JACKSON
With April's heartbeat so close, it's hard not to think of how things used to be.
I can still clearly remember the last time we were intimate, and it didn't feel anything like this. Right now, I feel close to her in every sense of the word. Mentally, emotionally, and above all - physically. But the last time we had sex was when we were still living together, and Harriet wasn't very old. It was an act of convenience and routine, mostly. We weren't married, but I think there was something in both of us that wanted to reignite that flame.
But neither of our heads were in the right places, and the spark didn't light. The intermittent sex during those months was passionless, dry and usually ended without a climax from her. I still feel guilty over that. Because I know how to make her come - I know better than anyone. But back then, we weren't close enough for me to do what she needed me to. All we had the space for was regular old missionary sex, and sometimes that just isn't good enough.
I close my eyes and wrap my arms tighter around her, breathing in the way she's always smelled. She makes a small sound as I squeeze her, and I smile to myself because of it. If the circumstances were different and we were this close for other reasons, I would turn my head and kiss her neck. Slow, open-mouthed, and full of heart. She loves neck kisses. When we were married and I wanted my way with her, all it took was a few neck kisses and she turned to putty in my hands.
I don't kiss her now, though. It would be wildly inappropriate; her husband died only weeks ago. But instead, I map my hands wider on her back and pull her closer by as much as I can. There's admittedly not much more breathing room between us.
She lets me, though, and her body complies. She holds my shoulders a little tighter and presses her body against mine so her stomach pushes on my ribcage as she breathes evenly - in and out, in and out.
We don't say anything, because we don't need to. After knowing someone for a certain amount of time, silence speaks louder than words do. Right now, this intimacy is all either of us need. There are no ulterior motives; it's grounding to be near her like this. It reminds me of the place we began, and how much we'd love each other then. A pure love, a best friendship sort of love, the kind of love that solidified her place as my favorite person.
I want to say it now, that I love her. But I'm too worried she'll interpret it the wrong way, and I'll have dug an impossible hole for myself. So, I keep quiet and continue to hold her, telling her in the best way we've ever known how. I rub her back up and down her knobby spine, and try to remember all the special times we've been intimate.
I remember the first time, in the hotel room in San Francisco. Room 623, to be exact. There's not a chance in hell I'll ever forget that one. I couldn't believe it while it was happening, and sometimes, even many years later, I still have a hard time wrapping my head around it.
She was so confident that night. She even let me go down on her, which I hadn't expected. It took her a few more times to feel comfortable enough to try it on me, but once she went there - she didn't go back.
But I can't think about that now. If I start, my mind will end up in a very dangerous place that it shouldn't travel to with her basically on top of me. It would turn a heartwarming moment into something very, very awkward.
I squeeze her once more, then pull back to look at her face. She's as beautiful as she ever was.
"You should get some sleep," I tell her, caressing the apple of her cheek with my thumb.
She leans into my hand and I keep stroking her skin, seeing how much it comforts her. I can't help but wonder if Matthew ever did this - these small things she so clearly loves - to make her happy.
I'd do anything to make her happy. And at one point in my life, that meant letting her go.
But now, she's back in my lap again and our situation is so much different than I ever imagined it'd be. But above everything, she's here, I'm here, and we're together. And whenever that's the case, we always make something of it.
"I'm tired," she says, and her voice shows it.
"You can take the bed upstairs," I say, and she crawls off of me. I miss her body heat immediately. "I put fresh sheets on it a couple days ago, so it's all set."
She crinkles her eyebrows just a bit. "Are you sure?" she asks.
"Positive," I say. "I like this couch, anyway."
She nods without putting up a fight and stands, lingering for a moment before going anywhere. She stands in place like she wants to say something, but when I look to her face, her mouth is closed. Her eyes tell me everything I need to know, though; they're swirling with emotions, overflowing with words unsaid. I won't push her to say them, though. When she's ready, she will.
"Night, then," she says. "See you in the morning."
I smile gently at her. "Night, babydoll."
I watch her walk all the way up the stairs until she disappears, then switch off the lamp beside me. Once I'm swathed in darkness, I lay on my side and close my eyes as I try to sift through the thousands of thoughts swimming inside my head.
