Walking on Thin Ice: Chapter 13

Mike whined again. Terry ignored him as he walked out into the parking lot and threw a box of leftover doughnuts into the back of his tiny car. Even Mike had to admit that the scenery of Preston would be a lot more easy to shoot the next part of the sketch for, but it still meant that they had to leave the next day. He hadn't even had a chance to call Gemma, and he hadn't heard her voice in an entire day.

"Terry!" He thrashed around once like a toddler.

His friend scowled heavily with his expressive eyebrows that had once been dubbed "caterpillar" eyebrows. "I don't care if the Queen wants you to stay, we're going to Preston tomorrow morning and you have to come!"

The air had gone from chilly to bitter in a matter of days through the transition from October to November, and it was near December so snow was likely. They never had more than a few inches in London, but Mike was accustomed to this. He had seen drifts several feet high and even had himself thrown into a few during college, but as far as he was concerned, the whole snow thing was just an inconvenience.

Mike's lower lip began to quiver with practiced pouting. "Why can't we just go to the park by my-?"

Terry cut him off with a severe look. "Look, mate, if you're so keen on taking the girl out before we go, take her out now!"

"I didn't say anything about Gemma," Mike accused, squinting.

Rolling his eyes, Terry laughed. "Well, if you want to take me out, just ask."

"Shaddup!" Mike poked his tongue out.

He finished laughing and slid into his car. "Seriously mate, just show up at the hospital. She'll love it!"

"That's mad!"

"Bring flowers!"

Mike's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Come off it, Palin, you woo the girl and she'll have to go out with you!" Terry started his car.

Mike sighed and kicked a hubcap on his car. "I'm no good at this,"

Terry rolled his eyes. "If flowers don't work, a kiss will do." He wagged his eyebrows heavily.

"I can do that," an evil grin accompanied Mike's statement. Terry laughed and peeled out of the car park with a shake of his head.

Mike looked at his watch, which read it was four thirty in the afternoon, meriting no time to prepare any kind of date. He nervously slid into his car and contemplated some sort of witty statement he could make if Gemma were to ask why he had showed up. He still had nothing as he pulled up to the visitor's car park, and barely anything that could pass off as witty when he parked and started walking in. Ximena was chatting avidly with another paramedic next to the nurse's station, but stopped dead when she recognized Mike.

"Ooh! Coming to visit?" She bounced up, popping gum in her mouth. Mike shrugged and nodded, thinking hard.

Ximena pointed to the door behind the nurse's station, where Jeremy and Gemma were sitting, talking quietly and trying to keep the volume of their walkie talkies up. The signal was weak inside, so the volume constantly moved up and down on its own; they could miss a call. Twenty minutes until they were off the hook; Gemma was feeling rather down now. She was anxious to get home on a Thursday night, but Mike still hadn't called or even acknowledged her existence since he had mentioned spending a day apart. She missed him, and berated herself endlessly for it. Jeremy looked up and grinned, though he quickly returned to puttering on his walkie talkie after Mike gave him a look.

Mike pulled a chair up next to Gemma's; she wasn't looking at him. "That's an awfully serious face there, Gem."

She gave a jilting start before whirling around and grinning. "Michael!" She hugged him tightly, both laughing as she literally attacked him with affection.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, pulling away, though Mike kept his hands linked around her waist.

He shrugged, blushing slightly. "Just popped in to say hi, I guess."

She kissed his cheek happily. "Glad you did, I was starting to miss you, and it sucked."

"Glad you think I suck," he joked, hugging her again. She rolled her eyes and released his neck from her embrace.

She looked at him curiously. "You have dinner plans tonight?"

He shook his head. "Nope, usually don't."

"Good, then you can probably come over at...six?" Gemma smiled as he began to consider.

Finally he nodded. "I suppose I could, if I don't have to pack."

"Pack?" Her eyes narrowed.

Mike sighed. "Shooting this scene for the show in Preston, so we have to get up early tomorrow, drive out, shoot all day, come back, and edit it. It's gonna take all day to do it."

"Poor baby, and on a Friday night!" She sympathized, running a hand over his hair to smooth it out of his face. He pouted his lower lip and turned away.

