Walking on Thin Ice: Chapter 15

Here it was, Friday afternoon. When five o' clock came around, she'd be off for an entire week. She only got three weeks off a year plus sick days, which she hadn't taken advantage of her weeks of vacation, even through Jonas's funeral. Work had become a safe-haven for her, a retreat of sorts. Now it was becoming just as cumbersome as it used to be, having something in her life other than her cat. Now she had volleyball, a boyfriend, old friends, new friends, her cousin, her music, and her cat. Not to mention that she was suddenly in high demand when it came to her fanatical baking. She had things prepared mostly for her patients, nothing more or less. Two false alarms left Gemma with an inkling suspicion that the day would hold nothing good for her to indulge in before her time card filled and she could leave.

Jeremy sighed and settled back, eyes drifting over the day's newspaper, left by the early morning shift. He read quietly, sighing now and again to show his nervousness. At four-thirty, against Gemma's wishes, a call came in.

"Attention to on-duty paramedic, we have a strangulation victim awaiting treatment four blocks east of your station, third floor stairwell of the Ayden building. She needs attention as soon as possible." The same voice droned. Jeremy and Gemma leapt into action, paramedic uniforms being rearranged to look more professional, though their shirts were often left un-tucked.

As usual, Jeremy slid into the driver's seat on the right side, leaving Gemma to sit in the back for easy pick up and drop off. They followed the directions Gemma had scribbled down and stopped outside the building. Gemma leapt out, her partner staying seated with the siren wailing. Running up the steps briskly, Gemma paused on the third floor. Abigail was poised in the hallway, her neck raw and red from an obvious attempted strangling. She moaned in a scratchy voice as her head lolled around, her arm bent behind her, broken. Gemma picked up her light friend and carried her down the steps, face grim. Setting her in the back of the ambulance, Gemma treated her few scratches, giving her a bottle of water to drink while she splinted the left arm.

"Who did it, Abby?" She asked softly as Jeremy tried to see if they needed any help.

The police weren't there, but Gemma hadn't heard who had called for help. Maybe Abigail had called for her own rescue and waited for help in the hallway, telling the operator that's where they'd find her. Or maybe someone had done it to her and left her for dead.

Abigail's voice was still strained like her windpipe was still crushed. "It was Josh,"

Looking up, Gemma knew the look in Abby's eyes. "Your boyfriend?"

"Yeah," she let out a choked sob. "He told me I was cheating on him and tried to-" Not being able to finish the sentence, she broke off into troubled tears.

Gemma sighed as Jeremy threw her a curious look. "Well, we're going to take you to the hospital to get your arm all fixed up, then you're staying at my house; he won't find you there."

The patient looked up with wide eyes. "I can stay with you?"

Her friend shrugged amiably. "Well, technically I'm not going to be there. But my house is your house while I'm gone."

Abby threw both arms around Gemma's neck and hugged her tight. "Thanks, Gemma."

She smiled and pulled back, holding Abby's arm gently. "Hey, what are friends for?"

It wasn't until seven that Gemma went home that night, her feet tired from all the walking she had done in the hospital, all the police reports she had helped Abby put on Josh, and all the running to and fro to help her friend get her things together so she could stay with her for the night, and later the rest of the week. When she collapsed onto her couch inside her home, Abigail already asleep in Gemma's bed, she was surprised to see she had a message blinking on her machine. She had purposefully set it so it didn't go off for twenty rings, so who had sat through twenty rings just to leave her a message? A blank wonder filled her as she clumsily pushed the button. The message used to be Jonas's voice saying that Gemma and himself were unavailable but would get back as soon as possible, but now it was just her voice, calmly saying she'd try to get back if they'd leave a message.

"Hey, you've somehow stumbled onto the home of Gemma Thompson. If you so meant to stumble here, leave a message and I'll try to get back to you as soon as possible." Her voice was cold, stoic. She had changed it the night of Jonas's death, hardly caring as the phone rang; Meredith had called, and even Quentin had called. Jonas was Quentin's older brother, so he had mentioned getting together to plan the funeral. In the end it was just she and Quentin, bent over a sheet of paper writing a eulogy together.

