Spoiler warnings:  this takes place after Chuck leaves for California, then returns, the upcoming X-Mas. It doesn't give a reason why  he returns yet:  I'm working on that as I speak.  I hope you guys don't mind getting this story first, and then the other story later, they really can be read apart from each other.  Basically, it doesn't really fit with the universe we know, because we know Fisher Stevens won't be returning perminantly. (sob)  This also takes place after Robin (the bartender) finds out about the paper.  I hope you guys don't mind that I gave her a last name!

 Gary Hobson, Marissa Clark, Chuck Fishman, the Cat, and the Paper belong to Bob Brush, CBS Television, Angelica Films, Columbia-Tristar, and Three Characters.

 Also, many many MANY thanks to inkling and Maryilee, who both saved this story, really.  And both saved me! ;-)  I couldn't have made it this far without their help, guidance, and superb Beta reading!  Thanks for everything, guys!

 On a final note, I thank you all for reading my story, and I thank everyone for their feedback. :-)  I also discovered, upon  revision, something that I supposed I had known before, but I think I should share this too! <g>  Writing is an effort of love, and love is what I send to you all with this story. <g>

 Now, onto the contents you REALLY came here to read!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Submission to Fate
by Dana K

Part 1

Monday, March 29, 1999-

 "Monday, Monday, lah lah . . ."  Robin hummed off key softly as she patted the orange cat on the back.  "Hey, there, kitty.  Food time.  Gary's out with the paper, so you should be happy."

 Across the bar, a heavy set man who was a newcomer to the restaurant said, "Hey.  Shouldn't that cat be outside or something?  That's a health risk."

 Chuck, sitting at the bar doing assessments on McGinty's monthly income, raised his head and glared at the guy. "That cat belongs in this bar.  He's practically our mascot!"

 The chubby gentleman rose with anything but gentleness and stood above Chuck, his bad breath enough to stain the  paperwork.  "That cat's a health hazard, and I think I should call the officials," he snarled.

 Three or four nearby diners began to complain loudly in the felines defense; most of the regular customers liked the regal orange cat that was always friendly and polite.

 Chuck felt a slight pang of fear at the threat, but instantly relaxed.  Gary's cat could be described as anything but a normal stray; it had its own uncanny way of knowing when to disappear and when it was safe to come out of hiding.  They wouldn't get in trouble for health problems if the officials couldn't find any.

 Chuck lifted his head to look at the man and fought the impulse to grimace with distaste.  "If you do, they won't find any sight of the cat. It's very good at hiding."  Noting the beer stains on the big man's shirt and the dirt under his fingernails, Chuck added, "and we're very clean here."

 Robin smiled slightly at Chuck's rebuff of the man, but felt that it wasn't enough.  "So's the cat.  In fact, that cat's cleaner than a lot of people in this world."  Her eyes watched as her insinuation hit its intended mark.

 With a frown, the disheveled man paid his bill and left.

 "Hello, everyone!"

 Chuck glanced up and smiled as his gaze took in the presence of his favorite waitress.  "Good tips today, Mona?"

 Mona barely gave Chuck a glance from under her long lashes; she wasn't quite sure of what to expect from him anymore.  It was one thing to have a daily customer throw badly hidden sexual innuendoes at her, for it was part of the job, and she knew how to deal with it.  But when the guy suddenly became her boss, because his best friend got the bar . . . it felt odd, not knowing how to act around him.

 Also, when Chuck was just a regular Joe, he had seemed like such a slimy guy.  But ever since Gary had acquired the bar, Chuck had stopped saying the things all together.  Mona supposed that it was fear of sexual harassment charges, but it set her off guard.  All of her defenses that she had so carefully set up against him were going to have to come down . . . or be changed.
 But not yet.  Deciding to dig just a little to make sure Chuck got the picture, Mona looked to Robin and grinned, "I met the cutest guy over there."

 Robin rolled her eyes as Chuck sighed and returned to his paper work.  She knew Mona's reasons.  "So," Robin said, changing the subject for Chuck's sake, "Where is Gary, anyway?"

  Chuck shook his head, waiting for Mona to go back to waiting tables before he responded. "Someone was going to get hurt on their bicycle, I think.  I'm not sure after that; he didn't call me or anything."

 Robin frowned, but knew the information was all he had.

 When Gary had forgotten his paper at the bar a few months ago, and she had discovered it's strange properties, she had really not been surprised it came to him.  Robin hadn't been too surprised with the paper, either, for she was an avid watcher of the X-Files and she believed some of the possibilities that were out there . . .  Well, at least she understood more about the mysterious things that could go on, and there had been some pretty strange things.

 She remembered the time Gary, Chuck and Marion Crumb almost died from an explosion on that abandoned tugboat.  It was strange enough that Marissa had somehow known about the danger her friends were in, and then managed to arrive with help just in time.  But, why were they on the boat in the first place, and who would want to kill them?

 However, Robin had been forced to give up on her subtle inquiries. Gary and Marissa wouldn't talk about it, and even Crumb had brushed her off.  With Chuck's return from California in August, she was sure she would have the chance to get the story.  But the guilty look that had flashed across his face silenced her, indicating that he had something to do with whatever had almost cost the three of them their lives.

 Saying Gary's life with the paper could be pretty dangerous was an understatement.  But Gary usually called to check in, didn't he?  Robin knew it had been hectic, so maybe she had missed a call--

 "Hey, Rob, can I have a martini?"

 Robin's head rose and she smiled.  "Sure."

 Chuck watched Robin get the drink, noting that she had seemed rather troubled.  She sure was a looker . . . not really gorgeous, but pretty in a next-door-neighbor type of way.  With a sigh, he realized that she would never be interested in him.  She didn't put up well with his flirtatious jokes like Mona had, so he had just stopped trying.  Strangely, instead of remaining wary of him after he had given up, Robin had actually started treating him kind of like she treated Gary.  With respect.  Like a
friend.  Hmm . . . she definitely thought Gary was nice, and Chuck knew that most women thought Gary was extremely attractive . . . but could it be more?

 Chuck sighed, realizing that he was the last person who should be psychoanalyzing anyone he hardly knew, and returned once more to the never ending book work for McGinty's.

 "Chuck," Robin said, having gotten the people their drinks.

 "Hm?"  His head rose again.

 "Chuck, shouldn't Gary have checked in by now?"

 He sighed once more.  "I'm sure he's fine," he told her, assuring himself as much as her with the words.  Knowing they were alone at the bar, he added, "He had a paper that was practically empty of anything serious."

 "Yeah.  I guess."  Robin was surprised at how her thoughts kept coming back to Gary.  He was her boss, jeeze.

 It was early Monday evening, and the smell of lilacs and tiger lilies floated over the cold air.  The refreshing scents went unnoticed by Gary, however, for they were mixed with smog, city refuse and his own sweat.   {Just a little more, almost there,} he thought, panting heavily. Neon lights of every color struck his eyes from all around him, taunting him that he would be too late.  Cars, backed up in a traffic jam, honked mockingly at his gasping progress.

 He had already called the police anonymously, claiming he had overheard two young men planning a robbery at a nearby bank, but he wasn't sure if they would believe him.  He had never been a good lier.  The hold up would occur at 7:00, unless Gary could stop it.  If he could get there in time, he knew he could keep twelve people from being shot and recieving various levels of injury.  He glanced at the paper again as he halted in front of the bank, leaning over with his hands on his knees.  He gasped and winced at the stabbing ache that settled into his stomach and legs, but forced his eyes open to check if the article had changed.  Seeing that it appeared the same, he walked painfully into the bank.

 A second later his own name appeared on the list of the injured, and went unnoticed.
 

 Gary strode into the bank at six fourty-one, stopping short before he had taken mroe than a few steps.  Sweat pooled against his neck around his collar, and droplets teased his brow.  Irritated, he wiped them away as he thought.

 He knew if he told the whole truth, he'd be implicated, and he couldn't afford that, not with his reputation with he police. The police captain and Commissioner didn't trust him as far as they could throw him. However, he hated lying, and he wasn't very good at it, so he was torn between what to do.

 So, Gary feverishly contemplated what to do as he studied the hard-backed wooden chairs in the rather unappetizing waiting area, surrounded by a disquieting light blue wallpaper.  He wasn't sure what tactic to take.  Should he risk the danger of telling the truth, even though they might not believe, or should he lie, and risk them seeing through the deception?

 Making his decision, he walked up to the youngest woman at the counter.  Her name tag said "Janice" and her black hair was pulled up into a bun above her dark eyes.  "Excuse me, ma'am, could you please help me? Um . . . well, my, my buddy, he . . ." Gary stopped, frowning as a spot of color came into his view sight.  "What?"  he said incredulously.

 "Meow!"  The orange cat blinked at him, then jumped from the back counter right onto the computer.

 The woman at the counter cried out, "Oh my God!  What is that cat doing in here!  Get off, off!"  She tried waving at it, but it hissed at her, and began jumping up and down on the keyboard.  The computer complained bitterly with a few disquieting noises.

Gary suddenly realized the usefullness of a crazed feline.  "Hey, call security!  Maybe . . . well, it's a stray, right?"  He tried to tell the truth as it was.

 The woman, Janice, gasped.  "Why, it might have rabies!"  She picked up a phone that sat behind the counter.  "Security, there's a rabid animal in the bank!  Get over to the front desk, quickly!"

 Gary watched as Janice slowly backed away from the cat, until her back was pressed against the counter.  "Nice cat," The young woman whimpered.

 Within seconds, the security officers ran in.  "What's the problem?" one man asked.

 "It's a rabid cat!" the woman screamed.

 Gary opened his mouth to say something to protect the cat, but then closed it abruptly.  A strangled feeling contorted his face into a frown as he realized that the orange cat was no longer there.

 "Janice," one of the security officers said, "there's no cat.  What were you talking about?"

 "It was here.  He saw it!" she pointed to Gary, who blinked.

 "Well," Gary muttered, stalling, "yeah, I saw it.  It took off."

 As they were talking, Gary looked out the window and saw some men wearing black masks around their necks.  As they began to pull the masks up, he turned and said, "Hey, there's a man with a gun outside.  He's heading this way!!"

 The security   « guards turned, and one pulled his gun, just as the doors opened and the men walked in, their guns also drawn.  Chaos ensued, as alarms began and the gunmen realized that their element of surprise was gone.  With more fear than thought, the bank robbers began shooting.  Gary saw everything rushing before him, but he knew that the shocked woman standing outside of the safety of the counter was the only importance.  With a cry, he jumped in front of her, pain filling him and ears ringing from an unearthly roar.  He fell to the ground, his head thumping sharply against the side of the counter.   But as the fire-fight ended, it was clear the gunmen had lost. The security guards had incapacitated the masked men.  Just as the police
entered to see their work done for them, the young teller Janice yelled, "We have wounded! Someone call for some ambulances!!  Now!!!"

  The security parted, and the police officers looked down at the man resting in the woman's lap.

 Gary, his vision blurred and fading, only heard the woman say, "He jumped in front of me when they fired.  He saved my life!!"  Then Gary saw the light fading from his mind, leaving him in blackness.

Part 2

The phone rang at ten thirty, and Chuck answered it.  "McGinty's Restaurant, Chuck speaking."

 "Hello, this is Doctor Janelle Markley from Cook County General Hospital.  We have a patient named Gary Hobson who was brought in a few hours ago.  We found this number in his wallet-"

 "Wait a second. What's wrong with him, is he okay?"  Chuck demanded, fear choking the vibrato of his voice.

 Marissa overheard him, and stepped closer.  "Chuck?"

 Chuck took her hand in his and listened to the Doctor speak.  "He was shot!!  Oh my God.  God!!  Yeah, yeah, we can, I mean, I can come down, yeah, I'm his best friend.  No, he doesn't have any other family that I know of, other than his parents.  Yeah, I'll try to contact them.  Right away, we'll be there.  Thank you!"

 Marissa halted Chuck's nervous leap for the door, pulling him back with a firm hand on his arm. "Chuck?"

 "Yeah, yeah," he ran a hand through his dust-brown hair, and gazed at her with eyes that he could not keep focused on her.

 "Calm .  .  .  calm down," she whispered softly.  "We'll get there. He'll be okay.  Now let's go."  She took her cane in one hand, and put her other arm through Chuck's own.

