Chapter 10
 
 

"Come on...come on, buddy."  Chuck impatiently waved down a cab in front of the United Airlines
terminal at O'Hare.  His day had not started out at all well.  He'd had to fly stand-by, so that had
meant waiting around for several hours at LAX.  Then, when he had arrived, there was a mix-up in
the luggage area, and it took another thirty minutes to straighten that mess out.  It was now three
P.M. Chicago time, and Chuck hadn't had a chance to check in with Crumb concerning Gary's
condition.

The cab swerved over to the curb, and Chuck quickly opened the back door, tossing his luggage in
ahead of him.  "I'm going to..." Chuck dug around in his pocket until he came up with the name and
address of the hospital, giving them to the cabby.  "And I'm in a hurry, buddy, so step on it."

Chuck sat back calculating that at this time of day, with this traffic, it would take at least forty
minutes to get to the hospital. He sighed in frustration.

Life used to be so simple, he mused.  Go to work, make a few well-placed buys on the stock
market.  Go out for a beer afterwards with Gary and maybe a few of the other traders. Simple.
Uncomplicated. Predictable.

Boring.  Chuck started when that thought jumped into his head.  Boring can be good, he argued with
himself.  Boring doesn't get you knocked on the head by ex-cons.  Boring doesn't have you traipsing
around Chicago in the wee hours of the morning in sub-zero temperatures.  Boring means not
having to wonder if the next day's paper was going to be carrying your obituary...or your best
friend's.

Chuck took a deep breath, his foot tapping restlessly on the floor, willing the cab to go faster;  a
sense of urgency permeating his being. He had to be there for Gary. Be there to...to...what?  Chuck
didn't know.

Could Crumb really be right? Chuck stared glumly out the window, his head resting in his hand. Had
Gary literally run himself into the ground?  Chuck wondered if it would have made any difference if
he had been there to take on some of the load.  Chuck stared out the window at the approaching
Chicago skyline.  He didn't know the answers to the questions, but it really didn't matter.  Deep
down, *he* knew he should have been there.

                     ****************************
 

Chuck hurried down the hospital corridor, spotting the sign pointing to the ICU waiting area. He
turned into the room, almost running into a familiar figure.

"Crumb!"

"Hey, Fishman.  Nice to see you could take time out of your busy schedule."

Chuck swallowed back a retort.  There were more important matters to discuss. "How is he?"

Crumb glanced towards a door marked "ICU", and shook his head. "Not so good.  They can't get his
fever down, and he's been pretty out of it all day."

Chuck's stomach did a sickening flip.  He had been hoping that the news would be good.  "I need to
see him.  How do I get in there?"

Before Crumb could answer, a gorgeous brunette nurse approached them, "Mr. Hobson?  You can
go in now." She nodded, and smiled.  "Keep your visit brief, though, okay?"

Chuck looked at Crumb, eyebrows raised in puzzlement. He mouthed, "Mr. Hobson?"

Crumb cleared his throat, attempting to ignore Chuck's look, "Uh, thank you.  Can
Gary's...uh...brother...go in too?"

The nurse looked from Crumb to Chuck, eyeing them up and down dubiously, "His brother?"

Chuck gave her what he felt was his most charming smile while throwing an arm around Crumb's
shoulders.  "Yes, and I must say that *Dad* has told me what marvelous care you have given my
brother.  Thank you so much."

The nurse smiled, tongue in cheek, "You're welcome." She nodded towards the ICU entrance, "Go on
in."

Chuck grinned, and followed Crumb through the door.  The old Fishman charm, he thought, it works
every time.

His grin died as they entered Gary's room.  Gary looked terrible.  His face was gaunt, as though
he had lost considerable weight, and what Chuck could see of it around the mask was stark white
except for twin spots of color high on his cheekbones. Gary's eyes were closed and heavy dark
smudges decorated the skin beneath them. The rasping sound of his struggle to breathe filled the
room.  The only other sound came from a monitor on a table near the head of the bed.  It made a
rapid beeping noise and the number eighty-eight flashed on and off.

Chuck slowly approached the bed, sidestepping IV poles and shooting a scared look towards
Crumb.  "Is he awake?"

Crumb shrugged, "Hobson?"

Gary's eyelids flickered slightly.

"Gar?  It's me, Chuck."

Gary's head turned slightly and Chuck could see Gary fight to open his eyes, "Hey, Chuck."

Chuck smiled, lifting his gaze to Crumb's. "He's awake!" He looked back to Gary. "How're ya feeling,
buddy?"

Gary coughed, scrunching up his face in pain, "I don't feel too good, Chuck."

Chuck eyes opened wide in alarm.  It must be pretty bad if Gary admitted to feeling sick.

Gary lost the battle to keep his eyes open, apologizing, "Sorry, Chuck.  So tired."

Chuck clapped him gently on the shoulder. "You just rest, Gar, okay?  I'll take care of everything."

Gary nodded slightly, then fought to open his eyes again, reaching up and pulling the oxygen mask
away from his face. "Chuck, I haven't seen the pa-"

Chuck quickly pulled the mask back down. "Gotta leave that in place, okay, Gar?"  He leaned down
in a pretense of trying to adjust the tightness of the mask and whispered, "Leave everything to me,
buddy.  Don't worry about it."

Gary sighed, falling instantly asleep.

Chuck remained standing by the bed for several minutes while Crumb stood in a corner, arms
crossed, staring up at the heart monitor that was suspended from the ceiling.  Chuck felt somehow
comforted by Crumb's vigilance; as though the sheer force of Crumb's will and determination was
responsible for keeping the peaks and valleys marching across the screen.  As long as Crumb was
there, Gary would be okay.

Chuck pulled a chair next to the bed, and sank onto it, wondering what had become of the paper.
Pretending to tie his shoe, he leaned down and glanced under the bed.  No cat.  No paper. He sat
up, mouth pursed to one side as he thought about where the paper would be.  Probably back at
Gary's apartment.

Truthfully, Chuck admitted that he wasn't all that disappointed that the paper was nowhere to be
seen.  If the paper did return, Chuck knew that Gary would expect Chuck to fill-in for him. Not a job
Chuck relished. Of course, right now, Gary would likely never know the difference, but Chuck wasn't
sure that he could handle the guilt he would feel if, when Gary was better, he asked Chuck details
about the rescues and Chuck was forced to lie.

Chuck knew he just wasn't cut out to be a hero.  Sure, he'd tag along when Gary did his good
deeds, and had even saved the day a few times, he remembered, his chest puffing out slightly.  But
he knew the only reason he did it was for Gary--not for the unfortunate souls who needed the
rescuing.  Not that he ever *wanted* anyone to get hurt, he thought defensively, but some things are
just meant to be. That's life. Karma. Shit happens.

Chuck stretched, his gaze dropping to Gary's hand lying on top of the sheet.  An IV was protruding
from the back of it, dried blood crusting around the puncture site just visible beneath the clear
bandage holding everything in place.  He shuddered as the impact of Gary's illness slammed home.
Shit happens, all right, he thought, sinking slowly against the back of the chair. And now it had
happened to Gary.

                   ****************************

Chapter 11
 

"Excuse me. Gentlemen?"

"What?  Huh?"  Chuck started awake. Taking a deep breath and opening his eyes wide, he glanced
around, realizing that he had fallen asleep in the chair next to Gary's bed. He self-consciously
checked to see if he had drooled while dozing. He searched for Crumb, and wasn't surprised to see
him still standing in the corner, eyes glued to the heart monitor.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Greene.  The nurse told me that you were here, and I wanted to catch you before you
left."

Chuck stood and turned around to face the voice. He greeted the tall, balding doctor with an
outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Greene. I'm Chuck Fishman and-"

"Fishman?" Dr. Greene's eyebrows shot up in puzzlement.  "I thought you were Gary's brother."

Chuck's eyes opened wide, and, gulping, he flicked a glance towards Crumb.  The older man was
rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Chuck's gaffe.  Chuck cleared his throat, "Uh...we're
step-brothers...sort of."

