Walking on Thin Ice: Chapter 28

Either he wasn't thinking clearly, or he was just too mellow to really pay attention, but either way, he found a nice street post and parked under it, dragging Gemma out of the car as if a statue had been left in her place. The cold weather didn't prove to do much more than bite at their heels, but either way, it was getting wintery outside. Gemma clutched her coat around her tighter, looking at Mike, who grinned at her upon her gaze. The smile fell when she grinned weakly and looked away. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and started pulling her along the sidewalk past two pawn shops and a scummy bakery. Not the best side of the tracks, whatever that meant.

It felt like a long time ago to say they had fought. Scary as hell, as Gemma described it. She'd walked out of the hospital thinking he'd snuck off for a cigarette, maybe to calm his nerves, and there he was, in the car, waiting to drive away, looking torn between screeching off, or running her over. She slipped inside and he looked at her like she was trying to kill him, real fear in his eyes until he blurted that this was moving too fast, he wasn't ready to try this again, and his voice, so shaky, just made her want to cry. She didn't like this any more than he did! She wanted a family, yes, but not with him sitting there, ready to break down and shake her for letting this happen.

But after supper, when he sat, holding his twisting stomach, the blurted words of blame came from him. He told her it was her fault, a haze surrounding him. He wanted to tell her. Everything. She wasn't Helen, and she was somehow trying to be her? It didn't make any sense to Gemma as she took the verbal abuse until she happened to snap, and both sides let lose bombs fit to blow up the world, or at least take an eye for an eye. He asked her to marry him, not the other way around, it takes two to tango, anything she could wrap her tongue around to say it wasn't her fault she was pregnant was pouring out of her mouth, unchecked. He slept in the basement, and she slept in the attic.

He didn't remember how long it took him to warm up to this idea. He didn't have to burn any pictures of Helen, or stare at the ultra sounds of what would have been their son. It took just enough time looking at the life he'd built with Gemma to really let her go and accept she was moving at her own pace. It was just...scary. Here he was, in this realm again, looking face to face with what could be a failure, something that depended on him for success, and wouldn't know it until it tried. His parents always seemed to ride right on the line between good and bad parenting. They weren't too strict, but they were a little yielding with him, the baby of the family, and yet they always let Angela do whatever she wanted to him. He'd never taken a beating for nicking treats before dinner so much as wrapped upside the head or bottom with a spatula, but that was hardly the horror he'd heard from friends. Their fathers finding broken China plates and beating their children to the point they had bruises on their arms and torsos.

He didn't plan on anything spectacular. All he knew was Gemma was swelling up, didn't look happy about it, and hardly spoke to him. After a long night of standing outside her door, talking to it endlessly, never finding himself short of apologies and words to make it better, she opened the door and let him in. It didn't take a lot to soften her up, but it was a lot to let him in there with her. She had been half-afraid he would shake her and scream again, just happy to be close enough to do such a thing. But it was preposterous! Mike never hurt a fly; he hardly got cross. He had no reason to try to hurt her.

"Where are we going?" Gemma asked, slipping on the ice again. She caught herself this time, but still chose to lay her head over his shoulder.

Mike smiled again. "That Mediterranean place, remember it? Our first date?"

"Ooh, goin' romantic, are we? Have to remind the boys why I married you." She slipped her hand in his pocket.

Mike groaned.

Gemma just snuggled in closer, hoping he'd know someone on the street and have to turn his face away lest be assaulted with all sorts of teasing remarks.

As they sat in the restaurant, Mike took Gemma's coat, a gentlemen's task, and threw it in an empty booth, which was not very nice at all. Gemma just rolled her eyes and sat, a little weary. In what felt like a few more years, she would have maternity leave. Paid leave to have the baby and get it healthy enough she could leave it behind with Mike for a few days at a time. Mike claimed he needed maternity leave as well, because he wasn't too keen on taking that child around the language experience on the set of whatever it was he was filming.

After they ordered, Gemma looked over at Mike. His forehead was all wrinkled up, eyes locked on his placemat, as if he were deciphering a complex code. She watched him for a minute, wondering what it was he was trying to figure out when his eyes widened and she saw his face collapse into that fearful _expression of realization. He looked at her, his jaw dropped and he stood, nearly upsetting the table. Gemma lowered her head, not wanting to see him anymore, just wanting it all to stop, and Mike fell backwards, looking up at the bright lights in the little place like they were the kingdoms of God welcoming him above.

