Walking on Thin Ice: Chapter 11

Once again Mike seemed utterly, utterly confused at how to eat or use any of the food items set out on the table. Gemma stared at him with an expectant smile, mostly joking. Finally she rolled her eyes and stood up, walking around to his side of the medium sized dining room table and knelt next to him again.

"This here is a falafel, it's like a hamburger, if you want to think of it that way." She started, using a small set of chopstick like utensils to lift the small wheat and vegetable chunk off the stack. "You take a piece of flatbread, lay it flat, put all the taboule and tahini on that you want, shred this up, roll up the flatbread, and voila! Instant falafel toboule tahini flatbread thingie!"

Michael laughed as she spooned some of the taboule onto the flatbread and then followed up with some tahini sauce. She made him crumble up the grain falafel and roll it up himself, watching somewhat eagerly as he bit timidly into the strange food.

He leaned back as Gemma leapt up and exited into a small room that was opposite the bathroom but before her bedroom.

"Hey, this is great!" He called out having taken another bite.

Gemma nodded as she returned with an album tucked under her arm. "Got that recipe while I was in Kabul back in '76. 1876 that is. A few years after I was born on that pig farm in Russia." Gemma joked.

Mike laughed again, watching as she hunched over her phonograph player and started up the album. Janis Joplin floated breezily into the dining room as she returned and walked to her sink, fetching two glasses from the cupboard.

"Water's all I've got, unless you'd like some sort of juice." She said, eyeing the way he was staring at her guiltily, trying not to devour all the goods on the table before she had a chance to even prepare her own food.

He popped an eyebrow. "No liquor, huh?"

She shook her head. "Never was much of a drinker. I've got some cooking sherry and some red wine in the basement, but I really do-"

"You have a basement?" He sounded incredulous.

"Yeah, that's where I keep my drumset, my piano, my bass, my harmonicas, my other guitars-"

Mike appeared to have a heart attack as he started to stand up. He took her arm and tugged her over to the doorway. "Show me!"

She shrugged and flipped on the light before descending into her ever damp and dark basement. It was cold down there, as usual. As she walked to the small corner of the basement that contained her instruments, Mike openly gaped at the near thousands of records she had on shelves on the walls. She had everything from Beatles to Mo-town, swing to classical, and everything in between, including some very small label bands and a few records that had tattered covers and terribly broken records. There was an old Beethoven record secured to the wall with darts, obvious dislike of his fourth concerto on her mind.

"What do you have against Beethoven, huh?" He kidded, glancing again at the record.

Gemma's face turned dark. "I haven't picked up down here in ages, that was the concerto I was listening to when we pulled up to the crash site, though. If that means anything to you." She sounded rather flat as she talked, face down but eyes still on his.

He put his hands out defensively. "No no! I still can't listen to 'Let It Be' after I heard it. See, I rushed into the nearest shop, a teenagers' sort of hang-out, and they were blasting that, I was crying, I had to use the phone and all I remember was this voice commanding me to 'let it be' because 'Mother Mary comes to me.' I could have shot Paul McCartney I was so pissed!"

She smiled weakly, trying to encourage him to be happy again as his fists clenched. She walked to her endless shelves of records and seized two of the round black discs, not allowing him to see the labels or the sleeves from whence they came. She let him look at her instrument collection before tearing back upstairs and finishing their meal.

Afterwards she made him sit cross-legged next to her before her beat up phonograph. She cut off Janis' screaming song and placed a Beethoven's Fourth Concerto in A flat in the slot with a scared look.

"I'm going to stop being afraid and hurt by this song, and you're going to stop with your song. Let's work this out, okay?" She gripped his hand after handing him a Beatles album containing "Let It Be" as a title track. He gulped and looked at her.

Finally he shook his head sadly. "I could only do this for you and your crazy ideas you know. If I didn't believe you that it'll help me...I would be burning this and-" His voice cracked as he shook, holding her hand tightly.

Gemma let out a shaky breath. "I'll go first." She said softly. Her hand shook slightly as she lowered the needle to the record and began to feel overwhelmed in bad memories as the song swept into the air.

