12. Helper

The escalator was out of service.

Gordon sighed and began trudging slowly down the stairs, careful to keep his steps even and his muscles relaxed.

He was on his way back to his hotel after a full day on the mainland. He had spent the day shopping, picking up an assortment of necessities as well as some gifts – Alan and Scott both had birthdays coming up soon. Shopping wasn't exactly his favorite activity, but he'd been having fun until about an hour earlier, when his back had suddenly twinged.

Very familiar with his body's warning signs, he had hurried to find a delivery service to take his packages to his jet, and had begun the journey back to his hotel.

He was almost there. Once he made it onto the subway, he'd have a five minute ride, and then he'd be let off practically on the doorstep of his hotel. He had pain meds and a Jacuzzi in his room; if he could just hold it together for a few more minutes, he'd be fine.

Unfortunately, his back hadn't picked the best time to act up. It was rush hour, and hordes of people were rushing past all around him, intent on catching their trains and getting home after a long workday.

Just as Gordon was almost to the bottom of the stairs, someone shoved past him on the left, bumping him roughly on the shoulder. Caught off guard, Gordon missed the last step. As he instinctively took a longer step to compensate, pain shot through his back, dropping him to the hard tile floor on his hands and knees with a stifled cry of pain.

For a minute, the pain was the only thing he could think about – that, and remembering to breathe.

But the fog slowly began to lift, and as he cautiously glanced around, he found himself grateful that he had somehow managed to fall slightly to one side of the bottom of the steps, since the crowd didn't seem to show any particular inclination to stop moving just because he was in their way. Of all the ways he could imagine dying, he thought wryly, getting trampled to death by a crowd in a subway station had to be near the bottom of the list.

He huddled there for a few minutes, regulating his breathing and gathering his thoughts.

Okay, he thought. Now what?

His shoulders slumped slightly as he thought through various options and only came up with one solution. He'd have to call an ambulance. It was ridiculous, because that would mean a trip to the hospital, with a long wait and then a pointless exam before they would give him pain meds. He would be fine if he could just make it back to his hotel room, but he didn't see how that was possible. The only other option was to call International Rescue, but he suspected that that wouldn't go over very well.

Resigned to the necessity of calling for medical help, he was just starting to plan out the motion of reaching for his phone when a bright, clear voice cut through the fog of pain clouding his mind.

"Hey, what's wrong, honey? Are you sick?"

A smiling face appeared in front of him – a woman, her face well worn with lines, but brightened by warm, smiling eyes. She rested a hand on his shoulder as she crouched down to speak to him.

He ducked his head, embarrassed. "My back," he said softly. Then he made himself look up and try to smile. "It decides to quit working every once in a while."

She laughed – not making fun of him, but apparently recognizing his feeble attempt to have a sense of humor about his situation. "Yeah, I've got a knee like that – I never know when it's just going to stop doing what it's supposed to do! So, what can I do to help?"

That gave Gordon pause. What he really wanted was to get back to his hotel room with a minimum of fuss, but he hated to impose on a stranger. It would take a lot of strength to support him in his current state.

But as he looked up at the woman, trying to judge the sincerity of her offer of help, he found himself smiling as he recognized something in her eyes – she was a kindred spirit, he realized. She was one of those rare people who just loved to help others.

"Can you help me back to my hotel room?" he asked. "It's the Grand, so it's not far, and if I can just get there and crash, I'll be fine in the morning."

Her eyebrows went up a little at the name of the hotel, but then her smile broadened and her eyes sparkled. "I can do that," she said. "What's the best way to get you on your feet?"

Gordon grimaced. "Maybe it's not the best way, but I tend to prefer one quick movement. I'll try to do most of the work myself; if you can just support me a little when I'm standing up, that would be great."

"Okay," she said, her face intent. She stood, but stayed bent over, one hand on Gordon's arm, ready to help him.

Gordon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then, knowing he'd chicken out if he thought about it too much, he said, "All right. One, two, three!" And with a grunt of effort, he pushed himself up into a standing position.

His legs wobbled and nearly sent him crumpling straight back to the ground, but the woman had a surprisingly strong grip on him, and she kept him from falling again. After a minute, the initial white-hot blaze of pain subsided, and Gordon was able to take a little more of his own weight.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks. Now, the next step is to make it from here to the train."

She seemed to read his mind, slipping his arm over her shoulders and putting her left arm around his waist. "Lead on," she said cheerfully. "You set the pace, dear."

It was a very, very slow pace, but they made it in a few minutes - just in time for the train. They stepped aboard, the woman trying to guide Gordon so that he would be jostled as little as possible.

Once they were aboard, she asked, "Do you want to sit or stand?"

He grimaced. "I'm not sure I'd be able to get up again if I sat." He glanced around. "Here, I'll hang onto this pole."

She helped him to the pole and made sure he could stand on his own before she let go of him.

The subway began moving, and Gordon shuddered, his vision graying out slightly at the grinding pain in his lower back. He felt a hand on his arm, and he opened his eyes to see the woman watching him in concern. "I'm okay," he muttered.

Her eyes lit up with amusement. "Sure you are," she said. Then she shrugged. "But I say the same thing when my knee goes kaput, so I understand." She stuck out her hand. "I'm Marge, by the way."