"So our great hero is gone. He's not here any longer and he's left me here alone. He's left all of us a little more empty than usual. Death is supposed to be an honorable thing, it's supposed to free someone's soul into the world of the ever-living. Whether it be in heaven or on earth, they are parted from us until our own souls are freed. And there's a voice in my head, telling me to stop, and I know I can't. Maybe someday I will, but I know that now there's nothing you could do to stop me. Someone please...just help me stop myself. Stop myself from performing the inevitable. From ending my own life in hopes of finding myself in the clouds, in the plains of energy. We hope we find our loved ones there, and we hope we find ourselves there when the time is right. Until then, someone please help us help ourselves."

As Gemma floated back out of the cryptic eulogy, she heard Mike's voice. "Hey Gem, it's Mike. Just calling to say that I've left a key for you to get into my flat tomorrow. I thought we'd skip the packing up process and...well, you could just do it all. I'll sit and look pretty in the car if you pack up for me." Amusement was in his voice. "So, if you think that's alright, give me a ring, bye." The tell-tale click of a receiver cutting off brought her back to her senses. She smiled and shook her head, picking up the receiver of her own phone.

Terry was upside down in the easy-chair, staring at Boxer, who was staring back with almost concern. "What?"

The dog chuffed and turned around to bury his head into the pile of pillows that was the couch. Mike was sitting there though, preventing the animal from doing so. Soon enough he moved; the blasted phone had rung.

"Hello?" He asked into the phone.

Gemma snickered. "Why hello!"

His face split into a grin, prompting Terry to roll his eyes heavily. "Hey Gemma! You were awfully late-"

"You did wait through twenty rings, you know." She interrupted, smiling.

"Yeah, I wondered what that was all about." His shoulders stretched back, loving the banter they indulged in.

Suddenly remembering her purpose, Gemma responded, "Yeah, I was late because a friend of mine turned up at the hospital."

Mike frowned in concern. "She alright?" He inquired. "Or he,"

"Yeah, she's alright. You remember me talking about Abigail?" She questioned.

Nodding, Mike replied, "Yeah, I talked to her once; she saw me walking Boxer in town one day."

Gemma sighed unhappily. "Well, her boyfriend accused her of cheating on him and tried to strangle her. Broke her arm up pretty bad; she's all shook up."

There was silence for a moment. "Does she need a place to stay?"

She shook her head. "Nope, she's going to stay here for a while. She's going to do all my house-sitting for me."

"Well, that worked out perfectly on both levels, eh?" Mike tried to lighten the situation.

Gemma nodded. "Just have to hope her boyfriend gets arrested before he finds out where she's hiding."

Mike frowned. "What a jerk,"

"Exactly,"

Glancing nervously at Terry, he tried to figure out a way to ask her when she would pick him up tomorrow if she was able to pack things up for him at his house. "Er, Gemma-"

"Your idea of packing up first is great; I'll do that. You just sit pretty, alright?" He could hear her grinning.

"Alright," he smiled. "But you have to pick me up at one or Terry'll find something else for me to do."

Gemma nodded. "I can do that. We'll just have to kick around for an hour and a half before the plane leaves at three."

Thinking carefully, Mike finally gave her the satisfaction of hearing him get excited. "Ooh! Date! Let's go on a date!"

She laughed and sounded very sweet as she said, "Wonderful idea, but you are so paying."

"Wouldn't dream of it any other way, Love."

Terry stifled a sudden giggle, his face contorted from the effort of not even smiling. Mike threw him a glare as Gemma spoke.
"Tomorrow at one then, okay Michael?"

"Of course it's okay," he teased.

She rolled her eyes. "Bye,"

He said his goodbye and then hung up, eager to beat the living crap out of his now laughing friend. Standing over him he asked, "What gives, Terry?"

