Grieving and Healing
A/N: Post Season 11. It can be done GA Writers and Shonda…Just Japril! Especially for doubting Thomases – strength, faith and anticipation for the upcoming season. Hope you enjoy this One Shot, dear readers! Disclaimer as usual: All characters belong to Grey's Anatomy and the inimitable Shonda Rhimes – confidently optimistic for season 12…
Ancillary Note: Posting this OS on Spring Day! I dedicate it to CC :-) Humbly thankful for all your support and with copious delight at your good news…
Post Ancillary Note: Blame it on Fanfiction! This story was ready to be uploaded on Spring Day. Looks like there's way too much heat generated on fanfiction, enough to crash their servers ;-)
He rushes through his appointments intent on finding his way back to the ER. No sign of April. She didn't come home last night and while he had almost a year without her presence, enough time to familiarize himself with the lack and one which this time he basically called for with his ultimatum, her absence still smarts. It's also unlike her - she usually let him know where she was, if not directly then via text message or a note. Being a man of science he's always been keenly aware of provable facts but being a doctor and witnessing some unexplainable phenomena, he trusts in intuition too and his instinct right now is Defcon 3, Code Red, High Alert and all those warning bells – something was way off in his world. Spotting Arizona entering the Emergency Room he starts making his way towards her, but it seems to be the goal of each and every new intern to thwart him reaching his destination. His journey also appears to be a slow-motioned march through gello, the official dessert of all hospitals. His voyage culminates once he reaches Arizona.
"Where is my wife?" he hisses in a furious whisper.
"I haven't seen her yet this morning. What time did she come in?" Arizona confusedly asks.
"What do you mean? Didn't you put her up last night?" he worriedly questions.
"I don't even have my own place Jackson! Besides when I left her in the chapel last night she said she was leaving soon after me. She had calmed down and assured me that she was fine to drive on her own. Now that I think about it though she never specifically said that she was going home. Did you kick her out of the apartment! You're a class act Avery!" She mockingly pantomimes a sarcastic approval with a double thumbs-up.
Aware as he is of being publicly chastised he can only be thankful that thumb is the digit she's decided to extend.
"I DID NOT kick her out Robbins," Jackson emphasizes, scratching at his eyebrow while lines of unease seem to etch itself into his forehead. "She's not answering her phone and I have no idea where she is!"
"Did you check the OR board? Maybe she's in surgery or maybe she stayed in an on-call room or…"
Her suppositions are rudely interrupted by her frantic colleague.
"Of course I checked the board! Do you think I'm an idiot?!" Manners and finesse take a back seat to his apprehension and he lashes out at Arizona.
His anxiety is contagious – Arizona becomes infected with his similar symptomatic agitation. Both take turns dialing the number to April's mobile hoping with each tone that this will be the occasion that she answers before the ringing terminates and the call diverts to voice-mail. Expanding all avenues, Jackson has text messages sent to her pager too and even resorts to intercom announcements. The total radio silence that he is met with only increases his trepidation. This feeling in his chest is not new, it's one he just hasn't weighed in on yet but now is not the time for emotional analysis. Fear, however, guides his actions and predominant in his mind is a Vine loop of the myriad emotions that reflected on April's visage during their argument the previous evening – shock, sorrow, hurt, a smidgeon of fear but also anger and a glint of temper in the jagged gesture of brushing away tears from her eyes.
His panic is exacerbated by the fact that he knows his wife…all too well. No matter how exasperated or downright livid she was, she would never ever ignore a page or call. She was too aware of the fragility of life and quite often the necessity to swift action. Trauma in and of itself necessitated rapid responses and he knew that two other factors played a major role in her awareness of the fleeting nature of time. The first being her recent stint in the army and having a front row seat to carnage and mayhem, requiring instant resolution for a successful outcome. The second, much closer to home, was the speed at which their son was forever removed from their lives – one minute they were happy, expectant parents and the next was a shattering diagnosis that required immediate attention. The induction-termination procedure that April went through to protect Samuel from a pain-riddled life, gave them an extremely small window – they barely had time with him after his birth. He was there and then he let go.
