A/N: This is the first Left-Behind fanfic that I have ever done. . who knows. . it might be my last, it might not. I couldn't get this idea out of my head, so I had to write it down somewhere. It is based around the character Abdullah "Smith/Smitty" Ababneh, found from Apollyon to Glorious Appearing. He happens to be my favorite character. . and unfortuently, very little is ever told about him.

Story is obviously set Pre-Rapture.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Left Behind characters. Only character I would consider mine is "Aishah", Abdullah's daughter.

A small child chattered, filling the tiny apartment in Amman, Jordan with a constant steam of talk. To Abdullah Ababneh, it was a wonder how such a quiet man could produce a child so talkative. But talkative she was, and Abdullah could only smile at his daughter's rants.

The two had only just entered the apartment, when Aishah ripped off the veil covering her small head, scratching her fingers through her curly black hair. Large eyes turned to face her father, and a small blush covered her cheeks. "It makes my head itch, Daddy."

Abdullah simply nodded, and watched as Aishah ran off toward the other bedroom. He chuckled to himself, and picked up the piece of cloth she had left lying on the floor. Your mother never cared for these either. You might look like me, but you act exactly like her.

That thought alone terrified him. It was no longer a secret in his life that the famous fighter pilot, Abdullah Ababneh had divorced his wife over such a thing as religion. He still wasn't sure why it had mattered. Neither of them had ever practiced anything concerning Islam while others weren't watching. Not even with their children. The fact that Yasmine had found a faith that had left her content should have made him feel honored.

But the fact was, having a 'rebellious' wife had done the exact opposite. It had stripped Abdullah of his manhood. It was not heard of in his culture.

What am I saying? Like that ever stopped me before.

"When are Mom and Jordan supposed to be home?"

The Jordanian snapped out of his thoughts, giving a small shrug toward his daughter. "I am not sure. She told me maybe tomorrow. For tonight, you will stay with me."

Aishah nodded. "I want too . . . you never see us anymore, Daddy."

A stab of guilt shot through Abdullah, and he was completely unprepared for it. It had been weeks since he had visited his children, much to his wife's – ex-wife's displeasure. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he reasoned he could get back at Yasmine for the rebellion and divorce by refusing to visit. Yet, somehow, he knew all he was doing was hurting himself, and the kids.

"I apologize."

I apologize?

Aishah didn't seem to think anything of it, and tottered off toward the kitchen, intending on raiding his icebox. Not that Abdullah minded. But as a bachelor now, he wasn't sure if she would find anything. Anything edible, that was.

He flipped on the news out of habit, wanting some background noise besides just Aishah's voice. She returned to the living room a few moments later, munching on a cookie, and grinning up at him.

"I see you found something." Abdullah's only answer was a nod of her head, and the sound of crunching.

Aishah settled herself on the couch, pulling her legs beneath her small body, content on watching the Jordanian news. Abdullah found himself slightly shocked at the irony of the situation. Had he stayed with his wife, would he have not only found Aishah on that couch, but Yasmine, Jordan, and himself as well? Curled up together as a family. Who knew, maybe by this time, there would have been a fifth member of the family.

"Daddy, do you believe in God?"

That was the last question he had ever expected from his daughter. "Do I what?"

"Believe in God. In Jesus." Aishah blinked curious black eyes toward him. "Mommy believes in Jesus. Jordan believes in Jesus. I do too. . . do you?"

"I believe that Jesus was a man." Abdullah stated carefully. It was out of his mind that he would be in a religious discussion with a six-year old girl. "I don't believe he was anything special."

She was quiet a moment. Very timidly, she spoke. "Is that why you and Mommy divorceded?"

Smitty froze. She was now turning to a very sensitive topic for him. "Just why do you think that?"

"Jordan says when Mommy believed in Jesus, that's when we moved away."

He groaned to himself. Sometimes that boy could be too perceptive for his own good. "Your mother and I . . . we had differences, Aishah. That is all."

Yea. Like the fact that Yasmine is so secure and happy in her faith, and you have never been. She's in a nice home, has great friends, and raising great children. . . . And you . . you get drunk more than twice a week. Not to mention your morals haven't exactly been pristine as well.

"What about . . ." Aishah's eyes rolled up toward the ceiling in thought. "Allah. And Muhammad?"

"Not them either."

"Hmm. . ." The small girl looked troubled, but didn't say anything else. She finished her cookies, and laid her head on the armrest, her eyes drooping. It wasn't long before Abdullah could hear her rhythmic breathing, telling him she had fallen asleep.

Her questions had caught him off guard, and that was a feeling Abdullah Ababneh did not appreciate. He vaguely remembered his American friend, Rayford Steele complaining of the same problem. The last time Abdullah had spoken to him, Rayford's son had joined his wife in being a Christian, and had started heckling his father to go to church. He wondered if Rayford had ever endured the same interrogation Abdullah had just been through.

Smitty snorted to himself. How like her mother Aishah was. True, when she had been born, the mid-wife had jokingly told Yasmine and Abdullah it was a good thing they'd never had an affair. Abdullah had been puzzled until they had placed the baby in his arms. True to her words, the baby looked like a female version of him. There was no denying her father. It terrified Abdullah to think of what she would look like as a teenager. The burqua s of his culture were sounding better and better as Aishah grew older.

But her attitude was Yasmine's. Abdullah had yet to decide if that was a good or bad thing. Yasmine had been a wonderful wife, and an even better mother. . . Abdullah hated to think he had ruined her for life. With the record of being divorced, and children. . no upstanding Middle Eastern man, Muslim, Catholic, or otherwise would take her in now.

It seemed Aishah was out for the night. Abdullah gently lifted her from the couch, and placed her in the small bed he had prepared for her. As he laid her down, she roused from her sleep. "Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Mommy's friend says that Jesus is gonna come back and get all the believers." Though obviously tired, Aishah continued with her debate.

"That's nice." What else were you supposed to reply to that?

"Daddy . . . I don't want to leave you behind."

Abdullah stayed quiet, as Aishah grabbed the small bear off her bed, pulling it against her chest. She reached out and took his hand, placing it against her small face and sighing. "Daddy?"

"Yes, Aishah?"

"If Jesus did take all the believers. . . would you miss us? Would you believe then?"

The idea was ludicrous. He had heard Yasmine's theories on the 'Rapture'. Millions of people world-wide disappearing in 'the twinkling of an eye'? It was easier to believe in aliens on Mars than it was that.

But looking into his daughters eyes, Abdullah could see she was honestly concerned for his well-fare. He gently bent down and brushed his lips across her forehead, hoping to at least comfort her some. She smiled at him, closing her eyes to once again drift into dreamland.

Smitty had never answered her question though. And he intended on doing that.

"Yes Aishah. . . . I would believe."