I love Ironside. I am pleased to leave my contribution to the greatest TV series ever created. Since my imagination is somewhat limited, I decided to take advantage of the scriptwriters' work and simply fill in the blanks.

Reviews are welcome. Whether positive or negative, please only leave a sincere review. If a majority of you like it, there might be more.

My thanks go to Mounty Swiss who convinced me to post this.

Happy reading!

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"I know what time it is!" Mark said angrily to the desk officer before slamming the phone down on its cradle.

He quickly came back to Ironside's bedside. The chief was attempting to sit up but kept grimacing because of the mysterious pain in his legs. Mark was torn between being happy for the chief and thinking that he might lose his job. He chastised himself for that last thought. The man had done so much for him.

"Chief, you okay?"

"Hmphhh!" Mark hurt to see his friend in so much pain. He couldn't so much as drag his legs on the mattress without wincing. Mark came closer to the bed to lend a hand. He gripped Ironside's arm and helped him into a sitting position.

"I'll be alright, Mark. You shouldn't have called Doc Stern. It wasn't necessary. Give me two aspirins; that should do it."

How stubborn that man could be. Mark knew better than to contradict his boss, so he went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He came back into the main room of the office-slash-residence and headed to the kitchen side of it to get a glass of water. Approaching the bed again, he noticed the beads of sweat on the other man's forehead had not gone away yet.

"Looks like I was right to call the doc. Here," he added as he offered the water and the aspirins.

Ironside took the tablets and swallowed them with all the water the glass contained. He then fell back against the stack of pillows, resting comfortably, waiting for the aspirin to take the pain away.

Pain. He could hardly believe it. How could it be? A year ago the doctor, accompanied by Sister Agatha, had told him that the bullet had shattered a nerve junction in his spine. Shattered. It didn't sound like the spine could regenerate, ever. Sure he had hoped that he would get feeling and movement back in his legs, but as the months passed the hope slipped away. Until tonight. Maybe Mark had made the right decision in calling Ben at once. The sooner he would know, the better. And the sooner Ben could heal him, the better too.

He looked up at Mark who hadn't left. He could read concern and worry on the young man's face. How about that? He was worried for a cop. Ironside smiled slightly at the thought. Day in day out Mark was proving to everyone that he was worthy of Ironside's offer to help him start anew. He stuck by him, helped him to the best of his ability. He even seemed to have developed a sixth sense which led him to always be at his boss's side whenever the latter needed help or was about to. Mark was capable of using some initiative that made the chief's life a lot easier. He knew how Ironside hated to ask for help even when he needed it.

After what felt like an eternity, Mark spoke up. "Are you feeling better?"

With his eyes closed the chief looked peaceful, the sweat was almost gone and his breathing was back to normal. Should he try to help him get dressed now? Doc Stern would be waiting for them in his office. Mark had made it sound like an emergency so they ought to get moving soon.

"Chief?"

"Yes, Mark." Ironside opened his eyes and looked into Mark's.

"We should get going."

"Try to move my legs again. Maybe that aspirin is working."

Mark did as he was told. He grabbed both the chief's legs and raised them a few inches. The chief grabbed the bed post as he had done previously but this time he didn't wince as much.

"They still hurt but I think we can try to get me up."

"Wouldn't it be easier if I put your trousers on while you are in bed? The less I move your legs, the better, right?"

As much as he hated to have someone else, even Mark, dress him, he had to admit that the young man had a point. He wasn't helpless but transferring to his chair and then struggling into his suit trousers would be the painful option.

"Alright, but I don't like it one bit."

"I know, chief."

Mark retrieved the chief's suit. He let him put on his undershirt and his shirt while he removed the chief's cotton socks and put on black ones. When he was done with his task, Ironside was done as well. Mark had the suit trousers in hand.

"Ready?"

"Get it over with. Don't stop even if it hurts."

Mark delicately grabbed the chief's right leg and eased the right trouser leg up to the knee. He put the chief's leg down and threw a quick glance at his boss. He wasn't watching what Mark was doing. He seemed alright, probably concentrating on blocking the pain out. Mark repeated the operation with the left leg. When he was done, he asked the chief to lift himself up so that he could pull the trousers up fully. This maneuver didn't seem to be painful at all. Ironside then tucked his shirt into his trousers and looked up at Mark.

"Alright, get me into my chair."

The chief's aide moved the wheelchair as close to the bed as he could. He locked the brakes on both wheels and let the older man take over. After a year of this daily routine, the San Francisco detective didn't need any help at all. He easily transferred into the chair. This was Mark's routine too, so he lifted his boss's legs without any words needed between the two men. The aspirin was not a medicine powerful enough to mask the pain completely. Ironside winced again as Mark placed his feet on the footplates. He put on his suit jacket.

"I'm sorry chief. I'm trying not to hurt you but…" he trailed off.

"I'm alright, Mark. The aspirin has numbed the pain somewhat. I don't think I'll be able to put my shoes on though."

"I'm on it."

A few minutes later Ironside was fully dressed and wheeling toward to door. Mark pushed him up the ramp and grabbed his jacket from the handrail.