Instantaneous accessibility in the form of wireless technology was his nemesis today. As were the police. Apparently to be considered a missing person and one worthy of having their disappearance being investigated by the law, one had to have been AWOL (in the non-military sense) for at least a 24 hour period. There was also the small matter of suspicious activity, criminal intent coupled with foul play or evidence of intention to commit grievous bodily harm. These factors not withstanding all Jackson had to go on was his instinct. He'd watched enough 'Law and Order' to know that due to the high volume of intimate partner violence and crimes of passion, police were first and foremost directed towards the spouse or partner as a person of interest and their marital dispute of the previous night would do nothing to allay suspicions. It would in fact fan the flames. His concern for April outweighed all these considerations, and he was even prepared to undergo a police interrogation if it meant that they would forego the waiting period and conduct a probe into her disappearance right away and without delay. The downside to this, contrarily, was that questioning and delving into him as a suspect in her departure would divert from the original requirement of their services – that of instantly locating his wife…hopefully unharmed.
Unable to rely on law enforcement due to their stringent, intractable policy regarding missing persons, Jackson resolved to take the law into his own hands – well the investigative leg of it. What also motivated him towards this mindset was the general consensus regarding the newly unhidden, prevailing racist ideology that was rampant in Police Departments across the US. Reliance on the efficiency and effectiveness of those sworn to uphold the law was at a low ebb, if not completely non-existent and especially regarding the black population. Incidences of police violence towards people of color resulting in injury and death of those targeted by them was statistically frightening – it was a terrifying time to be a black person in America. Uprising and revolution was imminent and the #BlackLivesMatter movement was gaining momentum. This definitely did not inspire confidence in the law. It did nonetheless convince Jackson that the law as an impartial assist would not be aiding this black man to locate the white woman who had married him.
He was technologically competent as opposed to April who was tech savvy. She'd actually been one of the initial proponents of twitter at the hospital, tweeting during surgeries she was observing and utilizing the social platform as a teaching tool. It had caught on like wild fire. Dr. Bailey had carried out running commentaries during her surgeries, responding to tweeted questions instantly via April's quick-fingered reply tweets. Back then both April and himself, along with their regular crew, were ambitious interns. They were hungry and so eager for knowledge and experience and the then named Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital, as a teaching facility, was very open to out of the box thinkers. April had even managed to win over the old, big dog – Chief Webber – who'd taken to retweeting Bailey's 'teets', as he unintentionally mispronounced to Dr. Hunt. Jackson had learnt a lot from April, enough to become a proficient tweeter and blogger, but his reserved nature and probably just general laziness, meant that he wasn't as dexterous as his wife in all manner of technological applications. Why his iPhone contact list still had her recorded as 'April Kepner'! It had remained that way since he first inputted it, upon their initial acquaintance almost a decade ago. Although, to be fair, what could he have changed it to? The endearments that he called her at times were kind of inappropriate as an entrant on his smart device address book. The circumstances and situations they found themselves in dictated how he addressed her – "Babe" when he was feeling playful, "Sweetheart" when she was being all adorable and even just her name in a tone that the moment dictated. For them generic nomenclature was not the norm or rather their normal was generic with a personalized twist.
Aware that both their smartphones are equipped with a number of different location-sharing apps, Jackson is also mindful of the fact that these would only work if the user lets you know where they are by employing the location-aware check-in features. Being that neither he nor April are celebrities or attention junkies, this functionality has basically been ignored by both of them. To his way of thinking, privacy far outweighed the intrusive nature of those phone applications. Just before April had left to join the troops at the front-lines however, Jackson had eschewed privacy for the comforting option of being able to track her whereabouts in these hot spots. After careful research he subscribed to AccuTracking – a Web interface that uses the Global Positioning System to track the geographical location of a phone. Provided that the device's GPS chip has been enabled and as long as the phone's battery hasn't run down, the position of the phone can immediately be revealed.