 Chuck nodded, grabbed his coat with his free left hand, and walked Marissa to the door, quickly but carefully.

 "Wait," called Robin.  "What's going on?"

 Chuck stopped and turned, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts. "Gary . . . he's been hurt real bad. We're goin' to the hospital."

 Robin lost her usual good humor instantly, but quickly masked herself with a bland expression.  "He-is he all right?"

 Marissa seemed to know what was in her mind.  "Would you like to come with us?  You are the head bartender."

 Robin swallowed and said, "Thank you, yes."  She tightly ordered the other bartender to watch the place, then joined them as they hurried to Chuck's car.
 

 Doctor Janelle Markley watched with sharp brown eyes as two women and a man walked quickly towards her spot in the waiting room of the Serious Care Unit.  The black woman with the cane had an air about her of the eye of the storm; her quiet look into the distance told Janelle all she needed to know about her sight.  The woman seemed to lead the worried man instead of being led.

 Right behind them, the younger, brown haired woman followed with a blank expression.  Janelle had seen that look often, on the faces of many people.  She had learned from her work at the hospital of the tortured pain that was often hidden behind the facade.  The man's electric blue eyes flickered around, as if searching for someone he was missing.  His brown hair, tinged with blond, carelessly fell around his face, and Dr. Markley could see the signs of slight shock on his pale features.

 Markley stepped closer, saying, "Can I help you?  Are you all right?"

 The younger woman's brown eyes were stricken when they looked down upon the petite doctor's face.  "Yes, we're looking for our friend-"

 "Gary!" the man said sharply, as if coming out of a trance, "Where is he?  Please, we've gotta see him!"

 Markley recognized the man's voice from the phone call she had recently completed, and she gazed up at him kindly. "Gary Hobson.  You must be Chuck, we spoke on the phone.  I'm Doctor Markley, the doctor assigned to him after his surgery was completed.  I'll take you to his room right away."

 Chuck quickly followed her, the two woman at his side.

 The black woman said softly, "How is he?"

 "He's stable, but in a coma, a very serious condition.  He just got out of surgery the second time an hour ago, and was moved from Intensive Care to Serious."

 The younger woman blanched. "And he was shot?  How?"

 "During a bank robbery in progress, he was shot twice.  Once in the shoulder, which went clean through, thankfully, and once in the stomach."

She noted the man's sick expression, and said, "I'm sorry, Mr.  . . ."

 "Fishman, Chuck Fishman.  This is Marissa Clark," he said, his head inclined towards the black woman, "and Robin Tormay."

 "Well, Mr. Fishman," she said as she turned the corner, "Gary was injured very badly.  But they removed the bullet with success, and repaired the damage.  The only thing left is to help his body heal and hope he comes out of the coma."

 A battle was being fought for control upon Marissa's face.  With difficulty, she said, "Doesn't a coma indicate some measure of brain damage?"

 "Yes, but not necessarily anything permanent.  Our scans show that he's suffering from brain trauma, probably caused by hitting his head against something when he was shot.  Fortunately, there is only some slight swelling of his brain, and his fluids are moving well, but his brain waves are only fair.  We're going to monitor him closely. We also have him attached to a respirator."

 Chuck's azure eyes widened nervously.  "He's having trouble breathing on his own?"

 "Yes, we're not sure yet why.  But it may have to do with the coma and the swelling of his brain.  The swelling may grow at any moment, and if so, we most likely will have to operate on his brain.  That was why I was assigned to him . . . I'm a neurosurgeon, and I'm well versed in this kind of situation. Even if we have to operate, I know we can save him. However," she continued quickly as their expressions faltered, "if the swelling goes down, he should come out of the coma in a few days without any permanent damage. It may take a while, perhaps a week or more.  He does have insurance?"

 "Yeah," Chuck said, pulling out one of his business cards and a pen.  He wrote the name and number of the insurance company and gave it to her; by now he had it memorized. "There's the number to call."

 "Thank you.  Are you certain he doesn't have any other family we can contact?" Dr. Markley said, taking the piece of paper as she halted in front of a door.

 "His parents are in Colorado, aren't they, Chuck?" Marissa said, unsure.  "And what about Renee?"

 "Yeah, they're on vacation.  Renee's in Indiana.  I'll call them when we get back," Chuck assured Janelle.

"All right.  Here he is," Dr. Markley told them, and walked through the door quietly.

  The three followed her into the room in complete silence; afraid of what they might find, yet knowing they had to go in.  Chuck's small gasping noise was the only sound as they entered the room to see Gary, pale and motionless, lying in the bed.  The IV of blood that was hooked up to him, a heart monitor and the respirator were the only signs of life.

 Dr. Markley watched from the background, feeling, as always in her business, like she was eavesdropping into their personal lives. Uncomfortable, she looked away from the agonizing emotions on their faces.  Chuck pulled the chair over to the bed and gently took Gary's limp hand in his own.  Chuck wrapped Gary's cold fingers in his own, willing his own life to pour into Gary.  "Gair," Chuck said softly, "Why'd ja' gotta go and get yourself in trouble again?"  Chuck looked at Gary's pale face, feeling the pain and fear build in him.

 Robin slowly guided Marissa to the bed.  As silent as Chuck was vehement, Marissa quietly smoothed her fingers across  Gary's clammy skin and brushed at his soft hair.

 Behind Marissa, Robin pulled back, feeling as if she was trespassing.  She bit her thumb, shock and sadness in her eyes.  But Chuck wouldn't, couldn't remain silent like the others.  "Why can't you be selfish like me, Gair?  Stop risking your life for strangers, damn it!"  His voice broke, and he stopped talking abruptly.  His head dropped, hiding the pain that he could no longer control.

 Turning to Dr. Markley, Robin was no longer able to keep the tears from showing in her eyes.  "He won't . . . die . . . will he?"
 At this blatant mention of all their fears, Chuck covered his face with his hand.  Marissa's eyes were moist as she patted Chuck on the shoulder.

 Dr. Markley brushed her dark red hair away from her face and stepped closer to Robin.  "There is very little chance of that happening, but even so, I promise all of you that I will do everything I can to prevent it."  She paused, her brown eyes falling painfully upon Chuck's turned back.  "I'll leave you alone with him for a few minutes."

 "Thank you," Robin said for them all, and returned her attention to Gary's still form.

 Janelle Markley glanced back a final time, then turned and left the room, shutting the door behind her.
 

 When they returned to the restaurant, Marissa was chosen to call Renee, since they had grown to be friends.  The choking  breaths over the phone as Renee responded to the news were enough to send Marissa back to tears, but she held fast, comforting Renee as best she could over the phone.  Renee vowed to be on the first plane leaving for Chicago.  Chuck sat, incapable, at the bar, clutching the bag of Gary's belongings forlornly.  Gary's sued jacket lay across the bar as if it, too,
mourned its owner.  A bullet hole scorched the worn material inches above the front hem. It had missed the zipper by another inch.

 Marissa tried to reach Gary's parents over the phone.  But when she called the resort that they were staying at, the resort informed her that the older couple had already left for home. It was impossible to reach them, so Marissa called their house and left a message.

 As for Crumb, Robin took charge of the phone while Marissa sat next to Chuck at the bar.  Though rough and snappish, Crumb arrived minutes later and stayed close to Marissa and Chuck.  Marissa's hearing narrowed down so that she could not hear the voices around her, and no touch broke through her thoughts save the course remains of Gary's jacket.  She had never felt so alone and stifled . . . and so impaired by her inability to save Gary.
 

 Pain and sorrow had always been his constant companions.  After years of suffering on and off, through ridicule and rejection and death, the unwanted comrades grew into old, familiar aches, until, taught by the cruel master that is life, he learned to cut off the feelings.  Even if they resurfaced, he shoved them down again ever harder than before.  Life was a joke, a game.  Being serious just hurt too much.  People were to be distanced from him inside himself.

 On and on he told himself this, as a cold ache settled into his sternum.  {I don't care, it's not my problem, I DON'T care-}

 A voice interrupted his oaths, and someone touched his shoulder. "What?" he snapped, crushing the bag mercilessly.

 Uncertainly, the brown eyes pierced into him from above.  "Chuck . . . are you okay?"

 His voice caught in his throat when he tried to speak, his eyes caught by Gary's damaged coat as he dropped the bag to the floor. {No, it's not supposed to be this way.  Gary's not . . . supposed to do this to me . . .} Standing quickly, Chuck pushed away Robin's hand and stormed into the kitchen and past the office.  The dark solace of the stairs leading to Gary's loft beckoned him, and Chuck rushed to them before he collapsed to the floor.  Falling to the steps, he began to sob angrily, hitting the wooden stairs with rage.  It wasn't working, a part of him said as he cried.  All that planning and swearing and hiding inside hadn't worked.  He had planned it all wrong.

 The weeping subsided, and he sat in the sudden silence left in its wake.

 Gary was the closest to dying as he had ever been.  Once again the damnable paper had thrown him into the midst of danger . . . perhaps for the last time.  But Chuck had never really expected Gary to be killed by it.  It was as if, Chuck told himself bitterly, he had never accepted the true weight of the possibility.

 Slowly, Chuck stood, leaning against the wall as he rubbed his blood-shot eyes.  {If only Gary hadn't ever gotten that paper . . .} he told himself, {he would still be alive.}  Rage hung suspended in his cooling blue eyes, and when a familiar meow sounded in the kitchen, he suddenly began walking towards it, his anger and pain growing with every step.

 The orange tabby sat in the kitchen on the floor.  One look at Chuck, and it dashed through the swinging doors, Chuck on its tiny heels.  "Come back here, you damn cat!"  He chased it into the empty dining room, where Marissa and Robin still sat, dazed, with Crumb cleaning the counter behind them.

 "Chuck!"  Robin cried, but he ignored her and followed the cat around the room, trying to corner it amongst the tables covered with upside-down chairs.

 "What's going on?" Marissa asked nervously.  "Chuck, what did the cat do?"

 Chuck cornered the cat under a table, where it sat, back ridged and tail upright.  "He killed Gary!!  If it wasn't for this cat, Gary'd be okay!"  He tried to grab for the cat between the chair backs, but it ducked and hissed at him. "Damn you!"

 "Fishman, what the hell are you talkin' about?"  Crumb snapped.  "If anyone did anything, it was those damn bank robbers.  Leave the frickin' cat alone."

 Chuck turned from where he had been crouching beside the table to glare at the overweight man. "You don't understand, Crumb, so you should just stay out of it!  Even if you don't believe it, this cat's responsible for Gary dying-"

 Suddenly Marissa screamed, "Gary DID NOT DIE!"

 Silence took over, and Chuck stood slowly, looking at the stricken face of his blind friend.  "Marissa, I-"

  "Dammit, Chuck!"  Her eyes began to fill with tears, and her head tossed back and forth as she stood shakily.  "I don't want to hear it, okay?  He's going to live."

 "How do you know that?" Chuck demanded. "How can you be so sure . . ."  He stepped towards her and took her hands that were held out as if in prayer.  "Marissa . . . dammit, I. . ."

 Marissa nodded. "Um, Zeke, Robin . . . Chuck and I need to talk. Would you excuse us?  Come one, Chuck. Let's go into the office."

 Chuck nodded, but gave one final curious glance back to the cat. It stood gazing at him, calm and secure, as if their dangerous battle had never been.  With a sigh, Chuck went with Marissa into the kitchen.
 

 Marissa had waited for this moment for two of the most important three years of her life . . . the ones with Gary.  If she could ever love any two people as much as she loved Gary and Chuck, she would be very blessed, but even more so if those people were as wonderful as her friends were.  Yet, this moment had been building for some time, ever since the paper had arrived, and she had to face it . . . even though she found herself still unprepared for the confrontation.

 Chuck's hands were warm in her own, but they shook, and his breathing was ragged.  "You need to sit down, Chuck," Marissa told him, freeing one of her hands to find her desk.  His hand in her own helped her to the desk, then they parted physical company.  Marissa wiped her moist eyes and slowly sat down in her chair.  "Chuck," she began, but he interrupted her.

 "Marissa, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said any of that-"

 "No. Stop it," she ordered.  She took a deep breath and began again. "You matter too," she told him softly, and quiet met her admission. "Chuck . . . you asked why and how I could believe that he will live.  I don't know how to answer that . . . but I know that he must.  It hurts, I know, but the cat has never meant Gary harm.  I know it.  Please, Chuck, leave the cat alone.  If Gary dies, then . . ."  Her voice caught in her throat.  "Then you can extract justice . . . but I doubt you'll be able to find the cat.  And would you really want to kill an innocent creature that might possibly have nothing to do with any of this?"

