A/N: So, getting close to the end now, only one more chapter to go after this. Again, I feel like there are some parallels to what is happening so far in S12, which I have to say I'm really enjoying so far! I'm such an angst whore, I know...
This chapter was a bit tricky, because believe it or not I don't think I'm cut out to be a song writer, so I needed to rely on people more eloquent than me for putting the words together in the right order.
Thanks again to everyone who took the time to read & review, I heart you all. As usual I rely on hearing from you so please let me know what you thought of this...
The kitchen cupboard clicks shut with a hollow bang, announcing its emptiness with a sharp complaint. He folds the cardboard flaps in on each other, closing the last box of kitchen equipment with a heavy sigh. All around him boxes are stacked up against walls, bubble wrap and tape cluttering every surface and bare nails marking the spots where paintings used to decorate his walls. The moving company is not coming for another few days, but ever since the party a couple of days ago he's been full of nervous energy, too wired to relax and enjoy his last few days in LA.
He fishes out his phone from his pocket to check the time. Even packing up the kitchen didn't take him long, not long enough. It's still far too early. He rereads her message one more time; even though he's read it enough times that he should know it off by heart by now. It was good to see him, she assures, however awkward the circumstances. It had been good to see her too, to see that he could manage to be in the same room as her without breaking his calm appearance. She would like to see him again, the message says, but he's unsure. The familiar sting in his chest is just as strong as ever when she enters his mind, the only difference now is that he has gotten better at blocking her out. There is a listening party for her album tonight, and she really wants him to be there. The thought of being around her and all the people that work with her again has sparked a conflict in him. He can feel the pull towards her as powerful as ever, the instinct to go to her and to be around her having lost none of its potency with time. On the other hand he's worked hard to distance himself from her world and his role in it for the past few months, and he wants nothing more to do with it. The last line of the message really tugs at his heartstrings, however. "We used to be friends, and I miss that." It's that last sentence that has sent him on a packing frenzy, has had him pacing the almost empty living room restlessly for the last twenty minutes, and it's the sentence that finally propels him into action.
An hour later he's showered and dressed and out of the door without letting his mind pause to reflect on the urgency that is suddenly filling his body, taking over for trepidation. Thankfully it's an industry party, no paparazzi loitering outside the venue, no red carpet, no photographers poised to spin a story out of him turning up at his ex-girlfriend's event. The room is busy, filled with overly hip looking people eagerly helping themselves to the free food and open bar. Along the walls are giant posters of the album cover, a close up of April's face from the lips down, pink mouth slightly open and the skin on her neck exposed. The familiarity of that view sends a little shiver down his neck, which he quickly dampens, fluttering his eyelashes furiously.
She interrupts his train of thought, calling his name from across the crowded room. For a moment he is frozen to the floor, watching her move towards him in a rush. She's wearing a short lace dress, the hot pink colour making her red, freshly cut hair seem even brighter, loose curls bouncing against her shoulders as she moves. Her eyes are bare, her makeup barely there, eyes glittering as she comes closer. His eyes drop to her legs, following them from the black strappy sandals all the way up to the tops of her thighs where the hem of her dress stops his roving eyes. He swallows hard as she reaches him, her familiar perfume filling his nose and clouding his mind. She stops short of embracing him, jolting to a stop, lowering the hands that flew up automatically before they reach him.
"You came!"
She is breathless, but relief is written all over her face. Her smile is tentative, but genuine, her eyes sparkling with some unnamed emotion.
"Yeah, congratulations on your album," he offers, politely, respectfully, awkwardly sidestepping any intimacy still lingering between them.
"Thank you," she smiles widely, the kind of smile that used to send chills down his spine and make him want to pick her up and twirl her around the room. He doesn't though. He stretches his lips out to a thin smile in return, balling his hands into fists in his pockets.
"I'm really glad you came," she starts when he doesn't say anything else, babbling nervously about the album, her mouth running over itself explaining to him why this album is different.
"Why did you want me here?" he interrupts her after a little while when it becomes clear to him that she's not going to stop rambling any time soon.
"Oh". She exhales softly, her face falling as she snaps out of her loop, her eyes falling to the floor. "I just really wanted you to hear the album."
Her voice is quiet, hesitant. She takes a deep breath and lifts her head to face him again. She opens her mouth, setting her face in determined lines, about to elaborate when Alex interrupts. Alex shoots him a quick look, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smirk, before beckoning April over.