Dr. Greene held his hand up, a half-smile on his face.  "Hold it.  I really don't care if you are related
or not.  That's the hospital's rule, not mine. Anyway, Mr. Fishman, if you and Mr. Hobson could step
out in the hall with me for a moment, I'd like to discuss Gary's condition with you."

"Mr. Hobson is here?" Chuck asked, looking behind the doctor in hopes of seeing Gary's dad.

"Aw, jeez, Fishman." Crumb snorted.

Dr. Greene gave a short laugh. "So, I take it you aren't Gary's dad, either."

Crumb shook his head.  The gig was up. Holding out his hand, he introduced himself. "Zeke Crumb. I
hated to mislead you, Doctor, but Hobson's real parents are traveling, and we can't reach them."

Chuck bit his lower lip, hoping they weren't going to be tossed out on their ears.

Dr. Greene nodded, clasping Crumb's hand.  "I understand. However, I'm in kind of an awkward
position, here.  I shouldn't discuss a patient's condition with anyone but the patient's family."

"Look, Doc, other than his parents, we're all the kid's got." Crumb gestured towards Gary.  "We're
almost like a family," Crumb finished gruffly, studiously avoiding Chuck's astonished gaze.

Dr. Greene sighed.  "Let me see if I can get Gary's permission.  If you'll wait in the hall, I'll be right
out.
 

                  *****************************
 

Chuck paced restlessly outside Gary's room.  "Sorry, Crumb.  I should have kept my mouth shut."

Crumb pursed his lips, his hands in his pockets. "Forget it, Fishman.  The truth would have come out
sooner or later."

Chuck shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."  He ventured closer to Gary's door, craning his neck to see what
was taking the doctor so long. The doctor was adjusting some equipment attached to Gary's finger.
Chuck still couldn't believe how sick Gary looked.  Even though he had been warned by Crumb, he
hadn't been fully prepared to see his buddy lying so still, all his energy being consumed in the effort
to breathe.

Seeing the doctor headed towards the door, Chuck pulled his head back around, not wanting
eavesdropping to be added to his list of crimes.

Dr. Greene approached Chuck and Crumb, his expression one of concern. He took off his glasses
and rubbed them with his scrub top. "I'm not Gary's attending doctor, but he and Gary did grant me
permission to talk to you. I treated Gary in the ER, but Carol, his nurse, said that you guys were
here, and I just wanted to see you."  He put the glasses back on. "I was concerned about him a few
days ago when I had him admitted.  He insisted that there was no one we could contact for him...and
well...I guess it sort of struck me how alone he seemed.  I'm glad that Gary does have someone
here for him.  He's going to need friends. Also, the sooner you could reach his parents, the better."

"W-what do you mean?" Chuck said in alarm.

"I just don't like the way things are going right now, but let me begin by explaining Gary's condition."
Dr. Greene sighed, shaking his head.

Chuck swallowed hard.

Crumb lifted his chin up slightly, then nodded. "Okay, Doc."

"As you know, Gary has a severe pneumonia.  We've cultured the bug causing it, and, as I
suspected, it's a pneumococcal pneumonia."

Chuck glanced at Crumb, shrugging.  He hadn't a clue what the doctor was talking about.

The doctor continued.  "Now, normally, a guy Gary's age probably wouldn't get this bug.  It occurs
most often in people over sixty-five, but Gary has had a splenectomy, and the spleen is involved in
fighting infection.  Without it, his natural defenses were lowered, making him susceptible to the
bacteria."

"Can you treat it?" This really doesn't sound good, Chuck thought, frightened for Gary.

"Oh sure.  It's fairly simple to treat.  We just give antibiotics like penicillin.  The problem is that it
moves so quickly--within hours--that by the time Gary was brought in most of his right lung was
already full of pneumonia."

"So, what happens now?" Crumb asked, arms crossed in front of him in a determined stance.

"We...his attending doctor will continue treating him with antibiotics, and try to maintain his oxygen
level until the penicillin starts winning.  Unfortunately, it can take up to five days for the drugs to
begin to win the war." Dr. Greene rubbed the back of his neck. "The problem is, I'm not sure how
long Gary can continue *his* fight."

Chuck and Crumb shared uneasy glances, Crumb being the one to voice their fears. "I don't
understand.  It's been three days already.  That means in just two more days, he should start to get
better, right?"

Greene nodded. "Yes, but Gary's been breathing at a clip of forty-four to forty-eight breaths a
minute for a couple of days now, according to his chart, and from what Carol told me."

"Forty-eight is bad?" Chuck felt clueless in medical matters. It seemed to him that the more
someone breathed, the better off they were.  "What's normal?"

"Forty-eight is definitely not good," Dr. Greene explained. "Twelve to sixteen breaths per minute
would be considered normal."

Crumb cleared his throat, "Uh, Doc, what will happen if Hobson's breathing doesn't get any better?"

"The way he's going at some point his body will be too exhausted to continue.  If that happens before
the meds kick in, he'll go into respiratory failure."

"What does that mean?" Chuck felt his stomach clench. He really, really didn't like the sound of this.

"It means we would have to insert a tube and put him on a ventilator to help him breathe. That
comes with a whole new set of risks-which include lung damage-risks that  I'd like to avoid if
possible."

Chuck blanched, remembering Gary's condition after the Sears Tower bombing. How Gary had
hated it.  Not being able to communicate had nearly driven him crazy.  "Do you think it will come to
that?"

"I don't know, Mr. Fishman.  Right now, his oxygen level is still very low. If it gets any lower-well-",
the doctor bit his lip and shook his head, "let's just say that any lower and it's not compatible with
life. We already have him on one hundred percent oxygen.  The only way to give more is to put him
on a ventilator.  By adding pressure, we can hopefully increase the oxygen level in his blood."

"And what if you can't?" Crumb asked quietly, his gaze boring into the doctor.

The doctor took a deep breath before answering. "Let's hope we won't have to deal with that
scenario, Mr. Crumb."

Crumb nodded, smoothing a hand over the top of his head, "He's a tough kid. He'll come through it."

Chuck cleared his throat nervously.  He had to know. "Dr. Greene?  Would...could--stress have
made Gary sick?"

Dr. Greene cocked his head to the side in thought, "Hmmm, I'm not sure.  It could have helped to
lower his immunity.  There are studies out there that claim that stress plays a factor in many
illnesses.  It could have, I suppose."

Chuck crossed his arms; turning away from Dr. Greene.  He didn't risk a glance at Crumb; afraid
of what he would find in the old cop's eyes.

                *********************************

Chapter  12
 

"Gary?  You awake?" Chuck gently shook Gary's shoulder. After the doctor had left, Chuck and
Crumb had sat with Gary for another hour.  Chuck had started to tell Crumb about everything that
had been going on in California, but finally shut up when it became apparent that Crumb wasn't
interested. He listened to Gary's breathing-every rasping breath scraping at the festering guilt he
felt for not being there to help when Gary had needed him.

Crumb had stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his face stoic as though he were Gary's
personal guard. Gary's condition hadn't changed. He was still breathing like he had just run a
marathon.  A nurse had explained that the number that was flashing on the monitor should normally
be around ninety-six, but that as long as Gary's number eighty-eight didn't fall any lower, he was at
least holding his own.  Chuck tried to take comfort in that. "Hey, Gar, the nurses are kicking us out
now.  I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

Gary nodded, opening his eyes, "Thanks for coming, Chuck. Sorry I'm such lousy company.  Take
care of the paper for me, would ya?"

Chuck pasted on a grin. "No problem, buddy." He blinked hard, looking away. He started to ask if he
should call Marissa, but Gary's eyes had already drifted closed.  He'd call her, Chuck decided.

Back in the ICU waiting room, Chuck retrieved his suitcase, amazed that it had remained untouched
throughout his visit.

"So, where are you staying, Fishman?  Can I give you a lift?"

