OKAY. This is much different than what I usually write, but it's just for fun. I don't want anyone coming at me with ship war nonsense. I'm not going to stop writing Japril. THIS WAS JUST FOR FUN! So, please enjoy :)

…

"Could you take Harriet tonight? That would really help. Thanks."

I storm out of the supply closet, tears streaming down my cheeks, without bothering to turn around and see if Jackson follows. I don't want him behind me; I wanted him in front of me, surrounding me, inside me - I wanted him to make me feel something. But he wanted to dig, to pick at me, to find a solution. While we were best friends, while we were married, he always wanted to find a damn solution - he loved fixing things.

He's not going to fix me. No matter how many times he looks at me with those soft eyes, or says my name in the gentle way he always used to: April.

No, he can't break me down like that. I wanted to numb myself; I won't allow him to force me to feel.

Now knowing I don't have the baby tonight, I can go out and kill the pain in the way I've been doing for weeks: with alcohol. I hadn't planned on drinking tonight, nothing more than a glass of wine (or two) before bed, but that's off the tbale. After being shoved into a spiral during trauma training and nudged into a whirlwind of memories that made me look at how shitty my life has become, I need a drink or twenty.

The thing is, during the time of the famous ambulance story, I was being picked on. I was bullied then. I went home and cried myself to sleep a lot, nearly every night. I was still a virgin, had next to no experience with the male gender or myself, for that matter. I was a baby, and I thought my life sucked. Little did I know, it would only get shittier.

There was an upward trend somewhere in the middle, though. I can't say there wasn't. Maybe that's what makes the descent feel so much worse.

I change out of my scrubs and into my everyday clothes - which consist of jeans and a dark purple cardigan - then head out of the hospital. I stop by and kiss Harriet in daycare, tell her Daddy will pick her up later, then walk to my car. I'm still on the verge of tears, though I'm not sure how I could possibly cry any more. I cry more in a day now than I used to in a month. And I wouldn't call myself dry before, either. I can't help it, when everything goes wrong at once.

I drive by Joe's and slow down, debating whether or not to go inside. I've been frequenting Joe's much more often than I used to, and I have reason to believe he knows something is up. He's begun to catch on because he sees my face so much, so I keep driving. I can't afford someone sitting me down to try and be my life coach - I already avoided that once today. It was bad enough with Jackson, so I can't imagine how awful it would be with a near-stranger.

I continue for a few miles until I get to a different bar, one I've only been to a few times. I know it well enough to find my way home later, but I'm not familiar with the people inside. It's the perfect balance. I park the car and head inside after locking up, and I'm immediately comforted by the fact that my worries will be gone soon.

I sit at the bar, lean forward on my elbows, and let out a long sigh after ordering a vodka stinger. As I wait for it, I scan the bar out of pure boredom and come across a face I recognize - Amelia Shepherd.

We make eye contact, which makes avoiding her for the rest of the night impossible. We've already seen each other and are fully aware of the other's realization. I have no choice but to go over and say hi. Though I dread every step because I wanted to be alone tonight, I know it's the right thing to do. I'm not a total bitch.

"Hey," I say, offering a smile. She was sitting just a few stools down from me, and there's one open next to her. I don't sit. I don't want to make it seem like I'm staying.

"Hi, April," she says. She has a glass resting on a napkin at her side filled with clear liquid. "What brings you to this part of town?"

I debate lying, but then see no use for it. "I've been at Joe's too much," I say, laughing humorlessly. "He's onto me."

"Ah," she says, nodding. "I see."

I smile cordially, showing no teeth. I'm about to wish her a good night and go back to where I'd been sitting, when a stocky man passes way too close and skims a subtle hand over my ass. He tries to play it off like an accident, but I know better.

"Hey!" I say, spinning on my heel. "Get your hands off me, you fucker!"

"Jesus, bitch," he says, palms up. "It was an accident."

"Choke," I say, and flip him off.