Looking up, Terry managed only to laugh harder. Finally he spat out, "Pet name!"

Though he was mildly embarrassed, Mike managed to keep a cool exterior. "So?"

Terry sobered up immediately. "Well, it's just funny to hear you call her 'Love' when you've been dating for two months."

Mike gritted his teeth to avoid saying anything he'd regret, though he was sick of keeping everything a secret. Quickly diverting the attention, he brought up another topic.

"She had me listen to 'Let It Be' in front of her. She listened to a song that she had heard when she found Jonas." He said flatly.

Terry looked relieved. "I thought something had happened! No wonder you can listen to the song now; I thought you'd never listen to it again!"

Mike nodded. "Yeah, does wonders for me." He replied sarcastically.

Looking both ways, Terry asked, "Did she cry in front of you?"

"Well, when she played her song, yes." He replied blandly.

"Did you cry in front of her?"

Mike thought carefully about how strange he had felt for about twenty seconds. The only awkward part had been the prelude to the tears; he had felt unnatural holding it all in like men were supposed to do, it only felt right to let the few tears left in him to spill from his eyes and be brushed away.

"Yeah,"

Terry sighed ambiguously. "There you go,"

"There I go what?" Mike snapped.

He smiled at Mike. "You're both emotionally attached now, that's a good thing. Just make sure you don't get wrapped up in your own problems when hers could be just as important as yours and you could have another keeper here, Mike."

Sighing, Mike retorted, "Let's try not to think I have to be obligated to that. I'm not going to go out of my way to be perfect here, that's not what a long-lasting relationship is. It has to be special with neither of the participating parties having to change that much. If there is change, it's for the better, right?" He shook a cigarette from a pack lying in his house from a spot of weakness before a show. Tense nerves and a part that required him to chain-smoke through an entire sketch had driven him back into the habit.

Terry shook his head. "You might want to kick that habit now,"

Taking a drag, Mike frowned at Terry. "What?"

"She's in health, you don't want her pulling some 'you could die from cancer' shit on you, do you?" Terry asked, standing up and pulling his coat on.

Mike rolled his eyes and cracked a window. "I'll deal with that when it comes along."

Terry shook a playful finger at his friend before exiting the flat and thumping outside to his beat-up rusty car. As he peeled away from the curb, Mike put out the cigarette and retired for the night early.

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Mike rolled his eyes dutifully and started to walk away when John tripped him. They managed not to laugh for this take, and when the camera stopped, everyone just sort of breathed in relief. They clapped each other on the shoulder and began to mumble about the next scene, in which Mike did not appear. They glanced around the small room that was going to represent somewhere just outside a shot of an old woman lecturing her husband. Already unsure about the sketch in general, they decided to film the entire thing and show it as a filler sketch if they needed it. It was nearly one, and Mike was starting to get a very strange feeling in his gut. Like he'd swallowed something that wasn't done enjoying life quite yet.

"You alright?" Gray elbowed Mike gently. He looked up and shrugged, wondering just how to classify his nervousness.

"I guess I'm just nervous," he finally replied, wondering if that was going to be a satisfactory answer.

Gray was frowning; that wasn't good. "Nervous? You're done shooting!"

Mike stared confidentially at his pal before relenting. "Gemma and I are going away for a week, that's why I'm nervous."

Gray's eyes widened considerably. "An entire week? Where are you going?"

"Vermont; she's got friends in high places for this ski resort of types." He shrugged, hardly caring where he was going as long as she'd be there to help him along.

Nodding slightly, Gray smiled at Mike. "An entire week alone with her, what will you do?"

"Supposedly she's going to teach me how to ski," he laughed, shaking his head. "Man was not supposed to glide on steel."

Gray shook a finger. "He wasn't supposed to fly with steel either, Mikey."

