JACKSON
I know I won't get any sleep tonight.
After April walks away, I gather blankets from the linen closet and trudge to the front room, a flat pillow under my arm. Corky follows, nails tip-tapping on the hardwood floor, and jumps on the couch before I can set any of my stuff down.
"Uh-uh," I grunt. "No way."
He looks up at me, brown eyes shining and innocent, and tucks his nose under his fluffy tail. He doesn't plan on going anywhere unless forcibly removed, that's pretty clear.
"Damn you," I mutter under my breath. I've never been the biggest fan of this dog and he's not all that fond of me, but we stomach each other. Sometimes, though, he seems to act in ways that purposefully get under my skin. "Shouldn't you be with April right now, seeing as I'm not?" I grumble.
Of course, he doesn't answer. So, I do my best to make a bed with him in the way, then curl my body to create space for the tiny dog once I lay down.
Without a better place to put it, I try and rest my hand on Corky's side. As soon as I touch him, though, he growls menacingly and I pull my hand back.
"April doesn't growl at me," I say, flipping onto my back. "Jesus Christ."
I close my eyes with annoyance when the licking starts. I wait and wait, but the sound doesn't stop. I know if I nudge him, I'll probably end up bitten, so I lie there and endure the awful noise and wait for sleep to come, but it doesn't.
Because when I close my eyes, all I can picture are Vince's hands on April's body. I don't know the details of how he touched her, and I wonder if that's better or worse than a play-by-play of what happened. Would I rather imagine it for myself, or know for a fact how things went down? I don't know. What I'd prefer over anything is if this never occurred at all.
I know I came across like an ass during our fight. I always do; it never fails. I don't know why, but my thoughts never seem to come out right. I formulate them just fine in my head, and by the time they escape my lips, they're jumbled up and just plain wrong.
I don't blame April for what happened at all, but going back through the words I said, I sure made it seem like I did. I probably made her feel like shit. The thought of him touching her made me so irate, I had no control over what I was saying. I really need to get better at that and get a hold of myself. She deserves more than someone who pops off like I do and makes crass, inappropriate comments. She hates those, and I always dredge them up from the filthiest places. I definitely shouldn't have asked if they'd fucked yet. That was beyond wrong.
I turn over to face the back of the couch and Corky adjusts behind me. He spins in a circle and tucks himself right against my back, nice and cozy. I roll my eyes at the fact that I'm playing the part of the little spoon and let out a big sigh.
I want to talk to her right now, this moment. I can't lay here with all this stewing inside me and expect to get any rest. But as badly as I want to throw off this quilt and march up the stairs, I know that's not the right choice. When April gets mad, she needs space, and a night full of just that will make things better in the morning. That's how it always goes. I can't crowd her right now; all it'll do is make things worse.
I toss and turn for the better part of the night as I piece together what I need to tell her. She has to know that I'm on her side, no matter what. There won't ever be a moment where I don't back her up, and I should learn to showcase that better. She was scared to tell me about what happened because she thought I wouldn't be on her side, and I proved her right. She said she knew I would be an asshole, and I was. That's not the way a good husband acts. That's not the way a good anything acts.
I don't know what time it is when I give up my futile mission of sleep and just stare at the ceiling. I huff loudly, which wakes up the dog, and he hops off the couch to skitter towards the sliding glass door.
Jumping at the chance to get up, I go over to let him out. I stand behind the glass while he does his business, leaning against it with one arm over my head, and stare out into the night. I know for a fact that both April and Peyton are sound asleep upstairs, and I wish I was, too. I don't like feeling separated from my family. I need morning to come. This is the longest night I've ever experienced in my life.
When the dog asks to be let back in, I beat him to the couch. I laugh in his face and spread out how I want, but as soon as I close my eyes he hops right up and makes himself comfortable on my stomach.
"Damn you," I mutter, now unable to flip onto either side. I might as well just resign now.
When the first hint of the sun peeks above the horizon, I pick a snappy Corky up and set him on the floor. He hurries into the kitchen for food, but I'm not worried about that right now. He can wait to eat. I can't wait to make up with my wife.
Resisting the urge to hurry, I take the stairs slow. When I reach the top, I peek silently into Peyton's room to find her in her crib, on her stomach, breathing steadily with her lips slack and parted. I smile to myself at how cute she is, then cross the hall to the master bedroom.
