CHAPTER EIGHT

POINT OF ORIGIN
April 1999

Truthfully, Gracie had always been ambivalent about April Fool's Day. She felt this way even now, as she wandered out of the lounge with a cup of tea. Two hours into her shift and that feeling had not changed. For her, there was always something to either love or loathe about working on April Fool's Day — to loathe, the overabundance of practical jokes played on herself; to love, the sheer multitude of crazies being triaged. She could truly count herself among the ranks of masochistic emergency room nurses, and she understood this with a certain self-satisfaction.

She entered admit wearily, just as a fight broke out in triage. Security swarmed the offenders, and she stood next to Jerry, watching the scene with a mildly indifferent look, sipping from her mug. He glanced over at her and exuberantly remarked, "The natives are restless!"

Before she could get out a good, hearty chuckle, Carter made his presence known. His familiar voice drifted over her shoulder, "Send Africa. She knows all about interacting with the natives."

Gracie spun on one heel to glare at the lanky doctor. He grinned.

"How about no," she stated simply, "how does no sound to you?"

"Sounds like my subordinate is disregarding orders."

She coughed with mock disgust. Carter was Senior for the day, essentially being left in charge of the entire ER's operations — a stepping stone to becoming Chief Resident. Gracie had been jokingly complaining since clocking in, but Carter took the ribbing in stride. "Dream big, Carter," she said, disguising a yawn with another sip of her tea. "Dream big."

Her attempt at feigning alertness was not successful. His expression was immediately one of concern, his brow knitting together as she flipped through one of her charts. Behind them, the fight was being broken up by security. Gracie cradled her mug in one hand, and he watched her for a moment, before asking nonchalantly, "Did you get any sleep last night?"

Gracie responded a little too quickly, without looking at him. "Sure."

He did not believe her. "You were awake when I got up this morning."

She rolled her eyes. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"Is that sarcasm I hear?"

"All of my observations are sarcasm based."

"And it's kind of a turn-on."

Jerry turned away as if he was not eavesdropping, but Gracie knew better. She shot Carter a warning glance, and he grinned. She stated dryly, "You are walking a fine line, John. Meth-addicted paranoiacs won't even compare to what'll be waiting for you."

He was quiet for a moment, studying her, before remarking, "Oupa's worse, isn't he?"

She was taken aback by his sudden change of subject. She paused, mug halfway to her lips, her gaze tipped in his direction from underneath dark eyelashes. He had never seen her look so tired; never seen that particular shade of deep violet beneath her eyes, never thought so confidently that she was digging herself a deeper hole. Last night, he had not gotten home until very late, and he had gone straight to bed, expecting that she would soon do the same — it had not occurred to him that might not have been the case. She bit her lip and nodded.

"I sat up all night with him," she said quietly, sipping her tea. He felt for her. Oupa, who suffered from COPD as a result of an alpha1-antitrypsin deficiency, had been declining steadily over the past month. He spent more time in bed, a home nurse visited more frequently, and Gracie took it upon herself to watch over him more closely. This revelation made it clear to him that she had, quite literally, been awake for the past twenty-four hours.

And, as always, Carter stepped in.

He nodded simply, mind made. "Okay," he said plainly, "Jerry?" The stout desk clerk gave his attention. "Gracie's going to go take a nap in Exam Three."

Gracie snorted. "Don't be silly, John. I'm fine."

"Whatever you say, boss," Jerry shook his head.

"I'm not taking a nap!"

Carter raised an eyebrow. "We can do it the easy way, or the hard way."

She gave him a long, hard glare. She thought of all the reasons why she could not possibly give in to his demand, every time coming up empty-handed; and this filled her with annoyance. Here, however, she gave in.

A sigh; an irritated glance. She swept around the admit desk, mug in hand, and left. Carter watched her disappear into Exam Three. It was quiet for a moment, until Jerry cleared his throat. "So…"

He gave Carter a pointed look.

"I don't wanna hear it, Jer."


POWER
May 1999

Spring was in full swing.