 The sound of his somewhat even breathing filled the room.  She could faintly smell his sweat, could almost imagine probing the lines of cold anger upon his face with her fingertips, a face she had never touched.

 She waited for an answer until she was about to speak again to break the silence.  But he spoke instead. "Marissa . . ." his voice was soft, and rather dulled. "I . . . I'm afraid."

 Marissa gasped as the emotion in his statement hit her, pulling her own feelings out of her as if a torrential storm buffeted her innards.  "Me too, Chuck," she said, then pressed her lips together tightly to suppress her weeping.  {Touch.  Touch me.  Please.  I'm so alone.}

 She was not disappointed as warm hands gently rested upon her shoulders. "Oh, Marissa," the voice roughly whispered below her, and she knew Chuck had to be kneeling before her, "I am so sorry."

 She shook her head and slowly reached out a hand to where the top of his head had to be.  She found his soft hair and patted him affectionately.  "You and Gary are my best friends.  Chuck . . . please try to understand.  Gary knows that you care about him . . . beating yourself up over this won't help anything."

 "I don't want him to die," he said defiantly, and Marissa could feel his hands tighten slightly on her shoulders, then relax with effort.

The physical reaction to his anger didn't surprise her intellectually; it was what she had expected upon Gary's first serious injury . . . but it remained strange to witness the reactions come from someone who professed to be such an uncaring and selfish person.

 "I know you don't want him to die," Marissa answered softly.  "But you're not going to stop it by acting like it already happened.  Try to have faith, Chuck.  I know it's hard, but you have got to try."

 A pause stilled the room. "Okay," he finally whispered.  "They said that tonight . . . tonight would be the worst if his brain swelled again. He could . . . tonight."

 "Yes," Marissa said guardedly, wondering what was coming next.

 She could feel as he stood, the air changing in the room and his voice rising in space.  "I'm gonna go back to the hospital, Marissa.  Just in case anything happens . . ."

 Marissa smiled slightly to hear the calmer tonality to his voice.

Chuck was trying to have faith, and that was all she could ask.  "Chuck," she spoke up as his hands left her shoulders, "would you mind if I went with you?"

 A deep sigh sounded as she stood.  "I'd like that," he answered, and Marissa could hear that he also was trying to smile.

 "Good." She held out her hand and felt him grasp it gently but firmly.  "Let's go."
 

Part 3

The night passed much more uneventfully.  Sleeping in the waiting room outside the Cook County SCU wasn't the night of choice for Chuck, but as he looked across at Marissa as she slumbered, he couldn't say he didn't spend it with a beautiful woman.

 The smile that hinted to appear on his face was extinguished as he thought back to the patient beyond the walls and hallways of the ward.  The old lady in California had told him not to hide his problems inside of himself.  If there was any problem he had now, it was that his best friend could die.

 How could he share something like that with someone?  And who would give a damn enough about him to listen?  Chuck didn't even know why Gary gave a damn about him . . . but for some reason, he did, and for that Chuck was thankful.  He wouldn't allow the death of one of the few people in the world who had ever really cared about him . . . even if it meant that he went insane.

 Looking at the bland walls of the waiting room, Chuck sighed at his melodrama.  As if there was anyone here who wanted to listen to his outlandish vows.

 Settling himself back down on the floor, his coat covering him, Chuck moved around until he felt comfortable on his back.  He didn't expect to fall asleep at all, but within a few minutes, the stress of the day plummeted him into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

Tuesday, March 30, 1999-

 Janelle Markley entered the Serious Care wing of the hospital early to check on her patients.  Gary Hobson was the second coma patient assigned to her in the last month.  The first was still in a coma, but her brain waves were steady and had been showing signs of life in the past week.  She hoped that the attractive young man that had been brought in the other night would fair better.

 The only other entrance to the hospital was the physician's entrance, but she did not have a security card.  Though at times she was on call, she was not a permanent emergency room physician.  So, as she walked through the front doors to the SCU waiting room, she received the surprise of finding her patient's two friends sleeping on the floor.

 A smile lit her face as she watched them slowly begin to wake as the noise around the hospital rose to a normal level of activity.  It was amazing to see this devotion to a friend, an act of love that she rarely saw beyond immediate family members.
 The man, Chuck Fishman, opened his eyes and stretched, his coat falling away from him as he sat up.

 "Good morning," Janelle said, beaming at him.

 "Hi."  He looked blearily at her, and patted his associate gently.  "Marissa, wake up.  The doctor's already here."  His blue eyes returned to Janelle. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

 "I work here," she answered, amused.

 "No, I mean, waiting for us to wake up."  He actually looked a little embarrassed now.

 The petite woman chuckled and pulled her oversized lab coat around herself. "I was going to check on Gary and my other patient.  I decided you might as well go with me since you've stayed here all night, waiting to see if Gary would be okay."

 "Oh."  Chuck rubbed his eyes and pulled a hand through his messy dark blond hair.  "Thanks."

 Marissa was yawning beside him.  "What's going on?"

 "We're gonna see Gary, Marissa," Chuck answered.  "Doctor Markley came to see him."

 "Give me your hand," Marissa demanded hoarsely.

 He did as she told him, and helped her to stand with him.  He released her and attempted to straighten his wrinkled clothing as Marissa flattened her disturbed hair and unfolded her cane.  When she seemed prepared, Chuck gently took her arm and announced, "We're as ready as ever."

 Janelle nodded and said, "Follow me."
 

 "No one called me over the night," the petite doctor told them as they walked down the hallway, "so I know both my patients were well.  If anything had happened, I would have been called immediately and I would have rushed here."  They trailed behind her as she opened Gary's door and stepped inside.

 Chuck squeezed Marissa's arm encouragingly. "He's looking better," he told her.  "His color's improved."  The beeping heart monitor mocked his optimism.

 Doctor Markley nodded her agreement as she checked the notes left by the last nurses who looked over him.  "His last EEG was taken a few hours ago, and shows that his brain not only stopped swelling, but is half way back to normal size.  By now," she turned to grin at them, "it is probably almost there."

 Chuck found himself grinning back. "That's great.  He should be out of the coma soon, then, right?"

 The large brown eyes that had been smiling at him now lowered uncertainly. "Mr. Fishman, I'm afraid it's not as simple as that.  It all depends.  Hopefully he'll come out of it in a week, but it could be months. And he is still having trouble breathing," she said, glancing at the chart again.  "We have him on life support, but that doesn't assure that he will awake any sooner."

 Marissa broke away from Chuck and stepped vaguely towards the bed. "Chuck, I want to touch his face."

 The shorter woman gave a fleeting smile. "Ma'am, you can sit down in this chair and stay with him, if you like."  She brushed her arm against Marissa's hand, offering support.  Marissa took it, an expression of bemused sorrow on her dark features.

 "Thank you," Marissa muttered as she was lead to the chair.  She carefully inched it forward until she could reach Gary.

 From behind her, Chuck watched as she gently brushed her fingers across Gary's face.  Every wire or tube she found sent a stricken look across her face, especially the wires going into his nose that breathed air into his lungs.  Chuck stepped closer; the strange awe Marissa displayed fascinated him.

 Marissa murmured softly.  "I've never known how beautiful Gary is."

 Blinking, Chuck looked down at her warily. "What?"

 She blushed a dark mahogany, but smiled. "I was always too shy to ask if I could touch his face.  After a while . . . I just forgot that I needed to.  His voice was enough."  Her mouth turned up sweetly as if she was remembering something wonderful. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but he has a very expressive voice.  Kind and warm.  But I never knew what  . . . what he FELT like."

 Chuck felt a strange sympathy for her deprivation.  "I . . . I'm sorry, Marissa."

 "It's okay," she said gently, caressing Gary's cheeks with her fingers. "It's not that important."

 He rested his hand upon her shoulder firmly. {No.  It is.}
 

 The plane ride was numbing, a trip where she sat quietly not thinking, as if time had stopped in the world and the plane hung suspended as an insect in amber.

 Somehow Renee found her car in the parking lot and made her way from O'Hare to Cook County General without getting into an accident.  Considering how her hands shook with desperation and her mind clouded with emotions, she was lucky.  The only thing important to her was getting to Gary as soon as she could.

  As she drove, the inertness slowly began melting inside of her. Something else began to simmer, a deep simmering that  grappled with the lethargy for control.

 She parked in the parking garage blindly, thoughts numb and burning at once as she excited her car and pressed the lock button on her keys automatically.  The walk to the emergency doors of the hospital was a blur of bland colors and people passing by, until she was at the front desk.

"I'm looking for Gary Hobson.  He was brought into the emergency room yesterday?"

 The receptionist, tired with bright brown eyes and hair cut short, looked at her sympathetically. "Sure, just a moment."  Typing something into her computer, she responded with, "Yes, he's in the Serious Care Unit in room one-oh-four.  A doctor is already there with him."

 "Can I see him?" Renee asked desperately.  "Please?  He's my boyfriend."

 The receptionist picked up her phone and dialed something quickly. "Just a moment, I'm calling the room."  She paused, then said into the phone, "Doctor Markley?  There's a young woman here to see Gary Hobson. Her name is . . ."

 "Renee Caleghan,"  Renee added quickly.

 "Renee Caleghan.  She's the patient's girlfriend."  The brown eyes flickered to her and away, and a smile grew upon the other woman's face.

"Thank you, doctor."  She hung up the phone and tossed her short brown bob.

"You've been given leave to visit with him, since no family members are available at the time."

 The seated woman looked at something behind Renee, and then called, "Hey, Ricky, would you mind taking this young woman to room one-oh-four, please?"

 A young man in a green shirt stepped up to the desk. "Yeah, sure, Anne."  he smiled at Renee.  "I'm an orderly here at the hospital.  Would you follow me, Ma'am?"

 Renee nodded, the burning emotion growing, then stuffed the keys she still held into her coat pocket. "Thank you so much," she said to the receptionist, and walked through the sliding doors into the SCU ward.
 

 The trip through the corridors gave the heat time to strengthen into a palatable anger that flickered along Renee's spine.  Her empty hands clenched into fists as she strode, walking so quickly that the orderly had to run to be in front of her.

 "Ma'am," he tried, "please slow down, it's not that far away."

 Her lips tightened and the cold fury heightened her thoughts.  {How could this happen?  How could Gary have been hurt this way?}  She remembered the silent messages that had passed between Gary and Chuck in the past, that look in their eyes of secret and mystery, and she suddenly knew.

 {Chuck knows what Gary was doing.  Chuck knew.}

 Her eyes narrowed, and she stalked on, when suddenly the orderly grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop.

 "Ma'am--"  he began, but she turned to the door he gestured to, and opened it herself.

 Glaring into the room, her eyes met with the surprised glances of both Chuck and a short female stranger.  "Chuck," she began dangerously, "what the hell happened!"
 

 When the door burst open, Chuck didn't know what he expected.  But the anger in Renee's icy blue stare told him enough about the situation to know what to do next.  "Um," he cleared his throat, "We should talk outside, Renee."

 Marissa looked up from where she sat.  "Oh dear," she muttered softly.

 Chuck nodded to the doctor, who was blinking at everyone with large, confused amber eyes. "I'll be right back," he promised, and quickly pulled Renee from the room, closing the door behind him.
 

 "You were here, why didn't you protect him?!  Keep him away from this stuff he gets into-"
 

 "You think he'd listen to me?  You don't think I've told him to stop his heroic crap?  I ain't exactly the voice of reason here!"

 Chuck stepped back as both of them paused for breath.  The fight had started as soon as the door had closed, and they were both struggling for the upper hand.  He had to analyze the situation here and figure out how to convince Renee that Gary was uncontrollable.  But when she didn't even know what trouble he was into, it was difficult to know what to say. {If only Marissa was up to this,} he wished vaguely.

 "Listen, Renee," he began at a normal tone, "Gary does what he wants.  I know it hurts, and I know you're angry, but there's no one to blame."  He cursed inside and closed his eyes, wishing he could lean against the wall and rest.  The line he was feeding her was the same stuff Marissa had been saying, and he was sure it was just as unappetizing.

