Walking on Thin Ice: Chapter 20

Something didn't feel quite right as Gemma slipped back into her house that night, and she almost felt like something had happened to Abigail. She was hiding behind the couch as Gemma took off her shoes, and cowered under a blanket until Gemma spoke gently.

"What's wrong, Abby?"

She leapt up and hugged Gemma tightly. "Fucking Christ, Gemma! Josh has been calling all day; he knows I'm here!"

Gemma's eyes narrowed. "Did you call the police?"

Shaking slightly, Abigail nodded. "I did, and they said they'd keep an eye out here for a while."

Her shoulders dropped in a relieved way. "Good then. You should relax."

"No one's been by all day, Gemma. I think they said that to make me feel better." She whispered.

Gemma shook her head slowly. "This is your protection, they wouldn't blow you off."

Abby shook again. "I'm still scared."

Now Gemma felt guilty. "I'm going to be gone all day tomorrow; I want you to stay inside and keep the doors locked. I'll be back around midnight. We'll have some fun okay? I promise."

The other woman nodded, and together the two set themselves up and fell asleep in their separate rooms, almost at ease.

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For the simple sake of making his mother happy, Mike got dressed at eight o' clock for the family photo. He grumbled, but pulled on a sweater and stood behind his sister, forced a smile, and made sure he put up a domestically happy face. With enough egg nog he was sure the smile would gain some reality to it, but the point of his entire existence at that point was to think of ways to either reunite Gemma with her family against her will, or beg his way back to her good side.

Cousins and uncles started showing up one by one throughout the night, and by midnight, technically Christmas morning, all fifteen or so of them were there, chatting, sleeping, eating, talking. Mike was the main focal point because of his car accident and his sister's huge mouth.

"He's got a girlfriend," she paused as the relatives clapped and sought him out eagerly, his face slowly turning red, "finally! After all these years he decides to give it a shot and he's pissed her off already!"

An uncle rounded on him instantly. "What did you do, boy?"

Mike let out an aggravated snarl and stood up, groping for the phone. It went deathly silent as he lifted the receiver and dialed her number mechanically. When it rang seven times, the family waited quietly, staring as he stood, face in towards the wall, his face serious. There was a light click, and in the silence they could all hear a scared voice come over the line, sheer terror and horror in her voice.

"Stop calling my house! Leave her alone!" There was a wail in the background before a loud, resonant feedback sound and a clatter as the receiver clanked back to the cradle. Mike stared in horror at the receiver in his hand, mind already set. He started towards the door, pulling his car keys from his pocket as he did so, almost certain something was wrong that was beyond his control. Angela stopped him.

"Hey now, Mike, let's not get trigger-happy now. Call her in the morning; you can't go scaring her like that." The rest of the family nodded in agreement. "You've been drinking anyway." She took his keys from him.

Mike groaned. "Drowning in my own gene pool, damnit!"

It was his father that broke the awkward silence. "They've been dating for three months!"

Once again the cooing and over-affection of his family surrounded him and he nearly had his cheeks pulled off by a horde of short aunts. They were too short to kiss him and too dignified to hug him around the middle so they sort of grappled for free space on his face while he scrambled away, face horrified.

"Do you have a picture?" Asked one of his cousins, Ian.

He shook his head instantly, but Angela hauled out the drawing and handed it to Ian, smiling. "Best we've got, I'm afraid."

"Is this accurate?" Ian pressed Mike, eyeing the figure eagerly.

"Yeah, pretty close." He replied distractedly. "Be right back,"

The solitude of the roof was welcomed eagerly as he sat there with a cigarette and another glass of egg nog. He felt sort of out of himself, bogged down, depressed. He wished he could apologize to Gemma now, he wished he could touch her again, see her smile. It was terrible to think that if his relationship with her survived this bump, he'd have to go a week without her. Sure, he'd find something to do, but when he went to bed at night, what was he supposed to do? Last night had taken him no less than half an hour to situate himself without her there, and guilt drove him insane.

The window opened and Angela slid out carefully. "You alright, Michael?"

He nodded slowly. "I guess. I just wish I could talk to her."

She smiled. "You like her, don't you?"

"Nope, I hate her guts but I'm going to date her for a few more months just to waste my life." He retorted sarcastically.

Angela swatted him lightly before concluding, "It wouldn't hurt so bad if you didn't like her."

"Who said I'm hurting?" He whined back, rubbing his face carefully.

