tanaquific

Title: Area of Vulnerability
Fandom: Jericho
Rating: Teen
Words: 2290
Summary: A sequel to Foreign and Domestic. After she learns of the death of Beck's wife and daughter, Heather tries to be a good friend. Written for the

cliche_bingo prompt "Vulnerability".
Disclaimer: These stories are based on the Junction Entertainment/Fixed Mark Productions/CBS Paramount Television series Jericho. They were written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from them nor was any infringement of copyright intended.
Author's Note: Thanks to

scribblesinink for the beta.

oOo

Heather hesitated on the threshold of Bailey's. Mid-afternoon, the bar was pretty quiet: the guys who used to shoot pool or watch sports on the big screens were mostly out guarding checkpoints or sleeping after their shifts. Even those who were around were hard to see in the gloom: between the boarded-up windows and the missing lamps that had shattered in the heat, the bar was darker than it had been before the firebombing. So it wasn't as if anyone but Mary need know about her request—and Mary probably wouldn't even care why.

The sight of the irregular pattern where Eric had sanded away the scorch marks and revarnished the bar made up her mind. Edward had been there for her when she'd needed someone. There for Jake, too. She owed him.

Marching up to the bar, she leaned her arms on the rough surface and waited to be served.

"Heather." Mary gave her a warm smile as she sauntered across. "Don't usually see you in here this time of day. What can I get you? Coffee?"

Heather shook her head. "Actually, I was hoping you might have a bottle of scotch back there somewhere."

Mary raised an eyebrow. "You got another missed wedding to mark? Last time you asked me that...."

"Not exactly." Heather bit her lip. "More like a missed funeral." She hesitated. "Major Beck got confirmation today that his wife and daughter are dead. And...."

Mary held her gaze for a moment, her expression filled with pity, and then gave a slight nod. "He needs a friend with a bottle of something." She shrugged apologetically. "But I only got that muck from J&R." When Heather's face fell, she added, "Have you tried Dale? He might have something."

Heather's heart sank at the thought of asking someone else. Telling someone else. She really didn't think Edward would want his private business spread all over town. But she nodded at Mary. "Yeah, he might. Thanks."

Mary reached out and caught her hand as she turned away. "If he hasn't, come back and we'll figure something out."

Outside, Heather took a deep breath and headed across the street to Gracie's Market. She smiled briefly at Skylar as she passed the checkout and made for where Dale was talking to his hired muscle at the back of the store. He still looked more of a boy than a man, but Heather reflected that he was another one of Jericho's residents who'd changed a lot in the last twelve months.

He waved the guys away as Heather approached, and tilted his head expectantly towards her.

"I'm...." She coughed nervously. "I'm looking for a bottle of scotch. Mary said you might have something that isn't plastered with J&R logos."

Dale rested a hand against the wire cage that protected the stockroom and shook his head. "Not too much of that around these days."

"I know. It's just... it's a gift.... For someone who probably isn't feeling too kindly towards J&R and the AS government right now."

"Jake?" Dale's lips twitched.

"I—no." Heather flushed. She wished people would stop assuming that, but it seemed like there wasn't a lot she could do about it. "Major Beck. He, uh," she gave an uncomfortable laugh, "he got news some of his family died."

Dale looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, and then nodded. "Let me see what I have in back." He disappeared for a few minutes, and then came back with a bottle of scotch—real scotch, she noticed, bottled in Inver-something—and held it out to her.

"Thanks." She took it, and dug in her jeans for her wallet. The liaison job paid her a small salary on top of her rations; while she didn't spend much, she expected the scotch would wipe out her savings.

Dale shook his head. "No charge." When Heather raised her eyebrows, he added, "Major Beck stopped Goetz shipping me off to Loomer Ridge. Never really got to thank him for that."

oOo

Driving out to the camp, she had plenty of time for more doubts to surface. Time to wonder if she'd be turned away when she reached Edward's tent, or even at the main gate. She'd checked with the post at City Hall that he was back in camp; if news had gotten back that she was planning a visit, he might've given orders.... Well, she'd cross that bridge if she came to it.

In the end, she'd been passed through the several layers of security without a hitch. Edward's aide met her outside the tent, glanced down at the bottle of scotch she was carrying, and gave her a brief, approving nod without her having to say anything.

Inside, she found Edward reviewing reports. On top of the usual worry that lined his face, he looked tired.

