A/N: Sorry for another long wait, guys, writing has been difficult lately, it took me forever to write something I was vaguely happy with. So, please, let me know what you think, since this was a real struggle. Sticking with Aprils POV for this chapter but Jackson will be back for the next one.

Thanks again for everyone who takes the time to review, it really means a lot, any and all feedback is much appreciated.

"I love you!"

She is taken aback by the declaration, and looks at Jackson with panic rising in her throat. He returns her look with a deeply furrowed brow and furiously blinking eyes, clearly unsure about how to proceed.

"I fucking love you!" Meg repeats, though doesn't follow up with a smile, and she is almost thankful her newfound enthusiasm has its limitations. She has never seen Meg this excited about anything and it's terrifying in its own way.

A week has passed since the awards show, a week since that photo and a week since that kiss, and a whole week being caught up in an intense media storm. During that time she has spoken to an increasingly jubilant Meg exactly 15 times and her hopes of hearing from Jackson has decreased exponentially with each passing day. The amount of times she has checked her phone for technical problems is almost embarrassing, especially considering Meg's constant phone calls have put her to shame time and time over. She tries to search his eyes for an explanation but he barely lifts his head to face her while Meg drones on about what PR geniuses they are.

"We have to capitalise on this," Meg concludes like she is merely informing them, not asking them. "You sold 25 000 copies of your album this week April, which is a fucking miracle considering how long it's been out. And your latest single is climbing in the charts again, which is practically unheard of. Even booking requests are coming back in, we're talking big tour dates again."

For once in her life Meg actually looks pleased with her, like she's done something right or perhaps more accurately not done something wrong. She is relaxed against the back of her white leather chair, taking her time with them rather than rushing through the meeting like she has something more important to deal with than her sorry drama - quite unlike any other meeting she's ever had with her. Meg's even deigned to let Alex sit down in an actual chair, which seems absurdly out of character and must be the reason Alex is practically bouncing in his seat. She can see him physically struggling to keep his hands from flapping with excitement.

"That's great," she offers, waiting for the catch. With Meg, there is always a catch.

"It's fucking brilliant, is what it is," Meg booms, eyes glittering in her normally expressionless face. "And it's all because of that one photo where you look like you're about to drop to your knees and shove his dick in your mouth on live national television."

She nearly starts hyperventilating at Meg's choice of words, feeling her face instantly break out in a hot sweat as she drops her gaze to the floor, avoiding all eye contact with Jackson. Somewhere in the background she swears she can hear Alex squeal in delight.

"That's a… vivid picture," Jackson mumbles, clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably in the sofa next to her. Maybe she's being paranoid but for a moment it feels like he is shifting ever so slightly away from her, like he's worried she is actually going to jump him there and then.

"Well, I wouldn't have put it quite like that," Indie laughs nervously, stuck between trying to impress Meg and placating her client. All she's been doing for the entirety of the meeting so far is bat her lashes furiously, alternating her attentions between her idol Meg and an equally unimpressed Jackson. "But it's good news for you too Jackson, the backlash against Baz has been pretty heavy and you're coming up looking like the good guy. I've actually had a lot of requests coming in too, and not just for the vapid shirtless photo shoots I know you hate, but actual campaigns for fashion houses and drinks labels, actual money jobs. Great money jobs!"

She steals a sideways glance at Jackson, who doesn't seem that enthused about the prospect of modelling with clothes on either. When he doesn't respond Indie's lash fluttering increases in speed, her already brilliant smile widening in desperation.

"I've also had a few charities contact me too," Indie offers, even throwing her a pleading look, like it would make any difference to Jackson if she was enthusiastic about it. "Your name means something to these people, that's got to count for something."

There is still no response from Jackson, though his stare softens a touch at Indie's words. The others probably can't tell, but she can see that there is a sense of relief or even a glimmer of pride somewhere in there.

"The board is happy," Indie continues, whilst Meg is clearly over it already, shooting daggers at her and itching to cut her off. "And your mother is positively thrilled."

"Well fuck me! As long as mommy's happy I guess we're all good, India!" Meg gushes exaggeratedly, cackling loudly and just stopping short of slapping herself on the thigh.