This fact was never more obvious than it was that day. She saw it everywhere: in the subtle, humid breeze of early afternoon, in the rolling power outages all over town, in the abundance of patients complaining of allergies in triage. For triage is where Gracie sat, covering the area a bit grudgingly (reminding herself that there's no 'i' in 'team'), when an agitated young woman came rushing up to the desk.

"I can't breathe," the woman exclaimed with a raspy voice, interspersing her words with frantic, dry coughs, "my throat is closing; I need a shot of epi!"

Gracie's mildly morose mood was cast aside as she peered over her shoulder in search of a doc. Her eyes landed on Mark Greene, and her mind in settled as she circled the counter and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. She called so Mark could hear, "Dr. Greene, I've got respiratory distress over here!" Respiratory distress skipped to the front of the triage line.

She calmly rushed the woman into the hands of Mark and Lydia, and stuck with the case long enough to officially start a chart before heading back to her post. She was making her way down the hall to admit when her mood returned, and it was something Carter picked up on as she swung past him and eased herself into a chair. He asked, "Oupa doing okay with these dropouts?"

Gracie rolled her eyes and made a few notes in a chart, acutely aware of the fact that he had abandoned his work on the computer to look her way. "We're on priority usage with the electric company, he should be fine. Plus, you know, our neighbor Carl's right next door; he comes over and spends time with him when the home nurse isn't there…" She paused, as if she was not sure. "He's fine."

She was quiet for a moment, before apparently deciding to rescind her response. "Actually, I just… I don't think he's going to make it to Christmas." Her words may have seemed out of context for the question, but Carter understood.

"You wanna take a lunch later and go check on him?"

She gave him a bit of an incredulous look. "We're pretty busy, John."

He looked sheepish. "Yeah, I know, I just thought —"

Jerry interrupted. "Hey, Carter, UPS still hasn't shown, you want me to call them?"

"Yeah, would you?" Carter replied absently, without taking his eyes off Gracie. Her expression went from distracted to rather sour. "What?"

"I hate Mother's Day," Gracie grumbled. Suddenly, everything made sense.

"I'm sorry," Carter said quietly. He knew her mother had died when she was sixteen, but they had yet to really get into the specifics. It was a touchy subject. She laughed — the shaky, uncertain kind — and she attempted to disguise it by focusing on charts. Carter noticed, however.

"Yeah, well," Gracie said, "that's breast cancer for you, right?"

He was quiet for a moment, mulling over her response. "You know what makes everything better? Bacon."

Gracie shot him a bemused look. He continued, drawing out his words as if trying to talk her into something, "A chicken club on wheat… Doc's uses a lot of bacon…"

"Really, John, that's sweet, but there's a lot of work to do."

He was reluctant to walk away, but there were patients waiting. "Well… don't say I didn't ask."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

The eruption of a thunderstorm outside brought with it concern over a rapist roaming the hospital, dressed as an employee. Gracie was on her guard. She absently asked Lydia about the woman with respiratory distress, and learned that the woman had been eating a salad at a luncheon when she started having an allergic reaction, despite not being obviously allergic to anything in the dish. She had forgotten her epi pen at home, and had decided to drive herself to the ER rather than call an ambulance — despite living far enough away that she would have become a danger to others on the road had her airway closed. Gracie had no time to marvel over the ridiculousness of society, for just as this information was relayed, the power failed.

When the hospital had to switch to auxiliary power, Gracie's triage duties were abandoned to assist with disaster protocol: i.e., ensuring that all critical devices had power. She found herself roaming the halls with a flashlight in hand, checking on patients. It was not long, however, before the backup generator failed. She was sitting in Curtain Two with an unconscious male, using one hand to bag him in place of a vent, while using the other to attempt dialing a nearby phone. Carter suddenly appeared, a mini-flashlight in hand. He shined it over her face, and she squinted.

"Sorry," Carter said, diverting the light to shine over the keypad of the phone. "I hate to break it to you, but it's pointless. Nobody can get an outside line."

Gracie groaned and hung up. "It was worth a shot," she said, turning her attention back to bagging. She seemed to need to talk in order to keep herself distracted. "He's got oxygen tanks," she went on, as if reassuring herself, "he'll be fine, right?"

