So...this story is pure research for me. Which has its challenges, but I'm also learning a great deal. I think it's better to say right off the bat that I am not American, and therefore am learning the rich and violent history of this country as I go along on this story's journey myself. So if there are any mistakes or discrepancies - historical or otherwise - as this is a sensitive subject to address and I have no intention of offending or hurting anyone - please please let me know. It would be much appreciated. I will be taking some creative liberties of course, but mild ones - some timelines may not match up exactly with historical data and I might make up fictional towns or states etc, and also - interesting fact, in my research I found out that when recruiting people for the movement, those who had even the slightest intention of becoming romantically involved with someone else, were not recruited. I'm overlooking that little factor of course, or there would be no story haha.

Her hands were gentle, small, and soft. Privileged. They tended to the rough burns on his chest, pale skin contrasting brilliantly against his olive. Privilege. He knew it when he saw it. Acknowledged it both with resentment and with begrudging understanding. Privilege wasn't rare amongst the white community. What was rare was the guilt that went along with it. Very few felt it, even fewer showed it. So accustomed were they to the idea that they were better, that they deserved better, that they should have more rights, that they wouldn't recognize the idea of privilege if he were to hammer it into their brains. They took it for granted, like sunshine on a summer's day. So guilt for having that privilege? Forget about it. Feeling guilt would mean that they were aware of the blatant inequality, racism and injustice taking place within an entire nation, and is ready to acknowledge it. Showing guilt would mean that they've taken it a step further, that that guilt was weighing down on them, on their conscience, nagging them to do something about it. And he could see that she felt it, and try as she might, wasn't succesful in hiding it. It was in the way she avoided eye contact with him, the way her voice slightly wavered as she asked him whether she was applying too much pressure, the way she tried to make her audible gasp as inaudible as possible when she saw the gash in his thigh that went a little too deep.

He wasn't about to deny that he was curious. She was a woman. A woman doctor, which, in and of itself, was incredibly impressive for the times. And she was volunteering at a camp set up especially for those injured in the race riots, meaning she was in support of the movement, meaning she was already doing something to help.

Even more impressive.

He couldn't deny that he was curious. But now was not the time to pursue anything, he knew that, and he was well aware of his priorities. Curious though, he was just curious.

And then there was Stephanie Edwards. His current girlfriend - if you could call it that. They had been on and off way too often for him to really define what they were to each other, and currently, he had no idea whether they were on or off. Curvy, funny, with a big laugh and absolute fury towards racial injustice and inequality built up within her, fighting to be let out. At times her notions and strategies were feasible and practical. Other times they were downright radical, causing him to wonder whether she was driven by pure hate towards the whites, who had been responsible for the murder of her father when she was eight years old, and the enslavement of generations of her family before she was born.

The movement involved both whites and blacks, and they all knew that the white community's involvement was imperative if they were to succeed in what they were fighting for. And he knew that she knew that, but every so often, he could sense hints of resentment within her towards the whites. He figured it was somewhat natural, and was only relieved that she interacted with them in a civil manner, even though there had been a few outbursts from her from time to time, trying to induce arguments, which, thank god, had quickly been snuffed out by several others - including him. There was no denying she was feisty, and when they first met at the hospital he had been impressed with her. She was a nurse with dreams of attending medical school one day and she had been plucky, willing to bulldoze through anyone who would dare to stand in her way of getting a medical education and participating in the movement. She was a couple years younger to him, and still gaining experience as a nurse, but once she had heard about the hospital setting up a camp in Mississippi during the Summer as part of the medical arm of the movement, she had lobbied for younger nurses to be given the chance to volunteer their services. And had succeeded.

He looked around and saw her, observing closely while a senior doctor treated a patient who looked to be in mild pain. He had already talked to his mother about maybe consulting with the president of a Black University their family had close contacts with to consider taking on more female candidates to train to become doctors. He already knew there was incredible discrepancy between the sexes when it came to being accepted into professions such as Law and Medicine right now, and for black women especially, it was even harder.

Stephanie Edwards had pluck and smarts, just not a fair chance.