How far away had be parked? Across the street from where she died, or right in the bloody space?

He sat up and grabbed Gemma's arm. She whined loudly; he was hurting her, cut it out! And yet he only had enough patience to put her in the coat, buttons forgotten, before dragging her back outside.

Now she was scared, truly scared. She pulled back on his weight, trying to keep herself rooted to the spot she was in, but the ground was slippery, and he seemed to effortlessly pull her along. She sank down, lower, lower, until the cold ice was touching her coat bottom and she was seated on it, sliding along, trying to keep calm enough not to scream.

"Please, stop!" She tugged hard, her wrist starting to ache with more than one factor.

He turned and his face proved sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Gem. Just wait, okay?"

"You're hurting me," she huffed out weakly, twisting once more before saying, loudly, "Mike, you're hurting me, stop it!"

He released her arm and looked at her as she collected herself, standing up to examine the damage. Bruises were already popping up. She could hardly contain her rage at that.

"What the hell were you thinking?" She snarled, touching the marks.

Mike gathered her into a hug instead of speaking. She kept her arms lax, not wanting to return the favor yet. He sighed into her jacket and kissed her cheek before looking up and down the road. He pointed to some empty parking spot right behind their car.

"She died there. That's all I was...I...we have to go home now. I want you inside, safe." He unlocked the car and shoved her in. She buckled up, wondering to tell him she'd be fine and he should cut this reliving his wife's death thing, but she couldn't help but feel that twinge of hope when she got a call about a white male somewhere in the area. She would jet there and feel her chest stop soaring at the moment she recognized that the person there was not Jonas, alive and well, wondering why she hadn't come to see him.

Mike rubbed furiously at the back of his neck.

"Hey, this is all good and such, but you really should learn how to, say, articulate the fact you're going crazy." Gemma said softly.

Mike looked at her. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to hurt you, Gemma! I just...I had to get out of there. We need to lock up everything, settle down, and...make sure nothing happens. I don't want anything like a repeat performance."

She scowled. "There is going to be no repeat performance. I'm not like your first wife, okay? I work in a good neighborhood, I'm not all that retarded when it comes to locking my car or my house up at night, and you seem to be locked on the idea that if I have a baby, it'll all go away. If you keep dragging me around, you will have more than the problem of reliving those moments, you're going to have me scared of you, okay? You don't hurt people, Mike." She inhaled shakily. "But you hurt me just then."

"Can you just promise me you'll be careful?" He begged. "I'm serious now, Gemma. You...I love you, you know that. I don't want to scare you, I just...don't want to have anything happen. It's happened before when I wasn't paying attention. Let me be a little paranoid and keep us safe."

"This is more than a little paranoid," she murmured.

"Would you lay off?" Mike shouted, looking at her critically. "We parked in the same general area she was killed in. I don't want it happening to you, especially now that we're going to be having a family, okay? I just want you to be safe, Gemma, honest!"

"Christ, Mike!" She held her arm out. "I feel safe already!"

Hand prints were emblazoned on her skin, red and purple, turning a darker shade of purple as he watched.

"Better than dead," he finally said and she covered her ears, letting out a osft scream.

"Come on, then. Lock me up in the basement." Her eyes blazed and she held out her hands in a lock-wrist mode. "Chain me up! I'm just a bloody breeder!"

"Now don't talk like that!" Mike shouted and rested his head on the wheel. "You have no idea what deja vu I was just put through. Imagine coming up on a car scene and finding me spread out all over the pavement, but okay. You'd never have me behind the wheel of a car again!"

"But I don't set police men after you to insure you get home safe, Michael! This is bordering on irrational."

"I don't want to fight, Gemma. I just want to go home. I'll dote on you; I don't care. Just let me drive away and I'll be better; I promise." He pleaded gently and touched her cheek. She didn't feel so insecure as to shrink away from the touch, but rather sort of stayed rigidly still, staring at him for a moment before she curled her lip and settled against the seat. Sighing in almost relief, Mike threw the car into drive and squealed away from the street. As the roads sailed by, Gemma began to relax. She watched Mike's shoulders slump until he was at ease again, and his hand dropped from in front of his mouth. He didn't tap his foot and for a moment appeared very normal. As the last struggling ray of sunshine fell behind the hills, they pulled into the parking space in front of their house and he quickly ushered her inside.