Chuck turned towards Crumb.  That was a good question, one he hadn't even thought about.  What
was he *thinking*? That he could just go back to his old apartment?  Chuck took a deep breath,
cursing his lack of planning.  "I really don't know, Crumb.  I guess I wasn't thinking that far ahead."

Crumb snorted, "Don't surprise me none.  Listen, why don't you stay in Hobson's apartment?  I
doubt he would mind."

Obviously, Crumb didn't know Gary quite as well as he did, Chuck thought wryly.  Of course, since
Gary wasn't home, there was little chance that Chuck could annoy him, so what the heck, he might
as well stay there.  Besides, that way it would be easier to help out at McGinty's while he was
here.
 
 

              *********************************
 

Chuck dropped his suitcase inside the door to Gary's apartment. He glanced around the room.
Gary's bed was unmade, with the comforter balled up in the middle.  Walking into the kitchen area,
Chuck noted an empty container of aspirin sitting out on the counter next to a bottle of cough
medicine.  Silent testimony that Gary had tried to treat his illness himself.

Several days' worth of laundry was strewn near the bed, most of it having a just stepped out of
appearance. Chuck sighed.  It wasn't like Gary to let dirty clothes lay around.  He was usually a
fairly neat person.  Chuck kicked most of it out of the way and it into a corner.  He'd deal with that
later.

First thing he wanted to do was to call Marissa; unfortunately, he had no idea what her mother's
phone number was.  Knowing Marissa though, she had probably left the number, as well as a
complete list of everything that needed to be done in her absence, in a note down in the office. He
turned to go downstairs and check when his eye caught the flashing light of the answering machine.

He hesitated, feeling somewhat like an interloper. Chuck shrugged, that had never stopped him from
being nosy before.  Besides, this time he had a good excuse to listen to Gar's messages. He took a
few steps to the table where the machine set.

"Hey Gar! Where are ya, buddy? I've been trying-"

There must be something wrong with the machine to make his voice sound so bad, Chuck mused as
he skipped the rest of the message that he had left on Gary's machine when he had called from
California.

"Hello, Gary? This is Renee. I was just thinking about you, and-"

Chuck paused the tape, tempted to listen to the rest of Renee's message.  Finally, he sighed and hit
the skip button.  Even he wasn't so nosy that he would listen to personal messages.  He grinned, he
could always come back to it later.  Right now, though, he hoped that Marissa had called and left a
message. He hit the play button again.

"Bingo!" Chuck smiled as he heard Marissa's serene voice.

"Hi Gary. I guess you're out saving the world, huh?  Anyway, I just called to tell you that my mother
is doing well.  I'm not sure of when I'm coming back, but it looks like it could be towards the end of
the week.  I hope things are going smoothly, and I'll be back as soon as I can. Call if you need
anything. Here is the number to my mom's, in case you lost it."

Chuck grabbed a pencil and a piece of scrap paper and quickly jotted the number down.
 
 

                   *******************************************
 

"Mama?  What are you doing?" Marissa could hear cans scrape the shelf.

Her mother sighed, "I'm trying to reach the can of tomato soup."

"Why didn't you let me get it, Mama?  You know you're not supposed to be lifting your arms above
your head," Marissa gently admonished.  Sometimes her mother could be so stubborn.  "Just tell me
if I have the right can."  She carefully reached up towards the shelf.

"Two to the left, Marissa."

Marissa handed her mother the soup just as the phone rang. "I'll get it.  You go ahead and make
your soup.  If it's one of your church friends, do you feel up to talking with them, or do you want me
to tell them you're resting?"

"I'll talk."

"Okay." Marissa answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, Marissa?"

She smiled at the familiar voice. "Chuck?  Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me.  How are things going?  Gary told me about your mother."

"Everything is going really well.  My mother is back on her feet and just as stubborn as ever."
Marissa flashed a grin towards the stove, where she could hear her mother stirring the soup. "So,
did Gary give you my mom's number?  Have you talked to him recently?"

There was a hesitation on Chuck's end, followed by a sigh. "Um, no...not exactly."

A prickling apprehension crept through Marissa. "What is it, Chuck?"

"Gary's sick, Marissa.  He's in the hospital with pneumonia."

Marissa felt around for the kitchen table, and slid onto a chair, her head resting in her hand. "Gary's
sick with pneumonia?  How bad is it?"

Her mother's hand gently squeezed her shoulder and Marissa reached up to cover it with her own
trembling hand.

"It's bad.  Really bad.  They're thinking of sticking that tube down him to help him to breathe.  You
know, like he had before."

Marissa gasped.  Chuck sure didn't pull any punches.  "Oh my God! When...when did he get sick?"

"Crumb said that Gary collapsed at a parking garage a few days ago."

"How come nobody called me?"

"Well, what am I?  Chopped liver?  *I'm* callin' ya."

"I'm sorry, Chuck.  It's just such a shock." Marissa shuddered, blinking back a tear. Her mother
walked away, but returned a moment later with a soft tissue that she placed in Marissa's hand.

"I know.  I know, Marissa.  Sorry about that.  I only found out last night when I called McGinty's.
Crumb told me but I guess Gary made him promise not to call either of us.  He didn't think it was a
big deal. You know Gary."

 Marissa *did* know Gary, and knew that it was just like him to not want to bother anyone.

"I flew out this morning and went directly to the hospital.  I only just now got back to Gary's and got
your number."

"You're in Chicago?  You've already seen Gary?  How-how did he seem?"

"He's sleeping a lot.  In fact, he hardly spoke at all.  I think he lost some weight."

"How did he get so sick?  Didn't anyone notice?"

"Well, according to Crumb, the both of them were so busy that they barely saw each other."

Marissa swallowed, guilt flooding through her.  It was partly her fault that Gary had been so busy.
Even before she had left, Gary had been running himself ragged.  Why had she hoped that it would
be any different just because she was gone?  The paper had never given Gary vacation time before.
" I should have been there, Chuck." Maybe if she had, things would have been different.  At least, she
would have noticed if Gary had been sick.  Maybe.

"No, Marissa.  It wouldn't have made any difference.  The doctor said that the kind of pneumonia that
Gary had comes on really quickly."  There was a slight pause, "Besides, you had a good reason."

                             *********************

Chapter 13

"Have you heard anything more, Chuck?" were Marissa's first words when he picked her up at the
airport early the next morning.

"No.  I called this morning, and they just told me that he was still critical but stable."

Marissa was silent for most of the drive to her apartment, and Chuck didn't seem in a talkative
mood for once in his life. Grateful for small favors, Marissa wondered how her mother was doing.
Had she had been able to get her hair washed by herself? Sighing, Marissa rubbed her temples.
She had felt torn between staying with her mother and coming back for Gary.  She smiled slightly
as she recalled her mama's words. "Marissa, honey, I appreciate everything you've done, but if you
don't get your self on a plane tomorrow and go back to Chicago to be with Gary, I'll disown you."
Marissa had hugged her mother, loving her even more for her understanding.

"What's so funny?"

Marissa jumped. The silence in the car had stretched for so long, she had almost forgotten about
Chuck.  "Oh, nothing. Just something my mother said."

"Is she gonna be okay without you there?"

Smiling, Marissa nodded, "Let's just say that if I hadn't come back here-I wouldn't be okay."

Chuck laughed softly.

                       ******************************
 

Marissa had Chuck stop by her apartment first, and asked to wait while she put her suitcases
away and quickly changed.  As it was still too early to go visit Gary, they ate breakfast at a small
diner, then went to McGinty's.

Chuck opened the door to the bar, surprised to find Crumb already there getting the bar ready to
open for lunch. "What are you doing here so early?"

"What do ya mean?  Who else did you expect to get the place ready for lunch? The tooth fairy?"
Crumb rolled his eyes, but then smiled as he saw Marissa walk in behind Chuck.

"Well, I just figured Gary would have hired someone by now."

"Nope."

"Oh."  Chuck swallowed. Crumb's simple answer spoke volumes.