"It's not fair!" He bawled softly. Gemma laughed gently, leaning back on her sturdy folding chair, wondering just when she could punch out. Five o' clock rolled around without a call, so Gemma and Mike left together, this time in separate cars. Instead of going home, Mike decided he could pack later that night and went straight to Gemma's house. She put on a record of really weird music that had just come out, Led Zeppelin. It was hard rock, lots of electric guitars, and when Gemma started to sing along with it, Mike realized with a pang of indignity that she was straining to reach the pitch that the male lead singer was screeching along in.

With a slightly worried glance into her ancient refridgerator, Gemma began to contemplate what the hell they would be eating. She dug through her vegetable bins, her fruit drawer, and every shelf. All she could find that could be even close to satisfactory was an Italian pasta sort of meal. With a shrug, she pulled out the mushrooms, cream base, baking powder, vegetable boillon, and the stringy pasta she had made earlier that week. Within an hour, her alfredo sauce having to sit for half an hour, and her water made to boil on an old electric stove, Gemma had a fairly good meal going. Mike had disappeared, Gemma not sure where he had gone. When she walked into her basement to check, she found him sitting cross-legged in front of her record collection, humming softly and taking out various records and putting them back.

"Find anything good?" She asked, sitting down next to him.

Mike jumped guiltily, looking at her with a vacant expression. "Oh! Yes, I found a few."

Raising her eyebrows, she took the bright red covered album from his hands. "I forgot about this one," she said softly, looking at the rose across the cover. Mike blushed and shoved the album back into the alphabetical slot it had occupied.

"Didn't mean to take that one out," he muttered, pulling the one next to it out.

Gemma smiled nervously. "Good songs on that album; no harm done."

"'Greatest Love Songs of 1957' is not what I was looking for, no matter what songs were on it," his face had gone a funny shade of red.

Almost confident, Gemma slid an arm around Mike's shoulders. "Didn't want to hear 'Stand By Me?'"

He turned and grinned. "Well..."

Gemma laughed softly, turning away to escape the possibilty of him seeing her blush. Instead his head appeared on her left shoulder, startling her as he slid down to lay behind her. She reached over with a small grunt and tried to roll him over. He slipped her arms up and made her fall sort of clumsily onto his chest, thus beginning a rather violent and playful wrestling match. He had just managed to get her head into somewhat of a lock when he felt her leg slide behind his knee and kick it weakly. The joint buckled, dropping both combatants to the floor where she thrashed wildly, attempting to free herself from his grasp. Success allowed her to throw herself on top of his shoulders as he crawled to his knees, knocking him to his back and finally allowing her to sit rather triumphantly on his chest. Both wheezed softly as they grinned at the other in their own stupidity.

"Round two?" Mike asked, eyes sparkling. Gemma was about to shake her head when his hands jerked up from his sides and lifted her off his chest, tickling her suddenly and rather harshly. She let out an animalistic howl that resounded into the house as it was Mike's turn to flip her over and hold her down. She kicked him once or twice in the stomach, trying to hard not to hurt him but get him off. Finally Gemma managed to free a hand from his grip, instantly setting it upon his own sides, hers aching from the laughter. He called truce again, but Gemma did not. She almost won, but then he flat out picked her up like she was nothing more than a rag doll and dropped her into his lap, holding her head back with one arm, the other clutching both legs with a vice-like grip. Gemma whimpered softly, surrendering.

Hardly thinking about it, Mike leaned in and kissed her on the mouth. She sighed gently, hand slipping easily from his grip to hold his shoulder again. It was soon going to become more than just calm kissing like this, as both began to speed up and push harder against the other. Gemma leaned back and felt her head hit the shag carpeting , Michael's face never leaving hers. He laid her gently on the ground, hovering patiently as she lowered herself down. There was something wrong with the situation, Gemma thought. It was perfect, she wouldn't rather be doing anything else as they kissed there, but she could sense an uneasiness. With a gasp, she shoved him off and cursed. Mike was utterly confused as she took off sharply for the stairs. There was a loud clanking of dishes and the sound of something plastic clattering to the floor. Laughter escaped him easily; she had forgotten about whatever it was on the stove and had rushed up to save it.

"It's alright, I saved it!" She shouted, amusement in her voice. Mike walked up the steps nervoursly peering around the corner. Whatever it was smelled delicious as usual, but what was better was the way she looked at him as he sat down. She smiled so warmly he could have melted right in that chair, and he beamed back so brightly Gemma thought she could have felt the radiance from a mile away. They glowed at each other meekly, Gemma letting the food cool and something in the oven bake, Mike letting her do what she wanted from where she was.