"I'll bet you're hungry after all that." Mike said stiffly and brought her a cool, damp cloth, which she gently laid on her arm, watching his rigid movements. She closed her eyes and rested her head against her palm for a moment before Mike gently shifted her legs apart and knelt between them. She opened her eyes to question him with her grimace, but he was simply resting his head on her stomach, listening to grumbling, hiccupping, and heartbeats. He closed his eyes, took her hand, and wished for only the best.

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"Well, I don't like it."

"It's a pretty name." Gemma argued, and started to close the book. Her mother squinted and folded her arms. "And Michael agreed to such a ridiculous name?"

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes or squint one eye, Gemma nodded. "Yeah, he liked it."

"And that's what language?"

"It's Hawaiian, and it means 'sky' or 'heaven.' Lani; it's a good name, Mum."

"And in case it's a boy?"

"Well, Mike liked London because it's a Latin name meaning something like a barracade on the moon, but we're also considering Paul...just to be normal."

"I'd go with Paul, dear."

"I know you would, Mum. In fact, you'd have me name my kid Sylvester if it meant another S in the family, wouldn't you?" She smiled and stood slowly to help soothe her back, which was aching an awful lot today. Not much she could do but wince...

"How's his sister?"

"Fine, she stopped in the other day with her kids."

"And Michael?"

"This is the longest he's been away for about two months." She said thoughtfully and looked out the window. "I rather like not being worried about."

Her mother stood and cleared her teacup, gently putting a hand on Gemma's shoulder. "Is he over it, then?"

"I don't know, Mum. He's...crazy in his own way. But he's right; every time I hear about a car accident, I rush there to make sure it isn't him, and every time he drops me off for work I can tell he'll be early to pick me up to make sure I didn't get hurt on the job." She shook her head as the door opened and Mike jogged in, face pink from the sprint with Boxer at his side. He grinned playfully at Gemma before noting her hand on her back.

"I'll make you a hot water bottle--"

"I was just getting that. Rest for bit; you sound tired." She wallowed in the feeling of doting on him for a change and nodded her head at her mother. "She likes the sound of Paul if it's a boy."

"Didn't like London?" He smirked and ruffled Boxer's fur up. "How about Lani? Did you like that one?"

She smiled at him, still very grateful he'd been the one Gemma had ended up with, even if she hadn't had anything against Jonas Whittaker. "Lani sounds nice, I guess. I just prefer good traditional names for boys. Johns and Pauls, you know?"

"That leaves George and Ringo unaccounted for." Gemma commented, glancing at her ankles as Zilla purred and ran her side along Gemma's bare legs.

"They watch the show," Mike said softly.

"Score me a date with Paul and I'll be your best friend, Mikey." She batted her eyelashes. "Not that I wouldn't say no to any of the others, but I'm a sucker for that baby face."

"And I thought I had you caught at the smile." He shot her a purposefully boyish smile that accentuated his dimples. "Huh? Have I got it?"

"Ohmigod, lemme get my camera!" She clamped her hands on either side of her face. "It's a Python!"

"Both animals, aren't we?" He smiled and glanced at her stomach, heart taking that familar stab in his chest. "That bottle hot yet?"

"Nearly,"

"Good."

"Don't worry about me, okay? I've got it all worked out. We'll be fine." She sat in the chair next to him.

He smiled and ruffled Boxer's fur up affectionately. "You know, sometimes I think I worry about you to worry about myself less conspicuously."

"Don't go deep on me." She rested her chin in her hands and smiled.

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Sighing heavily, Terry glanced at his watch. The execs had kept them waiting for nearly an hour and a half now, and for no particular reason, or so it seemed. Mike was dangerously close to leaning so far back in his chair he caught a nasty crack to the skull, but Terry relaxed as Eric rested his foot on the front rung of the chair to ensure his safety.

John had had his meltdown over fifteen minutes ago, and the room had alredy forgotten the nuclear devastation as he stood at the window, trembling in an indignant rage.

The door snapped open. "Mike, you must get your wife out of here-"

"Gemma?" He sat up a little straighter and three of the others lunged to catch him before the imbalance had him hurtling towards the ground.

"She started maternity leave a day early, so she claims, and she would like to take you out, but we said you're about to meet with some very important-" The receptionist was elbowed in her pretty side.

Gemma, bloated and looking murderous, threw a very dirty look at Mike, who grinned happily. An hour and a half with five other stuffy, cramped men, and now this wave of fresh air. He opened his mouth to ask her where she had in mind when Eric's face paled.

"Great goddess on a stick!" He exclaimed, and John turned from the window to observe why the loud-mouthed one had been rendered half-speechless.