Michael watched with a spectator's pain, seeing Gemma's face contort one way and another, obviously rehashing the terribleness of being the one called to save someone whom she loved...and who was already deceased. He refused to let her hand go as she began to cry softly, discarding the record in his hand and sweeping her onto his lap where she curled up and sobbed on his shoulder, berating herself with the stupidness of her idea. Fifteen minutes later, the song began to wind down, and her tearful shaking slowed down as well, a rigidness developing in its place. Mike understood completely, it was anger. She was angry that she had to listen to the song that reminded her of the sadness in her life, and she was angry that the song ended joyously when all it represented was death to her. It ended abruptly, a scratch preventing the flutes' voices from skipping up to the final octave. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and gingerly put the record on the floor before her, face red and a bit puffy.

He held her tighter, sensing her reluctance to leave. "You okay?"

She nodded. "That was liberation if anything. I can't believe I just let myself go like that, did I murder your shirt?"

He laughed slightly, ignoring the wet on his shoulder. "Not too badly. Prepare yourself for my form of mourning. Sitting completely still while staring into space. It's really terrifying." He joked, cautiously retrieving the record a few feet away.

Gemma took it from him and placed it on the record player, but made him put the needle on the corresponding track, making sure he knew that he wanted to do what he was doing. Slowly the beginning beats of the song began to play, and he slipped off into a dark corner of his mind. A few minutes in he was acutely aware of his face twisting up and a vehement squint of his eye, almost sure there wasn't a tear developing there. Never before had he sit through to this part, always finding an excuse to leave the room, or to change the radio station. Now he was almost embarrassed as he felt that final step of loss edge in and the tear fled down his cheek. He took in a slow breath as Gemma's hand slipped into his and squeezed his resassuringly. He forced a smile and reached around to hold her close. It was almost comfort as she sidled up next to him...only something was missing. He opened his eyes up wider and tried to see past the horrible image in his mind, the near dark streets empty as the aching pain in his head filled up, and Helen's distorted face filled up his mind's eye.

He gasped a bit as the image seemed to fade from pain to understanding, the song winding back down to its original hurt level and Mike took one more heart-wrenching look at her pleading eyes before looking into Gemma's. She was looking at him with a look that resembled heavy impression. He had impressed her to some extent, though he still felt the tear half-way down his cheek. Reaching up, Gemma brushed it away and wrapped her arms around his waist. He hugged her back, feeling for the first time like nothing was holding him back.

"Thanks, Gemma." He muttered as the song ended. She kicked the phonograph off and sat up, eyes dry finally.

She laughed weakly. "Yes, 'Thanks Gemma, for making me all depressed for another week.'"

He shook his head firmly. "No, not at all! I feel like maybe life isn't at all so crappy and pointless. You sort of let me go there, let me start walking away from the car and back into the world."

She slid up to him on her knees. "Is it weird to think you've been trapped inside yourself?"

"No, I've felt that way. Of course, I'm not at all the epitome of normalness." He smiled.

She still stared seriously. "Because I used to think that I had been locked up in a mind prison that I didn't want to leave. But recently, I don't know what it is about you, but it has taken a key and opened the door. Pardon my corniness, by the way."

Mike stared in such a way that Gemma's mind began to reel. "Something about me?"

Nodding, Gemma felt herself slipping off into his arms again. "Yeah, something about you that makes me want to go back to the Wave, kick everyone's ass with my guitar and then go-"

He kissed her then, not caring how rude it was to interrupt her, only caring that for some reason he had freed her. She had been trapped and he had freed her. He didn't care how corny it seemed; his heart was racing almost as fast as his thoughts. She mumbled something against his lips before taking a shot and shifting onto his lap again. He hissed sharply, wondering just how much that was going to affect in the long run. It was almost a possibility running through Gemma's mind that they may get carried away, but she squashed that as Mike began to calm down and slowly run his hands over her back, the viciousness of his first attack still lingering in the back of both minds. She sighed heavily, feeling the way she fit into his arms perfectly. It was almost sad that eleven o' clock was rolling around and he'd soon have to leave.

The clock behind them chimed minutes later, startling both of them to their feet, both embarrassed for seemingly important reasons.

"I really should go, as much as I'd like to stay-" Mike started, reaching up with his right hand to rub the nape of his neck.

Gemma was scarlet as she walked him to the door. "I understand, and thanks again. I really appreciate you being there for me when I, uh, started leaking I guess."

