Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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It was spring once again, the air soft and scented with the smell of new growth and the promise of rain. Heather paused to scan the horizon and to check on the progress of her team, wiping sweat from her forehead.

She tried to appear casual as she looked at Beck, toiling in the warm spring sun, wearing jeans and sneakers, and shirtless, his torso sleek and muscled and glistening with sweat. The work was hard and hot as they worked the fields and planted the crops they needed in order to survive the coming winter.

When Jake and Hawkins had returned from Texas a year ago, they brought with them confirmation that Beck's wife and child had died soon after the Attacks. His grief had been deep, and dark, and Heather had wondered if there would ever be a light in his eyes again. In the last six months, however, he had begun to slowly emerge back into the world of the living. He had even been known to smile and to laugh at times. She was grateful for that.

A truce between Columbus, the ASA and Texas had been in place for the last six months as well. President Tomarchio had been assassinated, but not before the ASA had inflicted a huge amount of damage on Texas. Columbus had remained out of the conflict; the east had been too devastated by the Hudson River Virus. But currently the balance of power was still shifting, and no one had any doubt that there would be another war, and another struggle to regain some semblance of what they had lost.

In the meantime, life went on - as hard as it seemed to believe. Jericho was once again left to fend for itself, only this time, they had a standing army and a more pragmatic approach to the future.

Heather's role as liaison ended soon after the war began, and so she opened a garage and became a jill-of-all-trades, doing anything that came her way. When they lost power again, she helped install the windmills they had built the previous year in New Bern, and she helped to build more to meet the needs of Jericho. When Beck's equipment sergeant was killed in action, he asked her to help maintain his army's equipment. Her duties there diminished once the fighting stopped and the soldiers could return to other duties.

During the six months of war, Beck's men suffered severe casualties and once the news came that a truce had been established, he let anyone who wanted to leave his unit. Few did; those who stayed had already lost their families in the Attacks and had nowhere left to go, and no one left to go to.

With the truce, life began to take on a rhythm again. Jake was still sheriff and had the Rangers to patrol the town itself. Beck had command of Jericho's army and answered to Gray. Their responsibility was to protect the town from outside attacks, to scout the area, and to keep the peace with the neighboring towns and hopefully forge alliances. Beck and his men were also responsible for searching for supplies and providing an escort for Dale on trips to the trading posts that had sprung up again. The black market was still Dale's sole responsibility, and Jericho didn't hesitate to use Dale's connections whenever there was a need.

And Heather - worked where and when she was asked, and did everything asked of her. And if she had nightmares, or had little appetite, there was no one to notice. Although Beck often asked if she was eating properly and if she had enough supplies. Sometimes he frowned when he asked her, his eyes thoughtful and searching, and Heather would quickly assure him that everything was fine.

And now Heather stood in a field, preparing it for planting, and trying not to stare at Beck, fascinated by the smooth play of muscles beneath his tanned skin. Heather had thought that her attraction to men had been killed in New Bern, but over the winter, she had found herself paying more and more attention to Beck, observing him with something almost approaching fascination. She would find herself staring at his eyes, mesmerized by their depth and beauty. She would watch his lips as he spoke and admire their shape. She would watch him walk, and note the grace of his movements, the lines of his body and his military bearing.

The day she realized that her feminine reaction to a handsome man ran deeper than a distant, detached appreciation was the day she saw Anita Meyer, the former vice-president of the bank, and now town manager, come into Beck's office and coax a genuine smile out of him. Heather saw the warmth in Beck's eyes, and felt a lance of jealousy so strong she actually gasped, and clutched her stomach. To the concerned soldiers around her she made an excuse that her lunch wasn't agreeing with her and quickly left the sheriff's office.

She went home and stayed there for the rest of the day, alternately cursing herself for becoming attracted to Beck and revelling in the feelings the thought of him created. She had thought New Bern had killed that part of her; she was relieved and terrified that she had been mistaken. But she cursed herself because, once again, it was an unrequited attraction. She didn't even need to kiss him to know he would never be interested in someone like her. Not with someone like Anita - cool, beautiful, sophisticated - around. And if it wasn't Anita, there were other women in Jericho who Heather was sure would be more to Beck's taste.

Heather paced a lot that day, and in the end decided she had to do everything she could to hide her feelings from Beck. Heather didn't want to lose him like she had lost Jake. And, because of Jake, she had also lost Emily.

That had been five months ago, and Heather thought she had done a good job so far. She slipped a time or two, but nobody - least of all Beck - noticed, and she was grateful. She still argued with Beck when needed, still helped whenever he asked; still spoke the truth to him whether he liked it or not. And if she seemed to get a little too far into his personal space during an argument, well, Beck never seemed to notice.

In the meantime, Heather spent the winter shovelling people's sidewalks, and negotiating the sharing of space to conserve fuel. She herself stayed alone, but everyone else on her block was eventually relocated to shared quarters in other parts of Jericho. Heather told herself that it wasn't deliberate, but in the dark of night, as she shook from her nightmares, she would admit the truth to herself. In late fall, Russell had gotten word to her that Constantino had upped the price on her head, and his men were anxious to collect. She relocated her neighbours because she didn't want anybody else to get hurt if Constantino's men decided to brave the town limits to get to her.

She was afraid, and alone, and in love, and it was a dizzying combination. Her nightmares intensified, and so did her workload.

But now it was spring, and Beck was working in the fields with Heather without his shirt on. She could feel herself rotating around him like the earth going around the sun, or, more accurately, she thought sadly, like a moth around a flame.  She went back to her work, muttering to herself to get a grip. Besides, they had to finish the field before nightfall.

As she worked, she alternated between sneaking discreet looks at Beck, thinking of the next day's work, and planning ahead. There would be fuel to gather and store for the winter; haying to finish; harvest to get done. Old Mrs. Francis needed her barn repaired, while Mr. and Mrs. MacIntyre wanted to move into Jericho if anybody would take over their place. Both Old Mrs. Francis and the MacIntyres had old equipment from the 20s and 30s on their places; equipment that was drawn by horses and didn't need gasoline. An idea began to take shape in the back of Heather's mind.

She jumped when a hand came down on her shoulder, and she spun around. She stared at Beck in consternation, as he gave her a half-puzzled, half-amused look.

"Sorry," she said. "You startled me."

"Anita's here with the water and food." Beck said, his voice as calm as always, and Heather marvelled at the fact that he could be so casual standing half-naked near her. For one giddy moment, Heather wondered how casual he would be if she flung herself on that chest and kissed him with everything she had.

And then she remembered Jake. And New Bern.

"What's wrong?" Beck asked sharply.

"Nothing," Heather said, shaking her head quickly, feeling the blush start to rise in her cheeks.

Beck gave her a hard stare, and then, as her blush deepened, his expression softened, and he gave her a small, rather satisfied smile.

"What?" she challenged, lifting her chin defiantly, and desperately struggling to keep eye contact. His smile widened into a grin.

"Nothing," he said. "Let's go eat." He put a friendly arm around her shoulders and started to guide her towards the wagon. Heather felt liquid fire spreading through her, starting where his hand was resting on her bare shoulder. She tried to control her breathing and hoped he would think her heightened colour was still the previous blush.

Beck spoke laughingly to Anita, and grabbed two waters and two lunches, and led the way to a spot in the shade of the wagon. They settled on the ground, their backs against the wagon wheel and ate and drank in companionable silence.

"Why are you working here today, Edward?"

Both Heather and Beck turned to look at Anita, standing at the end of the wagon. Heather was struck again by her cool blonde beauty, and noted what a striking contrast Anita made to Beck's dark good looks. Heather felt suddenly self-conscious of her sweat, the grime covering her, and her rough hands and broken nails.

"Corporal Decker had to drop out for a few days. He received a minor injury while on patrol, and we couldn't spare anyone else. I decided to take a little holiday to help out in the fields until Corporal Decker can take my place."

Heather carefully filed the information away, feeling both relieved and disappointed that she wouldn't be working side by side with Beck for the entire season. She glanced at him quickly. He really was quite spectacular without his shirt, she thought wistfully, and this was as close as she was ever going to get.

As Beck and Anita chatted, Heather finished eating, leaned her head back against the wagon wheel and sighed tiredly. She would close her eyes, she thought tiredly, just for a moment.

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She struggled as she was forced towards the bed. The sound of the handcuffs locking her hands to the bed frame echoed in her ears, even over the screams of the two women. She tried to free herself as the deputies advanced. "No!" she screamed. "No!"

She awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright, and panting heavily, her body drenched in a cold sweat. She blinked, disoriented, then realized that she had been slumped onto Beck's shoulder, and he was now staring at her with concerned eyes.

"What - " she stammered, trying to come back out of the nightmare.

"Heather," Beck said soothingly, "it was just a dream."

She nodded, and glanced around, meeting Anita's assessing gaze. "How long was I asleep?" she asked.

"About five minutes," Beck responded.

Heather nodded, her breathing slowing, and her reaction to the dream fading. She avoided Beck's eyes, feeling embarrassed and vulnerable. But, she assured herself, he couldn't know that this was just another in a long line of nightmares.

Beck frowned, as if he wanted to say something else, but he turned to Anita instead. "Is there more water?" he asked.

Anita nodded, and grabbed another cupful for Beck. Beck, in turn, gave it to Heather.

"Drink," he ordered, and Heather gave him a half-smile at his tone.

"I'm not one of your soldiers," she said, her smile softening her words, "but thank you."

Beck gave her a long, hard look, assessing her, with that stillness that told her he was determining a course of action. Then he blinked, and turned back to Anita. "Thanks, Anita." he said. "It's almost time to go back to work," he added, glancing around at the rest of the crew.

The crew was evenly split between men and women, and between soldiers and citizens of Jericho. With gas and oil in short supply, the plan was for this team to manually complete as much of the fieldwork as possible for the year, with the assistance of the various farmers whose land they were working. The crew had been carefully picked to have the skills necessary to work in the fields and to do whatever else needed doing, such as building repair.

Heather thought it was an amusing coincidence that all of the women were single,  and had no families in Jericho.  Like her.

Heather felt a cold wind of loneliness pass over her, and she shivered. Beck glanced at her and frowned. Heather smiled and stood up. "Still feeling my nightmare," she said quickly. "It'll pass once I'm working again."

Beck looked at her skeptically. "Whatever you say," he said. They stood, and Heather went gratefully back to her work and discreet gawking at Beck's bare torso, and wondered how long she would be able to enjoy the sight.

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Chapter Text

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They worked for several days, and the team fell into a routine. Heather got her cheap thrills, she told herself ruefully, and worked hard enough to sleep at least part of the night without dreaming. But she had little appetite, although she made an effort to eat the lunches Anita and the others brought out to them. She found herself always eating with Beck as well; he made a point of coming to her when lunch was called, or when they had their breaks. It meant she had to eat; those dark eyes were too observant for her peace of mind. She thanked God that he never asked her direct questions; she wasn't sure she could lie to him a second time.

And as she worked, she planned. Old Mrs. Francis' barn would have to wait until after seeding was completed. The barn was pretty damaged and they might have to build a new one, provided they could find enough supplies. Heather wondered if they could build a sod barn; what did Old Mrs. Francis need it for, anyway? And would a sod barn even be possible? She wondered if she had anything on her bookshelves that would help her figure out what was possible and what wasn't.

Her mind whirling in all different directions, as well as thoughts of Beck below the surface, she didn't hear her name being called until she was knocked off her feet, and hit the ground, stunned and the breath knocked out of her, with a solid body on top of her.

"What - " she gasped, struggling against Beck's body pressing her into the ground. Her hands were trapped beneath her and Beck, and even though a part of her knew it was Beck, another part went into blind panic mode, and she kicked and struggled to free herself.

Beck struggled to calm her. He shifted the two of them and freed her hands then pinned them above her head when she struck out at him. He clamped a hand over her mouth when she let out the first scream. "It's me," he whispered harshly. "It's Beck. Heather - "

Heather's wide-eyed, shocked stare was vacant for a long moment, and then a spark of recognition lit her eyes. She blinked at him, then nodded. He cautiously removed his hand from her mouth.

"Please let my hands go," Heather whispered, her voice pleading. Beck immediately released her hands, and she visibly relaxed and became more controlled, although her breathing was still rapid from her panic attack.

"What's going on?" she asked, sounding more normal.

"Armed men were spotted earlier this morning. We just saw several of them on the hill over there," he moved his head to his right. "I've deployed our guard detail, but we decided to have everyone hit the deck. You didn't hear me yelling at you to get down, so I took you down. Just in time - shots were fired."

Heather stared at him. "Shots were fired?" she repeated, horrified and wondering how she could have missed both his yelling, and the sound of a gunshot. "Do you know the target?"

Beck gave her a long, assessing look. "You know the target as well as I do," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

The world seemed to shrink to Heather, until there was no one but her, and Beck, and Beck's dark, mesmerizing eyes. She was suddenly very aware of his bare torso pressed against her, and how close his face was to hers. She licked her lips, recognizing the controlled rage in his eyes. "You have enough to worry about," she said, her voice a soft whisper.

Beck glanced over to his left, nodded, and levered himself away from her. "Coast is clear," he said, his voice grim. He stood, and held his hand out to her. He pulled her to her feet, holding her close to him for a moment, looming over her. "We'll discuss this later," he said softly, his voice hard and angry.

Heather watched him walk away, feeling shocked and light-headed. And terrified. She looked around, and saw that each soldier had protected one of the women of Jericho, and Beck was listening to a couple of uniformed soldiers, his legs spread, his hands on his hips. As Heather watched, he nodded once and spoke for a few moments, then saluted them as they went on their way. He turned and met her gaze, his own eyes blazing with anger, and she bit her lip and looked away.

Heather was no coward, but she didn't know if she could face an angry Beck after hardly any sleep, minimal food and still feeling rattled by the close shave and her panic attack. She didn't want to talk about Constantino or New Bern; she wanted to focus on her work, and to work until she fell into an exhausted sleep. She could feel her nerves twanging, and she began to desperately think of ways to avoid Beck. At least until tomorrow, she thought. She could face him tomorrow.

But how to avoid him? Her mind fretted, going to and fro, even as she continued working. She supposed she should be grateful he was letting her work, out here in the open - and something clicked in her mind, and she stopped dead in her tracks. She turned and glared at Beck's naked back as he worked, and for the first time she was not distracted by the smooth flow of well-defined muscles as he worked. It was all she could do not to walk up to him and clock him one.

Beck must have felt the weight of her glaring because he stopped working and turned to look at her. His eyes were as angry as hers, and she knew their next meeting alone would not be pleasant for either of them. She lifted her chin defiantly, then deliberately turned her back to him, made even angrier by the glimmer of amusement that warmed his eyes even as his face remained grim.

She studiously ignored him for the rest of the day. That evening, as the sun was setting, and storm clouds began building to the west, Anita made a special trip to the fields, arriving on horseback. As the rest of the crew started back to town, Anita went up to Heather.

"Old Mrs. Francis asked me to find you," Anita said after greeting Heather.

"Oh?" Heather asked, wondering if it was about the barn.

"She's spending the night in Jericho with her daughter," Anita said, "but it looks like a big storm is brewing." They both looked at the dark clouds building in the west, and moving rapidly closer. "She's not sure she closed the house up properly, and she wanted me to ask you to go out to her place and make sure everything is secure. She said you'd know what to do, and you can stay at her place tonight if you can't make it back into Jericho."

Heather stared at Anita for a long moment, feeling exhaustion creeping up on her. Even in spite of the exhaustion, she knew she would be awake with nightmares soon into the night. The incident earlier in the day would likely make the nightmares worse. But did it really matter if she had nightmares at her place, or at Old Mrs. Francis' place?

Heather sighed, and nodded. "Okay." She started to head away from the rest of the crew, who had already gone a fair distance back to Jericho. She paused. "Could I borrow your horse?" she asked Anita.

"I have to get him back to Jericho. Eric needs him to go out on patrol tonight. Sorry!" Anita said, shrugging.

Heather nodded dispiritedly. "Okay," she sighed. "Could you let Beck know where I've gone?" she said, then paused. "On second thought - never mind. I'm sure he'll find out some other way."

Anita frowned at her, then shrugged.

