MY TURN by TB's LMC RATED FRPT

Many years ago, Jeff Tracy got his son Gordon through the aftermath of a horrific accident. Now, it's Gordon's turn to hold someone else's hand.

I have no idea which way Dad is going to go on this. I mean, just because we've reached an understanding about my recovery from the hydrofoil accident doesn't necessarily mean he's going to automatically allow me some shore leave. And, if it winds up that Elaine doesn't have anyone to help her, I know that shore leave will be long. Very, very long if it turned out anything like mine.

Part of what makes my gut churn isn't the possibility that Dad won't let me go, but the chance that he will. I mean, here I am, someone who hasn't bothered to contact this woman in...God, how many years? I don't know anything about her anymore. And I expect she'll be glad to see me out of the blue? That she'll even remember me? Holy shit, what if she doesn't even remember me? Or what if I get there and her father is there, a reincarnation of Jeff Tracy willing his daughter to live?

I remember Alec Pitcher vaguely as the Puritan type, only letting Elaine come over during the daylight hours and being picky and stuffy about who she was with, where she was going and what time she'd be back in the evenings. I would've sworn the guy was a preacher the way he acted, but I suppose if I had a daughter now I'd probably act the same way. I'm old enough to know there are men like me and my brothers out there endangering young virgins.

But I digress.

As it is, I stand in front of my father's closed study door with my fist raised but not moving. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and finally knock. "Come in," I hear him call. He looks up to see who the visitor is and I get a smile. Obstacle #1 has been overcome: Jeff Tracy is in a good mood.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hello, Gordon. What can I do for you?"

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

"No, I was actually just doing some filing. What's on your mind? You sure had a lot on it earlier."

I clear my throat and look him directly in the eyes. "Dad, I want to take a leave of absence from International Rescue. I need to go to Kansas City."

My God, did I actually let those words come out of my mouth?

Of course, I have his full and immediate attention. Hands steepled in front of his chin, his eyes lock onto mine. "A leave of absence? May I ask the purpose and duration?"

"The purpose is...an old school friend. A hit-and-run driver put her in the hospital."

Dad frowns. "I'm sorry to hear that. Did they catch the perpetrator?"

I shake my head. "No. The nurse sort of hinted she might not live..." I look away and my voice drops to a whisper. "Her injuries are a lot like mine were, Dad."

He waits until my eyes return to his. And in them I see something that reminds me why I respect him so much: complete and total understanding. He isn't stupid. He's put 2 and 2 together and knows exactly why I'm asking for time off. "How long, Gordon? I need to know for IR, I'll have to have someone covering Thunderbird 4 as well as second seat in Two."

I nod. I'd thought about that. "I don't know how long, Dad. I mean, she may have people there to support her, but she may not. And if she doesn't..." I search his face for the man who'd helped me so long ago. "Dad, if I hadn't had you, I wouldn't be here. Elaine's an old friend. I just need to make sure she has a ‘you' to pull her through this."

Dad leans back in his leather desk chair, rocking it slowly to and fro as his eyes seem to look right through me. "Well, now that John and Alan are both Earth-bound 100 of the time, we do have more coverage than we used to."

I nod.

"Alan seconds Scott on One, and John's a fine second to Two. But I'm concerned about Four."

"I have an idea about that, Father. Tin-Tin has been putting a lot of time into Four's simulator ever since she helped me with that huge retrofit we did a month ago. I think if Scott took her out for some practice runs she'd be capable enough with one of the others riding second. After all, she has seconded me a couple of times. She's quite familiar with Four's capabilities."

I hold my breath. Will he let me go? Do I really want him to? I feel like I'm going to hurl until finally he leans forward, elbows on his desk. "I want you to brief me on the situation as soon as you've assessed it," he says seriously. "It's hard for our only aquanaut to be away from Base for an extended period of time, but you're no prisoner here and you have a friend in dire need from what I'm hearing." I let my breath whoosh out of my lungs. "Take your leave and see your friend and we'll take it from there."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," I say, nodding and standing and getting ready to split before he changes his mind.

"You'll be gone for Christmas, you know," he says quietly before I can escape. I think about it and realize this would have been the first Christmas without somebody on Thunderbird 5. The first Christmas when our entire family would've been together on Earth. My resolve weakens. I inherited my sense of family from my father and grandmother, and to miss this Christmas with all of them twists my gut a little.

But then I think of Elaine and say, "What kind of Christmas is it lying all alone in a hospital bed with a busted up back?"

My father nods. I know he understands, even though he really wants me home for Christmas. Well, maybe I will be, if Elaine has a support network with her. I won't have to stay, then. There's no way to know at this point. I'm halfway out his study door when I hear his voice once again.