He smiled, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm a giant hankerchief, and I'm always around." He glanced around, tossing his jacket on. "Besides, we got a little of everything in, laughs, tears, kissing-"

His mischievious grin cass her to giggle. "That's right, you did get a bit in before that annoying officer showed up."

He did a little spin and opened his arms. "Crying, that's a no-no."

Gemma rolled her eyes. "Alright, but you really better go before we both fall asleep here."

Mike smiled impishly as she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips before jerking away and smiling. It was short and sweet, just the thing that would literally drive him insane.

"G'night,"

He hid his pout. "G'night."

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There was a sickness floating around, and Gemma-working in the hospital-had caught it. She had been so wrapped up in her new hours that the most consistency in seeing Mike had been seeing him once in public and once as he stopped by her house as a surprise just to say hi and drop off some flowers for her care and keeping. She had been thrilled; nobody had ever done anything so sweet for her ever. But now as she laid, curled up tightly under the sheets with her nose running and cough making her jerk forward and lie there in a physical misery, she began to feel bitter about the bright cheery flowers sitting on her dining room table. The couch wasn't too comfortable, and it was freezing, so she had taken her sheets out into the room to keep her warm.

Mike, who hadn't seen Gemma in over a week now, stopped by her house again just to see what she was up to. He didn't blame her, mostly because he was so busy himself recently with filming and shooting. It seemed that the shows were flying by and nothing was stopping them.

Slowly he knocked on the door.

Gemma groaned from her position on the couch, knowing the door was locked and bolted. She struggled to her feet and stumbled to the door, hugging the blankets and sheets around herself and blinking in the brightness of her entryway.

She threw open the door and squinted against the figure standing there.

"Hi Gemma," Mike said brightly, trying to get her to smile.

She groaned and leaned forward, resting her head on his chest.

"You sick?" He asked gently, helping her back to the couch.

She nodded sleepily. "Yup," she managed to croak.

"Poor baby, maybe I'll steal you a copy of my mum's recipe for chicken soup." He sympathized, sitting on the corner of the large sofa.

She groaned again. "I don't feel like moving let alone cooking, Michael."

He shrugged. "I'll make it."

She looked at him curiously. "You?"

He nodded. "Yeah, if you'll just let me use a few minutes long distance and your kitchen."

Skeptical, Gemma squinted her eyes. "What if I don't have all the stuff for it?"

"I'll go shopping."

"What if-?"

"Look," Mike hushed her. "I'll do it even if I have to slay a dragon to find the chicken stock. It's the least I can do for you." He smiled warmly as she smiled for once at him. He leaned forward to hug her but she coughed and shoved him away, insisting he shouldn't touch her if he didn't want to get sick.

It was the first week of November, which meant family holidays. Mike didn't want to leave and go to his folks' house for Christmas this year. It was so much of a hassle to drive all the way to Sheffield and just for a few days. The weather was always terrible and all he ever left with was ten pounds of fat and new socks and ties. True, Angela had said she'd be there and she always had interesting things to say and talk about rather than the neighborhood gossip Mike usually got from his parents. His older sister was a breath of fresh air in that house sometimes.

Holidays often brought depression to Gemma. She tried very hard to fight it, but she was starting to face her first Christmas alone. No gifts for anyone but Zilla at first. Mid-October something wonderful had happened and she now had a list a mile long to shop for, but none of them were family except for Noah. Besides her trusty cat they were all friends and animals. Gemma had gotten her usual catnip treat for Zilla and even found a nice annoying toy for Mike's dog, but now she was stuck with people. Meredith's tea kettle had been purchased, she was planning on food baskets for her gym rat friends, but what irked her was the complete lack of ideas for Michael. He was impossible to shop for it seemed; he had great taste in clothes and such so she didn't need to even consider that, he seemed very intelligent and didn't need something intriguing to read (not to mention how lame Gemma thought it was to give someone a book on a holiday as big as Christmas). She had no good ideas except for maybe some sort of joke. That wasn't the best idea she had, however sweet the joke was.

Mike's voice floated into her thoughts. "Yes mum...of course it's for someone that's ill, that's why I need to know if I need to buy-alright...good. Thanks. Love you too, bye." He hung up and trudged back into the room.

