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PART TWO: CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MARS ATTACKS
September 2000
"Hey-hey, there's my favorite baby sis!"
Gracie rolled her eyes at her brother's exuberant greeting. By habit, her nose wrinkled: a reaction typical of their relationship. She frequently found herself rolling her eyes and pretending she did not know Dave, mostly because it was so easy to do.
It was just before seven a.m. — that quiet point in the morning when the night shift packed up their things and welcomed the day. Gracie was not particularly fond of this hour. Since May, she had been zen with night shifts in the ER. This hour meant she had to go home. It meant she had time to sit and wallow in her thoughts, before attending classes. Of course, it was not simply the fact that she had to leave soon that was troubling her. There were other things, other thoughts plaguing her mind.
"Sure you don't wanna stick around, Gracie?" Malucci continued unabashedly, despite her failure to acknowledge his greeting. He tapped some keys on the computer, performing his usual clock-in procedures. "I heard a dirty little rumor that we're short a few too many nurses."
"Hell no."
A couple of months ago, she would have said yes.
"But it'll be so much fun! Little old ladies and drug seekers galore!"
"I am out of here before Weaver catches me, okay?"
Malucci plowed on, apparently choosing to ignore her as she scribbled furiously on a set of charts. She was trying to finish her duties so that she could clock out quickly. He continued, "And think how exciting trauma'll be with the surgeon shortage—"
"Haleh's lucky I don't murder you on the spot."
"And make the nurses work even harder?"
She said nothing, breezing quickly through her paperwork. Malucci tapped his hands against the counter and watched her silently, and when he got nothing from her, he embraced what was rapidly becoming clear. With gentle tact, he asked softly, "You found out he's starting back today, didn't you?"
Gracie seemed agitated by the question. She slammed her finished charts down onto the desk, nearly strangled herself as she pulled her stethoscope down from where it hung around her neck. She rushed to clock out, her fingers clacking away at the keyboard as she asked with some assumption, "Where is he?"
"In the lounge."
"Well, that's great, good for him."
"Gracie—"
But Gracie had to leave. She had decided that she wouldn't have any of this, and she waved her brother off dismissively, bundling her stethoscope in her hands. She stuffed it into her bag under the desk, the one she had been too lazy to put in her locker at the start of her shift. She suddenly found herself relieved that she hadn't. "If I really wanted your opinion, Dave, I would buy a plane ticket to another state of mind, okay?"
"But if there's something I can do…"
"You could bring home juice boxes."
Home was now a two bedroom apartment that the siblings were renting together, where moving boxes still littered the halls. It wasn't a place they saw each other often at, mostly because each worked a different set of shifts that found themselves running into one another at County more often than their new apartment — but it was, at the very least, home. A situation Gracie was trying to get used to, while she waited on the sale of her grandfather's house to be finalized. It was, more often than not, a learning process.
"Fine," Dave said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Gracie pulled on her coat and looped her bag over her shoulder, ready to make a run for it. But then a tall, lanky, familiar doctor stepped out of the lounge.
The expression on his face was painful to ignore.
"Gracie," Carter breathed, taking a simple step towards her, where she was frozen just in front of the admit desk. Gracie thawed quickly, pointed a finger at him, and proceeded to storm towards the ambulance bay doors.
"No," she said simply.
Malucci gave Carter a knowing look, eyebrows raised, pretending to busy himself with charts while the other doctor jogged to catch up with her.
"Gracie!" Carter called as he ran out into the cool morning air, his white coat flapping behind him, both of them receiving strange looks from others as he chased after her.
"I'm not doing this right now, John."
"Then when are we gonna do it?"
She did not respond, and he had to catch her by the elbow in order to get her to stop. Gracie whirled around, giving him a petulant look that quickly segued into an uncomfortable grimace. This was the last thing she had wanted to deal with today.
"Please," he urged quietly, his grasp on her easing. "Just… meet me after my shift?" A pause. "I haven't seen or heard from you in months, I didn't even see you at the airport… just, please. Meet with me, talk to me. About this. Please?"
It took a moment for her to say anything, her gaze unwavering as she inhaled deeply and studied his features. He looked better. Healthier. The slightest stubble on his jaw, no bags underneath his eyes, an easy gait. But like how painful it had been to ignore him — moments ago, for the couple weeks he'd been back in town, the few months he had been gone — it hurt to speak now. She nodded. "I'll meet you at Doc's," she said softly. "Page me when you're off."
He watched as she turned and walked away.