When I turn back to Amelia, she's laughing while wearing an impressed expression. "Damn, Kepner," she says. "You are different, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well," I say, still eyeing the man as he walks away.

"What brings you here, anyway?" she asks, turning to completely face me.

"I told you," I say. "No more Joe's."

"No, no," she says. "Not to this specific bar. But out drinking in general - alone, no less."

"I could ask the same thing of you," I say, under my breath.

"You could," she laughs. "I'm only drinking Sprite, but I'm here 'cause men ain't shit."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Weren't you and Owen having sex just today?"

"Yeah," she answers. "Then he up and left."

I shoot her a strange, confused look.

"Like I said," she finishes. "Ain't shit. So, 'fess up. What's your reason for drinking alone?"

I picture Jackson in the supply closet earlier, how he stood there begrudgingly before giving in and wrapping me up in his arms. How I expected the same to come of his kiss, but he turned me away instead. He'd tricked me - because he did kiss me back for a short moment. He led me on for a blink of an eye. And then, in typical Jackson fashion, pushed me off to the side.

I pick up a shot of something that's sitting on the bar and down it, saying, "Men ain't shit."

Amelia laughs, and before long I'm sitting on the stool next to her. Though it wasn't what I had planned, it's not that bad. It's kind of nice to have a friend to talk to, especially since we don't dive beneath the surface. We mostly complain, and I can't remember the last time I laughed and smiled so much. I want to know why we waited so long to do this. I haven't felt this purely happy in weeks.

Maybe I've been wrong to try and fill the void with male company, and should've been spending time with women instead. What good are men, anyway? They don't understand anything.

Speaking of men, the same guy passes us a couple more times as the night progresses. On the third time, with his eyes cemented on us, I've had enough.

I hop up from my stool with my glass in one hand and close the distance between us, not afraid of getting in his face.

"You see something you like?" I say, words smooth but tone venomous.

"Yeah," he says. "I do."

I give him a slick little smile.

"You wanna come home with me tonight, beautiful?" he asks. "I got a lot of dirty things I'd like to do to you."

I shake my head, raise my upper lip, and throw my drink in his face in one fell swoop. He stands there, gaping, and I don't walk away quite yet.

"Fuck you," I say. "Stop treating women like shit, and maybe you'll be able to get your dick wet once in a while."

"April," Amelia says, one hand on my upper arm. "Come on. We're gonna get kicked out of here."

"I don't give a shit," I say. "He can't treat women like that."

"I know, and you showed him. Come on," she says, giggly. "Let's go."

She pulls me out of the bar, and when we hit the sidewalk we're both laughing. "I tossed it in his face," I say, dumbfounded. "I really can't believe I just did that."

"I can't either," she says. "I like this side of you."

I shrug. "Me, too." I look at my phone to see it's barely 10. The night has only just begun. "Do you wanna come back to my place for a drink?" I ask her.

She agrees, and we head to my house. I switch the lights on once we get inside and she makes herself comfortable - kicking off her shoes and hanging her coat on the hook like she's been here a thousand times.

"Do you like red or white?" I ask, heading to the kitchen while she finds her way to the living room.

"Neither," she says, then laughs. "Addict, remember?"

"Fuck," I hiss, then call out, "I'm sorry!"

"It's fine," she says, and I hear the grin in her voice. "I'll take water, if you have it."

I smile to myself and pour a tall glass of red wien for myself, water for her, then bring over the drinks after taking my cardigan off. I sit on the couch next to her with one leg tucked under me and smile against the lip of my wine glass, making eye contact all the while.

"What?" she says.

I shrug and giggle. "I don't know," I say. "Back at the bar. I still can't believe I did that."

"I know," she says. "I like your wild side."

"You said that already," I say, taking a long sip.

"It's worth saying twice," she adds, then licks her lower lip after taking a drink.

We break eye contact as she looks around the room, surveying the space and soaking it in. Her eyes pause over Harriet's copious amount of baby toys, her playpen, and the hoarde of pacifiers sitting on the coffee table. Hattie loses them all the time, so I always make sure to have backups.