"I hope she's okay, son."

I stop and turn to him and smile. "I do too, Father. Thank you."

He nods again and that's it. I go and told Scott I'll be gone indefinitely. As field commander of IR, it's my duty to inform him of something like that. He immediately heads for Father's study. Boy, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. I go pack a suitcase and make the rounds of saying good-bye to everyone on the island. Then I juice up Tracy Three and no more than an hour after Dad gave me my leave, I'm airborne. On my way to Kansas. On my way to Elaine.

On my way to complete uncertainty.

About twenty minutes into the flight I suddenly realize they'll never let me in to see her unless they believe I'm her fiancée as I told Alicia over the phone. But how can I get them to believe me? Then the answer comes to me...but I start sweating and my hands get clammy as I realize I'll have to make one stop after landing and before I hit the hospital.

I just hit my internal panic button. It's funny how even the idea of getting engaged will do that to you. Especially to someone you haven't seen since high school. Well, it isn't a real engagement. It's simply a charade I have to keep up in order to get in there and assess Elaine's situation. If she has a good support network, I'll say my hello's, express my concerns and leave. But if she doesn't have anyone, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to help her.

And that means I need to buy a diamond ring. The logic doesn't keep me from sweating, but dammit, desperate times call for desperate measures, and it was only to get me in the door, right? I might not even have to use it; I just need to make sure I have it as a safeguard in case my fiancée act doesn't fly. Who's going to argue with a guy holding a ten thousand dollar ring?

Somehow, though, as I contemplate my plan, it doesn't seem to ease the butterflies in my stomach. God, I don't even know what size her finger is. What if the ring is too small? Too big? Well, guys make ring size mistakes all the time, right? I can just chalk it up to the fact that I picked it out not knowing her finger size and if it doesn't fit, I'll just have it resized. Good story, I'll stick with it.

Okay, every angle covered. Except one. And that's Elaine herself. What if she tells me to go to hell? I can almost hear her voice in my head. "You abandon me for fifteen years and then you're back just like that and expect me to be happy to see you?"

Then again, I know where she is, medically speaking. I know enough about what's wrong with her to know how she's feeling. If she's alone, she's going to need a friendly voice. I guess I can only hope that she finds my voice friendly. Maybe she will be happy to see an old school pal. Maybe she'll find my voice as soothing as I once found Father's to be. Maybe she'll be grateful for the warm, strong hand holding hers as I was when Father held my hand. Maybe what I'm doing really is the right thing to do, however my brain fights with itself about it.

I guess I could what-if myself into a frenzy if I kept all this up. It could go very well, it could go very badly. But I sure don't think it's a coincidence that of all my brothers, I was chosen to go on line to get numbers for Dad, and that everyone knows the best place for what he was looking for was the Kansas City Star, and that the article about Elaine just happened to be there blaring on the first page. I mean, Kyrano always talks about how sometimes things we think are coincidences really aren't, they're things that were meant to happen. A lot of what he says makes sense, but there's also the saying that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

How do you know when it's a cigar or a universal design? I don't think there's any way to know, and that's what drives you crazy. You're presented with a situation and you don't know what decision to make and you sit there and wonder if it's a cigar or something more. I suppose that's why I became so...well, it's what Al calls "laid back." After going through the recovery period from my hydrofoil accident, and after not being able to jog until two years after that, and pulling from my father's quiet strength, I realized that I was alive for a reason. Well, that's what Kyrano said at some point. He said, "You were meant to live. You may never know the reason. But it was not your time to leave."

So now I'm piloting Tracy Three at thousands of miles per hour towards Kansas City wondering if this is why I was meant to live. Why I went through all the pain of coming back from that spinal fracture. Was it all so I could help Elaine? Was that the reason Kyrano had spoken of? It's funny, my laid back nature sometimes pisses my brothers off something awful. Although Virgil is kind of like me, but boy, when his temper blows, it puts Vesuvius to shame. I don't have a temper like that. I guess I just don't see the point in getting mad about anything.

Scott's wound tighter than a brand-new drum, John gets moody and Alan's a hothead, there's no other way to put it. Me? I just sort of soak up every minute of every day simply because I now realize how precious every minute is. It sounds corny, but there it is with no bullshit. Flying off the handle over little things takes too much energy, and it takes time away from enjoying the sound of water lapping at the beach or the soft sway of the plants deep underwater as the currents move them, or the brightly colored fish that at first dart away from you, then curiously come to inspect you and your odd SCUBA gear when you're diving.

I mean, of course I can get mad. I'm still human, after all. But only if it's something really worthy of getting angry over. Like if someone hurts one of my family members, or if someone dies at a rescue as the result of another person's negligence. I'll never forget the apartment building where sixteen men, women and children died because the contractor who built it tried to do it cheaper by doing shoddy electrical work. Walking through there, seeing the charred bodies. Deaths that were painful and senseless for those sixteen people.

