Walking on Thin Ice: Chapter 27

Mike did a double-take to the car in the driveway. "Me sister's here!"
 
 They both froze.
 
 Sarah rolled her eyes as dramatically as she could manage with the stress and took both their elbows, practically dragging them to the front door. After wrestling it open, she shoved the two inside and bowed out of the way. Gemma's parents were sitting on the couch, Sam and Doug also sort of relaxing around the house. Gemma's mother was clutching the two pictures she'd stuffed in first class mail, adorned with her tall, skinny handwriting on the back.
 
 She flapped the photos at the two. "Adorable, really Gemma."
 
 She strode forward and hugged both parents quickly, shooting a nervous glance to Mike, who appeared to be the god of the hunt, and was staring at the empty space next to Gemma's father. He traced his eyes over the fluffed carpet to Sam's feet, then traced back towards the kitchen, glancing up in absolute misery as the floor creaked and out burst his sister holding a blanket in her arms.

"Michael!" She grinned at him like any girl would do. But her face fell. "Have you eaten, boy?"

 He rubbed at his stomach. "Yes, I have, Angie. I take it you have as well."

 Gemma's father harrumphed. "Cheeky, isn't he?"

 Mike's hair was ruffled, and Angie stepped away to observe. Her eyes absolutely danced with delight. She knew exactly what had been going on with her little brother. Then again, who didn't? All those kisses and giggles? Absolutely primary school! But all the way to America to get married? And what then? A little romp on the beach! Oh, they were adorably predictable. The poor girl probably had experienced the horrors and eventual joy of a honeymoon. Michael may be sweet, but this was Gemma she was thinking about. Looked like the two of them had neglected anything but sex and coffee for the past week or so.

 "I take it you had a lot of fun in America, then."

 "We uh, don't tell you nuffin', got it?" Mike smirked and turned to Gemma.

 "You can't hide it forever!" Angela teased. "Either you two put on some weight, or Mum will have an absolute cow!"
 
Gemma rubbed her stomach with a pout. "He wouldn't let me eat!"

 Mike rolled his eyes. "Don't listen to her. I just didn't let her eat a lot. We had a lot to accomplish in very little time."

 Gemma smiled at him slyly.

 Angie hefted the blankets. "I have a baby, you two."

 "Oh, right!" Mike grappled for the child and awkwardly held the little girl in his arms.

 Gemma stared at Mike, looking at the infant critically. He was holding her carefully, as if he were trained in this field extensively, and then he poked his tongue out at the cross-eyed thing.

 "Bit of an ugly baby, is she?" Mike asked, cocking his head to Angie. She made an awful face and he smirked again looking back into the pink fuzzy blanket. "Name?"

 "Pamela."

 "Pam, eh? She's beautiful, Angie. Once again, beautiful kid." He handed the girl back and brushed his hands off on his jeans before turning to the assembled Prestons. "Been waitin' long?"

 "Since Terry left," Gemma's mother scrunched her nose up a little. "We put your dog in the basement--"

 Mike's face fell and he lunged to the closet. Out burst the black lab mix, tail sheepishly wagging, its head bent low to the ground. Mike promptly sat and let the animal lick his face until it curled up on his lap and contentedly smelled at his shoes and neck.

 A moody looking cat sulked from the basement as well, streaking to Gemma's side to rub along side her leg. Gemma, feeling tired and a little overwhelmed, stared at her father, who was glaring at his shoes heatedly.

 "Awright, Dad?" She asked, rubbing her arm weakly.

 He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. It's just the second time I've missed the pinnacle of my daughter's...happiness, I guess."

 "This was a thing we didn't want to share." She replied awkwardly. "I know how you feel about me running off with my life and how you must feel with me not visiting now that we're all a big, happy family again, but this was a Michael and Gemma thing. It was our wedding. No family. It was our choice."

 Mike tried to turn away from the conversation and faced his sister. "Are Mum and Dad here, then?"

 "No. They said they'd come for supper. Mum was going to bring a casserole, I think."

 "Well, we've got jet lag." Mike replied numbly. "I'd rather get a little sleep than face their looks of shame, you know? 'Christ, Mike! Did you think we wouldn't all figure out you went off for a bonk?'"

 Angie laughed, smoothing Mike's hair down. "They don't think that. Mum got all teary-eyed. Dad said, 'Way to go,' and they love Gemma to death. Mum wants more grandkids, Dad wants you to be happy. All that's left is getting over her family. They still treat her like a China doll!"

