Chapter 7: Delicate
This ain't for the best
My reputation's never been worse, so
You must like me for me
We can't make
Any promises now, can we, babe?
But you can make me a drink
.
When she walks into Laura's room the next day, she can't help the look disappointment on her face, knowing that she was expecting to go home in the next few days. Leaving the door slightly opened, she walks in to see Laura and Ben talking away.
It's her first day back at work since Boston, a full two days since she's seen Jackson after she dropped Harriet off at his apartment the same day they'd arrived. While she wishes she could say nothing had changed between them, April's decided to get into the habit of not lying to herself anymore.
Something has shifted, but surely, it's just further proof of her losing herself, right? Yet… his presence doesn't feel much like losing herself, but rather like reconnecting to an anchor that'd quietly left.
However, this isn't Montana. She doesn't have to feel guilt, this time, for things that end up being more casual than she'd anticipated. No, this time, she is in charge.
"Dr Kepner! It's good to see you!" She's smiling, unaware of the news that's about to be bestowed onto her.
"Laura, we need to talk about you leaving." And by the look on her face, it's pretty obvious that she won't be.
Laura listens attentively as April tells her that the infection on her arm is getting bigger and hasn't been responding to the antibiotics that they put her on. She's calm, nodding along with an understanding gaze – after all, she'd survived horrific burns to a large part of her body, and seemingly reconnected with her ex-husband, a few more days in the hospital maybe aren't the worst thing in the world.
"That's alright," she finally says, and squirms a bit as she tries to sit up more, "but could I get the bandages around my elbow changed? They're too tight, I think."
"Of course, I'll page Dr Avery." April is glad that Laura's taking it well, admiring her perseverance to get through it.
A small smile plays on Laura's lips, and she looks at April, "About Dr Avery… Ben told me not to ask, but I'm too curious… are you two together?"
A flash of confusion flashes over her eyes, "What makes you say that?"
"Well, not to be indiscreet – but it's just the way you two look at each other when you're in the same room, like there's no one else around." She can tell the doctor is flustered, as she shuffles slightly while holding the tablet that has her chart on it.
"I don't – I – No, Dr Avery and I are not together." It's absurd she thinks, that anyone would still think that, almost two years after they divorced.
She decides to blame the question on the heavy dose of medicine Laura is currently on, deciding that's a much more viable answer rather than having to think of the way Jackson and her look at each other. Truthfully, she thinks, I do my best to glare at him.
And to some extent, it's true. Laura had been here for almost a month, and when she'd first arrived, they'd both been in a different place. Sure, their recent trip to Boston had been surprisingly… nice, but she also doesn't have amnesia – one nice weekend, a few nice gestures here and there, it's not enough to erase the past.
They'd both made it clear that neither could forget the past, after all.
You don't forgive me.
No, and you don't either.
Laura smiles, knowing that April wants to understand what led her to believe that, "You live long enough to see the same eyes in different people."
April nods, dropping the subject, "I'll make sure Dr Avery comes take a look at your bandages."
She leaves the room, slightly flustered as she looks down at the door. She widens the door's gap, talking a left with her eyes still fixed down when –
- her face collides with a chest that smells familiar and feels it too. Startled, she looks up at Jackson as he is stood right outside of Laura's room, his shoulder hunched against the wall indicating he's been… stood there for a while?
Straightening herself out, she decides she wants to avoid eye-contact, deciding to instead focus on a gurney that's stationed behind him, "What are you doing standing out here?"
"You – uh – you paged me." He says, and her eyes automatically veer to his as her mission to avoid eye-contact fails almost instantly, transfixed by how blue and clear they look in the moment.
He takes in all her features, quickly – he knows this is just a fleeting moment. Without any reason as to why or how, his eyes flicker down to her lips for a second – just long enough for her to notice.
Like there's no one else around.
"Oh," she snaps them both out of their trance, but her eyes don't leave his just yet, "right. It's something about her bandages."
He nods, watching as her long lashes meet his gaze when she looks down, walking away. Putting her hands to her cheeks when he's out of sight, she can tell they've turned pink, but she pegs it on her falsely accusing him of eavesdropping rather than… the latter.
As he watches her leave, he can't help but think that even though he had come because she'd paged him, her accusatory tone had been right. After he'd arrived at the patient's door, he'd noticed that it was left slightly open, just enough so the conversation inside could startle him and stop him in his steps. You and Dr Avery?
.
.
She giggles, and his heart almost leaps out of his chest. They've just finished an eight-hour surgery together, the euphoria and adrenaline still cursing through both of their veins.
"It's moments like these, you know," she smiles up at him as they scrub out, the OR dimly lit and now empty, "where I know I was meant to do this."
And he so badly wants to tell her that there is no doubt in his mind that this is her life's calling, that the world would have missed out tragically had she chosen anything else. That he would've missed out tragically without her in his life.
