It was nearly 11:30 when he returned to the hospital and it was the night shift changeover and it was darkening lights and whispered voices and he poked his head into the NICU, just to make sure it was running smoothly. It was all quiet cooing from six week old Amanda, who'd be going home the next week, and it was still a struggle for two week old Nathan, whose lungs were still underdeveloped, and it was a minor miracle for eight week old Carly when he saw it, the hint of a first smile.
It was piles of paperwork, too, and a late night walk through the dim corridors, and it rattled through his mind no matter where he went, everything she'd said, and it was just a freaking attic – ten freaking steps up – and it was nothing like him and Amber, no matter what she said, and it wasn't his fault, no matter what she thought, and it wasn't like he could've done anything differently, no matter what she believed, and it wasn't like he could've freaking rescued her, when he'd been drowning himself.
It simmered the next day, too, and it spilled over into the next evening, and it was another day before he pulled into the driveway, and another day after that before he even saw her again, and it pissed him off royally, that the kids had picked up on it, and it made him even madder – that the skylights were taking longer than he'd expected – and it kept him awake at night, the flood of meetings and paper work and politics and application reviews as the new permanent head of the NICU was being selected.
It simmered between them the following week, too, and it was cold silence and nights on the couch in the basement, and it was lunches with annoying job candidates and meltdowns by new nurses and a C- in Asian history and a swim meet he almost missed completely – and she still hadn't signed the freaking Karate forms – and it was all just a blur as the Martians rolled through Maine at 3:00 a.m.
It was tax forms the following week, and bills from the contractors, and tuition for Katie's school, and a deposit for Abbey's summer art program, and new uniforms for Eric's T-ball team – and still no Karate outfit – and it was delays and schedule changes and too little cutting and more paper work until he was going cross eyed and he wasn't doing it permanently no matter what Bailey said.
It was chaos in the Emergency Room and she hated it, now that she was back to full time again. It was a disorganized mess in the supply closet, and befuddled interns who had no actual interest in patient care, apparently, and budget shortfalls and staff cuts and it wasn't even certain, really, if their hard won Level One Trauma rating would be maintained, and it was another March snow storm after a twelve hour Saturday shift and it was all she could do to drive herself home without screaming.
It was the dripping Super Spin Racing Saucer sleds on the back porch again, too, which could only mean one thing – he was trying to kill her children, again, on that wretched mountain behind their house– and it was paper plates stuffed in the garbage and dirty bowls in the sink and a trail of dripping snow boots and soggy coats leading to the stairs and it was the papers covering the carpet – as Abbey sorted through her latest picture print outs – and the hot chocolate slopped on the coffee table, and Eric and Alex sprawled on the down stairs couch watching something ridiculous about sea monsters, at least twenty minutes after Eric's bed time.
It was why she wanted to scream, she imagined, as she dropped onto the couch beside him, and it was ten minutes of watching Abbey sort and text and giggle, before Abbey was running back upstairs in a flash, and it was another ten minutes before she realized that the sea monster thing was supposed to be a documentary, and it was another ten minutes before she noticed the red and brown smudges on Eric's cheek, as he slumped burrowed into Alex's shirt, dozing peacefully.
It still startled her, sometimes, the length of his eye lashes and the shape of his chin and the curve of his cheek and the way his face settled into that soft pout, so much like his father's, and it still made her heart flutter in her chest, sometimes, his familiar soft sighs, as Alex absently held him closer, and it still made her smirk, the sleepy smile as she reached over and delicately brushed the crumbs away.
"He had radishes and cucumbers," Alex grumbled defensively.
"On pizza?" April snickered, eyeing him skeptically. "I saw the boxes," she added, in response to his puzzled glance.
"He likes it like that," Alex retorted, his face reddening.
"I'm sure," April smirked. "Vegetables go great with hot chocolate," she added, motioning to the mess on the coffee table.
"He made it himself," Alex announced proudly.
"I'm just glad the vegetables aren't attacking the sea monsters," she said, eyeing the television again as she settled back into the couch. "I'd hate for him to develop a phobia about them."
"The sea monsters ate the vegetables in the first part," Alex retorted. "This is the sequel."
"Of course it is," she smirked, giggling despite herself.
It went on for twenty minutes, interviews with crack pot scientists, CGI film clips of what the monsters might actually look, if it were biologically possible for them to actually exist – which it wasn't – and she wondered how long it would take her, as she glanced over at Eric again, still purring contentedly, to un- teach him all of it, whatever Alex told him, about sea monsters in the creek out back and soccer on frigid fall evenings and Karate masters descended from Jedi and how you had to keep running even after icy, muddy water flooded your sneakers, as if it could possibly be worth it, the trophy or the ribbon or the award or whatever the hell else you might get, just for putting up with it.
"I'm applying for it," she noted finally, and it almost surprised even her, to hear it out loud, since it wasn't what she's planned when she first went back, and it wasn't anything like she'd described it to him, when she said she was going back full time, and it wasn't like she had any idea how they'd juggle it all, now that he was an acting Department Head, too, and it wasn't like she'd thought it out much further than that someone had to get the Emergency Department under control.
