APRIL

"Jackson, Jackson."

My hands gripped onto his shoulder and gave a little shake to try and bring some form of consciousness back to him, more panic beginning to flood my system. Everything about this situation had been confusing until it had been too late to change it.

"Come on, Jackson. I'm right here. You're going to be fine. I promise you're going to be fine." I didn't know if I was trying to convince him or myself about it.

Lifting him up to try and put pressure on the wound on his back, the blood from stabbing Owen began to look the exact same as the blood that was coming out of him now. It's hard to keep my hands still because of it, but I know that I need help. I may have had a medical degree, but my training after school was with the dead, not the living. I'm not equipped to give him the medical help and expertise that he needed at the moment. Someone else needed to get down here now.

So I do the only thing that I can think to do.

I scream.

As if I was the wounded in this situation, I scream and howl like there's no tomorrow, begging for help and for attention, for more hands, for someone to call 911 for an ambulance. Screaming inside of a police station, fortunately, does not go unnoticed easily, and a few officers end up rushing downstairs with their guns drawn to try and see what was going on. When they realize it's already been resolved by my own bloody hands and that I'm not the perpetrator, however, guns are put away.

One of the younger uniforms, Karev I think his name was, is the one who finally pulled me away to let some of the other officers take over putting pressure on the wound to try and keep him from bleeding out all over the floor. His arms wrap around mine just enough to pin my arms down because my instinct is to fight him, to get back to Jackson and do everything in my power to make sure that he's okay. To try and stop the death and destruction that seemed to just radiate from me from taking him away from me, from rising the one good thing that I had left in my life.

Even if hours ago, I was still upset with him for breaking things off with me so out of the blue. I hadn't even been able to be in the same room from him. But now any distance at all seemed like far too much, especially considering how much had been forced between us from Owen.

Paramedics arrive after what seemed like far too long and I watch as they work quickly to get him onto the gurney and back to the ambulance. They're talking quickly and things don't sound good.

I follow as far as they'll let me, standing alone outside of the police station for a moment. The sun beat down on my face with brutal heat and I can feel my skin boil almost instantly, perspiration appearing, and yet I don't move to get back inside the air-conditioned building. I can't. It's as if my feet had turned to cement, my stomach an anchor with the weight there.

"April." It's the first time that I've heard Detective Shepherd address me by my first name.

"Wh–I…" I'm not even sure what I'm trying to say.

"You know that I need to get a statement from you for what happened. I'm gonna go ahead and guess that it's a pretty clear case of self-defense, and there are cameras down there to back that up." Derek placed a hand on my shoulder, dropping his head down to get to my level. "I should take you in right now, but I'm not gonna do that. Let me take you to the hospital, okay? They're taking him to Texas Health Pres, over on Walnut Hill. I'll drive you."

Moving in what felt more like autopilot mode than any conscious autonomy of my body, I let Jackson's partner take me to his car and get into the passenger seat without another word. I feel like I'm going to be sick. I nearly asked him to pull over so I can dry heave, but my voice is gone.

My hand was so tight against the handle on the door that my knuckles turned an even more ghastly shade of white compared to my normally pale skin tone, ready to throw myself out of the vehicle the second that it came to a stop. The grip is the only thing that kept my body from shaking visibly, even if it already felt like the remaining pieces on my inside were vibrating.

When his car came to a stop, I lurch myself from the vehicle without so much of a word of thanks to him. I'm grateful – but gratitude would have to come later. I needed to know if he was still alive.

Hospitals are a maze to me, but there's at least a reception desk to hound immediately upon entering.

"Excuse me." My manners are gone as I step up without regard for anyone else there, needing the information now. I couldn't wait another second. "Excuse me, I need information. Detective Jackson Avery – he was brought in here earlier by an ambulance and I need to know if he's okay."

A glare is the first thing I receive from a nurse. "Ma'am, you're going to need to wait in line–"

"No, no, he's a police officer. A Dallas police officer. A detective. I need to know if he's alright, I'm the chief medical examiner." I fumble to try and get my identification badge like it might have some pull here, but before I have to, someone else stepped in.

"Dr. Kepner." A young looking officer that I don't recognize stepped in and placed his hand on my elbow. "Come with me."

I blink a few times but blindly listen to him, stepping away to where he pulled me. Maybe I shouldn't, given that Owen had proved how easy it was to have someone completely nasty on the inside, but I'm too stunned and terrified by everything that was happening to use any of my critical thinking skills.

