Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I still do not own any of the characters which appeared on the CBS show.
Author's Note: It seems the chapters are shorter and more frequently ready to post these days. Reasonable, I guess, since we all know what will be happening soon.
Chapter II: I Keep Working my Way Back to You
Late August – Early September, 2006
Try as Jake might, he had been unable to wrap up the mission as quickly as he had hoped. Slow, steady progress was made, but his chief wasn't content to call it complete until the one giving the orders had been identified and apprehended. The weeks and months dragged on to mid-August, with Heather at home in Jericho growing bigger and more uncomfortable in the heat of the Kansas summer, and Jake experiencing it via Skype from the heat of the Iraqi summer.
Jake was finishing the reports on his most recent intel gathering interactions, fairly certain that these last few tidbits of information would conclusively connect the dots to the ringleader of the operation and return both he and Freddy home to the States soon. He was brooding on the topic when Freddy entered the CHU and told him to grab his gear; they had a delivery to make in Safa. He wasn't pleased, racking his brain for a way of getting out of the delivery. Thinking of no viable excuse, he went against his better judgment and followed Freddy to the truck.
Later, when he remembered that day, he would be the first to admit that his mind had not been on the mission. It had been on returning home to his wife and son, hopefully in time for the birth of his twin daughters. Such a lapse in concentration can be fatal, and there would be times when the guilt was so bad he wished it had been.
As they neared the town of Safa, Jake had failed to notice another vehicle join the rear of the caravan. Once through the gates of the town, insurgents materialized out of nowhere, flanking them, and unleashing a barrage of automatic fire. The vehicle following them had blocked them from simply backing up. Jake and the men of the convoy returned fire, and the insurgents ran for cover. It was then that Jake realized he had shot a little girl who had been playing along the road just moments before. Somewhat dazed, Jake wanted to go to her, to try and help her. He opened the door of the truck, but Freddy grabbed him by the back of his BDU blouse and hauled him back into the truck, ordering him to turn the truck around and get out of there. Momentarily shaken out of his confusion, he revved the engine and spun the truck around, leading the convoy out of the hostile town.
Jake drove far enough away from the town to be sure no one had followed, and then he stopped the convoy. He barely made it out of the truck before throwing up his lunch onto the sand. War is hell. He had no doubt of that. But the fact that he had killed a little girl, someone's daughter, was beyond the pale. He got back into the truck, ineffectually brushing glass shards out of the driver's seat: the side window must have taken a round and was shattered.
Jake drove back to headquarters as quickly as the truck would take them, cursing himself for the mistake he had made, cursing the country that allowed its children to play in the middle of a battle zone, cursing the FBI for sending him to this godforsaken pit. How would he ever be able to face himself in the mirror again after this fatal error in judgment? How would he ever face Heather? How would he ever be able to hold their own daughters when he carried the guilt of taking the daughter away from another family?
At last they reached the headquarters compound and the relative safety therein. Jake pulled up to the warehouse from whence the caravan had been loaded and started out a few hours earlier. He wasn't feeling very well – adrenalin rush subsiding, he imagined. When he went to get out of the truck, things went black and he slumped to the hot sand.
Freddy was around the truck in a minute, rolling Jake over far enough to identify the problem – a large shard of glass which was protruding from Jake's left flank. It had both caused the problem, and was undoubtedly the only thing tamponading the damaged vessels and the keeping Jake from bleeding out right there on the sand.
Freddy hauled Jake back into the truck once again, albeit more gingerly this time, and took the driver's seat. He hollered something about medical attention to the rest of the team as he drove Jake away from the warehouse. Independent contractors were supposed to see the company doc, but Freddy knew he was a hack at best. Instead, he headed to the nearest Army base and yanked his dog tags out of his shirt for the MP at the gate to see, explaining it was a matter of life or death. He knew Jake also wore dog tags around his neck – in the name of his FBI alias. Jake had explained them by saying they reminded him what the Army had done to him and what the United States owed him as a result. Freddy figured their veteran status would be Jake's best shot at good medical care and a rapid extraction out of Iraq.