 "Oh, I know." Mike curled his lip a little. "But I've just ruined that image. They better forget about it."

 "She preggers already?"

 He shot her an alarmed look. "Not that I know of. But if one of her brothers touches me when they find out what happens on a honeymoon, I will lock myself in that basement with her and make sure they hear us..."

 She laughed again, turning away in mild disgust while Mike smiled to himself and ambled into the kitchen. He fetched a glass of water and drank deeply, worrying that he may have to answer some heated questions from both sides if he returned. Thankfully the only person that entered the kitchen after he put his glass away was Gemma.

 "Is the spitfire dying off yet?" He asked, smiling as she looked at him incredulously.

 "Of course not! They wonder if your nice side is a cover for a horrible domination fetish. They asked if you own a lot of leather."

 Mike put his hand on his chin. "And here I thought I was docile enough to be cute."

 "Everyone knows you'd kill a man if it came down to it." Gemma replied dryly.

 Mike put on a sudden dramatic face, grave and sad all at once. "In the name of love, my dear. Anything for that."

 Gemma laughed softly and picked the glass Mike had used just a minute before from the cupboard and filled it with water. She drank most of it in one gulp, the rest in ginger sips until she looked sated. Angela was giggling in the other room when Sam pushed open the door and entered, looking suspicious. Mike leaned against a set of cabinets and a countertop, his elbows resting on the countertop placidly while Gemma scrubbed at her glass before putting it away. As she dried her hands, Mike lifted his eyebrows at Sam, challenging the poor man to come up with an excuse to bound into the room unannounced.

 Unexpectedly, relief came in a form unknown to Mike.

 Gemma's father took Sam by the collar. "Come on. I'll bet they're tired, Sam. Let's go on home and give them some peace."

 Gemma smiled. "Thanks, Dad. I'm happy to be back. And thanks for not killing either of us."

 The man smiled at her carefully. "Not yet, anyway."

 She rolled her eyes and let her family out. Not that long after, Eric and Terry dropped in, their eyes unusually bright as they plopped on the sofa. Secure with enough people circulating in and out of the home, Angela left with her new baby, Pamela, and left Mike with Terry and Eric while Gemma unpacked their things.

 "Have fun, mate?" Eric grinned.

 "Sure," Mike smiled. "Got to ride a four-wheeler to the airport from the chapel. Stayed in a small town with a beach, played some volleyball. You know, it was all great."

 "And the wedding?" Terry grinned. "Romantic? Or did she settle with you?"

 Mike just shrugged. "Our friends sort of planned it. Some people threw rose petals at us. I almost think I'm allergic to that. I broke out in a rash the next day."

 "And the sex?" Eric grinned again.

 Mike felt his face turn hot, but he was determined to stare the man down. "Fabulous."

 Eric grinned even more perversely and settled back in the sofa, Boxer sniffing at his heels. "Makes the whole rash worth it."

 "Back at work soon, eh?"

 "Yep," Mike folded his hands and looked awkwardly at his shoes. "What now?"

 "Nothing now, mate." Terry nodded seriously. "You baby that woman until she won't leave you for royalty. Then you let her return the favor. Take turns until one of you is too old and senile to care."

 Mike nodded. "Game plan, I s'pose."

 "Absolutely. And uh, get rid of your accent, you pansy." Eric stuck his nose up a little. "You make us proper Englishmen want to laugh at you and your Yankee accent."

 "Insulted me in me own 'ome, 'e did." Mike growled, rolling up a sleeve. "I'll kill 'im!"

 "But you'll let that go, won't you, Mike?" Terry glanced at Mike's relaxed posture and gave him a critical eye. "You're happy."

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 Jeremy squinted one eye, tilted his head, and inhaled brightly, a small smile spreading over his face. "Yeah, that cloud does look like a horse."

 Gemma triumphantly chewed on a carrot stick. "Toldya."  

"Yeah, you did." He took a carrot stick from the bag and held it up. "But that far one has finally changed to the dragon eating a poor damsel."  

"I could eat a damsel," Gemma murmured, sitting up to examine the rest of her lunch. "Honestly, I'm about as starved as they get. And I'm eating like a horse!" 

 "When's Mike getting back to feed you?"  

