Title: All I want
Characters/Pairings: Jackson/April; guest appearance by Meredith
Rating: PG
Summary: "Don't get married." That's all he says, standing in the doorway of her bridal suite.
Spoilers/Warnings: None. Pure speculation for S10.
Disclaimer: Definitely not mine.
A/N: Title from All I Want, by Kodaline. To be honest, I didn't have any plans to write another speechifying post-S9 finale fic. Then I heard this song.
"Don't get married."
That's all he says, standing in the doorway of her bridal suite. Sweatshirt drenched and rain dripping from his scrubs, the colour making his eyes impossibly bluer.
It is her damn wedding day, and suddenly Jackson - who's barely even looked her way since the storm, let alone said two words to her beyond surgery or scheduling - is asking her to what, ditch Matthew and run off with him?
April wants to hit him, if she's honest, even if mussing up her veil or getting blood on silk organza might not be the smartest idea. She wants so badly for Jackson to understand how angry she is, that he waited until the last possible moment to tell her not to get married when she asked (begged) him to give her a reason months ago. That he'd shown up at the church, with her family and friends and Matthew waiting outside, the organist cueing up his third round of hymns because she's running so late, and now he wants her too.
"Don't do it," he repeats.
He won't stop looking at her; that hard, inscrutable stare. Past Meredith, who'd opened the door for him in the first place and holds her position in front of April like a valkyrie. Meredith, who'd come into April's suite after her mother and sisters had left with a tight, sad smile, asking you okay? because she was the only one who seemed to notice that no, she was definitely not.
("It's funny, how many people I thought would be here who aren't here."
April had replied to Meredith's question after a long stretch of silence, watching the beading of her dress reflect light in the mirror. Knowing how beautiful it looked and still feeling like it was all so far away.
"I always thought my best friend would stand up with me. You know, help me get ready and give a speech and - I don't know."
"Reed?" Meredith had asked, the question in her eyes. "Or -?"
"Reed - I mean, of course. Before - everything." April had bit her lip, hesitating before the next part, the pain feeling just as raw even with months to heal. "And for a while there I thought, maybe - maybe it would be him, you know?"
And that's when Jackson had shown up, hammering on the suite door and asking her to stop her wedding.)
"Jackson, what -" April stands from the table where she'd been fussing with her hair, heart pressed painfully against her chest. "What are you doing? Why are you here?"
Meredith takes that as her cue to leave. She throws April one last veiled look before murmuring something about talking to the bridesmaids and sweeping out of the room.
Then there's just Jackson, again.
Like always.
"Why now?" April asks, barely noticing as she twists the material of her gown into one fist, smoothing it out when she does. "I told you I wanted you. And you didn't, you didn't want me. I'm about to get married and you're here and -"
"I know I told you to stay with Matthew, that he'd make you happier than I could," Jackson interrupts. He holds out one hand, imploring, like he's asking her to wait until he can get the words out. "I was wrong. I was scared and pissed and wrong, and I'm sorry. I just - I was so mad at you, and I thought it would be the same stupid stuff if we tried it again. But I can't -"
He falters at that, taking a minute to draw a breath before he continues. He is so beautiful, and so precious to her, and it kills her to watch him even for a second, to keep noticing how blue his eyes are and how tightly he holds himself (like everything will break apart if he doesn't) and know how much she wants to be the one to soothe that all away.
"I can't just stand here and watch you marry someone else, and know that it should be me." He licks his lips. "You should marry me."
April just gapes; that's all she has in her to do. She'd written Jackson off the second he'd told her to stay with Matthew during the storm, the alternative of hoping against hope that he'd change his mind too painful for her. So she'd thrown herself into wedding planning, smiling too brightly whenever Matthew helped picked flowers for her bouquet or chose a cupcake flavour or told her how much he loved her mints. Because Jackson was gone and how many other men in their right minds would want a 31-year-old near-virgin who worked 60 hours a week and came home smelling like blood and antiseptic?
"I know we have a lot of stuff to figure out, and I know I said before that I didn't think either of us were ready, but I'm definitely not ready for you to go and marry some other guy." Jackson's still talking, though she'd lost the thread at some point after marry me. "And I will be - ready, I mean - I'll be ready whenever you want. Just - don't get married. Please."
There are a million things she wants to say - things she wants to ask, things she wants to scream, things she wishes she'd blurted out in the days and weeks and months after San Francisco.
She comes up with just one.
"Why are you soaking wet?"
It's clearly not the reaction Jackson was looking for, and he blinks at her for a minute, features twisting in confusion.
