Earth Mama Blues -- Jericho fic [PG]
Aug. 14th, 2009 02:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vanillafluffyTitle: Earth Mama Blues
Authored by:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vanillafluffy
Pairing/spoilers: Jonah Prowse/OFC, Deputy Bill * Through 2.3, Oversight
Rating/Work-safeness: PG for language, violence and sexual situations
Approximate word count: 2400
Disclaimer: I was not part of the conspiracy!
Summary: The aftermath of a nuclear attack can cause moral compromises in people who thought their convictions were firm. Does a badge make a hero? Is a criminal unredeemable? Can one lone woman keep the peace between the two?
Earth Mama Blues
In the once-upon-a-time before the bombs, Melanie had the only New Age shop for fifty miles. It went bust for lack of interest and she had to close it, but now she's thankful for that failure, because she has it all at home, stockpiled. There are herbs and tinctures and salves, enough preparations to medicate a fair number of people for as long as their potency lasts.
Late one October night, there's a pounding on her door, and hurrying to answer, she wonders what the emergency is at nearly midnight. It's almost certainly bad news at this hour. Has something happened to Mama or Aunt Tessie or her brother, Bill? She doesn't turn on the lights, although she could---her house was built to be eco-friendly, and she has enough solar and wind-powered devices that Mel's day-to-day life has probably changed less since the bombs than anyone else in Jericho.
When she peers out the front window, her breath catches at the sight of the man standing there. He holds up one bandaged arm in silent explanation, and after deliberating for a moment, Melanie unlatches the door and lets him in.
"I need a place to lie low for a while," says Jonah Prowse, as she closes the door behind him.
She's resigned to his demand for assistance, but she isn’t happy about it. Although Mel prefers to think of herself as a fair-minded individual, she hasn't trusted Jonah Prowse since fifth grade. She was never able to prove it, but she's always been positive that he was the one who stole her Girl Scout cookie money out of her book-bag.
Tending his wound is a matter of changing dressings and administering a few time-tested remedies. That's the easy part. She's not used to having anyone in her space, that's hard enough to handle---and she knows he's looking things over, the speculative inventory of a thief. What will disappear with him? Blankets? Flashlights? Booze? Or will he come back with a truck and clean out her whole pantry?
Without comment, she fixes a bed for him on the couch, but it would be too much to hope for that he'd stay there. She's upstairs in her own bed when a shadow darkens her doorway.
"Damn it, Jonah, I never said---"
"Move over," he says, and slides in beside her.
If she was tense before his appearance, she's five feet, seven inches of knots as he gets up close and personal. It's been quite a few years since she's shared a bed with anyone, and she's never had the slightest desire to share one with him, but like hell she's going to sleep on the couch.
He snores. It finally lulls Mel to sleep at some pre-dawn hour, and when she awakens, she's alone, as usual. The whole incident was strange enough that at first, it has the overtones of a dream, until she hears a cabinet door bang downstairs, and she's out from under the covers and charging into the kitchen between one breath and the next.
She finds Jonah in the kitchen, rummaging through her cabinets, looking so perplexed that Mel actually believes him when he tells her he has no idea how to cook any of this crap…and does she have any coffee? He’d kill for a decent cup of coffee. (She believes that, too.)
She has ample stocks of herbal tea, and demonstrates how to work the electrical system. She’s been fully solar for a while now, and Mel hopes she’s not overplaying her hand. If he and his gang take over her house, she’ll wind up in town, either playing hand-maiden to Mama and Aunt Tessie, or answering questions from her baby brother. Neither option appeals to her, so she’s more polite to Jonah than she would be otherwise.
His wound is inflamed when she examines it, so she hauls out the ingredients for a poultice and doctors it again. Pretty soon, he’s yawning from the combination of the warm room and chamomile tea, and she leaves him napping on the couch while she goes out back to collect more wood for the stove.
When she walks in through the back door, it’s to find a Mexican standoff in progress. Jonah is brandishing one of her carving knives, while her brother Bill has his sidearm drawn and looks like he’s thinking about using it.
She dumps an armful of kindling into the woodbox with unnecessary force. Honestly, at times like this, she wishes she was an only child “Planning to use that to cut some of the testosterone in the room?” she asks Jonah pointedly. “Bill, put that gun away. The man is a guest in my house, and I won’t stand for you shooting him.”
