Welcome to the sequel to "Keep Breathing." This story begins in Season 7. Updates when possible - if you like, review!

Hello, good morning, how ya do? What makes your rising sun so new? I could use a fresh beginning too. All of my regrets are nothing new. So, this is the way that I say I need you. This is the way that I'm learning to breathe. I'm learning to crawl, and I'm finding that you and you alone can break my fall.
— 'Learning to Breathe', Switchfoot

MARS ATTACKS (part one)
October 2000

"Hey-hey, there's my favorite baby sister!"

She rolled her eyes at Malucci's exuberant greeting. By habit, her nose wrinkled up into an indescribable expression: a reaction typical of their relationship. She frequently found herself rolling her eyes and pretending she didn't know Dave Malucci, 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. She wasn't particularly fond of this hour. Since June, 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, instead of keeping herself as busy as possible.

Of course, it wasn't 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 lack of acknowledging his greeting, tapping some keys on the computer and performing his usual clock-in procedures. "I heard a dirty little rumor that we're short a few too many nurses."

"Hell no."

A few 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, seemingly ignorant of her response as she scribbled furiously on a set of charts, trying to finish her duties so 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, he embraced what was beginning to become rapidly clear. With a certain amount of 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 on the counter, 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 she had to leave. She wouldn't have any of this. She waved him off dismissively, bundling her stethoscope in her hands and stuffing 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 grateful 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 a two bedroom apartment 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 the hospital more often than their new apartment, but it was, at least, home. A situation Gracie was trying to get used to, while she waited on the sale of the house she had shared with her deceased grandfather to be finalized. It was, more often than not, a learning process.

"Fine," he said, throwing his hand up in exasperation. She pulled on her coat and looped her bag over her shoulder, ready to make a break 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 forward to where she was frozen in place just in front of the admit desk. She 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 as he chased after her.

"I'm not doing this right now, John."

"Then when are we gonna do it?"

She didn't respond, and he had to catch her by the elbow in order to get her to stop. Gracie gave him a petulant look, quickly segueing into an uncomfortable grimace. This was the last thing she had wanted to deal with today.

"Please," he urges quietly, his grasp on her lightening. "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 under 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'd 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.

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