I do eventually fall asleep, though, after a good amount of time spent contemplating my feelings. The couch is comfortable and I slip deeper than I'm sometimes even able to go in my bed. The only thing that wakes me up much, much later is a tap to the arm. And even that doesn't bring me to the surface right away.
"Jackson," I hear, in the recesses of my mind. It's far back, not quite strong enough to catch my wakeful attention. It seems like I'm still in a dream. "Jackson."
The touch to my arm comes again, and I begin to rouse. I press my lips together as my eyes creak open, and confusedly see April standing in front of the couch in her pajamas. The room is still dark, so I'm confused as to why she's here. It's not morning yet. I don't even have the mental clarity to check my phone to see what ungodly time it is.
"Dolly?" I say, still half-gone.
Her shoulders are hunched by her ears, and her arms are crossed. Her face looks uncomfortable, but I can't be sure why. All she's doing is standing there, unspeaking.
"What're you doing up?" I ask, rubbing my eyes.
"I can't sleep," she mutters, like she's admitting to doing something wrong. She can't look at me; her eyes are downcast towards the carpet.
"Oh," I say, mind still very cloudy. "Well, c'mere."
She looks up and I scoot over, back against the couch cushions as I lay on my side. I make room for her and lift the blanket so she'll crawl under it, and she only hesitates for a moment before following through.
"There you go," I say, eyes already threatening to close again.
She rests her head on the pillow next to mine - there isn't room for another - and faces out. The couch isn't big, so much in the way we'd been the other morning, our bodies are pressed right up against each other. Her warmth is comforting in my sleepy state, and I pull her closer out of habit and rest my face against the back of her shoulder.
Her muscles relax after a few seconds, and she inadvertently pushes back against me, a little closer, a little more comfortable. I let out a long breath and throw one arm over her side, just to keep her from falling off the couch, I tell myself.
I can tell she's still awake, eyes probably open though I can't see them. I tuck one foot between her ankles and nuzzle my nose against her t-shirt, hoping to soothe her in the best way I know how. With subtle affection, she loves that.
"Try and sleep," I mutter.
"I can't," she answers instantly, sounding exasperated and sad.
She rolls over to face me, dislodging my foot in the process. But when she gets comfortable again, she mirrors the action and slips her leg between mine and takes my arm back, positioning it around her side. And she copies that, too. She drapes her arm over my side and looks at me through her eyelashes; I can't remember the last time we laid this close.
"You can't," I say, eyelids drooping and voice slow. "It's been a long day, I'm sure you can."
"I can't stop thinking."
"Mmm…" I say, eyes fully closed now as I remember what I always used to do to help her fall asleep when she couldn't. Without hesitating, I move to run my fingernails gently down her arm, feeling goosebumps rise in my wake. "That feel good?" I ask.
"You don't have to," she says.
"Does it feel good?"
"Yes… of course it does."
I don't say anything else. I just keep tickling her arm, and eventually move to her hair. I weave my fingers through the tendrils near her temple, brushing them back from her face and slowly combing the locks. She's a sucker for getting her hair played with and arm tickled, and again I know that better than anyone. She's like a baby that way; she's comforted by small, routine things.
Her eyes close as I continue to stroke her head, petting hair away from her face, and I just watch her. Though I know she's not feeling as much, she looks so peaceful with her head tucked next to mine, lips slack and eyes closed. I've missed seeing her this way.
Before she falls completely under, she does something in her sleep-state that I never thought she'd do again. I never thought we'd be in the position for her to. She scoots a bit closer, presses her chest against mine, and slips a hand underneath the back of my t-shirt. She spreads her fingers out over my bare skin and slackens completely, calmed into a state of bliss by the nearness of us.
I can't stay awake for much longer, either. Being this close is just as soothing for me as it apparently is for her, so when I close my eyes, I stay gone for the rest of the night.
In the morning, I wake up to April's eyes already on me. She looks away quickly like she's embarrassed, but I smile to let her know I don't think it's weird. Because I don't; if the tables were turned, she probably would've woken up to me staring at her, too.
"Morning," I say.
"Hi," she says, and goes to push back the blanket, unwinding her legs from mine to get up.
"Hey," I say, voice raspy. "Where're you going?"