When I look inside, April is lying on her half of the bed. She's still wearing the pink, button-up pajama set, hair down and splayed over the pillow. If I were there, too, it'd be all in my face. I'm used to it at this point.
She's curled into a ball, which isn't unusual. In the mornings, I wake up with every limb extended and she's in the fetal position – most of the time, with her curved spine pressed against my side. I like feeling some part of her body against me, just as a reminder that she's there. And when it's her back, I can feel her breathing steadily – in and out, in and out – and the rhythm is soothing.
I love waking up to her eyes. People always rave about the color of mine, but hers are better. Such a deep, mossy green with flecks of yellow and brown; they're so intricate and interesting, I could get lost in them. And I do, frequently.
I cross the room without making any sound and lift a knee to crawl into bed on my side. The mattress depresses when I put my weight on it and her body leans towards the middle, which causes her to stir. She's the lightest sleeper I've ever known.
She stirs, but isn't conscious yet. Her head twitches and she makes a soft sound, but nothing more. I scoot closer, propped up by an elbow, and get settled behind her, curling my body around the slope of her back.
"April," I whisper, trailing gentle fingers down her side. I lean forward and press my lips to the round of her shoulder, and notice her breath hitch. "Itty-bitty, I'm sorry."
Her inhales and exhales come lighter now. She nestles her cheek against the pillow and adjusts her hips, and I flatten a hand over the one that's facing up.
"I'm sorry…" I whisper, and kiss her shoulder again over the fabric of her shirt.
"Mmm…" she hums, turning to lie on her back. Her eyes stay closed, though. "Jackson…?"
"Mm-hmm," I say, pressing my nose into her hair. "Hi, baby. I'm sorry for how I acted last night."
I pull away to watch her eyes – those beautiful eyes I love – blink open. She stares me in the face with a confused expression, still drifting to the surface.
"Last night," she murmurs.
"I was an ass," I say. "It's hard for me to say what I'm actually thinking. It came out all wrong because I was so mad."
She makes an affirmative sound before letting me finish.
"But not at you," I say. "I just took it out on you, and that was my fault. I shouldn't have done that. I won't report Vince, if that's what you want. It happened to you, so you should control it."
Her eyes are clear and bright now, it doesn't take her long to wake up. She's still soft and slow, but her mind is working.
"Thank you," she says. "And I'm sorry, too. I should've told you sooner."
"I don't like it when we fight," I say, face in her neck.
"Me, neither," she says, running her fingers through my hair. "But you need to work on how you phrase things. You were nasty last night."
"I know," I say. "And I'm sorry."
"I got riled up, too," she replies. "And heated. So, I'm sorry for that. Let's try and be better about keeping level heads."
"I agree," I say, nodding. "We will."
She gives me a small smile and cups my jaw in her hands before kissing me. When she pulls away, she looks into my eyes and runs her fingers through my hair before speaking again.
"How'd you sleep?" she asks.
I raise my eyebrows and shut my eyes momentarily. "Didn't, really," I say. "The dog hogged the couch all night."
"I wondered where he was," she says. "Since he wasn't here with me."
"Yeah, the little stalker," I say. "And he kept growling when I tried to move him."
"You were on everyone's shit list last night, apparently," she giggles, rubbing circles with her thumbs in the middle of my neck.
I kiss her deeply, closing my eyes to get lost in the way her lips feel moving against mine, and drink in the way she smells. There's always an undertone of perfume, no matter if she's recently applied it or not. Along with that, there's Dove soap and something earthy from Lush. She smells so delicious, I could eat her up. I want to.
"Do you forgive me?" I ask, as the snarling pit of wires in my stomach is still there. I want it gone, I want the air between us cleared, and I want to be sure about it.
"Mm-hmm," she says, eyes still closed as I press my lips to her ear.
I make her gasp when I lick the shell of it, and she shudders as the chills run through her body. I smile to myself, knowing full well just how sensitive her ears are. I can make her wet by doing this alone, and I'm sure she's on her way there.
"I know that feels good, baby," I say, talking low and husky with my nose pressed to her temple. While keeping my face where it is, I slip a hand down between her breasts, over the dip of her stomach, and inside the front of her silk shorts.