"So much baby stuff," Amelia says, and her tone has changed considerably.

I look at her eyes, which are duller now instead of glinting, and she wears a smile that doesn't quite play its part. The corners of her lips are quivering, like it's all she can do to keep that happy face on. I know for a fact she lost a baby, too, a while ago. I don't know details, but there's not much people don't know about each other at the hospital. Word gets around fast.

I don't dare bring it up, though. Not now. It's not the right time.

"Tom said the same thing," I say, and her eyes flick to me with recognition of the name. "Koracick, yeah. We fucked."

She laughs incredulously, saying, "You did not."

"Yeah, we did," I say. "And he was going on and on about all of Harriet's stuff. Saying I'm not the same person you trusted as your power of attorney or whatever." I shrug, writing it off. "He got a little too deep for me."

"Yeah, he tends to do that," Amelia says. "He makes it seem like he just wants to get you in bed, then he hits you with the hard shit. It's fucking annoying."

I chuckle. "See, you get it."

"Of course I do," she says. "I fucked him, too."

"Seriously?" I say, genuinely surprised. That was something I'd never heard before.

She nods. "Yeah," she says. "He was fine. I'd even say he was good. It wasn't like we were all that intimate - it was always so quick. He never went down on me or anything."

"Oh," I say, eyebrows raised. "We did that."

"Was he any good?" she asks.

I shrug and tip my hand side to side. "So-so," I say.

"Who're you comparing it to?" she asks, interest piqued.

I roll my eyes. "Jackson," I say. "Of course."

"And he was good?" she says, egging me on.

At first, I debate putting up a wall and turning private. But then I nix that idea and throw it to the wind, deciding to fuck it all. Who cares what she knows? Who cares what's private and what's not?

"Jackson was amazing," I say, running a hand through my hair. "Tom, against him? No. No comparison."

"How about Vik Roy?" she prompts. "The intern."

My eyes widen. "Shut up," I say. "You don't know about that."

"Oh, honey," she says, conspiratorially. "Everyone knows about it. He made sure of that."

"Shit," I say, but I'm not too bothered. I figured it would get out eventually. "He didn't even try. He didn't know how to work his dick, let alone his tongue."

"That's the thing about men," Amelia says. "They talk such a big game. Oh, I'll fuck you so good you won't be able to walk tomorrow, baby. I'll hit it just right. Then you get 'em in bed and they last about forty seconds and leave you with your hand when they roll over and go to sleep."

I burst out laughing, doubling at the waist with my eyes pinched closed.

"Am I wrong, though?" she says, laughing too. "Am I?"

"I mean!" I say. "I don't know. Jackson was always… very generous. I bossed Vik around, he had no choice but to last. And Tom, well, he was fine enough. He was pretty good at everything, except for-"

"The man is a horrible kisser," she finishes.

"Yes!" I say, then slug the rest of my wine. "He was so awful, oh my god."

"I would always lead the whole thing," she says. "Not to brag, but I know what I'm doing. He had no idea where to put anything. His tongue, god. Don't get me started."

"He drooled all over me," I say, eyes involuntarily moving to her lips for a split second. "He-"

"You looked at my mouth," she says, bemused. Her eyes show it.

I don't bother denying it, either. I did, and I felt myself do it.

"Sorry," I say, licking my lips and trying to force my eyes anywhere else. The air in the room has changed, and I can't quite put my finger on how or why.

"Don't apologize," she says, then inches closer, leaning into me. "Does that mean you wanna kiss me?"

"Amelia," I say, blushing a bit. I can't remember the last time I blushed. I don't negate her question, though. I don't have the space to, and I can't lie.

"I haven't kissed a girl in a while," she says. "But it's probably just like riding a bike."

I'm not sure what's happening. My mind is a tiny bit cloudy with wine, but not enough to where I could be imagining this - imagining her hand on my knee, her minty breath in the air around my face.