Gordon cautiously adjusted his grip on the pole so he could shake her hand. "Gordon. And I can't even begin to thank you for doing this," he said. "I know it's got to be totally out of your way…"

She shook her head. "Don't even think about it," she said firmly. "People are always more important than schedules."

Gordon wondered if Marge was naturally such a giving person, or if she had grown into the role, like he had.

In a few more minutes, they came to Gordon's stop. Marge helped Gordon out of the train, up the escalator, and into the hotel, patiently matching his slow, wobbling pace and pausing to let him rest every once in a while.

"What room?" she asked.

"432," Gordon said from between gritted teeth. His steps were coming slower and slower now, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stay upright much longer.

Marge got him into the elevator and down the hall. When they stopped in front of his door, he started to pull away from her, words of thanks on the tip of his tongue – but she held out her hand.

"Key," she said firmly.

Meekly, he handed it to her, and watched her open the door. Apparently she was going to help him get to bed too, he thought wryly. He was aware that his father and Scott would be having about twenty different fits if they knew he was letting a complete stranger into his hotel room, but he preferred to live as an optimist and assume that Marge was entirely aboveboard.

To his surprise, though, there were lights on in the room. He held up a hand to stop Marge from leading him through the doorway. "Hang on," he said. "I didn't leave lights on."

"Gordon?" a voice said from inside the room. "Is that you?"

Gordon brightened. "Virg? What are you doing here?"

Virgil was still out of sight around the corner, but his voice grew louder as he moved toward the door. "Well, I needed a certain part for Two, and I figured that rather than just calling you to pick it up, I'd come get it myself and then hang out with you. I hope you don't mind me crashing in your hotel room." He stepped out into the hallway then, and blinked as he spotted Marge. "Oh, uh, hi." His eyes swept over the unusual pair, taking in Gordon's pale face and slumped posture, and his voice quickly sharpened in concern. "Gordon?"

"Relax," Gordon said, giving Virgil a tired grin. "My back went out, and this lovely lady helped me all the way up here from the Second Street Station. Virgil, meet Marge. Marge, my older brother Virgil."

Polite to a fault, even when he was taken off guard, Virgil stepped forward to shake Marge's hand. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "That was really above and beyond the call of duty, Ma'am."

"Oh, it was nothing," she said cheerily, returning the handshake with energy and then cautiously easing Gordon's weight over to Virgil. She took a couple steps back and put her hands on her hips. "I'm sure someone else would have helped you if I hadn't come along just then."

"But they didn't," Gordon said bluntly. "I was probably there for at least five minutes before you stopped." He looked her in the eye. "What you did for me was unusual in today's world, and it was really refreshing to see someone who would take the time and effort to help a stranger."

She was backing away, her face still lit with a warm smile. "Well, Gordon," she said quietly. "Maybe someday you'll have a chance to help someone too, and then you'll understand that it's really not a burden – it's a joy. I hope you recover quickly, Gordon. And nice to meet you too, Virgil." With a final wave, she disappeared around the corner of the hallway.

Gordon felt Virgil's arm tighten around him, and he turned to follow him into the room.

Virgil knew the routine; he brought Gordon straight into the bathroom. "You were on the floor for five minutes, and no one else stopped to help?" He left Gordon hanging onto the door frame and started filling the tub with water, his quick, stiff movements revealing his anger with the subway crowds.

"Barely even looked at me," Gordon sighed. Then he smiled. "But then Marge showed up, and it was like the sun started shining again."

Virgil snorted. "Don't let Alan hear you say that out of context, or he'll start making up ballads for you and Marge on his guitar." He added a generous dollop of bubble bath to the water, then turned to help Gordon out of his clothes.

"It's weird being on the receiving end of help from a stranger," Gordon said a minute later, settling into the hot water with a long, tired sigh. He could feel the tight muscles in his back begin to ease almost immediately.

Virgil handed Gordon an assortment of pills and an open water bottle. "I liked the bit where she said, 'Maybe someday you can help someone too,'" he said, a hint of a smirk playing around his lips.

Gordon swallowed the pills and shrugged. "Hey, she's right, of course." He settled back against the tub's seat and closed his eyes.

Virgil left the room just long enough to grab a sketch pad, a pencil, and a chair. He liked to keep an eye on Gordon after he took his pain pills, especially when he was in the hot tub.

He flipped to a blank page in the sketch pad and sat back, wondering what he should draw. Suddenly he smirked and set pencil to paper with enthusiasm.

When Gordon woke up the next morning, groggy and achy, but mostly better, he rolled over and saw a paper on his nightstand. He picked it up and blinked at it, then a grin slowly spread across his face.

A white horse filled much of the page; a knight on the horse's back was reaching down to help a fallen man up from the ground. The only unusual thing? The knight was a woman, and she looked an awful lot like Marge, complete with a radiant smile.

Gordon glanced over at Virgil's sleeping form in the next bed and shook his head, wondering how late his brother had stayed up the night before finishing the drawing.

Then he got up and limped over to his overnight bag, carefully tucking the picture in so it wouldn't get damaged.

He'd have to remember to pick up a frame later that day – that picture was definitely going on his wall.

If his other brothers asked him about it, he'd just say that it was a reminder of how much it can mean when one person takes the time to help another.