"Head of trauma," she filled in immediately, in response to his puzzled look, which reminded her that they hadn't actually talked about it, that they hadn't talked much about anything, since the attic had finally been finished, and Katie had moved in happily, and Eric had scooted over into the girls' old room, which now looked like a Lego Empire – partly overrun by dinosaur sea monster and ship models – and it made everyone happy except her, apparently, that Katie would get just what she wanted, again, and Abbey would be pushed aside, again, and it would be her and Dani or her and Beth all over again.
She didn't want to hear it, either, as he nodded, his face darkening, about how it would inconvenience him, somehow, or about how it would be hard on Eric, or about how it would make Katie into a full-fledged juvenile delinquent and Abbey into the forgotten daughter, or about how it would leave the house a wreck and nothing like Beth's Holiday Hosting Dream Show Place, or about how it would leave her more stressed than Dani and less focused than Jenny – and she'd never cure cancer now, like Cari – or about how her mother would never understand why she couldn't just keep working part-time.
It wasn't like she could do that, anyway, she grumbled to herself as she sank back into the couch, since it wasn't like it was cheap – Katie's special school and Abbey's special camp and Eric's sports gear – even if Karate was never going to happen, no matter what Alex said – and it wasn't like it wasn't all his fault anyway, that the stupid attic project had run over budget, and that he insisted on big Christmas gifts for mediocre grades, and that he didn't even see it at all, that driving around Seattle in a convertible with the top down in ten degree weather just to cart home Mrs. Dubois – Abbey's curvy, headless antique Victorian dress form – would certainly qualify as spoiling them.
It annoyed the hell out of him over the next few months, April's snide comments about it being all about Katie with him, as if it hadn't helped put a lid on the girls' squabbling – finishing off the attic – as if Eric didn't have more space for his models and his block table in their old room, as if the girls hadn't needed some freaking space, as if it was his freaking fault that the Emergency Room was chaotic and the Board was squawking about her budget and Beth was having her flooring re-done, again.
It wasn't Katie's fault, either, he grumbled, as he sat in the stands watching her soccer game on a chilly February afternoon, that she wasn't like Abbey, that it didn't all come easily to her, the reading and the history and the English, and that she wasn't the easiest kid in the world to get along with, and that she was energetic and intense and fierce and opinionated and competitive as hell, about everything.
It wasn't Abbey's doing, either, he reminded himself a few mornings later, as she poured syrup on his pancakes while chattering about her sewing club meeting, that she was sweet and kind and popular with everyone, that she didn't want to Edit the school newspaper – she just wanted to be the photographer, that she didn't want to run the sewing club, she just wanted to be the chick in charge of getting fabric, that it all came as easy as breathing to her – straight A's and awards and teacher's praise and invitations to parties – and that she just didn't care about it at all, sports or winning or whatever it was that drove Katie so hard, and drove everyone around Katie crazy.
It wasn't any of their faults, he muttered, as he drove into work a few days later, just like it wasn't Eric's fault that he was too small for football and too slow for soccer and too uncoordinated for baseball – but would be perfect for Karate if she'd just sign the freaking forms and stop treating him like he needed to be wrapped in bubble wrap or something – and big deal if he liked it just because he'd seen it on one of his cartoons, as if it mattered where he got the idea as long as it was something he could be good at.
It pissed him off the next few weeks, too, because it wasn't like he hadn't heard it all before, about how he wasn't smart enough or good enough or enough of whatever the hell it was they wanted him to be before they packed him off to the next foster family, and it wasn't like he was doing it to his own kids just because Katie didn't get straight A's, and Abbey didn't always have to be the center of attention and Eric liked a sport that didn't have teams and it wasn't going to kill them all, anyway, sledding down the hill out back, as if it wasn't what the only thing the freaking snow was any good for anyway, after you'd shoveled it.
It burned him the following month, too, because it was all about meetings with the Board and hiring delays and it wasn't like it was his fault – that some NICU kids got better in a week and others took a month, and it wasn't like it was his fault, that skilled nurses were expensive, and it wasn't like it was his fault, that surgeries couldn't always be scheduled precisely and that some kids just wouldn't make it no matter what they did, and that, sure, the hospital's standing could be improved if they stopped doing risky procedures but then where would kids like Jason be, kids who shouldn't possibly have survived their first few weeks – except that they did – even if their parents were already long gone.
It simmered in his brain as he rocked Jason that evening, and it was 1:00 a.m. before he knew it, and it was already too late to bother going home, anyway, and it wasn't like he was in any mood to hear it all again that night, that he was favoring Katie or ignoring Abbey or making a Karate kicking monster out of Eric, or that the bills from the attic were still coming in. He didn't want to hear it, either, about the Board's latest concerns – as if he went to Medical school in the first place just to be a scheduler or a budget runner or a bean counter – and he didn't want to hear about it from one April's social services "teams," either, that they were working on it – finding Jason a placement – as if he didn't have enough problems.
He didn't want to hear any of it, and it was all swirling around him, anyway, and it wasn't like he could do anything about it, anything except sit there and rock the infant and try to explain it to him straight, that it sucked to be dumped, and it sucked to be sick, and it sucked to be all alone, and it sucked when you couldn't do a damn thing about it, and it sucked that no matter what you did, they'd all tell you that it was all wrong, anyway, and that it was all you – the problem – since it wasn't like you'd ever be good enough for anything – and that it all sucked, but you had to keep fighting anyway, just to prove it to yourself, that they had it all wrong, and it was all that mattered, sometimes, since you'd either fight it and win, or it would all just run you right over, and it would knock the life right out of you.