Heather started off to Old Mrs. Francis'. She wasn't too concerned about another attempt by Constantino's men; Beck had talked about a guard patrol, and after the incident earlier in the day, she was sure they had swept the area very carefully.  She also suspected they were still around, keeping an eye on her and the area around her.

She stopped once and looked back. She saw Anita, still with the group, riding beside Beck, and Heather felt jealousy burn through her. Eric obviously wasn't waiting anxiously if Anita could chat with Beck on the way, Heather thought waspishly, angrily turning her back on the sight.  She picked up her pace to get to the farm.

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Chapter Text

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The storm hit just before Heather got to the farm, and it hit with a vengeance. The wind was howling and picking up speed, and she was half-blinded and soaked by the heavy downpour almost instantly. The lightning was intense, the thunder deafening, and Heather looked at the sky and knew she had to head to the storm cellar. If Old Mrs Francis had left the house open, that was just too bad.

Heather quickly glanced around her and gaped at the sight of Beck, running to catch up with her. She gaped even more at the clouds roiling behind him, forming ominous tendrils growing toward the ground.

"Come on!" she screamed against the wind, dancing impatiently as he ran towards her. They then ran as fast as they could towards the farmhouse, trying to see through the rain and slipping in the wet grass and earth. Together they helped each other navigate the run to the storm cellar on the other side of the house.

Beck got the doors open, and Heather headed down first, while he followed, struggling to close the doors in the gusting wind. Heather quickly found a lantern and turned it on, then headed back up the stairs to help Beck. They got the doors shut with a bang, and Beck held them, while Heather locked them down. Gasping for breath, streaming water, and shivering from cold and fear, Heather led the way down to the storm cellar, where they stood for a moment listening to the rain and the wind and the thunder.

Beck wiped the water from his face while Heather tried to wring water from her hair. She became uncomfortably aware that her tank top and shorts were soaking wet, and clinging to her like a second skin, while Beck's jeans were soaked through, although his torso was still bare. The storm cellar was cool, and she looked around to see if there was anything they could use as a towel, and for warmth.

She saw a cot in the corner, and headed there, trying to ignore the small space and the man in that space with her, his anger radiating from him like a fire.

"I've never thought you were stupid," Beck growled, his voice loud even against the sound of the storm outside, "but I'm beginning to wonder."

Heather stopped dead in her tracks and turned to glare at him. "Constantino's men aren't out in this," she said sarcastically.

Beck glared at her then stiffened as the sound like a freight train began to build. He glanced up at the door, then grabbed Heather and huddled with her in the corner farthest away from the stairs. Luckily, she had grabbed one of the blankets from the cot as they passed, and she threw it over them, for both warmth and for some small measure of protection as they waited for the storm to pass.

"Funnel clouds," Beck said grimly, holding tight to Heather. She clung to him, her eyes wide and terrified, teeth chattering as they listened to the storm getting louder and more violent, the doors to the storm cellar rattling hard.

Heather lost track of how long they sat, huddled under the blanket, clinging to each other as the storm raged outside. They could hear the sounds of destruction, and the noise seemed never-ending, building and building, until Beck finally cupped Heather's head and pressed her face into his neck, whispering comforting and reassuring words as she shivered and shook against him.

Heather could feel tears gathering in her eyes. It had been so long since anyone had even tried to comfort or protect her. And in spite of the fear and the danger, Beck's efforts to protect and comfort made her feel safe, and...cherished. Or at least like somebody actually cared if she lived or died.

The noise of the wind eventually died away, until only the sound of the rain was left. After long moments, Heather reluctantly raised her head to meet Beck's wide brown eyes. She was suddenly very aware that the man she had been clinging to was shirtless, and she could feel herself start to blush. She was grateful for the dim lighting.

"I think the worst is over," she said shyly.

Beck nodded. "Still raining like a son-of-a-bitch, though."

"That should end soon," Heather said hopefully. "We should try to get dry - it's cold down here." She hoped her reluctance to disengage from Beck wasn't obvious. "And you're..." she gestured vaguely.

Beck suppressed a smile. "Yes," he agreed solemnly.

Heather hastily pulled away from him. Her awareness of Beck, coupled with the after-effects of her fear, and the fact that she was in a small, confined space made her nervous and clumsy. She put a hand on his thigh to push herself off the floor, and then snatched her hand away, blushing furiously. "I'm s-sorry," she stuttered, scrambling to her feet and backing away.

Beck's amusement deepened, and she stared at him with wide eyes. For a brief moment, she felt like the old Heather, the Heather she had been before New Bern, when she had been brave enough and naive enough to kiss a man she liked in broad daylight on Main Street. She wondered frantically what Beck would do if she kissed him, here and now. When he had nowhere to run.

And then she remembered what happened in New Bern, and she put those thoughts away.

By this time, Beck was also on his feet, and he seemed to loom over her, dominating the small space they were in. He was holding the blanket they had huddled under. She realized he had spoken. The blush that had been fading rushed back as she asked him to repeat himself.

"I just asked if there were more blankets, or anything resembling towels," he said, his eyes now showing his concern rather than amusement.

"There's at least one more blanket," Heather said, then hurried over to the cot. "Yes, one more," she said, nodding.

Beck cocked his head to listen to the rain. "I think it's starting to slow down," he said, "so we will hopefully be able to get out of here and into the house so we can get warm and dry. In the meantime, we can use this blanket to dry off a bit, and then we can share the other blanket to get warm." He handed the blanket to Heather. "Here - ladies first."

She reluctantly took the blanket from him. "Thank you," she said softly and proceeded to blot her hair, and to rub some feeling back into her arms and legs. She then handed the blanket back to Beck. "I think most of the rain water soaked into you," she said, giving him a small smile. She was damp, but not as dripping wet as she was before.

"I think the dirt floor took a lot of it," Beck responded, taking the blanket and doing the same as Heather. He had the advantage of a bare torso, but he was wearing jeans, and Heather knew those had to be uncomfortable, especially in the cool of the storm cellar.

As he towelled himself, Beck gave Heather that cool, direct, assessing gaze; the look that always told her he was analyzing data and making decisions about his next course of action.

She avoided his eyes, looking instead around the storm cellar. Old Mrs. Francis kept it well stocked for emergencies, with not only the electric lantern, but also kerosene lanterns and matches. The cot had two blankets and two pillows; there was a portable radio, a crib board and cards, and canned food and bottled water on the shelves. There was even a stack of magazines and books of puzzles on one shelf, along with a package of mechanical pencils. When Heather opened a door tucked under the stairs and saw the covered honey pot, she said, with a fond smile, "Old Mrs. Francis thinks of everything."

Beck nodded. "Lucky for us," he said drily. He paused, and listened. "I think the wind has stopped," he said, "and the rain, too. I'm going to open the doors and take a look around."

Heather's relief was palpable, and she nodded eager agreement.

Beck went up the stairs, with Heather close behind him. He unlocked the doors, and pushed them. To his surprise, and Heather's dismay, they didn't open.

He tried again; the doors opened a fraction of an inch.

"No," Heather protested, her voice strained "no - we have to get out of here." She came up beside him on the stairs.

Beck gave her a concerned look, but nodded, and said, "On three. One - two - THREE!" They both pushed against the doors, but managed to only open them enough to see it was now dark, and the rain was still falling in a steady drizzle. They tried one last time, and then Beck sighed heavily and said, his voice resigned, "We'll have to spend the night."

Heather stared at him, wild-eyed. "No!" she said, the edge of panic in her voice. "We have to keep trying! Maybe we can dislodge whatever it is," and she turned back to the doors and began frantically pushing against them.

"Heather - " Beck said gently, reaching out and grasping her wrists to stop her.

She reacted instinctively, flinging his hands off, twisting away and striking out at him. She lost her balance and began to fall. Beck grabbed her, and she took him down with her. Beck somehow managed to twist both of them so that they hit the third step on their hips and butts, rather than falling straight backwards or tumbling down the stairs.

They slid down the rest of the stairs, their hips hitting each step as they fell, and lay in an untidy heap at the bottom, the breath knocked out of them. In Heather's case, it also knocked the panic out of her.

"Are you all right?" she asked in a small, ashamed voice after several moments of silence.

"I'll let you know when the pain stops," Beck groaned.

Heather gingerly sat up, relieved to find that everything still worked properly, even if sore. She looked at Beck beside her, his face contorted in a grimace of pain.

She carefully ran her hands down one of his legs. "Let me know if I hurt you," she said.

He laughed slightly, putting one hand lightly over hers, but making no attempt to restrain her. She stopped at the first touch. "Nothing's broken," he groaned, "but I'm not as young as I used to be." He opened his eyes, and Heather froze like a rabbit facing a mountain lion. A beautiful, sinuous creature, she thought distractedly, but deadly to the core.

Beck sat up with a groan, but made no move to stand. He looked at her very seriously for a long moment, and asked quietly, "What happened to you in New Bern, Heather?"

Heather flinched as if he had struck her.

Beck leaned against the stairs, and slowly reached out a hand to her arm. She jerked, but did not move away from his touch. He carefully and loosely put his hand around her arm and tugged her gently. "Come sit beside me," he said, his voice gentle.

Heather allowed herself to be settled beside him, her eyes never leaving his. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable, and clearly showed her fear and confusion and shame.

Beck turned more fully towards her, and - again cautiously and slowly - took her hand loosely in his.

"Heather," he said, then paused and swallowed. "Heather," he said again, his voice betraying no emotion, "did they...rape you in New Bern?"

Heather's eyes never wavered from his as he waited for her response. Finally, after long moments of silence, she whispered, "No."

"Tell me what happened," he invited.

She swallowed hard, and even though she kept her eyes locked on his, she no longer saw him, or the storm cellar. She saw the jail cells in New Bern as she began to speak.

"We were in the prison for two days when the deputies came in. Two of them. There were three of us - two other women and me. The deputies - one held his gun on us while the other handcuffed us to our beds. We didn't struggle - it had happened before, and it was because a doctor had come to examine us, give us physicals, right there. In front of each other. We just assumed the doctor was coming again, or something similar. Besides, I had struggled the first time, and the deputy punched me; knocked me out cold. I'd never been punched before.

"So, they handcuffed us down, and then...they each took a woman and raped her. We were all screaming, until the deputies slapped them around. I kept screaming until one deputy got up and pointed his gun at my head and told me to shut the f-fuck up or he would kill me. The other deputy reminded him that I was more valuable to Constantino alive, and Constantino would make him pay if anything happened to me.

"I wanted to keep them talking, away from the others, so I asked what they meant. I hoped somebody would come and rescue us, stop them from using us like animals.

"They told me the deputies had drawn straws for the women to see who would get first crack at them. But not me. The doctor had told them I was still a v-virgin; that meant I would bring more at Black Jack. Constantino had left explicit orders I wasn't to be touched. No help was going to arrive. Six deputies came in through the night, and repeatedly raped the women in the cell with me.

"I went to school with some of those men; I knew almost all of them all my life. I begged them to leave those women alone, to let us go, to be human. I tried to loosen the bed frame, to find a way to pick the locks on the handcuffs, to rip the entire bed from the floor, but I couldn't get free.

"Some of the deputies...flaunted themselves to me, saying they knew I wanted them. I had had a crush on one of them all through high school, and I couldn't believe he would do these things, and I told him so. He came over and...said he always knew I had wanted him, and how pathetic I was that I had never found a man who would f-fuck me, and I was just sorry he wasn't there for me. I spit in his face and kicked him, and he punched me. Only he didn't knock me out. After that they stayed away from me.

"The women were quiet through most of it. They only spoke to me once - after I had been punched - to say they hated me because I wasn't being raped, too. I asked how badly they were hurt, and they only told me they hated me.

"We were handcuffed all night. The next day, we were rescued by a group of people who were resisting Constantino. We were on the way to Black Jack, and this group ambushed the truck. They split us up - the women refused to get in the car with me - and we got away, only to be ambushed ourselves later, which was when the army found me.

"Everyone in the car was killed, except me. Everyone was raped, except me. Everyone died, except me. And I couldn't help anybody."

As Heather spoke, Beck had kept a reassuring grip on her hand. His eyes showed the horror and compassion he felt at her story, and the anger at Constantino and his men.

"Is that why you're making yourself an easy target for Constantino?" he asked carefully. "Because you think your death will somehow make up for what happened?"

Heather paused. "Constantino doesn't want me dead, Beck," she finally said. "At least not right away." She stared at him unseeingly. "Those poor women," she whispered.

"What were their names?"

Heather swallowed. "I told you already," she said, her eyes skittering away from his for the first time since her story began.

"No, you haven't. What were their names?"

Heather was silent for long moments, and then she whispered, "Rebecca and Amy," and burst into tears.

Beck gathered her close, and held her tight, making sure he didn't restrain her hands or arms. Heather sobbed harder at the feel of his arms around her. She cried for Rebecca and Amy, and the other women like them. She cried for the people who had died in the crash that she had survived. She cried for those who died in the Attacks and those who had died after. She cried for innocence lost, for dreams broken, for lost faith and dashed hopes. She cried for Beck and his family. She cried for Jake, and Emily, and all of Jericho. She cried for all the things she couldn't change, or fix. She cried for the loss of her previous self; she cried for her current self and the pain and the shame and the guilt she carried. And she cried for a lost world that would never be regained.

With Beck's arms around her, she cried without restraint, sobbing like a child, her body wracked by her emotions and her expression of them.

She had no idea how long they sat on the dirt floor at the bottom of the stairs. But the tears eventually subsided, and she became aware again of Beck's body against hers, her stuffed sinuses, and a bone-deep exhaustion that numbed her, and made her almost fall asleep where they sat.

Beck was holding her tightly, one arm around her, the other pressing her head to his chest. He gently massaged her scalp, his fingers buried in her hair, almost petting her, she thought through her haze of exhaustion.

She slowly and reluctantly lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes glazed and bloodshot and red-rimmed. He gave her a small smile. "Ready to face the rest of the night?" he asked softly, his hand still on her head. She nodded slowly. Beck gazed at her for a moment, and then slowly leaned towards her and pressed a gentle, comforting kiss to her forehead, as if he were comforting a child.

"Now," he said briskly, as she stared at him in a daze, "before you can sleep, you need to eat something and we both need to get out of these clothes. You can wrap up in one blanket, I'll use the other, and we'll both share the cot."

Heather was too exhausted to argue. She did give him a look of concern when he limped slightly walking to the shelves, but he reassured her.

"Sit," he said. "No - get out of those clothes first, and wrap yourself up, while I find us something to eat."

Heather did as Beck suggested, swaying with exhaustion, while Beck politely kept his back turned until she told him to turn around. She then gave him the same courtesy.

Later, after a cold supper eaten from cans, they laid on the cot, both wrapped loosely in their own blanket, but spooned closely together. Heather had asked that one of the lanterns be lit, and kept burning through the night. Beck agreed, and the light was comforting, even if dim. Heather was asleep within minutes.

*/*/*/*/*

Chapter Text

*/*/*/*/*

The dreams came, and they were vivid, more vivid than ever. She was struggling against him, doing what she hadn't done that night in New Bern. If she could get away from him - but it was no use. She was screaming, crying for help, pleading with the men to stop -

"You're safe. It's over. You're dreaming. Wake up. You're safe. It's over. It wasn't your fault. Wake up."

DreamHeather frowned, pausing in her struggles. That voice had never been there before.

"Jake?" she questioned.

There was a pause. Then, "Yes. You're safe. It's over. You're dreaming. Wake up."

And now she could see Jake on the other side of the bars, but he looked...odd. Like he was blurred at the edges. And she was free from the handcuffs, standing at the bars and staring at him with sad eyes.

"Where were you?" she said. "You never came looking for me. You didn't even send a message to check on me."

"Shush. That doesn't matter right now. You're dreaming. Wake up."

"It does matter, Jake. I thought you were my friend. Did you even wonder about me? What about Emily? Did she ever ask about me? Or were you both just glad I was gone?"

Another pause, and Heather frowned as Jake seemed to shift and change into...someone she couldn't quite see. She blinked and it was Jake again, staring at her with sad brown eyes.

"I'm sure that wasn't the case," he finally replied. "You should wake up now, Heather."

"I could have loved you," she whispered. "I was halfway there."

"Oh, God. Please, wake up, Heather."