Neither, of course, did many of the people he worked closely with, and was observing with his razor sharp green gaze right now. That was the whole point. That was the fight.

His own life, however, had had more of a unique trajectory to it. The sole heir of the Avery Infirmary and Teaching Hospital, he had been born to a white father and a black mother. At a time when societal hostility towards interracial relationships were at its peak, Jackson's father had taken advantage of Massachusetts' repeal of anti-miscegenation laws and married his mother - against the wishes of his family. This had resulted in angering his family beyond comprehension, inciting them to level various accusations at him; from "contaminating the family legacy" to "dirtying the blood line" to "bringing shame to the prestigious family name."

They had called his mother names so foul they were unrepeatable, and when none of it was successful in dissuading Jackson's father, they had threatened to disown him and strip him of his inheritance of the family's medical foundation - which also happened to control one of the largest hospitals in the country.

Being a successful doctor in his own right and confident in his ability to fend for himself and his wife, Jackson's father, in return, had willingly let his family carry out the threat, walking out on them to establish the Avery Infirmary and Teaching Hospital - first starting from a small clinic and then slowly expanding into a thriving establishment, becoming one of the few hospitals to treat patients regardless of their skin colour.

Although his parents' love story had been fraught with adversity and opposition from all sides, Jackson had seen nothing but love and a strong bond between the two of them. Jackson's father, being a firm believer in the equality of the sexes and knowing his own wife's dreams of becoming doctor, had gone out of his way to accept as many women physicians as possible at the hospital - even though they were still, sadly, few and far between. And yet his mother, previously a nurse herself much like Stephanie, with a sharp wit and a brilliant mind, had gone onto study under his father, finally obtaining her degree in medicine when Jackson was sixteen.

Jackson's acceptance into medical school had been one of his father's proudest moments, and he had groomed Jackson to one day take over the hospital.

Yes, Jackson was well aware of the privileges he had been afforded in life, privileges that other people of mixed ancestry much like himself did not have, simply because they were part black. He knew that in the white community's eyes, he was considered black, and there were specific moments in his life that he would never forget, such as walking into a restaurant with his mother and being refused to be served because of their skin colour. He wasn't immune to discrimination, but he had never suffered from poverty, never worried about securing a future, never had to.

And it was this very awareness of inequality that made his need to fight for equality all the more stronger.

Realizing that he had fallen into a thoughtful reverie, he looked up to find the young red headed doctor currently treating his wounds staring at him. Knowing that he had completely missed what she must have said, he awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Sorry - didn't hear you there."

"I said, would you like some ointment to take with you for the -"

"No, that won't be necessary." He interrupted her. He was Jackson Avery after all, and his own hospital provided half the medical supplies for the camp. He already had the ointment.

Thinking that now would be a good moment to introduce himself, he reached out his hand.

"Jackson Avery. Of the Avery Infirmary and Teaching Hospital"

He stated, going into a bit more detail than necessary, hoping he didn't sound too smug. He never bragged. Made it a point to stay humble, even amongst the many privileges he had been offered in life; maybe even because of it. But something about her made him want to appear impressive in her eyes. The centuries old effort a straight male made to attract the attention of an attractive female making a well-timed appearance to manipulate his actions.

He watched as she raised her eyebrows, small hand hesitatingly grasping his and shaking it.

"April." She said simply.

"April…" he waited, repeating her name back to her as if prompting her for the rest of her name.

"April-I have-to-go-now." She said, and a small smile graced her lips.

"Ah, I get it, you don't want to tell me the rest of your name?" He asked, becoming more and more curious, and watching as her cheeks flushed endearingly.

Curious. He was just curious.

"You'll find out soon enough, I presume." she said, almost inaudibly, almost wearily, as she turned around, fixing her gaze on another patient.

"Stay safe Jackson." She threw back over her shoulder as she walked away.

He looked after her thoughtfully, before making his way towards Richard Webber, the senior doctor Stephanie had been working with was the Chief of Surgery at the hospital, and his mother's now husband. It had taken him awhile to warm up to him after his father's death a few years ago, but he had come to look to him as a father-figure.