She laughed. "Look in the mirror, little brother. You may pull off the 'I've been sleeping in my clothes' look but you still look like you just lost someone all over again."

"Well," he started, flicking his cigarette butt out onto the curb, "you could argue that."

She smiled again. "What did you two do in Vermont for a week, huh Mikey?" There was her hand, obsessively smoothing his hair again.

"I dunno. Stuff."

"You know what I mean, Mike. Mum and Da are already having a fit about the whole thing; you must know what they think."

His eyes widened. "They really think I'd do that?"

"Depends; did you?"

"No!"

She smirked. "Why say it like that?"

He stared on with a gaping jaw. "Well, it's not that I wouldn't-hey hey hey! Stop it!" He blushed deep red.

"I just wonder why you keep screeching about how you didn't do it." She replied.

"Because all my friends back in London keep asking me if I've shagged the poor girl yet and I don't exactly plan on doing it any time soon." He retorted bitterly.

Angela gasped. "You really haven't!"

He waved his arms around in a strange way. "No! I haven't! Christ, Angie, takes you a while to get something."

She grinned. "You love her,"

His breath caught instantly, his breath puffing out in the cold air instantly betraying him once again. He coughed but felt his heart go racing as he started to shrug and begin his excuse.

"I-I don't know, Angela-"

"Sure you do. You can't say it? Have you told her that you like her even?" She leaned forward to catch his thoughtful glare.

He squirmed. "She knows,"

Angela clucked her tongue. "Pity you're too chicken to say it. They're only words, right? You say them to her and suddenly you feel like you're God and she'll look at you the same way. Sometimes women will be funny like that; the only thing they want is affection."

"So, you're saying if I randomly show up, kiss her, and smile I'll be forgiven?"

Angela stroked her chin. "I'd throw in a few hundred apologies, a hug, and a puppy. You're going to need it, so it sounds."

He smiled. "A puppy. She's got a feminist cat, so she'd probably need a bitch." He paused. "As in the dog bitch."

"Of course," Angela replied with sparkling eyes.

Mike lit up again, sighing as the moon crept out from behind a cloud, its presence overbearing like a watchful parent, welcome and protective, but guilt-inducing and restraining. The liberation Mike usually felt in the cold air with the moon shining was replaced only by vacant and guilty thoughts.

He was talking to himself before he realized he'd even begun. "Damn women, damn them all. They all grab you by the throat but we all keep going back for more, more more more more! All we want is a woman, and if we can't find her we see ourselves as meaningless, lifeless beings. What do I get stuck with? Emotionally sensitive and heartbroken. Honestly, I couldn't have picked anything harder. And of course, now that've I've started trying to solve her I can't stop, I can't give up. I'm going to have to pour everything I've got into this, and it's already scaring me out of my wits. Why can't I just say, 'Hey, I've got money, you kiss well, let's get married, what do you say?' Because, gasp! She might not agree and heaven knows if I embarrass myself in front of her I'm going to end up DEAD!" He took a huge breath, fingers shaking as he held the cigarette between them. He took a long drag before continuing. "Self-induced suffering, I tell you. And I like it, damnit."

Angela laughed gently, raking her fingernails across Mike's back, making him arch backward with sudden relief and mild embarrassment. "You're funny, Mikey. It's not that hard."

"You explain it then!" He replied, flicking another cigarette butt of the roof lazily.

She smiled. "I'll tell you what women think of love, then. We all sit around, dreaming about our weddings from the day we ask our mothers about it. Every little girl in the world with a mother or mother-figure asks her at some point what being married is. Their mothers then weave this magical tale about always having this wonderful light and warm feeling in their stomachs, and they always feel happy and exuberant around the guy they love. The guy never seems to mind that his friends tease him for being sweet, and the man never seems to be too pushy. All women get this image of their father in another man's body, strong and protective, always there for her. As we grow older we add all these impossible necessities onto our perfect man. Suddenly they have to be able to make a lot of money, be very cute, know how to please her but still be happy with just her, and never be a man at all. It isn't until they actually meet their guy they seem to understand that their husband should be allowed to watch rugby tournaments with his mates, drink at dinner, be out late, and occasionally be selfish as only humans can be. Flaws are flaws, and to not have them would make you perfect, which to the human world is flawed." She smiled again and patted Mike's back as he mulled things over.

"You really went out there looking for Da in another guy's body?" He wrinkled his nose.