I'm rewarded as I do so - the front of her cotton underwear is already damp. I smile and kiss her ear, earning a soft whimper for it, and rub the wet spot with two fingers.
"You're wet," I say. "So, it's gotta feel good."
"It does," she breathes.
I turn my head a little and capture her earlobe between my teeth, and she whines - high and desperate - then clenches my hand between her thin, but strong, thighs.
"Oh, god," she moans, eyelashes fluttering.
I suck on her earlobe and sneak inside her underwear, then inside her body. I pump my fingers at the same rate in which my tongue moves, and her breathing hitches and comes shallow as she tries to keep herself together.
"Mm, Jesus," she sighs, biting down hard on her lower lip.
She worries it with her teeth and turns it white, eyebrows arching as I get her closer and closer. Her heartbeat is strong inside the heat of her body, and as she rattles against me I can't wait to see the finished product. The sight, sound, and sensation of April having an orgasm never gets old. She's a masterpiece as it is, but watching her come is otherworldly. And knowing I was the one to make it happen is even better.
I bite the shell of her ear and her breath stops entirely. She grapples for my shoulder and digs her nails in sharply, but I barely feel it because I'm concentrated on something very different. Her inner walls are pulsing and fluttering around my fingers, so close to the end goal, and I know as soon as I rub her clit with my thumb it'll be the end, but I'm not quite ready for that yet.
"Oh, Jackson," she whines. "Please, make me. I need to… I need…"
I smirk and kiss her cheek, abandoning the ear that started it all. I move my lips to her jaw, then the side of her neck where her pulse is thrumming like crazy, and close my teeth over the top of her breast that's spilling upwards because of the way she's lying.
She moans, arching her back to get me closer to her chest in a way she hasn't for a while. Her mind is cloudy with the potential of an orgasm, though, and I plan on giving her what she wants. While keeping one hand moving inside her, I hastily unbutton the front of her shirt with the other and yank it to the side. Her nipples are already flushed and erect - I worked them up to that point - and they're practically begging for attention.
When I get my mouth on the right one, her voice breaks and her back collapses on the mattress again. I drag my tongue over it, drawing circles over the middle, and she holds the back of my head so I won't go anywhere. I hadn't planned to, but I like seeing that dominant side of her. She has me right where she wants me, and she won't let me get away.
I suck hard, pulling almost her entire breast into my mouth, and she lets out a loud cry.
"Shit!" she shrieks, half surprise and half pleasure.
She's panting when she pushes my head away, and I see that the front of her shirt is now completely soaked with breastmilk. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and laugh, which makes her giggle, too.
"Oops," I say.
With her mind set on one thing only, she grabs my wrist and tells me what to do with her eyes. I don't go back for her breast; instead, I whip the covers away and flip her over after stripping her of the pink shorts she had on.
She loses her breath for a minute due to how fast I got her on her stomach, and she looks back to see what I'm doing after propping herself up on both elbows. I straddle her knees without resting my weight down, then lean forward and take two generous handfuls of her ass. I squeeze as hard as I can, and her head falls forward to land on her wrists - it's not something she'd ever admit out loud, but she loves my hands here.
I rub my thumbs along the lower parts of the cheeks and massage her, shoving her hips down when they lift up. I smile as I kiss the small of her back, then move to the right cheek, where I lick her skin and bite down to shock her.
"Fuck," she whispers, lifting her head again.
"I love it when you curse," I say, smacking the side of her ass so it bounces back. She presses her lips together, thighs too, and closes her eyes with the feeling.
When she turns her head to look back at me, her eyes flash. "Only for you," she says.
The alpha in me comes out - the heady pride over the fact that I'm the only man she's ever slept with. I'm the only one who's seen her intimately, been inside of her, made her come in a thousand different ways. We've made a life together. No one else can say that - she's mine. I'm hers. Something about that turns me on like nothing else.
"That's right, baby," I say, spreading her cheeks before moving to her hips and yanking them up.
With a surprised sound, she lifts her weight to her knees and arches her back, and I get to see her in one of my favorite ways - horny and ready, just for me.