Night had fallen by the time Gracie pushed open the door to Doc Magoo's. She came in street clothes: slim-fitting black pants and a blue blouse, a warm black coat to keep the chilly night air at bay. She spotted him immediately, hunkered down in a booth, cigarette smoke wafting around him as he cradled a cup of coffee. Their eyes met, and it took a minute for her to coax her feet forward. She gripped the shoulder strap of her bag as she slid into the seat opposite him, easing back against the leather and resting her belongings next to her. For a moment, nothing was said.
He shifted, tipping his ashes into a little glass tray. "You moved."
She regarded him with an open gaze, appearing slightly resigned to the conversation. She exhaled quietly. "It was time," she said simply.
"Has it been long?"
"Maybe a month. I might have a buyer soon."
Carter pursed his lips and nodded, drawing the cigarette back to his mouth and taking a drag. He blew smoke through his nostrils. The silence was palpable, and it remained even as the waitress breezed by and accepted her order for tea. He returned his cigarette to the ashtray. "You look… you look good."
Gracie breathed a chuckle, glancing down at her hands. This couldn't get any more uncomfortable than it already was. She had fought with herself all day over coming here, lost a couple hours of necessary daytime sleep over it, found it difficult to concentrate even when trying to accomplish the most mundane of chores. Her reasons for doing so were complicated, and Gracie wasn't sure she even understood them. She picked at a cuticle. "So do you," she replied quietly.
"What happened, Gracie?"
She peered up at him from underneath long eyelashes. She shrugged. The waitress returned with her mug of tea, and Gracie busied her hands with steeping her teabag. "What do you want to me say, John?"
"I want you to stop avoiding the issue."
Silence. Her hands cradled her mug, and Carter took it upon himself to continue. "Ninety days of rehab. No phone call. No letter. No welcome back at the airport. I come home, find that you've moved, that you've taken night shifts… you avoid me at all costs—"
"The problem with people who have no vices," Gracie interrupted quietly and reflectively, her gaze fixated on her tea, "is that generally, you can be sure they're going to have some pretty annoying virtues."
Silence. Carter stared at her. "You have vices, Gracie."
"I have a lot of things."
His brows raised slightly, and he continued to gaze openly at her, and nothing was said until Gracie finally relented. She exhaled a long sigh and lifted the mug to her lips, taking a sip as she visibly fought for words. "I… I said I'd wait."
"And?"
"Things change."
"Are you angry with me?"
"No," she replied, a little too quickly. The truth seemed more obvious.
Carter sighed, and it was quiet for a long time, the two of them sitting with their coffee and tea in a haze of cigarette smoke. He stubbed the butt out in the ashtray, ran a hand over his hair — looking like he, too, was fighting for words. "I've been going to meetings," he said quietly. "Abby's working the steps with me."
The one who had gotten him to this point in the first place. Gracie sniffed, and he watched her. "I want to apologize to you," he said gently.
"I'm part of your steps?"
Instead of directly replying, he continued speaking. "I put you through… a lot. I should have been honest with you. I should have let you in. Should have done a lot of things." He examined her face carefully. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay, you know; I mean, someday we'll look back on this, laugh nervously and change the subject—"
"I mean it, Gracie. I'm sorry."
"I forgive you."
A pause. He pursed his lips. She had given her forgiveness freely, and it was clear to him that a lot more still needed to be done. He sighed. "So much has changed," he said, a bit wearily. "Haleh's nurse manager, Chen's pregnant, Malucci's blond and you two are living together…"
"He's a dad, too."
"What?"
She nodded slightly, still tending to avoid his general eye line. "A son. Joey. He's three, he stays with us on the weekends."
"You're an aunt."
"It shocked me too."
Carter seemed more than shocked. "Wow," he breathed, running another hand through his hair. "I guess I missed… everything."
"You'll catch up."
Silence. After a moment, she chuckled a bit awkwardly and began to shift in her seat. "I should go," Gracie said, sounding mildly apologetic.
He straightened. "Do you have to?"
"I'm on tonight."
Gracie pulled some money out of her bag, but he shook his head firmly. "It's on me," he said. She hesitated to slip the crisp bill back into her coin purse, but did so, before looping her bag over her shoulder and standing. And what he asked next almost went unsaid.
"Gracie," Carter said, catching her before she could leave. She turned to him, standing a few feet away, an expectant look on her face. She looked like she wanted nothing more than to leave, and he took a moment to say it. "Will we ever be back to the way we were?"
What does one say to such a question?
"I guess you'll figure something out."