"I-I figured you wouldn't want to… lay here together anymore," she says.
"Come back," I say. "Kids aren't up, it's not even 6."
"What?"
I lift my arm again and motion for her to fall against my side. "I'm not ready to get up yet," I say. "And you're warm. So, come back."
She smirks a little, but tries to hide it which makes her dimple pop. She crawls back under the blanket and gravitates to my side, arms tucked close to her chest unlike last night, when she had them wrapped around me. But things are always different in the morning.
I don't let things become stagnant, though. I raise one arm and move back part of her hair that's fallen in her face, and she looks up through her eyelashes when I do.
"You've been so sweet to me," she murmurs, lips barely moving. I watch them, though, with intensity - for reasons I'm not entirely sure of.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
She tips her head so we're face-to-face, noses nearly touching. We're breathing in each other's space, but it isn't weird at all. I'm used to her like this, as she is me. I feel completely at ease, and I can tell she does, too. Though she doesn't want to admit that much to herself.
"You didn't have to take us in," she says. "You don't have to do any of what you're doing. But you are."
I smile a little and chuckle softly, just once. "You say it like it's an obligation."
"For most people, it would be," she says, very seriously. "But for you, it's not. It never has been."
"Because it's you," I say. "You and those babies. You guys need help, I'm there. Always."
She pauses for a moment, turning over what to say next. "But I married him," she says.
"I dated Maggie."
"I married him in front of you," she says, eyes set on mine. "That was wrong. It was so selfish."
I shake my head, lips turned down. "We'd been divorced for a long time."
"It never felt like a long time, though," she whispers. "It still doesn't."
"No, you're right," I say, stroking her hair again. "It doesn't."
We're quiet for a long moment, and I let my eyes trail over her face. She looks down, gaze trained on my chest, and I wonder what she's looking at, if anything. More so, I wonder where her thoughts have gone. Because she's not here with me anymore.
"Do you think I shouldn't have done it?" she asks, and her chin is trembling. "Married him. It was a mess. It was always a mess. When we were happy, it came at a price. His attention came with a cost. And it was so short-lived."
Something twists in my chest as I realize there's no correct answer; nothing I say would fit. It's not my place to give her a resolution, a ribbon to tie this whole thing up with. It's far from over, and there's no Band-Aid to cover this wound. It has to stay open; it's nowhere near healing.
"I don't think that's my place to say," I say. "Do you regret it?"
"I don't know," she answers, right away. "I got Saige out of it. But now…"
"Don't say it," I say. "That won't happen. I already told you last night. We're going to find a way to fix it. You're her mother. She's going to stay with you."
"I'm not her blood, though," she says, voice growing desperate. "They are. They're going to use that against me and take it as far as they can."
"So, we'll go further," I say. "You've raised her for her entire life, basically. Where have they been? When's the last time she saw them? At the funeral, they scared her. You saw that. It speaks for itself."
April nods slowly, chewing on her lower lip. Gently, I reach over and tug it out from between her teeth, and she smiles at me with her eyes only.
"You're still my best friend," I say. "In case you needed reminding."
"You're mine, too," she says, and rolls onto her back to stare at the ceiling.
I make a bold move and rest a hand on her stomach, and she doesn't flinch. Instead, she moves to overlap my hand with her own and traces the veins on top. I smile to myself and keep my eyes on the side of her face, just resting there while she blinks and sifts through her thoughts yet again. Her mind is obviously busy, as I can only imagine.
I rub her stomach slowly, subtly, and she lets me. It's out of habit more than anything - even when she wasn't pregnant, she used to love when I rubbed her belly. I used to joke that she was more like a puppy than a human, and we'd always laugh.
As I rub in circles, her shirt rides up. If it were years ago, I'd take advantage of the exposed skin and slip a hand underneath, but I don't do that now. That would be crossing a line that I don't dare to go near. It's not the time. It would be wrong and inappropriate, and I am not that guy.
Were the circumstances a bit different, the air a bit lighter, I might go for it. But not with all that's been handed to her. It would be incredibly selfish.
She turns her head to look at me and takes her hand away from mine to cup my cheek. We make prolonged eye contact before she smiles sadly and says, "Thank you."
I return the expression. "You're welcome," I say.