"I only came out to support April because she asked me to," Jackson snaps, suddenly animated and visibly annoyed. "You should have been there to stop that ridiculous farce, that was a shitty thing to put her through. Where the fuck were you?"

The room falls silent and four mouths fall open at the same time, Alex's eyes widening in awe at anyone daring to speak to Meg in that way. She shrinks into the sofa; physically bracing herself for the impending onslaught she is sure is coming.

"No, that's fair," Meg says plainly, making Alex whip his head around so fast she can practically hear the vertebrae cracking in his neck. "It should never have happened, and words were had afterwards, I can promise you that. I apologise April, that was not good enough."

She barely knows where to look, at Meg's astonishingly sincere face, at Alex and Indie's gaping open mouths, or at Jackson's soft eyes. She decides on Jackson, but regrets it immediately as his eyes darken the moment she meets them, bringing her right back to that moment in the theatre when the floor seemed to fall away from under her feet.

"In any event it ended up being a good thing for you both," Meg continues, somewhat chastened by Jackson's reproach, a little more careful in choosing her words. "And we, me and cashmere tits here, the record label and your mother, would like it if we could extend the contract for another six months. Would that be ok?"

"Mmm… yeah," she agrees instantly, momentarily worried that she agreed too quickly, but a sly glance over to Jackson reveals that he is nodding furiously.

"Yep, yeah, that would be…" his voice trails off as their eyes meet again, and for a moment she is back in her kitchen again, dark, intense eyes roaming all over her body, making her unsteady on her feet despite clinging on to the kitchen counter. She tears her eyes off him with some effort, aware that they were holding eye contact for far longer than necessary or polite when in other people's company.

"Great," Meg concludes, getting up from her chair and walking over to Indie's, indicating it's time for her to leave. "Off you go."

They all oblige, scrambling to their feet and hurrying towards the door. She's hoping Indie has to run off immediately so she can be alone with Jackson for a little bit, even if it's just to see if the man that closed his eyes after checking her out is still there.

"Not you," Meg stops her, indicating for her to sit back down on the soft leather sofa.

She flashes Jackson a frustrated look, disappointed to not even have a minute alone with him. He offers up his palms ever so slightly, pausing for a brief moment to say something, but bites his bottom lip and blinks rapidly before turning to leave again.

"I'll call you," he mutters quietly so only she can hear, eyes lingering on hers one last time, briefly flickering over her lips before he's gone.

An hour later she slumps out of Meg's office despondently, knowing there is no chance he is waiting for her. She was never less eager to talk about songwriting than just now, but when Meg talks she listens: it's an old ingrained habit she can't shake. Alex catches up with her before she reaches the elevator, excitedly skipping beside her, wide-eyed and gleeful.

"Catch lunch with me?" he beams, linking his arm into hers, smelling the gossip on her.

She concedes, because she is too polite to say no, because she is actually very hungry and a tiny bit because she really needs some company.

Alex babbles happily next to her as the elevator descends and continues to chatter away as they cross the glass and steel lobby. He is oblivious to the fact that she has fallen a few steps behind, scanning the lobby and the plaza in front of the office building for a familiar figure. He continues his stream of consciousness blathering as they cross the plaza, as she fails to find that familiar figure, as her hopes are dashed. He doesn't notice how her shoulders slump, or how her mouth stretches in to a thin line, or how her head topples slightly over her centre of gravity.

"Sooo, tell me everything," he gushes as soon as the waitress has taken their order. He leans forward over the table, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk, ready to pounce on her.

"Tell you what?" she sidesteps, avoiding eye contact and taking a large sip of her water.

"Oh, come on April!" He swats her hand playfully but with thinly veiled impatience in his voice. "You and Jackson. What's going on?"

"Nothing," she brushes him off, feigning indifference. "It's just work, that's all."

She attempts to arrange her face into a carefree expression, hoping her little smile is confidently serene, but she can feel the corners of her mouth dragging her smile up to something more expectant, something more giddy.

"Oh please!" he scoffs, giving her a short, condescending laugh. "You couldn't keep your eyes off each other in there, it was embarrassing!"