"Oh, look, they're afraid of me." Gemma's face fell sadly. "Am I that big?"

"Just that pretty," Mike replied sweetly, smiling directly at her before he noticed a toothy grin in the back corner. He pulled his head back to ensure he was seeing what he was seeing, and noticed his palms had started to sweat. Gemma rotated a little and her neck became supple, bending under the weight of a rock star.

"Hullo; I've heard rumors you're in need of a little money." The voice sounded highly amused.

"Well-" Terry sputtered, looking at John in horror. "They said they'd do anything for another film, but this is sinking low, innit?"

Mike's mouth opened to scold Terry but all he could make was a choking noise. If anything, he expected Gemma to become light-headed or at the very least become silent and star-struck.

She extended her arm towards George Harrison, now a former Beatle, and smiled grimly. "What they mean is they're not quite sure when they'll be able to make another film, but they'd greatly appreciate your support."

Mike kicked Terry in the shin. "Innit that right, Ter?"

"Course that's right!" Eric squealed. "Wow, I mean, you really must have liked the show. I thought that was all rubbish and wishful thinking-"

"Right, well, you heard John." Terry sighed, looking at the melted Python with the round eyes. "He doesn't want to work with us."

John pulled himself upright. "Well, not right now. I need a break, as Gemma said."

"They said there was no sense of urgency," George's eyes slid over the seven faces, falling short on Gemma's. "Are you a member of the team now?"

"Just a groupie." She replied happily. "But it's a pleasure to meet you."

Mike didn't need Eric's amused stares to know that Gemma was pouring on some thick honey to her comments. And George, not looking smitten or disinterested, was making quiet conversation with her while the sheepish executives crept into the room to explain.

"All we need is one more script, just one more. It could be years until you film it, all we need is some incentive for the producers-" One was begging Terry and John.

They eyed each other as if sizing the other up, and then said, almost in unison, "We need a break."

George stopped speaking and shook his head. "It's a pity, but if you do end up working together long enough to get something funny out there, I want you to give me a ring." He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and tore a slip of paper from a newspaper. John, who would have exploded if anyone other than George Harrison had just ripped the rugby scores from his paper, watched with reserved amazement as the man wrote down a private telephone extension. "If I can't make everyone laugh, I'd at least like to pay some other people to do it fore me."

Gemma smiled and Mike placed his hand over his mouth, unsure if he ought to be laughing gaily or just shaking in terror that he might burst out with some lame remark.

The room was silent as George turned and placed the number in Gemma's hand.

"Well?"

Tossing a glare at the silent men in the room, Gemma smiled at George once more. "It really is wonderful you're interested in their impending projects. I promise you'll be the first one to call when the funds start falling short."

"Voice of the people," George laughed and gestured to the silent room. "I would have bet they wouldn't have shut up, even for me."

"Anyone less than you and it would have been utter pandemonium. Thanks for the respite." She replied, another sugar-coated comment.

Eric's eyes widened as if he'd just remember something. "Mike, I think she's flirting with him!"

"And who wouldn't?" Mike defended. He turned and batted his eyelashes at George flirtatiously. "I'm sorry for my friend. He doesn't appreciate a man when he sees one."

"Oh, Christ," three of them said in unison, averting their eyes as Gemma slowly turned pink.

George extended a hand, grinning. "I'll be seeing you, mate."

"Likewise,"

The door closed behind him and Gemma turned, her face red to her hairline. She jumped and wrapped her legs around Mike happily, hugging his head to her chest. "He touched my hand!"

"And now she goes fan-girl!"

"Christ, Mike, get the drool-guard out!"

"Her jaw must have hit the floor when she saw him!"

"Shut up, the lot of you!" She shook her fist at them. "You've no courage when he's actually in the room, do you?"

"At least I stayed loyal to Mike!" Graham said defensively and Mike turned to give him a discouraging smile.

"Anyroad, I'm taking Michael here out for lunch." Gemma took Mike's hand and smiled. "Assuming he has no other obligations."

Terry stood up, gathering some riff-raff paperwork. "Ah, no. That's all they have to throw at us. Fancy that, a Beatle offers us full funding on a film and we're not jumping at each other's legs, humping away, hoping for the best..."

"Well, we wouldn't have made any money...at least until we put in some sort of labor." Eric replied as if considering this carefully. "Fuck this; I got out of the business to have time not to think!"

"So, will you do another film?"