"If you don't want to, it's fine," she says. "If I misread the situation, forgive me. But I promise, I'm better than Tom."

I bite my lower lip and force my eyes back on hers. "I am, too," I say, voice low and soft.

"You wanna let me be the judge of that?" she says, coming even closer.

I figure I have nothing to lose. I nod, just slightly, as my pulse quickens.

"You ever kissed a woman before?" she asks. I shake my head no, and she puts her hands on my shoulders, carefully touching the sides of my neck with her thumbs. "Okay. I'll be gentle with you."

I smirk and blink slowly, feeling more drunk than I actually am. "Okay," I say, and she takes my face in her hands to bring us together.

The feeling of her lips on mine is something I'm very unused to. I'm not accustomed to the softness of her skin, the perfume on her neck, or the flowery scent of her hair. I'm used to stubbly cheeks, rough fingers and dominant tongues, but with her, it's different. She still takes the lead, but she leaves room for me, too. Instead of forcing me to follow blindly, we move in tandem with one another.

She tastes good, like mint, when she opens her mouth. I can't help but wonder if I taste like wine, and if she likes or hates it. When her tongue slips against mine, I make the softest of sounds in my throat, and tilt my head further, bringing my hands to her waist as hers remain on the sides of my neck. She threads her fingers through my hair and combs it away from my face, and that sensation sends tingles up my spine that soon migrate throughout my entire body.

We come up for air, but don't stay separated for long. Only long enough to look into each other's eyes and smile, then go back for more.

She drags her teeth over my lower lip, sucking on it for a slow second before moving to kiss my chin. I tip my head up to give her more access and she opens her mouth wide on my neck, right over my pulse point, and drapes her arms around me as she does. I pitch forward and hold desperately to her waist, fingers digging in as she leaves a trail of wet kisses down to the sleeve of my tank top and bare shoulder.

"You taste sweet," she says, gathering my hair into a ponytail so she can more easily kiss behind my ear.

"Thanks," I breathe, face turned up towards the ceiling.

"Does it feel good?" she asks, voice lilting as she sucks on the slope between my shoulder and neck.

"Yeah," I say. "Yeah, it does."

"Good," she says. "Want me to keep going?"

"Please," I say, too lost in my own pleasure to answer any differently.

She's paying attention to me in a way no one else has. I've slept with other people, we've fucked, but they didn't shower me with affection like this. This makes me feel emotions a thousand times stronger.

"I thought you'd like it," she whispers, lips moving against the shell of my ear before taking the lobe between her teeth. My core tightens when she lets it go, and I press my lips together to quell the insistent moan that begs to escape.

Her lips find mine again and the kisses get sloppier. She pulls away for a moment only to flop back against the cushion and turn her head, then she takes me by the waist to direct me onto her lap.

"There," she says, skimming my waist. The material of my tank top bunches at the sides and she looks me up and down, centering on my chest and the strip of skin of my belly that shows.

Surprising us both, I whip off my shirt. I'm left in a demi-cut black bra with a tiny satin bow in the middle, red curls falling down my back with abandon. I know my chest must be flushed with arousal and excitement, but I don't care. I'm not thinking clearly, and I want this. Connection is all I've wanted since the beginning of my breakdown, and this is the strongest I've felt it yet.

"Jesus, April," she says, then grips my ribcage. "You're sexy."

I smile breathlessly, bending my knees further to rest my weight on her thighs. I loop my arms around her neck and angle my head against hers, drowning us both in a heavy, heated kiss where I press my naked torso against her clothed one and grind my hips against the air. I want friction, but I'm not sure how to get it.

"Mmm," I moan, when she grabs my right breast with a firm hand.

She holds tight, rubbing her thumb insistently over the nipple, then moves her other hand to hold the left side, too. I unravel my hands from her hair to overlap her hands, pushing them against me further, and let out a hot sigh against her lips.