Mike laughed and shook his head. "That was weird,"

Gemma giggled and looked up. "You started it."

"Hurt an injured man! That's like kicking him when he's down!" He protested weakly.

"Not my fault if you don't fill out the bloody prescription this time around." She snapped, stepping up and making a lifting gesture. He mimicked it, eyebrows up comically. She rolled her eyes and fell to her knees, jerking his shirt up to examine the infection. He grunted softly as she pressed around the bruise, feeling for anything out of the ordinary. It looked much better than the week before, and the tint of infection was already diminishing. She dropped his shirt and looked up proudly.

"Well done, Mr. Palin. On the road to recovery."

He put his elbows on his knees, face inches from hers. "Oh?"

She nodded, wondering just how he was going to turn the situation into something romantic now.

"Thanks, Gemma."

She sighed heavily. "Don't thank me,"

He smiled nervously. "Thanks for letting me get to know you."

She reached up and hugged him tightly, loving the way his arms reached up around her to hold her even closer. She seemed to fit there snugly, better than a puzzle piece. It was magic the way time slipped away there, with him close. Something was singing softly in Gemma's ear, something she hadn't heard in a long time.

The phone rang. "Bloody phone, it has impeccable timing." Gemma muttered, peeling herself away. Mike grinned and let her hand go as she stood up and pulled the phone off the hook and sort of nervously held it up to her ear.

"Hello?"

It was Noah. "Doug's left now,"

Gemma sighed in relief. "What made him go?"

There was a long pause. "I don't know. I think he saw you leaving the hospital today."

"I left with Michael, maybe he-"

Noah cut her off, thinking carefully. "He probably feels safe now."

She couldn't help but feel suspicion rise up in her. "Why would he feel safe now?"

"That boyfriend of yours is on the telly, if he does something wrong, it'll be on the news no doubt. Besides, he needs to get back to his girlfriend." Noah explained softly.

Gemma nodded, turning. "Well, speaking of boyfriends and such, mine's over right now so I'm going to hang up."

Noah sighed. "Fine, leave me here-"

Hanging up, Gemma could almost picture Noah's face as he realized that she had done such a heinous act. She almost expected the phone to ring again as she walked to her old electric oven and peered at the bread baking. The herbs and cheeses on it were melted and crisped; perfect. Satisfied, she pulled the pan out from the oven and set it on the top to cool. Mike was still staring at her when she turned to get silverware and dishes out for the table. She set up the table calmly, allowing him to stare without question for once, and for once she didn't really care. He looked so adorable, staring at her she was tempted to sit across him and stare back, but she fought the urge, knowing that whatever she had salvaged the first time from the stove may not survive another round.

She cut the loaf of bread, placed it in her bread basket before folding over the cloth to keep it warm. Placing this on the table, she returned to the kitchen and set up two plates of the pasta, carrying them over to the table.

"Thanks for all the help," she quipped, putting two glasses of water on the table.

Mike smiled and lifted his elbows from his knees. "I didn't want to screw your wonderful work up. I could not have folded napkins like this, look at the art in this!" He held up the flimsy paper napkin folded in half rather haphazardly.

Gemma snickered and held up her glass. "Here's a toast to that,"

"Here here!" He clanked his glass to her, taking a sip as she did.

She clapped a hand to her head. "I've got wine, do you want wine?"

He stood up, pushing her back into her seat as she stood up. "I'll get it,"

Gemma sat defeatedly as he sauntered down the steps to the basement and began to search quickly for her wine holder. He found it next to a box of photographs, covered in dust and all placed neatly. Not quite being able to help himself, he pulled out a few of the dusty frames, blew the dust from them, and examined the people in them.

Black and white photos of Gemma and a much taller, much thinner man were almost the entire content of the box. The taller man had a serious face, wide eyes of an indistinguishable color, dark black hair, and very rebel look. The oldest photo Mike found was a small color picture of Gemma in a pastel pink dress, floor length and almost a satin material, standing next to the same man. She was about sixteen, maybe seventeen in the picture, face young and bright, happiness spilling all over her friends. The man too, for once, held a wide smile. His teeth were straight and white, just like Gemma's. The two had their arms wrapped around the other's waist as they stood side by side, obviously at a prom. What Mike didn't understand was who the man was if she had met Jonas at the hospital. Maybe she had lied to him about everything. Maybe she had a deep secret she didn't want him to know. He began to feel very suspicious, rifling through the pictures more.