"I'm sorry…" she rushes, eyes darting between Alex and him. "I have to…"
He waves her off, shrugging his shoulders, turning away from her apologetic eyes. In a flash of pink she's gone again, disappearing into the crowd, trailing after Alex. He casts a long look after the brilliant red of her hair before turning towards the bar for something calming and numbing.
He orders a scotch on the rocks, turning his back on the pandemonium behind him, on the world he used to be a part of. He slumps down on an uncomfortable bar stool, letting the liquid burn his throat and the cool tumbler calms his sweaty palms.
"Jax!"
The familiar voice startles him, his head snapping round to face the woman next to him at the bar. Meg looks the same, unkempt black hair, no make up, dressed in all black as always.
"Meg," he mutters, for lack of anything else to say.
"I didn't know you and April were still in touch," Meg says, taking a deep sip of her dark brown drink. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised."
"Yeah, well, she asked me to be here," he sighs, knocking back the rest of his drink and signalling to the bartender for another. This kind of conversation was exactly what he'd hoped to avoid tonight.
"Good for her!"
She smirks to herself when she says it, no doubt drawing some conclusions of her own.
"Shouldn't you be with her? You know, working the room?" he remarks, eager to get rid of her and to be left alone with his thoughts.
"Oh, no that's Alex's job now," she shrugs, fiddling with the half empty cigarette packet in front of her. "Fucking Alex."
She mutters the last part to herself, but makes no attempt to hide the bitterness in her voice.
"What? I don't understand, why is that Alex's job?" He knows he shouldn't care, but the tightness in her voice hints at something significant, some missing puzzle piece he might need.
"She fucking fired me," Meg snorts, voice incredulous, but her eyes firmly fixed at the drink in her hand.
"Really?"
He has little sympathy for her, for the woman that orchestrated their every move from the start, and who no doubt orchestrated the end with similar finesse. He is surprised though; surprised that April would break away from the crass, but clearly very good at her job manager in favour of an inexperienced, untested friend.
"I pushed her too far," Meg mutters, mostly to herself, clearly not about to divulge the specific incident she has in mind.
He throws a glance over his shoulder and back out into the room, catching a glimpse of hot pink and red. She's working the crowd, chatting animatedly to a group of young men with thick-rimmed glasses and long hipster beards. She laughs a rolling laughter, throwing her head back so her curls shake and bob with the movement, and they all lean in eagerly, gravitating towards her, hanging on to every word. She seems confident, relaxed, in control. There is no subconscious fiddling with her short hemline or fidgeting with the small gold cross that she always wears around her neck. He turns back to his drink, knuckles whitening as he clutches the glass tightly.
"I'm glad she still has you, despite everything," Meg mumbles into her glass, so quietly that he almost doesn't hear her over the background chatter.
"What?!"
He's astounded at the crack in her otherwise tough as nails facade, her rare show of real human emotion drawing out the incredulity in his voice. He's so shocked by her statement that he forgets to correct her; April doesn't really have him still, not like that, not anymore.
"Yeah yeah, fucking close your mouth Jax," Meg snaps, averting her gaze. "She's a good egg, that one. She deserves everything and more."
Meg waves her hand dismissively in front of her face, signalling that her brief admission of humanity is over.
Behind them the crowd quietens down as the sound of tapping into a microphone fills the room. They both turn their attentions to the stage on the other side of the room, now brightly lit up. The tall man on the stage smiles widely, running a hand through his long grey hair before bending down to speak into the mic.
"Welcome everyone," he breathes into the microphone as feedback hisses and shrieks, making everyone shrink back from the painful noise. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbles, gesturing to some unseen minion to sort it out for him.
Beside him Meg snorts loudly, disdain written all over her face, but she doesn't comment. A brief shuffle and some choice muted words later, the now visibly annoyed man is back.
"Sorry, I guess if you want something done, you've got to do it yourself, right?" The man says with thinly concealed contempt and a small laugh, the crowd laughing politely in response. "Anyways, we're here for a very special performance from a very special little lady."
He can practically hear Meg's teeth gritting beside him, and internally he's cringing at the choice of words used to introduce April.
"We're so glad we managed to persuade her to step outside her comfort zone for this newest album, the results have blown us all away."
The man continues to ramble, pushing his heavy rimmed glasses back up his nose while he grins an insincere smile.
"Fucking Eric," Meg mutters not too quietly, jaw set in firm lines. "Fucking ass wipe," she adds more quietly, so only he can hear.
"Without further ado, please give her a warm welcome, it's April!"
The crowd cheers loudly, making his stomach twist into knots. He claps politely as she takes her place on stage, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Eric the ass wipe. The cheers die down as the lights in the room fade and the spotlight focuses on her.