"Eventually. I don't imagine all the hysteria will stay in our brains forever; we've got to have an outlet at some point in time." Terry sighed. "So, if someone gets an itch, who starts the chain?"

"The itchy one. The rest of us will follow."

"Right, deal. See you all in a few months, I'm guessing." Eric grinned and whistled jauntily as he exited the building.

As Mike and Gemma returned to the car Mike had taken, he noticed the hospital within walking distance. He was glad she had made it to the building all right, but he didn't say a word about worrying about her safety. She seemed quite happy with herself, and though he could see she was lost in that George Harrison's eyes again, he knew the moment would pass. After all, a six-minute conversation with a man that had handed her his phone number for business transactions couldn't have captured her heart.

"So, where shall we go to eat?" He started the engine and looked at Gemma.

She shrugged. "Ooh, I dunno. You fancy Indian food today?"

"Sure. Is your tummy going to like that?" He eyed her sensitive stomach.

Grinning happily, she glanced at her enormous stomach. "It could eat an Indian."

Laughing, Mike shook his head and drove towards the downtown restaurants. Shortly after they found the Indian place they had agreed on, Gemma slapped Mike's hand from the ignition. He recoiled and listened carefully. "I Am the Walrus" was playing over the radio. She hummed along, and then nodded. He turned off the radio and scowled at her, flipping off the engine as well. She sighed in a dreamy way.

"One out of four. Now, how to meet Paul. You don't suppose the producers will ask him as well?"

"They didn't ask George, and I doubt he'll come to us, willing to spend his hard-earned millions so we can make some stupid film." Mike sighed and glanced at her stomach again. "How long?"

"Six weeks."

"Great."

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"It would make my mother happy."

"And?"

"It would make me miserable." Gemma laughed.

Mike crossed another name out of the book, legs crossed as he stretched out on his stomach, occasionally pulling his feet up to kick in the air. He put the tip of the pen in his mouth, scanning for another suitable name.

"Heh, how about Francis?"

"A unisex name, brilliant."

"Ashley, Jesse, or Angel. Those are all unisex."

"Mikey, Mikey, Mikey." Gemma shook her head sadly. "We mustn't name a child something that could be taken in such a horrible way."

"Well," he looked up over the book at her. "We're very close to the deadline and...and...we haven't picked a name and your mother hasn't liked anything we've come up with."

"So? Ignore her. I liked a few of those."

"I still like Manfred." Mike giggled.

"Be cruel, of course."

"Well, the list of popular names are so...clichè!"

She stretched out on her back. "What are they?"

"Robert, Chad, Ian, John, and Quentin." He looked over the book again. Her face had twitched. He wondered if it was smart of him to have read "Quentin" off the list, but as he noted, number 23 under the female list was "Helen." He'd only read the first five.

"For girls?"

"Here's how mod this is: the top five are Rain, Summer, Sunny, Sadie, and Melody."

"Harmony being number six?"

"Yep,"

"I like Melody and Harmony." She said thoughtfully. "Good names for girls. Sweet names, simple...musical. You know."

"Yeah, okay. They're nice." He circled those two.

"Chad is okay, I guess."

"Okay," he agreed, liking the companionable quiet that had absorved the house. Boxer sighed from the rug at the foot of the bed, rolling to his side. "Of course, if we didn't want to be original, I could turn the page...Jennifer, Kimberly, Melissa, Michelle, and Amy..."

"Boys?"

"Ooh, Gwendolyn. I sort of like that-"

"For a boy?"

"Oh, no! But Felix is on the boy list."

"Heh, Felix."

"So, we'll just wing it, then?"

"Yep," Mike hurled the book across the room. After an appropriately time pause, Boxer put the book back on the bed, his tail wagging.

"In no time at all," Gemma said from the bed, "we'll be parents."

Mike rolled to his side, looking down at her. "Yeah, and it wasn't that long ago I was afraid to ask you out."

She snorted and reached up to shove his hair out of his eyes. "Silly git,"

"I love it when you talk dirty to me." He said in a low, Ken Shabby growl.

"Eww, Mike."

With a surge of carelessness, Mike swept her into a hug and felt the baby kick. He looked at the ultrasound resting on the table and smiled at the little blob of flesh. It had to be perfect. Everything just had to be perfect, after all the misfortune, they deserved a small hiatus. Just one vacation, he begged silently.

Gemma closed her eyes and Mike, not daring to move to even shut off the light, kicked off his shoes and closed his eyes for some much needed rest.