I really got mad on that rescue. I think my brothers were in shock because they'd never seen me like that. After we returned to Base, I remember heading directly to the gym where I beat the living shit out of our heavy bag. Without boxing gloves on. But after I'd gotten to the point where my knuckles were bruised and bleeding, I realized that there wasn't anything I could've done to prevent those deaths. That building had been built ten years earlier. The contractor probably wasn't even in business anymore. At first, I think I would've shot him on sight, but then Kyrano's logic finally won over and told me that while it was natural to be angry that they died because of someone else's reckless behavior, they died because it was their time.

I have to say that Kyrano has taught me a lot. I really listen to him, probably because Dad does, and a lot of what he says makes sense. I have never once seen that man get mad; never heard him speak above that low tone of voice that's almost a whisper; never seen him behave violently in any way. That's in stark contrast to my jock brothers who are constantly kicking the shit out of something or even sometimes each other. Hell, I'm just as much of a jock as they are, I just have a different perspective on life than they do, and it's because of my experiences. They say you can never understand someone else until you've walked a mile in their shoes. So in the same way I don't understand why Scott seems like a coiled rattler ready to strike at any second all the time, he doesn't understand why I just take everything as it comes and leave it at that.

I guess I can sort of understand why Scott is the way he is. After all, he's the one who had to pretty much raise us after Mom died. Just like that, his childhood was gone and he was caring for four younger brothers. He worries like a parent would, so I suppose I understand that much of it. But unless and until that exact situation happens to me, I won't really understand what he's about on the inside, just like he doesn't really ‘get' me.

I think that's why it's so important to me that I go see Elaine. I've been there and done that where her injuries and recovery are concerned. I've walked that mile...or maybe it was twenty miles...and I can offer her help as someone who knows what she's going through. I bet Scott could help someone who found themselves in the same place he found himself at 9 years of age. We might all be the sons of Jeff Tracy, but we're all so different I sometimes wonder how we can handle living together on the same island. Then again, it is a pretty damn big island!

I look down at my instruments and realize I've been doing too much thinking because my head's starting to hurt. I should be hitting Kansas City in about fifteen minutes, so I pick up the radio and request clearance from their tower to land. Clearance is granted, and I ask them for a private hangar and a rented SUV. They hesitate at first, but all I have to do is drop my last name and they're eager to please. Funny what the name Tracy will do for you.

They tell me where to find the private hangar and I begin my descent. The funny thing is that I'm starting to feel nervous, which is not like me at all. Probably that whole engagement ring thing. Well, it's no big deal, anyway. I'll just return the ring to the store after I've seen to it that Elaine's okay, and then all will be well.

I look out the cockpit windows as Tracy Three glides down through the cloud cover. It's sprinkling a little once I get under the clouds, so I turn on my auto-wipers. My landing is smooth, I taxi to the private hangar and tell the guy who's going to take care of my jet thank you. I tip him big so I know he'll do it right, and before I know it, I'm in the driver's seat of an SUV and headed for downtown Kansas City.

I look around as I maneuver the streets. I used to be quite familiar with this city, and as I near it, the memories return and somehow I just know where to go, what exit to take, what street to turn left on, where to park. And I find myself standing in front of Hanson's Jewelers. I feel weird, but I know what I have to do, so I go inside.

There's a nice middle-aged lady behind the rows and rows of jewelry who asks if she can help me. "Yes," I say, my voice unsteady, "I need an engagement ring."

Of course, the sales lady gets all excited and I think I must be beet red. Why do women go so ga-ga over this shit? Drives me crazy. And people wonder why none of us Tracys are married. Jesus H. Once she's quiet long enough for me to get a word in edgewise, I ask to see the biggest rings they have. Hey, I'm a Tracy. If I have a fiancé, she has to have a nice, big rock on her finger.

Erma, that's the sales lady, lays out for me twelve diamond engagement rings of varying settings and styles, and I look at them and the internal panic button is pushed once again. I shove my clammy hands into my pockets and am completely lost. I have no idea what Elaine would like. I have no idea which one of these any woman would like. Erma is beaming and waiting like I'm picking it out for her or something.

One of the rings has the diamond setting in the shape of a heart, with three smaller diamonds on each side of it. Suddenly a memory grabs me and I flash back to seventh grade, when Elaine and I first met. She had passed me a note...God, did we used to do that? Pass notes? I feel like such an idiot. She had passed me a note asking me my name. In it, she said her name was Elaine, and had made the dot over the ‘i' in her name a heart instead of a dot. I remember groaning, thinking, oh, Christ, does she have a crush on me or something? Of course, it turned out she didn't, she was just trying to make new friends, she later told me, and she'd written her name that way since second grade. Girls. Didn't understand them then, don't understand the women they've grown into now.