In an abstract sort of way, Chuck had worried about how Gary would find time to run the bar and
take care of business with the paper. But, in all the excitement of moving and starting his own
production company, the worry had been pushed to a far corner of his mind, a corner so remote
that Chuck guiltily tried to recall the last time he had really thought about it.  He had just assumed
that Gary had hired someone to help with the day to day operations, but the more he thought about
it, the more he realized how difficult a position it would be to fill.

How would Gary explain his frequent absences to a new manager?  Not that he had to explain,
exactly, as Gary was the owner.  But wouldn't a manager--new one at least, expect Gary to be
around a bit more?  What if, somehow, the new manager found out about the paper?  What would
happen then?  What would he or she do with the information?

Chuck began to understand, maybe for the first time, the dilemma that Gary had faced. The
situation that he, Chuck, had forced Gary to deal with.

He sat quietly on a barstool while Marissa and Crumb greeted each other. Chuck plucked a few
peanuts from a dish on the bar, feeling ill at ease, as though he should be doing something. He had
an urge to check the bar stock, to see if there was enough of everything, but shook it off. He didn't
belong here anymore.  It wasn't his job.
 

               ******************************
 

Marissa followed Chuck into McGinty's.  The familiar scents of furniture polish, wood, and beer
enveloped her and were comforting. She was home.

"Hey, young lady, C'mere! It's good to see you."

Smiling, Marissa felt herself being enveloped in a hug, and returned the embrace. "I'm glad to be
back--but not under these circumstances.  How is he, Crumb?"  Marissa's voice trembled on the
last sentence.

Crumb gave Marissa another squeeze before releasing her and stepping back.  His hands rested
on her shoulders, "Hobson's tough, Marissa. A lot tougher than you or I even know.  He'll be okay."

Marissa nodded, "Yes, I know, but I can't help worrying.  What does the doctor say?"

Crumb sighed, "He's had a rough time of it, the last few days, that's for sure, but the doc says that
by tomorrow the penicillin should start to take a noticeable effect."

His hand on her elbow, Crumb gently guided Marissa to a chair, and they both sat quietly for a
moment.

"How come you never called me?  Why didn't Gary want me to know?"  The words were spoken
softly, but the hurt in them was loud and clear.

"I think, Marissa, that Hobson really *thought* that everything was under control.  That there was no
need to bother anyone."

"Bother?  Why would he think he was bothering anyone?  Doesn't he know that there are people
that care about him?"  Marissa swallowed back a sob.

Crumb reached over, and awkwardly grasped her hand. "I should've called you.  I'm sorry, Marissa.
I'm not trying to make excuses, but until I actually saw him, I didn't think he was that bad either."

Marissa swiped at the tears that were running down her cheeks, shaking her head, "You don't have
to apologize, Crumb.  Neither does Gary.  I guess I'm just angry at the whole situation.  I'm mean,
why Gary?  What has he ever done to deserve this?"
 

           ************************************

Chuck had prepared a lengthy excuse to get Marissa into Gary's room-something about a second
cousin twice removed-but found it wasn't necessary.  When they had buzzed the intercom, there
was no answer for several minutes, finally, a technician exited the ICU, and Chuck caught the door
before it had a chance to close again.

"Are you sure we should be doing this, Chuck?"  Marissa whispered.

"Uh, no, but do you want to get into Gary's room or don't ya? Don't worry, if we're not supposed to
be there, they'll kick us out."

Chuck led Marissa to Gary's room, noting in passing that the nurses seemed busy.  Several were
on the phone, and writing in charts. He recognized one from the previous visit.  She was the
knock-out curly haired brunette Carol.  She was speaking loudly to someone on the phone.  Chuck
heard her say, "No, we need someone down here right now to intubate." Carol slammed the phone
down, muttering something about anesthesiologists.

They entered Gary's room, and Chuck stopped in his tracks, causing Marissa to inadvertently
bump into his back.

"What is it, Chuck?"

"I-I don't know." Chuck stared at Gary.  The day before, Gary had been breathing rapidly, and but
now his breathing was slow and gasping.  There were long pauses between breaths.  Was that
good or bad?

"Is he sleeping?"

"Umm. I think so."  Only Chuck feared it was worse than sleep.  He walked to the bed, one hand
steering Marissa around the IV poles.  "Hey, Gar!" Chuck shook Gary's shoulder.  There was no
response.  Not even an eyelid flickered.

"Who let you in?"

Chuck looked up to find Carol glaring at him.  From the expression on her face, he should have been
worried about what she would do but all that entered his mind was here was someone that could
tell him what was wrong.  "How come I can't wake him up?"

Her face softened, "You're his friend from yesterday, right?"

Chuck nodded. "Yes."

"He's gotten worse in just the last forty-five minutes.  I've called the doctor with some lab results,
and we've decided to insert a tube to help him to breathe.  In a moment, someone will be here to do
that procedure.  If you could go to the waiting room now, I'll come and get you as soon as possible,
okay?"

"Oh my God!" Marissa gasped, one hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Chuck put an arm around her to support her, and to guide her out of the room.  He glanced back at
Gary. "Hey?" he turned to the nurse, his eyes wide, "I don't think he's-"

"Damn!"  The nurse took one look at Gary and rushed to the head of the bed, her hand slapping a
button on the wall.  The button started flashing as the nurse grabbed a purple thing from a hook on
the wall.  The purple thing looked similar to a football, with a few additions to it and the nurse pulled
the oxygen mask off Gary, and slapped a different mask that was connected to the purple football
over Gary's face.  She began squeezing the football thing.

"What is it, Chuck!?"  Marissa whispered, clutched at Chuck, "Tell me!"

"I don't think Gary's breathing, Marissa." Chuck said, his voice low and worried. He pulled Marrisa
back towards a corner as suddenly the room was swarming with people.  He knew that they should
leave, but their exit was blocked by the people and equipment that had invaded the room.

He watched in horrified fascination as Gary's bed was laid flat and the rails lowered.  All the while,
someone continued squeezing the purple thing--obviously trying to pump air into Gary's lungs.

Gary lay limply through it all, his arms spread-eagled as nurses took his blood pressure and
injected his IVs' with medication.

A man in dark blue scrubs strode to the head of the bed, barking out questions, "How long has he
been down?  Who's his doctor?  What's his diagnosis?" Grabbing a shiny metal piece of equipment
from a red cart that had been wheeled into the room, He then nudged the nurse who was pumping
the purple thing out of the way, and flexed Gary's neck back. He snapped the metal object open so
that it resembled an L, and  inserted it in Gary's mouth, using it to pull up his lower jaw.

Chuck almost gagged when he imagined what that would feel like. The doctor reached out for a
plastic tube that someone handed him, and stuck it in Gary's mouth.  Apparently, he was having
difficulty getting it to go where he wanted, as he maneuvered the tube back and forth several times.

"His heart rate is dropping, Doctor Ross."

Dr. Ross glanced up at the monitor, and pulled the tube out. "Shit!  Bag him!"

The nurse placed the mask back on Gary's face and resumed squeezing the purple thing, or bagging
Gary, as Chuck figured out.  He couldn't believe nobody had noticed Marissa and him still in the
room.  He was afraid to say anything now as he didn't want to get in the way. Marissa's fingers
were digging into his arm.

After a moment, Dr. Ross tried to again stick the tube down Gary's throat. He used a blue plastic
device like a dentist used to suction Gary's mouth, and Chuck cringed when he saw the bloody
looking stuff that was being sucked through the tubing. After clearing Gary's mouth, the doc placed
the tube in his throat again.  This time, apparently it went in without a hitch, and the purple bag was
attached to the tube.

After several moments of watching the monitors and using a stethoscope to listen to Gary's chest,
the doctor appeared satisfied. He turned to the nurse and said, "Let's get a vent set up. And get
his regular doctor down here.  I've got patients waiting for me down in the ER."

Carol approached Dr. Ross, and laid a hand on his arm.  "Thanks for coming up Doug."  And in a low
voice that Chuck could barely hear, she said, "That damn anesthesiologist said that he was too
busy, and his regular doctor is on his way in.  I was worried about Gary and didn't know who else to
call."