And Heather blinked, and Jake morphed into Beck, in full army uniform. He was standing in front of her with his arms crossed, his face stoic, his eyes watchful, and she was out of the jail cell. Heather felt relief flood through her, and she gave him the wide smile she seldom showed him. "Oh, Beck - thank God! What happened to Jake?"

"Jake had to leave. You're dreaming, Heather. Wake up."

"I'm dreaming?" she said with surprise.

"Yes. You really should wake up. Now."

Heather moved closer, mesmerized by Beck's brown eyes. "You have beautiful eyes," she said softly.

He paused.  "Thank you. Wake up."

"You look nice in your uniform," she said shyly.

There was a longer pause, and Beck, seemed to become more still and watchful, although his expression didn't change.  "Thank you," he finally responded. "You're dreaming, Heather."

"But I like you better out of it," she said, and Beck was standing in front of her in his jeans and sneakers and nothing else. She sighed happily and reached out her hands and placed them on his chest.

"Oh, boy." Beck muttered. "You'd better wa-"

She pressed her lips against his and sensuously stroked his bare chest, her hands exploring the muscles and smooth skin she had been watching for days.

Heather became aware that Beck was passive against her lips and under her hands. She broke the kiss, and blinked at him.

"Don't you want me either?" She asked, her voice sad.

"Where are you, Heather?" Beck replied, his voice strained.

"I'm - " she looked around. "I'm with you. We're in a hallway somewhere - although why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

Beck gave a groaning laugh. "You're still asleep, Heather."

"Oh," she said, "okay," and hurtled into the blackness of dreamless sleep.

*/*/*/*/*

Chapter Text

*/*/*/*/*

When Heather awoke, she blinked, disoriented by both her surroundings and by the feel of a body pressed close to hers. As she stared around the storm cellar, the events of the previous day flooded over her, and she sighed, rubbing her face. Beck was spooned up against her, one arm flung across her waist, holding her snugly against him. She wondered what the time was, and how long they would have to wait before they were rescued.

Heather reluctantly slid out of bed, leaving Beck a warm, solid presence behind her. She paused, and looked at him, admiring the length of his lashes as they lay against his cheeks. He looked much younger with his face relaxed in sleep, his hair tousled, his cheeks dark with stubble. She fought the urge to reach out and stroke his face, to experience the roughness of his beard beneath her fingers. She sighed soundlessly and forced herself to turn away.

She bit back a cry of pain as her muscles, stiff and sore from all that had happened the day before, protested while she walked to the table and picked up the electric lantern. She turned it on and took it to the small room below the stairs where Old Mrs. Francis had placed the honey pot. When she opened the door, she saw Beck was up and dressed in his jeans.

She washed her hands with the bottle of water they had used the day before, using the tiny sliver of soap that Beck had found, and opened a couple of cans of food while Beck used the bathroom.

"You're limping," she observed when he came back and was washing his hands.

"It was a hard day," he said drily, and gave her a small smile.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. She took a closer look at him. "You're bruised," she said.

Beck nodded. "I know it. Between tackling you to the ground and falling down the stairs," he shrugged, and winced.

Heather gave him a guilty look. They sat at the table and ate in silence for a few minutes.

"How long -"

"They'll be here today," Beck said, his voice reassuring. "My men knew where I was going. How long it takes will depend on what's actually blocking the doors."

Heather nodded. "Okay," she said.

"Heather," Beck said after a moment, his voice carefully neutral, "do you have a history of sleepwalking?"

Heather stared at him, her eyes wide and appalled. "Not exactly sleepwalking," she replied. "I never actually left my bed. But I would apparently hold entire conversations with people while asleep. I didn't remember anything, but people would tell me about it later."

Beck nodded. "I wondered."

"Why? Did we have a conversation last night?"

"Yes," Beck said simply, his eyes never wavering from hers. "You were having a nightmare, and I tried to wake you. You never did wake up, but you spoke to me as if you were awake."

Heather stared at him, horrified. "What did I say?"

He shrugged and glanced away. "Nothing that made any real sense. It probably fit what you were dreaming about, but made no sense to me."

"Oh." Heather said, relieved. On the few nights that she hadn't had a nightmare, Beck had been playing a starring role. She would hate to jeopardize her relationship with him when any possibility of him returning her feelings was non-existent.

They finished their makeshift breakfast, and then looked around the storm cellar and at each other.

Beck said, "I would like to try something. Keep your hand on that electric lantern. I want to see how dark it is during the day. We should conserve the light sources until we know how long it's going to take to get us out of here."

Heather agreed, and Beck blew out the lantern that had been burning all night. It seemed pitch black once the lantern was out, but after several minutes, she could see dim shapes.

"Too dark," Heather said.

"Yes," Beck sighed. "You can turn on the electric lantern again."

Beck looked thoughtfully around the storm cellar. "We were a bit...distracted last night to really look at these shelves. How many supplies - "

"There are extra batteries, extra fuel for the gas lanterns, along with extra matches. There's a whole section of home-made bottled water - Old Mrs. Francis boiled tap water and re-used plastic bottles she had in the house when the Attacks occurred. There are extra ten gallon pails to use as honey pots, and a couple rolls of toilet paper. I'm amazed she has any left."

Beck quirked an eyebrow at her. "I guess you did have time to observe all that last night."

Heather shook her head. "Old Mrs. Francis gave me a tour about a month ago, when I was out here discussing her barn. She told me she and Mr. Francis had been trapped in a storm cellar for days after a tornado destroyed their home. They had no food, very little water, a kerosene lantern, and one book of matches. They were in pretty bad shape when they got pulled out. She said, after that, they stocked their storm cellars so they could survive a siege, if necessary. The only time it wasn't fully stocked was after that first winter, when nobody had any food."

Beck watched her solemnly as she spoke, giving her that all-seeing gaze that made her nervous, wondering what he was thinking and what he was going to say.

"You were really good at your job," Beck said slowly. "I never wanted you to leave."

"Thank you," she said, after a surprised silence. "But Gray had a point. Once you reported to him, he had Anita as town manager, and the information she provides is similar to what I provided. You didn't need two of us."

"What Anita does for me is nothing like what you do. She wouldn't have known why Old Mrs. Francis keeps a well-stocked storm cellar."

"Sure she would."

"No - because Anita wouldn't have been out here listening to a lonely old lady tell stories. She would have been out here to deal with the barn and nothing else."

Heather blinked at him, at a loss for words.

Beck gave her a small smile, his eyes warm, and Heather could feel herself start to blush.

"What does Old Mrs. Francis need done to her barn?" Beck asked briskly, looking down at his makeshift breakfast.

"It's pretty extensively damaged after the heavy snows this last winter, and needs to be repaired. The damage is so bad, I would almost recommend tearing it down, but I'm not sure we could find any materials to rebuild it. I was thinking about a sod barn for her, but I don't know if that's possible. I'm wondering if we can just tear it down, and re-use what we can elsewhere in Jericho. She doesn't really seem to need it because she doesn't have livestock. But her late husband built it, so..." She shrugged.

Beck began to question her for more details about the barn, giving suggestions, and alternatives. And then the discussion turned to his work, and the future. "We need to forge new alliances," he said thoughtfully. "I've been working with Ron Love in Rogue River, and she's beginning to trust me. New Bern is a lost cause, though, I think. There's so much bad blood between us now, it'll take years before we can work together from a level of trust."

"Well, the longer Constantino is around, the worse it will be," Heather said, her voice carefully neutral.

Beck gave her a sharp, piercing look, and then his eyes narrowed in comprehension and anger. "You want to get captured by Constantino." he said accusingly.

She flushed, but lifted her chin defiantly and glared back. "You were using me as bait," she snapped.

"To capture his men - not the other way around!"

"And do what with those men?" Heather demanded. "Send them back to him in body bags?"

"If necessary," Beck said grimly.

"That would be murder, and those men are just following orders."

"Like the deputies were?"

Heather jerked as if she had been slapped, but Beck did not back down.

"No," he said, his voice calmer, "we wouldn't murder them. But I had hoped to use them to bargain with him."

"Constantino won't bargain," she said.

"Maybe - maybe not. What was your plan?"

She gazed at him, silent.

Beck stared at her, his face grim. "What?" he asked, his voice deadly flat. "Were you planning on killing Constantino yourself?"

"I asked Hawkins for help, and he's training me -"

"I don't want to hear it!" Beck snapped, violently shoving himself away from the table. "They would have killed you!"

"There are things worse than death," Heather said, as calmly as she could in the face of his rage.

"You're not some kind of, of assassin," Beck snarled. "What was Hawkins thinking?"

"He agrees with you - but he wanted me to be prepared, in case I was captured. And I'm also not stupid. If Constantino gets me, it'll be too late by the time anyone notices I'm gone. I need to have a plan, and I need to protect myself. I'm sorry if that upsets you, but it's not your decision to make. If I have to kill Constantino to protect myself, to protect Jericho, to protect -"

"Don't!" Beck shouted, his control on his temper snapping. "Don't talk as if you were capable of cold-blooded murder!" He stalked away from her, and stood, breathing heavily.

Heather walked after him. "Cold-blooded?" she asked, incredulous. "Killing Constantino would be like killing a snake."

Beck turned on her, grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a small shake. "Don't ever talk like that, Heather! Not you!"

"Why are you so angry?"

"Because you're young and innocent; you're hopeful for the future in spite of the past. You're life - and to think of you - " Beck stopped, closing his eyes, his hands painfully tight on her shoulders. "To think of you in that situation, having to do that, and probably being killed yourself as a result -" He opened his eyes, and they were blazing with anger, and fear, and something Heather couldn't quite identify. "It's...sacrilege." he whispered.

She stared at him with wide eyes, her hands on the hard muscles of his forearms.

"I'm not some...some symbol, Beck," she snapped. "I'm not some flag you rally around. You don't do things for God, and country and Heather Lisinski," and she raised her chin and challenged him with her stare.

Beck muttered something she couldn't quite hear, cupped her face and crushed her lips with his. She stood in shocked amazement for a moment, and then his tongue demanded entrance to her mouth, and she was lost.

Heather had never been kissed the way Beck was kissing her. There was nothing remotely gentle or sweet or romantic about it. It was pure carnal hunger and sensuality, and she had no defense against him. She answered his passion with her own, moaning softly as she stroked her hands up his arms to his shoulders, where she gripped him tightly, feeling the sleek, defined muscles beneath her fingers.

Beck broke the kiss, lifting his head enough to look in her eyes, his breathing rapid. She opened dazed blue eyes and stared at him, her lips parted, red and moist. What he saw must have pleased him, because he sighed, and kissed her again, lowering his hands to her hips, pulling her tightly against him. She stood on tiptoe, as close to him as she could get, but trying to get closer. She moaned in the back of her throat and the kiss became even more frantic at the sound. Beck's hands tightened on her hips, pulling her more fully against him. She could feel him through his jeans, hard and straining, and she gasped with pleasure. She found herself frantically stroking his back, her fingernails biting into him as she pressed her aching breasts against his bare chest, the thin layer of her bra and tank top an almost intolerable barrier. Beck's hands burrowed beneath her tank top, stroking her back and dipping below the waistband of her shorts.

She was dimly aware that they were moving, but it wasn't until Beck broke the kiss to pull her tank top and bra off her in one smooth motion that she realized they were now beside the cot.

Beck stared at her naked breasts, his eyes dark and burning, his face stark with passion. He reached out and cupped her breasts in his palms, his thumbs teasing her taut nipples. The sight of his tanned hands in contrast with her pale breasts; the feel of his callouses, rough against her sensitive skin, and the sound of their rapid breathing sent lightning flashes through her body, and she shook with need, tightening her grip on him to keep herself from falling down.

Then his lips closed around one nipple, and she gave a soft, gasping cry as she arched against him, her eyes closed, her fingers buried in his dark hair.

"Major Beck! Heather!"

They froze at the shout from outside the storm cellar. Beck slowly lifted his mouth from Heather's breast to blink at her, disoriented.

"Major Beck! Heather! Are you in there?"

Beck slowly dropped his hands, and stepped away from Heather. He looked around, and then picked up her bra and tank top and handed them to her.

"Yes!" he yelled towards the stairs. "Can you hear me?"

Heather put on her clothes with trembling hands, trying to get her breathing under control.

"Yes! It's Commander Clark. Are you both all right? Do you need medical assistance?"

Heather was dressed again, and they climbed the stairs to the doors.

"We're both all right," he said. "No medical assistance required."

"That's a relief. Sir, Jericho was hit hard by the storm last night."

"Casualties?" Beck asked, his face grim.

"No deaths so far, sir, but at least ten injured. The storm hit early enough that everyone made it to shelter. However, there are people still trapped by fallen debris and who need medical assistance."

"How long before you get us out of here?"

"About half an hour, sir, maybe less."

"All right." They could hear the sounds of debris being lifted and moved even as they spoke.

Heather and Beck returned down the stairs by mutual, unspoken consent. Heather stood in awkward silence, looking anywhere but directly at Beck. She was no coward, but she couldn't read Beck's expression, and had no idea how she was supposed to act towards him at this moment. To make things worse, the few glances she sent his way showed her that, even half-naked, he was Major Beck again, his face stoic and his manner reserved. He didn't look or act as though he had been making love to her just a few minutes ago.

He wasn't looking at her either, instead staring steadily at the wall opposite him, frowning. "Heather," he began, and finally looked at her, his eyes remorseful. "I'm sorry - "

Heather's heart clenched. She couldn't bear to hear him apologize to her. She began to babble. "It's okay, no need to say anything, we don't ever need to refer to this again. What do you think we'll find when we get out of here? I wonder what was blocking the door, and if Old Mrs. Francis will need to have her house repaired. And how badly do you think Jericho is damaged and who's hurt? It'll depend on where the tornado touched down, of course, but you may need to make a special run to the trading posts." She kept talking, studiously not looking at Beck, and speaking as rapidly as possible so he couldn't get a word in edgewise.

She could feel the humiliation building. He was sorry, she thought in agony. This was even worse than when Jake ignored her for a month after she kissed him.

And she kept talking. "We'll have to figure out how to rebuild, and still get the crops planted. Not sure how we'll find supplies and materials - with Constantino a constant threat, going farther afield is dangerous, because who would guard Jericho if a large force goes out looking for supplies?"

Beck finally put his hand over her mouth. "Shush," he ordered. She made a half-hearted effort to escape him, but he held her gently in place. "Now, let me speak," he commanded. He held her gaze until her eyes dropped, and she nodded meekly. Beck would have his say, Heather thought, and if he didn't have it now, he would just have it later.

Beck dropped his hands. "When we get out of here, things are going to be insanely busy. I may not see you to speak to you about anything other than rebuilding Jericho and all those other factors you've mentioned. That doesn't mean - shit," he exclaimed softly as the doors were flung open and sunlight streamed into the storm cellar. Two faces peered down at them, grinning.

"Let's get you out of here," Clark said, grinning.

"If there were medals for bad timing," Beck muttered, then let Heather precede him up the stairs while he turned off the lantern.

Heather and Beck came out, blinking, into the sunlight, and took a look around. Heather gasped when she turned and saw that the house was nothing but a pile of debris.

"Sir," one of the soldiers said, "you'll want to look at this."

Beck followed the soldier to a spot a little ways from the storm cellar. He looked down where the soldier pointed, and then frowned. He crouched down, taking a closer look, and then looked over his shoulder at Heather, who was watching them curiously.

Beck rose and walked over to her. "There's a dead man," he said without preamble.

Heather's hand flew to her mouth. "My God!" she breathed. "Who - ?"

"It's one of Constantino's men."

Now she gaped at him, her eyes wide. "What? How - "

"I don't know," Beck said grimly, "but I'm going to find out."

"There was no one when we were running to the shelter!" Heather said. "Even half-blinded, we would have noticed somebody!"

"We'll figure it out," Beck assured her. "But there's nothing we can do for him right now, and there are people who are still alive and who need us. We can't transport him back to Jericho right now, so I'll send somebody else out to get him later."

Heather nodded. The priority right now was for the living; they would take care of the dead later.

*/*/*/*/*

The devastation in Jericho was restricted to the west side of town. The rest of the town was mercifully left relatively untouched, including the medi-centre, Bailey's, and the sheriff's office. They headed to the sheriff's office first where Beck immediately began getting status reports from his men. As he listened, he pulled the blinds in his office, and when he emerged, he was in full uniform and was once again the cool, aloof Major Beck with a job to do.