For her protection and safety, Jackson had furthermore had a vehicle tracking system installed in April's automobile. It was one of his immediate priorities when they returned from their wedding and short honeymoon in Lake Tahoe. A tracking device was installed by the service provider's mobile technician – a Wireless Sleuth Nano Tracking Unit. Utilizing similar GPS technology, the cyber sleuth could be operated via web interface – anywhere, anytime and in real time. This meant that aside from the normal internet access on computers, any mobile phone with an advanced operating system would correspondingly be able to track and trace a vehicle's movement history, individual trip routes, the start and end point of each trip and the information that he presently required, the motor vehicle's current location.
Being that he wasn't sexist, he knew that the feminist witticism of multi-tasking being the successful ambit of only women, while mostly the standard, was not entirely true. He sat out to disprove the generalization by concurrently logging onto the different websites, utilizing multiple technological devices. He did, nevertheless, second Arizona to continue attempting to receive a response on April's phone. His past experience during Trauma rotation, before he'd chosen his specialty, had taught him that during crisis situations everything happened simultaneously – probably where the adage 'It doesn't rain but it pours' emanated. That maxim proved accurate. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief as the cyber sleuth loaded the location of April's vehicle – a destination he was familiar with – the ringing of her telephone was cut off. Arizona had applied the speaker option on the landline device situated at the Nurses Desk on the Emergency Floor, so he'd been an avid audience to every other call that had gone unanswered. With palpable relief he was on the verge of responding with a severe tongue-lashing once the voice on the other end replied, only to be met with silence which was then interspersed with heavy breath sounds and a low, guttural moan. What followed resonated within him – scrambling movements trailed by a low pitched voice uttering a one syllable word that stopped his heart, "Bitch!"
It was true. Only women could multi-task; he was unable to refute the contention. Try as he might he was powerless to comprehend his next move. With his heart in his throat, his hands braced onto the counter, his breathing choppy and obvious apprehension overtaking him, he watched unbidden as Arizona overtook all his locating apps while continuing with her attempt to dial April's phone. She multi-tasked like a pro. While his knowledge had covered the compelling argument of medical treatment of a loved one being a 'conflict of interest', Jackson finally understood the whys and wherefores of the rule in this moment. Hearing Arizona's expletives when the attempted calls to April's phone once again reverted to endless ringing diverting to voice mail, awakened the raging beast within him. With a passing look at the tablet running the vehicle locating application, enough of a glance to note that her car was on the move, Jackson took off at a speed, causing Arizona to blink peculiarly at his retreating form. She felt like Wile E Coyote peering through a plume of dust, Roadrunner shaped.
With no finesse he raced towards the point of origin he'd identified via the GPS tracker, spinning tires carelessly, attempting to reach his destination swiftly. Aware that he was hurtling as though he was an entrant in the Le Mans Grand Prix, he was thankful that he wasn't pulled over by traffic cops. That would have unnecessarily involved him in a game of twenty questions and his gut was telling him that time was of the essence. He dashed out of his SUV with reckless abandon, ignoring the vehicle's prompts to shut the door. The situation was reminiscent of his roadside marriage proposal. Then, both he and April had been so intent on their exchange that neither their surroundings nor the running engine or wide open doors had impacted on their conversation. Jackson had actually joked about their safety from bears. Engrossed as they'd been with each other and their future together, even if all three bears and Goldilocks had made an appearance, it would not have disturbed their tête-à-tête. In a similar vein, his attention today was once again wholly centered on April. Finding her and assuring himself of her safety.
He spotted her and for the briefest moment exhaled, relieved. Until he noticed that she was unmoving. Observing the surrounding area for imminent danger, he approached her rapidly, calling out as he advanced. His heart literally broke at her posture. Her body was curled in as she usually did with him but where normally her head would rest on his chest this time her forehead lay against the headstone with her fingertips against the name 'Samuel Norbert Avery'. Terror jackknifed into his throat as a vivid color sprang into his vision, causing a momentary breathlessness. Adjacent to the tiny handprint that epitomized their baby's hand was the larger hand and fingerprints of Samuel's mother. Not chiseled into the headstone but painted blood-red, exactly the vibrant hue dripping from the slice in April's neck.