He leans back against the bar, the wooden counter digging into his back, but he can't feel anything. His eyes are fixed on the stage, trying to prepare himself for what's to come. When they first met he hadn't bothered listening to her music, and once he got to know her he'd quickly decided it wasn't really to his taste. After she left, he spent nights watching every music video she ever made and listening to her two albums on repeat. Her music still isn't exactly to his taste, but her voice is beautiful. She is beautiful. Watching her on stage for the first time he is mesmerised. She is calm and focused in her spotlight, eyes half closed as the music starts. She sways softly to the beat, as if in her own world, totally enraptured by the music.
The music is different, he notes, having memorised her every tune thus far. The bass line is a bit heavier, a bit more complex. The melody is not as upbeat as he's used to, it's still pop, but it's interesting, intriguing. She's only a couple of bars in, but already he can tell that this album is miles away from the other two. She smiles slowly before grabbing the microphone and starting to sing softly. Her voice is a little deeper, more sultry than he's used to and he can feel his neck prickling with anticipation.
You and I will always be unfinished business, she sings, her eyes closed now, immersing herself in the song. Her songs were always love songs, but this one seems sadder than anything she's made before.
Time passed and pain turned into memories, she continues. He swallows hard, taking another swig of his drink to force the lump forming in his throat back down. She is a beautiful singer, and a great performer, he feels like he missed a vital part of her when they were together by ignoring this side of her.
When the song is finished the room erupts in loud cheers and whistles, but he is frozen in place, one hand grasping his glass, the other balled into a fist in his pocket. All around him he hears impressed murmurs and sees genuine smiles. Meg's mouth is twisted into a thin smirk as she turns to the bar to order herself yet another strong drink.
"Thank you so much!" April laughs, relieved and giddy from the enthusiastic reaction.
She waits for the crowd to settle down a little before she speaks again, explaining why this third album is so different for her. She wrote all the songs, apparently, and something somewhere inside him triggers a distant memory. He remembers her sitting across from him in a dimly lit restaurant, before they were anything more than two people forced together by circumstance. He remembers her fidgeting with her hands as she told him how all she wanted was to sing songs that mattered to her, to write her own songs and have control over her own career. He sighs deeply as he remembers her calling him out for not paying attention to her.
She lists a bunch of people and thanks them for helping her on the album, her producer, her engineer, Alex, Meg's name is notable by its absence. He throws her a quick sideways glance and sees she is not unaffected by that, tapping the box of cigarettes against the bar as she bites her bottom lip.
Another song starts and the room disappears, he can only see her, the bluish spotlight glowing around her. She doesn't look up, doesn't look around as she sings, but all eyes are on her, drawing everyone in with her unique voice. He is uneasy as he listens to the lyrics, suddenly aware that the words are burrowing down, slipping in under his skin and drawing out goose bumps under his shirt.
When you leave
all I want is to follow
He swallows hard, working overtime to make the lump in his throat disappear.
What we had
comes to nothing
He exhales deeply, tearing his eyes away from her and staring hard at his feet. The lyrics aren't specific, but they feel personal. The way she sings them feels personal. It feels like she's singing about him. He finishes his drink in one big gulp, slamming his glass down on the bar with a loud bang. Several heads turn, shooting him angry glares, a few of them shaking their heads and tutting.
"Get it together Avery," Meg hisses through her teeth, suppressing what sounds like an actual chuckle.
He orders another scotch, impatiently waiting for the bartender as his back runs hot, listening to the rest of the song facing away from the stage. Turning his back does nothing to soothe the storm raging in his mind, doesn't help calm his erratic heart beat. She carries on singing, oblivious to the effect it has on him, drawing out feelings he has done his best to bury with each line.
Tell me if you hurt at all,
when someone says my name with yours
He scoffs quietly, closing his eyes briefly as her words continue to punish him, drawing blood from his heart and sweat from his skin, and threatening to draw tears from his eyes.
It may have been long ago,
but I'd give the world to know.
When the bartender slides his drink across the wood counter towards him he almost snatches it out of his hand, the cool alcohol burning his throat when he gulps it down as if it were water. The song comes to a close and the room erupts in even louder cheers than before, thundering in his ears and sending shooting pains to his brain as a reminder that he is going to wake up with a punishing hangover tomorrow morning.