Heather, too, had been receiving a briefing. Although she was no longer Beck's liaison, the men still treated her as if she were. She was in the process of getting information regarding the location and status of the rescue operations when Beck left the sheriff's office, surrounded by his men, and without more than a passing glance.

Heather sighed inwardly, still feeling the burn of humiliation at Beck's apology. With an inward shake of her head, she refocused on the men she was listening to. There were more important matters than her non-existent love life.

She joined the search and rescue operations, and she worked alongside the rescue teams long into the night.

*/*/*/*/*

Chapter Text

 */*/*/*/*

The first person Heather saw the next day when she walked into the sheriff's office was Beck, surrounded by his men, Gray and Anita. He glanced at her as she came in, his eyes searching, then quickly turned his attention back to whatever Anita was telling him. Heather gritted her teeth when Anita placed a hand on his arm, and he patted it. She turned away, and saw Emily and Jake with some of the other Rangers in another corner. She walked towards them without another glance at Beck.

"Hey," Jake said as she came towards them, "you're limping. Did you hurt yourself yesterday?"

Heather shook her head. "No - just sore from the last day or so."

"Yeah, I heard about Beck tackling you to the ground the other day." Emily said. "And that you spent the night trapped in a storm cellar with him."

Jake's eyes narrowed and he shot a suspicious look towards Beck. "I hadn't heard that - what happened? Did he treat you all right? "

Heather stared at him, then gave a small smile. "I wasn't his prisoner, Jake. He wanted to get out of that storm cellar as much as I did. And nothing happened. We ate, we slept, we talked." And shared some of the most intense moments of her life, she thought, but Jake didn't need to know that. Her eyes slid away, and she met Emily's thoughtful gaze. She could feel the blush start, but she raised her chin, and asked briskly, "What's on the agenda for today?"

Emily tilted her head towards Beck. "More of the same, I'm sure. Beck seems to be watching us pretty carefully - I wonder what's going on over there?"

Heather risked a glance over her shoulder, and met Beck's eyes. His face was stoic, but his eyes were watchful, and he glanced from her to Jake and back again.

Gray called everyone to order, and once there was silence, he began to speak. "Everybody who was trapped has been rescued. The medi-centre is full, but the majority of injuries are minor. There was one fatality - a New Bern man - found out on one of the farms."

Heather glanced at Beck and then quickly re-focused back on Gray.

"Major Beck and some of his men will be going to New Bern today to assess what damage has occurred there, and to return the dead man to his home. For the rest of us, it's clean up and salvage. Heather?"

Heather jumped a little at the sound of her name. "Yes?"

"You're in charge of salvage detail. Anything that can be re-used, let's get it sorted and stored." At Heather's nod, Gray looked around the packed office. "We don't know if we're going to be able to get supplies to rebuild. Once we have a handle on the damage, Anita and Heather will work together to determine the best way to allocate the salvage, and manpower, in order to ensure the people affected by this will be set by winter. Anita will then coordinate with Major Beck to try and get as many necessary supplies through the trading posts, and she will assist him in negotiating for supplies on Jericho's behalf."

"Mr. Mayor," Heather said, "there's still the fieldwork to get done."

Gray frowned at her. "We need as many people as possible for the next couple of days. We'll reassess the supply of gas and oil; we may need to allocate something to the farming effort."

Anita put her hand on Beck's arm and whispered in his ear. He looked at her, and shook his head, before turning his attention back to Gray. Heather discreetly watched them, trying not to grit her teeth. She could understand the attraction; Anita was beautiful, intelligent and knew what she wanted and how to get it. She suspected, however, that Anita hadn't gotten as far as she wanted yet. Beck was still grieving for his wife and child, but the fact that he had kissed Heather showed her he was, if not ready to move on, at least willing to go forward into the future without them. And even though Anita was sitting possessively beside him, Heather knew that Beck would never have kissed her in the storm cellar if there was anything currently going on with Anita. He wasn't that kind of man. But she assumed, watching them, that it was only a matter of time. Beck seemed to enjoy Anita; his eyes warm when he looked at her, not remote and watchful...like the way he was looking at Heather right now.

It took all of her will power to look steadily back at him, and she hoped he couldn't read how much she still hurt from his apology, or how confused and uncertain she felt. She didn't know how she was supposed to act with him, and she felt strangely shy - almost like the old Heather. She dropped her gaze, and then slanted another quick glance at him and caught an amused glimmer in his eyes as he looked at her. She bit her lip, and refocused on Anita and Gray.

Yes, only a matter of time. Anita seemed like such a good match for him. Besides, Heather thought sadly as she listened to Anita telling the group where to take the debris and salvage material, she was willing to bet that Anita didn't have nightmares, and didn't panic when somebody unexpectedly touched her arms.

Beck made his way over to her before everyone left the sheriff's office. He was still limping, and she frowned. "Have you been looked at for that?" she asked as he came up to her.

He paused, and then smiled faintly. "I'm bruised, but that's all. It'll ease during the day. What about you? You're limping too."

"It'll ease during the day," she replied calmly, and then glanced away.

Beck moved slightly closer and lowered his voice. "Did you sleep last night?"

She refused to look at him. "Some," she acknowledged reluctantly.

"Did you eat?"

She looked at him sharply. "What? Why?"

Beck looked around, and then cocked his head towards his office. "Give me five minutes?" he asked.

She hesitated, then nodded.

He led her into his office. "You've lost weight - and don't think I didn't notice that first day in the fields that you struggled to eat the food that Anita and the others brought out."

She stared at him, shocked.

"You need to take care of yourself, Heather."

"I'm fine."

Beck cocked his head and gave her a skeptical look. "You'll be fine, but you're not fine yet. I want you to promise me that you'll eat - even when there's nobody there to watch you."

Heather stared at him, feeling like Alice down the rabbit hole.

He lowered his head, his gaze intent on her face. "I want you to promise, Heather."

She licked her lips. "I promise," she said softly.

Beck straightened. "Good. I won't be back for a couple of days, but - "

The knock on the door was light but sharp, and they turned to see Anita poking her head into the office.

"We need to get going, Edward," Anita said in her light, easy voice.

Heather frowned, and glanced at Beck's now stoic face.

"We?" Heather heard herself ask.

"Oh, didn't you know? I'm going to New Bern, too."

*/*/*/*/*

Chapter Text

*/*/*/*/*

Heather worked herself into an exhausted state that night and for the next two days as well. With Anita out of Jericho - with Beck, Heather thought viciously - the task of coordinating the salvage operations fell on Heather.

"You need to tell Gray to pay you something for all of this," Mary told her when Heather dropped in for lunch at Bailey's on the third day since Beck had left. In spite of his absence, Heather had made a promise to him, and so she made an effort to go to Bailey's and eat. Having other people around forced her to at least eat something.

Heather shrugged. "It's not like we actually have a lot of cash floating around. I get paid in supplies - just like you."

"So long as you get all the supplies you want. And need."

Heather shrugged as she nibbled at a French fry. "I get enough. I haven't had any unusual personal requirements, so I'm doing okay. I do need a variety of mechanical parts, though, but Beck keeps me well supplied there." She picked up a fry and waved it at Mary. "But if we still had cash - Gray would be paying. Trust me."

Mary laughed. "But he would never pay you what you're worth."

Heather laughed slightly. "But who could?"

"Who could what?"

Heather jumped as Jake sat down beside her, giving her his crooked grin.

"Pay me what I'm worth," Heather said, giving him a small, but warm smile as Mary dropped a glass of water in front of Jake and then left to serve a couple of ladies in one of the booths.

"You're beyond price," Jake said softly, bumping her shoulder gently with his own.

Heather gave him a startled glance. "Thanks," she said cautiously. "What do you need?"

"What makes you think I need something?" Jake asked, offended.

Heather gave him a skeptical look. "Okay," she conceded. "Then thanks for the compliment." She lifted her water in mock salute.

Jake clinked his glass against hers and they both took a drink.

"God, I miss...any beverage that isn't water," Jake sighed. "And it's too early for beer."

Heather nodded. "I hear ya," she said.

Jake took another sip of his water, and then turned towards Heather. "How have you been, Heather?"

She looked at him. "I've been fine," she said, shrugging. "Why?"

Jake sighed. "I spoke with Hawkins."

Heather froze, and then she hung her head and shook it slowly. "I'm amazed it was a secret for this long."

"Well, if anyone can keep a secret - "

Heather laughed slightly. "True."

"Why didn't you ask for my help?"

Heather shook her head, sighing. "We haven't exactly been...close, lately," she said slowly. "And you had enough on your plate. Everyone expects you to save them. I...I didn't want to add to that."

"Did you think I wouldn't help you?"

"No - but I did think you would try to kill Constantino. And if his men didn't kill you, then Beck would have for going against his orders."

"Beck wouldn't have killed me. Just tortured me a little." There was a note of bitterness in his voice.

Heather looked at him and sighed. "He apologized for that. Several times, as I recall. And he followed up with his actions to protect this town.  He saved your life a time or two, whether you accept that or not."

"It wasn't easy to work with him after I got back from Texas, Heather."

Heather gave him her clear-eyed look. "I know some of what you've done, Jake, and what Hawkins has done. If the two of you deserve forgiveness..." she trailed off.

Jake looked at her, shocked and slightly hurt. "You've changed," he said softly.

Heather's eyes filled with tears, and she angrily blinked them away. "Haven't we all?" she asked, and turned to get up from her barstool.

"Heather - wait," Jake said, putting a hand on her arm. She reacted instinctively, shaking his hand off. He put his hands up defensively, holding them away from her. He stared at her, his eyes wide and surprised.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, and sat back down on the stool beside him.

"I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry that you felt you couldn't come to me. I'm sorry that..." he blew out a breath. "I'm sorry that I haven't been a good friend to you. That I basically left you to fend for yourself."

Heather shook her head. "You were looking after the entire town, Jake. Not to mention fighting a war. Of course I was left to fend for myself. You had no obligation to do anything for me."

Jake brooded into his water glass. "Maybe. Maybe not. You were my friend, Heather. You are my friend. You risked yourself for me, and for Hawkins when you stole that paper out of Beck's office. You've worked yourself to the bone for this town. And when you needed help - "

"I went to Hawkins. Really - who better?"

Jake brooded for a moment longer, then gave her a wry smile. "Well, I can't argue with that one," he said.

"And Beck knows now. He'll take care of me."

Jake gave her a sharp look. "If he will," he said drily.

Heather sighed.

"Okay, okay," Jake said. He turned to her. "Look, all I wanted to do was to tell you I know about Constantino. And that I was sorry for leaving you alone."

She looked down, and nodded. "Okay," she said.

"And...could we start again?"

She smiled at him. "Sure," she said.

Jake held out his hand. "Hi," he said. "I'm Jake."

She gave a small laugh and took his hand. "Hi. I'm Heather."

"Nice to meet you, Heather."

She cocked her head to one side and smiled at him again, the sweet smile of the old Heather. "Nice to meet you, Jake."

He smiled at her, his eyes warm, and she could feel the old attraction tug at her. He had burst into her world as somebody bigger than life; a knight in dirty armor, carrying secrets and pain and the desire to be more than what he had been, desperately in need of forgiveness and healing. As she looked at him, she could still see the potential that their relationship had held; a love that was strong, and sweet, and unconditional, a love that would have given him the redemption he craved. They would have been a great couple, she thought wistfully, feeling the regrets for what might have been.

"Would you like to have supper with me and Emily tonight?" Jake asked, interrupting her thoughts. "Beck and company are due back today, and we're having a strategy meeting with them after supper. We'll pick you up, come here, and then head over to the town hall for the meeting."

Heather nodded. "Sounds good." She stood. "Now, I really have to get back to work."

"We'll be there around six o'clock."

"Okay. See you then."

As she left Bailey's and walked towards the sheriff's office to determine where she was needed next, she pondered her feelings for Jake and Beck.

Her feelings for Jake had been fresh, and bright, and - somehow - innocent; a beacon of beauty in a world suddenly plunged into darkness in more ways than one. If Jake hadn't run, they might have forged something truly remarkable together.

But he had run. Back to Emily and his past. And she had gone to New Bern and her future.

What she felt for Beck - what he had made her feel in that storm cellar - was...different. She recalled those moments - Beck's mouth on hers, the smooth skin of his body and the work-hardened roughness of his hands. She shivered. It had been strong, but not sweet, and definitely not innocent. It was as different from what she had felt for Jake as the sun from the moon. It was deeper - darker, somehow. Complex. Primal. But weaving through it was something so beautiful she thought it would blind her if she looked too closely.

She had thought that she would never feel anything that would even remotely compare to what she had felt for Jake. And after New Bern, she had thought she would never want anyone again. She softly touched her lips. For the first time since they had left the storm cellar, Heather acknowledged that Beck was obviously not indifferent to her - but his apology showed her that he wasn't willing to act on the attraction. In spite of that decision and in spite of her embarrassment, she couldn't - and wouldn't - be sorry she felt this way. No matter what happened.

*/*/*/*/*

Chapter Text

*/*/*/*/*

Heather wearily walked into her house that night. She was badly in need of a shower, food and sleep. She would get the shower immediately, but the food and sleep would have to wait.

Fifteen minutes later, Heather was snugly wrapped in her worn plaid flannel dressing gown and looking without much interest at her small stock of food. She was wondering if she should nibble on something while she was waiting for Jake and Emily to arrive, when there was a brisk rap at her door. She frowned.

She swung the door open without checking, saying "You're early - " the words dying on her lips as she stared at Beck and Anita standing on her doorstep.

"Expecting someone?" he asked, a slight edge to his voice.

"Jake and Emily are going to meet me here," Heather said distractedly. She hadn't seen him in three days, and she felt like a woman drinking water after dying of thirst in the desert.

"May we come in?" Anita asked pointedly, when neither Beck nor Heather made another move.

"Oh!" Heather started, looking fully at Anita for the first time. "Yes. Please, come in. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to get something to eat before the strategy meeting," Beck said. "I ran into Anita on the way here," his face was stoic, but his eyes spoke volumes; he wasn't pleased about something. Heather only hoped it wasn't her.

"Jake and Emily will be here soon," Heather said, "and we're going to Bailey's for supper. You're welcome to join us. If you would let them in if they arrive, I'll go get dressed."

Beck nodded, his eyes flicking over her dressing gown. His eyes held amusement when he looked at her again.

"It was my grandfather's," she said defensively, and slightly raised her chin. Beck's eyes fell to her lips. Heather flushed as she remembered the last time she had stood her ground against him, and she abruptly turned away, flustered. "I'll just...go get dressed," she stammered and beat a hasty retreat to her bedroom.

As she closed the door, she heard Anita say, her voice light and amused, "Don't intimidate the poor child, Edward. She's obviously terrified of you."

Heather resisted the urge to fling herself back out to the livingroom and tell Anita just how unintimidated she really was. Heather stared at her reflection for a moment, fighting for calm, and then decided she needed all the confidence she could muster. She pulled out the prettiest spring dress in her closet and put it on. It was blue and flowered and flattered her figure while still being tasteful considering the circumstances. She fluffed her damp hair, trying to dry it, and combed it into place.

She strode to the bedroom door and opened it with a confident flourish, only to startle Beck and Anita out of a kiss. Heather gaped at them. Anita's arms were around Beck's neck with Beck's hands on her arms. They turned to look at her, Anita looking smug, and Beck looking...well, like Major Beck, cool and controlled, but with his eyes blazing with rage.

Heather felt something shrivel inside her while at the same time her own rage bloomed.

"Get a room," she snarled, "but not one in my house." She pushed past them to the door where she kept her shoes.

"I'm sorry, Heather," Anita purred. "We were just overwhelmed by our passion."

Heather turned from where she was slipping on her sandals and glared at Anita. "You have about as much passion as a kumquat," she snapped. She turned her glare on Beck. "That little demonstration was staged for my benefit. Message received, loud and clear. Let's go." And she flung the door open just as Jake was raising his hand to knock, startling him and Emily.

He looked from Heather's furious face to Beck's stoic one to Anita's flushed one, and followed the wisest course of action: he ignored the situation.

"Wow!" he said instead, "you look great!"

"You sure do," Emily echoed, quickly following Jake's lead.

"Absolutely," Beck added.

