Chapter 12
"April?! April! God, what's happened? Who did this to you?" he entreated, calling on a deity he didn't believe existed, while applying pressure to the penetrating wound in her throat, attempting to stem the gushing crimson tide.
Her eyelids lifted slowly, which surprised him since he was convinced that she was out cold. She opened her mouth to speak but she was unable to formulate words. He feared the worst. He worried that the Dysphonia she was exhibiting – difficulty in speaking – was indicative of severe damage to her vocal cords. All that emerged from her was a gurgling regurgitation of fluids.
"Stay with me April…please…I can't lose you!" he begged.
As he tried to soothe her she lifted her hand and caressed his cheek, mingling the clear trail of tears that he was unaware were streaming unabated down his face, with the still wet bright stain on her fingers. Her own form of reassurance to him before she slipped into unconsciousness.
The copious bleeding horrified him, as he was very cognizant of the swiftness with which an individual could exsanguinate if the carotid artery or jugular veins were severed. Also, with the volume of blood-loss obscuring the severity of the wound as well as him being unable to pinpoint the exact amount of time that had transpired since the trauma occurred, had Jackson operating in the dark. He had to act fast. His best option was to get her to GSM immediately!
It was undoubtedly a balancing act, but he was familiar with her slight weight as he'd lifted her up numerous times – the first being when she'd run to him as she accepted his proposal on that shadowy turnpike. Even when she'd been pregnant with Samuel, he'd adored lifting her petite, still tiny frame. This time there was no assist from her – she was dead weight.
He had to ensure that he was able to apply adequate compression to the spurting wound while carrying her and then while driving. On this return trip he inadvertently snagged the attention of the police. With some tricky maneuvering he succeeded in rolling down his window and simply said to the officers "Emergency, Grey Sloan Memorial!" It was a rare happenstance for GSM – one of their own driven into the trauma bay, bells and whistles flashing and escorted by a police motorcade.
He paced outside the operating room. Hunt and Bailey, both shocked at the senseless violence perpetrated towards their protégé, managed to set-aside their personal feelings enough to be able to treat her injuries. They quickly assessed her wounds and surmised that immediate surgery was the best and only option.
Dr. Bailey's initial reaction was stupefaction. It had barely been a day since she'd loudly expressed how impressed she was with the new and improved April 2.0 – the badass Trauma Surgeon. While Jackson had been proud of her accomplishments and yes, equally impressed, he was disappointed that this adrenaline rush she was experiencing had become an addiction that allowed no room in her life for it to co-exist with him. His finally opening her eyes to his feelings and her disregard of them is what led to their spat and converted their marriage into one that became a source of ultimatums.
He had actually been a bit peeved with Bailey's judgmental attitude of the previous day. To him, April had always been badass, she'd just coupled it with a kind heart, and that made her a rare breed in the Surgical Field.
Her number one priority was always the care and betterment of her patient. No unnecessary surgeries, minimally invasive procedures where possible and always the utmost care of the individual. To her, the patient was first and foremost a person and she afforded them the respect that entailed.
The day that Samuel died she'd meted out and herself found a measure of peace by helping the bereaved fiancé of a trauma casualty from the night before. So while Bailey 'The Nazi's' arrogant brashness was grating to him and the antithesis of what April epitomized, that very brazenness ensured that his trust in her abilities was not misplaced.
Forced into the role of an awaiting news spouse caused him to reassess his motivation and the underlying anxiety it represented. His fear, cloaked in coolness, had manifested into a 'Pick me, choose me or else' challenge. He had time too, to reflect on his mistakes. Both of them were at fault for not expressing their true sentiments. He conceded to himself that his analysis of her actions were purely speculative and took no cognizance of her emotional turmoil, which she was at fault for keeping from him too.
He realized as well that the terror he'd experienced while she was on the front-lines, which he'd mistakenly thought he'd be able to bury if she re-enlisted and they separated, was what he was experiencing right now, and which had happened in their own backyard and on his watch.