When I sink inside her, I don't rush and she doesn't tell me to. I watch her fingers twist the comforter when I'm buried to the hilt, and feel satisfied because of that. I love the way she feels, too. We're married - we have sex as much or more than any other married couple would - but I have never gotten used to her. I let myself fall forward to rest my forehead against the middle of her spine, and for a moment we stay unmoving, just soaking everything in.
When I start to move, we find a dual rhythm instantly. It doesn't take long at all because we know the other's bodies so well. She lets her head fall and I rub one hand up her back to keep a good grip on her shoulder, one that keeps me grounded as my eyes roll back and the sound of skin against skin drowns out every other thought in my head.
Though she was close before, I come first. I pull her hips flush to mine and shoot off inside her, then wrap my arms around her stomach and overlap her back with my torso. The movement of my hips is erratic and jerky, but I can't control it while I orgasm with my perfect wife underneath me, breathing heavy and waiting for her own release.
I pull out and she turns onto her back, watching me with an expectant expression. We meet eyes and laugh as she spreads her thighs, and I kiss my way up her legs on my way to get settled between them.
"You're so damn beautiful," I say, nuzzling her lower belly. "Have I ever told you that? That you're so damn beautiful?"
She looks at me, chin to chest, one finger in her mouth. "A few times," she says.
"I'll tell you again right now," I say, pushing her thighs further apart with a flat hand on the inside of each. "You're beautiful."
"So are you," she says, smirking with one hand on my cheek. "And I want nothing more than my beautiful husband to give me some amazing head so I can love him even more."
"Even more, huh," I say, kissing her outer lips while feeling her muscles relax. "I don't know how that's possible."
"You'll show me," she says, and lets her shoulders and head collapse on the mattress when I open my mouth on her.
There's remnants of what I left on the inside and outside of her, but I don't care. I don't bother to avoid it, because I'm used to tasting both of us mixed together. She is, too. She's not the only recipient of head after I've been inside her - she's just as much of a giver as I am.
She rubs her palms over her belly while I push my tongue inside her, and drags her nails over my shoulders when I get her close. Her hips move of their own accord - lifting to grind against my face and find that friction - and I let them. I let my head get knocked back and bury my nose and chin just as far as anything else, getting my face completely soaked with the goal of getting her where she wants.
When she comes, she does so loudly. She's usually always loud, and I love that about her. She squeezes her eyes shut tight so her face crinkles, and her mouth falls open desperately as I suck on her clit with everything I've got.
"Look at me," I say, lifting up for just a moment. "April, open your eyes."
She does as I say, and the expression within them is hungry and sated at the same time. Her eyelids fight to close while that orgasm ripples through her and her hips jump and jerk, but she keeps them open and trained on my face.
When it's over, she collapses into a pile of mush, spread-eagle before me. "Shit," she groans, belly moving with deep inhales and exhales.
I start to kiss my way up her body, but she holds my head with both hands before I can get carried away. She traces my features with her gentle fingers, and her eyes are just as soft.
"Are you memorizing me by heart?" I ask, a lilt in my tone.
She doesn't smile, but her eyes lift to meet mine in a manner I feel all the way to the tips of my nerves. "I already know you by heart," she says. "You are inside my heart."
I lean to kiss her and stay still for a long time, solidifying the bond. "I love you," I say. "Where do you think of things like that to say?"
"I don't know," she says, nosing my cheekbone with her eyes closed. "Tell me you love me again."
I smile to myself and tuck my face into her neck, dropping benign kisses all over the warm, damp skin. "I love you, April," I say, then kiss her again. "I love you so much."
"I love you, too," she whispers, and by the conviction in her voice I know she means it.
…
The rest of the morning is spent quietly. Peyton is sleepy and lies on our bed in a homemade baby jail consisting of pillows and blankets while April and I get ready, and we don't exchange much conversation. I don't feel the need to, and I don't think she does, either. We just exist alongside each other in a routine manner that feels good.
When we get to the hospital, though, things aren't quite as calm. Forced back into the environment that holds my greatest enemy at the moment isn't exactly comforting, especially knowing how April wants me to react to the situation. I promised her I would play it cool, and I have to remind myself of that promise. I tell myself that it doesn't matter what I feel about what happened, it matters how she feels. It happened to her.