"All patched up?" the older man inquired with some concern, looking at Jackson.

"Yep." he said, unable to keep from looking back at April one more time.

"Ah. You've met doctor Kepner I see."

"Kepner." Jackson repeated. So that's her last name, he thought. It sounded oddly familiar, although he couldn't pinpoint the reason right at this moment.

"…Of the Kepner Cotton Industries…" the older man prompted, and Jackson's eyes widened.

"You're kidding me!" he exclaimed, while Richard Webber chuckled.

"Not even a little bit."

"She's Joe Kepner's daughter? No you've got to be wrong."

Richard shook his head. "Vetted her myself, she's the real deal."

"Well, well, well, what does Joe Kepner have to say about his own daughter turning against him?"

"Nothing." said Richard pointedly. "And she wants to keep it that way."

Jackson raised his eyebrows incredulously. "We're practically in her daddy's backyard. The man owns one of the largest cotton plantations in Mississippi. In fact, I'm fairly sure most of the people in this community work for the man."

"And you wouldn't be wrong."

"Then how could you -"

"She's loved in the community. They protect her as one of their own. They know she's an ally, and they trust her. She's an asset to us Jackson."

Jackson nodded thoughtfully. Joe Kepner, in contrast to his daughter, was an arch-segregationist and notorious for the tyrannical control of his cotton empire, along with the brutal treatment of his labourers. Mississippi being one of the few places still dominated by plantation owners, Joe Kepner's cotton empire was booming, even though in most places the trade had declined. He was especially known for paying atrociously low wages for the black men and women labouring in his fields, turning a complete blind eye to their destitute living conditions. And that wasn't all that Joe Kepner was known for. Rumour had it that he was a leading member of the Klu Klux Klan. Jackson could only imagine what he would do if he found out that his own daughter was a part of the movement he so despises.

Looking at the older man, Jackson suddenly had an uneasy thought.

"Are you sure she's not spying on us?" He asked hesitatingly. He would hate to have to find out she was a snitch, but it wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility, and they've had some similar incidences previously at a different camp.

"No she's clear, I'm certain of that. She has quite the interesting story actually."

The older man said, leading Jackson away from the makeshift tent and into one of the buildings they had temporarily occupied within the rural community.

"She's a bright young thing. Got into Mercy West Medical School in Pennsylvania as one of only six women against all odds - her daddy being one of them. The talk is that he wanted to marry her off to some rich old fart as part of some business deal, but just before that had happened her aunt had died - leaving behind a big old fortune - all in her name. Now her mother's dead you see, died when she was still a young little thing - so without her daddy knowing of course, she had applied to Mercy West, purchased her own place using the money her aunt left her, and while her daddy was away on some business trip, had taken the bus to Pennsylvania. Smart girl. She told me herself that Joe Kepner came to get her in Pennsylvania once or twice, angry and yelling, but she held her ground. Extremely competent as a doctor too. Though her self esteem could use some work. Girl's had a privileged life, but I reckon it hasn't been easy with that father of hers."

Jackson nodded thoughtfully. Oh yes, April Kepner was already proving to be a bundle of contradictions, and against all common sense, he was definitely interested.

Please leave a comment as to whether you guys liked it or not! I want to continue, but this story is more hard work than others, as I actually have to research facts and data in addition to using my imagination ;) so you're response would really get me going :)

Resources I used: (update: ugh, no matter what I do the resources appear screwed up. Will fix later. Now sleepy.

Second update: I have been informed by a friend that no matter what I do, the resources will appear screwed up - unless I write out the coms and the dots manually. Which is - yeah no- ain't nobody got time for that. If you do want to know the resources though, I'll be happy to oblige, just PM me! (From now on though, i'll be updating the resources on tumblr -where i post the links to my stories when they're posted)

1. Freedom Summer - book by Bruce Watson

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5. philly/blogs/public_ ?c=r

6. /en/content/1960s-70s-american-feminist-movement-breaking-down-barriers-women

7. topics/black-history/freedom-summer

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9. .gov/tsla/exhibits/blackhistory/pdfs/Miscegenation%

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