This anxiety for her well-being was something he would never be able to bury or get rid off. The basis of his ultimatum was therefore ludicrous. Once she woke up he would do everything in his power to convince her that he loved her unconditionally and he would never call an end to their marriage. If she was still intent on Jordan...well it was something they could discuss.
His pacing did nothing to abate his apprehension. From being pushed aside in the Emergency Room, to his short stint in the viewing gallery, where Alex had forced his departure when he appeared to be losing it, and onwards to his slowly unravelling patience outside the Operating Room, Jackson was lost.
Remembering that up in the gallery Callie had mentioned that the Police were waiting to speak with him, he decided to acquiesce to their request – he needed to get to the bottom of the who, what and why of his wife's attack. Whatever the motivation for the crime, the perpetrator had left her for dead and that inflamed him to such a rage that The Hulk had nothing on him vis-à-vis retribution.
He needed a moment to cool down before he met with the officers and he was thankful that he went with his decision of splashing some water onto his face. Gazing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror he was visibly shaken at the glaring blood prints, apparently from when April had stroked his cheek. His barely held composure crumbled at this discernable evidence of his almost widowhood, which status could still be probable. Unbidden, loud uncontrollable sobs racked his body. She was the love of his life and without her life had no meaning.
Having regained some measure of control in his demeanor and presentation, he made his way towards the Trauma Bay – the last known location of his police escort. GSM's credentials as a Level 1 Trauma Centre as well as their policy of not diverting cases to other hospitals unless unavoidable capacity issues arose, meant that most accidents – freak, vehicular or abnormal – landed on their doorstep. It was therefore no surprise to Jackson to witness a trauma that had quite literally landed through the ER doorway. What stunned him was that the automobile inhabiting the Grey Sloan Emergency Room was none other than April's.
He watched, bemused. The police officers rushed to assist the trauma team with removing what appeared to be a white male, average looking, mid to late twenties with no distinguishable features, from the front crumbled tin-can of a vehicle.
On any other day his cynicism would have had him believing that the Policemen's Oath 'To Protect and Serve' was, in this case, a visible example of white privilege. Today, conversely, those officers had aided him in his time of need, redeeming to a degree their tarnished reputation.
The driver, miraculously, appeared unscathed from his altercation with the ER. That condition lasted mere seconds. Before anyone could ascertain his intent, Jackson pushed through the few remaining hospital personnel assessing the would-be patient, pulled back his arm and let loose with a punch reminiscent of the time he'd lit into Alex Karev.
Enraged as he was, he continued to pummel the guy and even went back for seconds and then a third time after the officers pulled him away. Restraining him required two able-bodied policemen.
He watched the cowering form of the man, satisfied to note that he'd drawn blood but dissatisfied that he'd been forced to stop. He zeroed in on the blood spatter apparent on the fellows T-Shirt and he uttered a snarl of rage while attempting to throw off the cops holding him back. He didn't need to be a blood- spatter analyst – à la Dexter Morgan – to know that the blood was April's and that this was the guy that had inflicted her life-threatening injuries.
The policeman, who looked to be a lead officer, gazed quizzically at him. He didn't even bother acknowledging the officer's questioning gaze but directly addressed the criminal he'd beat-up.
"You attacked her…you slit her throat! Why? What did she ever do to you?! Why would you stab her and leave her to die?!" he interrogated the perpetrator, in lieu of the police cross-examining the suspect. His purpose was not to do their job for them, he simply needed answers.
"What? I don't know what you're talking about. Arrest this man, officer! You saw him beat me!" the man blustered nasally.
Jackson hoped that he'd broken his nose. He was prepared to eschew his Hippocratic Oath – Physician first do no harm, it said, referencing standard ethical practices, but he was not a doctor here. He was an enraged spouse who had almost lost his wife to this murdering psychopath.
Understanding the method to his madness, the lead officer inclined his head towards his partner and both released Jackson from their restraint simultaneously. Being partners they understood each other's non-verbal cues and their actions indicated an implicit trust.