But I can't get over the fact that he made it happen to her. She didn't have a choice, but he did. He forced himself on her and now gets to walk around bragging about it. That's not okay - that's the furthest thing from okay. Does he just get to continue on living like nothing happened, like he didn't assault a drunk woman at a party? He won't suffer any consequences, and that doesn't sit well with me. I don't know if it ever will.
I can't stop thinking of his hands on her like mine had been this morning. Not in the sense of a competition, but in total disbelief. Why would he think that's something permissible to do? I can touch April, she's my wife. And even so, if she didn't want me to, I wouldn't. It's common decency that he doesn't have, and he disrespected the woman I love.
I want nothing more than to beat him into tomorrow. That would give me so much joy. But I know it would send April over the edge, and I can't do that. I respect her too much.
My mind is spinning a thousand miles per hour and we've only taken a few steps into the attendings' lounge. I've gone on autopilot, didn't even notice that I changed into my scrubs and April did, too. When I come back to earth, she's clipping on her ID badge and shrugging into her lab coat, ready to go.
"Anything big for today?" she asks.
I shrug. "Rhinoplasty at 10," I say. "And I think I have a lipo on the board. Slow day."
"If you get bored, you know where to find me," she says, giggling.
"Running that ER like that motherfuckin' boss you are," I say, pulling her closer by the waist as I try to shove Vince's smug face out of my head.
"Yep," she says, singsong. She presses two flat palms against my chest and tips her head up, smiling with low-lidded eyes, the tips of our noses barely touching. "I gotta go," she whispers.
"Alright," I say. "Let's get coffee later, if you can."
"I'll text you," she says.
I wave her goodbye and sit down on the bench to put on my work sneakers. I take a deep breath and tell myself to just have a normal day. Go about things as I always would, and push what happened out of my head. I'm glad we didn't talk about it any further, but at the same time I almost wanted to. I want to make sure one last time that she's sure about what she wants - maybe there's some way we could anonymously report him without any of it ever coming back to her.
I know I can't suggest that, though, because I wasn't lying yesterday when I told her that everyone already knows. I heard the interns talking about it, and when they get a hold of gossip, it spreads like syphilis among them and it's usually equally as nasty. It would be bad enough to have April's name in their mouths, but the fact that Vince is painting her in such an unflattering light is the worst part. With the way they made it sound, he was telling the story like April had wanted it. I hope they're not stupid enough to believe that's the truth.
I sigh when I stand and try to clear my mind. Today will be a good day, I'll make sure of it. Even if it has to be forced.
…
April and I meet for coffee a bit later, then go our separate ways again. It was a nice little date - we talked about her parents' surprise party and how her sisters aren't pulling their weight, which isn't anything new. We laughed over the fact that no matter how hard she tries, April always trips over the word 'ornament,' no matter how easy it seems. I made her say it over and over just to make us both laugh.
So, I leave the cafeteria with a smile on my face and head down the hall to the nurses' station. I go through a few routine post-ops, check in on my long-term patients, and run into Alex about an hour later. He doesn't look happy in the slightest - in fact, he looks worried and upset.
"Hey," I say, eyebrows creasing. "You alright?"
Wrinkles appear on his forehead and he looks at me like I've grown a second head. His eyes narrow when he says, "Not really, are you?"
"I… yeah," I say, confused. "What's going on?"
He presses his lips together and nods me into a more private space, away from foot traffic in the hall. "I heard about what happened with your wife and Michaels."
My stomach twists as anxiety ebbs and flows throughout my body. This is exactly what I didn't want. Intern gossip is fine and doesn't mean much. No one takes it seriously coming from them. But if it made its way to Alex, an attending like us, that's detrimental. That's dangerous.
"It's not what you think," I say. "All he's doing is spreading lies. He came onto her at your party. It was assault. She didn't-"
"That's what I heard," he says. "Dude, he's gone. He's fired. Outta here."
I stand there, shocked and unable to respond for a good minute as I try and process what he said. On one hand, Vince is gone. That's the best news I've heard in a while. But on the other, he's been reported and the whole hospital knows what went down, which is exactly what April didn't want. She wanted this to blow over, and I can't help but wonder if she knows yet.
"I should be the one to tell her," I say aloud, and Alex nods.
"Yeah."
"Shit," I mutter, glancing at the floor. "She's gonna think it was me."
"What?"