Her blue eyes were still reproachful. "I leave for four days and he almost gets himself killed!  Is this the normal way his weird days go?" she asked sarcastically, chest heaving and arms up as if to strike, "or did he suddenly decide to go get shot for the hell of it!  How am I supposedta' let him out of my sight, how can we have a relationship when he's always runnin' of on some insane crusade that'll kill him, what is he, a fucking psychic?" Her cries slid into choked, hoarse barks, and tears began slipping down her face.  Chuck stepped forward as Renee lowered herself to the floor and began to sob, "Dammit, Chuck, you know what this shit is about.  He won't talk t'me, and he's gonna die, and I won't even know why!"

 Chuck knelt down beside her and pulled her to one side of the hallway, ignoring the befuddled orderly who was still standing there, gaping like a fish.  "Renee, it's okay.  He'll get better, I know it.  He's already better than he was," he rambled as she sobbed against his shoulder, "the swelling's down, the doctor's optimistic . . ."

 She coughed on her weeping. "You sound like a novel or a doctor show.  'The doctor's optimistic.'"

 "But she is," Chuck insisted, clumsily putting his arms around her.

"You care about him and so do I, and so does Marissa.  When this is all over and he's better, you go and demand that he tell you why he's always running off on crazy missions, and I think he'll tell you."

 She nodded, the tears still spilling from her blue eyes.  "Okay," she sniffled. "Can, can I see him now?  Oh, Chuck, I'm sorry--"  She began crying again, but Chuck hushed her and helped her to stand.

 "Stop it, you were just acting the way anyone would act," he told her.  "I did the same thing last night."

She gave a bleary smile and asked stuffily, "Who'd you yell at?"

 "The cat," Chuck grinned, and put his arm around her waist.

 Her expression of shock melted into a tiny smile, and she wiped her eyes as he led her to the door. "You've got to be kidding."
 

 Chuck abandoned his loose hold on Renee as she made her way to Gary's bedside.  He watched her touch Marissa gently, then bend over Gary's inert body to kiss his cheek.

 Something inside of him felt shattered to think of the way Renee had wept in the hall.  For a woman who had seemed so strong in the past, it was heartbreaking to realize that she was just as weak as everyone else.  His attention strayed to the slight woman standing next to him.

"Um," Chuck began, returning the curious gaze that the diminutive doctor gave him, "sorry about the racket outside."

  She nodded, brown eyes staring up into his own. "It's very hard, isn't it."

 He looked at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand as the bleeping heart monitor filled the silence. "I'm not quite sure what you mean."

  Sighing softly, she ran a tiny hand down the doorframe as she looked across the room to where Gary lay dormant. "Loss."

His eyes narrowed and he looked away. "I guess.  I bet you've seen lots of people come in here without a fighting chance."

 "I've seen a lot of them survive," she told him sharply.

 Their eyes met, and Chuck tried to stare the elfin woman down, but her dark eyes held somber truth in them.  A sharp pain struck inside his chest, and Chuck turned his head from her compelling gaze, finding it easier to face the wall.
 

 Gary breathed shallowly in the dim, empty room.  The only illumination was from the window, moonbeams shining on the sterile gray blankets, and the blinking, dim red lights on the heart monitor.  An aura of distant coldness settled over the colorless room, echoed eerily in the comatose patient . . . as the beeping monitor slowed, then sped, then slowed again . . . finally surging to a panicked whine.  But a splash of color, warmth, and vitality asserted itself.  Breaking the deathly stillness, a warm body of ginger fire settled protectively, lovingly, against the silent man's cheek, purring life into his flesh.

 The shrill noise of the heart monitor calmed to a quiet, even beat . . . the gasping of respirator evened out into a calm, full breath . . .  Gary stirred, opening his eyes for a mere moment to see his savior. Relieved, he settled back into a deep sleep, his patient guardian reassuring him that all would be well.
 

Part 4

Friday, April 2, 1999-

 Friday night fell bitter and cold. Chuck sat at the bar, working on his third scotch.  Crumb had warned Robin and all the waitresses to cut Chuck off after three drinks. It was already a busy night at 5:30, and Chuck supposed he was more of a handful than just one person could watch.

 Chuck nursed his drink and stared at the bar-counter.  Before him sat his glass of scotch and the early newspaper.  It had been upstairs when he'd shown up that morning to feed the damn cat, though he should have let it starve.  The feline hadn't objected when he'd picked the paper up up. But ever since grabbing it, Chuck couldn't bring himself to look at it. Somehow, he felt that if he did so, he would suffer the same fate as his friend, which just made him grow more and more angry and sad.  It wasn't enough that Gary risked his life for the damn paper, Chuck told himself wearily.  Now Gary had to die for it.

 When the phone rang, Chuck ignored it.  Eventually, Robin went to answer it.  After talking for a few moments, during which her voice became lighter and happier by the second, she hung up and grabbed Chuck by the arm, hauling him off the stool. "Chuck, Gary's out of the coma!!"

 Stunned, Chuck let the words sink in, then he began to grin and laugh as Robin swung him around by both hands, his own feet tripping him. "He's awake!" Chuck finally admitted to himself.  "Marissa," Chuck beamed as he dizzily leaned against the counter.  "Isn't that great?"

 Marissa stood and reached out to find his arm, steadying her inebriated friend more than herself.  "Yes it's wonderful!  Let's go see him.  Chuck, you'd better find that paper you were complaining about earlier, or Gary will kick us out of the hospital himself.  Robin, I trust you'll drive."

 Robin smiled as Crumb came up to her.  "I think Crumb would like to drive."

 "Nah, you go.  We can't leave McGinty's untended."  Crumb smiled and returned to tending bar.

 "Hey," Chuck said, his arms opened broadly, "I can drive!"

 Marissa grinned.  "Not for a million dollars.  You're too close to drunk. Instead, you can bring the paper and use your cel'phone to call Renee on the way."

 Robin snatched her keys, Chuck took the offending paper, and they made their way to her car.
 

 Marissa held tightly onto Chuck's arm, probably in an attempt to control his giddiness. "Where are we supposed to go?" she asked as they stepped through the sliding doors into the SCU.

 "We're in Serious Care, again," Robin announced, her eyes sparkling as she glanced around.  "Doctor Markley told me that she would meet us here, so she could tell us about Gary's condition.  She also said that they'd moved him out of the Serious Care Unit and into the general medical ward."

 Marissa smiled. "That's good.  I hope he'll be able to leave soon."

Chuck patted her arm with his other hand and tried to calm himself.  Looking around, he spotted the petite doctor walking towards them from one short hallway that led to the restrooms and an elevator.  Her shoes clicked on the floor with a joyful echo to match her wide grin.  "Everyone came!" Dr. Markley noted as she stopped before them.

 "Everyone but Renee," Marissa chuckled, "and she's going to get here soon."  Her dark, unseeing eyes glistened with joy.

 "Gary's doing well,"  Dr. Markley informed them as she turned and motioned them towards her. "I'll take you to his new room."

 Chuck beamed, his eyes bright even with lack of sleep and scotch. "Did he just wake up?"  he asked curiously.

 "Well, the strange thing is," Markley told them seriously as she stopped before the elevator and pushed the up button, "and you have nothing to worry about now . . . but his heart stopped beating for about ten seconds.  The nurses rushed in," she assured them, "just to find him sleeping normally.  He actually woke up to groggily complain about how the beeping heart monitor was making it hard to sleep."

 Her infectious grin spread to Chuck easily. "That's amazing."

 "Well," Marissa said at his side, "Gary's always been pretty amazing."

  "So he's fine?" Robin wondered as the elevator doors whooshed open, emitting two doctors who brushed past them.

 "Yes.  He's breathing without need of the respirator, and we can't seem to find anything wrong with his brain," Markley said in wonderment.

They followed her into the elevator as she continued. "It's as if he never had the concussion.  I won't look a gift horse in the mouth, but I must say I wonder as to whether we doctors even made any difference."

 Chuck looked down as Marissa wrapped her arm around his own instead of clutching him in her vice-like grip.  A smile graced her face as she responded, "Of course you made a difference, doctor.  You cared."

 The shorter woman blushed awkwardly. "Well, I don't know if that has as much effect as one would wish for, but I thank you anyway."  The drone of the elevator filled the silent gap until she began again.  "He's been asking about all of you, especially . . . . Renee, I think her name was?  The nurses also said he was saying something in his sleep about a newspaper and a cat."

 Chuck began to chuckle at her puzzled expression, and Marissa and Robin grinned as well.  Dr. Markley gazed at him strangely, so he tried to explain. "His cat drives him nuts.  Steals newspapers."  He grinned and leaned against the elevator wall just as the doors pinged and opened.  As if this signaled the end of the humorous festivities, Chuck felt himself growing more somber.  They all stepped from the elevator into a busy hallway, doctors, nurses and patients at all levels of health and lack
thereof passing by them in a swarm of activity.  It reminded Chuck of just what he should be thankful for, and he pulled Marissa closer to him instinctively, eliciting from her a tiny smile just for him.

 Markley waved her arm and led them into the crowd.  They trailed her down the hall until she stopped before a door.  "Here you are."

 Chuck knocked on the door, and grinned when he heard Gary tell them to enter.  He pulled Marissa into the room, calling, "Gair!" and his eyes greedily took in the sight of Gary wide awake in bed, warily glancing around the room.

 Unnoticed behind them, Dr. Markley smiled. "I'll leave you all alone." She left quickly.

 Chuck beamed at his friend as he thoughtlessly dragged Marissa towards the bed.  Though she complained slightly, Chuck just stared at his friend, relishing the sight of him so alive.

 Gary smiled at them all from his reclining position. "Hey Chuck. Marissa." He added softly, "Robin.  'Bout time you all got here.  I've been waiting for you.  You wouldn't believe how boring hospitals are."

 Chuck shook his head. "You gave us quite a scare, my friend.  Don't you do that!  Don't ever do that again."

 "I'll try not to," Gary joked. "But where's Renee?"

 Marissa smiled and reached out a hand, shoving Chuck with the other, in the process.  Chuck glared at her while Gary chuckled softly.

 "Chuck called Renee," Marissa gently told Gary as he grasped the hand she held out to him.  "She's staying in your loft.  When you were injured we called her, and she took a plane up here.  She'll be here soon. I'm so glad you're all right."  Pausing,  Marissa shook her head, her hand tightening around his.  "Gary, what were you thinking?  You should have left before the shooting started."

 "I know.  But there were five or six people who would have died, maybe more.  I can't remember too well.  Speaking of which, has the paper come while I was here?"

 Chuck frowned and shook his head.  "Nope.  Actually, today was the first day I found a paper there when I went ta' feed the cat.  He's getting a little spoiled, don'tcha think?  And why'd you program the television to turn on?  I didn't even know you could do that with your old set."

 "What?  I didn't .  .  ."  Knowledge dawned in his eyes. "Oh, great.  The cat must have been screwing with the TV again."

 "What do you mean?"  Robin said.

 "Well, I think he knows how to turn the TV on."

 Chuck frowned.  "Okay, that's really weird.  Anyway, buddy, I thought you'd want the paper, so I snatched it before we left."

 "No," Marissa interrupted, "you were drunk.  You're STILL drunk. I'M the one who remembered to bring it."

 Gary grinned as his friends were once again at odds, and took the paper that Chuck held out to him.  He looked up suspiciously. "You didn't steal any sports scores or anything, did you Chuck?"

 Chuck blinked at him, appalled.  "Of course not!"

 Gary's glare let him know he wasn't buying it.  "Anyways, I'd better make sure there's nothing tragic happening today."  He opened the paper to the front page and scanned the headlines.  'BUS CRASHES--OVER TWENTY KILLED'  read the main story.

 "Oh, no," Gary frowned weakly at the paper.  "There's gonna be a terrible accident," he mumbled and he tried to get up.

 But Chuck held him down while Marissa sighed.  "Gair," Chuck said, "The doctor said you can't leave!  You still have to heal from the gunshot wounds."

 "Chuck!  More than twenty people are gonna die in two hours!  I have to stop that bus."  The heart monitor began speeding up, and Chuck admitted to himself that yes, the beeping was annoying.  Just as Chuck opened his mouth to tell Gary once again that he had to stay in bed, the door opened, and the petite doctor entered.

 "How are you doing, Gary?" Dr. Markley said soothingly.

