Aeneid, until he referenced having seen a Trojan horse on an episode of Xena: Warrior Princess.

Finally, though, Heather had her chance to work on the car. Some of the vehicle's components had been pilfered when Jake had to abandon the car during his attempted rescue of Eric, and Heather had spent the better part of the previous day at the salvage yard that Dale Turner now operated as a side operation finding parts to restore the car to a drivable condition. Stanley had been nice enough to let her keep it out at his farm as she worked on it.

And work on it she had.

It was a way to pass the time. It was also a way to feel closer to Jake.

She wouldn't admit the last part to anyone. Come to think of it, she barely wanted to admit it to herself. What was the point? Last she heard, he was in Texas and would be there for—well, who knew how long? And even when he did return, it wasn't going to be to her. It would be to Emily.

When Heather had returned to Jericho after her New Bern escape, discovering that Jake and Emily had rekindled their relationship had been a bitter pill to swallow, but she had accepted it. More than anything, she wanted them to be happy. With things being as they were—so unsettled, dealing with the aftermath of the war with New Bern, the Army upon them, Ravenwood—people had to grab happiness where they could find it, and Jake and Emily, well, they had known each other since they were kids. It was only natural that they would look to each other.

But the one thing Heather wouldn't do was lie to herself. If she'd had her druthers, things would have turned out differently.

It was then that she heard crunching on the gravel of the driveway. With the back of her hand, she brushed a strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead as she turned around, expecting to see Stanley, who checked in on her between his own chores. But wait. Hadn't he and Mimi gone to town? She squinted against the sun, spotting the silhouette of a man carrying a bag, though it was difficult to make out exactly who he was with the sun angled as it was. What she could tell, however, was that it was not Stanley Richmond. Stanley was far burlier.

She reached behind her, feeling in her tool bag for something she could use to defend herself. Just in case. Her fingers clasped onto a wrench.

A hint of wry laughter accompanied the new arrival's words. "You gonna beat me with that, or are you gonna say hello?"

That voice.

"Jake!"

He stepped forward, blocking the sun now, and Heather's eyes finally focused on him.

The moments that followed were a blur. Heather wasn't sure how she came to be in his embrace—whether she had run into his arms or whether he had hurried to greet her. All she knew was that they clung to one another, laughter filling the air around them.

"When did you get back?" Heather asked finally pulling away and looking at him, though he clung to her hands. He had a full beard, and his hair was longer, but he looked none the worse for the wear. No, even travel-weary he looked better than 'none the worse for the wear,' she scolded herself. He looked ridiculously handsome, in a way that set her heart in a faster cadence, which prompted another silent scolding.

He grinned at her bemusement, answering, "Just now."

"I didn't hear a vehicle. What did you do? Walk all the way from Texas?" she teased.

"Probably look like it, but no. Was in a convoy, but I asked to be let out here. Old habit." He met her eyes, and his voice softened. "How have you been?"

"Fine."

"I heard—"he shuffled his feet, caught between wanting to know and wanting to remain ignorant. "I heard that Beck arrested you after I left. For your part in stealing the data from the notebook." His thoughts fell to the seventy-two excruciating hours that he had been in Beck's custody—the sleep deprivation, the beatings, the lack of water, the relentless questioning—and he desperately hoped that she had not been subjected to similar treatment. "Did he…did he hurt you?"

Heather shook her head emphatically. "No. He didn't. I'm fine, Jake. I promise."

But he looked unconvinced, and the self-recrimination in his expression, as well as in his voice, spoke volumes to Heather. "I shouldn't have put you in that position."

Heather swallowed hard. She had replayed those moments when Jake and Hawkins approached her, asking for her help. She had felt trapped then—trapped between staying in her comfortable, blissfully ignorant existence, working alongside a man for whom she felt admiration and maybe more versus putting her trust in a man to whom she would have gladly given her heart if only he had accepted. Amidst all the guilt she felt for betraying Beck's trust was the nagging thought that Jake had managed to use her feelings for him against her. Time had offered some perspective, and while Heather was not entirely comfortable with what happened, she also appreciated the fact that there was little else that could have been done.