I look back up to Alex's face. "She didn't…" I say, but cut myself off. "It doesn't matter. Thanks for telling me. I gotta go find April."
"She's in the pit," he says. "Yelling her ass off."
"Fuck," I murmur under my breath. If she's yelling, that means she knows. Yelling means she's pissed. "I gotta go."
I hurry towards the pit, even though timing ceased to matter as soon as she found out. Once I get to the first floor, I find her in triage, barking at a nurse who looks perfectly capable of the task at hand.
"April," I say, coming up behind her. The laces of her trauma gown are tied sloppy and loose, which is never the case.
She flips her head around and looks at me with scrutiny. Recognition flashes across her eyes for a split second, and it changes to guardedness before I can blink.
"Not now, Jackson," she says, flying past me. "I'm busy."
"You're screaming at nurses," I say. "We should talk."
"I'm doing my job," she insists, plucking a clipboard out of an intern's hand who stares at her for a moment too long. "Why don't you go do yours?"
"I just need you to listen for a second," I say.
"You didn't listen to me, so why should I give you the same courtesy?" she asks, peering through the swinging double doors. "We got an incoming!" she shouts to the room.
"It's not what it looks like," I say. "I was surprised, too, I-"
"I don't wanna hear it right now," she says.
"You don't know the half of-"
"What I know is that you went behind my back and did what I deliberately asked you not to do," she says, then jumps onto a moving stretcher. "Now, I'm gonna have to ask you to get out of my way."
I step back, fuming, so the gurney doesn't run me over. If she won't listen, that's not my fault, but she doesn't know the whole story. She refuses to hear me. This is what happens when she gets pissed - she refuses to hear another side.
I let out a loud sound of anger and turn on my heel, walking away from the ER and my hardheaded, petulant-acting wife. I clench my fists and grit my teeth, getting further away from her and feeling more helpless as I do so. All I needed to do was say a handful of words and clear the air, but she wouldn't even give me that. All the anger from last night is resurfaced, though I promised myself I wouldn't get to that spot again.
"Damn it," I curse, staring at the OR board without seeing much of anything.
Now, this will sit with me all day. I'll be thinking about it until I see her again, and I'll inevitably be met with icy silence when we meet to pick Peyton up. That'll be great.
I go through the motions for the rest of the day without focusing on anything. All I can think about is the fight April and I are definitely going to have, unless I can find a way to make her hear me before things can escalate. That might be a possibility, if I start talking fast enough. Everything would be just fine if she gave me thirty seconds to explain the situation earlier.
I try and put it out of my mind, but it doesn't work. I go through the lipo I had scheduled and find time to finish some charts, and the hospital grows eerily quiet while I concentrate.
When I'm finished, I meander downstairs to hang around the ER, checking to see if April has a free moment. This way, I can just get the confrontation over with and avoid the buildup for later tonight. But I don't see her - I don't see anyone I recognize. There are a few residents working with minor injuries on the floor, but no attendings.
"Where is everyone?" I ask a passing nurse.
She gives me a look like I should already know. "They all headed out," she says. "There was a call from a domestic disturbance downtown. Something about a guy and his wife… I'm not sure. The police are there, too."
I furrow my eyebrows. "What doctors went?"
"Dr. Hunt, Dr. Kepner, Dr. Altman, Dr. Edwards, and a few of the residents," she says. "They left a while ago. They should be back pretty soon."
"Thanks," I say, absently.
A domestic disturbance? Police activity, too? April does this kind of stuff all the time, so I have no reason to be worried. I'm more curious than anything, but I know it wouldn't be right to wait around the ER to see the incoming. That's disrespectful, and the last thing I need to do right now is get in April's way while she works. She'd have my head on a platter.
So, I walk out of the ER and head to the plastics floor, where I do a roundabout check on all my patients. I have a good number of them, and I'm happy with their recovery. Once I'm finished, about an hour has passed and my stomach is growling again, so I take off my lab coat and set off in the direction of the daycare. I'll pick up Peyton and we can grab a bite to eat together before I finish up my shift.
I'm lost in my head on the way there, so I practically run into Stephanie in the middle of the hall. Her face is ashen, eyes wide and unblinking, mouth set in a watery frown.
"Whoa," I say, reaching to steady her. "You okay?"