It sucked, he muttered to himself, frowning and pulling the infant closer to him. But it was important that he learn it early, Alex whispered to him, and it was important that he keep fighting, because he was going into the fucking system, too, as soon as he was released, and it could seriously fuck you up if you didn't fight it at every turn, and it wasn't like he couldn't do it, since he was already a fighter, and it wasn't like he couldn't survive it, if he just keep fighting it as hard as he could, all of it.
It would be a long summer, April had told herself back in May, with the girls still squabbling and Eric off to soccer and swim lessons and whatever else Alex had signed him up for him – since he was going to make his son into a trophy winning athlete no matter what, apparently – and it would have been, if she hadn't been working overtime to re-organize her department and streamline procedures and secure their standing as a Level One trauma center, and it was already July before she knew it.
It was taking its toll, too, she noticed – Alex's job – since it had been all about meetings with Board members and presentations from job candidates and it shocked her the month before when he'd finally called an end to it, and taken the position himself. He'd hated it from the beginning, she knew, back when he was the interim Department Head of the NICU, and he'd hate it more now that he was over-seeing Peads temporarily, too, and it was more scheduling and more budgeting and more paper work and more late nights and it was making him jittery and distracted and more impossible than usual.
It was probably just as well, she grumbled the next morning, that he'd spent another night at the hospital, and she reminded herself that she hadn't even kept up on it lately – on whether there were any pretty new nurses up there – and it wouldn't have bothered her at all if she hadn't spotted it right on the kitchen counter beside a dirty milk glass, the letter that Abbey was apparently waiting to show him, about the High School of the Visual Arts application that she was apparently not filling out, not that April had heard anything about it, she pointed out, when she finally asked Abbey about it herself.
"We visited it," Abbey shrugged, stashing away some of the fruit salad she'd made for him, for when he came home later.
"Did you send in a portfolio?" April asked, scanning the sheet, with deadlines and instructions printed neatly under the school's letterhead.
"I don't want to go there," Abbey shrugged again, shaking her head as she poured some juice.
"It looks like an amazing program," April said, flipping through the brochure. "They have textile classes, fashion design, advanced painting and sculpting courses. They even have summer internships," she added, growing more excited. "You could do something productive."
"I like my summers," Abbey insisted, rolling her eyes.
April frowned, reviewing the brochure again. Abbey liked her summers, alright. She liked wandering around the yard taking photos, and painting pictures of her friends, and fiddling with her pottery wheel on the deck, and decking Mrs. DuBois out in the latest fashions that she saw in the magazines, and tried to copy in her own designs, and reading in the hammock, and going to the pool with her army of friends – since Alex spoiled her, and it wasn't like she needed to work for anything.
"Eric's going to science camp next summer," April reminded her with a sigh, "and Katie's learning advanced sailing and scuba techniques," she added, since Katie still got mediocre grades, but at least she was doing something productive with her summer, even if her school's summer program ran over two months, and even if it was expensive, sailing, and even if it was dangerous, scuba diving, and even if it meant she was gone most of the summer, not that that mattered, April reminded herself sourly, since it wasn't like she still lived with them, exactly, thanks to Alex's brilliant attic idea.
"That's nice," Abbey shrugged, picking up her camera and reviewing some of the shots she'd taken that morning. "I'm adding these flowers to my layout designs for the yearbook," she said, studying them more closely. "Aunt Beth really liked them."
Of course she did, April muttered under her breath. "Did you tell her about this?" she asked, holding the application papers up, again, since she might be the only one who didn't know about it.
"No," Abbey said absently, as if it wasn't even an issue, as if it didn't need to be discussed, apparently, since she wasn't doing it, as if that settled it all, as if she hadn't even considered what a great thing it might be, for her to go to a special school, and to get a head start on it, on being a great photographer like Beth, or being a great fashion designer, or being… whatever it was she wanted to be… since she was smart and popular and won all the awards and had it all going for her, if she'd just use it.
"You're not even going to try for it?" April asked incredulously. It made no sense, because it was finally something she could do, to set herself apart from Katie, and it was something she could do, that would make her the sister that got noticed, and it would set her up as the sister who got it for a change – the fancy school and the special treatment – and it wouldn't be like the attic, or like Katie's sailing classes – and it would be a lot of money, sure, another special school, but it would be just what she needed, April was sure, so that she wouldn't do it, just fade into the background, playing second fiddle to Katie her whole life, and resenting it in more ways than she could count.
"I like Jefferson High," Abbey frowned, as if it was all perfectly obvious. "I like my friends. I like my clubs."
"But they could really push you," April pointed out, lifting the brochure again. "You'd be surrounded by talented people. You'd have great teachers."
"I like my teachers," Abbey reminded her, shaking her head. "And I hate the kids at Katie's school," she reminded her, with a grimace. "They're all so competitive. Who cares if you get two points less than someone else on a chemistry test? "
"This isn't a science oriented program," April reminded her, spreading the description out across the counter. "It's everything you like," she added hopefully, since really, science had never been Abbey's thing, and it probably wouldn't have been even if Alex hadn't corrupted her as a young child, with the sea monsters and the mutant snakeheads and the space aliens and the mutant vegetables and the animal crackers at 3:00 a.m., as if that could ever do a child any good.