“Thanks,” says Jonah, smiling at Bill. Her baby brother is simmering, but Mel gives him the evil eye, and he finally holsters the gun, glaring at Jonah. “Of course, if he really wanted to shoot me, he’s already had his chance.”
“You lay a hand on my sister, and I will,” he snaps at the ex-con.
Mel clears her throat. “By the same token, Bill, if Jonah had evil intentions, he’s had plenty of them to act on them. He’s been here for eighteen hours already, and I’m fine. My virtue and my possessions are still intact. So, don’t bring your pissing contest to my doorstep. I’m Switzerland, do you understand? I’m neutral.”
“Don’t look at me!” Jonah raises his hands. “I was fixing myself a sandwich when he came in and started getting all law and order on me.” The knife rests on the countertop, and there’s a loaf of bread with a cut slice and a jar cherry preserves nearby.
“He’ll rob you blind if you turn your back on him,” Bill says, pursing his lips. It’s the same expression he used to get when he didn’t approve of the guys she was dating or how late she got in from said dates. “He’s been banned from town, did he tell you that?”
“The subject didn’t come up,” she says, and looks at the bandage on her guest’s arm. She should’ve asked, but when you’ve got a reputation like Jonah Prowse, it doesn’t really matter; there’s always going to be something, someone causing trouble.
“Switzerland isn’t such a bad idea,” the outlaw remarks. He looks long and hard at Bill. “We’re not in town right now. Your people are stretched thin trying to keep the peace. Melanie can use all the protection she can get. These days, there are people running around who make me look like George Washington. I’ll keep an eye on her, and if you or anybody from town needs to get a message to me, you can leave it here.”
Mel’s mouth opens and closes for a moment. She wants to say she can take care of herself, but damn him, Jonah’s right.
“I’ll let Emily know,” Bill replies by way of agreement. He looks from Jonah to his sister, sighs, and shakes his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Mel.”
“Yeah, well, keep it under your hat,” she says darkly, walking him toward the door. “I’m staying put, and I don’t need Mama fussing at me like I was twelve years old.”
Returning to the kitchen, her guest is munching on a slice of bread spread with crimson preserves, and there’s another one waiting for her on the counter. “Thanks for not letting him shoot me,” he says, smiling.
“Don’t make me regret it.” Her day-to-day life is about to change. The bombs have made some supplies harder to get, which is inconvenient, but an alliance with Jonah Prowse is really going to shake things up. Nuclear war makes strange bedfellows.
***
***
"Better safe than sorry," Mel thinks, wincing as the needle bites into her arm. She's heard enough about the Hudson River virus to accept the vaccine---usually she doesn't bother with flu shots or any of that fuss and she's never sick---but it sounds like Hudson is doing a scarily good job of killing a lot of people who survived the bombs and the harsh winter that followed.
She's timed her appearance at the outpost carefully---there's a little lull between patients---and she smiles at the ER nurse who's in charge of this station. "I'm right up the road from Miz Green," she says, keeping her voice low so the paramedic who's kibbitzing with one of the guys from the hardware store won't hear. "If you want, I can take a dose out to her."
Sue Ann bites her lip. "I'm not supposed to," she says, visibly reluctant. "And I'm sure Jake---"
"I don't know...Jake's pretty busy with his new job, and I'd hate to think of his mama being unprotected through an oversight." Melanie puts all the warmth she can into her tone and waits. She and Sue Ann were in Miz Green's Sunday school class back in the day, and she's pretty sure she knows which way Sue Ann will jump.
"I'm not supposed to," Sue Ann repeats. She rests a hand on Mel's shoulder and takes her hand in a friendly gesture. Mel feels a small cylinder being pressed into her palm—a vial of the vaccine. "But I understand your concern. Gail Green is such a good woman, and I'd hate to see anything else happen to that family."
Mel nods and says good night, tucking her hands casually into her pockets as she walks away, pleased with the success of her errand. She doesn't keep them there after she's out of sight though---there are too many strangers in town these days---she's not going to leave herself so defenseless. Her mare is tied up in Mama's tool shed, and she can be home in under an hour if she can stay under radar. She doesn't care to be waylaid by Mama or Aunt Tessie about why she never comes to visit anymore, so if she's quiet---
"Evening, Mel," her brother Bill drawls as she leads Dixie out into the backyard.