 "I have to leave," he said, becoming upset.

 "Shh,"  Dr. Markley said, noting his heart rate. "I'm afraid, Gary, you need to sleep now."  She held up a needle, took his arm, and gently inserted the drug into the crook of his elbow.  Gary slowly calmed, and settled back into a warm, hazy mist.  Dr. Markley turned to the others and said, "I was alerted to his heightened heart rate by the alarm at the nurses station."

 Robin frowned.  "I thought most patients who were out of danger weren't given that treatment."

 "Well," Markley admitted, "he's been a rather unusual patient, so I've been unwilling to take any chances that his sudden improvement wouldn't turn around.  I gave him a sedative.  He's still conscious, though."

 Chuck bent over Gary's inert form with concern. "Are you okay, buddy?"

 "Chuck," Gary whispered, "Robin . . . stop that bus.  Please.  Take the paper and save them . . ."  Then he drifted off into a light sleep.

 Chuck's blue eyes met Marissa's.  "Marissa .  .  ."

 "I'd love to help you, Chuck, but I have a presentation at work. I'm sorry."  Chuck grudgingly admitted that she did look regretful, and more than a little tired.

 He turned to Robin.  She sighed and said,  "Anything for Gary."

 Chuck sighed also. "Thanks.  I'm not really good at this hero stuff all by myself."

 "No kidding."  Robin said.  "Okay, let's go." Once again, the three of them were off and moving, leaving a perplexed doctor alone with a dozing patient.
 

 Renee drove her little beetle into the parking lot of the hospital. Gary was awake!  Alive!  She grinned as she parked and rubbed her eyes. She shouldn't be crying, but she couldn't help it.  She and Gary had been getting very close over the past months.

 As Renee walked towards the receptionist, she smiled, a light in her blue, tear-filled eyes.  When she had heard Gary was in a coma, she had felt as if she had been paralyzed.  If Gary left her . . .  Many times while visiting him she had begged his unconscious form to stay, to not leave her like this.  So . . . so unsure.  And if he died . . .  Renee pulled her mind from those self-defeating thoughts and wiped her eyes.  He hadn't died.  He was alive!

 Walking to the room that the receptionist had specified, Renee held the flowers close to her chest.  She had bought them on the way, for Gary. She had willingly spent quite a lot of money on the peach rose and purple lily arrangement.  The bouquet was beautiful, and smelled even better.  She knew that Gary liked the smell of flowers, and the flowers themselves, though you couldn't get him to admit it to anyone but her--after all, he had his manly impression to keep.  She'd buy him a potted plant, but he couldn't get any plants to survive under his care, what with all the strange emergencies he had to deal with.

 Renee had thought she was used to that by now.  She had told herself that all that was important was that Gary was hers.  He'd tell her what he was doing someday.  Before the accident, she had been content to wonder how he got into the news and on t.v. so often for saving people.  Renee stepped into the empty room, and saw Gary lying there on the gurney.  He seemed to be sleeping, but when she stepped closer, his eyes opened.

 "Renee."  He smiled, wearily relieved.

 Renee sat beside him in a nearby chair and held the flowers up to him with a grin.

 Gary smiled at the soft fragrance and closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply.  "They're gorgeous, and they smell wonderful.  But you're better."

 Renee placed the flowers onto the table with a grin and bent her head to kiss his cheek.  "Flatterer."  She then traced the line of his jaw with her finger softly.  "I'm so glad you're okay.  If you had . . ."

 She closed her eyes, and Gary watched, concerned, as tears welled behind her long lashes.  "Renee, it's okay, hon.  I'm fine now."

 Letting Gary pull her down into an embrace, Renee whimpered, "Oh, Gary, I missed you.  I'm more sure than ever that I could never survive without you.  I just don't know why ya' have to keep risking your life. Why can'tcha stop marching into danger?"

 Gary held her close and said, "I just can't help it.  But you know I couldn't live without you, either."

 Renee nodded.  "At least you're not as busy as you used to be, burning yourself out."

 Gary smiled.  "I know.  But now I have more help.  Chuck's back, and I have you . . . So everything is okay now."  He looked concerned for a moment, but then a decisive shine came into his serious dark eyes. "Renee, I want to tell you something."

 Renee dried her eyes, and sat up.  "What's wrong?"

 "No, nothing's wrong," Gary said anxiously.

 Renee's brows furrowed.  "It's not bad?"

 Gary laughed, "No, it's not bad.  It's good."  She looked relieved, and he continued.  "It's just, I think you should know why I am always saving people."

 "You're not psychic, are you?  I knew there was a reason for all these people you're always helping. "

 Gary smiled.  "No.  The truth is . . . do you remember how, on our first date, I told you about getting a newspaper a day early with a cat?"

 "Yes?"

 Gary swallowed, his smile falling into a worried frown. "Well . . . it's true.  It really is-"

 "What?!" Renee stood quickly and began pacing.  "You get the newspaper a day early, and a cat too?"

 "Yes."  Gary braced himself for the explosion.

 "But . . .  are you sure you haven't hallucinated about this?  Are you sure?"

 Sighing with relief that she hadn't gone nuts on him, Gary nodded from his spot on the bed. "Chuck and Marissa and my parents all know about it.  Robin knows too.  In fact, Chuck and Robin are out right now, with the paper.  They're saving people.  What I usually do."

 Renee sat back down, still stunned.  "You . . . save people . . . with the newspaper."

 "Yes."

 "And that's why you're always in the news for saving people.  It's more than 'right time, right place'."

 "Yeah."

 "Wow," Renee said. "That's . . . wow."  Her expression swiftly shifted to a slight disappointment.

 "What's wrong?" Gary asked, noting her sad face.

 "Well . . . I was hoping it would be something else you were going to tell me."  She avoided his look.

 Gary smiled and reached out to take her hand, and her head turned to look at him bleakly. Grinning, he slowly, painfully, sat up in the bed.

"Renee, hold me."

 Renee wrapped her arms around him, supporting him with more than her body.

 Gary closed his eyes, content knowing that she wanted him.  Only him.  And she had never asked for him to change the way he was . . . "I love you, Renee."

 Renee trembled in his arms slightly; it was the moment she had most wanted and most feared.  When she spoke, her voice was thick.  "I . . .love you too, Gary.  I love you so much."

 "You have no idea how much I've wanted to hear that."

Part 5

Chuck had to suppress the urge to find winning lottery numbers and other money procuring items as Robin drove them back to McGinty's in her car.  Pulling his eyes away from the paper, he concentrated on the scenery outside of them, feeling extremely torn between Gary and his own desires.  He wasn't the hero type, so how could Gary expect him to be any good at it?  Sure, he joked about wanting to be the hero for a change, but now that he had it, he didn't think he wanted it.  And what about the cat?

He, she, whatever it was would surely get upset when it found out Chuck held the power in his hands.

 When they reached the bar, Marissa retired to the office while Chuck quickly stomped up the stairs, hoping that being in Gary's apartment might give Chuck some clue of how to become his best buddy for a day.

 However, when he entered the room, the cat bounded up to him and jumped into his arms.  "Woah, cat, what's this?  Do I smell like catnip or something?"

 The orange cat looked into Chucks eyes solemnly, and meowed once, then rubbed her forehead against Chuck's cheek.  Chuck's blue eyes blinked with shock as the cat bounced from his arms to the couch. "I guess I'm forgiven for last week."

 The cat crouched expectantly, and watched as Chuck sat next to her. Then the cat pounced on the paper, and scratched to the sports section, removed it, then went to the business section.  Amazed, Chuck watched as the cat kicked the sports and business sections from the couch onto the floor.  The cat primly jumped back onto the paper, nosed it to the front page, and, satisfied, sat upon the bus headline.

 "Okay, okay,I get the point!  No peeking at scores or anything else that'll get me money."

 The cat narrowed its eyes at him and said, "Merow?" suspiciously.

The cat then walked up to Chuck and pressed its paw against Chuck's heart. Those intelligent green eyes stared grimly into Chuck's.  With a jolt of odd sensation, Chuck knew that he had never realized the full brilliance of this animal.

 "Cat, I swear to ya', no cheating.  If you wanna go with me, you can.  I know how much this means to both you an' Gary."  Deep in Chuck's heart, he knew he was speaking the truth to the cat.

 The cat began to purr loudly.  Chuck pet the soft fur on the warm, rumbling cat and smiled. "Does this mean you forgive me for being greedy, too?"

 The cat glared at him for a moment, then licked its neck at him. Chuck grinned as the cat settled into his lap for a moment.  But he soon stood, and Chuck could imagine it saying,  'Enough rest:  time to go out there!'

 As Chuck stood and began walking out the door, he glanced back to see the cat watching him.  Chuck swore to himself that there was a proud expression on the cat's face . . . not just proud of itself, but proud of Chuck.
 

 It was 6:26 when Chuck and Robin got into her car and began driving to the bus station.  Hey, Robin, listen.  There's also a fire at the Saint Vincent's orphanage, just a few blocks from the bar."

 "So we're basically backtracking."

 "Yeah.  But a lot of kids are gonna get killed, only a few minutes before the bus accident."

 "How are we supposed to stop it?  We'll have to split up."

 Chuck ran a hand through his hair.  "Yeah.  listen.  Drop me off at the bus station, then see if you can stop the fire before it gets outta control."

 "You surprise me, Chuck.  I thought you were more interested in the profitable aspect of the paper."

 "Hey, that cat of Gary's sat me down and gave me a non-verbal scolding."

 "How'd she do that?"

 Chuck smiled a little.  "Well, he basically ripped up the business and sports pages, and wouldn't hear of giving them back."

 "Go cat!"  Robin laughed.

 "Yeah, he's a tough little bastard,"  Chuck said with a smile.

 "I always thought it was a girl cat.  Anyways, where should I pick you up at?"  she asked as she parked at the bus station.

"Well," Chuck said, "The accident is supposed to happen on the corner of West Oak and North Dearborn Street, a quarter after eight.  The bus will cut across State street on Roosevelt and hit the police station. Stop by there and see what happens."

 "Wait.  When is the fire, and where in the building?"

 "Eight o'clock, they estimated.  Second floor, West wing."

 Robin gave him a hard look as he stepped out of the car.  "Chuck. Be very careful!  You're not used to this, and neither am I, but you're going into the more dangerous situation."

 "Aw, I didn't know you cared," Chuck tried to joke it off.

 But Robin grabbed his arm and looked straight into his eyes. "Chuck, please be very careful.  I don't want to see you lying in the wreckage."

 Chuck became serious, his blue eyes captivated in her own.  "You won't."

 With that, Robin revved the engine, and drove away, leaving Chuck to find bus number seven.
 

 Chuck bought a ticket as he stepped onto the bus.  {The paper didn't say why the bus crashed,} he wondered.  So, what did cause it?  As he sat down, he thought of all the possible reasons . . . the brakes could malfunction, or the steering wheel . . .  But then Chuck looked closer at the article.  They didn't say why it happened, but they DID say what didn't happen.  Nothing was wrong with the breaks, steering, or anything else. There was no sabotage to any wiring as far as the police could tell.  "Sooo . . ." Chuck said to himself,  "It must have . . . been someone on the bus."  He sat down behind the driver, and settled in for the
long wait.  Whatever would happen, he'd sure as hell know before anyone else.  And maybe the cat forgot to remove one or two things that could get him some extra pocket change . . . he opened the paper and began to scan the headlines.
 

 Robin knew she looked awkward with the men's tie that was part of her uniform at work, so she took it off and stuffed it into her pocket. She ran up the stairs of the St. Vincent's orphanage, and pushed open the doors.  {Second floor, West wing,} she told herself.  Stopping a woman passing through the lobby, she asked, "What's on the second floor, West wing?"

 "Well, um, it's the children's bedrooms," the older woman said,  suspicion written in her narrowed eyes.  Quickly, the woman walked passed her and out the door.

 {Jeeze,} Robin thought, as she stepped up to the front desk. {They're never gonna just let me walk in there.}  It was 7:56, only four minutes 'til the fire would supposedly begin.

 The lobby was empty, but she could hear female voices chatting behind the deserted front desk.  {There must be a hallway back there,} she realized.  But she couldn't wait to find out; she had to leave before they saw her.  Before the voices could turn the corner, she quickly dashed across the lobby and through the inner doors.  Without waiting to see if the women behind the front desk were following her, she darted up some stairs to the left.  She grabbed the first fire alarm she found and wrenched it down, then ran with all her might.