Dr. Ross smiled, "No problem, Carol.  How much longer are you going to be stuck down here
instead of down in the ER?"

"Just a few more days-until a few of the regular nurses get back from vacation."

Chuck wondered how they could chat so calmly while he was a basket case and Marissa, still in his
arms, eyes wide, was trembling uncontrollably.

"Chuck? Is Gary...?" Marissa couldn't finish the sentence, and it took a Chuck a moment to realize
what she was asking.

"Oh, God, Marissa!  No! He's not-" Chuck couldn't bring himself to say it either.  He gulped, and
finished, "He's okay--I think.  They stuck a tube in and are breathing for him."

Marissa let out a sob of relief, tears coursing unchecked down her face as she sagged against
Chuck.  He put his arms around her, "Hey, it's okay." He gave her a little squeeze. "Let's get out of
here so that we aren't in the way."
 

**********************************************

Chapter 14
 

Chuck paced the ICU waiting room.  A nurse had told them that some tests needed to be done, but
that so far, things were going well.  Gary appeared to be doing much better now that the ventilator
was helping him to breathe.

Chuck took small comfort in that news.  He still felt sick inside when he thought back to the scene
in Gary's hospital room.  Marissa had been quiet for the most part, only asking Chuck to guide her
to the hospital chapel.  He'd done so, standing in the back while Marissa sat in pew in the front of
the tiny chapel.

He'd never been the religious type-even after ????? had given him the bible with the check inside.
He'd said then that he was going to change--but other than moving to California- had he truly
changed?  Sure, he'd started his production company and maybe had given some people jobs, but in
the process he'd abandoned Gary and a chance to do some real good right here in Chicago.  Chuck
wished, guiltily, that things had gone differently; that he had stayed here and helped Gary.  He
couldn't change the past, but he vowed to change the future.

                 *************************
 

Gary became aware of a gagging sensation in his throat.  He started to sit up, his hand reaching
towards his mouth, as his mind still fuzzy, he reflexively sought to remove the offending object.

"No, Gary.  That's helping you to breathe."

Gary put his hand down.  He vaguely recalled Dr. Greene saying that it might become necessary to
put a tube down into his lungs. He couldn't remember anyone doing it, though.  He opened his eyes,
recognizing the nurse as the one who had taken care of him a few days ago.

"Do you know where you are, Gary?"

Gary nodded and started to speak, but found that no sound came out.  He remembered that feeling
from the other time he'd had a tube put in.  He felt a momentary panic, and started to choke again.

"Whoa, take it easy.  Don't fight it, Gary.  Just let the machine do all the work, okay?"

Gary closed his eyes, battling the panic inside, willing himself not to gag. It was a strange feeling to
have air forced into your lungs without making any effort.

When he had defeated his fear, he opened his eyes again.  He made a motion with his hand as
though he was writing.  He was glad to see that his nurse was Carol.  She seemed to understand
what he wanted almost before he asked.

Carol understood at once, and produced a scrap of paper and a pen from her pocket.  She
grabbed a clipboard from a shelf for to Gary to write on.

Gary fumbled with the pen, but finally managed to scrawl 'How long?' on the piece of paper.

"How long, what?" Carol shook her head, puzzled.

Gary pointed to the tube.

"Has it been in?"

Gary shook his head no, then shrugged, frustrated.

"Oh, you want to know how long until it comes out?"

Gary nodded.

A fleeting look of sorrow flashed across Carol's face, "Sorry, Gary.  That's not up to me, but
probably a few days."

His shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes in dejection.

"Hey, don't look like that.  How about if I let a few of your friends come in?  They've been waiting all
afternoon."

Gary's eyes snapped open.

"Do you feel up to seeing them?"

Gary nodded eagerly.  If he'd had the energy to grin, he would have.

Carol laughed.  "Okay, hold on.  I'll send them in just as soon as I change this IV solution."

                ******************************
 

Gary heard soft murmuring coming from somewhere near the bed.  He realized that it he must have
fallen asleep.  He opened his eyes and  turned his head, searching for the source of the whispering.

Chuck and Marissa were standing huddled at the end of his bed.  Marissa looked terrible, Gary
thought, puzzled.  Her eyes were puffy and swollen.  Had something happened to her mother?

His face drawn and tense, Chuck had his arm around Marissa in a comforting gesture, and was
saying something in a quiet voice to her.

Gary shifted in bed, drawing their attention.

Chuck smiled and moved closer to the head of the bed, "Come on, Marissa, he's awake finally."

Marissa reached over the rails and found his hand.  "Hello, Gary."  She gave his hand a gentle
squeeze, which he returned. Marissa smiled, "I know you can't talk to me, and I can't see you, but I
can tell that you're getting better, Gary.  I can feel it."

Gary squeezed again to let her know that he heard her.

"Yeah, Gar, you're looking a lot better since they stuck that tube in.  How are you feeling?"

Gary shrugged and nodded.  He gently pulled his hand from Marissa's and made the writing motion
again, hoping Chuck would be as astute as the nurse had been.  The paper and clip board were no
longer in sight.

Chuck appeared puzzled for a second, "Oh!  You want something to write with?"

Gary patiently nodded.

Chuck searched until he found the paper and clipboard hanging on the rail on the opposite side of
the bed.  "There ya go, buddy."

Gary propped the clipboard on one bent knee.  He wrote, "What's wrong with Marissa?  Is her
mom okay?" Gary showed Chuck the note, concerned that Marissa had come back to soon-that
her mom still needed her.

Chuck glanced at Marissa, surprise on his face.  "What's wrong with her?  Gar, what's wrong is
that several hours ago we were here when you stopped breathing.  Watching, or hearing your best
friend get a tube stuck down his throat can be pretty upsetting, ya know?"

Gary shook his head, confused. He scribbled another note. "Here in the room?"  He frowned at his
handwriting.  It was barely legible, but it was the best he could do for now.

Nodding, his face grim, Chuck shuddered, "Yeah, buddy.  I hope I never have to see something like
that again."

"It was horrible, Gary.  We were so worried." Marissa's voice wavered, and tears shimmered in her
eyes.

Gary laboriously wrote another note, "I'm sorry."  He leaned back and shut his eyes, embarrassment
and sorrow flooding through him at having put his friends through so much. He felt a hand on his
shoulder, and opened his eyes to find Chuck standing over him, his face full of emotion.

"Gar, you have *nothing* to be sorry about.  I'm the one who's sorry for not being here.  That's going
to change, though, 'cause from now on I'm right here." Chuck pointed emphatically to the ground.  "I'll
do whatever you or the paper needs me to do."
 

                  ***********************************

Chapter 15
 

"I can't believe it.  Look at this, Carol."  A nurse's aid held a newspaper up for the nurse to see.
"Every day I've been on, he's had a paper on the bed.  You'd better have a talk with the volunteer
who delivers them.  I didn't even know that they were allowed to come in to the ICU." The aid put
the paper on a shelf behind some supplies, pulling out old newspapers and tossing them in the
garbage.  Shaking her head, she said, "Looks like I'm not the only one finding them."

Gary opened his eyes, his attention caught by the mention of the word 'newspaper'.  He watched
anxiously as the aid put the paper on the shelf.  So that was where they had been going to.

Carol frowned, "That's strange. I've never seen the paper guy come by, but maybe he comes through
when we're in report.  I'll have a talk with the nursing supervisor. The volunteer is a sweet old man,
but I don't like the idea of people coming by disturbing my patients.

Uh-oh, Gary thought, hoping that the innocent volunteer didn't get in trouble.  He pushed the bed
controls, moving the head of the bed up as far as the tubing connected to the ventilator would allow.
He wanted to attract the nurse's attention to clear up the confusion. The slight re-positioning of the
tube, however, caused him to gag and choke, setting off alarms on the ventilator.  Well, that was
one way to get the nurse's attention, he thought wryly, when he was finally able to breathe calmly,
and the alarms had silenced.

"Morning, Gary.  How are you feeling today?" Carol gave him a wide smile.