There was one that captured his imagination immediately. There were two older people, late forties, early fifties, standing behind ten young children, all smiling brightly. The eight boys in the picture all stood shoulder to shoulder, chins up and stances wide. They wore simple Sunday school outfits, proud and handsome. The two adults had auburn hair, as did all ten of the children. Mike, interest captured by the tallest of the boy children, hardly noticed Gemma creeping up behind him. He ran his finger over the figure's face, clearing more dust. The figure had bright green eyes that shone out from the photo with a life of their own, sparkling forever. He had a mischievious grin, long shaggy hair, and the same thin appearance. Gemma sat silently behind Mike, wondering if he was going to say something to her, upstairs as far as he knew.

Suddenly Mike seemed to understand. He wiped the rest of the dust off and brought the photo closer, looking viciously for a face he recognized. Gemma was there, sitting in front of the middle-aged boys, a younger girl tucked in her lap as she grinned girlishly. Her hair was short and layered, a layer of red covering her forehead in a fringe-like way, the rest flipping out in what would soon be called "the Farrah Fawcett" look. She was no more than nine years old, the figure in her lap about five. She wore a coral dress with a white blouse under it, the younger girl's outfit identical. This was Gemma's family; Mike could tell from the beginning. The house behind the twelve people was hardly big enough for all of them, but he could tell they managed to get by just fine. The father was thin, the mother was thin, all the children were very thin, as children were. They looked to be starving almost, but just by looking at the parents one could tell it was herditary.

Mike once again ran his finger over the oldest boy, wondering why his attention was brought to him so often.

"That's Doug," Gemma said softly, still causing him to jump.

He turned guiltily. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry-"

She shook her head. "No harm done."

"Doug...what happened to the 'S' thing?" He asked, both looking keenly at her brother.

"Stanley Douglas Thompson Junior...but we don't like formality. So he's Doug now," she answered, still speaking softly.

He picked up the prom photo and showed it to her. "Who's that?"

"That's Jonas,"

"I thought you met him at the hospital; I think Doctor Jameison told me that." He said, holding it up higher for a better look.

Gemma sighed. "Everyone there thinks I met Jonas at the hospital, but I had known him for years before I actually told people about him. It just wasn't a thing you go tell people about."

"Why not? Do you not tell everyone that you have a date? Or am I being overly feminine?" He asked, grinning weakly.

She sighed again, wondering if this would be the time to tell him just why she had been kicked out of her house. "He was the reason I was kicked out of my house."

Mike flailed mentally. "Oh, I'm sorry-"

"I should really tell you the whole thing, Mike."

He turned away from the grinning figures in the photo, tearing his eyes from their bright looks. "I'm here,"

So she told him everything, hands in her lap, eyes on her hands, legs crossed, and prayers leaping up for once in a long time. She prayed that he would understand, that he wouldn't think less of her because she hadn't waited long enough. She wasn't irresponsible, she knew that. So it was all up to him to decide whether or not she was worth his time.

He listened intently, mind open to anything and everything from murder to scandal. The story she wove was bitter and innocent, showing him how she made decisions that she was confident in, with or without support. For some reason the fact that she was going to marry Jonas after all that turmoil made Mike think that she was much smarter than he had thought. It was much more than cleverness, too, she had made a moral decision that may have angered her parents and the church, but she had done what she thought was right. And it hadn't hurt anyone but herself, maybe her family. It seemed like her parents had done that much though; her actions alone would not have destroyed the family like her parents had, exiling her like that. He stared ahead, mind still open, though a decision made.

Gemma sniffed, a tear working its way ruthlessly down her cheek. "Now it's been seven years and I haven't even heard from them save Noah..."

He looked at her calmly.

"You must think I'm...ugh, just a stupid girl now, I'm sorry Mike, I should have told you sooner." She shrank her shoulders away, wiping her tear away briskly.

Mike took a deep breath. "We've all done things we're not proud of, Gemma. That's almost nothing to things I've done, and almost worse than others. I practically cut a member of my family out of my life until recently, and the only reason I even acknowledged that I wanted to talk to her again was a bloody birthday card. She was so happy, and I was so relieved. It was so close to just missing her life and forgetting all about her, and I needed her through some tough times,"

She rubbed his back once. "At least you had the chance to apologize."