"What choice did you have?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"If there had been any other way…"

"I know you came to me because I care about you. I trust you and had access to the office. And look, I would be the first person to say that I was bothered." Jake's soft grunt made Heather rephrase. "Okay. Ticked off. But like I said, what choice did you have? "

"Still. I just want you to know that I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have—I shouldn't have put you in that position."

She squeezed his hands. "I'm not mad at you. I'm really glad you're back safe. Eric, your mom, Emily," she paused imperceptibly as she said the last name, "they're going to be so thrilled to see you."

Jake pulled Heather back into a hug, kissing her forehead. She giggled as his beard tickled her skin. "You're a better friend than I deserve," he murmured. As he pulled away again, he asked, "How is everyone? I've heard bits and pieces from my mom, but communication has been sketchy between here and Texas."

"Everyone's okay."

"And Stanley?" Without realizing it, Jake held his breath waiting for her response. When he had left Jericho, his oldest friend had been shell-shocked over the murder of his sister and his actions that followed, namely executing John Goetz.

"He's okay, too." Heather paused, considering her words carefully. "It's not easy for him. For Mimi, either." Heather fought back the lump that formed in her throat. After the events of the past ten months, she figured she should be used to losses, accept them as part of this new life they were forging for themselves, but she still couldn't make sense of Bonnie's death. "We all pitched in and put the farm house back together again." Her mind drifted back to the many hours spent replacing the floorboards, which had been stained with blood, replacing windows, filling in the bullet holes in the wall with Spackle, repainting, and just doing some general cleaning to remove the evidence that a gun fight had ever taken place in the Richmond farm house. "They moved back a couple weeks ago."

"I used to always stop here on my way home, pick up a pie for my mom," Jake commented looking around him. He pointed toward the edge of the driveway. "They had a pie stand right down there. Sold fresh vegetables, too."

Heather nodded. "I remember that. Stanley and Mimi went to town, but I think they'll be back pretty soon. Stanley was taking in a load of vegetables to Dale's market."

"So they left you here all alone?"

"I'm not all alone."

"Not anymore," he corrected. His eyes fell on the Road Runner, really taking notice of it for the first time. He took a step toward the blue muscle car. "I must be hallucinating."

Heather laughed lightly. "Then you would be invading my hallucination because I had been dying to get my hands under the hood."

Jake chuckled. "I hope not on your first date."

Heather groaned. "Well, from what I hear, the car used to be fast, but I'm not looking for a long-term relationship with it, so you have nothing to worry about."

Her playful words hung between them for a few seconds before Jake uttered, "How?" With a few steps, he stood next to the car, his fingers splayed along the driver's side door. The metal was scorching hot, but he needed to feel it, to know that he wasn't just imagining any of this. After all, Heather in a sundress fixing his car? It seemed too unbelievable.

"Russell brought it back from New Bern. He knew it was yours and thought its return would be symbolic, a nice gesture to make things better between our towns."

Jake's eyes narrowed as he turned to Heather. They had been intercepting New Bernies left and right trying to sneak into Jericho to exact revenge for losses suffered in the battle from three months ago. And now he was supposed to believe that everything was fine, that the past was being set aside while the ground of some of the graves—including his father's—had still been soft when he headed for Cheyenne? "When I left…" his voice trailed off.

Heather read his expression. "I know, but there have been a lot of changes in the last few months. It's a little like stepping through the looking glass, but we'll get you caught up."

Jake's attention turned back to the car. "No explosives on it?"

"No explosives," Heather confirmed. "But it wasn't exactly returned in one piece. I mean, it looks good. Pretty sweet, actually, but some of its parts were missing when we got it back. Engine's intake valve. Spark plugs. Alternator. Some hoses. Battery. There was, of course, no gas in it." Upon seeing the stricken look on Jake's face, Heather bit her bottom lip. "Sorry. My bedside manner is really lacking. I should've broken that to you more gently."

"It's okay. Didn't actually think I'd ever see her again, so what's a little bad news?"

Heather smiled. "It's gonna be good news from here on out. Welcome home, Jake."

"Good to be back."

"Did your family know you were coming back today?"

"Figured I'd surprise them."

"They'll be happy to see you. If they recognize you."

"Another reason to come here first. Wanted to try to look human again so my mom wouldn't worry."