 A piercing siren sliced through the night air as she fled down the back stairs and through a back door.  As Robin snuck round the building, she was relieved to see the lights coming on in the upper rooms.  She checked the time as she stepped into her car.
 "Eight oh-one," she said, and smiled. "I could learn to like this."
 

 Chuck looked at the time as he sat in the half filled bus: it was almost 8:00 as the lumbering vehicle stopped at the corner of the suburban street.  Unsure of exactly where in Chicago the bus was in the dark night, he glanced to the opening doors, hoping to glimpse a street sign.  Instead he saw a familiar woman.  Wearing close fitting jeans and a t-shirt, the petite, slender form of Dr. Markley stepped up the stairs. She bought a ticket, favored the bus driver with a polite smile, and turned her large brown eyes to scan the seats.

 Chuck stood up from the bus seat and grabbed a vertical railing.

"Doctor Markley?"

 "Mr. Fishman.  Funny meeting you here!" she said with a smile as she steadied herself to the now moving bus.

 Chuck took a new look at the woman he had usually seen in a white lab coat.  Instead of hair pulled up tightly in a bun, a wave of long red hair sliced and stormed around her features.  He noted how light refracted from the golden glints in her large brown eyes as they looked up into his. With a strange discordant feeling, Chuck realized that her beauty had been beyond him.

 Chuck cleared his throat and answered, "Yeah, it's a small world."

He instantly wished, not for the first time, that he looked more like Gary.   "Are you going anywhere in particular?"

 "Actually, no."  He tried to remain calm, even though all the odds were against it. "Are you?"

 As she sat down across from him, her delicate lips smiled slightly, like two thin slivers of waning harvest-colored moon.  "Yes.  I just got off work an hour ago, and I need some time to relax.  So I'm going to a few malls.  Hopefully no emergencies will happen tonight."

 Chuck couldn't help but be surprised.  "A doctor going to the mall for recreation.  Wow."

 Janelle gave him an amused glare.  "We're just regular people, Mr. Fishman.  Except for being on-call . . ."

 His face grew hot as he sat next to her.  "It's just that I never thought of shopping as being relaxing, especially for someone so . . .refined."

 She laughed.  "Well, I don't actually shop, but I'm not really refined, either.  I'm just a person.  It's nice to walk around and watch life around you.  Sometimes I go to a bar or two with friends, but mostly I like being on my own."

 He gazed down at her. "It's dangerous to be by yourself at night, though."

She sighed and seemed to look beyond their physical surroundings. "True.  But I love the night.  I used to live in the country, and I would go on walks alone at night, and look at the stars."  Her face lit up as she spoke with passion in her voice.  A moment later, her smile fell, and she shook her head, glancing at him.  "But you can't do that here, Mr. Fishman."  Her voice fell to a whisper of amused disappointment.

 Chuck smiled, unaware of how blue his eyes were that night.  "We're not in the hospital.  I'd like it if you called me Chuck."

 She smiled back, eyes falling from his deep gaze. "Well, then you can call me Janelle."

 Chuck checked the time, suddenly aware that he had forgotten his purpose.  It was only 8:02.  He still had thirteen minutes, but he had to be careful.  "Janelle is a beautiful name."

 "Thank you," she blushed as if unaccustomed to complements, studying her hands.

 Turning his body to face her,  Chuck rested his arm against the back of the seat, and leaned his head upon his fist. "So, Janelle, when did you move here?"

 "A few months ago."  Her hands clutched each other in her lap.

  "Don'tcha like the big city?"

 "Actually, I love it," she said with a grin, looking over at him. "But I also like the woods, the desert, open spaces and mountains.  You seldom get the best of both worlds, however."

 "Ain't it the truth."  He tried to sound worldly.

 Janelle nodded, and glanced around the bus.  "My stop should be coming up soon.  We're already downtown."

"So we are."  Chuck glanced at his watch again.  {Almost eight-o-seven, time to get ready.}  Just as a precaution, he checked the article on the fire, and was relieved to see that it wasn't where it had been before.  He flipped through the paper, and finally found a small article about it in the local news.  A smile spread across his face as he read that no one had been injured, and the fire had been put out without causing much damage.

 "Chuck," Janelle said, catching his attention, "why are you on the bus if you have no where to go?"

 Chuck's head rose abruptly.  "Um," he said, unsure what to say, "actually, I just realized I do have someplace I need ta' go.  But I was originally just .  .  . going to the bar that I co-own with Gary," he said.

{Jeeze, I wish I had come up with some good story before I told her I had no where to go.}

 "Where is that?" Janelle asked.

 "Well," he said, "It's on the corner of North Franklin--"

 Suddenly, a groaning noise came from the driver.  Chuck looked around and noticed that most of the passengers were languidly lounging in the back, not paying any attention.  Having waited for this moment, Chuck stood quickly and put his arm on the driver's shoulder.  The man gasped, and seemed to choke, his hands falling from the steering wheel.  Chuck grabbed the wheel as the bus began to jerk back and forth, passengers screaming everywhere.

 "Mr. Fishman!"  Janelle yelled over the crowd.

 Chuck turned the wheel as the bus ran the red light, dodging oncoming cars by sheer luck.  "Help me get his foot off the gas!!" he called to Janelle.

 Janelle was flung to the wall as he made another quick yet wide turn, but she pulled herself up.  Rushing to Chuck's side, she pulled as hard as she could on the driver's limp arms, trying to lift him from the seat.  Unsuccessful, she then said, "Chuck, you'll have to back up and let me get underneath the dashboard."

 Chuck did as she said, and she crawled below him, under the dash, her small frame fitting better than he could have.  With all her strength, she pulled the unconscious man's foot off and away from the gas.  She then yelled, "I'm gonna brake!"

 "Okay!"

 With both hands, she pounced onto the brake, and was thrown against the dash.  Her sharp cries as the bus screeched to a stop echoed the other passengers screams as they were thrown about.

 Chuck looked down in the stillness as police sirens began to call, and grasped the hand that reached out from under the dashboard.  Pulling Janelle up, he whooped loudly and said, "I can't believe we pulled it off!"

 But Chuck found himself catching Janelle in his arms as her legs bucked under her.  "Hey," Chuck said as he pulled her to a seat, "it's okay, it's all right."

 Three police officers stepped onto the bus, searching the passengers for any injured.  Chuck said to one, "Call an ambulance for this man.  I think he--"

 "I'm fine," said the bus driver, suddenly awake.  "What happened? What are you talking about . . . an ambulance?   Nonsense!!"

 Chuck looked wide eyed at him.  "You passed out!  You're not fine! We almost crashed twenty times 'cause you fainted!"

"I did not!" the elderly man said abruptly.  Then he paused to think. "Did I?"

 Chuck groaned. "Call an ambulance anyway!  Some of the passengers might have been hurt."

 Uncertain, the policeman said, "I think you should talk to our superiors when they get here."  Satisfied, he walked away.

 Chuck turned to see Janelle's eyes closed.  She was taking deep breaths, and when he put his hand on her shoulder, she opened her eyes quickly.  "Doctor Markley?  Are you okay?"

 Janelle nodded, face pale.  "I hit my head against the dash.  I'm not feeling so good . . ."

 Chuck nodded, then stopped as a dizziness flooded his head. "That felt weird," he said.  "Ahh, the world's spinning . . ."  He closed his eyes and put his hand to the raging pulse at his neck.

 He felt two fingers upon his wrist and heard Janelle say,  "Your heart is beating faster than mine.  I think both of us are in shock."

 Chuck covered his face with a hand.  "Boy, you must be right.  I haven't felt this lightheaded since the time I painted my mom's house without the window's open."

 "Sounds like that would do the trick."

 "Yeah," he groaned, leaning back.  "At least everyone is safe."

 He glanced at the paper as Janelle rested her eyes.  The headline that swam before his eyes read, "LOCAL HEROES SAVE BUS".

 "Mission accomplished," he muttered.
 

Part 6

By the time Chuck had told his version of the events for the third  time to the police (minus the newspaper), his wavering sickness had tapered to a slight woozy feeling.  Noticing Robin pulling up to the curb, Chuck waited for the Detective's consent, then quickly walked towards Robin's car.  He could see her smiling from the front seat as he slipped around the yellow police tape.  "Robin, we did it!" he cried.

 Robin stepped from the car as Chuck opened the door for her.  "Did you check the fire article?" she asked eagerly.  "Did I save them?"

 Chuck took the paper out from his jacket pocket nonchalantly, saying, "I donno', Robin.  Didja'?"

 "Chuck!!"  she groaned, "don't do this to me!  I've gotta know!"

 "Okay, okay," he said, laughing, "yeah, everyone's fine.  You saved the day."

  She sighed and leaned against the hood of her car, the lamplight shining off the blond highlights in her curly hair. "Thank God."

"Robin, ya' never know," Chuck said softly.  "Sometimes I wonder .  . . how the hell are these newspapers getting to Gary, anyway?"

 Robin shook her head.  "I really don't want to know.  I'm sure it's beyond my comprehension."

 "Yeah."  Chuck suddenly realized that he'd forgotten about Janelle.

"Robin, wait just a sec, will ya?  I'll be right back."

 Chuck turned and walked back towards the scene of the accident.  As he strolled around the corner of the bus, he saw Janelle, red and blue police lights flashing across her long, pale face.

 She was talking with a female detective that Chuck hadn't seen earlier as he stepped up to her.  She smiled shakily in his direction and finished speaking with the detective.

 Chuck ran a hand through his sun-streaked brown hair, and watched as Janelle slowly walked towards him.  "Janelle," he said as she stepped to his side, "it looks like you'll have to find another way to the mall."

 She smiled nervously, her face still haggard and pale. "Actually, I'm gonna head home.  Call a cab, or something."  She was struggling to keep her balance unsupported.

 "Hey, are you okay?" Chuck asked, putting a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

 "Yeah, I'm .  .  . Uhh," she interrupted herself to put a hand on her forehead, then pitched forward into Chuck.

 "Woah!" Chuck caught her and looked down into her face; she was still conscious, but obviously wasn't feeling very well.  "Danger doesn't knock on your door that often, I'm guessing."

 "No, not really."  She pulled herself upright.  "I think I got a concussion from hitting my head against the dashboard.  I've got to get home."

 "Hey, listen, a friend of mine is here to meet me . . ."

 "I thought you were going to the bar?"

 "Yeah, well . . ."  He paused, then began walking her towards Robin's car. "I'll explain it later.  Anyway, I'm sure she can give you a ride home."

 Concerned, Janelle frowned. "Are you sure it won't be a bother?"

 "No, 'course not.  In fact, the two of you've met before.  You remember Robin, don'tcha?"  he said as they stopped at her car.

 Robin looked puzzled, but extended her hand.  "Doctor Markley.  You were on the bus?"

 Janelle gave a reedy laugh. "Yes, actually.  But please, call me Janelle, Robin."

 Chuck coughed softly, ready for resistance. "Uh, Robin . . . do you think you could give Janelle a ride home as well as me?"

 Robin sighed. "Chuck, the bar's been left alone with only Stan for almost two hours," she said. "Crumb probably went home after his shift was over."

 Glancing at his watch, Chuck was surprised to see that it was already 9:01.  "Yeah, you're right." He turned to Janelle.  "Um, could you excuse us for a little bit?"

 She waved her hand at him and giggled.

 Chuck pulled Robin off to the side.  "How 'bout," he said, unable to give up, "you just drop us off at my place and I'LL take her home.  I can't leave her here, she's in shock, and she might have a concussion."

 "All right, all right," Robin said.  "But don't you think she should go to the hospital?  Physician, heal thyself?"

 "She's not that bad.  They'd probably just send her home anyway. Just take us to my place, okay, Rob?"

 Robin shrugged broadly, and sighed.  "Okay."

 They turned and walked back to the car, where Janelle was waiting. "Chuck,  I'm feeling a little better.  I think I could take a cab, now .  .."

 Chuck looked into her pallid face, the color of week-old cream, and said, "No way.  Robin'll take ya' to my place, and I'll take ya' home."

 Janelle's eyes closed with a flash of lashes, and she nodded.  "All right."

 They got into the car, and Robin drove off to Chuck's apartment.
 