"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" she breathes. "What's the idea of sneaking up on me like that?" She wishes she'd left the mare saddled---she'd be on the road by now, no snoopy little brothers need apply.
"I bumped into Sue Ann Langdon," he says, looking at her. "She asked me to give you this, said you were gonna make a house call to Mrs. Green." He holds up an individually packed syringe, snatches it away as she reaches for it.
"Why not? The ranch isn't that far out of my way." She grabs at the packet, wanting to yell at him, but all she needs is to get one of the old women in on this conversation.
"Maybe because I bumped into Mrs. Green when I was behind Gracie Leigh's." Oh, hell. She's screwed now. "She said you brought her some jam after Johnston died, and that she ran into you on the road to town tonight. Want to tell me what's really going on?"
"Not especially," Melanie answers frankly. "Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies."
Even in the dull moonlight, she can make out the petulant expression on Bill's face. "It's for him, isn't it?"
She doesn't try to pretend she doesn't know what he's talking about, adopts a "Let's be reasonable" tone. "Well, it's not like he can come into town for it, can he?"
"Jonah Prowse is a cockroach. He's the last person we need to vaccinate. There's a damn good reason he's been banned from town. He's a low-life thief and a killer, and I wish I'd shot him when I had the chance."
He's distracted enough by what he's saying that she manages to snatch the plastic envelope with the syringe from him. "Bill, you don't mean that."
"You've gotten too close to him, Mel. What, now you think he's a nice guy? I saw him shoot a man in cold blood when we were raiding the convoy from New Bern. That was just before he broke the deal he made with us and took off with all their guns and supplies."
This is getting dangerously loud. Mel takes a couple slow steps toward the back gate, leading the mare by the reins. "Yeah, New Bern---those wonderful folks who wanted to turn Jericho into their own personal cash cow and food bank. The way I heard it was, you all were gonna turn the guy loose---so he could've grabbed the nearest gun, or gone back to New Bern for reinforcements---and Jonah made sure that wasn't going to happen." She unlatches the gate and eases it open. "And for someone you don't want around, he sure saved your asses when you were in that standoff at the bridge. If you're going to call him in to help you with dirty jobs, he needs the firepower to back you up. Fair's fair.
She breathes a little easier now that she's on the far side of the gate, but Bill's not through yet. "I hope you don't think sleeping with him means you're bulletproof. Because he'd cut your throat or sell you out if it served his purpose."
Sleeping with Jonah Prowse isn't something she's proud of, but Melanie doesn't have any of the romantic illusions her brother seems to think she does. She's been married and widowed, and this is pragmatism, not love. Horniness and proximity and a cold winter had brought about the unthinkable, and it's continued because getting the itch scratched the old-fashioned way once in a while isn't the worst thing in the world...even with him.
To Mel's surprise, Jonah had been better than she'd expected in bed. He'd been as pushy as a used car salesman, but he hadn't forced her. Once she'd given in and said, "Oh, fine! Go ahead!", he'd chuckled and slowly fondled her until she'd told him to get on with it, and from there, he'd made her say please....
"That may be," she answers, swinging up into the saddle and gathering up the reins. "But so far, Jonah's kept his word. He hasn't ripped me off, and neither has anyone else. As far as I'm concerned, it's in my best interests to keep him alive and well." She nudges Dixie forward. "Better safe than sorry."
***
An unlikely duo on an urgent crusade....
Posse
As their prisoner started to sit up, Bill bounced the trunk lid against his head again. The would-be horse thief was holding his head with both hands, and Bill quickly grabbed the .22 lying amid the orange powder. "Where’s my sister?"
"Fuck your sister!" the guy snapped, and without conscious thought, Bill pulled the trigger. Blood blossomed on the other man’s grimy tee shirt. The shot winged the thief’s ribcage; he howled and jumped, slamming his head against the trunk lid again.
Jonah knocked Bill’s hand up. "He can’t answer questions if he’s dead." His weapon, unwavering, was pointed at the hapless robber, who clutched his head with his left hand and hugged his wounded side with his right. "Let’s try this again. Where’s the woman who lives in this house?"