Freddy had convinced the battalion surgeon that Jake was a veteran and an undercover FBI agent in danger of retribution if his safety wasn't secured; then the medical team whisked a still unconscious Jake off to the operating room to remove the glass shard and check on his spleen – the most likely organ to have been damaged given the location of the injury. Freddy then returned the truck to headquarters. He went and to the CHU he and Jake had shared with two other men for the past 6 months. Their housemates were out, undoubtedly on a different mission, so Freddy scooped up Jake's laptop and as many personal belongings he could cram into the laptop bag before leaving headquarters again. He knew neither he nor Jake would be returning. He drove away from the compound, parking the company car a few blocks away, and hailed a taxi to return to the army base.
By the time Jake regained consciousness, he and Freddy were on a C130 medical transport en route to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany. Freddy might have given the Army the impression that he was Jake's security detail, and as such, needed to accompany Jake wherever he was sent.
Jake had been fortunate; his spleen had been intact and the Army surgeon had been able to repair the internal bleeding easily. He was checked out again at Landstuhl, given another two days of IV antibiotics, and then transported back to the States for further recovery. He had spent another two days at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in DC, debriefed by local FBI brass, and then released to fly home. Freddy flew with him to Denver, and then put Jake on the charter flight to Jericho, knowing that Heather would be there to meet him.
Heather had been horrified when Freddy had called her from Germany, but had quickly recovered when she was told Jake would recover nicely, had completed the mission, and would be home for good very soon. Heather was at the end of her 34th week of pregnancy on September 1 when she picked Jake up and the Jericho Air Terminal – one week after his injury in Safa, Iraq.
"I can't believe you're really here," Heather had said when Jake walked slowly off the plane and into the terminal. She had thrown her arms around his neck, careful not to bowl him over considering her additional proportions and his weakened condition.
Jake was still dazed over the events of Safa. He hugged her tightly, burying his face in her hair, and told her how much he loved her. He patted her rather large belly and was rewarded by the kicking of little feet.
"They wake up in the afternoon and want to play," Heather told him as they walked slowly toward the parking lot. "At least they sleep most of the night, unlike Chip, who slept all day and kicked all night."
Johnston was waiting for them in the parking lot, haven provided chauffeur service for Heather, who was banned from driving until the arrival of the babies.
"Good to have you home, Son." Johnston said to Jake, giving him a hug. "We weren't sure whether you would make it in time for the big day," he continued, gesturing toward Heather. "Couldn't you have just asked for time off rather than creating all of this drama?" He concluded, motioning to Jake's injury.
"Very funny, Dad," Jake replied, not fully appreciating the humor implied. "Maybe you can just take us home for now and crack wise another day?"
Johnston complied. He wasn't sure if it was pain, fatigue, or something else talking, but a red flag went up in the back of his mind that all was not right with his eldest son.
Jake and Heather rested for the next week; Jake recovering from his injury and Heather on recommended light duty to allow the babies to grow as long as possible before labor started. Sometime around midnight on Saturday the 9th, the ever-present Braxton Hicks contractions became stronger and Heather concluded she was in labor. Jake called to the bunk house for Katie McCall to come watch Chip, he grabbed the bags and pillows from their room and they set out on the 90 minute drive to Rogue River.
The OB who had followed Heather with Kim Jackson once the twin pregnancy was discovered had told Heather that he wouldn't stop labor if she made it to 36 weeks. The girls were remarkably strong and healthy and she'd had an uncomplicated pregnancy. She was 36 weeks exactly that day and couldn't be more ready to hold the babies in her arms and stop the incessant kicking from within.
Once they arrived at Rogue River, they got Heather checked in to Fillmore County Hospital, and things began to move quickly. Apparently the babies were now in just as much of a hurry to make their appearance. By the time Jake returned from parking the car, Heather was already in a delivery room and he was being urged to pull a cover gown on over his sweatshirt and jeans. A resuscitation team was gathering – standard for a delivery of multiples – and Heather was being told it wouldn't be long before she could push. They had invited Gail to be present in the delivery room as she had been for Chip, but Jake guessed that was out of the question now. He jockeyed his way between the team members toward Heather and she took his hand, happy he had decided to join the party.