My mind races back to the present and I find myself pointing at the heart-shaped diamond. It just feels right somehow. More squealing from Erma and kissing up from who I guess must be the owner of the store, and I whip out my credit card, get the ring in a red velvet box and get out of that store as fast as my legs can move. That was an experience I have no intention of repeating any time soon. I'm surprised I'm not broken out in hives.

Mission accomplished, I now turn my attention to Elaine. Time to find out how she really is, I think, as I put the SUV in Drive and pull away from the curb. It's only fifteen minutes to the hospital. I park in the parking garage, stuff the ring box into my pocket and walk into the front lobby. I feel like everything is surreal, like I'm watching instead of actually doing these things myself.

But there I am, asking for Elaine Pitcher's room, and the volunteer behind the kiosk gives me the room number and directs me to the elevator. It's waiting on the ground floor and I enter. She's on the third floor, Room 311. The orthopedic ward. Shit, I think, that's where I was always put – the ortho ward. It's creepy, but it's like history's repeating itself, only this time I'm on the other side of the fence.

I step out of the elevator and the signs in front of me tell me 311 is to my left. So I slowly make my way down the hall and look at the numbers on each door. I finally get to the end of the hall, and there it is, Room 311. The door is wide open and the room is dark. I can see there's someone in the bed, but there's no one else around. I knock softly and enter, and am taken aback by the woman in the bed.

Because even though fifteen years have passed, I would recognize her in a heartbeat. Her brown hair is cut short as it had always been, and her face is that same pixie face. I remember Konner used to tease her and call her Tinkerbell because she always looked like a little pixie. Delicate, yet what a spitfire! In fact, she reminded me a lot of my grandmother in that regard.

I silently go to stand next to her bed and stare for several moments at the IV bags, the small bandages on her face, arms and hands and the catheter pouch hanging down at the side of the bed. So familiar and so haunting.

"Elaine?" I whisper. "Elaine, are you awake?"

There is no response. The life sign indicators tell me her pulse and breathing rates are steady, but she doesn't move a muscle. This must have been what I was like right after I'd had my first surgery. Out cold and immobile. I see a chair over in the corner and I move it to the side of her bed. I sit down and take her small hand in mind. It feels so cold and lifeless and without warning my mind flashes backwards and I see my father picking up my cold and lifeless hand as he kept vigil at my bedside.

I can see his lips moving, but I can't hear what it is he's saying, nor can I remember. But he's talking to me with my hand held in both of his, and for the first time I realize he's crying. There are tears streaming down his face and before that even registers, the words coming from his mouth stream into my mind, like my subconscious is finally opening up and allowing me to hear them. And words are starting to come out of my mouth as well, as I grasp Elaine's hand with both of mine.

"Do you remember when you used to come over in the Spring? Remember those two swallows who insisted upon building their nest right on top of the light over our back door? As soon as they got their eggs laid, they'd start dive-bombing us and you always used to run away with your hands over your head because you thought for sure they'd get you."

I find myself smiling as the good memories start to flow.

"And that squirrel, remember he used to live in that huge oak tree behind our house? You'd come over with dried-up corn and sit on the edge of the sandbox forever waiting for him to climb down and come near you. You called him Crackers, and he got more and more comfortable with you until finally you had him eating the corn right out of your hand. Do you remember that summer, Elaine?"

I look at her face and wonder if she can hear me.

"Or how about that time you tried using our leaf blower? That last fall before you moved, and you ended up on your back in the middle of a pile of leaves with the leaf blower sending them up like a geyser. Remember how mad Grandma got?"

I lower my forehead until it's touching my hands, which still hold hers. I can see in my mind's eye, my father doing the same thing.

"God, and that winter when the six of us froze our asses off on the snowmobiles? I remember you hanging on so tight I couldn't breathe, and we stayed out on those things all day without any lunch or anything until finally we got back right when the sun was setting. I'm surprised none of us got frostbite. Oh, your dad was so mad, Elaine, he'd been calling my dad for an hour trying to find you. We sure got in trouble for that day, but we had so much fun. Remember that?"

I look up at the life sign indicators again as the picture of my father fades from my mind, as though the transmission I'd been getting has been severed. I sigh and wonder how my father did it, spending all those hours next to me, all that time just watching someone who couldn't respond. Well, I realize, however he did it then, now it's my turn to do it. When I look back down at her face, I think Elaine looks pretty peaceful. Her face doesn't seem to be contorted with pain and she almost looks like she's got a small smile.