***
Authored by:
vanillafluffy Pairing/spoilers: Jonah Prowse/OFC, Deputy Bill * Through 2.3, Oversight
Rating/Work-safeness: PG for language, violence and sexual situations
Approximate word count: 2400
Disclaimer: I was not part of the conspiracy!
Summary: The aftermath of a nuclear attack can cause moral compromises in people who thought their convictions were firm. Does a badge make a hero? Is a criminal unredeemable? Can one lone woman keep the peace between the two?
In the once-upon-a-time before the bombs, Melanie had the only New Age shop for fifty miles. It went bust for lack of interest and she had to close it, but now she's thankful for that failure, because she has it all at home, stockpiled. There are herbs and tinctures and salves, enough preparations to medicate a fair number of people for as long as their potency lasts.
Late one October night, there's a pounding on her door, and hurrying to answer, she wonders what the emergency is at nearly midnight. It's almost certainly bad news at this hour. Has something happened to Mama or Aunt Tessie or her brother, Bill? She doesn't turn on the lights, although she could---her house was built to be eco-friendly, and she has enough solar and wind-powered devices that Mel's day-to-day life has probably changed less since the bombs than anyone else in Jericho.
When she peers out the front window, her breath catches at the sight of the man standing there. He holds up one bandaged arm in silent explanation, and after deliberating for a moment, Melanie unlatches the door and lets him in.
"I need a place to lie low for a while," says Jonah Prowse, as she closes the door behind him.
She's resigned to his demand for assistance, but she isn’t happy about it. Although Mel prefers to think of herself as a fair-minded individual, she hasn't trusted Jonah Prowse since fifth grade. She was never able to prove it, but she's always been positive that he was the one who stole her Girl Scout cookie money out of her book-bag.
Tending his wound is a matter of changing dressings and administering a few time-tested remedies. That's the easy part. She's not used to having anyone in her space, that's hard enough to handle---and she knows he's looking things over, the speculative inventory of a thief. What will disappear with him? Blankets? Flashlights? Booze? Or will he come back with a truck and clean out her whole pantry?
Without comment, she fixes a bed for him on the couch, but it would be too much to hope for that he'd stay there. She's upstairs in her own bed when a shadow darkens her doorway.
"Damn it, Jonah, I never said---"
"Move over," he says, and slides in beside her.
If she was tense before his appearance, she's five feet, seven inches of knots as he gets up close and personal. It's been quite a few years since she's shared a bed with anyone, and she's never had the slightest desire to share one with him, but like hell she's going to sleep on the couch.
He snores. It finally lulls Mel to sleep at some pre-dawn hour, and when she awakens, she's alone, as usual. The whole incident was strange enough that at first, it has the overtones of a dream, until she hears a cabinet door bang downstairs, and she's out from under the covers and charging into the kitchen between one breath and the next.
She finds Jonah in the kitchen, rummaging through her cabinets, looking so perplexed that Mel actually believes him when he tells her he has no idea how to cook any of this crap…and does she have any coffee? He’d kill for a decent cup of coffee. (She believes that, too.)
She has ample stocks of herbal tea, and demonstrates how to work the electrical system. She’s been fully solar for a while now, and Mel hopes she’s not overplaying her hand. If he and his gang take over her house, she’ll wind up in town, either playing hand-maiden to Mama and Aunt Tessie, or answering questions from her baby brother. Neither option appeals to her, so she’s more polite to Jonah than she would be otherwise.
His wound is inflamed when she examines it, so she hauls out the ingredients for a poultice and doctors it again. Pretty soon, he’s yawning from the combination of the warm room and chamomile tea, and she leaves him napping on the couch while she goes out back to collect more wood for the stove.
When she walks in through the back door, it’s to find a Mexican standoff in progress. Jonah is brandishing one of her carving knives, while her brother Bill has his sidearm drawn and looks like he’s thinking about using it.
She dumps an armful of kindling into the woodbox with unnecessary force. Honestly, at times like this, she wishes she was an only child “Planning to use that to cut some of the testosterone in the room?” she asks Jonah pointedly. “Bill, put that gun away. The man is a guest in my house, and I won’t stand for you shooting him.”
