CHAPTER TEN

HOW THE FINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS
Christmas Eve 1999

When her plane touched down in Chicago, the first thing Gracie did upon leaving the airport was head to County. She did not even stop at home to drop off her luggage, having been summoned by the powers that be. There would be no settling back in. Gracie walked with a purposeful stride through the ambulance bay doors, clearly on a mission. It first took her into the lounge, where she found a candy cane taped to her locker. Gracie stilled and smiled, carefully removing the tape and studying the candy in her hand. She left her luggage in front of that locker, taking the candy cane with her as she went searching down the hall. The first thing her co-workers started noticing was her hair. She had cut it into a wavy, shoulder length style, the ends streaked blonde from the sun.

"Looking good, Africa!" Malik whistled across the hall, earning a wink in his direction. She made her way into the suture room, finding Carter standing there in a full-on Santa suit.

Gracie did a double take. "Sweet Christ, what have you done?" She erupted laughing.

"Laugh it up, little girl, or Santa might have to take back that candy cane of yours."

His eyes were soft however, and he took a couple steps towards her. "You're a sight for sore eyes, let me tell you."

"For some reason, this is attractive, it's working for me," Gracie teased, accepting the kiss he offered.

"Yeah? You like the suit, huh?"

His lips lingered against hers, and Gracie closed her eyes, allowing him to ground her for a moment. When their mouths broke apart, he leaned back enough to look her in the eye, tucking hair behind her ears. "You cut your hair," he noted.

For some reason, it was his mention of it that had her reflecting on that night in Bloemfontein, hanging over the hotel sink with a pair of shears. It had been a form of release. "I needed a change."

He nodded. "It looks good. Are you doing okay?"

"Yeah, John, why wouldn't I be?"

He shot her a look. He knew what she was not saying, and that was the problem. He could always read her. Gracie sighed. "Honestly, I'm fine, I just want to move on. Get back to it." She ran a hand through her hair, looking anywhere but at him. "I've got to deal with Oupa's estate. He left $250,000, plus the house, and there's all this paperwork—" Gracie shook her head. "It's just a lot. And… you and me, it's just—"

Silence. "You think too much," Carter finally said, a bit of a smile tugging at his lips.

She gave a shaky laugh. "I do, I do think too much."

"Hey, I'm still here. I'm still in this."

"I know. Me too."

"One day at a time, right?" Carter quirked a brow, then kissed her forehead. "We'll label it when we want to label it, and screw anyone else. You got it?"

"Yeah."

"You should come help me. I let some bangers trade guns for the Secret Santa gifts, and I'm in way over my head."

Gracie laughed. "Okay, sure. I'll be right there."

He left her in the suture room, and it took Gracie a long, troubled moment before she followed.

BE STILL MY HEART/ALL IN THE FAMILY
Valentine's Day 2000

The sun had yet to rise, but she stood there anyhow, peering out her window onto a darkened Chicago street. She was quiet; thoughtful. She wore one of his wrinkled white dress shirts buttoned up to the bust, and nothing else. All that echoed inside were the quiet, gentle sounds of breaths expelled from the body in her bed, and it was enough to make her believe she was alone with her thoughts. She rested her head against the window, and sighed.

She was so caught up in reflection that she did not hear the creaking of bedsprings. She only became aware of footsteps approaching from behind, and she did not react when familiar, capable hands slipped around her waist. A gentle mouth pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck.

"What's the matter?" He asked quietly, nuzzling his nose into her hair.

She did not know how to respond.

Months had passed since she had stepped off the plane from South Africa, since arriving home — although Gracie was not sure she would ever regain the feeling of home again. She had fallen back into her old routine, keeping up with classes and working frequent shifts to distract herself from the silence that hung so heavily over this place now. She was slowly making up for years of lost time with her brother. Any questions Malucci peppered her with about the man who stood behind her now were verily ignored.

It was not the slow, steady churning of change that plagued her thoughts now. It was who that slow steadiness was occurring with.

"I wish I knew," she muttered, even though she already had a vague idea. She had a bad feeling about this day. She leaned backward into his embrace, resting the back of her head against his shoulder, tilting it just far enough to the side to meet his lips coming into contact with her forehead. Carter murmured absently, no real intelligible words to be found. He gripped her hips a bit tighter, and deeply inhaled the scent of her hair. Lavender.

And then he asked, "Do you want the shower first?"

All she could do was nod.

Later, when the sun had risen and both of them had made their way to County, Gracie found herself staring into a gaping neck wound — and listening to a conversation she wanted nothing to do with.

