Raining again, he thought absently. He sat by the window and stared out at the monochrome landscape, at the people who drifted idly by on the streets below like absentminded ghosts losing themselves in the mist. Blue smoke from his pipe rose lazily around his head. He liked a pipe for thinking; although he had a reputation (admittedly well-earned) for brazen, impulsive action, he was quite deliberate about thinking. There was a ritual to a pipe that suited him. One doesn't simply light up; there are preparations to be made and not rushed. Packing, tamping, lighting, and smoking all had a rhythm that forced him to slow down. To take care, as I do when I think, he reflected.

This was a day that called for thought. The others sat around singly or in groups of two and three, mostly quiet as well. It seemed hard to believe that only a week ago they had arrived in town, greeted by the throng waving signs and placards calling for upheaval and revolution. He chuckled in spite of himself - they had been expected to arrive in a motorcade suitable for a visiting head of state. Instead, the sight of a line of Harleys riding up the interstate must have taken not a few by surprise. He did like to shake things up, keep 'em guessing. Power brokers do not ride Harleys, apparently.

Things changed rapidly, however. Is there anyone he hadn't pissed off before he was done? The midnight arrest, the sham trial, the hasty execution, and the public's support for it all - It's amazing what can be done in the name of "national security," he thought bitterly. The rest, of course, had scattered. He had paced the halls of the courthouse until a reporter cornered him, hoping to get an "exclusive". She certainly got that, and more. I haven't used language like that in years. At least I'm not likely to be quoted. He pushed the thoughts away before they could overwhelm him with disgrace and shame.

And then...things started to get interesting. The body had somehow gone missing, and word somehow got out. Two of their number had a bizarre encounter with a familiar stranger, and returned bearing impossible news. And then, as they met together last evening, something more strange and wondrous by far had happened. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd say we were all crazy. Somehow, in the middle of dinner, He had appeared in this very room, talked with them and ate with them, and then, just as suddenly, He was gone. The stories were true, and I still can't get my head around it. This changes everything.

They had talked far into the night, wondering what came next. They hadn't actually come to many conclusions; He hadn't been all that specific. One thing at least they needed to do - He had promised to meet them in a few days' time back home. Perhaps they would have some answers then.

James' voice broke the silence. "You know, maybe we should try to get in with the Sadducees..." The thought hung there in the silence, until someone started to chuckle. Then, as though a dam had burst, laughter came pouring out of them, joy and mirth that they hadn't felt in what seemed like ages. Peter joined in, his low chuckle mingling with the others' in a wholesome, cleansing way. No, that won't do at all, he thought wryly. But at least we know the next step. One step is not a journey, but it is a beginning...

EDIT: Credit where credit is due, and a nod to Jeff for the image of Jesus on a Harley.