Just in time the waitress arrives with their plates, interrupting Alex's line of questioning and giving her a little time to compose herself. Behind a plate piled high with artfully arranged salad leaves his mouth hangs open, paused mid-question, visibly annoyed at the fussing waitress. The minute she turns her back he launches at her again.

"It's not just work, I can see it on your face," he hisses, stabbing his fork aggressively into the mound of salad in front of him.

"It's nothing," she insists, quickly filling her mouth with fries to stop her face giving her up.

"Just tell me," he persists, now pilfering fries off her plate in between mouthfuls of what looks like a very low-calorie salad, getting increasingly frustrated with her. "I work so hard at that shitty job, I get yelled at 9 hours a day! Yesterday Meg made me unpack her suitcase and take her dirty underwear to the dry cleaners! I have a masters in communications for God's sake, I need this April! Just give me a little gossip already."

His face is contorted into a deep frown, a pout punctuating his outburst, as he grabs another couple of fries from her plate.

"Look, just have my fries, ok?" she sighs, rolling her eyes at his petulance, but at the same time pitying him, wondering how any of them take Meg's constant despotism.

"No, I'm on a diet," he huffs, returning to stab his salad as if he hates it. "It doesn't count if they're your fries," he adds after she arches her eyebrow at him.

"Ok fine," she sighs, succumbing to the pout, the pity and the persistence. "It's not just work."

Her words are barely audible over the buzz of the restaurant, but Alex can hear her perfectly, perking up instantly, hands flapping exultantly.

"Oh emmm geee, I knew it!" he triumphs, shoving his plate to the side and leaning over the table. "So what happened? How long has this been going on? Oh my god, did you sleep with him? Was it amazing? I bet it was amazing! Oh my god, he's so hot! He was amazing, right?"

"Alex!" She has to stop him before he spins out of control, before his eyes roll back in his head with excitement, before he spontaneously combusts, before he's written an entire romantic novel in his head. "Please, we just kissed."

"Omg, you kissed!" he fawns, and she swears she can see a tear forming in the corner of his eye. "That is so goddamn adorable!"

"Right," she sighs, shaking her head slightly, not quite ready to share his enthusiasm, not quite ready to believe in the beginnings of something more.

"But..?" he probes, noticing her reserve, her lack of excitement.

"But… I haven't spoken to him since," she admits, shoving her unfinished lunch to the side. "So right now it really is just work."

"Oh." Alex's enthusiasm fades quickly, leaning back in his chair, clearly unsatisfied with the level of juiciness in this particular piece of gossip. "No, you know what? I saw the way he looked at you. He's not done."

She's about to respond, to argue every point her insecurities are bringing to the surface, to find any possible reason why he is done and why it's just work, but the buzzing of her phone in her purse distracts her.

"Hey," she says awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with Alex as she answers the call she's been waiting a week for.

"Hi," the voice on the other end hums, softly and familiarly, but giving nothing away.

Across the table Alex has picked up on her reddening skin and the change in her tone of voice, and sits up sharply, gesturing for her to confirm she is talking to Jackson.

"Sorry I didn't call earlier," Jackson continues, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"Yeah," she replies, because she has no intelligent response to offer, because she is busy waving off Alex who is mouthing at her silently, but furiously.

"So, I have this event I have to go to," he presses on, quickly sidestepping awkward topics. "It's a foundation thing, it'll probably be boring, but I was kind of hoping you'd come with me?"

"Yeah, no that's fine," she agrees, trying to keep her voice neutral, trying to keep her face neutral, trying to give neither Jackson nor Alex any impression other than that she is completely calm and unfazed.

"That sounds like fun," she adds, and immediately regrets it when Alex shrieks loudly and starts clapping his hands furiously.

"Yeah?" Jackson sounds surprised, but pleased, and she makes a mental note that she should never try to pursue a career in acting.

"I mean, the contract's back on, right, so whatever you need," she rushes to say, prompting Alex to throw a stray cherry tomato at her and pasting another big pout on his face.

"Right, of course," he mutters casually, giving her the details in a business like manner before hanging up.