He did not answer at first, and when he spoke, it was in no way related to her query. "I broke up with Roxanne."

Her eyes darted to his. She seemed surprised, but mildly sympathetic, saying, "Oh, John, I'm sorry…" She trailed off, as if she did not know what else to say.

In this light, she was beautiful. Those honey brown tresses falling in her eyes, flashlight shadows casting against her skin. She looked the same as she always did — pink scrubs, a black, long-sleeved t-shirt underneath, tennis shoes — and he was not sure why he did it, but at the moment it felt right.

He stepped forward, lowered his shoulders, and gently pressed his lips to hers.


RESPONSIBLE PARTIES
May 1999

His lips on hers.

His mouth, warm and giving, in time with hers. His eyes, focused on her as he pulled away, shellshocked, as if he had not actually expected himself to follow through with it. It was all she could think about. It was the only thing on her mind in the following days. She thought about it on the El, and in the shower. It followed her. He followed her. And she allowed it simply because when their lips broke apart that day the power went out, he just walked away. It was as if they both needed time to process it. And process, Gracie did. Too much, in her opinion. She made a point of avoiding him until it was clear they could not really tiptoe around it anymore. That moment came late one spring evening days later, when Gracie arrived home from a shift and found Carter sitting on the edge of her bed.

"We need to talk," he said, his hands clasped together, and his voice cracked.

She was silent. Her gaze was steady on him, and she dropped her bag to the floor without breaking eye contact. When she continued to say nothing, Carter spoke. "I couldn't help it, Gracie. I would do it again."

Gracie was still silent, but she took a couple of steps towards him, shutting the bedroom door behind her. It seemed important to Carter to note that she had just shut the two of them in, without kicking him out. "Is that what you want?" She finally said, coming to a stop a couple feet from where he sat.

His eyes softened. "I want what you want."

"And what do I want?"

He laughed; something soft but rough, for the first time breaking eye contact. He shook his head. "I wish I knew; it'd make this a lot easier."

Silence. Gracie stepped close enough to graze her fingertips along his jawline, a boldly brave move that riveted him and gave him the courage to rest his hands on her waist. "I wish I understood this," she finally breathed. He knew what she was inferring — the mythical this, the connection they shared. He felt it too.

He watched his hands graze over her hips and marveled over how much of a lucky bastard he was that she was still there. "What's to understand?" Carter glanced up at her, and he truly believed that. Maybe it would be better if they threw caution to the wind. Trying to understand what this was seemed like it would only go down a path he would not like.

Gracie exhaled softly, before easing herself into a straddle over his lap. That was when he understood that fortune was smiling on him, and he would not be leaving her room that night. That was okay with him. He preferred exploring the possibilities together, and he would be greedy for all it was worth if it meant getting to touch her would be involved. Gracie just wanted to cave in to this ruminating feeling — it had been brewing for some time now, in all honesty — even if caving in just meant laying next to him. She would have all the time in the world to think later.

Their lips met in a series of intimate, inquisitive kisses, until he could feel her body growing more lax against him and a familiar heat rising. He fell backwards onto the mattress, his grip on her hips tightening as she hovered over him.

That was the first time.

And yet, he knew once they were both spent that this was not a monumental change. Neither of them were ready. And for once, Carter wanted to take things slow. He wanted to know her in a different way. He made that clear to her as they lay tangled together afterward. He played with her hair and tickled his fingers along her skin, nibbling kisses from her lips. They talked about a lot of things. They talked about the perfect Chicago-style hot dog (brimming with mustard, relish, onions, dill pickle and tomato wedges and peperoncini), and how he had found the holy grail of vendors the other day. He swore to take her to it. They talked about their parents, and what poor examples they had been to the two of them in the romance department. She confessed thinking about going back to school. She wanted to become a nurse practitioner. He told her to do it. It was a sign of change, of moving forward.

When he left her room early the next morning, they had not put a label on it. But to Carter, it did not matter. He was buoyed, and he had all the time in the world.