"I already have everything I like," Abbey reminded her, springing up abruptly from her chair and waving her camera happily. "I'm going over to Emily's," she called, already half way out of the kitchen. "We're going to take some pictures of her mother's garden."
"What about this?" April insisted, waving the papers more insistently.
"Recycle them," Abbey shrugged.
It figured, April muttered to herself, stashing the papers carefully – since that wasn't the end of it – since it was all about recycling – with Katie – and it would be all about Katie if she just let it go, and just let Abbey fade into the woodwork, and it figured, she grumbled again, that Alex was at the hospital when he should have been pressing Abbey on it, too, and it figured, she sighed, that her own garden just wasn't measuring up that year, since it had been neglected, too, ever since she'd gotten it, the official title deeming her the go to chick in trauma, as if she'd planned it all along.
"She didn't like," he shrugged, when she asked him about it later that afternoon. And he didn't get it, the glare April shot at him as he fished out the fruit salad – as if she hadn't nagged him for years to eat more healthy – and it wasn't like it made any sense, whatever she was babbling – about Dani and Beth and the attic and sisters and bills and it annoyed the hell out of him, but he'd never hear the end of it if he didn't just go and ask Abbey about it again, as if she hadn't already made up her mind.
She was at it again when he got up to her room – wrapping Mrs. DuBois in some kind of flowery fabric, and it shimmered as the early evening sun filtered into the room, and it lit up Abbey's hair and her smile just like it always did when she said "Hi, Dad," and it had gone to that from daddy somewhere between animal crackers at 3:00 a.m. and the early morning breakfasts she made him when their schedules met, and it just kind of flowed between them like it had always been there, whatever it was that made her his daughter, even if it wasn't what the fucking system would ever say, officially.
"How does she look?" Abbey asked, stepping back and studying the dress form seriously.
"Headless," Alex replied, nodding seriously.
"Besides that," Abbey groaned, rolling her eyes at him.
"She's hot, I guess," he agreed, nodding and eying her more closely, "If you're into headless and all."
"I meant the dress," Abbey corrected him.
"Good," he said finally, exhaling awkwardly. "It looks good." It probably did, he reminded himself, since he didn't lie to them, but it wasn't like he knew anything about dresses, except whether whoever filled them out was hot, and then it wasn't the dress, it was them, and it wasn't like it was easy to get past, the whole headless thing. But to be fair, Mrs. DuBois was hot… in a headless, wood and wire kind of way, and Abbey was good at all the chick stuff, breakfasts and baking and painting and sewing and all that artsy stuff, and he didn't get any of it, really, but he got that she was good at it, and that she liked it.
"I don't want to go," she added a moment later, unwinding the fabric and grabbing her measuring tape.
"I know," he replied, fiddling with his fingers as she worked.
"Is mom disappointed?" she asked, running her fingers over the edge of a seam.
"Mom's crazy," he muttered, and it popped out before he could stop it, and it had her giggling before he could take it back, and it wasn't like it was some big secret among the kids anyway, since she was always nagging at them, too, about alphabetized soup cans and high-lighted chore wheels and hand sanitizer and safe sledding and homework organizers and even budgeting their allowances, as if it was such a big deal if he slipped them some extra money during the summer, so they could enjoy it.
"That's what Aunt Beth says," Abbey laughed, and at least he managed to stop it, this time, adding that Aunt Beth was crazy, too.
"Did she send you up here to make me do it?" Abbey asked, frowning at him.
"No," he snickered, shaking his head. Not that he was sure why'd she'd sent him up there, exactly, but if it was that, well, it hadn't been mentioned to him, and it wasn't like he'd do it, anyway.
"I tried to explain it to her," Abbey insisted, scowling and wrapping the fabric around Mrs. Dubois again. "You get it, right?" she asked seriously.
Alex shrugged, wandering over to the window and glancing outside, where Eric and his friends were wreaking havoc in the creek, armed with Super Soakers and nets and, for reasons he couldn't fathom, a plastic blow up flamingo pool toy, and an empty watermelon shell.
"I want to enjoy high school," she said quietly. "I don't want to fight with my friends over grades. I don't want to fight for a spot on the Newspaper. I don't want to compete to be the photographer. I don't want to be like Katie," she blurted. "I mean," she added sheepishly, "I don't want everything to be about winning and keeping score, you know?"
He didn't get it, really, the whole craft thing, and he didn't get sewing and he didn't get painting, but he got it that she wasn't like Katie, he'd always gotten it, and it was nothing he'd ever have her apologizing for, and he'd never get it – the whole not wanting to compete thing – but it was who she was, and it wasn't like there was a damn thing wrong with that, and it wasn't like she was supposed to be anyone else than who she was, and it wasn't like he'd have wanted that, anyway.
"We don't want you to be like Katie," he reminded her. "We just want you to be happy," he added, shuffling his feet and shrugging and looking out the window again.
"I am," she said, absently, almost lost in her project again.
"Do you like it?" he asked abruptly, looking around the room, again, because it hadn't changed much over the years, not since they'd painted it together years before, and lined it with more shelves for her projects, and put in the sewing table, and the antique writing desk from the attic. It still had all his old stuff in it, too, he noticed, and she might want to change it, since she was getting older, too.