"I'm tellin' you, man… five a.m. That's the time, man. It's, I mean, that's when you feel it, man, and the pussy is so good it don't matter if she looks like a dog—"

Malucci was chortling. He was scribbling in the man's chart as Gracie snapped on a pair of latex gloves and checked the flow of the banana bag their guy was hooked up to. Their patient was a young guy, clearly some drunken frat kid gone too far. Gracie proceeded to prod a gloved finger around the hole in his neck — he was so doped up after his all-night drinking binge (that resulted in a meeting of a piece of rebar with neck), he did not even feel it. "Listen to this kid," Malucci laughed, "Five a.m. I'll leave you to drinking at five in the morning, I'll take seven a.m. and the hot girl."

"Seven a.m., man, you're crazy—" Drunk Guy seemed to reconsider his words, and he peered at Gracie as she worked. "You, though, you're lookin' pretty good…"

Gracie quirked a brow. "How about never? Is never good for you?"

"C'mon! It's Valentine's Day!"

"Don't even get me started on that," Gracie grumbled, and her feelings about the day were starting to become clear. Drunk Guy peered at Malucci.

"Girls with accents are good fucks, man, right?"

"Hey, watch it, that's my baby sister you're talking about."

"Oh, now you're defending my honor?"

Malucci just seemed amused by the whole situation. He gazed at her across the gurney, laughing as she began to irrigate the wound. "I always defend your honor! What is this, some Princess Bride shit?"

Gracie shot him a patented glare. The next time Drunk Guy spoke, he referred his question to Malucci. "What's her problem, man?"

Her brother eyed her, and his expression suggested he was on to her. "She got laid last night, I think."

Gracie withdrew immediately, dropping her syringe down on a nearby tray and snapping off her gloves, visibly annoyed. Drunk Guy was nodding sagely, while Malucci watched her with a mildly tickled expression.

"Baby, I coulda told you that," their patient mused. "You don't fuck someone the day before Valentine's Day, man, it don't become a fuck after that—"

"Oh?" Gracie slapped her dirtied gloves down on the steel tray. "What does it become?"

"It becomes a chore."

She laughed, but it was the frustrated kind that you heard out of one who had too much on their plate. "Dave, I'm done, get Yosh to help you."

"He's too busy passing out cards—aw, c'mon, Gracie!"

But she was too busy walking away.

"Women," Drunk Guy shook his head.

Her storming down the hall did not go unnoticed, and as she hurried into the empty lounge she found Carter two steps behind her. He asked her what was wrong, and she began spewing words out of her mouth faster than she could think.

"Who else is talking about us?"

He seemed surprised. "Malik, I think…"

That was apparently the wrong answer. Gracie laughed darkly, pacing back and forth, hands shaking slightly. "What is this, a male thing?"

"Gracie, what are you talking about?"

"What are we doing, John?"

He stepped forward. "Hey, c'mon," he said, trying to sound soothing. He caught her by the shoulder and tried peering down to meet her eye line. "Calm down. All of this, it's nothing, you know that, right?"

"Is it?"

He watched her quietly, a distinctly serious look that suggested there was more to be said. "We can't fight this, Gracie," he said simply.

She said nothing, and with those words, he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Come find me when you're ready to talk." Then he left.

She stood there by herself for the longest time, staring into nothing and wondering why she could not bring herself to understand what was happening that day. Then Conni entered the lounge and gave her a sly look. Gracie left quickly.

Much later, when the staff's typical holiday party was in full swing, Gracie strolled sluggishly into a barrage of glittery red hearts and streamers. She threw a chart down into a pile on the counter, and Chuny shoved a piece of pizza into her hand, but she could barely get two bites in before Malucci was tearing her away for a dance. She dropped her slice onto a plate and was whisked away, his hand resting securely on the small of her back while the other held on to her own. She struggled for a moment to keep up, and she barely had enough time to glare at him for the sudden interruption before he told her matter-of-factly, "My seventy-year-old war vet threatened to flip me over a balcony."

"Good."

He swayed with her exaggeratedly, and she complied with the air of a little sister thoroughly annoyed with her sibling. "So are you ever going to tell me what's up with you and Carter?"

"No."

"Just no?"

She rolled her eyes and glanced around. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, staff fluttering in and out of the admit area to partake in merriment between patients. Malucci licked his lips with obvious amusement, opened his mouth while glancing to his side at nothing in particular, and said, "Look, as your brother, let me give you some advice—"

"You don't really have that luxury," Gracie interrupted.

Malucci stared at her, the second most serious look she had seen all day. "I wish you would let me."

She returned his gaze for an unblinking moment, then shrugged and looked away. He said quietly, "Carter's good for you, Gracie. I've seen how you are with him."

"Just like how Mum and Dad were together?"

"That's different, Gracie, and you know it."

Their dancing began to falter as she hissed, "He left us, Dave. And then he died and you came back to us, only to leave just like he did. How can your word mean anything serious to me?"

He did not know how to respond.