Gary nodded impatiently, and snatched his clipboard off the bedside table.  He wrote quickly, before
Carol could walk away, 'I asked for the paper to be delivered every day.'  He held the note up for
the nurse to see.

She cocked her head to the side, "You did?"

Gary nodded, wondering if anyone had ever noticed the date on the papers.

"Well, okay, Gary.  Do you want the one that came today?  Do you feel like reading?"

Gary scribbled furiously, underlining the two words for emphasis, 'Yes.  Please.'

Laughing, the she grabbed the paper off the shelf with hardly a glance, and handed it to Gary.
"Here you go. I'm glad to see you feeling well enough to read it."

Trying his best to smile around the tube, Gary eagerly took the paper and started leafing through
it. He hadn't known it until now when he finally had the paper back in his hands, but the last several
days, when he'd been alert enough to think clearly, he'd had a vague sensation that something had
been missing.  Now, he felt complete.

He couldn't wait for Chuck and Marissa to visit.
 

                   *****************************
 

"Hey, Marissa, he's looking good."  Chuck grinned when they entered Gary's room.  It was good to
see Gary sitting up in bed, his face alert and his eyes bright.

Marissa smiled, "Does he still have the tube in?"

Gary face fell slightly, his eyes meeting Chuck's in a silent plea to put a good spin on things.  "Um,
yeah, Marissa.  He still has the tube in, but he's wide awake and grinning."

At that, Gary did grin, or at least tried to.  His eyes danced as he held the paper up for Chuck to
see.

"Is that--?" Chuck grabbed the paper out of Gary's hand and checked the date. "Oh, my God."

"What?  Is something wrong?"  Marissa stiffened, her face frozen in fear.

Gary's eyes widened and he quickly shook his head, reaching for Marissa's hand on the bed rail. He
gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Chuck glanced up from the paper in confusion, "Huh? Oh, no Marissa.  It's nothing bad.  Gary just
handed me the paper."

Marissa sagged in relief, then a smile spread slowly across her face.  "Tomorrow's paper?"

"Yeah.  I wonder where it's been going, Gar?"  Chuck looked to Gary, puzzlement on his features.

Gary jotted down the answer and pointed to the shelf.

"You gotta be kidding?  It's been here all along?" Chuck sounded slightly miffed.  "I thought it would
come to your place, but I hadn't seen it."

"The paper's been coming to the hospital?" Marissa's face took on an amused expression.  "I can't
believe the paper would come here when Chuck's been staying at your place, Gary."  She shook her
head, trying to stifle a grin, "But, then I guess the cat knows best."

"Hey, I resent that!  I'll show you guys.  Just wait.  Until you're well enough to do it, Gar," Chuck
rolled the paper up, and shook it in Gary's direction, "I'll do everything that you would do."

Gary smiled and nodded. He wrote another note, 'I'm counting on it.'

Chuck read the note out loud. "Ha!  See, Marissa.  *Gary* trusts me."

Marissa laughed, "It's not like he has a choice, Chuck."

  *******************************************************

 

Chapter 16
 

"Got the paper, Gar?"  Chuck grinned, practically bouncing towards Gary's hospital bed.

Gary eyed him dubiously and withdrew the paper from under his pillow.  "Yeah.  Hold on.  I've got it
right here."  He held it out, but then pulled it back slightly. The last few days, Chuck hadn't returned
the paper in the evening, though he swore he had done everything that he was supposed to-and
nothing that he wasn't supposed to.  Gary could only take his word for it.

"You're not gonna do anything with it that I wouldn't do, are ya?"

Chuck withdrew his outstretched hand, and slumped comically, "Hey, I'm hurt, buddy."  He rubbed his
chest as though it pained him.  "I'll be a regular Boy Scout with the information. I swear." He reached
for the paper, his fingers moving in a 'give me' motion.

Looking from the paper to Chuck and back again to the paper, Gary finally, reluctantly, handed it
over. He hoped he wouldn't be sorry.  He knew that he should have made a list of things to be done.
Why did it feel like he was handing the keys to the hen house to the fox for safekeeping?  "I've...I've
read most of it, so I'll know what's going on, Chuck."

"You're worrying too much."  Chuck looked ready to salivate-like a dog with a juicy bone-as he
leafed through the paper.  "You're not gonna be sorry, Gar.  You'll see.  I can do this."  He glanced
up long enough to shoot Gary a wide grin

"Hmmm" Gary grunted.  Chuck was being entirely too helpful.  Something was up.  "What's the deal,
Chuck?  Why all this..." Gary gestured towards the paper, "...interest in helping people all of a
sudden?"

"I promised you, remember?  I said that I would help out with *whatever* you needed."

Chuck's expression seemed sincere, and remembering how Chuck had sat by his bedside until he'd
been out of the woods, Gary felt guilty for ever doubting him. Gary acknowledged Chuck with a
short nod of his head.  "Right.  Well, I guess you better get going, then. There's going to be a bank
robbery at nine-thirty on the north side."

Chuck gave a playful salute. "Yes, sir.  I'm off."

Smiling in spite of himself as Chuck's strode jauntily out of the room, Gary ignored his misgivings.
Chuck would do a great job.  Just dandy.
 
 
 

             *********************************************
 

Chuck glanced up at the sign on the building.  Okay, he had the correct bank, now to figure out how
to prevent the robbery.  What would Gary do in this situation?  Maybe he should have asked.

Pursing his mouth to the side, Chuck thought hard.  The paper said that the robber implied that he
had a gun, but that the teller had never actually seen it.  It was probably a bluff.  Chuck nodded.
Yeah, just a bluff, he concluded before strolling into the bank.

He scoped the lobby looking for someone acting suspiciously.  There!  A man in line kept checking
his watch and putting his hand in his jacket pocket!  Probably nerves, Chuck thought gleefully as he
crossed the lobby to stand behind the man. He tried to hide a grin.  The man had better be nervous,
'cause Charles Fishman had the drop on him.

Just before it was the man's turn to go to a teller, Chuck tapped him on the shoulder.  "Excuse
me?"

The man turned, "Yes?"

Chuck cleared his throat, and in his deepest, most authoritative voice said, "Don't even think about
it, Jack!"

The man pulled back, startled, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Pointing with his chin, Chuck whispered loudly, "I know what you're doing here.  I know all about it."

The man shook his head with disgust and took his turn in front of the teller.

Just as Chuck was about to shout a warning, there was a commotion three booths away from
where Chuck stood.  A different man was raising his voice, "Give me the money, and no one will get
hurt!"

"Shit!" Chuck said under his breath.  He'd had the wrong guy pegged.

The robber had his hand in his right pocket, the outline of something long and cylindrical evident
through the material.

Chuck took a step forward, yelling, "It's a bluff!"

The robber whirled, his expression incredulous. "Who the fuck are you?!" He pulled a gun from his
pocket and aimed it at Chuck, then holding the gun steady, he grabbed the bag of cash that the
teller handed over and dashed towards the exit.

Chuck stood frozen, eyes wide, sure that at any moment he would be shot.  Fortunately for him, the
gunman was more concerned with escape than shooting him.

As the robber fled the bank, Chuck's knees buckled, and he found himself tangled in a red velvet
rope that formed the barrier for the teller line.  Someone reached down and pulled him to his feet.
Chuck looked up to thank the man, and was speechless as he met the slightly amused eyes of the
guy he'd accused first.

"Are you okay?"

Chuck nodded mutely.

The man pulled a cell phone from his pocket, and used it to call his office.  Chuck cringed, feeling like
an idiot as the heard the man's end of the conversation.

"Yes, Brenda, tell the mayor that I'll be a few minutes late to our meeting.  Give him my apologies
please, and explain to him that I was caught in a bank robbery."

As soon as the police were done questioning everyone, Chuck slunk away.  He pulled the paper out.
The bank robbery story hadn't changed one iota.  He sighed.  Gary was not going to be happy.
 

                  ************************************
 

"Oh no!" Chuck shook his head and held his hands up. "I am *not* going to stop a port-a-potty from
being blown up.  I have to draw the line somewhere, Gar."