"I'm not moving it" she insisted, shaking her head fiercely. "And I love my window seat," she asserted firmly.
"Mom thought you might be jealous, you know, of Katie," he said.
"Katie can have that cramped attic," Abbey snorted. "This is the biggest bedroom in the house," she reminded him proudly. "And I have the best view," she noted, pointing towards the huge windows as if it was obvious. "My friends all love it up here," she added, wrapping the fabric around the dress form again. "I think they're all jealous," she giggled.
"I thought you didn't want to compete with them?" he smirked, walking back over toward her.
"Square footage is different," she said seriously, shaking her head, and it reminded him all over again that he'd never get it, chick logic, not really.
"Besides," she giggled again, "Mrs. DuBois loves the view."
"Funny," he grumbled, rolling his eyes, and watching, because it was there all over again, the quirky sense of humor and the sun streaming through her hair and way her fingers worked as she fiddled with the fabric – almost like a surgeon's – and the easy laughter and it was all her – the flowery wall paper and the antique everything and the treasures pack ratted in every corner and the window seat piled with books and the photos spread over her desk and the way she beamed back at him, sure that he got it, too, the bad jokes and the room she loved and why she didn't want to go to the fancy art school, even if she could be the best in her class no matter where she went, when you got right down to it.
"Admit it," she teased. "You're just jealous you didn't say it first."
"I am not," he smirked, as he walked toward the door, and it was there all over again, too, the fluttery feeling that rippled through him in the mornings as she chattered and giggled and poured syrup on his pancakes and teased him about crooked neck ties and sea monsters and NASA's latest findings on the satellite probes of Mars, as if it didn't matter to her either, really, what the official forms said.
It had started even before the summer, April remembered with a frustrated sigh, and it was inevitable. She got it, too, and she'd seen it even with her own sisters, the moody, hormonal teenage girl thing, and it wasn't like Katie hadn't been something else even before that. It had kicked in with a vengeance that spring, though, and it had escalated from the "you can't tell me what to do" phase, to the "you're not my parents," variant, which in her case was technically true, and it was enough to make April understand why some species of animals ate their young, and to wonder – sometimes – what stopped the others.
It set her teeth chattering, and it jangled her nerves, and it made her look forward to the school bus, and it left her relieved – not that she'd ever admit it – when Katie retreated into the attic – and it made her roll her eyes less when Abbey breathed a sigh of relief at Katie's absence – since she'd seen that before, too, with, Dani and Beth, and she got it – and it made her breathe easier herself when Katie had first come home with it, the flyer about the ten weeks at sea summer program that would teach her to sail and dive and all about marine ecosystems research and really, that would help keep the peace.
It had made April vaguely nauseous, signing the forms back in March. It wasn't the happy home she envisioned, and it wasn't the loving sisters she'd hoped Katie and Abbey would always be, and it was almost like admitting it, that she was at the end of her nautical rope, and that she just needed a break from it, too, the squabbling and the sniping and the general unpleasantness, and it was like accepting that maybe her mother had been right, that maybe the girls would've gotten along better if she hadn't gone back to work full time, and that maybe her house would be neater and her pantry more organized and her garden more lush and her children more happy if she'd just done it differently, all of it.
She didn't want to hear it, either, about what might happen, about how Katie might get eaten by a shark, and Abbey might end up even more spoiled, and Eric might drown in his swimming classes – or in the creek, while Winston watched placidly, hoping he'd drop a snack before he expired – all while she reorganized the Emergency Department and re-prioritized the budget and reviewed standard trauma procedures, while her own pantry wallowed in un-alphabetized chaos.
It had all gnawed at her anyway, straight through early May, and it came like clockwork, the yearly update from Social Services, announcing that no inquiries had been made, again, that the girls' mother hadn't even followed up about them, and that their father – who'd never even signed the documents releasing them for adoption – was nowhere to be found, and that it was just like it always was, and it was all fine, as far as the state agency was concerned.
She'd grown to hate it as much as Alex did, though, the word fine, at least when it applied to the system, since it wasn't fine at all. She wasn't even sure what that meant, though, since it was great, really, that the girls' mother had never contested their adoption, and it was great, really, that their father wasn't interested at all, and it was fine – it was- she'd tried to convince herself for years, that there were empty spaces on the official forms, where signatures should be, signatures that would make it all final and official for real, signatures that haunted her just because they were missing.
It wasn't like they were coming back, she reminded herself forcefully, as she stashed the letter in her top drawer with the others. It wasn't like it meant anything, either, she insisted, as she ran her finger over the original documents from years before, where Abbey had proudly scrawled the name Karev in flowing little girl script, while Katie had defiantly printed Jensen in dark black bolded block letterers.
She'd just been angry, April reminded herself, about it all, and that was probably still it, even if it was hard to untangle normal teenaged fury from what it must have been like, to be left behind. She got it, too, April reminded herself, or at least she tried to get it, whatever it was that Katie brooded about up in that attic, whatever it was that drove her to fight everyone and everything that tried to guide her– even when it was just meant to help her – whatever it was that made her so damned impossibly her.
It wasn't turning out to be anything like she'd imagined it would be that day, either. She'd imagined it would all be different, that the girls would be nothing like her and her sisters were, and that it would be easier for them, since it was just the two of them for so long. It was always supposed to be like how it looked back then, two little girls playing happily on the swings together, and it wasn't turning out like that at all, and she didn't see how to stop it, since they had different friends and different interests and different personalities, and it just seemed like they were going in completely different directions.