Angela laughed. "Not really, but you need someone you feel is protective, and why not someone you know has always been there for you? If you don't have a father, it'll be the man figure in your life. Like Sara, her uncle was always there and she married Toby-he is like her uncle's long-lost son. Most of the time a woman's father-figure will get along just great with her husband."

Mike sighed. "Too bad Gemma won't talk to her parents."

"What did she do?" His sister asked, puzzled.

Sighing heavily, Mike let his head drop to his chest lazily. "She broke some severe rules by choice and was kicked out of her house, money for college and a duffel bag of clothes. She had to get by with what she had and who she had, her family exiling her from her family. For whatever reason, she is convince they still wish not to know she exists."

"Who she had? Who did she have?"

"Her boyfriend, later her fiancé. He died two months before they were going to get married, and she lost hope that she'd be able to show her family she made a decision she was confident in and not just, I dunno, letting someone else make. She gets so upset talking about it, insisting she was stupid, but she knew what she was doing. For some reason we both take comfort in the fact she intended on marrying the guy before she let him have his way with her." He replied evenly, knowing Angela would read between the lines easily enough.

She nodded slowly. "Do you think she trusts you?"

"I'd like to think so."

"That wasn't my question, little brother."

He sighed again. "I don't know. We don't have secrets to keep. When things come up we tell each other easily enough."

Angela smiled knowingly. "Do you trust her?"

He shrugged. "I guess,"

She sighed, frustrated. "Michael, you need to really think these things through. If you can't tell if you trust her, you might be wasting your time worrying if she'll take you back!"

He rounded on her, face mad just like she expected. "Why wouldn't I trust her, Angie?"

Angela shrugged, waiting for what she knew would come. It was always the same with Mike, he never admitted anything with questions, but given a few minutes alone after the interrogation, he spilled every detail. It was just like when he sat on the edge of his bed at the beach, staring at his shoes when he discovered Helen wasn't coming down. He looked so heart-broken and scared; she felt a pang of sadness stir inside her as he stared in much the same way. She reached out and thumped him once on the chest near his heart.

"You hurting?"

Slowly he nodded. "Yeah, a bit."

She nodded, suppressing a smile just barely.

"As I've told her once before, I feel about eight years old around her, which at first I didn't feel like it was normal, or right, but it became what I knew around her. We always goofed around and had fun, and I never minded that we never did anything too intimate. Out of all the times I've been left alone with her, or been alone with her, there are only a few instances I can pick out where I felt like I was twenty-six, I was anxious, and she was there. There are only a few times I can think of where I felt like if she moved one more time I wouldn't be able to hold back for very long, or at all. She always seemed to stop moving then, and I couldn't help but feel disappointed, or relieved. She made me feel like I was walking around in mid-air, and it seemed like I did nothing in return. Recently though, she smiles at me and I feel so strange, like she's just looking at me for the sake of looking, and she can't help but get up and kiss me when I catch her staring. It's only then when I can look past the look in her eye like she's about to slip off into another world and start crying. And that makes me want to hold her close and I know it sounds stupid, but I want to cry for her so she won't ever have to cry again. Then Eric flips the lights on and off and I feel eight, and she's untouchable again. It's hell and I put myself through it willingly." His speeches always seemed well thought-out, but this was spur of the moment, pauses inserted as he shook his head, voice skipping around, his chin down in a sort of shamed way. His voice was soft as he spoke about how she made him feel, and the way she acted around him, but from what Angela gathered, she couldn't help but hug him and smile happily.

She couldn't stop grinning. "Has she told you how you make her feel?"

He shook his head, sighing unhappily. "Hell, I tell you."

Gemma sat up on her own roof with Abigail, her tears private as she held her friends shoulders while they wept together. Why it had come to her so quickly, the sadness and the tears, she didn't know. She couldn't help but let her shoulders shake, her fear and sorrow so high she felt like she was drowning in herself. She wanted to feel safe again, and the only place she could think of was Mike's arms and he was so very far away, and she was supposed to be mad at him for something stupid. Abby was mumbling under her breath, something about Josh seeing them on the roof, and Gemma hushed her fears, feeling weak and tired, her shoulders tense as they shook. The blanket around their shoulders was frail and thin, shivers seeping into Gemma slowly. Her hope was rising up again though, like the last struggling rays of sunshine trying to sneak through the clouds before a storm. She kept hoping that any second now the sun would rise and she would be able to ignore her sorrows again. Night always brought the same fear to her when she had all the time in the world to think and nothing more.