"April?! April! God, what's happened? Who did this to you?" he entreated, while applying pressure to the penetrating wound in her throat, attempting to stem the gushing crimson tide.
Her eyelids lifted slowly, which surprised him since he was convinced that she was out cold. She opened her mouth to speak but she was unable to formulate words. He feared the worst. He worried that the Dysphonia she was exhibiting – difficulty in speaking – was indicative of severe damage to her vocal cords. All that emerged from her was a gurgling regurgitation of fluids.
"Stay with me April…please…I can't lose you!" he begged.
As he tried to soothe her she lifted her hand and caressed his cheek, mingling the clear trail of tears that he was unaware were streaming unabated down his face, with the still wet bright stain on her fingers. Her own form of reassurance to him before she slipped into unconsciousness.
The copious bleeding horrified him, as he was very cognizant of the swiftness with which an individual could exsanguinate if the carotid artery or jugular veins were severed. Also, with the volume of blood-loss obscuring the severity of the wound as well as him being unable to pinpoint the exact amount of time that had transpired since the trauma occurred, had Jackson operating in the dark. He had to act fast. His best option was to get her to GSM immediately! It was undoubtedly a balancing act, but he was familiar with her slight weight as he'd lifted her up numerous times – the first being when she'd run to him as she accepted his proposal on that shadowy turnpike. Even when she'd been pregnant with Samuel, he'd adored lifting her petite, still tiny frame. This time there was no assist from her – she was dead weight. He had to ensure that he was able to apply adequate compression to the spurting wound while carrying her and then while driving. On this return trip he inadvertently snagged the attention of the police. With some tricky maneuvering he succeeded in rolling down his window and simply said to the officers "Emergency, Grey Sloan Memorial!" It was a rare happenstance for GSM – one of their own driven into the trauma bay, bells and whistles flashing and escorted by a police motorcade.
He paced outside the operating room. Hunt and Bailey, both shocked at the senseless violence perpetrated towards their protégé, managed to set-aside their personal feelings enough to be able to treat her injuries. They quickly assessed her wounds and surmised that immediate surgery was the best and only option. Dr. Bailey's initial reaction was stupefaction. It had barely been a day since she'd loudly expressed how impressed she was with the new and improved April 2.0 – the badass Trauma Surgeon. While Jackson had been proud of her accomplishments and yes, equally impressed, he was disappointed that this adrenaline rush she was experiencing had become an addiction that allowed no room in her life for it to co-exist with him. His finally opening her eyes to his feelings and her disregard of them is what led to their spat and his subsequent ultimatum.
He had actually been a bit peeved with Bailey's judgmental attitude of the previous day. To him, April had always been badass, she'd just coupled it with a kind heart, and that made her a rare breed in the Surgical Field. Her number one priority was always the care and betterment of her patient. No unnecessary surgeries, minimally invasive procedures where possible and always the utmost care of the individual. To her, the patient was first and foremost a person and she afforded them the respect that entailed. The day that Samuel died she'd meted out and herself found a measure of peace by helping the bereaved fiancé of a trauma casualty from the night before. So while Bailey 'The Nazi's' arrogant brashness was grating to him and the antithesis of what April epitomized, that very brazenness ensured that his trust in her abilities was not misplaced.
Forced into the role of an awaiting news spouse caused him to reassess his motivation and the underlying anxiety it represented. His fear, cloaked in coolness, had manifested into a 'Pick me, choose me or else' challenge. He had time too, to reflect on his mistakes. Both of them were at fault for not expressing their true sentiments. He conceded to himself that his analysis of her actions were purely speculative and took no cognizance of her emotional turmoil, which she was at fault for keeping from him too. He realized as well that the terror he'd experienced while she was on the front-lines, which he'd mistakenly thought he'd be able to bury if she re-enlisted and they separated, was what he was experiencing right now, and which had happened in their own backyard and on his watch. This anxiety for her well-being was something he would never be able to bury or get rid off. The basis of his ultimatum was therefore ludicrous. Once she woke up he would do everything in his power to convince her that he loved her unconditionally and he would never call an end to their marriage. If she was still intent on Jordan then he would just have to follow her there.