"I think Stanley has some horse clippers around here somewhere," Heather deadpanned.

"Haha."

"A girl's got to do something for fun around here, even if it is at your expense. Come on in the house. You must be thirsty."

"But Stanley and Mimi…"

"Won't mind," Heather finished for him. She began to walk toward the house, expecting Jake to follow.

Jake hesitated for a fraction of a second. Part of him wasn't sure he wanted to go in the house, but when she turned and smiled at him, he would've followed her anywhere. Walking inside, he scanned the living room. So much of it was the same, from the antique revolvers that were showcased on the wall, to the sofa and end tables. Yet he noticed a new rug, along with a few framed pictures that used to be in his parents' basement.

Heather walked into the kitchen, went to the cupboard, and retrieved two glasses. Jake's eyes fell upon the kitchen table, and for a moment, he pictured his father, in the aftermath of being struck by a bullet, joking about zigging when he should have zagged. Jake remembered Eric's tears, along with his own, as Johnston Green spent the last minutes of his life in this room.

Jake didn't even hear or see Heather filling the glasses with water. It wasn't until a glass of cool water appeared before him that he was brought back to the present.

"Earth to Jake," Heather said cheerily.

"Sorry," Jake replied as he took the proffered water. "I guess my mind was somewhere else." He rested the palm of his hand on the table. "Looking around here, you'd never know…"

Heather winced inwardly. Here she was being so cavalier, not considering at all what it must have been like for him to walk back into this place. She had heard whispers in town about the Richmond farmhouse. Some folks were beginning to say the place was cursed. First Johnston Green. Then Bonnie. And Jake, well, he'd loved and lost them both. "I-I'm sorry. This has to be hard for you. We can go back outside."

Jake shook his head. "Can't run away from this place. Besides, running never did any good." He took a swig of the cool, well-fed water.

Heather knew only bits and pieces of Jake's past. A little from Emily, in between warnings of how being near Jake would only lead to heartache. A little from Bill Kohler in the form of snide comments that she overheard from time to time when she worked as a liaison for Major Beck. Yet nothing she had overheard or been told seemed to ring true when viewed in the framework of the man who stood a few feet from her now. Did she know a man who demonstrated more bravery than he did? Some of the things, in retrospect, made her fill with pride and relief, like how he performed a tracheotomy on Stacey. Then there were other times that scared her senseless, like the way he was going to drive through the gate at Black Jack, or the time he turned himself in to Beck for John Goetz's murder. The horror of watching Beck's men drape a black hood over Jake's head and lead him away still left her skin feeling clammy when she thought of it. "You don't strike me as a man who runs from a challenge."

"Used to run straight into trouble."

"Hmmm. A little insight into the life and times of Jake Green."

"You make it sound like I'm a mystery to uncover, but I'm not that complicated."

"Yes, you are," Heather contradicted.

"What about you? A woman who rushed into a burning building, sabotaged a munitions factory, and fixes cars in a dress?"

"You make me sound far more interesting than I really am," Heather protested. "Anyone would've gone after Ashley in that library. And the factory, well, anyone would've done that, too. As for the dress, I really need to do laundry but have been too busy. Not as easy as it used to be, you know, so…." She paused when she saw his bemused expression. "I was rambling. Sorry. I do that sometimes."

"I've missed you. Don't think I realized just how much."

"I missed you, too, Jake." Heather looked down at her hands which held her glass, suddenly very fascinated by the grease under her short fingernails that she viewed through the prism of the glass. "Seems like we're always going in opposite directions."

"Yeah."

She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. "But you didn't come here to reminisce with me. You came to see Stanley and get cleaned up so you can go back to your family and Emily. And I should get back outside and work on your car. You're going to need something to drive now that you're back." She set her glass on the counter, turned, and began to edge toward the living room.

"So this is that opposite direction you mentioned."

"Yeah, I guess so." Heather chewed her lip before looking over her should and adding, "I could try to find those horse clippers for you."

Jake ran his hand through his hair. "Is it that bad?"

"Of course not! You just have a very authentic homage to Grizzly Adams going on is all. Who knows? You could start a new post-apocalyptic fashion trend. The return of the mountain man…in flat as a pancake Kansas."

Jake groaned good-naturedly.

Welcome home.