I jump when someone touches my shoulder. I turn around and see it's a nurse, and the name tag tells me it's the very nurse I spoke to over the vidphone.

"You must be Gordon Tracy," she says with a smile, noting how I'm holding Elaine's hand. I just nod. "Glad to see you made it. It's about time someone's here for her."

As Alicia goes about changing the IV bags, I frown. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, she hasn't had a single visitor in the two days she's been here. The doctor said that from what the police can figure, she lived alone and has no family."

Then her dad was dead. "What about friends?" I ask.

Alicia shrugged. "Don't know. If she has any, they haven't been here yet." She finishes with the IV bag, then moves to take Elaine's blood pressure and temperature. I watch, silently remembering that routine. Every two hours the nurse would come in with that machine to take my temperature and blood pressure.

After she's done, Alicia goes about the business of putting things away and generally tidying the room. "It's really too bad about her dog, too. I guess that was the closest thing she had to family."

"Her dog?"

Alicia turns to look at me. "You're her fiancée and you don't know about her dog?"

"Oh!" I respond, nodding. "Of course I know about her dog. But...what happened to it?"

"It was killed instantly in the hit-and-run. It was just a little dog, from what I hear. I'm not surprised it didn't survive. We didn't even expect Elaine to."

"I don't want to hear any more of that," I say, probably with a bit more venom in my voice than I intend. "She will live."

Alicia is definitely taken aback. "O-Of course she will, Mr. Tracy, I didn't mean to—"

"Never mind," I say in defeat, turning back to face Elaine. "It's not you, I'm just...you know." Alicia nods. "Has she regained consciousness yet?"

"No," Alicia replies. "Not yet." I just sit there, not really knowing what to do. "If you need anything, just use the call button." And with that, she leaves the room.

Jesus, why did I just bite Alicia's head off? And then just like that, I knew why. I was my father all over again, only years later and with a different patient.

"We don't expect him to live past the next twelve hours."

"The hell he won't!"

I have to smile. I guess I have a lot more of my dad's genes than I thought.

As Elaine's supposed fiancée, the hospital sets me up with a second bed that folds out from her room's couch so I can stay the nights with her. I had already called my father and reported Elaine's condition. He'd said to keep him posted. But I'm not really able to sleep much, so finally I just take the chair next to her bed again. Every two hours the nurse comes and goes. Every minute passes with Elaine still lying there unmoving, her eyes unblinking.

I do a lot of thinking over the next couple of days. I put the engagement ring in a drawer in the room; I'm relieved that I hadn't needed to use it. I keep vigil over Elaine but every minute of every hour is the same, and I find myself struggling to maintain patience. I talk to her doctors who come around every morning. I talk to all her nurses. And I talk to Elaine. Although her back injury isn't comparable to mine, it is severe enough that Elaine will suffer much the same as I did during rehabilitation. And that saddens me.

I wouldn't wish what I went through on my worst enemy, let alone an old school friend. But I remember Elaine as being strong-willed. If anyone can pull through this, it's her, of that I'm certain. I just don't envy the endless hours of pain and agony she'll have to endure once she wakes up. I wish that I could take it all away and make her whole again without all of that. But then again, that wouldn't be fair to her either, because she wouldn't have the experience.

If it did nothing else, what I went through taught me a lot. About myself, about my family, about the world and about my place in it. What right do I have to gyp Elaine out of that? Kyrano once said to me that each person has to learn from their own experiences. I guess all I can do is be here for her, if she wants me.

With no change three days later, I decide I need to get out into the cold Midwestern winter and get some fresh air. It's Christmas Eve and the hospital is decorated for the holiday. I find no joy in it, though, my spirit weighed down by Elaine's unchanging condition. I talk to Dad again through my wrist comm. Everything's okay back at Base, there's only been one rescue and my absence didn't hurt the outcome. Good to know, but I think he can tell I almost don't care.

Well, that's not right, I mean, of course I care, but your perspective on things changes depending on where you are and what you're doing. Right now I'm begging the powers that be to wake Elaine up, and I'm spending hours upon hours at her bedside talking to her. If I were back home on the island doing routine things like maintenance on the ‘birds or paperwork or something like that, I'd have gone on the rescue and cared a lot about it. Here I am a member of International Rescue and there's one person who used to be one of my best friends that I may not be able to save. It's pretty humbling.

I just don't understand why she hasn't regained consciousness yet. It only took me three days to wake up and Elaine's already on Day 4. What if she doesn't wake up? Doctors said there wasn't enough trauma to her head to put her into a coma, but what if that's what happened? What if I sit here for a month and nothing changes? Then I feel something I haven't felt in a very long time: a snowflake. It lands on my nose and I look up to find it's snowing. It looks to be a white Christmas here in Kansas City and I feel my spirits start to rise again.