"Thank you, thank you," Heather said to Jake and Emily. "Shut up," she snapped at Beck. Jake and Emily stared. "Lock the door behind you," Heather added, storming out her door and to the street. She turned back sharply to glare at Beck. "Did you just laugh?" she asked ominously.

"No," he said hastily. "Clearing my throat." But his eyes were lit with an unholy amusement that made Heather want to punch him. Or kiss him senseless, damn him, she thought in irate disgust. She turned sharply to Jake and Emily.

"Let's go!"

Jake nodded, his eyes wide. "I've never seen you angry before," he said slowly, his tone awed. "It suits you."

Heather and Emily stared at him; Beck glared at him, and Anita looked bored.

"Well, thank you, I guess," Heather replied. "Could we go eat now? I'm starving." Heather winced at the phrase. If they didn't get back into the fields soon, they might all starve during the winter.

The walk to Bailey's was fast, due to Heather's rapid pace, but supper was surprisingly congenial. Heather's anger had cooled to controllable levels by the time they were eating burgers and fries, and while she didn't initiate conversation, she would respond when spoken to, even if she continually glared at Beck. Anita she ignored completely, which wasn't difficult, as Anita made no effort to speak with her.

"Jake's right," Emily said thoughtfully, when she and Heather were alone at the table, "anger looks good on you."

Heather glanced at Emily and then away. "Thanks."

"What happened?"

Heather glanced around. Beck and Jake were at the bar and Anita was waiting in line for the bathroom. Heather looked back at Emily. "They were kissing in my livingroom."

"NO!" Emily's screech made everyone within earshot pause and look at them.

Heather nodded, viciously biting into a French fry. "Oh, yes!"

"What did you say?" Emily asked, leaning closer while keeping an eye on the others' locations.

"I told them to get a room - but not in my house. Anita then told me they couldn't resist the passion they felt. Hah! That's a laugh! Believe me, Emily, I have kissed that man, and there wasn't nearly - "

"WHAT?!"

This screech caused everyone in the bar to look at them and caused Heather to wince. "What, what?"

"You kissed him?" Emily hissed in a whisper. "When? Why? You've been holding out on me, Heather!"

"When was the last time I saw you, Emily? I mean alone. As friends, and not as co-saviours of this town."

Emily had the grace to look embarrassed, not quite meeting Heather's eyes.

After a moment, Heather said gently, "I gave up on Jake a long time ago, Emily. I just wish you hadn't given up on me."

Emily's relief at the men returning to their seats bearing drinks was palpable.

"What was all that about?" Jake asked, searching their faces.

"I'll tell you later," Emily said, shooting a speaking look at him. Jake frowned and then nodded as Anita rejoined the table.

*/*/*/*/*

At the strategy meeting, Beck gave his report quickly and concisely. It wasn't as bad as Heather had feared, but it was still grim. For Jericho, six farms had lost outbuildings; three of them, including Old Mrs. Francis', had also lost their houses. Along with the west-end of town, that brought the total houses destroyed or damaged to twenty. New Bern had been hit even harder; twice as many houses damaged or destroyed both inside and outside of town, and the factory badly damaged.

"Most of the people affected in Jericho were living together to conserve on fuel and power during the winter," Heather told the group. "All of them have already gone back to houses owned by at least one of them, or have been given another house, all of which have been vacant until now. Some of those vacant houses need to be repaired as well, but so far, all identified repairs are minor, and we should be able to fix them using the salvaged materials. The farm families have either been bunked into vacant houses, or are with family living in town. So, the immediate problem of shelter is solved. Whether or not the houses that were destroyed are rebuilt is something the town will have to decide. We also have the six farms that need to be repaired or rebuilt. We can't afford to lose those farms."

"What do you suggest?" Gray asked.

"While salvage operations continue," Beck responded, "I'll take four of my men and start making the rounds of the trading posts. The trip would take us at least a week, possibly two. We'll see what deals we can set up for what's required. And we'll coordinate with Dale and his team for pickup and delivery of materials and payment."

Heather watched Beck's face as he spoke, and tried to control the worry she felt at the thought of him outside Jericho for up to two weeks. He was a soldier; he had an inherently dangerous job, and she understood and accepted that. But she still wanted to stand up and yell that he couldn't go, at least not without her. She clenched her hands into fists as she listened.

"We'll leave in three days." Beck continued. "That gives Heather and Anita time to coordinate information, and to give us an extensive list of what's needed. We'll use those days stock up for the trip, and to continue helping in the immediate aftermath."

Everyone murmured agreement, and Gray nodded sharply. "Fine," he said.

"There is still the planting to get done," Heather reminded them.

"I can be easily replaced in the field," Beck put in, "but we will need to re-evaluate how the work is going to get done."

"And we'll need to get another shipment of fuel - soon." Heather added.

The meeting broke up soon after, and with a murmured apology, Jake and Emily left Heather and went to speak with Eric. Heather glanced around, decided she wasn't needed any longer, and headed for the door. Hawkins and Darcy stopped her on her way out.

"How are you doing?" Hawkins asked, after greeting her with a genuine smile. "I know you've been busy - you've been working too hard - but it's been awhile since our last session. You should come by tomorrow evening, and I'll give you a refresher."

"Not to mention supper," Darcy added with an exasperated look at her husband. "The kids would love to see you."

Heather smiled at them. One of the most surprising – and welcome - developments to her was the genuine friendship and affection that had grown between her and the Hawkins family. "I would love that," she said.

"I'm not so sure," Beck quietly said behind her. He and Hawkins exchanged hard stares before Beck spoke again. "I haven't had time since I got back, but I would like to meet with you, Hawkins."

Hawkins glanced from Beck to Heather and back again, his expression never changing. "All right," he said. "Come find me tomorrow. I'm on clean-up duty."

Beck nodded once. "I'll do that," he said. He turned to Heather. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

"But - " Heather said, and turned her head in time to see Jake and Emily herding Anita out the door, talking the whole time. Heather bit back a laugh, because Anita didn't look like she even knew what they were doing. Her eyes met Beck's and she saw her amusement reflected in his eyes. She glanced away, only to meet Hawkins' and Darcy's interested gazes. She could feel the blush begin.

Heather said a hasty good-bye to the Hawkins and made a beeline for the door. Beck's hand on her shoulder startled her, and she spun around to stare at him.

"I just don't want to overtake them," Beck said quietly, glancing around. "Jake and Emily are doing me a favour; I don't want it to be for nothing."

Heather blinked at him, confused.

"I'll explain at your place," Beck said and gently put his hand to her back to guide her out the door.

Heather could feel his hand burning through the thin cotton of her dress. She vividly recalled their kisses in the storm cellar and how it felt to have nothing between her skin and his. She swallowed hard, and was grateful that it was now dark outside. He had deliberately kissed another woman in her house, she reminded herself.

At her house, she flicked on the lights as he closed the door, and then she turned to him.

"You could have just told me, you know," she burst out.

"Told you what?" Beck asked, frowning down at her.

"That you and Anita - that...that..." she trailed off at the look in his dark eyes.

"I don't play games, Heather," he said, his voice deadly calm and quiet. He stalked towards her and Heather found herself retreating into the livingroom. He loomed over her, dominating the space.

"I don't have time to play games," he continued. "If that's what I wanted to tell you, then that's what I would have said."

Heather swallowed. "Then why - " She stopped, her voice sounded so small, she thought with disgust. "Then why did you kiss her in my livingroom?"

"I didn't," he said simply. "She kissed me just as you opened the door. She's the one playing games, not me."

Heather blinked at him. "Then why didn't you say something?"

Beck sighed, and turned away from her to pace the livingroom. "Because I was just as shocked as you were. Because I didn't want to be cruel, and embarrass her by a thoughtless - and public - rejection. And because..." he paused and glanced at her from the corner of his eye, "you really are quite something when you're angry."

Heather gaped at him and then ducked her head to hide the unwilling smile that tugged at her lips.

"Are we...okay?" Beck asked, his tone seemed almost vulnerable, and it surprised her.

But Heather kept her head down, and hoped the shrug she gave was coolly nonchalant. "Sure," she said.

"I'm going to talk to Anita tomorrow, get things clear with her."

Heather nodded, still not looking at him.

He paced for a few moments in silence, then he exhaled heavily and turned to her. "And I want to get things clear with you."

She raised startled eyes to his. "There's nothing - "

'Yes, there is. We need to talk about what happened in the storm cellar."

"Now?"

"Now."

She stared at him for a long moment, and then sighed. "Okay," she said, and moved to the couch. "You may as well make yourself comfortable."

He sat on the armchair across from her, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. He looked at her steadily.

"You never let me finish my apology."

Heather shook her head, dropping her gaze. "There's no need to apologize," she said softly.

"Well, I wish I felt the same way." He sighed. "Heather, you had told me about New Bern. I suspect that I was the first person you told. Am I right?"

Heather hesitated, then nodded.

"You were vulnerable - incredibly vulnerable, and confused, and I...it was a mistake."

"A mistake?" she repeated, "a mistake!"

"Yes, a mistake of -"

"Command to Major Beck."

With a muttered curse, Beck pulled his radio off his belt. "Beck here, over."

"We have an emergency situation. I've dispatched a jeep to your location, ETA less than five minutes."

Beck's gaze never left Heather's furious and hurt eyes. "Roger," he said. "I can hear him now. Over and out."

Beck replaced his radio. "I have to go," he sighed.

"I heard," Heather's voice was flat.

Beck strode to the door. "We'll continue this later."

"No," Heather said clearly, following him. "We won't. I don't think there's anything left for you to say."

"It - " There was a hammering on Heather's door. Beck gritted his teeth and opened it. "Give me a minute?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," the corporal nodded and ran back towards the jeep.

Beck turned back to Heather. "It was a mistake of timing," he said grimly, and then cupped Heather's face and kissed her. It was hard and quick, and left Heather surprised and shaking. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. "We will continue this later," he said softly, and left her, walking rapidly towards the jeep.

Heather closed the door behind him in a daze, leaning against it for a long moment.

That night, for the first time in a long time, she had nothing but sweet dreams.

*/*/*/*/*

Chapter Text

*/*/*/*/*

The next day didn't allow for much introspection. The team was heading out in two days. To complicate matters, Beck and Jericho had also begun to assist other towns in the area over the last six months, trying to build alliances and a larger circle of defense in preparation for the day the truce between the ASA and Texas ended. In an effort to be efficient, Beck and his men would be stopping along the way to see if any help was needed, and to see what, if any, help could be provided to Jericho and New Bern.

Heather was running all morning, checking on the salvage operations, and meeting with Gray and a furious Anita to consolidate Jericho's needs, as well as what Jericho could trade. Heather was coolly polite to Anita, memories of the night before still vivid, her own anger still simmering below the surface.

But Jericho needed her, so she pushed her feelings aside and concentrated on what needed to be done.

Her meeting with Beck to report the results of her meeting with Gray and Anita, and to help determine the travel itinerary, was surreal to Heather. Except for a smoldering glance that made her knees goes weak when she first walked into his office, he acted like the conversation the previous night had never happened, looking remote and unapproachable in his uniform. Heather wondered if she had hallucinated the kiss in her doorway and if this was a sign that she had officially lost her mind.

"Heather?" Beck asked, raising an eyebrow.

She started and stared at him, blushing furiously. "S-sorry," she stammered.

There was a gleam of amusement in Beck's eyes, and then he mercifully ignored her blush and momentary lapse of attention.

"I just said we head out at 12:00 hours the day after tomorrow. Will that give you enough time to gather all the information we'll need?"

Heather nodded. "More than enough time. The salvage operation is progressing smoothly; much faster than I expected, actually. I've also sent the team back into the fields, with two replacements. I met with Gray and Anita this morning. By tomorrow, I'll have all the information we need."

Beck nodded. "Good." There was a pause. Beck's eyes fell to the pen he has holding, and he tapped it on his desk for a moment. "I spoke to Anita this morning," he said quietly.

Heather nodded. "I figured. She was pretty angry."

"I could tell you about it tonight," he offered, his eyes focused on the pen. "At dinner?"

Heather bit her lip, trying to not smile. He sounded almost shy, and her heart melted. She ducked her head. "Sure," she said.

Beck raised his eyes to meet hers, and she melted more at the warmth in his eyes. "Bailey's? I'll pick you up at six?" His voice was no longer shy, and she couldn't hide her smile any longer.

She ducked her head again, and nodded. "I'll be ready."

One of Beck's men came to his door, and she made her exit. She briefly wondered at the wide grin the soldier gave her, but she was too happy to wonder about it for long. She smiled back, and then left the sheriff's office and headed towards Bailey's for lunch.

"Hey! Hey, Heather!"

Heather looked behind her and saw Emily.

"Hi," Heather said, as Emily caught up to her.

"Hi, Listen, Heather," Emily started, "I thought about what you said last night. About me, and you."

Heather gave her a quizzical look.

"You were right. It's not that I gave up on you, but you're right that I haven't been around - just as a friend - for a long time. It wasn't intentional, Heather, you have to believe that. But...it's hard."

Heather nodded slowly. "It's hard for everybody."

"No, I mean it's hard to explain. I mean, we thought you were dead. And then New Bern attacked, and we lost Johnston. And then Goetz, and Bonnie, and Beck - and then Texas and the war, and then, and then, and then." Emily sighed. "We always seem to be running from one crisis to another, and you just..."

"Got left behind?" Heather asked gently.

Emily nodded miserably. "You didn't seem to need me," she said.

"I didn't need you to save me, or protect me, no," Heather agreed. "But I needed you to be friends with me."

"I'm sorry, Heather," Emily said.

Heather smiled. "It really is okay," she said. "We were, and are, always friends. I'm sorry, too. I could have tried harder."

There was a moment of silence. "Come join me for lunch," Heather invited.

"I thought you'd never ask," Emily replied with a smile.

They walked into Bailey's and Mary motioned them over to a booth.

"How'd it go last night?" Emily asked as they settled into the booth. "With Beck?"

"Oh, fine, fine," Heather said, feeling the blush start.

"Just 'fine'?" Emily asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He...apologized," Heather said, as Mary joined them, "and we're cool. All okay again."

"That's it?" Emily asked incredulously.

Heather nodded and shrugged, hoping her euphoria wasn't as obvious as it felt to her. "That's it."

Emily sat back. "Huh," she huffed.

"Don't believe her, Emily," Mary said with an evil grin. "He more than apologized."

Heather stared at her. "What? And how do you know what we're talking about?"

"Everybody's talking about it, Heather!" Mary said gleefully. "The next time Beck kisses you, make sure the door is closed!"

Heather stared at her, horrified, and then buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Beck is going to kill that poor corporal!" She raised her head, comprehension dawning. "That's why Corporal Harrison smiled at me like that when I was leaving Beck's office!"

She looked at Mary and Emily's grinning faces.

"This is news to me," Emily said. "He kissed you again?"

"Again?" Mary shrieked. "Heather! Spill!"

Heather buried her face in her hands again and groaned.

*/*/*/*/*

When Beck and Heather came into Bailey's that night, Mary grinned and showed them to a booth at the back of the bar. She outdid herself with the meal, and she even dug out a bottle of wine she had been personally hoarding for a special occasion. During the meal, Beck and Heather talked. They talked about their day, about what happened and what they had learned. They shared gentle gossip about the town, and even laughed a little at the discreet - and not so discreet - stares that were coming their way from the other patrons in the bar.

When they left, Mary pressed a second bottle of wine on them, with a wink and a request to Beck to put in an order for wine and anything else he could find during his tour around the trading posts.

They walked back to Heather's house, breathing in the spring night air, and chatting comfortably. But Heather could feel her anticipation building as they walked, and she tried to control her nervousness.

After a moment of silence, as they approached her door, Beck said gently, "We need to talk, Heather."

Heather digested that for a moment, and then she cocked her head and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "About?"

He waited until she opened her door and he had followed her in. "My family."

Heather looked at him for a long moment, and then she nodded. She handed him the bottle of wine, and went into the kitchen for two glasses and the corkscrew. She met him in the livingroom, and gestured to him to settle himself on the floor with his back against the couch, where she joined him. He opened the wine, and poured them each a glass. Heather took a sip and looked at him expectantly.

He gave her a small smile. "I don't know where to start," he admitted.

Heather smiled back, and shook her head. "Wherever you need to," she replied, and reached over and took his hand.

He took a sip of wine, and began to speak.