But she's engaged, and he's told her that he can't go to her wedding. Some things are too painful, too weird, too awkward. It's not that he still has feelings for her… he tells himself, proudly remembering he's also managed to be in a relationship too. You're not the only one that's moved on, he thinks.
And yet. He looks at her, her red locks hidden by her scrub cap, full of flowers and colours and joy – sunshine, he thinks. She is sunshine.
"Me too." His voice is low, but it's the only thing he can muster when they're both alone in a room for the first time in a long time and she looks this euphoric.
She smiles, and in her smile, he sees the best years of his entire life. His best friend, his person. Even now, still now, always. But just as quickly as she smiles at him and his heart forgets that she's engaged to another man, she leaves the room.
Maybe there's a world where he grabs her wrist and begs her to stay, asks her to go and talk, basks in her presence just a little longer. But that's a different world.
.
.
"You still haven't told me about Boston." Amelia says, as they both look ahead at the CT screen.
April's sat next to her, a coffee in her hand, "Nothing much to say, really."
The brunette eyes her, and through their fast-growing friendship over the last month, she can sense some degree of dishonesty. "You look different."
"I do?"
"Did you," she clasps a hand on her chair, her mouth widening in disbelief – yet she whispers the rest, "did you sleep with him?"
"What!" It's April's turned to be surprised, "No! Oh – Oh God no!"
"Just checking."
For the second time today, April can't help the flush of pink that spreads over her cheeks at the mere thought of Amelia's insinuations. She's only just started being able to be in the same room as him without seeking the nearest window, let alone sleep with him.
A small part of her, perhaps the same part that leaned into him under the cold Boston snow as they walked home, thinks back to the second his eyes flashed over her lips.
No way.
She stands up, "I've got to get back to the E.R." and smiles at Amelia, walking out of the room as she tries to clear her head. Sure, they'd once been attracted to each other, practically ripping each other's clothes in on-call rooms at any given opportunity, but the look in his eyes… it was different while still eerily familiar.
The thought still doesn't leave her when she bumps into Arizona – actually happy to see her. Arizona tends to use words carelessly, April's come to learn, but she decides that some people aren't meant to just be discarded.
"April! I wanted to speak to you, actually."
"I'm all ears."
"Okay I just – I don't want you to take this the wrong way," and her tone is calm, soothing, something she's probably come to learn while speaking to sick children in an effort to reassure them, "Some interns have been spreading rumours about you."
There's a few emotions traversing April's mind when she hears those words, but shock certainly isn't one of them. You're a heartless bitch, she remembers the man in the light blue scrubs saying, his eyes full of resentment and reasoning.
She doesn't answer her, but Arizona's pager goes off as soon as she's about to open her mouth, "I've got to run, but keep an eye out for yourself, please."
.
.
On the other side of the hospital, Jackson heads towards the day-care to go spend his free time between surgeries with Harriet.
As he turns a corner, a familiar face faces him, and he instinctively winces – clearly not ready for whatever conversation is about to take place.
"Maggie." He says, his voice flat.
"That's all you're going to say?"
He furrows his brows, not entirely sure what she expects him to say, "I haven't seen you in a while."
"Since you kicked me out of your apartment."
There are about a thousand places he'd rather be in at this precise moment, the morgue, for example. "I'm sorry about that."
"No, you know what – what kind of grown man kicks a woman out for breaking a mug?"
"I didn't kick you out because of the mug." He's embarrassed, now.
"You're right; you kicked me out because you couldn't do this." She rolls her eyes, "I should've known, you know. There are rumours about you all over this place – of you leaving your girlfriend at another woman's wedding. I should've known you have zero moral compass."
He stares at her, blankly. Hearing her talk about April's wedding sounds odd – like it doesn't belong in her mouth, and yet he refrains from answering, instead expressionlessly looking around.
"Actually, let me correct myself, you're not a grown man." Her voice is icy, and she starts to walk away before turning her head back at him one last time, "You're a confused boy."
.
.
He sits next to her in the empty bar, putting down his jacket on the next seat as he turns to her. She glances at him, hiding her surprise, and he speaks first, "My mother wanted to see Harriet before leaving."
She nods, and they both ignore the overarching awkwardness between them. While they both constantly live in each other's thoughts, it seems almost odd when they actually come face to face – or rather, shoulders almost touching like now. Like they're seeing each other after being haunted by the ghosts of who they once were incessantly.
The last two days hangs between them, an unspoken burden.
Looking ahead, she turns her gaze away from him as he orders his drink, he asks if she wants another one and she nods, briefly asking for a whiskey on the rocks.
"Two." He asks the bartender, and then turns to her, "you were always more of a beer girl."
"Yeah well," she sips the rest of her drink, "it wasn't quite cutting it."
He cocks his head at her response, replaying her quiet confessions under the snow where she'd given him a glimpse on her current state of mind. "You continue to surprise me, April Kepner."
The use of her full name startles her a bit, and she's not sure if it's because the alcohol has started to give her a slight buzz, but she finds herself almost intrigued by him in this precise moment.
Why are we here? She wants to ask him.