“Thanks,” says Jonah, smiling at Bill. Her baby brother is simmering, but Mel gives him the evil eye, and he finally holsters the gun, glaring at Jonah. “Of course, if he really wanted to shoot me, he’s already had his chance.”
“You lay a hand on my sister, and I will,” he snaps at the ex-con.
Mel clears her throat. “By the same token, Bill, if Jonah had evil intentions, he’s had plenty of them to act on them. He’s been here for eighteen hours already, and I’m fine. My virtue and my possessions are still intact. So, don’t bring your pissing contest to my doorstep. I’m Switzerland, do you understand? I’m neutral.”
“Don’t look at me!” Jonah raises his hands. “I was fixing myself a sandwich when he came in and started getting all law and order on me.” The knife rests on the countertop, and there’s a loaf of bread with a cut slice and a jar cherry preserves nearby.
“He’ll rob you blind if you turn your back on him,” Bill says, pursing his lips. It’s the same expression he used to get when he didn’t approve of the guys she was dating or how late she got in from said dates. “He’s been banned from town, did he tell you that?”
“The subject didn’t come up,” she says, and looks at the bandage on her guest’s arm. She should’ve asked, but when you’ve got a reputation like Jonah Prowse, it doesn’t really matter; there’s always going to be something, someone causing trouble.
“Switzerland isn’t such a bad idea,” the outlaw remarks. He looks long and hard at Bill. “We’re not in town right now. Your people are stretched thin trying to keep the peace. Melanie can use all the protection she can get. These days, there are people running around who make me look like George Washington. I’ll keep an eye on her, and if you or anybody from town needs to get a message to me, you can leave it here.”
Mel’s mouth opens and closes for a moment. She wants to say she can take care of herself, but damn him, Jonah’s right.
“I’ll let Emily know,” Bill replies by way of agreement. He looks from Jonah to his sister, sighs, and shakes his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Mel.”
“Yeah, well, keep it under your hat,” she says darkly, walking him toward the door. “I’m staying put, and I don’t need Mama fussing at me like I was twelve years old.”
Returning to the kitchen, her guest is munching on a slice of bread spread with crimson preserves, and there’s another one waiting for her on the counter. “Thanks for not letting him shoot me,” he says, smiling.
“Don’t make me regret it.” Her day-to-day life is about to change. The bombs have made some supplies harder to get, which is inconvenient, but an alliance with Jonah Prowse is really going to shake things up. Nuclear war makes strange bedfellows.
"Better safe than sorry," Mel thinks, wincing as the needle bites into her arm. She's heard enough about the Hudson River virus to accept the vaccine---usually she doesn't bother with flu shots or any of that fuss and she's never sick---but it sounds like Hudson is doing a scarily good job of killing a lot of people who survived the bombs and the harsh winter that followed.
She's timed her appearance at the outpost carefully---there's a little lull between patients---and she smiles at the ER nurse who's in charge of this station. "I'm right up the road from Miz Green," she says, keeping her voice low so the paramedic who's kibbitzing with one of the guys from the hardware store won't hear. "If you want, I can take a dose out to her."
Sue Ann bites her lip. "I'm not supposed to," she says, visibly reluctant. "And I'm sure Jake---"
"I don't know...Jake's pretty busy with his new job, and I'd hate to think of his mama being unprotected through an oversight." Melanie puts all the warmth she can into her tone and waits. She and Sue Ann were in Miz Green's Sunday school class back in the day, and she's pretty sure she knows which way Sue Ann will jump.
"I'm not supposed to," Sue Ann repeats. She rests a hand on Mel's shoulder and takes her hand in a friendly gesture. Mel feels a small cylinder being pressed into her palm—a vial of the vaccine. "But I understand your concern. Gail Green is such a good woman, and I'd hate to see anything else happen to that family."
Mel nods and says good night, tucking her hands casually into her pockets as she walks away, pleased with the success of her errand. She doesn't keep them there after she's out of sight though---there are too many strangers in town these days---she's not going to leave herself so defenseless. Her mare is tied up in Mama's tool shed, and she can be home in under an hour if she can stay under radar. She doesn't care to be waylaid by Mama or Aunt Tessie about why she never comes to visit anymore, so if she's quiet---
"Evening, Mel," her brother Bill drawls as she leads Dixie out into the backyard.