"You're so lucky," Abby sobbed, "to find a guy like Mike."

Gemma nodded. "But I'm also very stupid for letting him go over my own ignorance, if I may say so."

Abby smiled very weakly. "He'll come back; I've heard the you talk about him, and the way he talks about you."

"Your turn will come, Abby. It always does." Gemma wiped her face slowly.

Somewhere in Bloomington, Summer and Stanley Thompson sat down together in the drawing room of their tiny home, the only one of their ten children still living with them living at college most of the time. Little Sarah, their littlest girl, was sleeping in the armchair gently. Just looking at the beautiful young girl made Summer think of her other daughter, Gemma. The girl they had forced from their home because of her silly decision. In hind-sight, as parents, they could not show her they would let her back in very easily after her stupidity, but when they did seek her out, privately, she had all but disappeared. She didn't live on campus, was unlisted, and never seemed to acknowledge the fact they were asking around for her. For a while they would not let their children speak her name, but then the kids stopped by themselves, and even now if they said her name, they cast wary glances as their parents as if they would be reprimanded. In reality, their ears all tuned sharper at any word of Gemma, and yet they couldn't bring themselves to ask if any of their children had encountered her since they had left the house for their own journeys. Doug walked in, gently picking up his twenty-year-old sister before carrying her to her room and placing her on the lower part of a bunk bed, the top half empty. He glanced at the picture of Gemma, her prom photo, standing with Scott, his littlest brother, at her side. They looked so happy, and now he remembered her profile, what he'd squinted of her outside the hospital when the taller man had taken her arm and pinched her side, a happy laughter escaping her lips. She looked and sounded happy, and the man with her seemed nice enough; Doug was pleased enough.

He walked back into the drawing room in time to hear his father's voice drift off. "We can't just ring her up, Summer. I wish we knew something, but the truth is we made the bigger mistake sending her off."

Doug folded his arms. "I saw Gemma a few weeks ago,"

Summer jumped and turned, her graying hair bobbing around her shoulders in a frail way. "What?"

He nodded. "I couldn't stand it anymore; Noah still talks to her. It seems the rule you passed never applied to him. He talks to her regularly and checks up on her."

His father took his son's arm and shook it roughly. "What's happened to her? Is she alright?"

"She's fine, happy. You're right about making the bigger mistake. Noah says she cries near every night, asking herself why she was so ignorant. Jonas died, you know. He's dead, and she was going to marry him." He sounded rather bitter.

"Well, what's she doing? What's happened to her?!" His mother sounded desperate.

Doug shook his head. "She's a paramedic, and that's all she'd tell me. She sounds wonderful, healthy, fine. And she's got a great guy watching after her."

With that he hugged his mother and walked off into the dark corridor while his mother sobbed, shrieking a few things at her husband before Doug's hearing failed him and his door closed.

"What rule? Do they think we wanted them to never speak to her again?!" Summer shrieked.

Stanley shook his head. "Summer, we must fix this. It's been too long!"

Mike sighed heavily, slipping inside with an eager arm to Angela, who slipped in, tired eyes and all. They crept off to sleep, and seemed to be perfectly content for a while.

Gemma carried Abigail to the couch, slipping her off there, checking her doors to make sure they were locked, along with the doors. Piling extra blankets on Abby's slim form, she crawled into her own freezing cold bed and fell into a wet, cold, unforgiving sleep.

Summer and Stanley Thompson wallowed in their own guilt for what seemed like ages, falling asleep at last, hearts going out to their daughter wherever she was. They had all their thoughts evenly spreading out, their hopes rising up like a smile through tears; weak but optimistic. Tomorrow they would talk to their children, enlist their help, and find Gemma. Tomorrow was a day to be reckoned with.

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"I'll be back at eleven o' clock for lunch break, and then I'm off again until six, back again at midnight. Sound alright?" Gemma asked, pulling plain black gloves onto her cold hands. Abby nodded nervously, tugging her jacket on tighter. Smiling gently, giving Abby a quick hug before slipping out the door and into her car, stopping at the end of the second block to see Mrs. Guffry, Mike's landlady, walking Boxer, the enormous black lab. She yanked hard on the leash, her slippers scraping along the pavement pitifully as the beast yanked her along like a rag doll. Gemma turned her face away from the amusing scene and focused on getting to work.