The officer had not been idle during the time they had been waiting on Dr. Avery. He was a detective in training, so although this case had not been assigned to him, being a first responder to the crime, he had taken the initiative. He'd, in the interim, managed to question some of the Drs. Averys colleagues, as well as observing the husband's behavior.
His own experience as a man in love and one who constituted one half of an interracial couple, also gave him additional insight. The catch-phrases of 'modern times' and 'twenty-first century' hardly impacted day to day experiences. Knowing the inherent difficulties present when two people of different races married, he knew that the willingness to overcome the odds stacked against them, implied an enormous capacity of love between the pair. He was also hyper-aware of the retribution he would inflict were he in Jackson Avery's shoes. So he allowed Dr. Avery some latitude while simultaneously conveying to the suspect that for now, pre- evidence gathering, their belief in the doctor's words held sway.
Released by the cop duo, Jackson approached the still blustering, bleeding driver and lifted him up by his lapels. To retain traction on the floor the guy had to balance onto the tips of his toes, simulating a pirouette. Jackson had not calmed down one iota. If anything his wrath was magnified by the shifty-eyed, loud-mouthed, lying sack of shit. Political correctness be damned, he couldn't be bothered censoring his views.
"Stop lying! You drove here in her car, you have her blood all over you and you came to the hospital where she works. Tell me the truth! I have no problem beating it out of you!"
The strong, unpleasant stench of urine filled the air. Observing that no help was forthcoming from any quarter, the true nature of the bully revealed itself by emptying its bladder.
Unfazed by body fluids (he was a doctor after all) Jackson continued to shake the man, demanding answers.
"Why did you attack my wife?! Why did you stab her?! Why are you here? Did you come here to stop her from identifying you?" he snarled. In the past, those who'd had the opportunity of observing an irate Jackson Avery, knew his angry persona to be one of quiet voice combined with biting, hurtful sarcasm. This loud monster was a sight to behold.
"Your…your wife?" the criminal mastermind stuttered. The sound of his own voice spurred him on and he initially attempted to deflect. "Then it's your fault," he petulantly complained to Jackson.
This raised the eyebrows of those witnessing the altercation, including the two policeman, who were wondering if their hypothesis of the doctor's character was off-base. The Lead 'almost' detective wondered for a very brief second if he should halt this interesting grilling of the suspect but he figured that letting this entertaining tableau unfold would perhaps solve the case for him.
Seeing the murderous intent reflected in Jackson's eyes, loosened other floodgates and the suspect started singing like a canary.
"She wouldn't give me the diamond rings on a chain around her neck – she kept on whining about how much they meant to her. So I cut the chain from her. Then her damn phone wouldn't stop ringing, so I took that too. But I didn't hurt her, I swear. And then when I was driving her car I found her hospital ID badge and thought I could score some more drugs so I drove here and kinda misjudged the distance to the entrance – I have a depth perception problem you see. Is she okay? I'm sorry. She was crying and then smiling while she sat by that tiny grave. But she was stubborn – why didn't she just give me the jewels? Then no one would have got hurt. What are you gonna do to me huh?" The singing canary not only implicated himself but proved with his rambling confession that he was high as a kite.
Jackson released his hold on the guilty man and walked away. There was somewhere he needed to be.
It was hard to stomach that a revisit to this same hospital chapel was once again and so soon required. This chapel had witnessed his supplication to April's God, on her behalf, on the day of Samuel's birth and then death not long after. The scene and the sense from that day to now was similar and yet polar opposite.
He realized that he hadn't informed his mother of what had befallen his family, but he decided to hold off until he received an accurate diagnosis from the doctors operating on April. He would not interrupt her unless absolutely necessary. It was also a matter of him adopting an optimistic approach to the situation – when confronted with April's positive prognosis the prerequisite for having that conversation would render the compulsion for said conversation null.
He was not here for comfort. As before when he'd been driven to speak aloud to a Deity he did not even accept as real, he'd done it for her. April was unknowingly compelling him to keep to his promise – he was spending way too much time getting used to pews.