It wasn't like she compared them either, she insisted fiercely to herself – no matter what Alex said – it was just that Katie wasn't trying hard enough to do her best in school, and Abbey was content to play second fiddle, and Alex barely seemed to even notice it, that it would affect their whole lives, something he'd notice, she grumbled, if he'd paid more attention to it himself, before Amber disappeared, as if that shouldn't have made it perfectly obvious to him, that it couldn't just be taken for granted.
It had all driven her to distraction, by the time school let out, and it had been sad – it had – to see Katie off, and it scared her that she wasn't exactly looking forward to it, Katie's return. It had flown by, she noted, as she wandered out into that yard that late summer evening, where Abbey and her two best friends from down the street were laughing around the pottery wheel, and Alex and Eric and Winston were tracking through the creek, hunting for inflatable pink flamingos, as far as she could tell.
She didn't want to know about it, though, she thought with a sigh, what they were doing with the watermelon rinds and the Super Soakers – and she wouldn't even mention it, that Corgis weren't bred to hunt pool toys, and she didn't want to know about it, whatever the girls were laughing about–since apparently it was enough to keep Abbey from wanting to apply to that special school for the arts, where she really could've accomplished something – and she didn't want to hear it, about Karate forms or extra spending money or how Winston had apparently gone to the grocery store and bought his own cheese doodles, since they still wouldn't admit to it, any of them, giving them to him along with his diet dog food – and it was a relief, finally, when she sank into the hammock, and the cicadas drowned it all out.
It was the worst batch of interns the hospital had ever had. At least, that's what he told Bailey, and it was the truth, even if she just rolled her eyes and snorted at him, and walked off laughing hysterically. It wasn't his fault, either, except that it was, apparently – since it was lawyers and depositions and hushed meetings with the review board, too, when the idiots damn near killed a six year old in Peads.
It had only taken a freaking week, too, which must have been some kind of record, and it was only late August before he'd had it with all of them, and it was barely into September when the next round of Board meetings and budget cuts came, and it wasn't even the end of month before two experienced nurses had moved on to other hospitals, and it was more paperwork and more scheduling and it still wasn't what he went to medical school for and it wasn't nearly enough actual cutting and it wasn't what he'd worked so hard for – to get double board certified in neonatal and peads – just so he could watch other people do the cool surgeries while he filed paperwork and signed forms like a freaking secretary.
It wasn't like he had a second to deal with it, anyway, the idiot interns, since it was always something else, and it all had to be copied in duplicate and it all had to be approved by someone who knew nothing about actual surgery and it was making his stomach churn and his eyes blur and it was all keeping him awake nights, all racing through his head, and it was tossing and turning and it was splitting headaches and it was a battle just to catch his breath some afternoons, and it was a chore not to lose it entirely when one more bean counter asked him if it was really necessary, the extra staffing for the preemies or the night nurses for the NICU, as if a sick and terrified and alone two day old child didn't fucking need it.
It wouldn't have been worth it at all, he grumbled to himself, except that it was a promotion and it was the next step on the career path and it came with the perks to prove it, an actual office and a lot more money and it wasn't like they couldn't use it and it wasn't like the hospital had had much luck with it, anyway, hiring Attendings that actually wanted to do it, since it wasn't like any sane surgeon would and it just made him rub his hands over his face and blink heavily again as it all teetered on the edge of his desk, piles of precariously balanced papers, and it was the last think he saw most nights before he left, unless he stopped just to peek in on it, the NICU, just to see how it was all running.
It was making his head spin, too, by early October, and it was all blurring together, the late summer weeds he still hadn't taken care of and the early fall leaves he hadn't had time to rake up, either, and it had all been a blur, Katie's new uniforms and Abbey's new classes and Eric's new teacher, and it was all on the spreadsheet April had plastered on the fridge – of course it was – schedules and phone numbers and contact information, and it all just went into his jumbled Blackberry, too, soccer matches and swim meets and debates and art shows and parents' open house nights and it wasn't his freaking fault if he didn't have time for everything, since apparently it was still his fault that the idiot interns were trying to kill people.
It was his fault, too, apparently, that there were never enough nurses on the floor, and it was still his fault that Abbey and Katie were squabbling again – apparently, because he and Amber hadn't spoken in years, as if that had anything done to do with it – and it was his fault, apparently, that a bag of expensive diet organic dog food in the pantry had gone stale – as if it was his fault that Winston just plain didn't like it – and it was his fault, apparently, that Eric wanted to dress up as a Ninja for Halloween, as if it was his doing that the kid wanted to learn karate, if she'd just sign the freaking forms.
It was all his fault all through November, too. It carried over from the month before, apparently, since he hadn't gotten all the witches and the spiders hung properly, and it spilled over through Eric's birthday party, since it was apparently "spoiling" him, again – the go cart with the working headlights and the folding trunk – and it poured into Thanksgiving, too, since it was apparently his fault that April's parents were staying with Beth, again, and that Cari was thinking of moving to Seattle, too, and that she might even spend some time living at Beth's, since her home was a spotless mansion and all.