Gary sat forward on the couch.  It was his first day home, and all he wanted to do was crawl in his
own bed and sleep.  But, first, there was the little matter of the port-a-potty.  "Chuck, there's an
old man in there when it explodes.  You gotta stop it."  Gary held the paper up to show Chuck the
picture.  The commode was blackened near the top, with its whole roof blown off. "Look, Chuck.
That...that old man suffers damage to his hearing and--"

"Okay, fine.  I'll do it.  Just give me the paper," Chuck sighed with exasperation.

"Sorry, but why don't I keep the paper this time?  I made a list for you, instead."

"A list?  You made a list?  What?  You don't trust me?"

Gary cleared his throat and looked away, "Well, not exactly, but the last few days you haven't given
the paper back in the evening, and well-"

"You don't believe I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing?  Is that it?"  Chuck crossed his arms,
daring Gary to contradict him.

"Umm," Gary finally nodded reluctantly, "that's about it, in a nutshell, Chuck."

"Hey, I goofed up one lousy save and you're gonna hold it over my head forever aren't you?"  Chuck
shook his head, his expression bitter.  "And I suppose you've never screwed up a rescue?"

Guiltily, Gary conceded that Chuck was right to be angry.  It had only been one minor bank robbery
that Chuck had blown.  No one was hurt, just a little money was taken.  Gary handed over the
paper.  "You're right, Chuck.  Here.  But you've got to promise that you'll do the port-a-potty save."

Chuck rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I'll do it."
 
 

               ****************************************
 

Gary roused to the most noxious odor he could imagine.  What the hell was that?  Had the
plumbing backed up?  His nose twitched, then he felt something cold and slimy drip onto his hand.
His eyes flew open to meet Chuck's angry glare. He was standing beside the bed, little globs of goo
splattered all over him.  Gary wasn't sure, but he thought that there was a piece of soggy toilet
paper hanging from Chuck's ear. Gary bolted up in bed, "Wh-what happened to you?"

Chuck stood silently for several long seconds, eyes shooting daggers, then finally spoke in a clipped
tone. "I rescued the old geezer in the john."

Biting his lip to keep from laughing, Gary scrambled out of bed, careful not to come in contact with
any part of Chuck's anatomy.  "But...but how-" Gary began, wrinkling his nose and gesturing to
Chuck's appearance.  Was that *steam* rising from some of the mucky ooze?  Gary shoulders
heaved as he strove to contain his mirth.

"I was running a little late," Chuck started, eyes narrowing, "and I didn't get there in time to stop the
old man from entering the john."

"You were late?"

"Well, yeah.  There was a festival in Grant Park, and do you know how *many* port-a-potties were
set up?  Over a dozen, Gar.  I had to search toilets for fifteen minutes until I was sure I had the
right one.  And I only found that because I saw the old timer go in it."

Gary gulped, trying unsuccessfully to swallow a grin.

"Quit your smirking."

Gary cleared his throat, making a weak attempt to erase the impending grin. "Uh, sorry."

The stench was becoming overpowering, and Gary hurried to open a window. Eyes watering, he
leaned out, gratefully gulping in the fresh air. He pulled his head back in, and turning, found Chuck
standing so close that Gary could make out individual shades of brown gunk that decorated
Chuck's face and clothing.  He jumped back, bumping his head on the window in his haste to put as
much distance between him and Chuck.  "Umm, could you back off a little bit?" Gary waved his hand
in front of his face, coughing slightly.

Chuck ignored the request. "So, I'm standing there.  I see the man hobble into the commode, and I
head towards the toilet hoping that I'll spot anyone who seems to be hanging around with explosives
in their hands."

"And?" Gary encouraged.

"And I notice a couple of teens goofing around and looking really sneaky. I guess he didn't fasten the
lock properly because before I had a chance to say anything, they open the old man's door a crack,
and toss in an M-250. I ran up as fast as I could, and yanked the door wide open.  I grabbed the
guy's arm and flung him out of the port-a-potty."

Chuck paused, the corners of his mouth turning up into a slight smile.  "I'll never forget the startled
expression on his face as he came tumbling out with his pants around his ankles."  Chuck shook his
head, attempting to regain his former indignant anger, "Then, just after the old man was safely on the
ground, the firecracker exploded."

Chuck paused, leveling a thoroughly revolted glare at Gary, "Gar, I never saw so much shit fly."
 
 

                       **************************

Ch. 17
 

Gary flipped though the channels.  Talk shows, soaps, and a couple of game shows-nothing that
captured his interest.  He pushed the "off" button and tossed the remote on the coffee table.  This
enforced idleness was driving him nuts. He was going stir-crazy.  He picked up the newspaper,
searching for anything more that needed to be done.

"Ah ha!" Gary leaned forward, reading the tiny little blurb out loud. "A small fire in the kitchen of
Lucy's Diner caused a lunchtime commotion yesterday.  The fire was caused by a worker who
accidentally set a stack of napkins too close the grill.  The diner was forced to close for several
hours, but was able to open in time for the dinner crowd."

Gary picked up the phone and hit the first speed dial button. "Hey, Chuck?  How'd you know it was
me?" Gary grabbed a pencil and circled the article. "Yeah, well, anyway-I found another one for you."
He paused and winced, pulling the phone away from his ear.  He shook his head and gingerly placed
the receiver next to his ear again. "What do you mean, no?" Gary scratched his head, "It's just a
small fire in a diner--ah--no, nobody gets hurt
but-"

Gary stared at the dead phone in his hand.  "Yeah, well you're the one who said you'd stick around
and help out, buddy," Gary said to the phone as he slammed it down.

It had been nine days since Gary's release from the hospital.  The first few days had been rough.
He'd been so tired that just walking to and from the bathroom wore him out.  Taking a shower
expended so much energy that he'd needed a two hour nap after taking one.  Slowly, though, his
strength was returning.  The last couple of days he had spent time in the office downstairs trying to
help Marissa get caught up on some of the paperwork.  Tonight he planned to tend bar for a few
hours to give Crumb a break.  He grinned at the thought; he could hardly wait.  He'd finally be back
among the living.

Gary looked around the loft and decided that it needed  a good cleaning. With Chuck staying with
him until he found a new place, the small apartment felt overcrowded with suitcases, shoes and
newspapers scattered about.

Gary got to work, stacking old papers neatly, and tucking the suitcases under the bed.  He lined
the shoes up near the door, and was just collecting drinking glasses from the end-tables, when the
door burst open.  Gary looked up in surprise to see Chuck enter, slamming the door behind him.

"What are you doing back so soon?" he asked, puzzled. There was no way Chuck could have
finished all the rescues that Gary had listed.

"I'm hungry!  Is that okay, buddy?  Doesn't the paper allow a person a chance to eat?"

Gary flinched at the venom in Chuck's tone. "Well, yeah, sometimes it does.  But what about all the
stuff on the list?"

Chuck stalked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a can of pop and some lunchmeat. "I
edited the damn list."

Following Chuck into the kitchen, Gary reached into a drawer to retrieve a loaf of bread.  He
thrust it at Chuck. "You edited my list?  But, but there are things on it that need to be done."

"Then you go do them.  I'm eating." Chuck snatched the bread from Gary's hands and slapped a
sandwich together.  He grabbed a bag of chips off the counter and tucking it under his arm, took his
lunch over to the couch.

Gary stood in stunned disbelief, then trailed Chuck to sofa, standing over him. "But what about your
promise to help out?  You didn't say, 'I'll help out only if it fits my schedule.' You said, 'Gary, I'll do
whatever you need me to do, buddy.'"

Chuck looked up, guilt and something else flitting across his face. Resentment? Gary held out his
hand. "Give me the list."

His mouth full, Chuck shrugged and reached into his shirt pocket, tossing the list onto the coffee
table.

Gary slowly picked it up, noting the rescues that had been crossed off--and the ones that hadn't.
"What about the teen that drowns at the North Ave. Beach?" Gary glanced at the clock.  The
drowning would take place in only thirty minutes.