Mike awoke to a loud shout, and as he walked down into the living area, he noticed the Christmas tree was littered with a great number of gifts, the stockings hanging on the fireplace mantle filled to the brim. Seeing his own lumpy sock he tried to calculate how many pairs of socks and boxers he'd gotten from his mother, and if Angela had gone and bought him anything worthwhile. He had looked high and low for her, finally deciding that the camera she had scrimped for since she was eight years old, and hadn't bought after all, was the perfect thing. Taking his enormous bag of unwrapped things, he distributed the things evenly, making sure his nephew received enough candy for a lifetime. He sat down then, ignoring shouts for him to open things, insisting he didn't mind going last as the other people happily tore at the paper around the gifts, laughing, smiling, cheering as the contents spilled onto their waiting laps. When he could put it off no longer, Mike pulled his stocking off the mantle and dumped the socks and underclothes onto his lap, grinning stupidly as he pulled on several pairs of socks, on hands and feet alike, donning a pair of checkered boxers on his head (much to the amusement of tiny Charlie).

As always, he was pleased with what he gave and got, but there was something missing. He wanted to see Gemma, and as much as he wanted to tell himself to shut up and enjoy what he had, he pined for her. She must miss him in some respect, as mad as she was at him. It appeared she had all the time in the world to stay apart from him, but she waited. It was Christmas Day; he must have some time to sneak away for a few hours to beg for her forgiveness, if only he could find a puppy today...

Cousins and Aunts alike were smiling, laughing, cooking, eating, drinking, some even crawling back off to sleep. Michael was struck with the sudden urge to go get dressed, which he did slowly, unaware that his mother was standing outside his door, a sad face plastered on her usually ever-smiling face.

When he yanked the door open and she threw her arms around him, he was surprised and alarmed, but aware that all she wanted was to be hugged in return. He made sure she was happy when he pulled away, crouching to her height, hoping to see some reason on her face.

She laughed gently. "Be grateful for what you've got, Michael. You've got this girl we all want to meet and you're already in a row. God knows I love my son, boy, but why not be happy?"

He sighed and smiled. "I'm trying, Mum, but you know me. I tend to brood when I'm deprived of the womens..."

She swatted him playfully, taking his arm insistently. It was just past eleven when he entered the living area again, and time seemed to stop as the phone entered his vision.

Gemma walked into her house, slamming the door gently. She neglected to lock the door as she walked into the kitchen to make some tea, and when the door opened and closed by itself, she didn't think anything of it, that is until she felt an arm creep around her neck and she couldn't breathe.

It was just before eleven when Josh sneaked into the house and held Gemma's throat tightly with his arm, backing down the stairs with her feet dragging on the carpeting. When he caught sight of Abby he tossed Gemma at her, and the two screamed like hell, running from room to room as he trudged after them menacingly.

"Come out!" He shouted, kicking the wall heavily. Gemma mentally cursed herself for not having a phone in her basement. She tried to hide behind the piano, but Josh grabbed a handful of her hair, and flicking a knife open, cut a shallow slice on her shoulder, cutting the sleeve of her uniform off. Abby cried and darted from couch to recliner quickly, screaming for him to stop.

"Josh! I swear I didn't do anything! Please don't hurt me! Don't hurt Gemma!" She went limp as he neared her, picking her up by her cast. He grabbed her collar bone and yanked her hard, a sickening crack whipping into the air. Gemma retched, her knees weak as her feet flew towards the stairs. She was shoved against the wall and before her head smacked the concrete wall, she heard a loud wail and her door was thrown open. Police men started to flood into the room, but not before the five inch blade sunk into Gemma's chest just below her left breast. She gasped as a shot rang out, tearing Josh from her front, leaving her to sink to the floor. Ximena jumped into view, her face full of tears.

She patted Gemma's face weakly as she and Abby were loaded into the same ambulance. "No, chica, you gonna be alright! You gotta pull through, come on, chica! Oye me! Rapido!" She smacked at the wall of the ambulance, her partner speeding up considerably. Gemma's side was drenched with her own blood, a fiery heat enveloping her side. Her breathing was shallow, and her self-diagnosis didn't bode well. She felt that if she didn't get into surgery soon she was either going to bleed to death or die of oxygen-deprivation. She hitched for breath, trying to get her words out quickly before she fell into unconsciousness, possibly for the
rest of her life.

"Hey, Ximena. Where's my boyfriend?" She heard herself ask. Stupid question, she knew where he was, but the blood loss had changed her mind temporarily.