"You have everything but the chicken, so I'll be back in a few to whip you up Mary Palin's famous homemade chicken soup." He grinned broadly at her. Gemma forced a smile back, wondering just how he could act like there wasn't any turmoil anywhere.

She tossed him a key. "Lock the door behind you, I might fall asleep and let another burglar in."

He raised an eyebrow. "Another?"

Rolling her eyes, Gemma nodded. "Yup, I've left that door unlocked and fallen asleep only to wake up to find a man rummaging through my entryway closet."

Mike shook his head and pocketed the key, exiting for the grocery store to buy some chicken for the meal he was going to prepare.

Gemma lurched back into her thoughts. He loved reading and talking to her about philosophy, he was a very witty young man as well. Maybe she was thinking too broadly. Maybe she'd give him some sort of memory instead of a material object. You don't need to hold something for it to be valuable, but you do need to keep it somewhere, whether that be your mind or your shelf downstairs in the basement. Suddenly she had the perfect idea. It would be given early, and maybe by then she'd have the courage to ask him to come with her, but she had the idea.

Just as she decided that she had a worthy idea, Michael reappeared with a small paper bag and her key. He placed the key back in her hand and walked into the kitchen. Gemma began to drift off slowly as the wonderful smells of good cooking floated up into the air.

"Gemma," a voice woke her up. Mike's face swam into view slowly. She sat up and rubbed her face, taking a deep breath and trying not to yawn. Her boyfriend reached over slowly and helped her up to her feet, walking her into the kitchen and setting her down before the kitchen table. She felt her raw throat and realized that once again she'd been talking in her sleep.

He smiled at her as she woke up, clutching a glass of cold water in her hands. "You were yelling about something, I thought maybe you'd like to get up and eat."

Gemma yawned. "What was I yelling about?" She asked thickly, trying not to put her head on the table and sleep.

Mike returned from the kitchen holding a steaming bowl of hot soup. "Sounded like routine paramedic rescue. Someone drowned though, you were yelling at someone to 'get them out of the water' a whole lot."

Nodding, Gemma inhaled the scent of the soup. "Little girl and her mother were standing on the deck that collapsed last spring. I was off-duty but I was there when it happened and took charge when two rookies came out and couldn't get the victims out. Still have nightmares; both of them died."

Mike stared as Gemma slowly began to eat the food before her, obvious that she was hungry but skeptical. Soon her taste buds returned and she ruthlessly complimented Mike and his mother. It was at least forty minutes before she finished and she began thanking him all over again.

"Only two weeks before this thing comes off," Mike announced as Gemma sprawled out on the couch.

She clapped. "Yay!"

He grinned. "No more built-in club on my arm." He blinked suddenly. "What am I going to club Eric with?"

Gemma's eyes widened. "You hit Eric? Why?"

"Believe it or not, he can be a real git sometimes." Mike responded.

"He seemed very nice when I met him." She retorted, unconvinced.

He snickered evilly. "He's all charm with the ladies."

Gemma scoffed and turned her head back to her pillow.

Mike was sitting cross-legged before her, talking softly and trying not to change too much in his voice's rhythm or volume. Finally he heard the tell-tale sounds of her steady breathing and lax expression; she was asleep. He sneaked out of the house and drove home, feeling very pleased with himself for being so nice to her. He almost felt like maybe he wasn't so terrible at reading what women wanted all the time.

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Soon enough, two weeks rolled by. Gemma was getting so busy she actually had to turn down two dates with Michael to get back on track from her illness. She worked two shifts for three days that week, but it was all worth it, because Thursday she went out with him and Friday was another party at the hospital for the doctors that were on volunteer time. It was usually interrupted by an emergency. Doctor Henderson had been called away into surgery in the middle of an excellent toast (using non-alcoholic champagne).

Ximena, the grad student who had braided Gemma's hair once upon a time had talked her into bringing her guitar and was presently advertising it to everyone.

"Jeremy, you have to come to the party today! Gemma's gonna be playin' her GEE-tar!" She whined, tugging his arm.

He simply shrugged and smiled at the embarrassed Gemma. "I'll see what I can do. I do need a ride."

"Me too," Gemma realized. "Noah's borrowing my car for the three day weekend he's got off."

