Sorry this is short and quite crappy but I seem to have lost the way with this fic. I was unsure of how to go on so I've gone for this... hopefully you won't all want to lynch me with bricks and pitchforks! Just be patient and I'm hoping inspiration finds me for the final two months, and for the epilogue I'm hoping to write :)

Month Ten

"What can I get you?"

Jackson looked up, pushing a ten dollar note across the bar. "Just a beer."

Joe nodded, slipping off to grab the desired drink of a man, who quite frankly looked as though a whiskey might have been more appropriate. Returning to the counter, he pushed the bottle toward the younger man and the note not far behind it. "On the house." He told Jackson, with a knowing nod of his head.

"Thanks man." Jackson replied with the only hint of a smile he could muster.

"No worries," Joe told him, wiping a towel over his back. "You look like you could do with a lot more besides."

Joe was right, of course. Today had been a testing one to say the least; trauma, painstakingly long surgery and drama. It was what had driven him to crave the beer he was now thoughtfully supping on, despite having to be back at the hospital in around seven hours' time. He knew he shouldn't but he needed to, wanted to even.

"I'll have a whiskey chaser too." He added suddenly, making a snap decision. The beer would not be enough to comfort the ache in his chest. It was almost as if he was waiting for his fate to be decided in a court of law.

"Meeting someone, or is this seat free?"

"My wife actually." Jackson replied, looking up as he accepted the drink from Joe. It was a surprise to be met by an unfamiliar, yet familiar face.

"Shame." The woman replied with a soft smile, her cheeks aglow from the warmth of the bar and the sensation of alcohol in her veins.

"You're Marianne right? You're a Nurse in the ER." Jackson stated, allowing her features to resonate with him. He had seen her so many times before, fleetingly in between surgery and a constant stream of trauma. She was new to the department, to the hospital in fact but she had been polite enough to introduce herself a time or two before.

"I'm impressed you managed to remember my name."

Jackson raised his eyes in mock surprise, supping from the glass in his hand. Damn, she made him sound such an ass; it was in a fleeting moment that it resonated with him, that yes he probably had been before April. Perhaps, a lot more than that before he had married even.

"I'll leave you to your drink anyway… and congrats on the wedding. I didn't know you'd gotten married." She told him with a sincere tone. It was a welcome surprise to hear someone say it, who actually had meant it. As expected, most people had not been so accepting when the news of his marriage to April had eventually seeped into the hospital corridors.

With a quick glance down at his wedding ring, still untouched on his finger, he smiled. "Thanks."

"Jackson?"

The sound of his name caused the young surgeon to whip round once more. Marianne had slipped back into the crowds, now replaced by the figure of his wife. With an awkward smile, before clearing his throat, Jackson stood quickly from his seat. "I didn't think you'd come." He told her honestly. It had crossed his mind more than once as he had sat supping at his drinks.

"The therapist said this was what we should do… this is a mutual place, without distraction." She replied with a blunt edge to her tone. It was clear she was not in the mood to deviate from the task they had been said, for now at least.

"Can I get you a drink?" Jackson asked, trying to lighten the mood but April simply shook her head. "Ok, just one for me then."

April watched silently as Jackson received a whiskey chaser from Joe, adding to the beer bottle and other empty glass before him. It seemed to quickly set her guard up upon realising he had been drinking before their meeting. Sighing, she removed her coat and took the empty bar stool beside Jackson. "This is crazy."

"What is?"

"Trying to pretend like meeting my husband in a bar, to talk about our feelings based on the instructions of a marriage counsellor is normal."

"She knows what's she's talking about, April."

"Yeah… and the 400 dollar price per hour she charges isn't the only reason she does?"

"My mom thought she was the best."

"Your mother thinks a lot of things."

"April, I'm not going to get into an argument with you about this again."

"No, wouldn't want to upset Mrs Avery would we?!" She shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm in response to her husband's words. It truly did grind against her, the constant need he had to defend the actions of his mother when it came to their marriage. It didn't seem to matter how many times she interfered, and how wrong she always was when she did. To Jackson, Momma Avery could do no wrong, even when it came to making choices about the current tatters of their relationship.

Jackson simply rolled his eyes at the comment; why did she always have to be so childish when it came to his mom? All she was trying to do was help them, regardless of how it seemed to be portrayed in the eyes of his wife. She always made him feel like he was missing something with it came to the agenda of Catherine Avery.

"Can we change the subject?" He asked her instead. It was hard not to bite back but his mother was not the reason they had come together tonight.

"I don't even know where to begin." April told him honestly, lifting a spare beer mat between her fingers to occupy them. She had the overwhelming need to chew furiously at her nails.

"How about at the beginning, when we argued? Seems as a good a place as any." Jackson offered, taking a quick swig from his glass. It was hard to control the shake threatening his grasp around the item in his hand as he awaited her response.

April paused for a moment, holding the possibility in her head before speaking. "Maybe I will have that drink after all."

Joe nodded, hearing the request and choosing to pour April the same as he had for Jackson. He wasn't even sure that Whiskey was a wise choice for her but it seemed appropriate; whatever was going on between the young couple clearly required something strong with a heavy side of substance. "Thanks." She mumbled, accepting the glass from the silent barman who barely registered her words with a smile. It was a more a look of sympathy he was going for.

Swilling from the glass, she drained almost half before replacing it upon the bar top. She could feel her heart hammering in her ears but she didn't stop, forced by a need to ask if they could reproach a subject so tender between them. She did not know if it was right, or if she still meant what she had said to him a week or two previous to this moment. Yet, she still felt compelled to ask him, desiring his take on her request.

"Or maybe we could talk about me asking you for a divorce?"