"What– what's going on?" My gaze dropped to his name tag. "Where is he, Officer Deluca?"

"The doctor just came out and gave us an update. They're taking him up for surgery. The stab wound in his knife nicked one of the arteries leading to his kidney which has caused a lot of damage. Apparently, he might lose the kidney." He explained with a deep furrow of his eyebrows, clearly bothered by the information but not emotional or alarmed over it. Maybe he didn't know Jackson. But no one knew him the way that I did.

"Just one kidney? People… people can live without a kidney." I knew that. And getting a kidney, even if he somehow lost both, wasn't the hardest or more uncommon organ donation. It could be fine. He could be fine.

"Yeah. The doc talked about that and uh, how do you say it – hypovolemic shock?"

I nodded my head quickly with wide eyes.

"Yeah, that. That and shock. His heart was going really fast on the monitor that they had hooked up to him and then they lost a pulse." He continued to speak about it as if it was all casual. Like the weather.

Even though I shouldn't be, the way that he talked about it was making me unreasonably angry. It was if he didn't care, just rattling off a repetition of what he had heard with no concern in the world. It wasn't the way that doctors talked to patients. It wasn't the way that police officers talked to the loved one of victims, either. Maybe he was new to the force or didn't have a lot of experience with this kind of thing, but I could feel myself becoming angrier and angrier the more that I stared at him. He was just hanging around here like it was nothing.

Without thinking, I burst past the doors that say Staff Only, determined to find and see him for myself. I knew I couldn't walk into an O.R. But maybe I could at least talk to a doctor or nurse who had set their own eyes on him, see if I could sneak my way into a gallery or some kind of room to just see the surgery. Just enough to know that he was alive.

"Excuse me, ma'am, you can't be back here!" Some nurse shouted at me.

Ignoring the sound of the woman's voice, I look around madly for signs that would try and get me in the right direction. Words aren't seeming to make nearly as much sense to me at the moment. That was a shock of my own kicking in – but it was substantially less vital than hypovolemic shock. It didn't seem to matter, not in comparison.

A hand is placed on my shoulder and I flinch hard in response, turning with wild eyes to see who's touched me. It's a woman in dark scrubs, a few years older than me with dirty blonde hair.

"You're April, aren't you? Dr. April Kepner?" She asked.

I gave a jerky nod of the head, my mouth suddenly too dry to be able to speak.

"Here, come with me, alright? I'm Meredith. Dr. Meredith Grey. I'm Derek's wife." Her hand moved from my shoulder to upper back to guide me somewhere." He called and let me know that you were coming. He said that Jackson's very important to you."

"He is," I whispered.

"He's in surgery right now. And they've got some very, very talented hands in there, so you don't need to worry about it, okay? Jackson's going to be just fine." She opened up the door to a lounge, stepping in and I followed her. I nearly collapsed into a chair, holding my head in my arms. "I like him a lot too, you know. He's a good guy. Derek wasn't sure about him when they first became partners, but he seems to be doing pretty well with all of it."

"He's really good." I can't speak in anything louder than a hush, but I'm not entirely silent.

Instead, tears begin pouring out. One, two, then a torrential downpour that couldn't be tamed. The sobs were far from pretty or poetic, just broken. My hands curled into tight fists before pounding once against the table, trying to gain control, hissing through my teeth. Something between a sob and a scream was stuck in my throat, begging for release, but my lips remained pressed painfully together. My lungs begged and pleaded with my brain for oxygen, and yet the sobbing had the same force of someone drowning. I was drowning.

Meredith doesn't say a word, doesn't try to stop what can't be controlled. As the wife of a police officer, I'm sure that she knew fear. But I wasn't his wife. Technically, I wasn't even his girlfriend anymore. That didn't seem to matter anymore.

As the minutes slowly drag on, I run out of tears to cry. I can feel a headache begin to pound in my temple from it and I know it's not going to go away any time soon, because I can't see myself getting control of my emotions any time soon. They would go hand in hand. Maybe once I knew that he was safe, I could find a way to calm myself back down again. Like he would want.

"Can you go see how he's doing? Please?" I finally asked, looking up at her.

Meredith nodded her head and got up from the table, leaving me alone for a moment. I wipe the skin under my eyes to try and get rid of the tears and some of the mascara that had run, and I'm sure that regardless, I look like a complete mess. I don't care. I had the right to. When the door opened and she entered again, I pushed the chair around quickly to face her.