Ximena scrunched her face up. "You're telling me your boyfriend won't give you a ride?"

Hearing that magic word, Jeremy looked up with fierce realization on his face. "Oh! That's why you have the great mood! I knew something was up!"

She blushed. "Well, it's been a long time. I didn't realize it was such a big deal."

Doctor Jameison grinned pointedly at Mike and ushered him into the nearest empty room to remove his cast.

"Sit right here, I'll fetch the saw and sedatives. If you're missing a kidney you did sign the consignment card, so shut up." He wagged his eyebrows before exiting for the said supplies.

As he reentered, Mike just had to laugh. "You sure you need to sedate me?"

"Oh absolutely, you'll feel everything with kidney-oh! With the-no, you'll be fine; I was joking." Jameison smiled reassuringly at the man on the small table before him.

He lifted up the small electric saw with intent on his face when there was a loud sound behind him. He turned off the saw and turned around with an apology to Mike. "Gemma! Quiet! Unless you want to help me in here you need to shut your bloody mouth!"

Her head poked in, frown on her face. "Sheesh Brad, Jeremy just only poked me in the side. I can't help but scream!"

Jameison stepped aside and stood fixedly. "You want to help?"

Spying Mike suddenly, she grinned and stepped in, depositing her bag to the floor. Ximena peered in, gave Gemma a look of admiration before winking and skipping off arm in arm with Jeremy.

"Getting it off finally, eh?" She took his other hand and pulled his face away from the flying plaster as Jameison lowered the tiny electric saw into the end of the cast near his elbow.

He nodded, feeling plaster fly into his hair and settle on his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm gonna miss the little guy."

There was a pause filled with uneasiness as Jameison ran the saw four times quickly over the same spot lightly before the cast split open and was pried apart gently, slipping Mike's wrist out easily.

"Roll that around until the stiffness goes away. It may take a while, but don't favor it or it'll be that gimpy wrist you can't dribble a basketball with." Jameison haphazardly tossed the saw into a drawer at his feet and kicked it shut.

Mike nodded and swung his arms to get up and brush himself off when a familar pain ripped along his right side. "Alright, I can handle tha-OW!" He sat down suddenly, gripping his side lightly and cursing his fractures.

Seeing his confused and angry stare, Gemma pulled his shirt loose from his pants and examined his side quickly. "Jesus Christ!" She cried, dropping the shirt and jumping back, hands flying to her mouth.

Jameison's reaction was similar as he curiously looked at the breaks. He let the shirt drop and leapt back. "Sweet cheesy Jesus!"

"Whaaaat?" Mike whined, feeling his side poutily.

Gemma reached forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "Your ribs scratched your lung; it's infected. Have you looked at it lately? That is no longer just a bruise, Michael." She said, looking him in the eye sternly.

She held up a mirror as he glanced for his side. Seeing the reflection, Mike winced and looked away, disgusted. "It's not supposed to be green I take it."

"Well, it's not quite green yet, it's just a little infected. Why didn't you take your antibiotics?" She tapped him impatiently.

He shrugged. "Didn't hurt enough for pills,"

Jameison shook his head briskly. "I'm going to set that and get you another prescription. Fill it out, take the full amount this time. Wrap your chest this time, bloody-"

"Hush, Brad!" Gemma cut him off sharply.

The doctor pulled a grimace as Gemma folded up Michael's shirt again and held it in place with a dancing gaze over the wound. "This is going to hurt like a bitch, Mike."

The patient twisted away from the gentle hands of the doctor. "Ow ow!"

"This isn't enough for anesthetic, Gemma. What should we do?" He asked impatiently, dropping his latex-covered hands to his sides.

Shrugging, Gemma started to think. "Well, controversial anesthetics are still available with no prescription. As long as he agrees not to sue me or you for it, I think method number six should work just fine."

Jameison stared at her, interpreting her mumbo-jumbo perfectly. "Number six? Is he-"

"We're dating; he's not going to kill me."

"Alright then, get his consent."

She turned to the very confused and worried patient. "Repeat after me, if you trust me."

He nodded. "I do,"

"Good, now: I Michael Palin, hereby give my consent to Gemma Thompson,"

He nodded, thinking. "I, Michael Palin, hereby give my consent to Gemma Thompson-"

"To use a controversial method of anesthetic on this day in November, 1969 with Brad Jameison as witness and caretaker."

