Walking on Thin Ice: Chapter 6

Gemma whistled and sang with the radio as she pulled into the London Hospital, happier than she'd been in a long time. It was five minutes past nine, so she wasn't going to be in much trouble. Unless someone had called in the past five minutes, she wouldn't be chewed out. She pulled into her parking space in the car park and took her bag with her uniform in it to change, also taking a hairbrush and a few hair ties. It was time to play around with her mop of hair and figure out something she could do with it.

Her partner, Jeremy Trantham, shot her a curious look as she literally skipped into the nearest loo to change. She appeared a minute later, hair parted on the side and braided into pigtails. A blonde streak went long the left side other braid on one of the sections to the very end, bleached by the sun. She twirled as if showing off her new 'do to him, grinning ridiculously.

"What happened to you?" He asked, truly concerned.

She rolled her eyes. "Please, me being cheerful doesn't mean the end of the world, Jeremy."

He frowned. "Suicidal patients often have a sense of calm or happiness before they actually commit the act, a sense of peace with them. You've been depressed since I met you six months ago-"

Gemma laughed loudly. "I haven't been depressed! What's there to laugh about here, honestly?"

"Well, when doctor Harrison spilled all the coffee on his coat before he put it on, and forgot to clean the back of it-" He started, smiling slightly.

She giggled. "Doctor with the runs, right?"

Jeremy guffawed, slapping his knee once. "Exactly what I thought!"

She laughed and put an arm on his shoulder. "Well, tonight I came out of my shell and it's doing wonders for me. I'm not going to go home and kill myself, feel better?"

He nodded like a scorned child. "Yes ma'am."

"And never call me that again, I'm younger than you." She returned, eyes glinting.

He laughed and pulled on his uniform jacket.

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Boxer was the only company Mike had anymore, and it pained him when he had to leave the poor animal for so long, but he was hardly thinking as he opened the door to his apartment and walked inside. Almost immediately the young pup leapt up and tried to lick his face, tail wagging wildly. The creature's owner relented immediately, falling to his knees and allowing for once the dog to get its fill of licking his face off.

"Happy?" He asked when the beast stopped eating him.

"Whoof!"

He scratched behind Boxer's ears affectionately, standing up again and glancing at the clock perched on the kitchen counter.

"Eleven thirty, I'm turning in." He said to no one in particular. After three years he had learned not to expect to hear more than a creak of the ancient building or, more recently, the chuff of his dog. He longed for a companion that spoke actual English and wanted more than kibble and a belly-rub. He sighed and picked up "Beyond Good and Evil" again, glancing at the plain cover with a sort of hurt.

"Whoof," the dog was clearly trying to tell him something. He ignored him nonetheless, rifling through the drawer on the bookshelf for the wedding album he had neglected for three years. He pulled it out and brushed the dust off the cover, a sense of peace overwhelming his racing heart.

"On this special day we witness the wedding of Michael Palin and Helen Gibbins," he read out loud, staring in awe at the program that his parents had helped cook up. With a sigh he began to flip through the heavy pages, glancing at the various members of the congregation and the photos of his wife and himself sharing a kiss on the altar and a more private one behind a large oak tree just outside the chapel they had married in. Boxer came up and planted his head on Mike's lap as he stared at the picture, still remembering the smile that had encased his whole body for weeks after. Six months had truly changed that.

He held the album up, showing the picture to the dog and praying to any deity that existed that the dog understand him for one minute, just one minute.

He sighed again. "This is Helen, dog. You hear me?"

Boxer stared at the photo Mike kissing the photo Helen and chuffed quietly. Mike's eyes welled up suddenly. "At least you answer me, I couldn't stand it if I was alone."

The brutish dog turned its head to him and whined softly, licking the tear off Mike's cheek. With a little laugh, Mike scratched behind the mutt's ears and replaced the album to the drawer.

"Come on, you can stay in here tonight." He gestured to his room which he'd finally weaned the dog from sleeping in. With yet another wag of his tail, Boxer sauntered inside and curled up on the bed, sighing as Mike changed and slipped under the sheets and turned off the light.

"G'night, Boxer." He yawned, happy just to be talking to something alive after two years without a companion at all.

"Whoof!"

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It was about eight o' clock when Doctor Jameison rushed to Gemma's side and pulled her out of the paramedics' waiting room. He pulled her clear into the nurse's lounge before speaking.