"God…I still don't know if you can hear people who don't know if you're out there…or if you give a crap about what they say…but April believes…and she loves you, and you have to be there for her. You know you haven't been fair and just to her…Samuel is gone…and I refuse to let go of April. Just to be clear here, I still don't believe…but…circumstances have brought me here once again. So show up for April once more please! She's one of your good soldiers...send her back to me. I declare that I fully intend to make good on the promises I have made to her. Starting with not giving up on our marriage."
Aware that he was making a vow in a place of worship to a God whose existence he had no faith in, did in no way delegitimize it. He believed in science not organized religion but that did not negate his ethical values. Common sense and conscience guided his moral compass towards honesty and integrity in everything he did. He trusted in himself and April and he undertook the full realization of his oaths. He believed in himself and he believed in April.
As he sat there in contemplative silence, his active mind was a continuous carnival ride. The loops and dips were enough to cause a dizzy spell. How had a crime of opportunity morphed into a freak accident that had a non-believing atheist all but praying to a Divine Being whose very existence he doubted?
Thankfully, one thought that could have driven him crazy, didn't even impact his awareness. The simple reason for his confident calmness, was that he considered the source. No strung out, inebriated junkie was going to convince him that the ring he'd painstakingly chosen for April, representing their eternal commitment to each other, would become a symbol of their failure. He would buy her new rings – a representation of their re-commitment to each other and their marriage. He would make it clear to April though, that the rings just exemplified their faith in each other and were, of course, a warning to encroachers. They required no physical manifestations and especially none that were worth her life.
His attention automatically veered to the operation. Why was it taking so long? That did not bode well, he surmised but on the other hand one could infer from the duration of the op that April's body was able to handle the twin traumas of both the attack and surgery. He refused to go to the dark place.
Perhaps the damage was worse than initially thought, requiring more surgery time? Or possibly April's mentor was being thorough, ensuring that all the inflicted wounds were patched-up? Or maybe they were being extra meticulous in perfecting the stitches to ensure minimal physical scarring – the hidden mental scars he'd make sure they dealt with. His cerebral waves continued the ebb and flow of 'what if's' while he played the waiting game.
His head, swirling with thoughts, felt too heavy for his neck to support, so he simply hunched his shoulders and rested it into the anchor of his cupped hands. April had always been his mainstay and he was floating rudderless without her there to calm his stormy mind.
Dragging him out of his dazed stupor was the large, post-surgery scrubbed hand of Dr. Owen Hunt landing on his shoulder. He jumped up from the pew he'd been occupying and schooling his features into impassivity, searched Hunt's face for an answer to the question he felt unable to voice. Usually stoic with everyone but April, he let his mask slip when he noted the reassuring nod and slight but clearly exhausted smile Owen sported.
In a voice laden with emotion he started to ask, "Is she…?"
"She's alive. She's strong and she survived the surgery – came through it like a trooper," Hunt answered, all too familiar with the sentiment displayed. This had hit him hard too. He'd come to admire and respect the scrappiness that was April Avery née Kepner.
Exhaling in relief, Jackson continued, "Tell me everything."
He'd taken a few steps before turning back to face Hunt. He approached him and gripped Owens right hand in a firm handshake and with his left hand clasped his shoulder. A professional handshake coupled with a friendly, half, man-hug. An implied acknowledgment of thanks to which Owen started to reply – he was going to go with "She's a soldier" but thought better of it on noting Jackson's lifted eyebrow. He knew that pushing his protégé to sign up for a tour of duty in a combat zone, had not endeared him with her spouse. He was aware too of the discord it had sown in their marriage, so reconsidering the statement Hunt just shrugged and with an embarrassed half smile graciously accepted the appreciation, sans comment.