"He's still in surgery, but they're on the tail end of it. They did have to take out one of his kidneys. But they've given him plenty of transfusions and intravenous crystalloids to help compensate for the loss and stabilize him." Meredith explained. I don't need her to dumb it down for me.

"So he's going to be okay?" I asked.

"It looks to be that way." She answered.

I let go of the breath that I hadn't realized I was holding onto in the first place, finally able to unclench my fist. More tears fell out of my eyes, the few that still remained, but this time they're not coming from a place of being completely heartbroken. Just a little less, like one piece had been taped back into place, but it was at least a starting point.

"When can I see him?" The next step. The next thing that I absolutely needed.

"After he gets out of surgery, I can take you up to his room. It shouldn't be too much longer." She answered. "I need to go check on some of my patients, but I'll come and get you when he's ready for visitors, okay? You can stay here. If anyone asks, just tell them that I put you here. I'm the Head of General. They have to listen to me."

"Thank you." I reached out for her hand for just a brief moment, giving it a tight squeeze to try and show some gratitude for how she had gone out of her way for me.

She gave me a smile for a brief moment before walking out of the room. When I'm alone again, I lean forward onto the table and let my head rest there. There's no way that time was about to pass quickly, I knew that much. If the kidney was already removed when she had come in, though, they should have been closing him up. Which meant he would be in a room of his own soon enough. I would get to talk to him soon.

My eyes shut and I find myself in a dreamless state of sleep, covered in goosebumps from the chill of the room. All I could think about was him, how he was doing. But the terrible possibilities stay at bay in the few moments of shuteye that I manage to get in between.

When Meredith finally came to get me, being told that Jackson was awake and responsive in his room was a better jet of energy than any cup of coffee or a shot of espresso. I'm practically on top of her heels following her up to his room, needing this moment more than anything else.

A moment alone is offered and I accept without hesitation. Placing my hand on the door handle to enter his room, I take a deep breath, bracing myself. I don't have a lot of experience with hospitals, not since I had finished with rotations in med school. It's a little jittering to be in one on this side of the spectrum, though, knowing someone that I cared for and loved was on the other side of the door, connected to machines and likely an IV. It's a seed that's hard to swallow. But he was okay. He was here, which was better than being on my end of the spectrum.

"Jackson?" I whispered his name, half terrified to be heard and half terrified he won't hear me.

"H–Hey." His throat was dry and I moved quickly to pour a cup of water from the pitcher on his table, guiding it over to his lips and holding it as he took a few mouthfuls of water down.

"How do you feel?" I asked, brow furrowing as my gaze swept over him. I can't see anything with his patient gown and the blankets covering him, but I'm dying to know for myself. "Are you cold? Hot? Do you need more water?" Questions pour from my lips.

"Slow down," Jackson murmured. "M'just tired. That's all. But I'm okay."

Pulling over one of the plastic chairs and listening to it squeal across the linoleum floor, I get it as close as possible to his bed before sitting down next to him. A smile twitched across my cheeks for a brief moment and I forced a nod of my head. I didn't want to look too worried, but I knew that was a mission that I had already failed. I was normally good at keeping on a facade, but Jackson had always been one of the few people who were capable of seeing through it at all times. My hands wrap around one of his, taking a deep breath and releasing it. He was warm and alive, heart beating steadily on the monitor. All signs pointed to him being just fine now.

"I'm so sorry, Jackson. This is all my fault. I'm… I'm your bad luck charm." I began to ramble, the words starting to spill from my lips. Fortunately, he cut me off before I could say anything more.

"Stop that. Stop that right now, April. This is not your fault." Jackson began. "This is not your fault and you should know that. You didn't make the decision. They did. That was all on them. I'm sorry that this has happened to you, and I'm sorry that we've now both gotten hurt about it, but you can't walk around with guilt on your shoulders. The only people who should feel guilty about it are dead." His voice had managed to find some strength, and I have to imagine he's a little annoyed with my habit of blaming myself. It's hard not to. Not when you have a last name as infamous as mine.

I don't want to fight with him right now. There's a part of me that wanted to believe him, too, that wanted to stop associating myself with my last name. It was exhausting. I felt like I'd never really get to be a person of my own as long as I lingered in my past and everything that was there.