"I, uh, I ran here," he says by way of explanation, as matter-of-fact as if he were telling her about his newest Plastics case or the hospital's fiscal outlook for the next quarter. "There was an accident near 15th and 41st and traffic was backed up, so - I ran. And it rained."
"You ran."
"Yeah."
April throws her arms wide, just about at her damn limit for Jackson's hot-and-cold reactions (not that she'd ever had any of her own, no sir). "This is crazy - you know that, right? It's crazy and it's not freaking fair. I am in a wedding dress and I've got 185 people out there waiting for me to get married, and - and this is crazy."
And Jackson - Jackson just smiles at her, the intensity turning gentle. It's the same kind of look he used to give her, before; she realizes, only in that moment, how much of her had ached to see it again.
"Guess so."
April huffs out a breath at that, her frustration losing steam, dropping her arms back down to her sides.
"We haven't even been on a real date yet."
Still that same smile; even wider, even sweeter.
"That's true."
"And you don't care?" she asks, tears starting to come now. She's just unbearably exhausted, by all of it - trying to love Matthew the way he loves her, trying to ignore the aching loneliness that Jackson left in her life, trying to be the perfect surgeon and the perfect daughter and the perfect fiancée and failing miserably at two out of three on a good day. "Jackson, how do you know it won't be the same thing? That we won't keep hurting each other over and over?"
"I don't," he says. "But I know how I feel about you. Mark -"
A breath; a beat of strangled silence. Jackson almost never talks about him, April knows, and not because he misses him any less. That, she gets.
"Before Mark died, he told me something, and I didn't - I should have listened to him. God, I've been a freaking idiot. He would've kicked my ass." Jackson laughs, a sound that's equal parts bitterness and regret and grief, then shakes his head like he's trying to clear it all away. "Mark told me that if you love someone, you say it. You don't lie, you don't pretend, you don't hide behind all the things that scare you - you tell them, and you go from there."
"I should have told you." That same stare is back; he won't turn away. "I should have told you a million times."
Half-hoping and half-afraid, she asks weakly, "Told me what?"
"That I love you." It's Jackson, only Jackson; the world narrows down to his face, and his eyes, and the way he's looking at her with everything she's missed so keenly. "I love you, April. You're my best friend. You - you always saw me, not just my name. You know me better than anyone, good and bad. And you call me on my stuff, but - you're there, when I need you. And I - I need you. I do. I need your weird sense of humour and your strength and how much you fight for what you want. I'm sure Matthew's a good guy, but -"
April finally finds her voice again, even through the tears. And it's strong - she surprises herself, conquering the rush of warmth and giddiness and pure surprise that Jackson's words had swept in - but of course it would be since she's never said anything truer.
"He's not you, Jackson."
Because that was it, wasn't it? Matthew wasn't Jackson and he wouldn't ever be - no one would - and that was why her engagement and hell, her wedding, had never felt like more than playing make-believe. No one else would ever be it because Jackson was. He'd always been. Her colleague, her best friend, her first - just, everything.
Her hands find his face, the stubble rough against her fingertips, his skin still chilled from the rain. Something keeps her from kissing him, though; there's still a sense of sanctity about being engaged, even if her heart was never really in it. Even if it won't last. Instead, she leans in and rests her forehead against his, taking comfort in his closeness.
He'd asked, but this is her choice.
This was always, always her choice.
April ends up in the backseat of Meredith and Derek's car, tulle and silk bunching around her knees as they pull away from the church. Her conversation with Matthew had been hard, and short, and he'd taken all of it - her explanations, her apologies, her I swear it's better this way - with the same sort of calm resignation and quiet hurt she'd expected.
He deserves someone who'll love him right.
She thinks it not for the first time, and consoles herself with that.
Derek had volunteered to break the news to the guests and call the wedding planner, thank goodness - as selfish as it is, she can't bear the thought of Matthew's family's angry stares or her mother's devastation - and Meredith had offered her and Jackson a ride home. She's still in her wedding dress, the rented limo might be idling in the church parking lot, a whole lot of food is going to waste at the reception and she just ditched her wedding for a relationship she's never been able to properly put into words.
It's crazy.
Across the cool leather of the backseat, Jackson reaches out and clasps her hand in his.
Just them. Just her and him.
(Me and you.)
She twines her fingers through his, pulling him closer. Whispers I love you, too and kisses him, his mouth soft and gentle and insistent against hers, and the ache that's gripped her for so long seems to slowly burn away.
It's completely crazy.
And she's never wanted anything more.