Having made his way up to post-op, Jackson stood looking down at April's still unconscious form while nurses bustled around, one even giving him a dirty look – obviously a stickler for the rules. He didn't care. Mr. 51% controlling member of the Board of this hospital was going to take whatever advantage that gave him. He would be with her here until she awoke, and he would be with her while they moved her, and he would be with her when they situated her in a private room and…he laughed softly to himself. Seems he'd become Mr. Vow Maker, he couldn't seem to stop making these promises to her – albeit unspoken and just in his head but very much binding.
Once the nurses bustled away, he sat in the chair that one kind soul had situated beside her bed. Lifting April's hand to his lips, the one not connected to the fluid drip, he kissed it softly before just grasping it between both of his. He lay his head onto their joint hands, simply thankful to be able to have this moment.
Hunt had regaled him with the procedures they'd performed to keep her alive and while he knew all the terms and what they meant, in that moment he was merely a husband being informed that his wife had survived the surgery to repair her after a brutal attack. He reflected on it now though.
They'd had to crike her on the way to theatre, the blood obscuring the wound had compromised her airway. They performed the Cricothyrotomy because orotracheal and nasotracheal intubation had become impossible. The crike had been a temporary measure so once in surgery they'd had to go with a Tracheotomy – making an incision in her windpipe, opening a direct airway and allowing her to breathe via a tracheostomy tube. The laceration was at the level of the lower third of the thyroid cartilage and the wound had continued into the larynx. The thyroid cartilage had been cut horizontally and away from the supraglottic region, and the damage had continued to the hypopharynx and ended anterior to the prevertebral mucosa. Her larynx was damaged but salvageable and there was no significant carotid or venous injuries. The damaged structures were reconstructed and all that was required now was a wait and see approach.
It wasn't very long before she woke, freaking silently at the tubes in her throat and with panic in her eyes until he was able to soothe her. Time passed while Hunt and Bailey checked up on her post surgery and had April moved to a room. When they determined that she was able to breathe on her own the tracheostomy tube was removed too.
Still groggy from the procedure she was irritated to be kept awake even though she knew that a patient had to be awoken after a surgery to be able to ascertain any residual effects of the anesthesia. Jackson calmed her down once more and with extreme care got onto the hospital bed with her. With the hand connected to the drip on the opposite side she was able to turn onto her other side. Jackson spooned her from behind and both of them slipped easily into slumber.
Disoriented, he blinked. Having the feeling of being stared at, he turned his head to the side and watched April watching him. She lifted her free hand and caressed his unshaven face, and similar to when he found her at Samuel's grave, she undid him with that gentle gesture.
He closed his eyes for the barest second, trying to stem the tide, but then simply surrendered. He turned his face into the space between her shoulder and chin, taking care to be gentle near her wounds. He let go and allowed his pent up grief an outlet. His body shook with the force of his sobs, guttural cries that were muffled by her bandages but whose reverberations were felt through her skin and echoed in her heart.
She stroked the back of his head as he grieved, knowing that while the bulk of it was almost losing her, this was about Samuel too and yes guilt and regret over their argument and what could have almost been their last words to each other. This was his time to grieve and this was her vow to him that she was there for him throughout all the heartache and anguish he felt.
"Shh, it's okay…I'm here…I'm okay," she softly whispered, briefly forgetting that they hadn't yet tested her voice.
His head popped up so swiftly that for a moment she envisioned him as a 'whack-a-mole' or rather a 'Jack-a-mole' or 'whack-a-Jack', the latter name which gave her other ideas, and damaged as she was, rough sex, or any sex, or thinking about any sex with her husband, should be the furthest thing on her mind.
"Your voice…it's working, it's okay!" he exclaimed, laughing with joy. He leaned over her, his relief and happiness needing a further release. They both laughed in-between kisses, hers slightly lower, gruffer and quieter.
His exuberance was wonderful to see. He kissed her all over the face and lay numerous gentle kisses over the bandage on her throat. What an emotional roller-coaster this day had been, one extreme to another.
"We're still standing – Me and you!" Jackson murmured.
"Me and you…Forever…"April concurred, sealing it with a healing kiss.