Ximena wiped away her own tears. "You said he's at his parents'."

Gemma smiled as colors drifted into her vision. "I love him, you know? I love him. I'm sorry I didn't listen...I love him." She took Ximena's arm, her eyes crossing and uncrossing a few times. "Tell him that. Tell him I'm sorry and I love him. Please," she put her head back as Ximena sobbed in helplessness, trying to hold the bleeding down until they screeched to a stop outside the hospital. By then, Gemma was clinically dead, and if the on duty doctor couldn't patch her up in time, she was as good as dead.

It was just past eleven when Mike stared with a pit of overwhelming despair in his stomach. The phone rang as he stared at it, and when he shoved Thom out of the way to pick it up, they knew something was wrong; everyone was silent.

"Hello?" He asked, his breath whistling weakly.

There was a slight pause before a sniff and a woman with a Spanish accent began speaking. "Mr. Palin? Mr. Michael Palin?"

He nodded, gulping. "Yes?"

There was a small sob before, "It's Gemma, she's in a bad way, sir. She wanted me to call you, before they took her into surgery-"

"What happened?" He interrupted, his voice shaking.

Angela gasped at his tone of voice, her hands leaping up to her mouth instantly.

Ximena choked out another sob but continued. "She was housing a friend of hers, and the boyfriend showed up and stuck a knife in her ribs-"

"Oh, fuck no-"

"She lost a lot of blood, and her lung was punctured. The problem is mainly with the lack of good surgeons around Christmas. She wanted me to call you, she wouldn't let me go until I promised, and she wanted me to tell you something." She paused, as if waiting for reassurance.

"Yeah?" He whispered, feeling his throat choke up instantly.

"She wanted you to know she loves you. She also said she was sorry, and that she loves you." Her voice was soft and awe-filled.

He nodded, his face betraying him again as it twisted into a horrible emotion-bottling machine. He wouldn't cry, no, she'd be fine. He had to lie to himself to stay sane. "Thank you,"

"Are you coming?" She asked.

He nodded again. "Yes,"

"You'll have a pass at the front desk, just stop there, I'll be on the open floor-"

"Thank you, thank you!" Mike couldn't help but cut her off before she said anything out how surgery went, if Gemma's outlook was doubtful or not, or anything else. He turned and stared angrily at the wall while he fought a good long scream, turning with a sudden shout.

"Where are you going?" Angela choked out, knowing something was terribly wrong.

Mike looked up, rubbing his face as he pulled on his shoes. "She's dying, she loves me, I have to go-"

"Dying?" Thom yelped.

Turning his face down as a single tear dropped from his face, Mike nodded. "Some bastard stabbed her."

Angela yanked on a jacket and slipped her shoes on, taking Mike's arm. "I'm coming with you."

He nodded before they sprinted to Mike's car, slipping inside, tearing over lawns to get to the road without moving other cars. Mike behind the wheel and little or no police on the road, they tore down the pavement, Mike's jaw tight in determination, Angela openly fretting as she heard a news report come on the radio about a man wanted for assault and battery was apprehended.

"Joshua Tallero was finally caught today. He was wanted for assault and battery of his girlfriend, who was taking refuge in her friend's house. Unfortunately for the girl, Tallero found her and her friend. Tallero was shot and is in stable condition, his ex-girlfriend left up in the ward over with a broken collar-bone, and her friend in critical condition with a stab wound in her abdomen. His trial begins next November..."

Angela coughed as she turned off the radio. "She'll probably be fine-"

"She'd be fine if they had a full staff, probably, but it's Christmas, Angela." Mike snapped, speeding up. Instead of the usual hour and a half, it took just over an hour to reach London, and another ten in town with the police crawling around looking for holiday partyers driving around drunk, to reach the hospital. Barely in the yellow lines in the car park, Angela and Mike abandoned the car and sprinted inside, Mike grabbing a special card to let him in the surgery unit. He sped to the third floor where Ximena was sitting just outside the double doors, her face knit up harshly. She leapt up and hugged Mike, who impatiently embraced the woman he hardly knew, knowing only he gave her a sense of comfort.

The clouded surgery doors were filled with a slow and steady beeping; she was alive, but for how long? Ximena insisted he follow her to take his mind off the impending doom. She tugged him into the case-file room where a tape player was set up, a reel set up.