Across the table from her Alex is slumped in his chair, hand covering his eyes as he shakes his head in disappointment.

"That was abysmal, April Kepner," he sighs, dramatically waving off the waitress who has brought desert menus. "No desert for you."

The ballroom is crowded and filled with an entirely different caliber of people from the events she normally attends. Almost everyone in the room is older than her, there is practically a sea of grey and greying hair around her. The laughter punctuating conversation is polite and amused rather than raucous and heartfelt, the drinks are being sipped rather than knocked back and the atmosphere is calm and comfortable rather than frenzied and buzzing. She's glad she had some say in tonight's dress choice, she feels like herself with her arms, back and cleavage covered for once, the long, straight skirt matching the formal setting.

She accepts a glass of champagne from a waiter, but passes on the canapés, careful to keep her dress pristine white. Even the canapés at this event are old school, all blinis, caviar and smoked salmon, not a slider, banana leaf or soup shot garnished with a precariously balanced shrimp in sight. She can practically smell the money in the room; taking in the expensive tailor made suits, the big watches, the discreet, but no doubt real and not borrowed diamonds on every hand and on every neck.

Jackson is by her side, his very own big, shiny watch on his wrist as he guides her through the room, making brief and polite introductions to doctors, scientists, bankers and investors. This event is not their usual speed, there are plenty of photographers here, but photographers who politely ask if they can take a photo before they shoot, the photo wall by the entrance is calm and organised, a few people posing for a photograph or two before slinking away unnoticed. This event doesn't require quite as many PDAs as usual, but his hand never breaks contact, and either finds a place inside hers or on her waist.

She makes small talk and smiles brightly at Harper Avery board members and their spouses, sipping her champagne carefully. She finds herself resting her eyes on him often, noting how his bespoke tuxedo fits perfectly over his shoulders, a faint hint of muscle moving under the thick black fabric, the sharp edge of his immaculate dress shirt meeting the thickening scruff on his throat. Age aside; he fits in perfectly in this company, easily engaging in conversation, eyes sparkling naturally, his smile relaxed and easy. Still, he pulls at his collar a little too often, as if it's too tight, flutters his eyelashes a little too furiously as he deflects questions on his career, and perhaps it's because they have spent so much time together, or perhaps it's because she knows him so well by now, but she can see that he's uncomfortable. The thing that concerns her is that she's not sure if that's due to the nature of the event or her.

This event is not their usual speed, but this new thing between them is messing with their normal routine. His hand in hers distracts her; his hand on her waist sends cold shivers up her spine and all the way up to her neck. His touch is unbearable, too much and not enough at the same time. All she wants is to be alone with him, to find out if this is more than just work, if he is done with her, or if she is done with him, but it's becoming increasingly obvious that he is a rarity at these events and people are clamouring to get a quick word in with him.

Half an hour and a dozen introductions later they are finally alone, still surrounded by people, but standing in the middle of the plush ballroom unobserved and uninterrupted. It takes them both by surprise, and the way he tugs at his collar tells her his discomfort is down to her.

"So, about the other night," she starts, suddenly deciding that it's better to rip the band-aid off rather than spend six months skirting around each other.

"Yeah, sorry I didn't call you," he interrupts, lashes fluttering in front of his eyes a little too rapidly, searching hers but protecting his.

"Why didn't you?" Her voice sounds confident and direct, but her stomach is in free fall, disbelieving of being thrown straight into the deep end.

He opens his mouth to answer as a photographer approaches them for a photo. They oblige, move closer together, her arm snaking around his waist, his hand coming to a rest on her hip. They smile automatically, relaxing into a togetherness that is familiar to them. As the photographer takes his shot, his hand burns into her hip, radiating heat from each fingertip to the pit of her stomach. He keeps it there after the photographer has lowered his lens, keeps it there until they are alone again, making her gasp every so slightly as he removes it. His eyes are dark and narrow as he turns to face her.

"I didn't call because I wasn't sure if you kissed me for me, or if you kissed me for Baz," he says quietly, his breath warm on her face, his handprint still embedded on her hip.