"I'm not sure who April Kepner is anymore, to be honest with you."
How are we here? She wants to continue.
Before he can respond, Joe puts down both of their drinks in front of them, breaking the small moment between them. As he grabs his drink, Jackson can't help but replay what she said in his mind.
He wants to reach out to her, to tell her that April Kepner is a brilliant surgeon who grew up in Moline, that she holds her faith and family at high standards and that on any cloudy day, she is the light that helps people out of their darkness.
But he's too much of a coward and she is too much of stranger nowadays, and he knows she doesn't want his reassurance any more than he's clumsily given it to her – this isn't his battle to pick, so instead he takes a swig of his whiskey and simply observes, "It's all crap."
She smiles, a small smile – a sad smile, almost, but a smile nevertheless. She can tell there's more he wants to say, but after their weekend full of confessions and thoughts finally spoken out loud, she finds their disregard for words just as intimate. Like he's trying to read her mind – or acting like someone that used to be able to.
"I don't think I'll ever be as happy as I used to be." She says, quietly.
He doesn't say anything for a while, but he does glance at her, and can't help but remember their last time sat in a bar, like this, no expectations between either of them except the unburdening of their hearts. Me and you. Memories of a past life. "You will be."
"And are you? Are you happy?"
"One conversation at a time." he smiles, and she relaxes on the stool, turning to him.
Their gazes lock for what feels like a moment, but is probably just mere seconds, until she looks back down. She thinks how this feels nice, sitting next to him. Like after all these years, it's not just her and him now, but also Harriet and the abundance of people that have shaped their lives since, the world seems full of possibilities. It's almost cathartic, like the end of something – or the beginning of another, that she cannot pinpoint. It was never just me and you, she thinks. It was me, you, and the world.
Breaking the silence, she confesses to something that's been on her mind. "Arizona told me there are rumours going around about me."
He turns to face her again, and is slightly startled to see her doing the same, his eyes meet hers, an empathetic look on his face, "That's funny, I got told the same thing today."
They both wince slightly, simultaneously, their bodies still in sync from years spent at each other's side. She doesn't even know why she's speaking to him, when the memories of everything that went wrong between them floods her at any given moment.
She sighs, a little louder than she originally intended to, frustrated that out of all places she's ended up here, discussing this, and with him.
"It can't be that bad." He says.
"Well an intern called me a cold hearted bitch so I'd say I'm clearly doing a great job."
A laugh escapes him, and she shoots him a glare, not appreciating the humorous side of the situation. And yet, there's no real hardness to her look, as soon as it land on his eyes, it's practically soft.
They continue chatting for a while, mostly discussing medical matters as she tells him how the panel is handling the contest and they both agree on details for the upcoming ball the hospital and Foundation will be hosting. It's empty chatter, really, but the ease at which it comes to both of them is odd, eerie, she would say.
Looking at his watch, he realizes it's probably best to go home now, his mother having had plenty of time with Harriet by now. He turns to April and tells her he needs to go, and his eyes seem to be fixed on her – just a few seconds more, he thinks, so badly cherishing their time since their uninterrupted talks in Boston. It feels like a dream when he thinks of it now, her hand in his as he twirls her around to the music they've lost themselves to.
It was real.
She sees it, in the look in his eyes. He's thinking about Boston, about confessions in the cold as music blurred out the world around them. If life was always that simple, she thinks, then perhaps.
"Would it have been so terrible?" she blurts out. "Staying?"
He badly wishes that all she means is staying here, in this moment, but even he cannot turn a blind eye on the expression that's washed over her face.
His eyes meet hers and the pain that is still there is all the answer she needs.
.
.
At around 2am of the same night, Jackson Avery proudly stares at what he's been working on for the last hour. As a surgeon, he learnt precision, and as a plastic surgeon, he knew the importance of reconstruction without leaving scars behind.
And yet, as the porcelain sits all glued back together, there are still visible cracks between the flowers that adorn it, the glue putting them back together but leaving faint scars throughout the mug.
But he thinks that the scars may not be the worst thing in the world. That the cracks on something that was once so beautiful, so meaningful, aren't always bad – they're just a sign of life being lived. Perhaps a reminder.
.
.
.
I hope you enjoy this installment giving us a little more insight on their life post-Boston… sigh, it's not all nights strolling around the city, although trust me, I wish it was for these two. As either of them would say: Perhaps one day.
As I post this at 3 AM, I still haven't seen this week's ep, but I have seen spoilers… feel free to come discuss in my ask box on tumblr because I'm going to have a lot of feelings – that much I can predict.
I cannot tell you how grateful I am for the response this fic has been getting, you are all so kind and incredible to leave me reviews and messages after every update! It's my favourite part of this entire process, seeing you all react to it
As always, please leave a review telling me your thoughts and my tumblr is queenkepner if you want to come talk!
Thank you lovely people and have a great end of the week!
The song for this chapter is Delicate by Taylor Swift, and it's perfecttttt for these two.