 When they reached the high rise, Chuck had to rouse Janelle from the back seat where she had fallen asleep.  "C'mon, kid, up and at'em,"  he said, pulling her upright.

 "Chuck, do you even know what to do with someone who has a concussion?"  Robin asked him.

 "No.  Why?"  he asked as he leaned a half-awake Janelle against his side.

 "Chuck, what do you think I do when I'm not working at McGinty's?"

 "I donno'."

 "I'm going to nursing school," she said patiently. "Listen carefully: lie her down in a dark room, and put a cool, wet cloth on her
forehead.  Keep her head raised slightly, and don't give her any caffeine or anything like that."

 "Okay."

 "Oh, and if she's cold, cover her with a blanket or something."

 "Okay, okay, thanks for the ride," Chuck said, worried that Janelle would collapse on him.  "I'll see ya' later."

 Robin drove away, leaving him outside of the parking garage with his first "patient".

 Chuck walked Janelle into the building, then headed through the doors to the parking garage.  When they reached his car, he pulled out his keys and unlocked the doors.  Sitting her in the passenger side, he then lowered the back of the seat for her so she could lie back.  The doctor quickly fell asleep, and Chuck carefully began to buckle her in.

 She woke as he was pulling the seat belt across her waist.

"What're you doing?" she asked sleepily.

 "I'm buckling your seat belt.  This IS Chicago, after all."

 She began to laugh as he buckled her in. "That's nice."

 Chuck sighed as he closed the door and locked it.  Then he got into the driver's seat and started the car.  "I'm takin' you home."

"Okay."

 "Where do ya' live?"

 Silence responded.

 "Janelle?"  Chuck turned to see her completely knocked out.  "Hey," he said, gently shaking her, "wake up!"  When this brought no response, he conceeded that it was unlikely she'd reply any time soon.

 "Great.  Now I know how Gary felt when Lowie spent the night.  Or," he said, with a bad English accent, "Should I call her princess Sibella?"

 Chuck stepped out of the car and wearily reversed the routine  Locking the car behind him, he carried Janelle into the elevator.
 "It's never normal with this paper, is it?"  he asked the ceiling. The ceiling, like Janelle, declined to reply as well.

 Once they reached his apartment, Chuck laid her down on the couch, legs bent, and got a damp towel for her forehead.  He knelt down beside her and gently placed the towel on her forehead.  "Now, I gotta check your temperature," he said softly, trying to remember everything Robin had told him.  He took her hands in his, and shook his head as they coldly leached
heat from his palms.

 Grabbing a spare blanket from the top of the couch, Chuck draped it over her.  "G'night, sleeping beauty."

 Chuck sighed, stood, and retired to his own bedroom, only to stop abruptly.  What if Janelle lost even more heat over the night, or went into a raging fever?  As tired as Chuck was, and as much as he claimed to be an unfeeling jerk, he had to admit he was worried.  Janelle seemed to be a real nice person . . . and she was a rather good looking woman, for that matter, though shy really wasn't his type.

 "Maybe Gary's rubbing off on me," Chuck said, pulling up a chair next to the couch.  He settled down to watch over her.
 An hour later, he fell into a troubled, dream filled sleep.
 

 Early in the morning, perhaps an hour before dawn, a sudden noise sounded in the dark apartment.  Chuck woke with a start, and empty silence surrounded him when he opened his eyes.  He stood and stretched, wincing as his back cracked.  {This is what I get from sleeping in that damn chair,} he thought.

 Rubbing his grainy eyes, Chuck rested one hand against the back of the couch, leaned over, and looked down at the woman sleeping below.  Her red hair was flung back, some spilling onto her face, and she breathed lightly.  She seemed healthy, but Chuck wanted to make sure.

 Chuck lightly pressed the back of his hand against Janelle's forehead, and sighed with relief as a temperature neither hot nor cold greeted him.  He fell back into his chair and closed his eyes, only to open them again at a gentle murmuring noise.  Chuck frowned, and looked across from him to see Janelle's eyes sleepily opening.

 She whispered a soft moan and looked up at him.  "Where . . . where am I?  Mr. Fishman?"

 Chuck knelt down next to her, and said softly, "It's okay, just go back to sleep.  You got hit on the head, but you'll be fine."

 "Hmm," she closed her eyes, and fell back to sleep.

 Assured that she would be all right, Chuck yawned and slumped towards his bedroom.
 

Part 7

Saturday, April 3, 1999-

 Chuck woke to his alarm going off at 6:15.  He launched himself at it and shoved it off the table.  Groaning, Chuck muttered curses under his breath at the now silent alarm.

 For about five seconds it was a normal morning, until he remembered Janelle.

 "God, what a night," he groaned, pulling the covers back from his chest.  He stood quickly, and sat back down just as fast when red spots filled his vision. "Smart, Chuck, real smart," he berated himself.  The dizziness must have been another result of the excitement yesterday, he reasoned, but he should have known.  It wasn't as if his body was used to so much adrenalin.

 After a few seconds of holding his head in his hands, Chuck got up more slowly, and pulled a pair of sweatpants on over his boxer shorts. Running a hand through his sleep tussled hair, Chuck studied his reflection with a frown, then opened his dresser drawer.  He took out an under-shirt and pulled it on over his head, then exited the room to check on Janelle.

 Chuck walked into the living room, just to find the couch empty, with only a crumpled blanket draped across the back.

 "Oh great!  Where the Hell can she be?!"  Chuck spun around to stalk into the kitchen, but there were no women lurking there.  Returning to the living room, he headed towards the front door and flung it open.

Glancing down the hallway to both sides, he shook his head.  "Nothing.  Not a damn thing."  He closed the door and slumped towards the couch, to sit down upon it with his head in his hands.  "Stupid me.  Now what do I do?  I lost a person, an entire human being.  I lost her.  I should call Gary, no, he's not even gonna be up yet for another hour, wait, he's in the hospital, and Marissa can't help, what the hell am I gonna do-"  he babbled on incoherently until a polite coughing noise made him stop.

 "Morning, Mr. Fishman."

 Chuck, dazed and speechless, raised his head and looked blankly at a sleepy-eyed Janelle as she stood in the living room.
 "I took the liberty of making some coffee," she said, yawning. "Would you like some?"

 As if something snapped him out of it, Chuck stood and began angrily, "Where were you?  I looked everywhere, I was worried!  And why are you .  .  ."  He trailed off as another jolt of reality hit him.  "You're not even wondering what you're doing here?  I was expecting you to attack me with questions."

 Janelle walked into the kitchen, running one hand through her long amber hair while the other rubbed her eyes.  Chuck followed reluctantly behind.

 She must have gone thorugh every cubbord, for she had two cups out and proceeded to pour coffee into both. "Well,  I woke up and found myself in a strange apartment.  I remembered having a dream about you where you told me I had been injured or something, and then I saw some photographs of you and Gary lying around.  I knew it must have been your apartment, or at
least someone who knew you."  She handed him a cup and he sipped the scalding liquid carefully as she continued.  "I assumed that I didn't have anything to worry about, since all my clothes were on and I was out here, with you in your bedroom."  She grinned.  "You're cute when you're asleep."

 Chuck turned away, a frown on his face as he colored uncontrollably.  She definitely wasn't shy today.  Maybe almost dying had that effect on someone.

 "Let me get this straight," he said, scratching his head in an attempt to hid his blush.  "You weren't worried or upset?  I thought you would bite my head off."

 She shook her head as she restored the pot to its burner and lifted her own cup to her lips.  "Not really.  Hm, decaffinated.  Yuck." She stared at the coffee, then shrugged. "I mean, now I remember last night, and the accident.  You should have taken me to a hospital, I guess, but they probably would have told you to do what I'm assuming you did anyway, and either sent me home or charged me tremendous amounts of money for the same thing."  For a moment, she studied him.  "What exactly did you do to care for me?"

 "Um," he tried to recall. "Robin said if you had a concussion, I should not give you any caffine . . ." he raised his brows to her, and she gave an abashed smile. "And that you should be in a dark room with your head . . . raised, I think," he mused, sitting down at the table.  "With a blanket.  And a cold towel on your head or something."

 "That was smart of her.  Had her training, I think.  I have to get to work soon, though.  Do you have any clothes I could borrow?  I'd like to take a shower here, if you don't mind."

 Chuck blinked and rubbed his eyes at her fearless audacity. "Sure."  Standing, he left the coffee at the table and headed for the
bedroom.

 "This is really strange," he muttered as he dug into his closet, looking for smaller clothes. "What am I saying, SHE is really strange." He finally settled on an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt that his mother had bought him.  Across the front was proclaimed, 'Whatever it is, I didn't do it.'  "She ought to get a kick outta that," Chuck muttered to himself as he brought the clothes into the living room.

Janelle smiled as he handed her the clothes, and she promised, "I'll be out soon.  Thanks."

 "You're welcome,"  he replied as she slipped into the bathroom.

 As Chuck stood and thought about his interesting guest, he realized that he would probably arrive at the bar late.  Going to the phone, he called and waited for Marissa to pick up.

 After the third ring, she finally did.  "McGinty's, how can I help you?"

 "Mariss', hey.  I'm gonna be a little late this morning.  How's Gary?"

 Marissa sighed into the phone.  "I visited him last night, and he's doing fine.  But we have some guests - Gary's parents just got back from their vacation.  Remember?  I called them when Gary was out of the coma, to let them know, but they had already left for home."

 "But they know he's all right now, don't they?"

 "Of course, Chuck.  I just wish you'd get here soon . . ." in a softer voice, she added, "Bernie's got the paper and he's planning out their day of rescues."

 Chuck groaned.  "Oh, no.  Not again."

 "Yep.  But they haven't visited Gary yet, and I was hoping you could drive us to the hospital and distract them.  The hospital called to say that Gary can leave.  But I think maybe you should deal with the paper again today."

 "Um, I'll try."

 "That's good enough for me.  Hurry and get down here."  Marissa hung up.

 Chuck put the phone back on the hook, and shook his head.  Going to the fridge, he took out some orange juice and closed the door.  He sat the carton down and got a glass from the cabinet.  As he poured himself some juice, he heard the shower turn off.  Walking into the living room with his juice, he waited for the sound of the door to open.

 A few moments passed, and Janelle appeared, wearing the faded jeans and his mother's gift, both too large for her.  A towel was wrapped around her head, and she held her dirty clothes in her hand.  "Could I borrow a plastic bag?"

 "Why?" he asked, curious.

 A flash of mild embarrassment brought a glow to her cheeks. "Germs," she muttered.

 "Uh, sure."  Chuck walked to the kitchen and opened the pantry door.  He stepped into the small pantry and grabbed a plastic bag from the pile in the corner.  "Here," he offered, handing Janelle the bag as he exited the pantry.

 Janelle stuffed yesterday's clothes into the back and tied it securely. "Great.  Would you like to shower before you take me home?" she asked pleasantly, though a faint trace ruddiness lingered on her face.

 Chuck ran his hands through his wild hair.  "Uh, yeah, that would be nice, if you don't mind."

 "No, I'm fine," she said, sitting at the couch.

 Still feeling his head spinning, Chuck left to take a shower.
 

 Janelle sat in the couch and looked around the living room.  It was pretty clean, but had that slight disorderly look of papers on the table and a few dirty dishes in the sink that any real home earned.

 Unrolling the towel off her head, she balled it up and sat it in her lap, contemplating the apartment she was in.  The carpet was a dark green and the furniture was black leather, something that made her smile with amusement.  When the man had a Lexis, it was expected that his apartment was to be just as flashy.  The short, black coffee table matched, along with the black deco lamps.  All put together, it seemed like the place was designed to impress.

 And yet, it still looked less than tidy, with a few shoes on the floor and movies sprawled atop the television in disarray.  Janelle decided that Chuck was probably messy at heart.

 Janelle grinned as she recalled Chuck's startled expression.  She was a big girl . . . she knew how to take care of herself, though a bit of shyness still lingered after so many years, and.   She HAD felt a slight pang of fear when awakening in a strange place, but her memory had soon returned.

 Moments passed, and the lulling sound of water crashing down in the other room ended abruptly.  Janelle waited with patience for Chuck to exit the bathroom.  After fifteen minutes passed, the door opened.

 "Okay, I'm ready," Chuck said, rubbing at his hair with a green towel that matched the carpeting.