I resist saying what I want to: You know I'd do anything for you. Because I hope she already knows.
…
Just as I'm about to leave for work and take the girls to school, I stop and catch April's attention as she helps Saige into her shoes. Ever since we got up from the couch, she's been withdrawn and sunken into herself. I know the reason, but I miss her sparkly eyes and smile. I know it's a lot to ask to see them again, so I've been trying to conjure up their image in the back of my mind.
"Mama go to work, too?" Saige asks, looking at April with those round eyes of hers.
"Mama quitted," Harriet pipes up, grabbing her umbrella from the bench near the door. "So, what are you gonna do all day, mama?" she asks. "Watch TV and eat candy?"
April laughs humorlessly. My best guess is that she'll look into getting a lawyer today, but obviously that's not something the girls need to be privy to.
"I'm gonna watch all your recorded shows without you," she jokes.
"No!" Saige says. "Are you just kidding, mommy?"
April smiles, but I see right through it. "Of course I am," she says. "I don't know what I'll do. But I'm sure I'll find some way to entertain myself while you guys are gone."
"Are we gonna stay here all together more?" Harriet asks, looking between myself and her mother with a hopeful expression on her face.
I look to April and wait for her answer. It's not up to me; I already made her very aware that they're welcome for as long as they'd like to stay.
"For a little bit longer, yeah," April says.
"Yay!" the girls chorus, and group near the door while I take a few steps closer to April.
"You gonna be alright today?" I ask, and she looks up from her place on the stairs.
"Yeah," she says, though it's not very convincing. "I have a few law offices to call."
"Good," I say. "Feel free to call me if you get bored. I don't have a busy day. In fact, you could even come and visit if you felt like it."
"That might be fun," she says. "But I don't know."
"And hey," I say. "If you want, I could always throw in a good word for you over there at Grey Sloan. You know they hated to see you leave; I'm sure they'd welcome you back in a heartbeat. Hunt would move mountains for you."
"Oh, no," she says, eyebrows crinkled. "I couldn't."
Her mouth says one thing, but her eyes say another. In her eyes, I can see that she misses the trauma work she used to do. I always knew she wouldn't be challenged with whatever she was doing with Matthew. It wasn't enough for her; she's an adrenaline junkie.
"You sure?" I ask, hoping she'll change her mind.
"I really couldn't ask that of them," she says, looking away and not meeting my eyes. "It would be wrong."
"Alright," I say, still watching her. She's not doing a very good job at convincing me. "Well, give me a shout if you change your mind. You know I have clout over there."
She smiles weakly and waves us goodbye, still sitting there on the stairs as I close the door.
The girls chat with each other on the way to school, and my mind is busy with thoughts of my ex-wife and what she might be doing. I would've stayed home with her if I had the option, but unfortunately I don't. So, the best I can do is think about her, shoot her a few texts, and encourage her to stop by.
After I drop the kids off, I head towards the hospital. I wasn't kidding when I told April I had a slow day, so I don't rush going inside and changing into my scrubs. I make my rounds and greet my long-term patients, taking the time to sit down with each of them and their families to discuss recovery plans, and it makes the morning go by quickly.
I hadn't planned to sit in the cafeteria and eat, but my good friend Callie flags me down before I have a chance to disappear into my office.
"Hey, Avery," she says, and I sit with her at an otherwise empty table. "You've been scarce lately. What's new?"
I sigh and debate whether or not to get into the full story. Around here, it's not uncommon for everyone to know each other's business, so it wouldn't be anything new. Plus, out of anyone here at the hospital, Callie is the person I trust the most. After April left, she and I became a pair of unlikely friends.
"I've been at home with April," I say, unwrapping my sandwich.
I can feel her eyes without having to look up, and I know exactly what expression her face has morphed into.
"You and Kepner?" she says. "Seriously?" She pauses for a moment. "Not gonna say I didn't see it coming, but-"
"It's not like that," I say, taking my first bite. "I'm sure you heard about Matthew Taylor and his accident."
"Yeah," she says. "I was here that night. It was awful."
"It was," I say. "Since then, April's been staying with me, along with her and Matthew's daughter, Saige."
Callie's eyebrows screw up. "They had a…?"