She moves lower to my chest, peppering kisses along the plane of my sternum, the soft divot between my collarbones, and over the swells of my breasts that spill over my bra. She pushes from below, creating more cleavage, and licks a wide path up the middle. I clench my thighs around her legs and she notices, because her eyes flash when I do it.

Taking the cue, I unsnap my bra and toss it behind me. Responding to my action, she pulls off her shirt and doesn't waste time with her bra, either - soon, that goes, too.

It doesn't feel right for her to be paying all this attention to me and I've barely done anything. So, even though my stomach is jumping with nerves and I've never done it before, I use my shaky hands to cup her breasts and squeeze wholeheartedly.

Her eyelashes flutter as she looks at me, eyes swimming.

"Is this okay?" I ask, and notice her nipples begin to harden just like mine have.

"Perfect," she says, then yanks me closer by the small of my back so our naked chests are flush together.

I've been naked with a man plenty of times - pressed against a hot, flat chest in more instances than I can count. This is so different, her breasts flattened against mine, heartbeat against heartbeat, pulse hammering between our thighs.

It's not enough, though. I want more, to make her feel more. So, I curve my spine forward and kiss her chest, over the swell of her breast until I get to the puckered, pink bud in the middle. I don't hesitate before pulling it into my mouth and sucking hard, just like I used to do for Jackson. That was one of his weaknesses - a secret that stayed locked inside our bedroom.

When I do it to Amelia, she palms the back of my head and digs her nails in sharply. I drag my bottom teeth over the round of her breast and draw circles around the nipple with my tongue, pulling away and taking a string of saliva with me. I feel her heart under my mouth when I go for the other breast, and she drags her fingernails down my back as I become more and more aroused. I'm soaking wet at this point, I easily feel how damp my underwear are.

If I was having sex with a man, it wouldn't be hard to figure out what comes next. If it were Jackson, he'd toss me down, get me on my hands and knees, and fuck me doggy style with a hand pressed to the middle of my back. Eating out came after - he liked to clean us both off my thighs with his tongue. If it were Vik, I'd spend fifteen minutes convincing him to wear a condom, then guiding him inside me. With Tom, he'd lower me onto my back and do me missionary style, face tucked into my neck the whole time.

But Amelia obviously doesn't have a dick, so I'm not sure of the next step. I should be enjoying the moment, I know this, but it's hard not to anticipate the future. Am I going to come tonight? I went into this hoping for an orgasm. As soon as she kissed me, that became my end goal. I don't know how I plan on getting one, though. I've never done this before.

I'm overthinking. I need to stop. It's taking me out of the moment, and I can't have that.

Almost as if she reads my mind, though, she slips one of her hands around front and expertly undoes the button of my jeans. She slips inside and cups that hand over my underwear, stroking my outer lips with two confident, graceful fingers.

I can't help but buck against her - totally involuntarily. Our lips break apart and she smiles, then turns to speak right into my ear - saying, "Take off your pants and lay back."

I don't ask questions, and I definitely don't waste time. I stand up and shimmy out of my jeans, then stand in front of her in a pair of blue underwear with a wet patch on the crotch.

"Those too," she says, eyeing me. "They're wet, anyway."

I fight a smirk and a blush, then step out of them. Even just the thought of being naked in front of someone other than Jackson used to give me anxiety, but now it's not a big deal. I see my body as something differently - something less treasured. The sanctity of sex has gone out the window - at least, sex with a specific person. Sex in itself has never been holier to me. It takes me out of my current situation, my current headspace, and nothing is more godly than that.

I lie with my arms above my head, completely naked, and watch her get situated between my thighs. She parts them with both hands and lies on her stomach, throwing me a suggestive look before kissing my pubic bone and going lower.

She was right - she is better than Tom. She keeps her eyes closed as she moves her mouth between my legs, dips her tongue inside me, and runs a flat tongue over my clit until my back arches from the cushions and forces my hips flush against her face.

She chuckles and forces them back down, making filthy, wet sounds against my core. She pushes three fingers inside me while her mouth continues to work, dragging them forward to touch my g-spot, and that motion combined with her tongue on my clit drives me absolutely wild.