The silence that passed between them was comfortable, just content being quiet. Terry and John were not-so-calmly discussing the sketch being filmed, and Gil was busy drawing a caricature-like picture of Gray and Mike standing side-by-side. As he finished it, he added to the bottom a comment. "As serious as it gets..."

The back door of the BBC building opened and the part-time secretary walked out, grabbing her elbows with the cold. "Hey! There's a woman here that-"

Mike jumped up, cutting her off. "Let her out here, would you?"

The secretary nodded glumly, needing some sort of excitement in her job. There was a good thirty second pause before Gemma's sauntering figure appeared at the door. She had a pair of sunglasses over her blue eyes, hair half pulled back and straight. It was almost a dead give-away what was going on as she walked up, pulling the sunglasses to the top of her head to rest in her hair, she smiled and tucked her hands into her jean pockets and rearranged the sweater she was wearing so it wasn't hanging off her shoulder.

"Ready? Or did you want to pack a few more bricks?" Her eyes danced with amusement.

Mike could hardly care if the guys found out, he was a responsible guy. Nothing he couldn't handle was going to arise because of that; he was smart enough not to put himself or Gemma in a dangerous position. This was going to be a relaxing and exciting retreat.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready. The rest of the bricks are in here," he patted his knapsack lovingly. Gemma hefted it to her back and stared meekly at the other five men, all of whom were silent. Gil was busy scratching along at the piece of paper, trying hysterically to finish sketching Gemma before she and Mike disappeared. She turned sideways to see what Eric was doing, giving Gil the perfect idea. He began to erase and scratch more quickly and soon enough he had a lovely little sketch of a cartoon-ish Gemma standing like some sort of Amazon war goddess with a sword in her hands. He showed it to John, who snickered.

"Wonderful, now let's lose the death aura-" John started to suggest.

Gemma looked over Gil's shoulder to see herself standing sideways, her face expressionless in all its cartoon-y beauty. She snorted and told the artist how flattered she was. Mike snorted as well, seeing the sword in Gemma's hand, wondering if she minded she represented death in all its glory. Glancing at her watch, Gemma sighed calmly.

Mike jumped. "Oh! We should go now, shouldn't we?"

"That was the plan; I'm in no hurry, of course." She replied coolly, hooking her fingers in the belt loops of the jeans she wore. Holding the front two belt loops made her stomach hang out of the sweater she wore, since her back was arched with the weight of Mike's knapsack and the position she'd thrown herself in. Eric's gaze floated down to see her tan flesh, wondering just how she kept her skin such a dark tone all year. It didn't look natural at all.

With yet another brisk little jump, Mike took Gemma's arm and started walking away.

Finally Graham could stand it no longer. "Have fun in Vermont, you two."

A murmur went up instantly among the guys, eyes darting from one to another, resting on Mike and Gemma's slowly retreating figures. Mike nonchalantly tossed a wave over his shoulder, eager to be out of their careful glares. When they slipped inside the car, Gemma smiled knowingly at Mike.

"You didn't tell them,"

He shrugged. "No need to,"

Gemma decided she wasn't going to win this particular battle at this point and decided to let it be. She started her car and pulled out of the car park. They searched for something to do for about fifteen minutes before settling on just a lunch in a delicatessen. It was the first uneventful meal they had shared, no tears, no records, no fork-hurling. For once in Gemma's life she felt content in being insanely bored. They walked around the block the restaurant was on six times, just for the sake of walking, hand in hand. Few words were exchanged, and those that were passed along were playful and enlightening. For some reason, neither really showed all that much excitement in leaving, though they were both bouncing with anticipation.

When two-thirty did roll around, they had suddenly become different people.

"Oh! We're going to be late!" Gemma exclaimed, seeing Mike's watch for an instant.

He looked down and then up again, a grin surfacing on his face. "What do you know!"

She jumped up and tugged him up from his seat on the sidewalk, eyes dancing. "Come on!"

Laughing only slightly, he ran after her as she scrambled into the car as they began the short drive to the airport.