"My point was that we all do stupid stuff, irrational stuff, and stuff not everyone approves of. If it's wrong, we apologize and try to make it better, if it's not wrong we do our best to compromise. As far as I'm concerned, the past is the past and I'm glad that you stuck with Jonas till the end. If it's not good enough for your family, you should stop trying to impress them and make them accept you for who you are." Mike said, straightening his shoulders meekly.

Gemma stared softly, letting his little speech sink in. "You're right, Michael."

He looked incredibly uncomfortable for a moment. "As much as everyone tells me I couldn't do anything to save my wife, I still feel so guilty. She was two feet from me and I got off with a headache and a small loss of fifty pounds. Where's the fairness in that?"

Shaking her head briskly, Gemma frowned. "There isn't any fairness in it, that's where it is. I don't know what bullshit story they used to make you feel better about it, but there's only one explanation for it; you couldn't do anything. Fate happens, it's the past. If you could relive it, would you save her? Could you?"

"I would if I could, but I can't and that's reality. She's gone, and so is the baby. It would have been a boy they told me." He sounded hollow.

Gemma sighed. "Two months and I could have been reunited justly with my family, maybe I could have been on their good side."

Mike laughed uneasily. "Look at us, we're wrecks again! Let's stop feeling sorry for ourselves and embrace the fact we've got our lives."

Smiling weakly, Gemma stood up. "Yeah, that and we've got food that's probably cold on the table upstairs."

Mike grabbed the bottle of red wine he'd come down for and followed Gemma up, recent turmoil in his life settling down, Gemma there for him and he there for her.

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Mike stared at the various arrangements of musical instruments in the small shop. Terry had stopped to ask for directions because of the female he had brought along. His wife had insisted they pull over and get directions, and so there they were, standing in a small music shop just outside Preston, looking for someone to ask.

"So we take the road we're on for about twenty minutes and we should see a sign on our left?" Allison asked, tilting her head.

The man nodded. "Aye, you should get there in about forty minutes, an hour tops."

Gemma doesn't need anything musical, she probably owns one or two of every model of guitar ever, Mike thought. Jewelry was always an option with women, but she didn't seem like a girl that was easily impressed with gold and gems. This is going to take more thought than I...thought, Mike mused as he walked in the rows of guitars. She had told him after supper the night before about her electric guitar that was ruined, but she loved it so much. Pink with fading print on it, she had had the guitar forever.

There was a guitar like it, though the pink was brighter, the pattern paisley, and the pickups bigger and supposedly better. He winced at it; he liked it, but it wasn't Gemma. Terry watched as he critically moved among the small shop, eyeing the guitars and thinking so hard he couldn't hear the song that came on the radio. He wouldn't have noticed if Terry hadn't given him a worried look.

"Let It Be" was wailing quietly in the shop, the manager staring curiously as Mike tensed up and slowly began to remember all the conversations he and Gemma had shared on the subject. He eased up, began to hum along with the song, and continued to scope the small shop. There was a pewter treble clef hair clip, sitting in a wig to show how it works. There was a loose bun up on the curly wig's head, splaying hair over the crest of the dummy, and it reminded Mike of his wife's hair clip. He still had it, buried away with a few of her other personal things. Things that her parents had told him that he could do with as he wanted. A few things, like a set of golf clubs that was always missing the putter and three wood, went to the resale shop, but her hair clip was still there, bronze with emeralds and sapphires running along the swirly metal. He hardly thought that was enough for her, but it was so dear to him...maybe the value it was to him would be enough for her.

"Mike, can we go?" Allison asked, looking at him nervously.

He jumped and then nodded sheepishly. "Sorry, I was just thinking-"

Terry rolled his eyes once again that afternoon. "Yes Mike, I'm sure I know what you were thinking about."

"I was thinking about how pink chiffon looks great on you, Terry!" Mike scowled at Terry hard, loving the look the store-owner gave the group a look of surprise as Terry stared in horror at Mike.

"Don't even joke around about that!" He shook a finger.

Mike rolled his eyes now. "Alright, can we go now?"

Gemma ran her hands through her hair, thoroughly annoyed. She usually did something with it, like a loose ponytail on top of her head so her hair would lay out across the pillow and let it dry into its patented straight form. Last night, tired and a bit care-free, she had taken her regular shower and simply crawled into bed. The next morning she had found that she had lain on the hair all night and as a result, it had produced semi-curls all over her head. She ran her fingers through them again, trying to pull them out. They were natural, true, but it still felt odd to have her hair swept back over her chair with curls flowing down.