"Heather." He scrambled to his feet. "What are you doing here so late?"

She brought out the bottle she'd been hiding behind her back. "I thought...."

He pressed his lips together for a moment, his dark gaze holding hers. Though he did a good enough job of otherwise concealing his grief, the unhappiness in his eyes shouted out to her.

He glanced across at where the radio operator was hunched over the set, and his aide had resumed his place at his desk, more paperwork spread in front of him. Both men were extra-attentively bent over their tasks.

He looked back at her and gave a curt nod, and gestured toward the far end of the tent. He fell into step beside her as she drew level with him; when they reached the far end of the tent, he held back the flap to his private quarters.

Stepping through, she surveyed the small space that she'd only gotten glimpses of in the past. To one side was a neatly made-up cot, with a small locker next to it that served as a nightstand. On the other side of the tent, a table held some personal items arranged in precise rows: she suspected that if she opened the locker, it would be just as organized. A folding chair stood in front of the table, and a uniform bag hung alongside his tac vest and helmet on one of the walls. There was nothing else.

Edward brushed past her and pulled out the chair, indicating she should sit. She crossed over and put the scotch on the table. While she wrestled with the screw cap, he disappeared back into the main part of the tent and fetched a couple of tin mugs. Reaching around her, he set them down, and then retreated a few steps.

She poured a measure of scotch into each of the mugs and held one out to him. "Here."

He took it, and they stood awkwardly for a moment, before she subsided onto the chair. He backed up a step and sank onto the cot, resting his forearms on his knees, and cradling the whiskey in his hands in front of him.

"Thank you." He lifted his gaze to hers and briefly raised his mug in salute, before taking a sip.

She shrugged. "You should really be thanking Dale. He didn't charge me for it. Said he owed you for rescuing him from Goetz."

He looked up sharply. "Did you tell him—?"

She could read him well enough to know she'd been right about him being uncomfortable with the thought of the news becoming common knowledge. Had he even told any of his officers?

She shook her head. "No. Not really. Just that you'd lost some family."

He nodded, and went back to examining the contents of his mug.

The awkward silence dragged out as Heather wondered what to say. Turned out this wasn't as easy as patching up a grazed knee in the schoolyard during recess. Not that she'd expected it to be.

She took a sip from her own drink. She didn't much like the taste, or the liquor burning down her throat. She set the mug down quietly and wrapped her arms around her.

"What were they like?" Her voice sounded scratchy in her ears. He looked up at her bleakly, and she added hastily. "If you want to—." She cleared her throat with a nervous cough. "I mean, I understand if you don't...."

He managed the ghost of a smile. "I should, shouldn't I? It'll help...?"

She gave him the slightest of nods.

He dropped his head again, rolling the mug between his palms. "Alondra...." Heather saw him swallow. "She was a nurse with the Army." He shook his head slightly. "I had this buddy back when I was a lieutenant ended up in hospital because of some damn fool accident. And there was this pretty nurse...."

The smile was definitely wider as he let the past come back to him. "Took me a couple visits to get up the courage to ask her out, and then she beat me to it." His lips twitched. "That was her all over. She knew what you wanted, even when you couldn't tell her. And she was tough as nails, but she could be really gentle too. She made a great nurse."

Though he still stared into his scotch, Heather thought his shoulders seemed a little less hunched, a little less tense.

"We dated for a couple months, and then I got posted away. Wrote these long letters to each other." He snorted quietly. "Never seemed to get leave at the same time. Three years. Finally, she completed her service, got out, I got leave...." He gave Heather a slightly embarrassed smile. "We were married a month later."

"When you meet the right person...." Heather remembered her own father's story about how he'd met her mom. How a friend had dragged him along to the Nebraska State Fair at Black Jack Fairgrounds to see some vintage cars, and the cars couldn't hold a candle to the young woman on the other side of the walkway being congratulated by her friends for winning second prize for a pie. And he'd marched right up, and told her he bet her pie was the best in the State, because the governor'd had to give first prize to the wife of his biggest campaign backer, and how he'd like to taste her pie some day....

Then he'd grin shamefacedly and mutter, "Don't know what got into me... but I was right about the pie." And her mom would smile at him....

Of course, it helped if, when you met the right person, they felt the same way back.