She swallows hard and doesn't say anything, but I don't have time to press the matter before I get a page. I look down at the beeping machine and see that it's urgent, and I'm needed in OR 2.
"Shit," I say. "I gotta go."
I break into a run at the 911 page and scrub in as fast as I can while still being thorough. Izzie is next to me, going through the same routine with dutiful concentration, and Teddy bursts through the door not long after.
"Avery, we need you to treat these chemical burns," she says. "They're concentrated on the patient's chest and arms. She's in bad shape. Her heart won't make it if I don't work on it simultaneously."
"What the hell happened?" I ask, bumping through the door with my hands in the air.
"Hydrofluoric acid," Teddy says. "Husband threw it on her."
"Holy shit," I say, but know that now isn't the time to get into the details.
All I need to know is the extent of the burns, the substance used to cause them, and the depth they've already reached. Once I know all of that information, I can get to work on mending this woman's skin that's warped beyond recognition.
I work with insane focus, and the world around me disappears like it usually does while I'm in the middle of surgery. The only sound that forces me back to the surface is that of the heart monitor beeping erratically, and Teddy's motions becoming more haphazard and panicked.
"We're losing her!" she says. "Shit. Her heart can't take it. Give me the paddles!"
"You can't shock her," I say loudly. "You'll burn her skin right off."
"Her heart stopped, Avery, now move!" she says, and rubs the paddles together. "Clear!"
Teddy shocks the patient, but the long, deafening beep continues and shrouds the room in a sense of sick knowing. Her skin disintegrates and peels away from where Teddy shocked her, and if I weren't a doctor I couldn't bear to look. But I have to.
"Damn it," she says. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"
I take a look at the woman lying on the bed - the chemical burns on her chest, arms, and a bit of her face, and feel something splinter inside. Her husband did this to her - the person who was supposed to love and protect her, build her up, be her partner. He killed her.
I look up at Teddy, who's standing to the side massaging her temples, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Where's April?" I ask.
She meets my eyes quickly, then looks away.
"She was at the scene with you," I say. "Shouldn't she be in here, too? Was there another patient?"
Teddy shakes her head and closes her eyes. "She's in OR 1," she answers.
"So, there was someone else," I say, taking my gloves off with the idea of going to see April. I can only imagine this has shaken her - she'll need some support, no matter if we're fighting or not. "Was it a kid?" I really hope it wasn't. She'll be wrecked if it was a kid.
"Jackson," Teddy says, then leads both myself and Izzie out of the room. "She isn't operating in OR 1. She's-"
"What?" I ask, the words tumbling from my mouth all at once. "What are you saying?"
"I need you to stay calm," she says.
Izzie's gone completely silent beside me. She doesn't know what's going on, either.
"Something happened to her, didn't it? And you let me operate while knowing that?" I ask.
"You couldn't do anything," she says. "You know the rule about family in an OR, it just isn't possible. We needed you here. This woman needed you."
"And we lost her!" I say. "What if the same thing's happening to April right now? What happened to her, Teddy?"
She lets out a loud exhale and sets her jaw in preparation. "He threw it on her, too," she states, very softly, very firmly.
I can't compute what she said. I see her mouth continuing to move, but no sound comes out. I try and pick up my feet to run out of the scrub room, but I can't seem to go anywhere. It's like I'm cemented to the ground, or my legs weigh a thousand pounds each. I need to get to her, I need to see my wife, but I can't do a thing.
It's Izzie's hand on my arm that sends me rocketing back to consciousness, and I take a huge inhale once it happens. Her grip is cold and clammy, fingers circled around my wrist in a desperate act of solidarity. She doesn't know what to do next, but I do. I have to go.
I burst out of the room without any heed to either of the women I leave behind, and sprint at a breakneck speed to OR 1. Once I get there, though, it's empty save for a janitor mopping the floor. I don't see any blood, but that might just be because she's done a good job so far.
"Where-" I pant, "When did… did someone… is there a body?"
She looks up, more confused than anything. "They took her to a recovery room," she says. "What are you talking about, a body?"
"Thanks," I breathe, and run into the hall yet again. On my way, I run into Stephanie for a second time and realize why she looked so strange earlier - she was there, and she knew. There was no time to tell me because my pager went off. "Where is she?" I demand.