She will wake up, I tell myself as I look up into the cloud-covered sky. She will.

I stand there for God knows how long, enjoying the falling snow before I head back into the hospital. It's Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve and nobody's come to see Elaine the entire time she's been here. Christmas Eve and I know what's going on back on Tracy Island. I sigh, but my gut tells me it's right for me to be here in Kansas right now. I spot the gift shop off to the right and decide to just go in and take a look. Maybe I can find something to make Elaine's room a little more Christmas-y.

There are the typical flowers that are always in gift shops. But they're just regular. There are a few Christmas decorations around, but nothing that really catches my eye. And then I see it. It's sitting there on the counter, not far from the register. A miniature Christmas tree in a pot. It's completely decorated and lit and I immediately know that's the thing I have to buy. In short order, I find myself carrying it across the hospital lobby and into the elevator.

My spirits have completely risen by this time. This little Christmas tree is exactly the cheering up that room needs. And for the rest of Christmas Eve, I'm going to tell Elaine stories about Christmas. Christmases from when we knew each other and Christmases with my family. I have to keep talking to her, the way Dad kept talking to me. Somehow, his voice got through to me, wherever it was I was floating while I was unconscious. And somehow, I have to get my voice through to Elaine.

Two nurses, Alicia and Faustino, and two orderlies I don't know are working at changing Elaine's bed sheets and moving her to her side to prevent body sores from forming. I enter quietly and stay out of the way, moving to the opposite side of her bed and placing the small live tree on an end table that sits next to the small couch there along the wall. I easily find an electrical outlet and plug the tree in. Faustino and Alicia smile when they see the multicolored lights and I smile right back at them.

There is a tradition in the Tracy family, or maybe I should say it's more of a belief. Christmas isn't just about caroling or gifts or babes in mangers or wise men. Christmas isn't just about a big star in the sky or sending cards to everyone or giving bonuses to all our employees. My family sees Christmas as a time of renewal. I don't really know how that tradition got started. Maybe Grandpa and Grandma started it, maybe their parents before them. Or maybe it was just something my dad and mom did. Come to think of it, it sounds an awful lot like something my mother would've believed from what Scott's told me about her.

A time of renewal. Christmas is almost magical when you're sitting there in the dark, the only light coming from the twinkling lights on the tree. The gifts lying beneath it all brightly colored and beautifully wrapped. The star way up high. The beauty of freshly fallen snow. These are the things my father has taught us to appreciate about Christmas. Well, I was going to continue that tradition here with Elaine. Maybe Christmas really is magical. My family's always been able to make it seem that way. And if it is, maybe Elaine will wake up tonight or tomorrow. And if she does, she'll have a tree at least. And freshly fallen snow outside.

Finally the nurses and orderlies leave us alone. I turn all the lights off, sit in my chair next to Elaine's bed and just stare at the lights on the tree and the tiny points of light they cast all through the room. I feel like singing, but that would probably put Elaine into a deeper coma rather than help her come out of it, so I quickly put that thought aside. And then it happens again, a stream of words enters my mind as though I'm hearing it from somewhere else. I take Elaine's hand and the words just start coming out of my mouth.

"The first Christmas after we met, remember that, Elaine? I do. I remember it because the six of us did a Secret Santa. Hell, we were only in seventh grade. Konner thought it was stupid, but we finally convinced him to go in on it, remember? You drew my name and you gave me my gift. Do you remember what the gift was?" I ask as I squeeze her hand. "It was a snowflake made all out of glass. You said I could use it for an ornament on our Christmas tree. I never really understood you giving me a glass snowflake ornament, I mean, come on, that's not usually something you'd give a guy for Christmas."

I stop and smile as I remember the funny look I had on my face when I opened her gift. Of course, at that point, I didn't know it was from her. It was only later that we all confessed who our Secret Santas were.

"I kid you not, that thing still goes on our tree, year after year. No matter how fancy we decorate it, no matter what color scheme we use, that snowflake is always hung somewhere on the tree. I'm actually surprised it's lasted as long as it has after all this time." And suddenly something occurs to me. "I honestly don't know why I've kept it." My heart starts to pound, my mind is swimming. "I mean, it was just a silly gift when we were kids, why I've—"

A lump forms in my throat as a thought not only occurs to me, but takes a firm hold on me. Why had I kept that damnable thing? Every year we'd put it on the tree from that first Christmas after she'd given it to me right up until this year. And each year I'd hung it up myself. It was always packed away with the rest of the ornaments from the year before, and even if we weren't using any of them the next year, I dug in the boxes until I found the glass snowflake.