Monitors were set up, radiant warmers readied and warm blankets brought into the room. Heather's contractions continued, and by the time they checked her again, everyone was ready and they were telling her she could push. Within 20 minutes they were welcoming Sarah Catherine into the world at 5lbs 9oz, and shortly thereafter her sister Abigail Claire at 5lbs 4oz. It was clear to all present that they were fraternal twins. Sarah Catherine (Sadie) had bright blue eyes and wispy red curls, and was vigorously protesting the cold hard world into which she had been thrust. Abigail Claire (Abby) had blue eyes and dark hair, and was placidly observing her surroundings, including her boisterous sister.
Resuscitation was unnecessary; the girls were breathing just fine of their own. The staff brought Sadie to Heather as soon as possible in the hopes of calming her with skin-to-skin contact or nursing. They brought Abby to Jake to hold. He looked into her eyes, so much like Heather's, but all he could see was the lifeless eyes of a little girl, dead on the sand a world away. He closed his eyes, willing the image to leave him so he could enjoy this happy moment with his family, but it haunted him. No one but Freddy knew about the girl, except her own family, of course. Jake could not bring himself to tell Heather, but knew she suspected something was amiss.
Shaking himself out of his maudlin self-loathing, he forced himself back into the moment, looking over at Heather. Sadie had latched on to some extent, and was at last quiet. Heather was watching her with a love-filled expression. Jake glances down at Abby and found her watching him with a wise expression. How could these two babies, produced by the same gene pool and pregnancy, already have such different personalities, Jake wondered to himself. He cuddled Abby closely to his chest and returned Heather's smile when she finally looked up. He knew he didn't deserve this wonderful family, but he would do his best to do right by them, in the hopes of atoning for his litany of misdeeds, most notable the little girl in Safa.
Heather and the babies were discharged home on Monday afternoon. Gail and Johnston, Eric and April, and Hope and Gil had visited over the weekend, each declaring the babies beautiful and opehhhh otherwise perfect in every way. Heather was radiant and rapidly coming to terms with nursing twins almost as easily as she had one baby. As Jake loaded his expanded family into the car, he sent up a prayer of thanksgiving for the safe arrival of the babies and again asked forgiveness for the little girl in Safa. He couldn't forgive himself, but he thought it might help if God forgave him.
The drive home was uneventful, and the McCalls turned out en mass along with E.J. and young Chip to welcome them home. Heather had told Chip about the imminent arrival of the twins, but knowing about two sisters and experiencing them first-hand are two entirely different matters when one is 21 months old. For the most part, he was happy that Heather had a lap once again, and otherwise didn't seem overly bothered by them. He and his cousin Brody had grown used to Tracy in the three months since she had been born like he and the McCall children from Scout Ranch (as Will and Erin had recently named the B&B) had grown used to three-month-old Maureen McCall.
The days after they came home from the hospital blurred together for Jake as they lost out on sleep and tried to pay equal attention to Chip. He had been putting off his trip to the Denver field office to finally wrap up the Iraq mission until after the arrival of the babies. Now he felt he couldn't justify further delay. He had also contacted the charter service that flew out of Jericho, figuring he could interview for a pilot position during the same trip. Turned out the charter service was based in San Diego, so he made the correct reservations. The pilots who flew for the charter service had been strangers until recently when Gary Fisher, of Fisher Hardware, had married Chloe Nelson, one of the pilots who frequently flew in and out of Jericho. She had been happy to provide Jake with the information he needed to apply for a position.
Heather had been reluctant to have him leave again, but understood the necessity of finishing his business with the FBI. His plans were made for the following week. He would fly out early Monday morning and drive home from Denver when he wrapped up his business Wednesday afternoon. He had left his Roadrunner in Denver when he had left for Iraq in February.