He spoke of a man and a woman who had been together for fifteen years, shared a child they loved more than life, and had had a good marriage. He spoke of courtship, and problems, and a love that had stayed the course despite - or because of - the problems they had faced and conquered. He talked about the horror of the Attacks, and the fact that he had been in Iraq when they happened. He described how it took six weeks to get back stateside, and by then, Santa Fe had already had the riots, and most of the residents had been killed or evacuated - or fled - and no one knew where.

He spoke of a husband's loss, a father's fear, and a strong man's helplessness when his family needed him the most. He spoke of guilt, and grief, and uncertainty about the future. He spoke of how it felt to have what he had already known confirmed, and how he had had nothing left for a long time except war - and a pair of earnest blue eyes expecting him to always do the right thing.

When he finished speaking, he was hoarse, exhausted and sad, but dry-eyed, Heather's hand still holding his in a comforting grasp. Heather put her wine glass down, and scooted closer, putting her arms around him and her head on his shoulder. He gently rubbed the arm that was across his chest.

She held him in silence for long moments until Beck sighed, "I should go."

Heather nodded. "It's late, and it'll be another long day tomorrow." She pressed a warm kiss against his temple. As if she were comforting a child. "I'm sorry," she whispered in his ear, and he nodded, his head bowed.

They walked to the door, and she waited as he put on his shoes. They hugged each other tightly for a few more moments, and then she gently moved back.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said softly.

He nodded. He stroked her cheek, and then turned and left her.

She watched him walk away, and sighed as she closed the door, her heart aching.

*/*/*/*/*

Chapter Text

*/*/*/*/*

The next day Anita followed Heather after their meeting with Gray, and asked her to step into Anita's office for a moment.

Heather hesitated, and then followed her. Anita closed the door behind them and turned to face her.

"Beck spoke with me yesterday," Anita said without preamble.

"I...heard."

"I'm sure you did." Anita gave her a long, thoughtful look. "In spite of everything that's happened, we still need to work together. I...appreciate your professionalism, especially yesterday."

Heather nodded, feeling incredibly awkward.

Anita sighed. "I just wanted to say - no hard feelings." She shrugged. "You can't blame a girl for trying, can you?"

Heather considered for a moment. "No, I guess I can't," she conceded.

"I don't think the best woman won, but - he seems to have made his choice," Anita quirked her lips in a strained attempt to smile, and stuck out her hand. "Bygones?" she asked.

Heather hesitated, and then reached out and shook her hand. "Bygones. For the good of Jericho," she added.

Anita shrugged. "What other reason could there be?"

*/*/*/*/*

Heather's meeting with Beck was uneventful, and at the end, they made arrangements to meet for supper again. His place this time, and Heather caught her breath at the look in his eyes, even as she blushed.

That afternoon, Heather sat in Bailey's, going over the list of required supplies and meeting with those who had special requests. She would meet with Dale later, and whatever Dale couldn't supply would go with Beck as he toured the trading posts and the neighboring towns. She tried to manage expectations, and for the most part, people were reasonable and pragmatic. They had learned - finally - to lower their expectations.

It was mid-afternoon, and there was no one else in Bailey's when Heather and Mary heard the sound of gunshots in the distance. They looked at each other, and then rose, Mary grabbing the shotgun from behind the bar, while Heather ran to block the back door.

Heather rejoined Mary, and they cautiously looked out the corners of the windows to see if they could tell what was going on.

They heard more gunshots, a little closer, and watched as Beck and some of his men along with several Rangers zoomed down Main Street in the direction of the sound. A few moments later, there was another round of gunshots, and then silence.

Heather and Mary stayed by the windows, watching and waiting, until they saw the soldiers and the Rangers return to the sheriff's office. Mary sighed with relief, and returned the shotgun to its location behind the bar. They left Bailey's and went to join the others.

When they entered the sheriff's office, Heather's eyes flew to Beck. He was kitted out in his body armor, his helmet still under his arm as he spoke to his men and the Rangers, including Jake, Emily, Eric and Hawkins, with grim determination. Beck's face, stoic as always, was enlivened by the stark relief in his eyes when he saw her. Mary rushed to Eric and he pulled her close, murmuring softly into her ear.

Heather licked her lips, her stomach flipping with fear as she approached Beck, who had put his helmet down on the desk beside him and was in the process of removing his body armor. "What happened?" she asked, her eyes never leaving his face.

"Two men were acting suspiciously. When they were approached, they pulled their weapons, and fired shots at the Rangers, killing one and wounding another. One of the invaders is now dead; the other is in the medi-centre, along with the wounded Ranger."

She stared at him wordlessly, her eyes huge in her white face. She felt very cold and very alone, as she stared at him. "They were from New Bern, weren't they?" she said. "They were here for me."

Beck nodded, his eyes never leaving Heather's. He reached out and pulled her to him, holding her tightly.

Heather closed her eyes, tears falling. "I'm sorry," she whispered, burrowing her face into his chest.

Beck bent his head over her. "Why are you sorry?" he asked softly.

"Those people are dead and hurt because of me," she choked out through her tears.

"No. They're dead and wounded because of Phil Constantino, and no one else." Beck tightened his hold on her and rubbed her back soothingly.

She gave a huge sniff, and then resolutely lifted her head. "This can't go on," she said clearly, wiping her eyes with one hand while keeping a firm grip on his uniform shirt with the other.

Beck stared intently into her eyes. "I'll take care of this," he promised grimly. "Not you."

He glanced around. "Emily - Mary - please take Heather home. Corporal Harrison - you and Corporal Mollatoni escort the ladies, and stand guard outside Heather's house. No one goes in except for me, Jake, Eric or Hawkins. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" Corporal Harrison responded.

"Good. Jake, Eric, Hawkins - you're with me."

They nodded.

He looked back at Heather, still held tightly in his arms. "Go home," he said. "We'll be there soon." He gave her a quick peck good-bye, and released her, gently urging her towards the door.

Heather, Mary and Emily went to Heather's house, after making a quick stop at Bailey's to close up, and to - as Mary said - grab a bottle of the "good stuff".

"I think we're going to need it," Mary added.

Mary and Emily stayed with Heather for two hours. They discussed Constantino, trying to find a way to help bring him out of hiding so the threat could be eliminated, once and for all. They didn't come up with anything worthwhile, and they eventually turned the conversation to more pleasant topics, resolutely trying to ignore the threat hanging over Heather's head. They'd had several drinks by this point, and Mary and Emily began to gently tease Heather about the change in her relationship with Beck. Heather was positive she'd been blushing for at least half an hour by the time Jake and Eric came to collect Emily and Mary, and left her alone to wait for news from Beck.

When the knock came at the door at six, she jumped. She checked, and then let Beck into the house, her pleasure at seeing him dimmed by the thunderous look on his face.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice calm but her eyes showing her fear.

"The price on your head has been raised again," Beck said without preamble, "and somebody in Jericho is selling you out. The prisoner...informed us of that fact."

Heather's face paled. "What?" she breathed. "Who?"

Beck shook his head. "We don't know. Yet. But until we do, you're going to be under 24 hour protection. And we're cancelling the supply run until we've dealt with the mole and Constantino."

"You can't do that!" Heather blurted out.

"I will do whatever I have to in order to keep you safe - "

"We have some truly desperate people waiting for those supplies. They can't be punished because Constantino is a psycho. They're not the criminals here!"

"Somebody in this town is and I need all my men searching for whoever is betraying you - and that person will lead us to Constantino."

"Beck, you have to listen to me! You can't - "

"I can, and I will. I will tear this town apart brick by brick if I have to - "

"Oh, because that worked so well the last time!"

Beck jerked as if she had slapped him, and Heather caught her breath at the mixture of hurt and guilt and anger in his eyes. The silence bloomed as they stared at each other.

Heather bit her lip, and then said more gently, "I won't let you protect me at the expense of this town."

"I will protect you at the expense of anyone I damn well please," Beck responded, his voice cold and clipped. "I won't make the same mistake twice."

Heather stood shaking as the door closed behind him with a sharp click that sounded far too final in her ears.

*/*/*/*/*

Chapter Text

*/*/*/*/*

She struggled as she was forced towards the bed. The sound of the handcuffs locking her hands to the bed frame echoed in her ears, even over the screams of the two women. She tried to free herself as the deputies advanced. "No!" she screamed. "No!"

"You didn't tell him everything, did you?" one of the deputies taunted and she shook her head at the words, fought against the handcuffs, kicking at the men, hearing the screams, hearing her own screams -

Heather sat straight up in bed with a deep gasping cry, the dream vivid in her mind. She stared wildly around her bedroom, trying to determine if she was awake, and to remember what was real and what wasn't.

She covered her face with her hands, trying to stop shaking, her body covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat. She got out of bed and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face.

She struggled to catch her breath, staring at herself in the mirror. She felt very alone. If things had gone the way she had expected, she wouldn't have been alone tonight; Beck would have been beside her. He couldn't stop the nightmares, but he would have soothed her soul in the dark of night. She could still see the hurt in his eyes during their fight that evening, and the regret weighed on her.

She glanced at the time, and saw it was only eleven p.m. Maybe she could at least apologize tonight - not for her belief that Jericho came first, but for her thoughtless words. She pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and went to the front door looking for her guards.

"Heather?" Corporal Rivera asked when she cautiously opened the door.

"Sorry, Corporal," Heather said, "but do you know where Major Beck is?"

"He just returned to his quarters," the corporal responded. "He radioed five minutes ago to check on your status."

Heather felt her heart clench. "Could you take me to him, please?" she asked.

Corporal Rivera glanced at his partner and then nodded. "I'll let him know we're on our way."

They drove her to Beck's house, insisting that it was safer than walking her through the streets. She fought nervousness and worry as they drove, and the butterflies in her stomach went into overdrive as she walked up to the house. The butterflies vanished when he opened the door, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. She saw something dark and hungry in his eyes before it was replaced by wary concern, and she knew she wouldn't be making any apologies to him. At least not right now.

"Heather?" he asked with a note of alarm as she moved past him into the house. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" He closed the door, turning to face her.

She put one hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him back against the door, as she pressed her lips against his.

After a brief moment of surprise, Beck took control of the kiss, his hands pulling her tightly against him. The kiss was carnal and primal and raw, and drove all coherent thoughts out of Heather's head and left only sensation. Beck turned them until their positions were reversed, and she was pressed against the hallway wall, his mouth hard and demanding, his tongue dueling with hers. Heather gripped him tighter, her nails digging into his shoulders as she arched against him, straining to get closer. Beck moaned as she stroked her hands down his back, pulling his t-shirt up, one hand burrowing beneath it to cling to the muscles of his back while the other one stroked lower. They broke the kiss long enough for Beck to pull his t-shirt over his head and toss it aside. Heather stared at him, rapt, her breathing rapid as she rubbed her hands across his chest, revelling in the smoothness of his skin and the definition of his muscles. She was dimly aware of faint whimpering sounds and was vaguely surprised to realize the sounds were coming from her.

Beck cupped her face and lowered his lips to hers again. She melted against him, and it was Heather's turn to moan as he cupped her breasts through her t-shirt, massaging her as he plundered her mouth. She gasped when he spun her around again and pressed her against the opposite wall, and then abruptly broke the kiss to pull off her t-shirt and bra. He paused for a moment to stare at her, and she shook at the raw need in his eyes. He pulled her roughly against him and she sighed with pleasure at the feel of her naked breasts against his bare chest. He kissed her again, his mouth hot and demanding against hers, his hands frantically caressing every inch of her he could reach. Heather was just as frantic, her hands scrabbling over him, pulling him more tightly against her. When his hands dropped to the waistband of her pants, she broke the kiss to fumble at the button and zipper of his jeans.

"We need to slow this down," Beck panted, "or this'll be over faster than - oh my God!"

Heather had pushed his jeans down and she was caressing his hard length, her hand enclosing him firmly. Beck's eyes slammed closed, his head thrown back as she pressed nibbling kisses up his neck while she explored him until he finally grabbed her hand, stilling any further movement.

"No more of that," he grated out as he pushed her jeans and panties down her legs and off, and then quickly did the same with his own clothes. The look on his face and in his eyes made her weak with need, and she pressed herself against him again, kissing him frantically, her nails digging into his back.

He shifted, and then his fingers were there, nudging her legs further apart, and stroking, stroking, stroking, driving her closer and closer to the edge until she flew over it. She gave a shuddering gasp as her orgasm rolled through her, and Beck dragged his mouth from hers, his eyes dark and wild and intent as he watched her.

As her tremors eased, he lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He braced her against the wall, and she cried out as he entered her, and he paused, his breathing harsh in her ear. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

She wordlessly shook her head, unable to think long enough to get any words out.

He began to move, and she clung to him, feeling the pleasure building again, her world narrowing to the feel of him moving in her, to the ragged sound of his voice in her ear saying she was beautiful, she felt like heaven, she was driving him out of his mind and then she was flying again, Beck's mouth swallowing her cries as he followed her over the edge into his own orgasm.

When Heather came back to earth, she realized that Beck was pressing her against the wall, his breathing rapid, his head resting on her shoulder. He stirred, lifting his head and staring at her with dazed brown eyes. He blinked, then said, "I tried to get us to the bedroom."

She stared at him, her own eyes equally dazed, and then she began to giggle, as he reluctantly stepped back, sliding from her body and letting her feet hit the floor. With an answering grin, he took her hand, turned out the lights and led her to the bedroom. They crawled under the covers, and were asleep within minutes.

*/*/*/*/*

Chapter Text

*/*/*/*/*

Heather blinked, disoriented by the fact that not only was she in unfamiliar surroundings, she was naked, and ached in muscles she didn't know she had. Memory quickly flooded back, and she rolled over to look beside her, only to realize she was alone. Beck had left a dim light on during the night, and she glanced at the clock beside the light to see it was only 5:00 a.m.

She started a little as the door, which had been ajar, was pushed open, and Beck came in. Heather stared at him, thinking he looked scrumptious in boxers and a soft grey t-shirt, his hair a little rumpled. His eyes were wide, vulnerable, hopeful and he looked like a little boy afraid he was in trouble, but hoping he had done something right. Heather could feel a softening deep inside her as their eyes met.

"Oh," he said, his tone crestfallen, "you're awake."

Heather gave him a puzzled smile. "You sound disappointed."

"I am," he said, reclining on the bed beside her, leaning over her, pushing her gently back against the pillows. "You looked so sweet, all snug under the blanket. I was looking forward to waking you up." He gave her a slow, wicked grin as he leaned closer, his lips hovering over hers. "Unwrapping you like a Christmas present," he added, his voice husky.

"Oh," she sighed, her eyes wide and the blush starting.

He kissed her, a slow sensuous exploration of her mouth. He pressed her into the mattress, his hand cupping the back of her head as he kissed her. She put her arms around his shoulders, one hand on the nape of his neck, while the other slowly stroked down his back. She could feel the dark hunger and need in him, but carefully controlled, and she felt a thrill of power because she knew she could make him lose that control with a touch, or a look, or a sound.

When he moved from her mouth to her earlobe, and then nibbled his way down her neck, she realized that he could do the same for her. She sighed, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, and then, with an effort of will, she asked, "When do you go on duty?"

He lifted his head from where her neck met her shoulder to look into her eyes. "I've just given myself a late start today - 09:00."

Heather gave him a slow smile. "Ah," she said. "Then why are you wearing so many clothes?"

He buried his face into her shoulder and laughed. "I made a call to HQ to change the duty schedule. Then I checked on the men outside. I figured at least they would appreciate it if I was wearing something."

She chuckled softly, holding him close as he dropped light kisses across her collarbone. When he lifted his head, she kissed him. The dark hunger rose up, and the kiss quickly turned carnal and raw. With a groan, he pulled back, his breathing rapid.

"What's wrong?" she panted, her eyes wide.

"Absolutely nothing," he sighed, "but I want to do this the way I originally planned. I hadn't expected we wouldn't even make it to the bedroom, or that we wouldn't have time to talk about...some stuff...or that we wouldn't have time to do everything I've been dreaming about for months. Or - " he hesitated, giving her a half-bashful, half-remorseful look, "or to use the condoms I got from Kenchy yesterday."

Heather stared at him, and for the first time, Beck blushed.

"You went to Kenchy?" Heather said faintly.