His pacing did nothing to abate his apprehension. From being pushed aside in the Emergency Room, to his short stint in the viewing gallery, where Alex had forced his departure when he appeared to be losing it, and onwards to his slowly unravelling patience outside the Operating Room, Jackson was lost. Remembering that up in the gallery Callie had mentioned that the Police were waiting to speak with him, he decided to acquiesce to their request – he needed to get to the bottom of the who, what and why of his wife's attack. Whatever the motivation for the crime, the perpetrator had left her for dead and that inflamed him to such a rage that The Hulk had nothing on him vis-à-vis retribution.
He needed a moment to cool down before he met with the officers and he was thankful that he went with his decision of splashing some water onto his face. Gazing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror he was visibly shaken at the glaring blood prints, apparently from when April had stroked his cheek. His barely held composure crumbled at this discernable evidence of his almost widowhood, which status could still be probable. Unbidden, loud uncontrollable sobs racked his body. She was the love of his life and without her life had no meaning.
Having regained some measure of control in his demeanor and presentation, he made his way towards the Trauma Bay – the last known location of his police escort. GSM's credentials as a Level 1 Trauma Centre as well as their policy of not diverting cases to other hospitals unless unavoidable capacity issues arose, meant that most accidents – freak, vehicular or abnormal – landed on their doorstep. It was therefore no surprise to Jackson to witness a trauma that had quite literally landed through the ER doorway. What stunned him was that the automobile inhabiting the Grey Sloan Emergency Room was none other than April's.
He watched, bemused. The police officers rushed to assist the trauma team with removing what appeared to be a white male, average looking, mid to late twenties with no distinguishable features, from the front crumbled tin-can of a vehicle. On any other day his cynicism would have had him believing that the Policemen's Oath 'To Protect and Serve' was, in this case, a visible example of white privilege. Today, conversely, those officers had aided him in his time of need, redeeming to a degree their tarnished reputation.
The driver, miraculously, appeared unscathed from his altercation with the ER. That condition lasted mere seconds. Before anyone could ascertain his intent, Jackson pushed through the few remaining hospital personnel assessing the would-be patient, pulled back his arm and let loose with a punch reminiscent of the time he'd lit into Alex Karev. Enraged as he was, he continued to pummel the guy and even went back for seconds and then a third time after the officers pulled him away. Restraining him required two able-bodied policemen. He watched the cowering form of the man, satisfied to note that he'd drawn blood but dissatisfied that he'd been forced to stop. He zeroed in on the blood spatter apparent on the fellows T-Shirt and he uttered a snarl of rage while attempting to throw off the cops holding him back. He didn't need to be a blood- spatter analyst – à la Dexter Morgan – to know that the blood was April's and that this was the guy that had inflicted her life-threatening injuries.
The policeman, who looked to be a lead officer, gazed quizzically at him. He didn't even bother acknowledging the officer's questioning gaze but directly addressed the criminal he'd beat-up.
"You attacked her…you slit her throat! Why? What did she ever do to you?! Why would you stab her and leave her to die?!" he interrogated the perpetrator, in lieu of the police cross-examining the suspect. His purpose was not to do their job for them, he simply needed answers.
"What? I don't know what you're talking about. Arrest this man, officer! You saw him beat me!" the man blustered nasally.
Jackson hoped that he'd broken his nose. He was prepared to eschew his Hippocratic Oath – Physician first do no harm, it said, referencing standard ethical practices, but he was not a doctor here. He was an enraged spouse who had almost lost his wife to this murdering psychopath.