It was all his fault, everything going on at the hospital, and it was his fault that Katie was being… Katie, again, since apparently he spoiled her, too, and it was all his fault that Katie and April were warring over what to wear and what to eat and how to behave and what grades were required if she wanted Santa to bring her anything like the new skis she was lobbying for – as if even Eric wasn't too old for it, the whole Santa Claus thing – and it just flared at the breakfast table every morning, over every B- that should have been an A, and every disrespectful facial expression and every uniform shirt that wasn't perfectly neat.
It raged that morning too, and he just shrugged and gulped some coffee as he rushed out of the house and it wasn't like he even had time for Abbey's pancakes , even if he'd been hungry, which he wasn't, since his stomach was churning and boiling, and it wasn't like he could be late for the next meeting with the Board, and it wasn't like traffic wasn't already backed up, along with the surgical schedule he'd hear about, again, and it wasn't like it wasn't already one of those days, even if it had barely started.
It came at 11:34 that morning, the call that Alex had been taken into surgery, and that it had already burst, his appendix, and that it would be a few hours – as if she didn't know all that – and it all rushed through her mind as she called Beth to take care of the kids after school, and it raced in her chest, her heart beat, as the minutes ticked past, and it was all a blur, how she ended up in his room hours later, hunched on a hard plastic chair with her fingers knotted through his as she waited for him to wake up.
It would be a while, they assured her – as if she wasn't a surgeon herself, as if medical emergencies weren't her specialty – and it figured, that he'd ignored all the signs, and it figured, that he'd tried to push through it, until it actually caved in entirely, and it figured that it couldn't be a simple procedure because he'd let it go, and it figured that it could've been a complete catastrophe, if it had happened while he was in traffic, or operating himself, and she was already waiting for it, for him to mutter that it was nothing, the moment he opened his eyes, even if it hurt like hell, and had damn near killed him.
It wasn't like that, though, hour after hour, since it didn't seem to wear off, the anesthesia, and it was a rising temperature and an infection instead, and it was rattled, shallow breathing and pale, clammy skin and it was racking her brain – what to have Beth tell the kids – and it was a night that dragged on into a hazy morning and it was beeping monitors and whispering nurses when she woke with a jolt and it was like she wasn't even there as they worked to bring his temperature down and it was another twenty four hours before she remembered breathing again herself and it was a frantic call from Abbey before she could finally assure them that it was under control, and that he would be alright.
It was another few hours before he woke, and he could barely breathe without wincing, and it was another day before she'd allow a brief visit from the girls, and it figured that Katie was jittery and impatient and anxious to leave, and finally just waited outside, and it figured that Abbey just pulled up a chair after he'd dozed off again, and slipped her fingers around his, and just whispered it again and again, "It's okay, dad," and it figured that she'd say that, April knew, since it was sort of their code, for another three little words that still made him awkward and fumbly, and it figured that Abbey had realized that long ago, April imagined, since she was born to be a Karev even if she hadn't started out as one.
It was another few days before the infection was under control, and it figured that Cari had arrived already, in time for the rapidly approaching holidays, and it figured that it would be the busy season in the Emergency Room, and that it would be another Christmas extravaganza hosted at Beth's mansion, and that it would be another holiday without stockings hung above her own fire place, and that it had already started, his insistence that it was nothing, the infection that still simmered in his body and the incision that was still stitched loosely together and the struggle he had just to walk across the room.
It figured, she grumbled a week later, too, that he'd just hole up in the basement with his couch and his monster movies. It was probably just as well, anyway, she imagined, since it wasn't like he could do the stairs very well, yet, and it wasn't like Abbey wouldn't happily make him all the pancakes he wanted, and it wasn't like Eric wouldn't share his Legos, and it wasn't like it wasn't just as well, if Katie stayed up in the attic for the most part, since really it was more peaceful that way, and the last thing the house needed at the moment was more stress, now that she had returned to work and the holidays loomed and it was all up to her, apparently, to spoil the kids this year, since Santa couldn't do it.
They'd have to just skip it, too, the over -sized candy canes, and it wasn't like she'd have time to bake cookies with Abbey this year, either, not that Abbey needed her help, she reminded herself, since she was already a great cook, and had been for years, and she didn't even want to think about it – how surly Katie would be about the expensive new skis that she wasn't getting, since B- grades had always been pushing it, and the latest C+ just made it out of the question, and she just smiled and nodded as she listened to it on the phone, Beth and Cari's plans for the Best Christmas Ever.
At least she could put it aside at work, she reminded herself, and she did it that evening as her shift ran over, and it was already near midnight before she got home and she showered quickly and tried not to jostle the bed too much as she crawled in beside him and it took her ten minutes to slow her breathing and another ten to notice the pale moonlight filtering into the room, though the snow was still flurrying.
It was probably just as well, she imagined, since at least he wouldn't be taking them off to go sledding this time, and it was light enough, she realized, to check his incision again without waking him, and it made her wince all over again when she peeled the thin sweatpants from his hips, and it almost made her smirk despite it all, his soft groan as she traced her finger delicately along it, following it from the curve of his hip down along his groin, and she listened closely as she tried to place it.
She'd catalogued them over the years, his various sound effects, and it wasn't a bad groan, not like when he'd hit the ice on their honeymoon, or driven the nail into his finger when he was building Abbey's window seat, and it wasn't an awful groan, not like the one she'd prompted when she was still figuring it all out - the time she'd squeezed it a little too tight, she remembered with another wince – but it wasn't a good groan either, like from when she'd finally gotten it just right, except that it might have been closer to that, since it was already stirring against her, and his eyes were fluttering open.