"Well - yes. And believe me, that's not a conversation I want to repeat any time soon."

Heather struggled to hold back a smile.

"And then I ran into Darcy on the way out."

Heather burst out laughing, and Beck sighed, and buried his face in her neck. Heather hugged him as she laughed harder.

When she stopped, he raised his head and gave her a rueful look. She smiled, a true grin, and she couldn't remember the last time she had smiled like that.

"I have to tell you something, though."

Heather's grin faltered at the serious tone of his voice.

He took a deep breath. "My wife...had a very difficult pregnancy. She almost died. A second pregnancy could have been worse. So, I had a vasectomy after my daughter was born. I didn't go to Kenchy because I was worried I'd get you pregnant, but because I thought it would make you feel more comfortable if we used them for awhile."

She opened her mouth, and he hastily added, "I haven't slept with anybody except my wife since I met her - but I don't expect you to just take my word for it."

Heather looked at him silently, trying not to feel disappointed that Beck couldn't father any more children, and telling herself to take a step back. Besides the fact that the world had gone to hell in a handbasket, it was far too soon in the relationship to think of children, or whether it was something she even wanted.

He sighed. "I was going to tell you last night during dinner."

"Very... um...planned of you." Heather said cautiously.

Beck looked uncomfortable. "I thought it was something you deserved to know before..." He paused. "I - I haven't - uh - dated anyone other than my wife for 17 years. I'm a bit...rusty."

Heather couldn't resist the vulnerability in his eyes. "You don't seem "rusty" at all," she replied softly. "And it's not like I have a lot of experience in this area, either, so...I say we just figure it out as we go." She was rewarded by the relief on his face.

She quickly kissed him and then pulled back to give him a teasing look. "So what, exactly, is this "everything" you've been dreaming about for months?"

With a grin, he proceeded to show her.

After a nap and a shower, they sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast. Beck broke into his carefully hoarded stock of coffee because, he said, if this wasn't a special occasion, he didn't know what was.

Heather laughed at him, her face alight with a smile.

As they ate, they discussed the agenda for the day.

"I meet with Gray and Anita at 10:00 - I was supposed to meet with you at 11:00 - " she gave him a questioning look.

Beck shook his head. "As much as I would love to see you, there's no need to meet. The supply run is cancelled - for today," he added hastily at the look on her face. "My men had some leads yesterday about Constantino's location - I need to check those out before I authorize anybody to go out for a week or two. We also need to re-assess the route, since some of the towns on the way will only deal directly with me. I'm not leaving the area until Constantino is no longer a threat," he explained.

Heather stared at him, her face solemn. "Okay," she sighed. She was silent for a moment, and then she sighed again. "I came here last night to apologize."

He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"For hurting you. For bringing up what's past, and done."

Beck shook his head, and glanced down at the empty plate in front of him.

"You were right," he said quietly, "it didn't work so well the last time. People have long memories, and I don't blame them. And I don't blame you for being afraid of what I could do."

"I'm not afraid of what you could do," Heather protested. "You're a good man. I just - I was just angry and I wanted you to listen to me."

Beck gave her a rueful half-smile. "I always listen to you, Heather."

"Not always."

"Not always right away," Beck amended. He leaned forward across the table. "I told you in the storm cellar that you were young, and innocent, and hopeful for the future in spite of the past. That's all true. And you're my...my guiding star, if you like, showing me the way through these dark days. Believe me when I tell you that, even if I don't - or can't - follow your advice, I always hear it."

Heather shifted uncomfortably, and couldn't think of a single thing to say. After a moment, Beck stood, taking the dishes to the sink. He turned to her. "We have to go."

She nodded and stood. He walked to her and stopped in front of her. "My men will escort you wherever you want to go," he said softly. "Better to be safe than sorry."

Heather sighed and nodded. "I'll be good."

Beck put his arms around her. "You're always good," he said, and lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was a slow exploration of each other's mouth and lips and tongue. Heather sighed as she clung to him, revelling in the pure, timeless sensuality of the moment.

With a reluctant groan, Beck slowly broke the kiss. "I would do almost anything to stay here with you for the next - oh - week. Or so."

Heather laughed. "Me too. But we have responsibilities."

"We do." Beck agreed. He dropped a last, quick kiss on her lips and released her. "We need to go."

Heather sighed and nodded and they left Beck's house to face the day.

Heather and her guards went to the location of the salvage operations to check the progress and status. Things were proceeding rapidly, and Heather was pleased.

She met with Anita and Gray to give her status report. Gray was not happy that Beck had delayed the supply run, and made his displeasure clear to Heather, to such an extent that Heather finally snapped, "I'm not the liaison anymore - remember? If you have issues with Major Beck's decision, either tell him yourself, or send your town manager to do the job."

Gray looked taken aback at Heather's vehemence.

"It's okay, Gray," Anita soothed, "I'll talk to Edward this afternoon."

Heather tried hard not to roll her eyes.

"Fine," Gray snapped. "In the meantime, we have a report that there's some old equipment in an abandoned garage in the north end of town. Old cars, or tractors, or something. I want you to check it out this morning, and get back to Anita this afternoon."

"Why the rush?" Heather asked.

"If the tip is true, we'll add any required parts to the shopping list when Beck and his men head out. Which had better be tomorrow," Gray added, glaring hard at Heather.

Heather nodded. "'Fine." She checked the time. "I'll go there now." Heather looked at Anita. "It won't take long," she said. "I should be able to get back to you before lunch."

Anita nodded coolly. "I'll be here," she said.

Heather left city hall, and walked with her two guards to the abandoned house and garage. She waited on the sidewalk with one soldier while the other swept the garage for intruders. They then escorted her into the building and left her alone to assess the equipment. There was an old car and a truck, and Heather the hood on the car to take a look. She was quickly engrossed in the old engine, humming happily as she assessed what would be needed to get the engine working again, while underneath she thought of the night before and the morning, anticipated the joy of making the old engine work again, and looked forward to her evening.

With a contented sigh, she closed the hood and moved to the truck.

When she finished with the truck, she left the garage, cheerfully calling out "I'm ready to go, Corporals!" as she opened the door. She caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye, there was a blinding pain, and everything went black.

*/*/*/*/*

Chapter Text

*/*/*/*/*

The first thing Heather noticed was the blinding pain in her head. She cautiously opened her eyes and then groaned as the pain expanded and her stomach roiled with nausea. She was lying on the her side, and she was in a vehicle - she was aware of movement and the sound of tires over pavement. She tried to bring her hand to her head, only to come up short, her arms handcuffed behind her back. The panic hit, even through the pain and disorientation and nausea, and she abruptly tried to sit up, only to have the sudden movement cause the pain to balloon and overwhelm her, and darkness swallowed her again.

The pain was less when she came back to herself, although it was still nauseating to have her eyes open, or to move. She was still in the vehicle, still moving and her panic returned when she attempted to move her arms and realized she really was restrained. As the panic swamped over her, a small part of her was telling her to calm down, and THINK, damn it. That part was difficult to hear, but it was pointed, and caught her attention. It sounded, she thought, dazed, like a combination of Beck and Hawkins, and even through the pounding headache and nausea, she could imagine both sets of dark eyes willing her to regain control and get herself out of the mess she was in.

And the part that was pure Heather reminded her that this was what she had expected; what she had planned; what she had wanted a century ago. Now she was here, and she'd better find a way to get out again - in one piece. She owed it to Beck, and Hawkins, and herself.

She stilled, and took deep, even breaths, concentrating on her breathing and trying to ignore the desire to rip her arms out of their sockets to get away from the handcuffs. She also fought against the nausea caused by the pain in her head and increased by the motion of the vehicle. If she kept her eyes closed, it seemed to lessen the nausea or at least hold it at bay. She focused on the sound of the engine and of the tires rolling across the ground. They needed a tune-up, she thought bemusedly, allowing herself to be soothed by the steady sounds. Her captors weren't talking, and she had no idea how long she had been unconscious or where they were. She carefully slitted her eyes open, trying not to cause herself any more pain or nausea, and looked around her. She was facing the front of the vehicle, and she saw two men in the front seat. They hit a particularly large hole that abruptly jostled her; she groaned and closed her eyes as the pain swelled again.

"Jeez, Trev, how hard did you hit her? Constantino didn't want her hurt - just captured."

Heather started and frowned at the voice, but was too busy struggling to keep her stomach under control to open her eyes.

"I hit her hard enough to knock her out. Who knew she'd have such a soft head?"

Heather's eyes flew open at the second voice, the voice she had been hearing in her dreams for far too long.

"Ah, she's awake," the first voice said. She squinted forward and saw he was the driver, and he was watching her in the rear view mirror.

"Back in our loving arms," Trev responded, turning in the passenger seat to look at her. "My old schoolmate, Heather." He looked at the first man, a thin smile on his lips. "She used to have this sad little crush on me in high school and follow me around with those puppy dog eyes. Everywhere I went, there she was."

Heather licked her dry lips, her eyes closing again. Her lips moved as she murmured.

Trev cocked his head. "What was that?" he asked.

"I said," Heather forced out through dry lips, "that if I had known how much of an asshole you were, I would have let that drill slip when I had the chance."

Trev glared at her while the first man gave a cold laugh. "Feisty," the first man said. "Hey, Trev, isn't this the one who kicked you so hard you were pissing blood for a week?"

Even through the haze of pain and nausea, Heather could see Trev's rage as he flushed and turned back to Jim, swearing loudly.

"Only a week?" she asked, groaning as they hit another bump.

Trev turned back to glare at her again. "Watch your mouth, Heather. You're not being sent to Blackjack this time around - and don't expect anybody to come riding to your rescue from our camp."

Heather stared at him, her eyes reflecting her pain and fear, and she watched the look of satisfaction on his face at her expression. She closed her eyes, biting her lip, her mind finally starting to work through the haze of pain and nausea. Trev liked the fear on a woman's face, she thought. He was a bully and if she had been less blinded by her hormones in high school, she would have recognized it then as well. The Attacks had only given him the opportunity for his tendencies to flourish and come out into the light.

"You know Constantino's orders," the first man said, his voice cold and whip-sharp with authority. "We don't touch her - we don't hurt her - until he says we can. Got that?"

There was a long silence, and then Trev responded, his voice sullen, "Got it."

Heather opened her eyes again and met the first man's gaze in the rear view mirror.

"Nobody's going to hurt you, Heather," he said, his voice as cold as his eyes.

"I've heard that before," she replied. "Forgive me if I don't exactly feel comforted."

"It won't happen on my watch."

She steadily stared at him. In spite of the situation, she believed him. "What's your name?" she asked him.

"Jim."

She nodded carefully and closed her eyes. After awhile, worn out by fear, pain and nausea, she fell asleep.

She awoke when the vehicle stopped. The pain was manageable until Trev opened the back door and pulled her roughly upright.

"Don't - " she gasped.

He laughed, and yanked her out of the car. She stood, swaying, blinking at her surroundings, her stomach roiling.

"We'll take you to Constantino as soon as he gets back," Trev said, and yanked her forward - and Heather finally lost her battle with her stomach.

Trev was still swearing under his breath 20 minutes later when he and Jim shoved her into the storage room that had been set up as a makeshift prison cell, including, Heather was grateful to see, a cot.

Jim turned her around, not ungently, and unlocked her handcuffs. "You may as well get some rest." He shot Trev a sour look. "I'll bring you some water, and some food - in case you can eat it," he added hastily as Heather's face turned green and she made faint gagging sounds.

Heather swallowed hard, then whispered, "Thank you. If you could also - " she paused and breathed deeply, "bring a pail or...or...something - "

Jim nodded and hastily backed away.

By the time he returned, Heather was curled up on the cot, so lost in her own misery she didn't even stir as Jim and Trev dropped off some water, food and a pail that Jim put close beside the cot, and then left her alone.

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Chapter Text

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Heather had been awake for hours when Jim and Trev returned. She had searched the small room thoroughly for anything she could use as a weapon or as an escape route. Or to at least come up with an escape plan. She was in a standard storage room, no windows and with a single bare lightbulb in the middle of the ceiling. There were shelves from floor to ceiling, attached to the floor, the wall and the ceiling, and completely bare. Unlike most rooms in buildings, this storage room did not have a drop ceiling - it was bare concrete, and had no openings large enough for a human being to fit through. She had even climbed the shelves to check.

Underlying all of her morning activities were thoughts of the corporals who had guarded her, and the hope that they were alive. She worried about Beck, and how he had reacted when he found out she was gone. She could imagine the controlled rage in his eyes, the cold commitment to a course of action, regardless of the consequences. It was part of him, part of what made him so good at what he did - it has saved Jericho more than once in the last two years, and would save Jericho again in the future. But she tried not to think about how far he would go to get answers. And she also tried not to think about what he would do if she died here. She resolutely shut down thoughts of Beck, and turned her mind to determining where she may be located.

She knew she was in a large industrial building, and the light in the storage room had burned all night long. They were obviously close to a power grid, which eliminated some of the areas farther away from Jericho and New Bern. Since she didn't know how long she was unconscious, or asleep during the journey here, it was difficult to estimate the distance that they might have travelled. Based on the information she had, she had - to her own dark amusement - narrowed the possibilities to a 200 mile radius around Jericho and New Bern when Jim and Trev entered the storage room.

Heather froze, and Jim gave her a coolly assessing look, and said, "Constantino wants you." He cuffed her hands behind her back again. She fought the panic as they walked, and carefully concentrated on her breathing, the way Hawkins had shown her. In spite of the situation, Heather felt reluctant amusement as she realized that Hawkins was another man who would be very pissed if she let herself get killed here.

Constantino looked up from behind his desk as Trev and Jim pushed Heather into the room ahead of them and stared at her silently. She lifted her chin and defiantly glared back, hoping that he could read all the contempt she felt for him in her face. His eyes were flat and expressionless as he looked at her, and the silence stretched for long, tense moments.

"You wanted me," Heather finally said, her voice bitter. "Now you've got me. What's next? Execution at dawn? Tied down to a bed and raped? Tortured?"

Constantino gave a cold smile. "Things have changed," he said. "We don't damage any of the merchandise anymore. Besides," he paused and gave her a hard stare, "it's not about you anyway, Heather. You're secondary. The one I really want is the one who's going to come riding to your rescue."

Heather stared at him, appalled. "Why?" she whispered. "He protected New Bern as well as Jericho. Everything we do, we do for both towns. Why - "

"Beck is garnering too much support - too much power in this area. I'm not about to allow that to happen. I could never win in a direct confrontation," Constantino shrugged. "But I could lure him into an ambush."

"You didn't need me to do that," Heather frowned.

"Not necessarily, no. But as far as we can tell, you're the only one outside of his men that Beck truly likes and trusts - and so, the only one who would hurt both Jericho and Beck. By taking you, Beck will be angry, less likely to listen to his advisors, and therefore easier to capture or ambush."

"You're underestimating him," Heather said. "If anything, he's going to be even more focused in his hunt for you."

Constantino shrugged. "He hasn't been able to find me so far. I doubt if being more focused will help him do it now."

"So what now?" Heather asked.

Constantino leaned back in his chair. "Now we wait. In a day or two, we'll let word leak back to Jericho that I was spotted in the vicinity. When Beck and his men deploy to find us, they'll find us, all right. In a place and a time of our choosing. And I'll take care of Beck, once and for all. In the meantime, you'll be kept here in case we need to use you as leverage. Once we've taken care of Beck, then..."

Heather swallowed. "Then?" she asked.

Constantino shrugged. "I'm sure we'll find a use for you. Or not." He nodded at Trev and Jim. "She is not to be touched until I say so." Constantino gave Trev a hard glare. "Do you understand?"

Trev nodded. "I'll get my chance. You're not a virgin anymore, are you, Heather?"

Constantino's eyes met Heather's, and for the first time, something other than emptiness flashed in his eyes. Heather couldn't read it, but she suddenly knew - she knew - that Constantino could answer the one question she had left from that night in the prison cell.

"Tell me!" Heather spat at Constantino as Jim and Trev pulled her towards the door, stopping them in their tracks.

Heather continued, speaking quickly, "When I was in New Bern - when you had me in custody. Remember?" her voice was bitter and venomous as she looked at him, and then glanced at Trev.

Constantino nodded.

"Who lied to the deputies that night? Who lied to you?"

Constantino was silent.