"I thought it was best you hear her yourself," she explained, also adding that every ambulance was equipped with a small recording device so lawsuits could be proved or discounted with evidence of what went on inside the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

The crackly sound began to play, Mike floating out of his body again, staring at his own expressionless face as Ximena's voice played over.

"Rapido!" She barked and there was a loud thud before Gemma's soft and pain-filled voice intervened.

She hitched a breath, so clear over the crackly recording. "Hey, Ximena, where's my boyfriend?" She asked, her voice dreamy and higher pitched than normal. "I love him, you know? I love him. I'm sorry I didn't listen...I love him.. Tell him that. Tell him I'm sorry and I love him. Please," there was a sob on Ximena's part and a spatter of tears and blood before the recording stopped.

Mike felt Angela's arms on his shoulders, and he could hardly feel his toes. He was aware he was standing there, but he was also aware that he had avoided telling the woman he loved the truth this entire time in fear he would lose like he could. He couldn't decide at first, which was worse; losing her without her knowing he loved her more than anyone he could possibly love, or telling her and seeing the mirrored affection only to lose her. Angela's arms shook his lightly, her hands comforting as they smoothed his hair.

"I love her," he said plainly.

There was a loud bang, and Gemma's gurney wheeled past, the surgeon, elbows to fingertips dripping in blood. He cursed loudly, stripping his bloodied gloves to rub his face with a exasperated screech.

"FUCK!" He cried, kicking a trash bin. Ximena grabbed his arms, asking him calmly what had happened.

With a deep breath, the doctor replied. "She has a mild allergy to the painkiller," Mike stared on in horror as he continued, "and since we had to use so much, there's a very big chance she won't wake up. If she doesn't wake up in twenty-four hours, she won't ever again." With that he backed into the empty surgeon's ward, cursing again.

Mike swooned terribly, his feet dragging as Angela forced him into Gemma's room where she was laid up with every on-duty nurse, paramedic, doctor, and orderly stood, their faces somber as she slept on, the too-slow bleeping of her heart unnerving. The pale blue gown on her body, hanging so loosely, collected a small pool of blood at her side, where the knife must have entered. The stitches were loose for swelling, though her side had not swelled. The problem was her body was just as asleep as her mind, and Mike felt a fear well up inside him.

Brad Jameison gently put his hand on Mike's shoulder, his face sad and understanding. "I'm glad you're here."

Gemma's head lolled weakly, trying to wake up. Deciding this was normal, Mike took a seat next to her, forcing her fingers to cling to his hand like he knew they would if she were awake. Ximena kissed her forehead before they walked out to their posts. Angela looked at her baby brother with a tremendous sadness in her heart, staring at the poor man hunch over the woman.

It was hard for her to think he loved the girl, after all, she had only just met her, but seeing the way he kissed her hand, stroked her cheek, and talked under his breath to the sleeping girl, she knew he did. What he said was not what Angela knew he wanted to say.

"You've got to wake up, Gem. You think one week is a long time to leave me alone without you, I couldn't go the rest of my life. You're stronger than a damn allergy anyway." He muttered, kissing her hand again.

Angela stared at Gemma's lips, pouting all the time, the sadness Mike had described present. Her head lolled again, and yet she was weak and it was only a spasm. Angela smoothed Mike's hair once before giving him a weak look.

Sliding closer, Mike kissed her cheek, sliding over to her lips, scared to realize she couldn't even push back. He laced his fingers into hers, hardly caring if he said something that anyone would laugh at. It was his life, not a stupid soap opera.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Gemma. Wake up..." He paused nervously, his voice cracking again. Angela smiled encouragingly at him before he finally choked out what she had hardly been able to say without her life on the line. "I love you,"

Her eyes fluttered open, just a tease before her breathing slowed down more. The beeping heart monitor slowed as well, which frightened Mike immensely. He whispered the three-word phrase over and over again, kissing her cheek, her hand, and gripping her other hand tightly with fear and sorrow on his face. He lamented all the time he could have been saying what he was now. She always said that there wasn't a God, that your own will and body decide whether or not you live, and no one can decide but you. He knew she must be able to hear him in some respect; he began to talk more openly, not paying any mind to his parents, who were standing behind Angela with small, horrified looks on their faces.

"You know I love you, and I couldn't say it. We couldn't say it at all, and now here we are, never to know the other even said it. I promise you that if you wake up I'll say it to you every night, every morning, every chance I get. I promise to love you every second, but I need you here for me. Greedy as it sounds I do need you here for me." He couldn't stop talking, comfort in the sound of his own voice.