Understanding the method to his madness, the lead officer inclined his head towards his partner and both released Jackson from their restraint simultaneously. Being partners they understood each other's non-verbal cues and their actions indicated an implicit trust. The officer had not been idle during the time they had been waiting on Dr. Avery. He was a detective in training, so although this case had not been assigned to him, being a first responder to the crime, he had taken the initiative. He'd, in the interim, managed to question some of the Drs. Avery's colleagues, as well as observing the husband's behavior. His own experience as a man in love and one who constituted one half of an interracial couple, also gave him additional insight. The catch-phrases of 'modern times' and 'twenty-first century' hardly impacted day to day experiences. Knowing the inherent difficulties present when two people of different races married, he knew that the willingness to overcome the odds stacked against them, implied an enormous capacity of love between the pair. He was also hyper-aware of the retribution he would inflict were he in Jackson Avery's shoes. So he allowed Dr. Avery some latitude while simultaneously conveying to the suspect that for now, pre evidence gathering, their belief in the doctor's words held sway.
Released by the cop duo, Jackson approached the still blustering, bleeding driver and lifted him up by his lapels. To retain traction on the floor the guy had to balance onto the tips of his toes, simulating a pirouette. Jackson had not calmed down one iota. If anything his wrath was magnified by the shifty-eyed, loud-mouthed, lying sack of shit. Political correctness be damned, he couldn't be bothered censoring his views.
"Stop lying! You drove here in her car, you have her blood all over you and you came to the hospital where she works. Tell me the truth! I have no problem beating it out of you!"
The strong, unpleasant stench of urine filled the air. Observing that no help was forthcoming from any quarter, the true nature of the bully revealed itself by emptying its bladder.
Unfazed by body fluids (he was a doctor after all) Jackson continued to shake the man, demanding answers.
"Why did you attack my wife?! Why did you stab her?! Why are you here? Did you come here to stop her from identifying you?" he snarled. In the past, those who'd had the opportunity of observing an irate Jackson Avery, knew his angry persona to be one of quiet voice combined with biting, hurtful sarcasm. This loud monster was a sight to behold.
"Your…your wife?" the criminal mastermind stuttered. The sound of his own voice spurred him on and he initially attempted to deflect. "Then it's your fault," he petulantly complained to Jackson.
This raised the eyebrows of those witnessing the altercation, including the two policeman, who were wondering if their hypothesis of the doctor's character was off-base. The Lead 'almost' detective wondered for a very brief second if he should halt this interesting grilling of the suspect but he figured that letting this entertaining tableau unfold would perhaps solve the case for him.
Seeing the murderous intent reflected in Jackson's eyes, loosened other floodgates and the suspect started singing like a canary.
"She wouldn't give me the diamond rings on a chain around her neck – she kept on whining about how much they meant to her. So I cut the chain from her. Then her damn phone wouldn't stop ringing, so I took that too. But I didn't hurt her, I swear. And then when I was driving her car I found her hospital ID badge and thought I could score some more drugs so I drove here and kinda misjudged the distance to the entrance – I have a depth perception problem you see. Is she okay? I'm sorry. She was crying and then smiling while she sat by that tiny grave. But she was stubborn – why didn't she just give me the jewels? Then no one would have got hurt. What are you gonna do to me huh?" The singing canary not only implicated himself but proved with his rambling confession that he was high as a kite.
Jackson released his hold on the guilty man and walked away. There was somewhere he needed to be.
It was hard to believe that this was the same chapel that had, not even 24 hours ago, witnessed nuptials. The scene and the sense from one day to the next were polar opposites. Although yesterday both his and April's moods had been underscored by their argument, harmony and happiness had been the prevalent theme of the evening wedding of his mother to the old chief, Richard Webber. He realized that he hadn't informed his mother of what had befallen his family, but he decided to hold off until he received an accurate diagnosis from the doctors operating on April. He would not interrupt The Webbers honeymoon unless absolutely necessary. It was also a matter of him adopting an optimistic approach to the situation – when confronted with April's positive prognosis the prerequisite for having that conversation would render the compulsion for said conversation null.