"The doctor didn't know me - so he had no reason to lie. But somebody did. Who?"

Constantino stared at her for a long moment, his eyes flat and dead. She had told Beck that killing Constantino would be like killing a snake, and at this moment, she realized how right she was. She had thought the life had gone out of Beck's eyes after he was told about his wife and child - but even at his lowest point, his eyes were never as empty as Constantino's.

"I don't know if you remember my wife," Constantino finally said, his voice as distant and as flat as his eyes, his right hand twisting his wedding band.

"What?" Heather asked, confused.

"She was a...fragile woman. Prone to depression, fits of rage, states of euphoria, erratic behavior, alcoholic binges. She didn't go out much, especially as she got older; she was a virtual hermit by the time of the Attacks. I managed to keep her relatively under control after the Attacks, but when Ravenwood - well. It was her last straw. But the years before that were...hard. For many reasons."

"I don't see - "

"Your grandmother was a good woman. She was kind when others...weren't. I owed her. I owed her memory."

Heather stared into Constantino's eyes for a long moment as realization dawned.

"The doctor didn't know you - didn't know your name, and that's what saved you. There was a virgin in that cell. It just wasn't you."

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Chapter Text

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Heather was still reeling from the revelation that Constantino had saved her because her grandmother had been kind as Jim and Trev escorted her back to the storage room. Just as they arrived, a woman ran up to them. "We need you outside right now. Toss her in, and follow me."

Jim hastily pushed Heather back in the storage room, her hands still cuffed behind her back and closed and locked the door.

Constantino's revelation made no sense in relation to everything she knew about the man Constantino had become. But she didn't take much time to ponder it. She had to get out before Beck was lured into the trap that Constantino had been building for months. And the first thing she had to do was get rid of these cuffs.

She thanked heaven - again - for Hawkins, as she maneuvered until she had her hands in front of her. He had certainly drilled her enough, she thought ruefully, as she panted with effort and the dull throbbing in her head.

She paused for a moment, listening hard. She thought she had heard something, but when it didn't repeat, she shrugged, and moved her hands to the waistband of her jeans. She undid the button, reaching for the small lock pick that she had inserted into the waistband seam. Hawkins had been very helpful, she thought as she started to work it out of the seam. She froze at the sound of a key turning in the lock. She hastily closed her jeans, and faced the door.

She watched as Trev came into the room. He smiled a nasty smile when he saw her.

"Why are you here?" Heather asked, her eyes wide, watching him carefully.

"We have some unfinished business, you and I," Trev said softly.

"Constantino gave strict orders - "

"I'm not like Jim; I don't follow his orders blindly."

"You did in New Bern."

"That was then," Trev said shrugging, moving towards her. She backed away as he advanced, circling away from him.

"Constantino will kill you if you go against his orders."

"He's not gonna care. You're Beck's bait - and so long as you're alive until Constantino's ready to kill you - well, so what if I get a few job perks a little early? Besides, you kicked me. I'm not going to let that go." He lunged at her.

She side-stepped easily, and made a break for the door. She had only taken a few steps when he caught her, grabbing her around the waist and dragging her towards the cot.

She elbowed him, knocking the breath out of him, loosening his grip. She twisted away and turned to face him, wishing she had had time to get the handcuffs off. He lunged at her again, and she clasped her hands together and smashed him across the face. He cried out, his hand going up to his nose, coming back bloody.

"You bitch!" he spat.

"Is that the best you can come up with?" Heather taunted. "Not such a man when the woman can fight back, are you?"

He growled, and came at her again, punching her in the jaw. She spun and fell on her back onto the cot, tasting blood from her cut lip. He followed her down, pressing her down into the mattress. She struggled against him, hampered by the handcuffs, hearing and feeling her shirt giving way under his onslaught. With a rush of adreneline she heaved him off her enough to get her arms out from between them, and slammed the fleshy parts of her palms upwards against Trev's nose. He cried out and rolled off her, ending up on his hands and knees on the floor, holding his now broken nose. Heather jumped off the cot, and went behind him, grabbing his gun from his holster.

She held the gun the way Hawkins had taught her, and said, her voice shaking, "Get up and get out. As much as I hate your breathing guts, I don't want to have to kill you."

He stared at her, his eyes wide and shocked and pained. "You wouldn't!" he said.

"I'll do whatever I have to - now get up slowly and get the hell out."

Trev slowly stood, one hand still on his nose, blood and tears streaming down his face, but his eyes blazing with blind rage and hatred. She backed away, circling around as he moved towards her, keeping him in sight and under the muzzle of the gun. When gunfire suddenly erupted outside the storage room door, she jumped and glanced towards the door. He took advantage of her momentary lack of attention to rush her. Her eyes flew back to his and she did what Hawkins taught her to do: she shot him.

Trev's eyes went wide as the bullet hit him, stopping him in his tracks. He slowly fell to his knees and then to his face. Heather gaped at him, shaking, and then abruptly swung the gun towards the door as it was kicked open. She gave a gasp of relief and shock when she saw Hawkins and Jake, guns drawn, peering into the room from around the broken door.

Hawkins came into the room, glanced at the body, and gave her a sympathetic look. She was bruised and dirty, her shirt ripped, her wrists cuffed. He reached out his hand, palm up, and she handed him the gun without a word. He tucked it into the back of his pants, and then put his arm around her shoulders.

"We need to get out of here," he said.

She gave a shaky nod. "Where's Beck?"

Hawkins and Jake exchanged a speaking glance, and Heather closed her eyes.

"He's taking care of Constantino, isn't he?"

Hawkins gave her a steady stare. "Yes. Constantino has to be stopped. One way or the other. Our orders were to find you, and get you away from here. You're not supposed to worry about him."

"Oh, like that'll happen," Heather replied, her voice shaking, her eyes not quite focused, looking everywhere but at the man on the floor.

Jake gave a small chuckle. "Let's go, Heather."

She nodded, and blinked, forcing herself to focus on the present. "You'd better help me get these cuffs off," she said to Hawkins. "Maybe Trev has a key."

Jake quickly searched the body, and came up with a set of keys. He unlocked Heather's handcuffs, and she massaged her wrists, rubbed raw from the cuffs and her struggles. Hawkins checked the corridor again. With a glance back, and a nod from him, the three of them left the room. The sound of gunfire outside the building was non-stop now, and Heather followed Hawkins and Jake with blind faith that they would get her out without getting her shot.

They took her out the back, away from the thick of the battle. Hawkins and Jake took out the few people they encountered, and the three of them were soon jogging towards a distant copse of trees about a mile away from the building where Heather had been held. They were in a humvee and on the road much sooner than she ever would have predicted.

As soon as they were underway, Jake keyed the radio to inform Beck and his men that their mission had been accomplished.

They drove in silence for several more minutes, Jake keeping a sharp eye out for pursuit as Hawkins drove.

"How - " Heather asked finally.

"I'll let Beck explain," Hawkins replied. "But basically - " he paused and glanced at her. "Anita let Constantino's men know where you were going to be, and they ambushed your guards and kidnapped you."

"Anita!"

Hawkins nodded. "She's in a jail cell in Jericho right now."

"I haven't seen Beck this brutally angry since - "Jake stopped cold, giving Heather a carefully neutral look.

"He was frantic," Hawkins added, "and with good reason. We weren't much better, Jake - don't pretend we were. We're just lucky we could keep him from burning the town down around everybody's ears until somebody confessed."

"How did he find out about Anita?"

Hawkins and Jake exchanged a bemused glance in the rear view mirror. "That's really a story for him to tell you." Hawkins said, a thread of amusement in his voice, "but let's just say that Old Mrs. Francis is a force to be reckoned with, and Beck didn't stand a chance."

Heather blinked at him, and even through the events of the last two days she could feel a smile tug at her lips.

"Try to relax," Hawkins added, his voice soothing.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Very close. Constantino's headquarters were only about 3 hours from Jericho."

Heather nodded. She glanced at Hawkins from the corner of her eye. "The two corporals who were guarding me? Corporal Andrews and Corporal Nichols? What happened to them?"

Hawkins and Jake exchanged another speaking glance, and Heather stilled for a moment, and then nodded. "That's what I was afraid of," she said, her voice breaking.

With a sigh, Hawkins reached out and clasped her hand, and she held it tightly as silent tears slid down her face.

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Chapter Text

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When they got back to Jericho, they were met by a relieved Emily and Mary, who hugged Heather fiercely, and then took her to the medi-centre to be examined by Kenchy. Her jaw was bruised, her lip split, and the bump on her head was truly spectacular, but Kenchy gave her a clean bill of health and let her leave. Even though Mary offered to take Heather home immediately, she refused.

Instead, they went back to the sheriff's office, and now Heather stood outside the cell door, looking at Anita through the bars. Beck and the men not left behind to clean up Constantino's camp were still over an hour away from Jericho.

Anita stared at her coldly. "Come to gloat?" she sneered.

Heather shook her head. "To understand."

Anita shrugged. "What's to understand? A romantic rival. Get rid of you, and I would have a clear path to Edward. And Constantino was offering a very attractive bounty."

Heather cocked her head, her eyes assessing. She slowly shook her head, her eyes never leaving Anita's. "That's not it. You never loved him."

Anita cocked her head in turn. "How would you know what I feel?"

"I don't. Convince me."

Anita's gaze wavered, and fell. "You're right. I didn't - I don't - love him. But he would have protected me. Is it so wrong to want some safety in this world?"

"No," Heather replied slowly. "But I don't believe that either."

Anita shrugged, not looking at Heather.

"You sent me to Old Mrs. Francis' farm. Alone. That poor man - he wasn't out in the storm; he was in the house. Wasn't he?"

Anita hesitated, then nodded. "Why he didn't make it into the basement at least, I don't know. But, yes. He was in the house. He was supposed to capture you when you went in to check the windows. I didn't expect the storm to hit so fast. And I didn't expect Edward to go after you when he did. If he hadn't looked behind him to check where you were, well..." she shrugged, "I would have had him in town, and been able to delay any search for you for awhile."

"Did you know Constantino was using me as bait, to take Beck out?"

Anita hesitated, then nodded. "I hoped that if I distracted Edward enough, he wouldn't go after you half-cocked. Constantino's plan would have worked against a man thinking with his heart, but not against a military man thinking only the way he was trained. But I couldn't get rid of you soon enough. " Anita said.

"Why? And the truth." Heather bit her lip, and then continued. "Beck is a dangerous man when he's angry. And the fact that you're a woman may not matter at this point. Give me the reason!"

"Rebecca was my best friend."

Heather felt the blood drain from her face. The silence bloomed. Heather could feel her heart beating, the blood pounding in her ears. She could see the deputies, hear the screams, and hear Amy and Rebecca telling her they hated her. She closed her eyes.

"I see you remember."

"How could I forget?" Heather whispered.

"She made it to a safe place. She wrote me a letter - I got it four months ago. She told me everything. Everything that happened in that cell. She told me about you."

"I asked them to stop. I begged them to stop!"

"But you were spared!" Anita spat. "One of the deputies said you were a virgin. Were you?"

Heather hesitated, then shook her head.

"Edward thinks you're such an honourable person. Always doing the right thing. Always putting others before yourself. Better than the rest of us. So brave - doing what's right no matter the cost to yourself. Some kind of...of...abstract symbol - you're on a pedestal so high I'm amazed we can even see you from our lowly place on earth. But you didn't do the right thing in New Bern, did you?"

Heather slowly shook her head again.

"What did you do - who did you sell out? Did you sell out Eric? Huh? Jericho? What did you trade away to protect yourself?"

"Nothing! I had nothing to do with it! Someone lied!"

"Someone lied? Someone lied! You lied. You made a deal with someone - and that someone protected you. If you had nothing to do with it, why didn't they protect the others?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Heather yelled. Tears stood out in her eyes.

"Why didn't you protect the others? You were selling out anyway - "

"I didn't sell out!"

Anita scoffed, and turned away from Heather in disgust.

"You can lie to Edward all you want; Heather," Anita sneered. "And you can lie to everybody else, with that holier-than-thou persona you've perfected, playing the sacrificial lamb for this town. But I know what you did."

Heather stared at Anita's back for a long moment, then sighed, blinking her tears back. "You don't know shit," she said quietly to Anita's back. "You weren't in that prison cell. You have no idea what Rebecca and Amy went through. You have no idea what I went through. You can believe whatever you want. I don't need you to believe me. I don't need you to forgive me. And you don't need me to understand or forgive you.

"Beck, however, is a different matter. And I don't know if I'll be able to convince him to be merciful. I don't even know if I want to try."

Anita spun around and stared at her. Heather met her gaze for a long, silent moment, and then turned and walked away.

*/*/*/*/*

Chapter Text

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Heather was huddled into the corner of the couch in her livingroom, the lights low, wrapped in her grandfather's dressing gown, when there was a knock, and Beck opened the door and walked in.

He hesitated at the sight of her, then he bent and silently removed his boots before coming fully into the house.

Heather was aware of him, in the dim light of her livingroom. She felt cold, and drained and numb. She couldn't look directly at him. She was afraid of what she would see. In her dreams. In her face. In his eyes.

"I just got back," he said softly, walking towards her, "Clark told me you were here. Heather - "

"Do you know what happened today?" Heather asked abruptly, her voice harsh, stopping him in his tracks.

He looked at her steadily for a long moment. "Yes."

"You know about Trev? You know why Anita did what she did?"

"Yes."

"I didn't sell anybody out," Heather whispered, staring at her hands where she was playing with the belt of the dressing gown.

"I never thought you did."

Heather stared into space for a long silent moment. "What good would it have done to tell the truth?" Heather whispered, speaking more to herself than to him. "They wouldn't have released me from that bed. They would have just raped me, too. If they believed me at all. What else could I have done?"

Beck walked to the couch and sat down, facing her.

"There was nothing else you could have done," Beck responded gently. "You're right. Telling the truth would have done nothing, except have them turn on you. Heather, what happened in that cell was not your fault. You didn't cause the rapes. And there was nothing you could do to prevent them."

Heather was silent for a long moment, never lifting her eyes to his. He reached out to her.

"Don't." She shrunk away.

Beck hesitated, then dropped his hand. He waited silently for her to speak.

"You know about Trev?" she asked again.

"Yes."

"You once told me that the thought of me killing someone was sacrilege," she whispered. "You told me yesterday that I was your guiding star, that I was always good. Anita said you had me on a pedestal so high I can't be seen from the ground. Well, I killed somebody today. And I stayed silent when I could have spoken and perhaps saved someone else. Can you look at me the way you did before?"

Beck was silent for a long moment, and then sighed softly. "You're still you - you're battered and bruised, both inside and out - but the core of you hasn't changed. You want what's best - you want what's right - you want a better world.

"Can I look at you the way I did before? I'm looking at you that way right now."

Heather sniffed, her head down, her hair hiding her face.

"Look at me, Heather," Beck whispered.

With a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders, lifted her head and met his eyes. She caught her breath. His eyes were warm and trusting; concerned and vulnerable; and her lips parted softly at the naked emotion in his eyes that he made no attempt to hide.

He reached out and took her hand, and this time she didn't stop him.

"You're a person, with demons, and regrets; hopes and dreams. I know what I told you in the storm cellar. I know what I said to Anita. And how it all sounds. I don't have you up on a pedestal. You're not a symbol to me. You're not a flag I rally around. But I will - and I always will - do things for God and country and Heather Lisinski - no matter what you've had to do. Because I love you. As you are, and for who you are."

Heather stared at him, shaking, tears in her eyes. She had once thought she would be Jake's redemption. She had never imagined that she would be the one in need of salvation. Or that the man looking at her so intently would give her the opportunity for healing she needed.

Beck glanced at the bruising on her jaw, and gently rubbed his thumb over her lips, carefully avoiding the angry cut created by Trev's fist. He kissed her very gently, half-on, half-off her lips, his mouth warm against hers. The kiss was brief, and he pulled back to look in her eyes before tugging her into his arms, and holding her tightly as she buried her face into his shoulder, hugging him fiercely.

He stroked her hair, being careful of her bumps and bruises.

After long moments she lifted her head, and gave him a small smile. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

She shrugged. "For coming after me. For listening. For..." she looked at him shyly, "for everything."

Beck smiled back. "You're welcome."

"I love you too, you know."

"I know," he answered, and kissed her again.

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