"The kid was drunk, Gary.  I'm supposed to risk my neck because he went swimming when he was
totally blotto?" Chuck glared defiantly at Gary.

"So you'll just let him die?" Gary hastily stuck his feet into his shoes. "Never mind! I'll do it myself!" He
seized the paper and rushed out the door ignoring Chuck's cries to wait for him.  He'd be damned if
he'd beg Chuck to save the kid, or worse, use guilt to force him to do what was right.

Gary decided to take McGinty's van.  It would be faster, and hopefully he'd find a parking space.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, seething at Chuck's irresponsibility.
How could he let a kid drown? It was one thing to ignore a small, harmless fire in a diner, another
thing altogether to blow off someone losing their life.

Gary raced through traffic, weaving in and out and blaring his horn at taxis. Stuck at a stoplight,
Gary ran his fingers through his hair, "Damn him!" He pounded his fist on the steering wheel,
muttering, "Come on, light." When the light turned green, Gary gunned the engine, releasing his
pent-up frustration.

What was Chuck's problem, anyway?  Just because the paper had been especially busy, that didn't
give him the right to take out his anger on an innocent kid.  Gary remembered the article in the
paper.  Okay, maybe Jeremy Chapman wasn't totally innocent.  The paper said that alcohol had
been a factor in the drowning, but that didn't mean he should die because of it.  He was only
seventeen, for chrisake. He made a stupid mistake, that shouldn't mean that he should pay for it
with his life.

Ten minutes later, Gary was at the beach.  He had only five minutes to find the kid and prevent him
from drowning.

Gary lurched through the sand, his feet sinking in the soft surface, feeling his energy being sapped
by the effort.  "Jeremy!  Jeremy Chapman!" he called loudly.  The beach was crowded and most
people ignored him.  He made his way towards the water, his hand shielding his eyes from the glare
as he scanned the surf.  He squinted as he spotted a head bobbing about fifty feet from shore.
There was something about the way the person was flailing his arms.  Gary glanced around.
Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to the swimmer.  He started to turn away, convinced he
had the wrong person.

Abruptly, the head dropped from sight.

"Shit!" Gary turned, searching for a lifeguard.  He located one posted about forty yards away, but
the guard was looking the other way, yelling at some kids to stop horsing around. He didn't notice
Gary's frantic waving.

 Gary caught the attention of some girls who were strolling nearby. "Hey!   Go get the lifeguard!
There's a kid drowning out there!" He pointed to the kid's head, which had popped back up
momentarily only to go back under a second later.

The girls raced off towards the guard.  Gary pulled out the paper.  The article was still there.
"Damn!" He hesitated for a moment, not sure if he was up to rescuing the teen himself, but realized
there was nothing else he could do. He tossed down the paper and hopped on alternate feet as he
ripped off his shoes and then taking long running strides through the waves, he plunged into the
water.

Gary swam as hard as he could towards the bobbing head. Frantic when he lost sight of the kid
only a few feet from where he had last seen the him, Gary tread water, quickly turning in a circle as
the tried to find the boy. Taking a deep breath, he dove under the surface, swimming down as far as
he was able.  Visibility was poor, and after only about twenty seconds, Gary was forced to come
up for air. Cursing his inability to hold his breath any longer, Gary gasped. His lungs felt like they
were on fire and dark spots swam in his vision.  Sucking in another lung full of air, Gary submerged
again. A flash of white just off to the left caught his eye and grabbed at it.  He was rewarded with
the feel of a cold hand in his.

He tugged on the hand as he kicked for the surface.

Gary coughed and sputtered as he pulled the boy up, finally able to maneuver the kid's head above
water.  Wrapping his arm around the boy's neck, Gary started towards shore, his arms and legs
feeling like someone had poured lead into them.  He choked on mouthful of water and almost went
under. Laboriously side-stroking, his breath ragged, he slowly drew closer to the beach.

"Gary!  Hang on, man!"

Gary turned onto his back, struggling to maintain his grip on the kid. He thought he heard someone
calling to him, but the sound of his breathing and the water cascading over his head with every wave
muffled the voice. He kicked his feet with the last of his strength, hoping the final surge would carry
them to safety.

Suddenly, several pairs of arms were reaching towards him.  He relaxed as he felt himself and his
burden being pulled in, though he maintained his hold on the boy until he felt sand shifting under his
back.  He released the teen into waiting hands, and weakly turned over; retching water onto the
sand.

Gary crawled a few feet up the beach, the water lapping at his ankles, and collapsed on his back,
his breaths coming in great heaving gasps. Someone was shaking his shoulder.

"Hey Gar, you okay?"

Gary nodded without opening his eyes.  What was Chuck doing here?  He was supposed to be
eating lunch. Gary started shivering,  slowly at first, but then his whole body began trembling so
hard he had to clench his jaws to keep his teeth from chattering.

"I need a blanket or towel here!"  Chuck bellowed to somebody.

Gary struggled to sit up, pulling his knees towards his chest, arms locked around them and he
rocked slowly back and forth, eyes tightly closed.  A sun-warmed warmed blanket was draped
around his shoulders, and he was sure that nothing had ever felt so good.

"I'm sorry, buddy."

Gary opened his eyes. Chuck was sitting next to him, his expression bleak. "I-i-it's ok-k-kay."

"No, it's not.  I blew it." Chuck hung his head in dejection.

All around them chaos reigned as the lifeguards performed CPR on Jeremy Chapman.

Gary heard a choking cough, and turned in time to see Jeremy begin to move and spit water out of
his mouth. The teen opened his eyes and attempted to sit up.

Grinning at the sight, a new warmth spreading through Gary.  "Don't worry about it, Chuck.  It all
turned out okay."

Chuck glanced at Jeremy, then dropped his head again. "Yeah, but only because of you." Chuck
scuffed a toe in the sand, avoiding Gary's gaze. "I'm just not cut out for this sort of thing, Gar.  Look
at you-" Chuck finally turned, gesturing at Gary's bedraggled appearance, "you're sitting here cold,
wet, and half drowned, and you're loving every minute of it."

A cough overtook Gary before he could reply and he winced at the lingering pain in his chest.  "I'm
not exactly loving it, Chuck."

Chuck snorted, then chuckled, "Maybe not the half-drowned part-but you love saving people, Gary.
It's what you live for."

Gary focused on bug crawling through the sand. "No, I don't.  It's just something that I have to do."
 

"That's just it, Gar.  It's something you *have* to do. Like other people need food and water. That's
why you get the paper. Not me. Not anyone else.  I'll never be like that no matter how hard I try."

"Yes, you could Chuck.  Together we could-" Gary protested, knowing in his heart that Chuck was
right.

Chuck picked up a small twig and started shredding it. "No, Gar. I think I first realized it when you
were stuck in that movie theater and the paper went to your parents instead of me.  I was never
meant to be a part of this thing. You were. I've just been along for the ride."

Gary was silent, staring out at the water.  He could feel what was coming next and his gut
clenched.

"I can't stay here, Gar." Chuck cleared his throat, tossing the shredded stick into the surf, "I'm going
back to L.A. next week.  I hope you understand."

Gary opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.  His throat had a lump in it the size of a ping pong
ball.  He swallowed hard, dropping his head.  He wanted to rant and rave and beg Chuck to stay.
He shuddered when he thought of the future.  The years ahead of him with no one to help share the
burden. The loneliness. He pulled in a deep breath, finally lifting his head.

"I understand, Chuck." And Gary was surprised to find that he *did* understand.  The paper had
never been important to Chuck. It had been a lark. An adventure while it lasted, but one that Chuck
was more than ready to put behind him.  This was the way it was meant to be.

"If you ever really need me, though, just give me a holler, buddy."

Gary nodded, smiling.  He knew that now.  "Yeah, Chuck. I will."

Chuck stood, offering Gary a hand and hauling him to his feet. "Come on, let's get you out of here."
 

THE END
 

Don't forget to feed the author!  Maryilee

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