Jeremy raised an eyebrow as she flipped her head forward suddenly and violently, tossing it back in the same manner. "What's wrong?"

"Bloody hair dried wrong, now I have these." She held up a strand of her hair that was curled around her finger.

"Looks fine to me," her partner shrugged.

She sighed, irritated only slightly. "I can't do anything with it, that's the problem."

Jeremy looked slightly uncomfortable as he slid up behind her. "Give me a hair band,"

Gemma gave him a few hair bands from around her wrist and let his nimble fingers part and unpart her hair until he was dragging all of it back into a small section behind her head. He began tilting her head slowly backwards, and when he pulled away, satisfied, Gemma felt the work. A loose ponytail, up fairly high on her head, with a bun, all curled up and spilling over the ends of the hair bands. She pulled on the curls hanging out, loving how it felt. It obviously looked like a rat's nest from the back, but it was out of her face, up off her shoulders, and it was unique.

"I should hire you next time," Gemma joked, smiling at Jeremy warmly.

He blushed a light shade of pink and turned around, turning his radio volume up and ignoring Ximena as she walked in and out, face serious. Their radioes blared together, loud and commanding.

"Call on Westward Avenue, two young men traveling north were stopped and beaten. Blunt forces used, immediate response necessary. Stop by intersect at fifth!"

Gemma's heart began to race abruptly. She always had a feeling of dreadful excitement when a call came in; people's lives depended on her. Now, hearing that two young men traveling north had been stopped by a person or persons unknown and beaten with blunt force, she couldn't help but picture herself arriving on scene to find Terry and Michael staring at her with a sardonic "smile" of death on their faces.

They sped along the indicated road, stopping as they saw the small crowd that usually accompanied a hospital call. Coming through the hordes of people, Gemma almost cried with relief to see two strangers lying there with dazed looks. Both were alive, and both were not anyone she knew personally. She did a test or two on both of the men as Jeremy checked their vital organs and other things, treating scratches and bumps as he went. In the end Gemma surmised that they had been dazed for a while, possibly some brain damage had been done. She and Jeremy packed them up into the ambulance and drove back to the hospital.

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Eric stared at Mike, trying not to laugh. "Since when do you come to me to ask about what to buy women for holidays? You're looking at the man that bought himself candy and forgot his wife's gift for Valentine's day."

Mike looked nervously from foot to foot, wondering if he was making a mistake. "I thought maybe you could at least give me some ideas,"

"Ideas? I'll try," Eric scratched his chin. "If you want material possessions I'd say give her something small that will without a doubt make her think of you every single time she sees it, if you wanted a memory for her to keep in the mix, I'd say learn to sing a song really well and then serenade her."

Mike laughed. "Me? Sing?"

His eyes sparkled. "Stand by her, Mikey."

"You can't know about that!" Mike insisted, jaw dropping.

Eric cackled. "I know much that is hidden," he cackled again and rubbed his hands together.

Mike blushed. "Fine, so I sang, what's the big deal?"

"Now you'll have to sing a nice sweet song to her, in front of people or completely and utterly alone." Eric said simply.

"Because I can land somewhere in the middle," Mike retorted sarcastically.

Shaking his head with a scowl, Eric replied, "No, mate, I mean you get in front of a crowd and sing a nice sweet song to her, or you make her sit down and you do it."

Mike looked away from Eric, embarrassed. "I'd take a crowd anyday."

Eric clapped his hands together. "There you go! Now, pick a song!"

"Something that applies to everything she likes..."

"Something cutesy that'll make her think of you!" Eric giggled like a small girl. "God, women must have fun with the gossip part of church..."

Mike smiled and continued to think. "Nietzsche should have a theme-song."

"Well, what's a good quote?"

"There's a good one about how you shouldn't look at where you'll be with a person when you discuss marriage, but only if you'll still have interesting things to talk about and do when you're older." Mike shrugged, wondering if Eric was going to take it upon himself to tease him.

Eric smiled wickedly. "She likes the Beatles, she likes you. You sing Beatles she very well may faint."

"Which song?" Mike asked, dreading the answer.

"Of course, you dolt! 'When I'm Sixty-Four!'"


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