A scream came from down the hall, and the two tore apart in surprise. A couple of others glanced down the corridor to check on the commotion, as nothing about it sounded good. And suddenly, Gracie found herself caught up in a whirlwind. The scream had come from Weaver, people were rushing to Curtain Area Three, all hell was breaking loose — someone was hurt. Lucy? No, it couldn't be. It was too shocking to believe. But then someone mentioned Carter, and Gracie took off running to the trauma rooms, where two bodies had just been carried in.

Lucy was in one room, drenched in blood. She seemed to have been stabbed. Malucci was already in there with Weaver and a plethora of others, and the minute he spotted Gracie angling herself towards the other trauma room, he called after her, "Gracie, honey, no, you don't wanna do that…"

But she ignored him, pushing past the flapping doors. She had to see for herself. What she found caused the breath to get knocked out of her.

Carter was on the gurney, surrounded by Chen and Kovac and others, unconscious and pale with blood loss. Red stains soaked his shirt, and Gracie was shaking, one hand trembling over her mouth, because all she could think of was the last words she had said to him. How she felt this sudden, overwhelming terror at the thought that his life hung in the balance.

Lydia attempted to guide her out of the room, but Gracie refused. "No," she said, her voice cracking with upset, "I want to help."

Kovac peered up at her, stethoscope still in his ears as he listened to Carter's heart. "Please, Luka," Gracie pleaded, "Let me help."

He said nothing at first, too caught up in the flurry of activity taking place over Carter's unconscious body. Then: "Go call the blood bank, Gracie."

She was exiled.

She ran from the room just in time to feel her whole body shake violently, and she found herself rushing to the nearest trash can to throw up inside. She sobbed, throat full of acidic bile, snot dripping from her nose as she coughed up vomit. After several moments, when she felt nothing more could come up, she hovered over the can with her hands bracing the sides. Her cheeks were red and tear-stained, and it took everything she had to remind herself to just keep breathing. She straightened, wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and picked up the nearest phone.

When she hung back up, the police were arriving. She watched Conni talk them through what was now a crime scene. Yellow tape was put over the doorway to the room, and Gracie closed her eyes wearily, resting her head on the admit desk. She could only see the red and blue glow of police lights behind the darkness of her eyelids.

"Gracie."

It took a moment for her to lift her head, and another two before she realized that she had drifted off. Her eyes suddenly widened with the understanding, her whole body went rigid, and it took her brother's hands resting on her shoulders for her to not fly off the handle. "What happened? Where is he? Are they—"

Malucci spun her chair around, so she was facing him. "He's got two stab wounds to the left flank, the first at L2 four centimeters of the midline, the second at L5 in the mid scapula line," he breathed. "Lucy had two to the left neck and chest, and two more in the belly, right and left upper quadrants. We had to crack her. She's holding her own in the OR."

"And John?"

"It's a bad renal lac," Malucci shook his head. "They took him up to the OR. He woke up, he was asking for you."

"Is he under yet?"

"Gracie, let me take you home. There's nothing you can do here."

"Is he under yet, David?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

Gracie took off running without another word, taking the stairs at full speed up to the OR. She changed herself into surgical scrubs as soon as she got to the floor, huffing and puffing all the while. She held a mask over her face as she barged into OR 1. Anspaugh was just arriving to scrub in, and Benton was hovering over Carter's body. She could hear his voice.

"John?" Her voice quavered, and she stepped closer to his side. He was laying supine, draped with a sheet, with a surgical cap on his head and a nasal cannula in his nostrils. Various wires and probes decorated him. He looked pale, and exhausted. She could still see blood staining his skin.

"Africa," Carter exhaled, and it was clear he was on heavy pain medication. The anesthesiologist was pushing Versed.

Benton looked to her. "You have ten seconds, Gracie. We need to intubate."

She nodded, understanding. She stepped even closer, resting a gentle hand on Carter's forehead. "I'm going to be right outside, John. I promise."

He was gesturing her down — closer, closer — until he could whisper in her ear. "I love you." His words emerged like a puff of air towards the end, as he grew drowsier. Until suddenly, it was like he was no longer there.

"He's out."

"All right, let's go, I want to be able to cut in two minutes, you understand?" Benton announced, heading to scrub in. And that was that — the OR team was snapping into action.

It took everything Gracie had to leave the OR room. She lingered outside the doors, Carter's breathy words echoing in her head. The first time. It did not matter the conflict she had felt that morning. All she could think about was the terror she felt.

Malucci would find her sitting in the hall later, still in those scrubs, staring at the wall. He would be the one to get her up and leave, taking her with to join him and Chen at Doc's. She would be cradling a cup of Earl Grey when she heard the news about Lucy, having been joined by Kovac, Abby, Lydia and Haleh as well. Carter was stable in recovery. It was like getting hit with a double whammy. When he took her home, Malucci agreed: he did not know whether to celebrate or not, either.

She laid in her own bed that night, but would not sleep. She spent the night staring at a shadowed ceiling, in a bed that still smelled like him.