"She's not biologically April's," I say. "She's was between Matthew and his previous wife. But April adopted her, and she's the only mother that little girl has ever known." I nod. "Yeah. They've been staying with us."
"And how's that been going?" she asks.
"Um…" I trail off, letting my thoughts formulate as I chew. "It's interesting."
She laughs knowingly. "I bet. You guys screw yet?"
"Hey," I say, eyes wide. "Whoa."
"What?" she says. "Why else would she still be at your house? That was where my mind went first, my bad."
"No," I say, furrowing my eyebrows. "It's not… not like that."
"So, why's she there?"
I sigh. "The Taylors want to take Saige from her," I say. "And it's tearing her up. She doesn't know how to deal with it, so I said I'd help as much as I can."
"Jesus," Callie says. "Custody battles can get ugly. I would know."
"I know," I say. "And she's already at such a low point. I think she feels bad for not feeling bad enough, you know what I mean? Judging by a few things she's said, she and Matthew's marriage wasn't all rainbows and butterflies."
Callie snorts. "Well, did you expect it would be? You can't marry a cardboard box and expect it to love you. She did that to herself."
"She thought she was doing what was best," I say.
"Well," she says. "I can imagine she's feeling guilty. Not necessarily for being glad he's gone, but…" She lets a breath from her nose. "There might be a certain feeling of relief there. I can only imagine that paired with the fear of her daughter being taken away is creating a tsunami of emotions." She shakes her head. "I bet she appreciates you being there."
"I hope," I say. "I just want her to know she's not alone. She keeps saying she is."
Callie eyes me and I'm not sure why.
"What?" I snap.
She lifts her eyebrows and raises her palms in mock-surrender. "Hey, hey, I didn't say anything," she says.
"You didn't have to. What is it?"
She purses her lips and looks to the side, blinking rapidly. "You kinda let her feel that way for a while, though, didn't you?"
"Okay," I say. "That was forever ago. That was before Harriet was even born."
"But it still happened," she says. "She never wanted that divorce, and she felt you forced her hand."
"How do you know?" I bark.
"My wife is your ex-wife's best friend. You think I don't know things? Come on, Avery. Keep up."
My jaw tightens. "Still, that was forever ago. I wish I'd… we'd… done things differently, too. But we can't take it back now. I really don't think she's thinking about that anymore."
"Maybe not," Callie says. "You're probably right. But you don't just forget how that primal loneliness feels. If you're wondering why she brings it up, that's why. She's scared you'll leave, and then what? She won't even have her white bread Christian fallback."
I let those words sit with me and soak in. I don't think about mine and April's tumultuous divorce often, because it never comes with good memories. I remember going for each other's necks and causing the other as much pain as we could. Those people weren't ones I recognized; they weren't us. I didn't enjoy hurting her, but I was on the defense constantly. I didn't want to get hurt by her in the way I did when she left a second time. I couldn't deal with that abandonment, and I promised myself I wouldn't put myself in the position to be left all over again.
But I know how it feels to be an island, like no one is on your side. And if she feels like that now, or is scared she'll feel that way soon, the best I can do is make sure it doesn't happen. The best way I can prove it is through my actions, so that's what I'll do.
"What's goin' on in there?" Callie asks, tilting her head.
"Just… thinking," I say, wrinkles appearing on my forehead from my whirring thoughts.
"Ah, so I did spark something," she says.
"I want her to know I won't leave her," I say. "I'm not the same as I was back then. Neither is she. It was a long time ago. We're better now."
Callie just watches me, she doesn't say anything.
"What?" I say.
"I know a lot of things, Avery," she says. "I'm good at reading people. Very good at it, actually. And what I know is that you're still in love with her."
"What?" I say.
She quirks her eyebrows. "I don't need to repeat myself."
I open my mouth to refute her, but no sound comes. I sputter for a few moments, looking more like a fish than I'd like to admit, and shake my head softly. But still, I can't find it within myself to argue.
"You don't have to defend yourself," she says. "It wouldn't work, anyway. You're not exactly good at hiding it."
I press my lips together and give her a look of defeat. I don't have much of anything to say for myself.
"But does she know about...?" Callie asks. "After Pierce, when you were with-"
"No," I say, quickly, urgently. "I don't talk about that. I don't think about that."