What does it mean? It doesn't mean anything. It's nice, it's a tradition, so I just keep doing it. Right? I mean, why else would put the thing up every single Christmas since seventh grade? It's crazy. I ought to put it away for good. Maybe even throw it away, there's no point in putting it up year after year. I don't even realize that I've started to think aloud now.

"I don't know why I've always put that snowflake on the tree. It doesn't really make any sense, I mean, take this year for example. We did a red and silver color scheme. Everything was either red or silver, and that was it. Except for the snowflake. I went through the boxes from last year and dug it out. Every year I expect it to be broken, but every year it's not, and I'm somehow...what...? Relieved by that? It's intact and I bring it out as the others are putting up the red and silver balls, the garland, the tinsel, the lights...I bring it out and I hang it in a spot that looks a little bare. But..." I falter. My voice breaks off. "I don't know why I keep hanging it on the damn tree," I whisper.

"Maybe it's because it reminds you of me."

The voice scares the living shit out of me and I jump about a mile out of my chair. In an instant I'm on my feet, moving to switch on a light.

"No, please..." The voice is hoarse. "Leave the lights off. The tree is so beautiful."

I stare open-mouthed at the figure on the bed. Red, yellow, blue and green lights dot her from head to toe as the little Christmas tree shines brightly. "My God. Elaine?"

"Gordon. I never thought I'd..." She stops and I know instantly what she needs. I grab the ugly pink pitcher of water and pour some into the ugly matching pink cup. I bring the straw to her lips and she drinks greedily before backing away from the straw and continuing. "I never thought I'd see you again."

I'm a bit embarrassed at having been caught thinking aloud, but I'm so goddamn happy she's awake! This must have been how my Dad felt when I woke up. I take her hand again and say, "I know. Dredging up the past." I find I'm having trouble figuring out what to say and that fact dumbfounds me. I'm the laid back one. Why should I be having butterflies.

"Gordon? What happened?" I take a deep breath and tell her what I know from the newspaper reports and from what the nurses and doctors have told me. And then she asks me the question I wish she hadn't. "What about Boxy?" I leave my face blank, praying she'll drop it. "My dog, Boxy. Where is he?"

I look away for a moment, then back at her face. "They told me he didn't make it, Elaine." I see the tears fill her eyes and spill over, running down her cheeks onto the sheets below. She closes her eyes and silently cries and I just don't know what to do.

"He..." She stops and then starts again. "He was all I had, Gordon. Boxy was everything to me." And she continues crying.

God, if there's anything that pulls me out of being laid back, it's women crying. Quite justified in this case, I'll give her that, but I just don't know what to do. I can't make this better, I can't bring her dog back to life, I can't take back what happened. Then she cries out in earnest, a loud cry that I recognize immediately. Pain. Without a second thought I hit the call button on her remote.

"Oh, God, Gordon, why do I hurt so much? Gordon, my back!" she wails, squeezing my hand so tight I'm thinking I might get bruises out of it. "Help me!"

"I am," I say, trying my best to sound calm. "The nurse will give you something to make you more comfortable, okay?"

"But why does it hurt?" By now she's sobbing. Shit, I can identify. I don't remember a lot of my first couple of weeks, but I do remember the unstoppable bouts of crying that made me feel like such a baby at the time. She's entitled. I know it hurts like hell and so I let her cry.

Faustino comes in. "She needs meds," I say. "She's awake and she's in pain." He nods and scurries out of the room. I just sit there and hold both of Elaine's hands as she moans and cries. She tries to speak, but the pain is too much. That's how it is. I remember not being able to get a single word out of my mouth because the pain was so unbearable. I close my eyes as two nurses and a doctor rush into the room. I'm pushed aside and I just stand at the window looking out of it as her cries fill the room.

And what surprises me most of all is how it makes me feel. It's kind of a combination of remembering being the one in that bed, remembering how it felt, mixed with feeling so shitty that someone as good as Elaine had to now be going through it. Goddammit, she doesn't deserve this. I feel my eyes fill and I fight it, quickly swiping my arm across them. I need to be strong for her, not pity her. Look at how fit and well I am. I need to set an example, not bemoan her circumstances. I have to be strong and have hope, just like my father did for me.

Finally her cries are reduced to whimpers as the painkillers take effect. The nurses leave and the doctor crosses the room to stand next to me. "I can't believe it, you know," he says.

"Believe what?"

"That she lived."

I smile and nod my head. "Yep. First hurdle overcome."

"First hurdle? What other hurdles are you expecting?"

"Well, the healing of back, of course, and then her walking."

The doctor's next words are like déjà vu, and make me want to punch his lights out.

"Walking? I'm sorry, Mr. Tracy, but Miss Pitcher won't ever walk again."