He was not here for comfort. As before when he'd been driven to speak aloud to a Deity he did not even accept as real, he'd done it for her. April was unknowingly compelling him to keep to his promise – he was spending way too much time getting used to pews.
"God…I still don't know if you can hear people who don't know if you're out there…or if you give a crap about what they say…but April believes…and she loves you, and you have to be there for her. You know you haven't been fair and just to her…you've taken Samuel…and I refuse to allow you to take her too. Just to be clear here, I still don't believe…but…circumstances have brought me here once again. So show up for April, one of your good soldiers, and send her back to me. I declare that I fully intend to make good on the promises I have made to her. Starting with not giving up on our marriage."
Aware that he was making a vow in a place of worship to a God whose existence he had no faith in, did in no way delegitimize it. He believed in science not organized religion but that did not negate his ethical values. Common sense and conscience guided his moral compass towards honesty and integrity in everything he did. He trusted in himself and April and he undertook the full realization of his oaths. He believed in himself and he believed in April.
As he sat there in contemplative silence, his active mind was a continuous carnival ride. The loops and dips were enough to cause a dizzy spell. How had a crime of opportunity morphed into a freak accident that had a non-believing atheist all but praying to a Divine Being whose very existence he doubted? Thankfully, one thought that could have driven him crazy, didn't even impact his awareness. The simple reason for his confident calmness, was that he considered the source. No strung out, inebriated junkie was going to convince him that the ring he'd painstakingly chosen for April, representing their eternal commitment to each other, would become a symbol of their failure. He would buy her new rings – a representation of their re-commitment to each other and their marriage. He would make it clear to April though, that the rings just exemplified their faith in each other and were, of course, a warning to encroachers. They required no physical manifestations and especially none that were worth her life.
His attention automatically veered to the operation. Why was it taking so long? That did not bode well, he surmised but on the other hand one could infer from the duration of the op that April's body was able to handle the twin traumas of both the attack and surgery. He refused to go to the dark place. Perhaps the damage was worse than initially thought, requiring more surgery time? Or possibly April's mentor was being thorough, ensuring that all the inflicted wounds were patched-up? Or maybe they were being extra meticulous in perfecting the stitches to ensure minimal physical scarring – the hidden mental scars he'd make sure they dealt with. His cerebral waves continued the ebb and flow of 'what if's' while he played the waiting game. His head, swirling with thoughts, felt too heavy for his neck to support, so he simply hunched his shoulders and rested it into the anchor of his cupped hands. April had always been his mainstay and he was floating rudderless without her there to calm his stormy mind.
Dragging him out of his dazed stupor was the large, post-surgery scrubbed hand of Dr. Owen Hunt landing on his shoulder. He jumped up from the pew he'd been occupying and schooling his features into impassivity, searched Hunt's face for an answer to the question he felt unable to voice. Usually stoic with everyone but April, he let his mask slip when he noted the reassuring nod and slight but clearly exhausted smile Owen sported.
In a voice laden with emotion he started to ask, "Is she…?"
"She's alive. She's strong and she survived the surgery – came through it like a trooper," Hunt answered, all too familiar with the sentiment displayed. This had hit him hard too. He'd come to admire and respect the scrappiness that was April Avery née Kepner.
Exhaling in relief, Jackson continued, "Tell me everything."
He'd taken a few steps before turning back to face Hunt. He approached him and gripped Owens right hand in a firm handshake and with his left hand clasped his shoulder. A professional handshake coupled with a friendly, half, man-hug. An implied acknowledgment of thanks to which Owen started to reply – he was going to go with "She's a soldier" but thought better of it on noting Jackson's lifted eyebrow. He knew that pushing his protégé to sign up for a tour of duty in a combat zone, had not endeared him with her spouse. He was aware too of the discord it had sown in their marriage, so reconsidering the statement Hunt just shrugged and with an embarrassed half smile graciously accepted the appreciation, sans comment.