"Geez," she says, backing off. "Just a question."
"I'm not proud of that phase," I say. "I try not to revisit it."
"Totally understood," she says, then glances at the clock. "Well. I should get back to work, but I'm glad we were able to have this therapy session."
I chuckle a bit, which makes my shoulders bounce. "Me, too. Thanks."
"Tell Kepner she should stop by sometime soon. I promise I won't show her the heart on your sleeve if she does."
"Yeah," I say, throwing the word over my shoulder as she leaves. "I'll be sure to pass the word on."
…
As the day goes by, I find myself getting more and more excited to see April at the end of it. But just as I'm about done for the day, an emergency burn victim comes in and needs immediate attention, and I know any hope I had of going home is dashed.
I text April and let her know to pick the girls up from school, then throw myself into work. I'm in the OR for hours on end trying to salvage what I can of this man's upper body, and by the time I'm finished and done the best I can, he's in recovery and will begin skin graft treatment tomorrow.
My feet are tired, and I've never wanted to leave more. It's past 10pm and the sun has long past set, but as I drive home I can't help hoping April is still awake.
When I pull in the driveway, though, I let go of that hope. Most of the lights in the house are off, besides the ones in the living room, where I assume she is. I walk through the front door quietly, take off my shoes and jacket, and listen to a nearly-silent house. The TV is playing gently, the kids are clearly asleep, and the house is shut up for the night. It feels peaceful in a way it doesn't very often. It feels like a home.
I walk through the entryway and past the dining room table, where I see pages printed out from different law firms. I see profiles of custody lawyers that she must be deciding between, because the pages are marked up with pen with things crossed out and circled. I pause only for a moment as I scan them, then move towards the source of the yellow light.
Just as I suspected, April is asleep on the couch with a throw blanket over her legs. The TV is playing a show I don't recognize, and her hand is poised loosely over the remote resting on her stomach. Her head is turned to one side, chin against her chest, lips pushed out. It seems like she's been asleep for a while and is deeply gone.
I smile as I watch her, so undisturbed and peaceful. I wonder what she's dreaming about, if anything. I wonder how her day was, and if I crossed her mind as much as she crossed mine. I'm not sure if that's possible, though. She barely left my head all day.
I can't help it. I lower to my knees and rest next to her for a moment, studying her twitching eyelids before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, right between her eyebrows. I stroke the top of her head and she lifts her chin a bit, adjusting, and inhales deeply from her nose.
When her eyes blink open, it comes as a surprise. I hadn't meant to wake her, but I'm almost glad I did. Her mossy green eyes bring me home at the end of a very long day. They're all I've been waiting to see.
"Hey, dolly," I say, keeping my voice low.
"Mmm…" she hums, making a sleepy, raspy sound.
"It's just me," I say.
"Mmm, baby," she says, voice hoarse again as her eyes threaten to close once more. My stomach jumps at the term of endearment, said out of innate habit. "When'd you get home?"
"Just now," I whisper, one hand on her head as I use my thumb to stroke her forehead, where my lips had just been.
"I tried to stay up for you," she murmurs, blinking heavy.
"I see that," I say, chuckling softly.
"We going up to bed?" she asks, opening her eyes just to rub them.
"Probably a smart choice," I say, then turn the TV off. "I'll get you set up in the master bedroom."
Slowly, she follows me up the stairs after I turn all the lights off on the first floor, and lays down on the side opposite mine in my big, white bed. She rolls onto her side and I retreat into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face, and when I come out, I can only assume she's fallen back to sleep.
I'm wrong, though. I flick the light off and I'm on my way out the door when she rolls over and speaks in my direction.
"Baby?"
Twice in the span of ten minutes, I'm not sure how to handle being called that name again. I haven't heard it come from her mouth in years, at least not directed towards me. I convince myself it must be her sleepy brain, and I won't let myself read into it.
"I'm here," I say, pausing to turn around.
She rolls over to face me, brushing her hair out of her eyes while pulling the rest of the covers back.
"Will you stay?" she asks. "I don't sleep good without you next to me."
I don't hesitate. I walk back towards the bed with a soft feeling in my heart and say, "If you want me to, of course I'll stay."