A/N: Technically related to 36 and 38. Extension of 3x14 based on an anonymous ask I got on tumblr this morning, related to me losing my mind and writing way too much about my pet theory that April is depressed/struggles with some of these issues in the timeline of the show. Either way, thanks Brianna for sparking this thought in my brain!

I love talking about this sort of stuff, or really at all, so you can come gab at me over on tumblr if you have requests, feedback, or just generally wanna shoot the shit. Enjoy!

Title is a lyric from Neutral Milk Hotel's "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea" and, likewise, the song at the end is a NMH joint.

After everyone had left the courtyard, the band and the few bystanders she'd managed to convince to sit there for a few minutes before bailing, the only two left there were April and Andy. He was sitting down on one of the benches, playing his guitar idly while looking up to her and intermittently laughing softly. For some reason she couldn't keep her eyes on him for very long without feeling another smile creeping over her face, and so she tried to keep away from him and pace.

Stealing his guitar back wasn't that hard. Sewage Joe was such an easy mark – one call to his extension, another horribly obvious phony accent, and off he went out to the parking lot to look for the Amazonian blonde in the parking lot. She had thrown a Craigslist ad out, improvising some way to get him out of his office, and his response of "which one" just made her skin crawl.

Now she was pacing in the courtyard, trying to figure out why she had even gone that far. But, it was Andy – and he was supposed to be the happy one. That was how they worked, at this point, and she didn't know how she'd deal with him if he ever fell into that weird self-esteem hole he did that day ever again. Also, having an argument with him sucked. Mostly because she ended up yelling at him for being insensitive and that was so far from the truth it hurt, but for whatever reason she had pulled that card out.

And then he sold his guitar and claimed to quit music forever. Now, though, he was sitting in the courtyard and strumming bland progressions and humming nonsense along to them. Giving in to his looks, she walked over to him and pushed his guitar away out of his lap, sliding around his side on the strap, and sat herself down where it was just before.

"Sorry about all that drama-for-drama stuff," she whispered, "I just thought you'd… sorta pay attention to stuff when I said I liked it."

"I do – I did – but… I dunno, that stuff makes me really sad and then," he sighed and looked around awkwardly before looking back up to her, "and it kinda makes me think you get super sad listening to it and, I dunno, that makes me feel weird about it."

April nodded in response, biting the side of her cheek. There were things she was comfortable sharing with Andy, and the tumultuous start to their relationship was founded on too little self-esteem and that familiar voice telling her how she couldn't be worth it. He knew that – she definitely gave him plenty to work with on multiple occasions of her getting to in her own head and blocking him out – and it made sense, to an extent, that he thought that music was making her fall back into those thoughts.

"Andy, it's not that," she pushed herself closer to him and looked away from him out to the courtyard. "I mean yeah that band's kinda depressing and stuff, but it makes me feel like I'm not the only dealing with that stuff, y'know?"

"Not really," he chuckled.

"Okay," she shook her head, "but you get why they're important to me right?"

"I guess, I just figured that Mouserat was important to you too," he swayed a little but still left April's arm slung over his shoulder while he moved around.

"They totally are, because it makes you happy," April turned back to meet his eyes, "and you're not supposed to be the sad one, okay?"

"Yeah, cool," he smiled and took to moving his hand up the small of her back.

"But, really, that band is super important to me," she explained, and Andy's hand stopped when affronted with this still serious conversation. "You know how… y'know, I'm still a little-"

"Sure," he nodded and pushed his hand into hers.

April instinctively smiled at his interruption, looking down at their hands before turning back to face him. In some ways she thought that Andy was just an insanely childish person and super fun to be around, and that was enough for her to forget some of the things she always told herself. He was escapism in human form and unknowingly kept her from returning to those dark corners, and she loved that about him. Still, every once and a while something like this came from him – something more thoughtful than he had any right to produce – and it made every inch of her skin feel suddenly alive again.

She loved that feeling of being around him when that happened, and she loved that he could intuit these things.

"Thanks," she finally said.

"Maybe we can go home and I'll listen to a song or something," he suggested, shrugging noncommittally.

"Wow, thanks Andy," she muttered with more than a touch of sarcasm.

"I know, I'm the best husband ever," he said quietly without taking his eyes off of her.

"Yeah, you're pretty great," she admitted.

"And you're the best wife in the world," he added, "and I'm super lucky and I love you and you're the best person I've ever known and-"

"Love ya too," she interrupted with as much emphasis she could in that quiet space.

If she didn't break his concentration in the middle of that sentence she didn't know how she would react. He had tried to shower her with praise before and all that usually ended up with was her getting mad at him and smacking him, but in times like this – alone, quiet, intimate – she usually let them wash over her. It made her feel, on some level, a little more normal. Maybe it was because of the look in his eyes, and that intensity they had when he said things like that, that made her heart beat a little too fast and her hands sweat way more than usual.

She leaned down to give him a short kiss, and for all intents and purposes it should have been, but Andy had moved his hand from the neck of the guitar to the back of her neck. In a second, what was supposed to be brief turned into a deeper kiss with April readjusting herself so that she was facing him on his lap, her hands stroking his chin and moving around his neck. They broke off, and in the middle of the courtyard April could see the glint of desire in his eyes. However, they were in the middle of a municipal government building and that could, possibly, cause some minor issues.

"Hey, let's bail," she stood up and Andy immediately jumped up after her.

"Totally," he grunted, following her and barely remembering that he had his guitar still slung over his neck. "Let's go home."

"Yeah, that sounds pretty cool," she whispers to him.

It's a lot quieter, and slower, when they get home. Hands touch in a softer way, searching for each other, and at one point she swears that Andy turned on music. It doesn't dawn on her what the music is until afterwards, because her brain's forgetting basically everything in the rest of the room that isn't Andy or her. Lying back in bed, she laughs to herself when the drums and noise kick in at the beginning of "Holland, 1945."