"Two weeks," Gemma replied, swallowing hard. "He's been working overtime trying to get his agent to let him have a little time off. Some short independent film, then Gil had this idea they should all team up and work on something. I don't they're too keen on it. They liked the short and sketchy works of the show, but maybe a film would be too...constricting. He's keeping a diary, so he says."

 Jeremy smiled again and looked skyward. "I'll bet that's nice to come home to. You, I mean. Sunny, optimistic Gemma with her sparkling smiles and words of encouragement. He's a smart one!"
 
She smiled at him blandly. "Thanks, Jer. I don't remember what he looks like, to be honest. He was growing that hair of his out even more and had these horrible lambchops starting to come in...good Lord! What if he's grown a mustache?"
 
 "It's like kissing a hairy worm." Jeremy said wisely. "My mother had one when I was a kid."
 
Gemma laughed in a slightly loopy way, turning her head to the side. Jeremy had tucked his hands under his head and was staring dreamily at the clouds as they drifted by. The walkie between them crackled a little. Nothing came to life--or death. Gemma let her mind wander to Mike again. He'd been gone for nearly a month now, calling every so often, letters and packages in the mail from Canada. He had up and gone abroad, taking the rest of his crew with him. They were touring and doing something for the CBC out of Canada and hoping to expand on the TV show they already had starting up again. John was slowly losing interest, though, and Gemma knew he wasn't going to stick it out as long as Eric and Mike had initially intended. Even Jonesy was starting to get cold feet, and he'd been like a giddy schoolboy at the news the Pythons were getting a second chance at life.
 
 The walkie crackled. "Jeremy? Gemma? Where are you?"

 Jeremy reached over lazily and picked it up. "Are we on the wrong frequency? No calls have come in--"
 
 The voice returned, tongue clicking. "Tsk tsk! Mrs. Palin here has missed three calls from her husband. He's been looking for her. Coming home early?"    "Early?" Gemma sat up a little and took the walkie.

"Is he on the line?"

 "Yes ma'am!"
 
 "Put the walkie up to the phone!" Her smile was irrepressible.

 There was an odd clicking noise and then Mike's voice crackled over her frequency. "Gemmmmmmmy?"

 "Miiiiiiikey!" She squealed as her heart did the flip-turn in perfect synchronation with her stomach. "Ooh, you sound like you're coming home soon!"
 
 "Day after tomorrow!" He agreed, smiling ecstatically as Eric leaned back on the hotel bed, his eyes locked on the ceiling irately.
 
 "Well, I'll be waiting at home at six o' clock for, even if you're already there when I get home." Gemma said sternly. "And you know what else, young man? You mother has taken so much pity on me she has offered to take me out to dinner this weekend, so you better call and apologize."  

"I'll take you out instead, how's that?" Mike offered, smiling again. "Miss you, too. I'll be back as soon as I can get out of here."
 
 "Did the trip go as you intended?" Gemma asked, desparate for his voice to remain in her ears.
 
 Mike shrugged. "More or less. How's life back at the homstead?"

 "I think Zilla's grown her claws back." Gemma replied thoughtfully. "Or she's learning how to chew on furniture."
 
 "Probably learned that from Boxer. Well, we have something to interview for then we'll be in the studio, but I'll be home the day after tomorrow, okay?"

 "Okay," Gemma's lip pouted.
 
 Mike stalled, wondering for a vague minute if he would not only suffer Eric's pretty boy smiles, but if he would see Gemma's coworkers and have to be pegged as the adoring husband.
 
 He smiled and forced his eyes to his shoes. "Love you, Gem."
 
 "Love you back, Mikey my lad," Gemma replied, straightening up. "Come home soon."
 
 "If I could just hang up I'd be on my way--"
 
 She smirked. "Liar,"
 
 "Right, well...good night."
 
 "Good evening, good sir!" She admonished.

 "Gemma!" Mike laughed. "Don't make me hang up on you."
 
 "G'bye!" She chirped and took the walkie from her face. There was a chuckle and a click before the secretary's voice returned.
 
 "I envy you!"
 
Gemma went home early the next evening, four o' clock, leaving the newbie for training in Jeremy's capable supervision, cleaning the house extensively, making sure Boxer wasn't looking scraggly. She could at least maintain a dog's health, she reasoned. Zilla preened herself in preparation of Mike's return, and even Boxer seemed to sense that Daddy was coming home. He sat in front of the door, tail wagging furiously, ears pressed to his head, casting anxious looks to Gemma, who felt if she had possessed a tail, would have been sitting there with him, baying loudly for him to come hug her.
 