With a sinking realisation the pieces snap together and tell him everything he should have known before he walked into this. The confession that she wanted to write songs that matter to her, her insistence that he come tonight, the lyrics that feel and undoubtedly are personal, it all adds up. This is April's way of speaking to him, of sending a message that might be imperceptible to the crowded room but is crystal clear to him.
If he were better prepared he might have been open to listening, to hear her out, but she has taught him well. He has spent the last months building his own walls, burying his own skeletons and trying hard not to feel anything at all. In an instant she has launched a full-scale attack on his defences and he has to get out of her before he loses his footing completely.
"This next song means a lot to me."
April's voice over the speaker system jerks him out of his trance, it is pleading and insistent at the same time, forcing him to turn to face her once again.
The song starts softly, a slow, deep bass planting his feet firmly to the floor. She starts singing, eyes fully open now, staring straight out into the crowd, boring into him.
After all this time
you gave me so many reasons to write
so many ways to love
His mouth is dry, his eyes unflinching as he meets her draws him in with her eyes, driving home her meaning with each word.
After all this time
the universe could never outshine you
She's singing directly to him, forcing him to listen, forcing him to hear her.
After all this time
I could spend the rest of my days trying to deserve you
He can barely take it, with each line it becomes harder to hold her gaze, to keep his eyes on her.
It was always you
after all this time
He can't handle it anymore; he has to get out of here. He tears his eyes away from her, downing the last of his drink before turning on his heel and moving through the crowd towards the door. He's almost there when a small hand grasps his arm forcefully.
"I'm sorry, you know."
Meg's voice barely carries over the music, she takes care not to disturb the performance, but her face is set in firm lines, her eyes insistent.
"I forced her hand, she had no other option."
He lets out a frustrated sigh, shaking her hand off his arm before turning towards the door once more. He is about to push through the doors and into the cool night outside when a short blonde rushes up to him, pressing a small gift bag into his hands and thanking him enthusiastically for supporting April tonight. He doesn't look in the bag until he is back home in his apartment, carefully extracting the cd from the paper bag. April's third album, her most personal yet, the one she insisted he listen to is poignantly titled "One Second of Love."
When his doorbell goes off hours later he doesn't even bother checking who it is, sighing deeply as he presses the buzzer to open the door. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, as he hears the elevator ding, the doors roll open and soft footsteps padding towards him across the carpeted floor.
"You left."
It sounds more like a conclusion than a question, her eyes wide and damp, her shoulders slumped. The woman standing in front of him is a completely different version of the confident, perky April he saw just a few hours earlier.
"I had to."
"Why? Did you not like…"
Her voice trails off, her arms folding across her body as if protecting herself from whatever answer he's going to give her.
"You ambushed me."
Her head snaps up, surprise registering on her face, but at least it stops the tears from flowing over. He's not sure he could handle her tears right now.
"How?"
"I thought I knew where we stood," he sighs, running his hand over his forehead, still blocking the entrance and forcing her to stand in the hallway, refusing to let her in.
"I thought that whatever was between us was done, and that we could both just move on and forget this ever happened. But you won't let me!"
He's not aware that he's been raising his voice until he sees her shrink away from him, backing up a couple of steps. He pauses for a moment before speaking again, softening his voice and lowering it to an almost whisper.
"What I mean, is that when you asked me to come to your listening party I thought I was coming as a friend, to give you a pat on the back and congratulate you. I didn't expect the whole damn album to be about us!"
"What did you expect? How else was I supposed to communicate with you? You told me not to call, text or email you!"
She throws her arms out in frustration, keeping her voice at a low hiss, her eyes now glinting with something other than tears. They glare at each other for what seems like an eternity, him with his arms still crossed tightly over his torso, her with her hands in her sides, silently accusing each other. After a while the tension between them fades out, like someone is letting the air out of a balloon, his shoulders sinking gradually, her jaw slackening steadily.
"Jackson," she exhales, shaking her head slightly. Hearing her say his name like that, pleadingly and softly, brings the memories flooding back of other times she said his name like that, under completely different circumstances.
"April…," he replies, closing his eyes briefly, shutting out the heavy atmosphere hanging between them for just a moment, warning her off.
"Just listen for once," she half whispers, running her hand through her curls and resting it on the nape of her neck. She catches his eyes, holding him steady in her gaze, a sudden calmness coming over her.
"I love you, ok? I love everything about you, even the things I don't like I love. I love you and I want you with me."
She pauses for a moment, her face open and honest, laying it all on the line. He doesn't move from his spot, frozen in place by the force of her confession.
"I love you and I think that you love me too."
She takes a tentative step towards him, never letting him break eye contact.
"Do you?"