"304," she says. "She's sleeping."
I run to the very end of the hall to Room 304, and come to a complete halt once I arrive. I stand there trying to catch my breath, one hand on the doorframe, and stare in at her.
April is a small person, but she's never looked as tiny as she does lying in a cloth gown with the covers pulled up to her waist. Her arms are lying comfortably atop it, hands slack and frail-looking. The skin that had been singed and broiled on the woman we lost is untouched and porcelain on April - her arms are fine, along with her chest and neck. The bottom half of her face is clear, too.
The only thing that's different is her eyes, which I can't see. There's a bandage wrapped around them that covers her cheekbones, temples, and forehead, too.
"Oh, god," I mutter, then rush to her side. I kneel on the floor next to the bed and grasp her hand, bringing it to my lips to kiss it. Her skin is freezing.
"She's stable," a voice says, behind me. I turn around and see Mark standing there looking solemn.
"What happened to her?" I ask, still clutching April's hand.
"The guy went crazy at the scene," he says. "They were apparently trying to get the wife out while the police detained the husband, but he somehow found a way to get that acid on Kepner, too. He threw it in her face, in her eyes. She…" He clears his throat. "She was in a considerable amount of pain, so we sedated her in the ambulance. Hydrofluoric acid is one of the worst, it-"
"I know," I snap.
I just worked on clearing it from a dying woman's skin as he did the same for April a room away. I hadn't even known. But what could I have done, even if I did?
"She has burns on the skin that's covered," he says. "I took care of them as they flushed her eyes out. There's no way to tell how badly the acid has affected her sight. We'll know the initial impact in a few hours. It could be nothing at all. After that, it's just a step-by-step process. But in a little bit, when she wakes up… how her eyes look when the bandages come off will be telling."
"Okay," I say, and stroke her skin.
I watch her chest rise and fall as she breathes, and thank the god I'm not sure exists that she's alive. Her outcome could be much worse. She got acid in her eyes and on her skin, but they cleared it and all she needs now is time. She'll be fine, back to normal, better than brand new.
"You got her right here," Mark says, patting me between the shoulder blades. "It'll be a few hours, but you should be around when she wakes up."
"I didn't plan on leaving," I say.
"I know," he says softly. "If you need anything, just page me."
He heads out, but I lift my head before he can get far. "Mark," I say, and he turns around. "Don't… don't tell anyone yet. She wouldn't want that. Just keep it quiet, alright? She'll be fine. She won't want everyone freaking out over her for no reason."
"I can do that," he says, with a slow nod. "And Lexie will take care of Peyton tonight."
I nod in return, thank him, and climb into bed with April. It's not quite big enough to accommodate both of us comfortably, but the closeness is something I think both of us desperately need. I need that firm reminder that while I might be scared out of my mind, at least she's breathing next to me.
I tickle her arms for hours, knowing how much she loves it. I bury my face in her neck and breathe in the scent of her, the faint traces of Rochas Femme and the sweetness of her skin. I run my fingers through the ends of her hair and adjust the way it lies around her shoulders, knowing just how she likes it.
I try and sleep, but it doesn't work. I'm too worried about not being completely present when she wakes up.
It's the middle of the night when it happens. She stirs, fingers twitching before anything else, then her feet. She situates her legs and makes a sound in the back of her throat, one that seems confused and a bit distressed.
"Hey," I say, then take her hand. "You're okay. I'm here. You're okay."
Her movements grow quicker, more frantic and worried. She gasps and tries to sit up, but she's probably in some pain and it doesn't work too well. Her hands fly to her face to touch the gauze, but she removes them immediately after wincing. The skin underneath is still raw and the nerves are probably exposed. The bandages could probably use a change soon, but not right this moment.
"Jackson," she says, and feels for me. She turns to the side and grips my upper arm, fingers digging in with fear. "Jackson, I can't see."
"You're alright," I tell her, trying to keep my voice as low and soothing as I can. "It's just the bandages. You have bandages over your eyes. They're helping you heal."
"But I can't see anything," she says, assumably still a bit disoriented from the anesthetic.
"Baby, it's okay," I whisper, stroking her hair. "It's dark, and the gauze is just in the way. Everything is fine, I promise. You got hurt, but you're okay now. Everything is gonna be fine."