I reach to pull her hair - hair longer than any I've ever had to grab onto - and I pull hard. It only makes her go at me with more voracity, jaw opening wider as her nails dig into my thighs, and she doesn't stop sucking on my clit even as I start to come. I twitch erratically, my whole body experiencing aftershocks, and jerk against her persistent mouth. Once it's over, she skims a flat hand between my thighs and runs it up my stomach between my breasts, then glides her thumb over my lower lip.

"How was it?" she asks.

"Great," I say, still trying to catch my breath.

"I made you come, didn't I?" she says.

"So great," I sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

I know what this means now - it's time to reciprocate. As I sit up, I'm nervous not because I don't want to, but because I don't have a clue in hell what I'm doing. I've given plenty of blowjobs, but this will be my first time going down on a woman.

I'm sure she can sense it. Her eyes tell me as much while she takes off her pants and sits on the edge of the couch, knees spread wide. I take my place on the floor between them, hands on her thighs, eyes seeking guidance.

"I'll tell you what I like and what I don't," she says, as I get closer. "You'll get the hang of it. There's no wrong way."

I bite my lower lip and lick it, and she runs a hand through my hair for comfort.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she says. "If you want to stop, if you're uncomfortable-"

"I wanna try," I say. "I just don't want to be shit."

"You'll be fine," she says. "You know your body, which will help you know mine. We have the same parts. I like slow tongue, quick fingers."

"Okay," I whisper, and she bends at the waist to give me a hot, languid kiss.

After we pull away, I push apart her thighs and bury myself between them. Her back falls against the couch as I try and navigate her body, pushing apart her folds to slip in two fingers first. She's tight, and warmer than I imagined. I open my mouth wide to try and find her clit, sucking on her outer lips slowly as I go, and pull on the skin of her lower belly to expose the pink inside. It doesn't take me long after that to locate what I'm looking for.

I do as she says - quick and slow. It's incredibly empowering to hear her moan and whimper, knowing I put her in that state - Amelia, who's always so put together, has been reduced to whines and sighs at my mercy.

When she comes, it feels amazing. Her muscles tighten around my fingers and her whole body writhes and arches away from the couch, slamming her hips against my face. She grabs my hands and intertwines our fingers, then pulls me onto her lap as she's still coming down.

She grabs my ass, forces me forward, and we kiss for a long time. She winds her hands through my hair and gives me hickeys on my neck that will last for days. With red and puffy lips, we lie face-to-face on the couch and tangle our legs together - my core right against her thigh and hers against mine. I feel her pulse in the most intimate part of her body, and it keeps the blood rushing hot and bothered through my veins.

I can't help but think about earlier, though, when her expression changed as she noticed the baby things. I feel more connected to her now than I ever have, and I wonder if it's something we should talk about. We both have that shared experience, felt that same heartache. What better person to relate to other than her? We connected physically; it seems like the perfect time to do so emotionally.

"Amelia," I say, draping an arm over her waist as she gently presses her lips to mine.

"Hmm…" she murmurs, still kissing me.

"Earlier," I say, tilting my head so she has better access to my jaw. "When you saw all of Harriet's things. I know it…" I sigh, stop talking, and start again. "I think you and I have more in common than we think."

By the way her breath hitches, I know she realizes what I'm talking about. She doesn't respond, though, not at first. Instead, she keeps her mouth on me and starts to move her hips rhythmically against my leg, stronger as the moments pass.

"Mmm, come on, baby," she says, sitting. I watch her from where I'm lying as she situates my legs, placing herself between them with one ankle over her shoulder. She rocks her hips against mine and my eyes shoot open from the friction alone. "Let's go again."

She bends our bodies so she can kiss me, and I let her. I open my mouth and allow her tongue inside, at the same time allowing the subject to drop. Masking emotions with sex is something I've become very good at, and if she doesn't want to talk - I'll gladly do it all night long.