Having made his way up to post-op, Jackson stood looking down at April's still unconscious form while nurses bustled around, one even giving him a dirty look – obviously a stickler for the rules. He didn't care. Mr. 51% controlling member of the Board of this hospital was going to take whatever advantage that gave him. He would be with her here until she awoke, and he would be with her while they moved her, and he would be with her when they situated her in a private room and…he laughed softly to himself. Seems he'd become Mr. Vow Maker, he couldn't seem to stop making these promises to her – albeit unspoken and just in his head but very much binding.
Once the nurses bustled away, he sat in the chair that one kind soul had situated beside her bed. Lifting April's hand to his lips, the one not connected to the fluid drip, he kissed it softly before just grasping it between both of his. He lay his head onto their joint hands, simply thankful to be able to have this moment. Hunt had regaled him with the procedures they'd performed to keep her alive and while he knew all the terms and what they meant, in that moment he was merely a husband being informed that his wife had survived the surgery to repair her after a brutal attack. He reflected on it now though.
They'd had to crike her on the way to theatre, the blood obscuring the wound had compromised her airway. They performed the Cricothyrotomy because orotracheal and nasotracheal intubation had become impossible. The crike was a temporary measure so once in surgery they'd had to go with a Tracheotomy – making an incision in her windpipe, opening a direct airway and allowing her to breathe via a tracheostomy tube. The laceration was at the level of the lower third of the thyroid cartilage and the wound had continued into the larynx. The thyroid cartilage had been cut horizontally and away from the supraglottic region, and the damage had continued to the hypopharynx and ended anterior to the prevertebral mucosa. Her larynx was damaged but salvageable and there was no significant carotid or venous injuries. The damaged structures were reconstructed and all that was required now was a wait and see approach.
It wasn't very long before she woke, freaking silently at the tubes in her throat and with panic in her eyes until he was able to soothe her. Time passed while Hunt and Bailey checked up on her post surgery and had April moved to a room. When they determined that she was able to breathe on her own the tracheostomy tube was removed too. Still groggy from the procedure she was irritated to be kept awake even though she knew that a patient had to be awoken after a surgery to be able to ascertain any residual effects of the anesthesia. Jackson calmed her down once more and with extreme care got onto the hospital bed with her. With the hand connected to the drip on the opposite side she was able to turn onto her other side. Jackson spooned her from behind and both of them slipped easily into slumber.
Disoriented, he blinked. Having the feeling of being stared at, he turned his head to the side and watched April watching him. She lifted her free hand and caressed his unshaven face, and similar to when he found her at Samuel's grave, she undid him with that gentle gesture. He closed his eyes for the barest second, trying to stem the tide, but then simply surrendered. He turned his face into the space between her shoulder and chin, taking care to be gentle near her wounds. He let go and allowed his pent up grief an outlet. His body shook with the force of his sobs, guttural cries that were muffled by her bandages but whose reverberations were felt through her skin and echoed in her heart. She stroked the back of his head as he grieved, knowing that while the bulk of it was almost losing her, this was about Samuel too and yes guilt and regret over their argument and what could have almost been their last words to each other. This was his time to grieve and this was her vow to him that she was there for him throughout all the heartache and anguish he felt.
"Shh, it's okay…I'm here…I'm okay," she softly whispered, briefly forgetting that they hadn't yet tested her voice.
His head popped up so swiftly that for a moment she envisioned him as a 'whack-a-mole' or rather a 'Jack-a-mole' or 'whack-a-Jack', the latter name which gave her other ideas, and damaged as she was, rough sex, or any sex, or thinking about any sex with her husband, should be the furthest thing on her mind.
"Your voice…it's working, it's okay!" he exclaimed, laughing with joy. He leaned over her, his relief and happiness needing a further release. They both laughed in-between kisses, hers slightly lower, gruffer and quieter. His exuberance was wonderful to see. He kissed her all over the face and lay numerous gentle kisses over the bandage on her throat. What an emotional roller-coaster this day had been, one extreme to another.
"We're still standing – Me and you!" Jackson murmured.
"Me and you…Forever…"April concurred, sealing it with a healing kiss.