When six rolled around, she dug the pint of ice cream from the freezer and sat in front of the telly, eating until her stomach felt too big and her shoulders too small. She shrank into the couch; seven o' clock. Putting the mostly empty container down, weeks of binging off little vanilla and carmel morsels, she allowed herself to ignore Boxer's stealthy attempts to get to the last eighth of an inch of goodness. He slurped it up and guiltily settled on her lap as she watched the news go soaring by.
 
Why wasn't it her beloved coming home didn't make the news? The sheer joy in hearing his voice was satisfaction enough until she heard he would be at her door more than a week early. Her breath fell short again, this time begging for her take notice. Her stomach turned in what she thought was excitement, but then it really turned. She felt sick.
 
"Too many sweets," she put her head back and covered her face. Ice cream was only in the house for this delicate period of time expecting...her period. There was no other way to put it. Mike coming hom, it was the worst possible timing. He would walk in, hug her, and she'd have to pry herself away from him, stomping her foot in misery and hormones because no matter how much separation had kept them apart, she could not throw herself into it. He might as well have stayed in Canada--no! Gemma sat up a little taller, smiling. Just because she couldn't play the wife in every count didn't mean she couldn't cuddle and make him suffer for once. He'd have to live with her cutesy sighs and looks for once, just once. Then when she got over the joy of seeing him again, maybe her problem would be gone and she could--?    Sweet Jesus; the door was opening!
 
Gemma leaned into the entry way, resting her elbows on the floor, head in her palms, watching as Zilla purred, her side running along Mike's side, Boxer up on his hind legs, licking his face like it had been years. Mike smiled, bent, untied his shoes, and pet Zilla, chuffing at Boxer in a playful way. After wrestling the animal to the floor, he ruffled up his fur and stood again, looking around the corner to the living room. Gemma looked up at him from the floor as he followed the trail of her feet to the place his own feet were.
 
 He smiled and knelt next to her. "Comfy?"

 "Almost," she replied and made a sly face.
 
 He bent and kissed her, resting his hands in his palms too. He sighed and lifted his eyebrows. "The empty pint tells no lies. Shall we tune into 'Gone With the Wind' and call it a night?"
 
 "I'm sorry, Mike." She smiled and looked back at the spoon and cardboard container on the floor. "It's not like I've started, but I do feel sort of awful."    "A little pale," he murmured, touching her forehead.

"Clammy."
 
 "I'll see what Brad says tomorrow. Maybe I can get a sick day next week." She smiled mischievously.

 Mike lifted his eyebrows again and smile, kissing her again. "I missed you. C'mere; closer."    She shifted into his lap, smiling secretively to herself as Mike folded her up tightly. Too tightly, yes, but it was something she was used to. Maybe he just assumed she liked the bear hugs every time, but the lung-crushing, out of breath feeling wasn't just because he liked to think she was paper thin. He just blew her away.    They were resigned to movie watching, popcorn flinging, and yes, cuddling for the rest of the night. But waking up next to each other was more than enough. Mike was starting to get sick of opening his eyes to another worn fabric, another worn face greeting him for breakfast, also lacking in the fun department. It was a joy to see her morning face, even if it was smooshed against her hand, covered by a pillow, and puffy with some unknown ailment. She sat up, unable to keep her churning stomach calm any longer and pressed hard on her stomach to give it the illusion she was keeping the vomit down. She started to gulp when a rush met her senses.

Leaping over Mike's suitcase, she slid into the bathroom, slammed the door, and vomited, barely getting it in the target before slumping back against the tub. The door opened and Mike, bleary-eyed and alarmed, looked at Gemma.
 
 "All right?" He checked.
 
She nodded, flushed, and stood up, feeling weak in the knees. "I'm going to see if Brad can't get me in before the work shift starts..."    Nagging, annoying little voice. But there he was, and the truth was in his eyes. What truth? She didn't know yet. She just looked at him miserably while he forced on a sheepish smile and extended his hand, a large glass jar and plastic top. Being a paramedic, and having gone through medical school, Gemma knew what this meant. But it didn't register until she saw Mike's reaction.    He twitched, eyes glazing over in what appeared to be disgust. He looked away, at his feet, then at her angrily. Like it was her fault? She took the cup and left, feeling dazed.   

Mike covered his head with both hands and inhaled. "She isn't Helen, she isn't Helen..."