It wasn't like it mattered, anyway, since the post-op instructions were perfectly clear, about having to wait six weeks to do it again. It wasn't like he could do it even if he wanted to, she reminded herself, since it still made him wince when he moved around much, and it was still exhausting him, the infection he had to fight off and the waiting for the incision to heal, and it would ache worse as the scar formed, she noted almost clinically, delicately tracing her finger over it again, and it might even be ticklish for a while, she thought, at least, until it loosened up again, the pink lined flesh along the surgical site.
"It's making me sick," he muttered, half into his pillow, and it startled her that he was even awake, and she almost pulled her hands away abruptly, except that it had become almost hypnotic, the slow rhythm of his breathing beneath her fingers as she stroked his silky skin, and it was almost lulling her to sleep, the familiar warmth of his body beside her.
"The incision?" she asked quickly, straightening up abruptly and trying to clear her head and focus her eyes as she peered more closely at it.
"The job," he mumbled, his voice distant and deflated.
It shocked her, his tone, and it startled her again, his words, and she wondered if maybe it was the pain meds or the exhaustion or the infection or the fever roaring back, and she just couldn't help it, as she examined him quickly for more signs of illness or injury, and she just didn't get it, when he just smirked sleepily at her, and she could've told it to him months before – that he was over-working, that it wasn't the job for him, that he was always going to hate it, that it just wasn't worth it, that they didn't need the money – even if he did insist on it, spoiling the kids – and that it would've been better all around, if he'd just quit it months before, and gone back to doing all the cool surgeries he's always wanted – even if she'd still never buy it, that that's why he was in Peads in the first place.
She could have told him all of that, but it would've been a battle of wills than, and it would've been a war to see who could say it first – "I told you so" – and it would've been years of stubborn, self-inflicted misery just so that he could prove it, that he was great at it, even if he hated it, and it had all been perfectly obvious right from the start, but it caught her off guard just then, and it was her own fault for stirring it all up, even if it was just wedged placidly against her, dozing peacefully.
"You could just stop it, you know," she said finally, tracing her fingers gently along it again and again, and she didn't say quit, because that would just make it worse, and she didn't say quit, because that would just make him fight harder to keep what he didn't even want, and she didn't say it at all, that he should just do it, and go back to where he was, because then it might be her idea, and then it would be wrong, and then it would be another medical emergency as he tried to prove it, that he'd been right all along, and it would be the Great Ass Fracture debate all over again, and it was the last thing she wanted, more medical mayhem just because he was too proud to admit it, that he just couldn't do it anymore.
"It's a lot of money to give up," he muttered, finally, and it was, she admitted, and he didn't add it, that it was a lot of ego, too, a lot more than wiping out on the kiddie ski slope, even.
"We don't need it," she reminded him quietly, and they didn't, and she got it – she did – that he'd grown up stealing food, and he'd been basically homeless, and it wasn't happening to his family, not this time. It wouldn't, though, and it wasn't like they'd ever be poor, even if he'd always feel like it, and it wasn't like the kids would inherit it, that fear, since as far as they knew it was perfectly normal never to have to worry about it – if there'd be food in the pantry – even if it wasn't always healthy, or in alphabetical order.
"It's a big step down," he mumbled, and it was, she knew, since it was another way of keeping score – promotions – and it was like he was volunteering not to take first place, and it was like he was giving up on a wrestling match, or being pinned before he'd been beaten into an actual bloody pulp, and it was like he was giving back a trophy he'd won, and it wasn't computing with him at all – she was sure – and it might even be causing his infection, she thought wryly, his whole body rebelling against the idea of surrendering, even if it might go a long way toward actually keeping him alive.
"It's more cool surgeries," she reminded him, almost smirking, and it was manipulation plain and simple, and it was definitely a good groan that followed, as her fingers trailed over his body again, and it was an even more familiar moan that followed, because it wasn't like he couldn't feel it as it pulsed lazily in her hands, even if they couldn't actually do it yet, or at least, not without her doing all the work.
"That's cheating," he murmured, groaning again as her fingers sank deeper into his groin, and it was, she giggled, as it rippled right through him, and it was definitely a good groan, since she'd gotten the hang of it long ago, and it was definitely persuasive, since it was defenseless in her grasp, and it was definitely slower than usual, since it was post-op, and it was just what he needed, medically speaking, and it could have been by prescription, since it was technically an analgesic, and he was snoring softly afterwards.
It was definitely cheating, she admitted with a smirk as she tugged him closer, and it was definitely needed, she added – him dumping that job, since it was definitely making him sick, she agreed, as she out lined the incision lightly with her finger again, even if it probably would've blown regardless, his appendix, at least, medically speaking.
It was definitely going to be ticklish as it healed, too, she imagined, giggling at his groggy smile as she fingered it again, and it was all feeling like it used to, the warm rippling of his body, and she'd missed it over the past few weeks, and it occurred to her as the moonlight poured over them that she'd just never get it, why it was easier for him to drift off with it quivering lazily in her hands or wedged sleepily against her, than to just admit it, that it wasn't the job for him, even if it was supposed to be.