Looking across at Edward, she saw he was smiling to himself now and nodding his head. His shoulders definitely weren't as hunched, even if he was turning his mug round and round in his hands restlessly as he went on speaking. "Isa came along a couple years later. She was—." He laughed apologetically and shot Heather a quick glance. "Oh, any father's going to tell you his daughter's a princess, right? But she was just like her mother. Smart, and beautiful, and she had such a kind heart. She'd do anything for anyone, soon as you asked, and she hated to see anyone sad or hurt, or for things not to be fair."

He looked so unhappy as he said it that Heather wanted to reach out and hug him. Instead, she wrapped her arms more tightly around herself, and said softly, "Then I guess she was just like her father, too."

He looked up at her, surprise etched on his face. After a moment, he dipped his head and accepted the compliment. He took another sip of scotch

"She wanted to be a vet. Right from when she was small. Everyone thought that just meant she liked puppies and kittens, but not my Isa." He shook his head despairingly, but he was smiling again. "She wanted to be a horse doctor. My cousin had a ranch in southern New Mexico...." The smile vanished and he pressed his lips together for a moment. "I guess they were heading down there when—."

He put the mug down on the floor between his feet and scrubbed his hands across his face. He stayed like that, with the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes, for long enough for Heather to start wondering if she should go over to him. Then he took his hands away. He seemed dry-eyed—and she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing—but like he'd recovered his composure some. His voice was only a little raw when he started speaking again.

"I'm sure Alondra thought it was for the best...." He picked up his mug and took another swig.

"They were in Santa Fe?" Heather remembered him telling her that. He nodded. "Then she was probably right. I don't know what it was like where you were, but we lost power and water pretty soon after the attacks.... I can't imagine it would have been much fun in a city. Gray said Topeka was a mess."

He'd hunched in on himself again, and his silent nod suggested he wasn't particularly convinced by her argument.

She rescued her mug from the table and took a drink, trying not to think about her own experiences on the road: the elation of escaping from New Bern, and of having a chance to warn Jericho, and how that had been replaced by cold terror as Mark, glancing in his mirror, had sworn, and pressed on the gas, throwing her back against the seat. How, twisting around, she'd seen the chromed grill of the black truck looming closer and closer in the rear window....

Lost in her own thoughts, she was startled when Edward spoke again. "I was telling you about Isa, wasn't I? How she wanted to be a vet?"

Heather looked up at him and nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"Guess it was all my cousin Max's fault. Alondra and I took Isa down to visit him and his family at the ranch when she was three, and he put her on a horse, and that was it." His face had lit up at the memory. "After that, Alondra used to take her down there every summer. Some of the time, she'd run around with her cousins, but most of the time she'd be tagging along after Max and helping him with the horses. Helped birth her first foal when she was nine. Wrote me a long letter all about it when I was out in Afghanistan."

He fell silent again, before he tipped his mug and drained the last of his scotch. He shook his head. "I was never around enough. This job.... I missed so much...."

The unspoken If only... hung heavily in the air. Heather wanted to tell him that what he did was important. That she was sure his family had understood. But she knew he knew that already. Saying it wouldn't do any good, or take back all the lost years.

Shaking himself, he stood abruptly and crossed the room towards her to put his mug down on the table. "Thank you. For the scotch. And for...."

She put out her hand to cover his where it rested palm down on the table. Not looking up at him in case he was looking down at her.

She almost expected him to move away, but he let her hand stay there, his remaining quiet under hers. Through the tent walls, she could hear the chatter of the radio operator and, beyond that, the rumble of a truck, or maybe it was a generator running, and men's voices in the distance. She wanted to say more, do more, help him more, and yet she knew that her hand on his told him everything he needed to know, and his hand under hers was reply enough.

There was a tramp of boots approaching, voices close by, more boots retreating as the guard outside the tent changed. The moment was broken.

She stood, her hand still on his, and they were close for a moment. "I should get back to town," she murmured.

"Yes." He still didn't pull away. Instead, he pushed the barely touched bottle of scotch towards her a little. "You should...."

"Keep it." She raised her gaze to his. "For another evening."

His eyes had lost a little of the haunted look they'd had when she entered the command tent. He wasn't fixed—would any of them ever be, after all that had happened?—but it was enough for now.

He nodded. She gave his hand a slight squeeze, and then turned and left. Knowing she would come back. Knowing he'd let her.