He repeated this as she said it and dropped his lifted hand as though it was an oath. For the first time since she had realized Michael had heard her singing in The Wave so long ago, Gemma felt butterflies leap up into her stomach and throat, heart pounding as she pulled him to his feet and pulled his shirt up again. She positioned herself carefully, putting herself in front of him, right leg in between his feet, one hand holding his shirt up for Jameison, the other on his left shoulder.

"Alright, Mike, all you have to do-"

"What is she going to do?" He interrupted nervously.

Gemma sighed. "Part of the method is not to tell you. The object is to concentrate all you thinking on another part of your body so you ignore the pain. If I tell you what I'm going to do you won't concentrate on it as much as the ribs over there."

Michael still looked nervous. "You aren't going to kick me, are you?"

"Heavens no! Just calm down and it'll all be fine."

Jameison continued placing his hands very gingerly on either side of the two broken ribs. "Alright, when you feel like the pain is getting more than you can endure, you say 'Go' to our lovely paramedic Gemma and she'll begin."

Mike nodded, pinching his teeth together tight in preparation for the pain. He almost decreed to himself not to let her do whatever it was she was going to do...until the doctor started to press on his already sensitve bones. He yelped and managed to say "Go!" before the pain peaked and he was thrown into a world of blackness.

Gemma heard him yelp and waited until he said "Go!" knowing that it was the only thing that would make her do this. She took a deep breath and lifted her knee to his groin lightly, pressing uncertainly. Almost immediately the grit of pain on Michael's face diminished and was replaced with a closed-eye look of surprise before his arms both snaked up around her shoulders and waist, breath coming out in short gasps. She held his shoulder, patting his arm softly as she tried to prolong the event so none of the pain would ever reach him. Finally Jameison's hands flew from Michael's side, up in disgust and satisfaction. Gemma let her leg drop instantly, surprised to feel Mike's hands tighten around her side and shoulder. He had stopped huffing only just now, but he now was taking slow, deep breaths, wondering what on earth he was going to do when he had to look her in the eye. Jameison pulled a roll of gauze and athletic tape from his trusty drawer. Together he and Gemma managed to get a pretty safe and expandable wrap around his sensitve ribs before Jameison excused himself and left the poor man to sort out the thoughts in his head.

"You okay?" Gemma finally cracked and asked, running her hand through his hair.

Slowly he pulled his head off her shoulder and looked her in the eye, face bright red. "I really wish you'd told me you were going to do that."

She sighed. "I would have liked to tell you, but it would have been less effective if I had. I'm so sorry if I hurt you-"

"You didn't hurt me, per se, just my dignity."

She blushed, looking away. "I'm sorry,"

He ran a hand through his hair now, wondering exactly what he was going to make of this. "No harm done now, I suppose. I can just never look him in the eye again..." He was scarlet as well now.

Gemma, still blushing, wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him into a soft kiss. He squeaked again, trying to say something, but not willing to stop her from ending the bliss on his lips. Her right hand floated up to the side of his face, wondering exactly what he was going to do with himself if he didn't break right down and hug her back. As if answering her thougths, Michael let his hands rest on her hips gently, taking a deep breath again.

"Alright, sign this and we can-oops...I'll come back." Jameison swooped in and out of the room quickly, causing the couple to jump apart and, if possible, turn an even darker shade of red.

He poked his head back in, a grin surfacing. "Alright, all done? You sure, I can come back in half an hour-"

Gemma's face darkened; she smacked him upside the head sharply.

He rubbed the back of his head gingerly. "Owwww! Alright! Just sign here, Mike, and we can let you go."

Avoiding the doctor's eye contact at all costs, Mike signed the register and turned to leave, praying that Gemma pick up her bags and walk out with him. She scrambled for her paramedic's bag before lurching out the door after him, taking his newly freed left hand into her own and threw a dirty look at Jameison over her shoulder.

They walked out to the Michael's beat up hunter green car together, looking balefully at the pavement.

"Need a lift?" Mike asked.

Gemma nodded slowly. "Yeah, and I need another one tonight, if you don't have anything going on."

Mike smiled weakly. "Only if you have something going on."