"Holidays are coming around, and we've got three new students coming in for the night shift. You can have the nine to five day shift if you apply right now, I only just found out." He looked around confidentially. Gemma, wanting out of her unpleasant nocturnal slump for a while now looked happy and darted off to find the application board on the second floor.

She stopped just as she exited the door. Leaning back in, she smiled warmly and said, "Thanks Brad."

He smiled and waved as she left. "No problem!"

She signed up and rushed back to her post, waiting for a call or any form of excitement. She hadn't had a call all night, which was becoming more and more frequent. When nine o' clock finally rolled around with no call for her to attend, Gemma packed up her things and walked out to her beat up candy apple red car. She kicked the hubcap and slipped inside, making sure her guitar was still in its place before starting the car and driving home to see her only companion, Zilla.

The drive home was normal. She wasn't tired yet, having no calls to drain her energy and nothing being done all night. She entered her house and smiled as her cat sat expectantly in the middle of the entry way, meowing even more pathetically than the day before, needing her breakfast. Gemma placed the great black behemoth of a guitar case in the corner of the small tiled entrance hall and stooped, picking up the small black cat as she went. She kissed her pet's head and ignored the meowing she was giving Gemma as she walked into the small kitchen and placed her on the counter while she wrestled open a tuna container. After placing the smelly treat into Zilla's bowl, she reheated her own food and sat down to eat dinner at nine thirty in the morning. Just as her neighbors were waking up, she was getting ready to turn in.

"Zilla, do you suppose I'm going to be nocturnal now? I mean, I could be pegged out as a vampire." She spoke to her cat, who was presently nibbling on her tuna cat food mixture.

The microwave bell chimed, and Gemma stood up and collected the leftover corn chowder she'd made the other day. With liberal amounts of pepper she could almost disregard that the soup may have gone bad in her refridgerator. With a resigned sigh she finished her meal and turned on the television in the other room, trying to keep herself company. As if she could stay awake and be normal like everyone else, Gemma attempted to bake something before turning in. She pulled out all the stops, making a few cakes and Doctor Jameison a huge amount of Lemon Meringue cookies to thank him for giving her the heads up on the time change. She was just placing the sugar in the mixing bowl when the telephone rang, startling both Gemma and Zilla.

Calming her racing heart, Gemma picked up the spatula she'd dropped and walked over to the phone. She picked it up, a small crying hope it'd be Mike on the other line, willing to trade more quips on how silly it was that no one read Nietzsche anymore. There was even a small hope that Jonas would call and demand she come pick him up because he never died in the first place.

"H-hello?" She stuttered into the phone, open and willing to hear whoever had picked up the phone and decided to ring her up.

The voice on the other line was gruff and curt. "Miss Thompson? This is Gerard Dickinson," he began with a very formal introduction.

Gemma let out a little gasp. "Oh, hello sir!"

The head doctor of the hospital, an older fellow with grey hair and pale blue eyes, Gerry Dickinson had called her with some sort of news or pink slip. Zilla was staring at Gemma curiously, wondering who she was talking to and why she was talking to them through the hunk of metal and plastic she held in her hand.

"Hello to you too, Miss Thompson. I'm calling because you signed up to take the nine to five day shift at the hospital?" He sounded a little to monotonous for Gemma's taste, but she no longer cared.

She nodded despite the fact he couldn't see her. "I did, Mr. Dickinson."

"Well, your partner Jeremy Trantham also signed up, so it looks like you'll be taking over the grad students places after your holiday." He responded, though he sounded like this was more like a bad piece of news than good.

Gemma silently cheered. "Thank you sir, I'll be there on Tuesday morning, nine sharp."

He seemed to be smiling from the way his voice sounded. "Very well, don't be late."

Guilt filled Gemma's mind as she hung up the phone, wondering if he left all his employees with that cryptic comment or if he knew she'd been five minutes late the day before.

After finishing the batch of cookies and finishing putting all her finishing touches on them, she curled up in her all black room with her black cat and fell into a dreamless sleep.

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Helen smiled warmly at Michael, the sun shining out from behind her somewhere in the distance as she walked over the rocks near the ocean. He followed her along the trail of massive rocks, not trying to catch her or catch her attention, but following her. She knew he was there. Finally, as they rounded a great green hillside he saw what she'd led him the entire way to see. There was raw happiness floating in the air, sitting on the grassy knoll and swimming in the sea. He felt elation fill up inside him. As he turned to her, he felt a piece of him leave his body and float over to Helen. She kissed his cheek and waved, jumping off one of the rocks and landing so many feet below.