"There you are, baby!" Catherine Avery plants a big kiss on her son's cheek, leaving a bright pink lipstick mark in her trail and jolting them apart. "April, darling!"

"Good to see you again, Dr Avery", she swallows, managing to escape the lipstick despite the air kisses, but at least Dr Avery seems pleased to see her, or at the very least pleased with the role she has played in keeping the family name out of the mud.

"I see you still like to keep things complicated, baby," Dr Avery smiles curtly; referring to some conversation she's not been privy to. He simply shakes his head, and gives her a warning look in response, wiping the lipstick off his cheek. "Come, I have to introduce you to Dr Metzler, he came all the way from Switzerland to be here tonight."

She whisks them away to meet yet more people, to introduce the heir apparent to important people, to show him off or perhaps even show him the path she wishes he had taken. She is sure she has met every person in the room by the time people take their seats at the tables for dinner. She's not afforded a chance to speak to Jackson alone again, as the man next to her at the table launches into a lengthy discussion about the advances made in the field of gene therapy used in the treatment of breast cancer. She ums and ahs and nods and tries to pay attention, because on any other night she might find the conversation interesting, but her entire body is radiating towards Jackson, towards finishing their conversation.

After sitting through five speeches without managing to get one word in with him, she gets up to use the bathroom. She dabs a cloth with cold water on her neck, careful not to dislodge her make up. She is frustrated with him, with her, with this evening. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts and gives herself the rundown she performs before each concert. She tells herself that she can do this, she can smile politely and make small talk all night, for him, she can do it. She tells herself that this will be a successful night, for him, for his family, for the foundation, the rest can wait. She can feel her resolve growing and her frustration bowing to her will, she can play the game, jump through hoops, for his sake. She swallows her objections, the words waiting on the tip of her tongue, forcing through a calm mask designed to get them both through the night.

As she exits the bathroom she takes a wrong turn, suddenly finding herself in a deserted corridor dotted with doors marked "Private". She turns to make her way back, only to come face to face with Jackson. He comes to a halt right in front of her, eyes meeting hers briefly before landing on her lips. Her mouth is dry, unable to scramble up the words that have been on the tip of her tongue all night, unable to close the gap between them.

He does it for them, moves one step closer, then one more, hands still in his pockets, bottom lip clasped underneath his teeth. He takes another step and she can feel his breath on her cheeks, warming them up just as blood rushes to her head. He takes another step, his legs brushing against hers, standing so close that all she has to do is tilt her head upward and her lips would find his.

"Was it for me?" he whispers, voice raw and uncertain, still not touching her or looking her in the eye.

She swallows hard, silently imploring her throat to find its voice.

"It was all for you," she manages with some effort, eyes focused on his lips, watching as he runs his tongue over them.

He releases one hand from his pocket then, bringing it up to cup her chin, tilting her head upwards, letting his lips meet hers, softly at first, barely touching. Her hands fly up to his waist on their own accord, pulling him closer with her hands, pulling him closer with her mouth. His hands find their way to her hair, grasping and pulling as the kiss deepens. He moves her swiftly across the floor, slamming her into the wall, her brain barely registering the dull pain as electricity runs up her spine and covers the back of her head with small pinpricks of white heat. Her breathing grows heavy as they tug at each other to bring the other closer, to be impossibly close to one another. He pulls her hips closer to his before slamming them back against the wall, eagerly, almost desperately grabbing at any part of her. She lets out a shallow gasp as he releases her lips and finds a spot just above her collarbone, the blood pounding in her veins below the thin layer of skin.

He changes the way she breathes, the way her heart beats, the way her body moves and the way she thinks, and she is powerless to stop him. And she doesn't want to stop him, doesn't ever want him to stop, but a door behind them opens and loud voices emerge, breaking them breathlessly apart. They stand close, his forehead resting on hers as they both try to control their breathing. They giggle at each other with flushed faces and bright eyes, not allowing words to break the moment. He pulls back slightly, letting his eyes roam all over her as he did that night in her kitchen. Once he has taken in every part of her he closes his eyes for a moment, savouring her. He's not done with her, and she's not done with him either.