"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" she breathes. "What's the idea of sneaking up on me like that?" She wishes she'd left the mare saddled---she'd be on the road by now, no snoopy little brothers need apply.
"I bumped into Sue Ann Langdon," he says, looking at her. "She asked me to give you this, said you were gonna make a house call to Mrs. Green." He holds up an individually packed syringe, snatches it away as she reaches for it.
"Why not? The ranch isn't that far out of my way." She grabs at the packet, wanting to yell at him, but all she needs is to get one of the old women in on this conversation.
"Maybe because I bumped into Mrs. Green when I was behind Gracie Leigh's." Oh, hell. She's screwed now. "She said you brought her some jam after Johnston died, and that she ran into you on the road to town tonight. Want to tell me what's really going on?"
"Not especially," Melanie answers frankly. "Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies."
Even in the dull moonlight, she can make out the petulant expression on Bill's face. "It's for him, isn't it?"
She doesn't try to pretend she doesn't know what he's talking about, adopts a "Let's be reasonable" tone. "Well, it's not like he can come into town for it, can he?"
"Jonah Prowse is a cockroach. He's the last person we need to vaccinate. There's a damn good reason he's been banned from town. He's a low-life thief and a killer, and I wish I'd shot him when I had the chance."
He's distracted enough by what he's saying that she manages to snatch the plastic envelope with the syringe from him. "Bill, you don't mean that."
"You've gotten too close to him, Mel. What, now you think he's a nice guy? I saw him shoot a man in cold blood when we were raiding the convoy from New Bern. That was just before he broke the deal he made with us and took off with all their guns and supplies."
This is getting dangerously loud. Mel takes a couple slow steps toward the back gate, leading the mare by the reins. "Yeah, New Bern---those wonderful folks who wanted to turn Jericho into their own personal cash cow and food bank. The way I heard it was, you all were gonna turn the guy loose---so he could've grabbed the nearest gun, or gone back to New Bern for reinforcements---and Jonah made sure that wasn't going to happen." She unlatches the gate and eases it open. "And for someone you don't want around, he sure saved your asses when you were in that standoff at the bridge. If you're going to call him in to help you with dirty jobs, he needs the firepower to back you up. Fair's fair.
She breathes a little easier now that she's on the far side of the gate, but Bill's not through yet. "I hope you don't think sleeping with him means you're bulletproof. Because he'd cut your throat or sell you out if it served his purpose."
Sleeping with Jonah Prowse isn't something she's proud of, but Melanie doesn't have any of the romantic illusions her brother seems to think she does. She's been married and widowed, and this is pragmatism, not love. Horniness and proximity and a cold winter had brought about the unthinkable, and it's continued because getting the itch scratched the old-fashioned way once in a while isn't the worst thing in the world...even with him.
To Mel's surprise, Jonah had been better than she'd expected in bed. He'd been as pushy as a used car salesman, but he hadn't forced her. Once she'd given in and said, "Oh, fine! Go ahead!", he'd chuckled and slowly fondled her until she'd told him to get on with it, and from there, he'd made her say please....
"That may be," she answers, swinging up into the saddle and gathering up the reins. "But so far, Jonah's kept his word. He hasn't ripped me off, and neither has anyone else. As far as I'm concerned, it's in my best interests to keep him alive and well." She nudges Dixie forward. "Better safe than sorry."
An unlikely duo on an urgent crusade....
As their prisoner started to sit up, Bill bounced the trunk lid against his head again. The would-be horse thief was holding his head with both hands, and Bill quickly grabbed the .22 lying amid the orange powder. "Where’s my sister?"
"Fuck your sister!" the guy snapped, and without conscious thought, Bill pulled the trigger. Blood blossomed on the other man’s grimy tee shirt. The shot winged the thief’s ribcage; he howled and jumped, slamming his head against the trunk lid again.
Jonah knocked Bill’s hand up. "He can’t answer questions if he’s dead." His weapon, unwavering, was pointed at the hapless robber, who clutched his head with his left hand and hugged his wounded side with his right. "Let’s try this again. Where’s the woman who lives in this house?"