 Janelle looked up, and rose to stand next to him, although her height barely reached his shoulders.  She studied his clean shaved face, the bright blue eyes, and the damp brown hair that was darkened by the moisture dripping from it.

 Clearing her throat, Janelle glanced away from his slate blue button-up shirt that matched his eyes so well.  "Um, maybe we should get going.  I mean . . ." She stopped herself there, realizing that anything more she could say would sound even worse than what she had already said, and turned away to get her things.  Face burning, she grabbed her purse and the bag with her clothes.

 Chuck blinked slightly with surprise at her use of the word "we", but otherwise he tried to control his expression.  Chuck didn't want to reveal the attraction he felt for her, feeling that the woman standing before him was far too intelligent to accept anything he had to offer.  He KNEW that if he even tried to lay on the charm, she would probably never speak to him again.
 Chuck dropped his hands to dust off his loose gray slacks needlessly; they were spotless. "Um, yeah.  Okay.  I'll just get my keys and wallet."  He turned to the rather cluttered table and snapped up his things.

 With a nod from Janelle, Chuck led the way from his apartment, to his car.
 

 After a stop at the McDonald's drive through for breakfast (Chuck had a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit, and paid for Janelle's cheese Danish) he deposited Janelle at her large and rather lonly looking Victorian house.

 Then Chuck and his red car headed towards McGinty's, windows open to dry his hair.  Even though he was only picking up Gary's parents, Chuck wanted to look presentable.

 It was around seven when Chuck parked in the parking lot to one side of the restaurant, and quickly ran a comb through his still-damp hair, annoyed at how late he was running.  Exiting the car, he headed into the restaurant.

 "Hey, Marissa!"  Chuck said as he stepped through the old door, his blue eyes studying Gary's parents from across the restaurant as he greeted the beautiful dark woman.  Leaning towards her, he whispered into her ear, "So, is there anything really bad in the paper?"

 Marissa's brow's rose, once again making Chuck wonder if facial expression was not visually learned, but instead a racial memory.

"Unfortunately, yes."

 Before she could continue, however, Bernie and Lois had noticed Chuck's arrival and were making their way from the end of the bar to where he and Marissa stood at the front door.

 "Chuck-o!  How ya' doin'?"  Bernie said with a slap against Chuck's back.

 Lois smiled.  "We were going to get Gary, but then Bernie thought that the paper should be dealt with first."  She leaned closer to Chuck and said softly, "I say, I want to see my son!"

 Chuck smiled, thankful that one of Gray's parents had a level head. "Sure, Mrs. Hobson.  C'mon, Bernie, don't you wanna see your son?"

 Having a guilt trip laid on him didn't make him happy, but Bernie had to respond.  "Of course I do!  But who's gonna handle the paper?"

 Chuck eyed Robin at the bar, and she raised her head to meet his look.  With a flash of inspiration, Robin said, "Oh, no!  Not me.  I have to work . . .  Crumb's feeling sick and called in, and Stan's visiting his parents.  If I do it, who'll tend the bar?" she said plaintively.  "And don't say you will."  Her look told him that she knew better.

 A sigh escaped Chuck's lips, and he ran a hand through his damp brown hair.  "I guess . . . I'll have to deal with the paper again."

 Bernie gave him an exasperated look.  "Last time-"

 "Last time," Chuck interrupted, slightly miffed, "was actually yesterday, and it was horrid.  Compared to yesterday, saving people with you is a walk on the beach.  And it's not like-"

 A meow stopped him, as the cat leapt to the counter and studied him with knowing eyes.

 "See," Chuck said, waving a hand at the cat, "as I was saying, it's not like the cat'll let me get away with anything."

 Bernie gave Chuck a measuring look, then released the Business and Sports pages to the feline.  "Well, I still think that we should help you. I mean, it sounds pretty bad."

 "What sounds pretty bad?" Chuck asked, already feeling the weight of the paper upon him.

 "Well," Lois took up the conversation with a blink of her sparkling blue eyes, "Most of it's harmless.  But there's an accident in an elevator at the hospital that Gary's at.  Some woman dies in the elevator, along with her unborn baby!"  Although Lois wasn't too keen on messing with the paper, her expression clearly stated that this article wasn't something to be trifled with.

 Chuck shook his head. "Okay, okay.  We'll figure this out when we get there.  But let's just go.  And don't forget to bring the paper."

 With a slight grumble, Bernie walked out the door, Lois close behind.

 Marissa sighed as Bernie left, saying, "Chuck.  You go on.  I have some work to do here."

 Chuck frowned with concern. "Anything big?"

 Marissa shook her head and admitted, "I'm worn out from trying to keep Bernie from dashing out to save the world.  I can't take that for another minute." She smiled.  "Just give my love to Gary, and tell him I've been thinking about him.  You'd better go, though.  If you don't hurry, Bernie'll 'commandeer' your car."

 "Yeah," Chuck spoke grimly.  "Gary's got Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill for parents."
 

Part 8

The Cook County Hospital was a busy place that Saturday morning.

As Chuck led Gary's parents towards the front desk on the first floor, he marveled at the large number of people there.  It amazed him that so many could injure themselves on a Saturday morning.

 "Um," Chuck said to the receptionist, "Visiting hours are probably not right now, right?"

 The man at the desk gave a small smile. "Sorry sir, but you're correct."

 Chuck interrupted before the man could start listing the whole spiel of hours out for him. They didn't want the list, Gary was being released. "Well, we've really come because my friend- their son," he motioned towards Lois and Bernie, "has been released.  His name is Gary Hobson.  He was here for a gunshot wound and head injury . . ."

 The man nodded, his eyes on the computer in front of him.  "Ah, here it is.  Yes, Mr. Hobson has been granted release.  Would you like me to get a candy striper to take you to his room?"

 Chuck was about to reply, when a voice said out of no where, "That's all right, George.  I can take them to Gary's room."

 Chuck turned to see Janelle, prim in her white doctor's jacket and her red hair pulled tight into a bun.  "Ja- Doctor Markley."  He noted with discomfort how Bernie and Lois were looked at him expectantly.

 Janelle smiled.  "Hello again, Chuck." She obviously had not problems with first names.  "It slipped my mind that Gary had been released.  I should have told you, but I forgot completely, what with everything that happened yesterday.  I'm sorry."

 Chuck suppressed a grin as her contrite brown eyes met his. "That's okay."  Turning to see the amusement in the eyes of Gary's parents, he dropped the smile, blushing slightly.  "Um, so is he still in room one oh-eight?"

 The tiny red-haired doctor nodded and turned to the hallway. "Follow me."

 Lois' blue eyes met Chuck's own with affection.  "Come on, Chuck. We can't keep the doctor waiting."  She gestured him forward in a "shooing" motion with her hand, and a tiny, secretive smile on her face.  Then she winked.

 Chuck suppressed a sigh and led the group to follow Janelle's footsteps.

 "Gary already has a visitor that I allowed in; that young woman who you arrived with before, Renee.  I think . . . her name was Renee Callahan, right?" Janelle said.  "I'm not sure if she was going to take him home, or you were, but you can figure that out later."

 Chuck shrugged.  "Yeah, I think Renee'll probably take him home, then."

 Janelle gave him a gentle glance with her brown eyes as they stopped at his room.  She knocked lightly, then opened the door after a moment.  "Gary?"

 His voice answered happily.  "Come in, Doctor Markley."

 With another smile, Janelle nodded to Chuck and held the door wide. Chuck looked through to see Gary propped up on the bed, fully clothed in jeans and a "University of Chicago" t-shirt.  Renee was sitting next to him, holding his hand.

  Chuck stepped through the door, quickly moving to one side to allow Gary's parents to enter.

 "Mom, Dad!" Gary cried, his hazel eyes sparkling with happiness as he sat up straighter.

 Lois walked in joyously, saying hello to Renee while swiftly seizing Gary into large hugs and giant kisses. Bernie followed his wife in enthusiastic greetings. No one noticed as the older Hobson dropped the paper to the nearby table, for once ignored and unthought of.

 Gary supposed that he should have been embarrassed, but he had pined for his parents attention more than he had expected. "I missed you guys!" he told them when they were satisfied with the amount of affection they had thrown upon him. "Did you enjoy your vacation?"

 Lois smiled painfully.  "Yes, son, we did.  But you seemed to jump right into trouble once we left!  I'm just so glad you're okay!  Good thing Renee is here,"  she grinned at the younger blonde, "or there'd be no one to keep you in line!"

 Bernie grinned as his son and hopefully future daughter-in-law blushed.  But Burnie's eyes had sorrowful glints in them that hinted at the unvanquished pain that remained, even though Gary had survived.  "Yeah, son.  You're our only kid and the best one we could have ever asked for. We need you."

 Lois' blue eyes were loving, yet sad.  "We love you, Gary."

 Gary grinned, pulling his mother down into another embrace. "I love you guys too.  C'mere, Dad."  Gary then hugged his father tightly.

 Chuck stood in the background, a quiet grin spread across his face. His buddy was finally better, everyone was happy, and--
 A ring filled the air, causing everyone to turn.  "Sorry," Chuck said, abashed at interupting the moment, and grabbed his cell' phone from his pocket to silence it.  "Hello?"

 The business-like voice of his stockbroker responded.  Though a stockbroaker for someone who had worked at a brokerage firm seemed a little superfulous, Chuck found it useful.

 "Yeah, hi, Ron." Chuck's greeting was subdued. "Really?  That's great.  No, let's wait for it to increase a little more."  Chuck spotted a newspaper sitting on the table by the door, and he grabbed it, planing on turning to the business section to discuss his stock options with the man.  But something on the front page caught his eye . . .

 Chicago Sun Times-- Sunday, April 4, 1999

 "Sunday?" Chuck said to himself.  "But it's not-"  The sound of Ron's confused voice and the people around him faded into the background as Chuck read the front page story.

--------
  'Li Macbeth, a local Chicagoan, was found dead in one of the Cook County Hospital  elevators yesterday.  The death was attributed to a skull fracture.  Authorities said that the woman's injury was due to a freak accident, when the car jerked to a halt at the estimated time of 12:30 AM last night -- causing her head to impact with the side of the elevator car.  Macbeth was six month's pregnant.  Unfortunately, paramedics could not save the unborn child-'
--------

 Chuck swallowed convulsively, saying, "Ron, sorry, I'll call ya' back."  He hung up in the middle of Ron's shocked complaint, then dropped the phone to the table and stared at the paper.  He gave no thought to how the paper had gotten there, nore of who to shirk the responsibility onto; his heart was pumping, the adrenalin forcing his mind onto one single purpose.

 Turning to the door, Chuck almost ran into Janelle who had been standing in the doorway.  "Chuck?" she said, concerned.  "What's wrong? You don't look well."

 Chuck shook his head, eyes still on the paper as he passed her to step into the hallway.  Realizing that the paper failed to say which elevator the woman died in, he decided to look for her before she got into the elevator.  It was only 11:00;  he'd surely find her before 12:30.

 Looking up, Chuck caught a glimpse of a very pregnant woman walking down the corridor.  "Um, excuse me, I have to go," he said to Janelle without looking back.  He walked off quickly, leaving Janelle in his wake.

 "Chuck!"  Rolling her eyes, "Men," Janelle glanced into the room where Gary's friends and family were still enjoying each other's company.

Suddenly her eyes fell upon the cell' phone sitting on the table, and realized that it was the one he had just set down.  Grabbing it, she hurried after him, cell 'phone in hand.  "Chuck, you forgot your phone!"
 

 Chuck walked quickly up to the pregnant woman and said, "Excuse me, are you Li Macbeth?"

 The woman turned to look at him, green eyes confused.  "No, I'm sorry."

 Chuck stopped walking abruptly.  "Dammit, I'm never gonna find her."

 "Who?" Janelle asked, behind him.

 "What?" he turned to see her brown eyes looking at him expectantly. "Oh, I gotta find this woman."

 "Why?"

 "I don't know, it doesn't-" Chuck sighed, realizing that he had almost given everything away. "It's a long story.  Listen, I've gotta go, I'll see you later, sorry!"  He rushed off again for the next elevator, leaving Janelle to trail behind him, still holding his phone.

 Janelle knew that she could have left the phone with Gary's parents, but having it in her possession gave her a great excuse to feed her curiosity.  She decided to follow him and find out what was going on.

 Fortunately, it was Janelle's lunch break, for she ha