Instead of sadness, Mike simply felt disappointed she couldn't have stayed longer before joining the others on the grassy hillside. He smiled and threw himself fully into the green of the grass.

Something wet attached itself to the side of his face and moved in an upward direction. Before he could make sense of it, his eyes snapped open and he saw Boxer's friendly black face with white throat and chest floating over his face, pink tongue currently eating his face again. He made a gagging noise and wiped the dog slobber off his face, sitting up and glaring around the bright interior of his room.

"Ugh, couldn't you wait until I reached the Hill of Eternal Paradise?" He whined, glancing repeatedly at the ever-wagging tail of his companion.

"Whoof!"

He rolled his eyes. "You really should learn to say something else, Boxer, honestly."

He stood up and stretched, wondering what today would hold for him. The show was going to be on late that night, airing at eleven o' clock, and the guys had opted at watching it at home, with family. Mike had even said he'd like a quiet evening alone for once. Boxer seemed to sense Mike wasn't going anywhere all day, because he was in an especially perky mood. Of course, Mike considered, batting at his dog's front paws playfully, maybe it's just because he just spent the night on my mattress instead of the couch.

"Whoof!"

Rolling his eyes again, Mike flipped the pooch onto his back and scratched his belly vigorously before fleeing to the kitchen. He began to rifle through the refridgerator with a look of intent on his face while Boxer rolled lazily on the floor just beyond his vision.

After a breakfast of some sorts (old Chinese food reheated to some extent) and good stare at a wall, Mike felt ready to do something. He changed out of his plain white undershirt and boxers into some fresh clothes for the day. Not really expecting the queen to be swinging by the park on a whim, Mike pulled on a rather tattered pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. He tugged a dark green sweater over the shirt and grabbed Boxer's leash.

The dog's ears stood stock still, watching for a moment as his master pulled on a pair of tattered sneakers.

"Walk?" He asked, seeing the dog's wide-eyed stare.

Immediately the tail-wagging began and he was smothered with more slobber. Mike barely managed to get the leash on without getting a fresh layer of spit on his face. Finally secure enough to leave the house, Boxer soared out the front door, yanking Mike roughly down the street and smelling all the interesting trees. The crisp air stung at both their lungs at first, quick to be welcome on such a boring day. So far, at ten thirty, life seemed only to be moving at a crawl. The older gentleman that lived just next door to Mike was moving especially slow as they passed him at a fast pace, eager to move about and see the world. They passed four blocks before coming on the nearest park. Here Mike let Boxer's leash go so he could chase a few rodents and roll in something smelly before he ran up to regain control.

Boxer pranced about with a ridiculous look on his doggy face, bounding up to inanimate objects, squirrels, Mike, and a tree simultaneously. The pressure for the dog seemed too much for soon it just ran it wide, loping circles, causing Mike to laugh loudly and try to catch the bright red leash on one his rounds. But his dog wouldn't let him have that sort of easiness; he ran in steadily growing circles, eventually turning to just run full fledged from his master in hopes of racing.

With a roll of his eyes, Mike chased after his pet and managed to put a foot on the flying leash before the animal ran into the street. He clutched the leash tightly in his hand and began to walk back to his apartment, out of breath and smiling.

Eric walked under the cloudy sky, scowling at his shoes as he went. This was no good; there was nothing to do but mope around on the damnable day! He started to draw his face into a sneer when he heard a laugh to his right he thought he recognized. Mike was hunched over his dog, Boxer, trying to get the collar back onto the flailing animal's head. Mike, almost giving up, sat down before the beast and let it coat his face with a fresh layer of slobber while he tried to clasp the leather collar around his throat. As Eric approached, the dog became distracted and tried to pull away again.

"Heel! Boxer, stay, God damnit!" The dog was nearly pulling the poor man along as he sat on the ground trying to get to Eric.

His friend smiled and knelt before the dog, rubbing it's muzzle affectionately and trying not to rile him up. "Well, out enjoying the crummy weather I see."

Mike turned and smiled at Eric's gloomy face. "Yeah, great innit?"

"Put a cork in it, Palin! This bloody weather's going to make me go mad!"

He shrugged. "Can't please them all. So you why don't you go home?"

Eric fixated Mike with a stony stare. "Home‌ What is this word?"

Mike's heart sunk. "What do you mean you can't go home?"