I turn and I'm sure the look on my face rivals the one on my dad's when he gets royally pissed. "Doctor, may I speak with you out in the hall?" Even I know that when I start sounding so formal it means I'm mad as hell. He nods and we step out into the hall. I close the door to Elaine's room and the words are tumbling out before I even register what I'm saying.

"Doctor, I don't ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again."

"What are you talking about?"

"About Elaine never walking again."

"Mr. Tracy, you are not a medical professional. The extent of her injuries are such that her nerves are far too damaged to send the proper signals to her legs. There is no way she's going to be able to walk."

I fold my arms across my chest and look him right in the eye. "Let me tell you a little something about myself," I begin. "Thirteen years ago, I was in a hydrofoil accident that left me with a spinal fracture and a shitload of other injuries."

"A...spinal fracture?" His eyes widen and I know I've got his attention.

"My doctors told my father I wouldn't live more than twelve hours past the six-hour surgery they put me through that first night. He told them to go to hell. I lived." I pause for a moment. I know how to make a dramatic impact. "After I lived, oh, what a miracle that was," I say sarcastically. "Then, of course, the entire team of doctors said I'd never walk again. That I'd be wheelchair-bound for life."

The doctor looks me up and down, as though disbelieving my story. So I hike my shirt up to my shoulders and turn around. "I assume you see the scars along my spine."

"Y-Yes," he whispers.

I lower my shirt and turn back to face him. "Not one more word about her never walking again. Got it?" Speechless, he nods his head. "Thank you. I appreciate it." And with that, I turn and go back into Elaine's room, closing the door behind me. I'm damn sure I made my point. Stupid doctors. I'm not about to let Elaine hear that. It had put me behind in my progress when my doctors had naysayed me walking. If I can't take away what she has to do to recover from this, then at least I can cut out some of the bullshit I'd had to endure.

"Gordon?" she says softly, in that tone of voice you can only get by being drugged to the gills.

"I'm here, Elaine," I say, sitting down in my chair and taking her hands again.

"I'm glad you're here," she drawls lazily.

"Me too," I say. And I know I mean it.

"Did he..." She yawns and her eyes drift shut, then reopen. "Doctor says I can't ever walk again."

Her eyes, the eyes I'd forgotten were the color of orange Labradorite, overflowed with tears again. Suddenly that memory came back to me, how in Geology class she had insisted my eyes were the color of the mandarin ice simulant. It took me days and days to finally find the gem that most closely matched her eyes. It had become a game by that point. A game we'd played teasing each other mercilessly. She kept calling me ‘simulant' and I kept calling her a Labrador just to piss her off. I smile at the memory, but my smile fades as I see her eyes close and her tears soaking the bed sheets again.

"I'll never walk again," she whispers, squeezing my hand.

I lean closer to her, and use my thumb to wipe the tears from her face. She opens her eyes to look at me and it's one of those moments, one of those perfect moments where time stops and I find I can hardly breathe. My father's words filter into the moment as though he's standing right there whispering them into my ear.

"You will walk, Elaine." Her tears seem to stop and she sniffles as I use a tissue to dry her face and eyes. "You've lived through something that would kill most people. And you will walk again."

I believe it. And from the small smile that lights her face as she drifts off to sleep, I think she does too. Here I am, getting ready to do for someone else what my father did for me. As I lean back in my chair, I think, isn't it funny how history repeats?

"You will walk, Elaine." I look at the twinkling tree again, then notice the clock says it's 12:01 a.m. "Merry Christmas," I whisper, squeezing her hand. "Merry Christmas."

Three Months Later...

I can't believe it. There she is, sitting in that wheelchair with the walker in front of her. The physical therapist is smiling and nodding. I know this is going to be hard for her. I remember trying to take my first steps. She looks at me and smiles and I nod my encouragement. She places one hand on one grip, the other on the other grip.

And with a great groan of effort, she's up. She's standing there on her own two feet. She cries out in joy, tears streaming down her face. I reach into my pocket for a handkerchief, and that's when I feel it.

It's the velvet box. The one containing the engagement ring I'd never had to use. I completely forgot to return it. Well, maybe after her physical therapy is over I'll make a quick trip into town. Might just as well.

I look up as the therapist wipes the tears off Elaine's face. She looks so happy. I remember that feeling. One foot moves forward and then the other. "Gordon, I'm doing it!" she cries, laughing out loud. "I'm walking!"

It suddenly occurs to me that she's never looked so pretty in all the time I've known her. "Yes," I say, nodding my head and smiling. "You sure are. I knew you would."

I let go of the box, leaving it sitting there snugly in my pocket. Maybe I won't take that ring back just yet.