"Okay." I agreed with a smile that practically resembled a grimace, dropping my head down and letting my forehead resting against his hand. "Okay," I repeated the syllable once more, letting go of a breath.

"You need to believe it, April. Not just say it because you think it's what I want to hear." Jackson murmured.

"I know. I'm trying." And I was. It was just difficult to find something more solid to cling to. "I am."

His hand squeezed mine. "I believe you."

For a few minutes, the two of us just sit there, holding each other's hands and grateful to be in one another's presence. Maybe there would be some residual bitterness about the breakup and the lies by omission that had come along with it, but that could be saved for another time, another time when the appreciation for the mere fact that he was alive was less consuming.

I don't want to leave his side. I don't ever want to leave his side again, no matter what threat was lurking around the corner. But with my half-brother gone, and now with Owen gone… maybe the two of us could finally have a little peace and quiet from the chaos.

The door to his room opened and I turned my head to see who it was, giving a slight smile. It was Catherine and Derek. Two other people who cared about him just as much as I did.

"Hi," I sniffled loudly as I straightened up, wiping at my eyes.

"Hey, guys." Jackson greeted them.

"I cannot even begin to believe…" Catherine started. "All of this nonsense!"

It didn't take long for Catherine to begin to go off on a rant as she rushed to the other side of Jackson's bed. I straighten up, not wanting to hog him completely. Even if I feel the compulsive need to be by his side right now, I don't want to interfere between him and his mother. I knew how important their relationship was. I wouldn't get in the way.

"Kepner, why don't we step out for a minute? Give them some time alone." Derek's voice pulled me away from his thoughts. I looked at the two of them for a moment before giving a shaky nod.

Standing up from the chair, I leave it there so that Catherine can take it, and follow him out of the room. I knew that there were still things that we would have to discuss from the incident. Statements, paperwork, proof. It was a good thing that there were cameras all over the police station that would substantiate both my story and Jackson's.

The door is pulled shut behind us and I don't stray far, moving to lean against the wall across from the room. The blinds are drawn shut, but I can at least imagine what things look like on the other side.

"We pulled the footage of what happened. Got Owen stabbing Jackson, threatening you. The district attorney will look over it tomorrow, but right now, there's not going to be any charges filed in the case. It's straightforward. No need to indict." Derek explained.

It's a relief to hear. Self-defense trials were hard if they actually made it to court because only the borderline catastrophe cases actually made it to court. It was high-stakes. I had worked in the career long enough to know that. When it was clear cut, it ended like this. When people used it as an attempt at a get out of jail free card, well, I wouldn't want to be in the latter. Especially not against any decent lawyer.

"Thank you," I breathed out, lips barely spreading open in a genuine smile.

"Of course," Derek nodded. "How did he seem in there? I didn't want to intrude on the time with his mom."

I nodded my head. Rubbing my hands against the side of my thighs, I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. Now's the time to be calm. Jackson was okay. I would be okay – it wouldn't be as complicated as Jackson's investigation after he had shot Mark Kepner. This was something that could, more or less, be swept under the rug.

Yet I don't feel entirely settled no matter how I can justify it in my head, even no matter how the law can wipe it away and refrain from punishing me for it. There were some things that maybe I just couldn't escape. My family name, the legacy that came with it, that seemed to be one of them. I had nearly hurt Serena. And now I had actually killed someone. It was like I had solidified my way into the family by taking a life like now I would never be able to get away from it. Maybe it had been what Mark had wanted. Maybe Owen hadn't even known and that had been his plan all along. I would never know the truth, but I would always have to live with this.

"He's okay." I wasn't sure what else to say. "I.. I talked to your wife. Thank you for telling her that I was here. She was kind." I smiled for just a brief moment. "I think he'll be okay. He's… tough. And we're going to get back together. It spilled, why he broke up with me."

Of course, I hadn't technically discussed that with him. But I was sure that it was going to be fine. It had been a struggle the past few weeks to go back and forth around him, and I had seen that he appeared to be equally miserable with the way that things were going. He hadn't kicked me out of the room first thing, either. We would be fine. Together.

"Good," Derek nodded his head. "I'm gonna find Mer and head out – I just wanted to bring his mom here, but I'll be back tomorrow. Don't be too hard on him."

I take his hand and shake it firmly once. giving a small squeeze before letting him go.

Not wanting to interrupt things between him and his mother, but not wanting to go anywhere, I remain standing outside the door. My stomach growled with hunger and coffee was becoming tempting, but I don't want to go anywhere. Even just a wall between us felt like too much.