Her breathing stopped, a loud alarm sounding. Mike jumped, letting out a heart-broken sob, kicking over his chair. Nurses and doctors rushed in, taking a small plastic device that resembled a set of bagpipes, hooking it to her face, pumping it wildly to rush air into her lungs. Her heart was pounding frantically, and yet she couldn't breathe. After the emergency passed, the doctor hooked her to a respirator, one that was strapped to her face and forced a huge breath of oxygen into every few seconds, her own chest falling with gravity.

Throughout the day Mike sat by her side, gripping her hand while Angela fetched him water and food, knowing it was agony for him to think that come tomorrow at eleven if she hadn't recovered, they would have to unplug her, let her die, and he'd lose another woman he loved. It wasn't fair.

"Go on, go call Terry and tell him. Go walk around, use the bathroom, do something. You'll only depress yourself staring at her like this." Angela told him, taking his hand. "I'll watch her and if anything happens I'll call you right back here, I promise."

Mike nodded and stalked off, busying himself slowly. His first thought hadn't been call Terry, but call her parents. Call Gemma's parents. He looked up Noah's number and dialed quickly, pumping coins into the payphone.

"'Lo?" Noah croaked.

Mike sighed. "Hello Noah, this is Mike-"

"What's wrong with Gemma?" His voice immediately sounded scared.

"She-I, she's been stabbed, Noah. They aren't sure she's going to make it." He managed to say it, making it all the more clearer to himself that she could have slipped away while he was there, talking to him.

"Oh, God-"

"Call her parents, Noah. Now or never." He begged.

Noah nodded. "I'll do it, and then I'm coming in."

Mike nodded now. "If she doesn't wake up by tomorrow eleven thirty, she isn't going to wake up. Make sure you impress these people you're calling with that."

Noah sobbed gently, trying to cover the noise. "Thanks, Mike-"

"I'll take care of her,"

"I know you will."

They hung up without another word, and Mike could feel the strangeness in the air. He could smell the fear in his own body and it only succeeded in scaring him more.

While Mike hurried back to Gemma's side, Noah dialed a number he never thought he'd see again.

It rang seven times before an irritated voice picked up.

"Heylo?" It was Sam.

"Sam! God, put your mother or father on the phone, now, damnit!" Noah cried.

Sam looked confused. "Noah? Is that you?"

"No questions!" Noah shrieked.

Sam scowled but handed the receiver to his mother, who looked politely puzzled as she lifted to her ear. "Yes?"

Noah sniffed heavily. "Aunt Summer, this is Noah, your nephew-"

"Oh! How have you been?"

"It doesn't matter, Auntie, I have some news about your daughter Gemma-"

She gasped. "What do you know, Noah? You must tell me what's happened to Gemma!"

Stanley hunched over the receiver, and suddenly all nine of the kids and two parents were crouched over the receiver as Noah's shaking voice spilled over the line like a gurgling waterfall.

"She's in the hospital and they don't think she's going to make it!"

There was a horrible cry up among them before they proclaimed they'd be there in no more than forty-five minutes. With some apprehension, they scrambled among themselves for car keys, jackets, coats, and Scott, Gemma's closest in age brother, grabbed a camera. It seemed unsaid among them that they had no idea what she looked like, what she did for a living, how she had turned out, and if she would forgive them for being too afraid to find her.

The horrible silence in the room Gemma slept in filled Mike's mind, and before he knew it, he was sobbing over her body again, hardly caring that Noah was there, his mother and father, his sister, and a doctor. He only knew that if he lost another girl like Gemma he'd never be able to live; a hollow man and an unhappy man. All he knew to be right and just was gone and he was left to pick up the pieces of his life as she lay there, her face showing that horrible sadness he hated so much. Just having her close was good after all the fear she hated him, and yet she said she loved him.

"We'll be all right, Noah assured Mike as he managed to get himself together again, his face red but his tears dried. As much as it peeved him he could be brought to tears over her, he knew he had good reason; he loved her.

Mike stared seriously at Noah. "You may be able to walk away from this with a loss on your shoulders, but I'm going to walk out of here with so many I won't be able to walk at all. I fell in love with this woman, and if she dies on me now I'm not going to be able to live myself."

Noah smiled weakly. "Gemma always wanted a guy like you, Mike. If she lives through this, you two are going to be the happiest couple in the entire world."

"Damn straight," he said softly, gazing once again at Gemma's sad face.