Eric dismissed the comment with a snort. "It's not that I can't go home, it's that I don't want to."

His friend shrugged again. "Well, you could give misery some company if you'd like."

Eric snorted again, in response to the comment and the shrug. "Don't want to impose on you like that. Plus, you don't need company because you're not misery. Therefore, we should ditch the mutt and find something to do."

Mike looked at Boxer's dark brown eyes with a sort of lonesome stare. "Ditch him?"

Eric rolled his eyes. "Leave him at home!"

"I know, I just thought maybe I wouldn't leave him alone today," Mike retorted, feeling slightly embarrassed nonetheless.

"Please, Mike! He's not a kid, he's going to be just as happy when you get home as he always is, now can we go?" He pleaded.

In the end, Mike did drop Boxer off at the house to go find some excitement with Eric, but he couldn't help but think that the animal was going to be a tad upset when he returned.

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Gemma woke up with a start at ten o' clock that night, sleeping in considerably. She yawned and decided it was now or never to break her horrible nocturnal sleep habits. So she stood up and made herself a small meal to keep her stomach working while she slept. Zilla crept out of the room as well, eyes roaming around for something to occupy her mind with.

Sick of the lack of noise in her empty house, Gemma turned on her old television set and left it on a random channel before going into the kitchen to make herself something small to eat. The television was blaring the news and other celebrity tidbits along with it, but she and the cat seemed grateful just to have the noise in the house. Normally she'd turn on the radio, but today was different. She planned to nibble on something to eat and turn in around eleven.

Eric pointed ecstatically to Mike's new television set. "We're going to be on at eleven! Can I stay and watch, or are you turning in early?"

Mike shrugged, not quite tired yet. "I guess we can stay for now." He scratched Boxer's ears; Eric had been right. The dog always seemed happy when he returned, so he guessed it was just part of being an older puppy.

Gemma yawned again, needing caffeine to stay awake and yet she wanted to make sure she fell right back to sleep upon reentering her dimly lit room.

Zilla yawned right back to her owner, a hint of mocking on her catty face.

"Cut it out, Zilla, or you can kiss your catnip goodbye!"

She seemed to scowl right back at Gemma as she returned to kitchen to make some toast. A few minutes later she returned with a plate of toast and Zilla's bowl of cat food. She placed this down for her Majesty Zilla and commenced her own meager meal.

They ate in silence, neither seeming to care the other was there for at least ten minutes. The cat finished first and in thankfulness, rubbed her side along Gemma's leg whilst purring madly. Gemma couldn't help but smile at her pet's antics, but she became sleepier and sleepier as she sat on the small loveseat and watched boring programs on television.

She fell asleep with it on, glowing eerily on the room.

Eric once again began a wrestling match with the dog and once again, won. Mike could only wince as Boxer tried valiantly to get himself up onto his feet again, but Eric seemed less interested in prolonging the match than humiliating the dog. Eventually he let the animal go and grinned as it bit playfully at his hands and wrists.

"So, Mike, you think your lady is watching tonight?" Eric prodded, keeping his distance in case the cast were to come and smack him upside the head.

Sitting very still and eyeing Eric very carefully, Mike replied, "I'm not sure she knows it's on, so I don't know."

Eric stretched casually, trying to grope for the phone. "Well, we could call her, you know."

"No, I don't think we could. She's got the night shift, she's probably on duty."

"It's Sunday, if she works a six day week, this is the day she'd have off." Eric retorted, feeling ready for anything Mike coughed up.

Instead of retorting further, Mike simply sighed. "I don't want her to think I'm being vain, calling her up and telling her to watch for me on the telly. That is vain, right?"

Eric sighed loftily, replacing the phone. "You are the hardest man to set up on a date ever, Mike. Honestly, I don't see how you nabbed Helen in the first place."

"Actually," Mike laughed, remembering how he met her on the beach. "She put the moves on me. Her friend suggested that she throw a ball harder so that either my friend or I would have to retrieve it for them and she did. We talked and she mentioned getting together another day. Two summers in a row we met."

His friend sighed dreamily. "Sounds fantastic." He jerked his head up abruptly. "Obviously this one isn't going to be so brave so you should ask her first."

Gemma jerked awake as Zilla trod across her lap and curled up across her left leg, still purring. Gemma glanced up at the clock. It read eleven. She lifted the zapper to turn off the glowing box when she noticed a familiar face glowing out at her.

"Hey, we're on!" Eric said, pointing to the set.