Pacing to keep myself from becoming too restless with waiting, I realized I could just barely hear the conversation that was going on the other side of the door. Catherine was talking a lot, unsurprisingly, and I couldn't really hear Jackson saying anything in particular.

"I liked April. I thought she was charming and nothing like her family. But I think even now you know, that girl is nothing but trouble, baby. She almost got you killed. You already had to give a kidney for her. How much more are you going to give?" Catherine spoke on the other side of the wall, and I could feel my stomach drop into the deepest pit of despair. "You deserve a better life than that. A life without trouble. You've already had enough."

It was one thing when I was the one saying things like that. It's like the way that you make fun of yourself – you can make your own remarks, but when someone else breaks out with the same disparaging comment, it breaks your heart in a different way. I shouldn't have been surprised that she wouldn't say these things to my face. Or maybe I should have been. It's hard to know. I had trusted her. Another person added to the list of those who had let me down. I don't know why I bothered to be surprised anymore.

I wait and wait, minutes ticking by impossibly slow as she continued. Jackson spoke up to my defense, but it's a short-lived conversation, quickly switching to another topic. I can't decide if that's for the best or the worst of my eavesdropping ears.

The door opens and I nearly jump even though there's no proof that I had been listening in, staring at Catherine with wide eyes as she stepped out, appearing perfectly composed. She offered me a smile that I already knew was fake, even if it was hard to tell with the way that she wore it. She really was good at putting on an act.

"Oh, you're still here." She commented. "I'm going home for the night – Jackson needs his rest for the night, so I hope that you will, too. I'm sure you have plenty to worry about at the moment."

"They're not pressing charges," I commented. "Self defense. Video proved it, and I'm sure Jackson's side of the story will too." My comment is a little bitter after overhearing her. "Right now, he's all that I'm worried about. Have a good night, Catherine."

Without giving her another moment of my time, I step into his room and shut the door behind me. It felt good to stand up for myself, even just for the briefest of moments.

But ultimately, the feeling does go away as I can't get her words and my own out of my head again. I was always going to be a Kepner. It was something that I was never going to be able to rid myself of, a mark of shame, my own personal scarlet letter. Just like we thought the first victim had carved into her – but mine didn't need to be physical for me to be stigmatized about it. All it would ever take was an introduction, someone who paid attention to the news. Maybe people would forget about it over time, and maybe they wouldn't. The news would cover some new, horrific story. But I would never have the luxury of forgetting it. The power of a name was something else.

Unless it didn't have to last.

Maybe I'd gone completely crazy, but the thought ones and goes in a flash, the impulse follows.

"I'm going to have some more time off because of this, obviously. A couple of weeks, at least." Jackson was speaking about his own recovery and while I should have been paying close attention to every word coming out of his mouth, it went in one ear and right out the other. "It's a pretty big incision and I'll be here at least a couple of more days."

"Jackson," I stated his name suddenly, my voice firm enough that it stopped him from continuing on where he was speaking. I knew why he was talking about his physical condition and not what had happened. He didn't know where we stood. I couldn't blame him for that. It was probably my fault.

His eyebrows raised up at me, clearly waiting for me to continue. I fell silent for a moment which prompted him to speak. "What's up, April?"

"I'm about to say something crazy and I need you to listen to me. To really listen to me." I warned him.

"Alright, go ahead." He nodded.

"I want your last name. I want to get married, to you, Jackson. I… I want to be Mrs. Dr. Avery. And I know this is crazy because the entire time we've known each other it's been nothing but absolute chaos between the two of us. I got shot because of you and you got stabbed because of me. And maybe that's every sign the universe should have to give two people to tell them to stay away from each other but despite all of the crazy crap and life-threatening experiences, I still want you. I still want to be with you every step of the way. Because I love you. And I'd never really loved someone and had them love me back, not when they know everything about me, not like you do. You're someone special. You are someone so, so special. And I don't want… this insanity to take that away from me. It's taken enough. This time, I want it to finally give me something good."

The rambles fall from my lips without much forethought and yet I don't regret a single one of them that comes back. Maybe it's the worst timing int he world and a terrible excuse for a proposal, there's no ring and our roles are most certainly reversed, but it doesn't matter. It wasn't like anything in our relationship had been normal or traditional up to this point.

"You want to marry me?" Jackson questioned.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."