Disclaimer: same as Day 1!
slightly m rated?
Day 5 - AU or a scene you wish happened
"Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for." She paused, smiling graciously towards her class, "Does anyone want to tell me where that's from?"
It was her first official class and she was more than enthusiastic to start the classes this year. Classic literature; the subject that had enamored her since the first time she had studied it. Being the nerdy bookworm that she was a child, her nose in a book at every waking moment, literature had been her reprieve. Books took her away from her reality. In books, she had friends and she could be anyone she wanted to be. Plus, a subject where one had to read poetry and novels and short stories for school work? Yes please. It's what she did on a daily basis anyway. Her love for it had only grown and had eventually pushed her to pursue it academically, and after that professionally.
She was a published author of 2 bestselling free verse poetry books and had the absolute pleasure of lecturing at Columbia University as a senior lecturer of the literature department. She loved her work. She loved educating young children, see the spark in their eyes as they discover poets they relate to, novels that they can't put down and pieces of work that makes them lose hope in humanity and simultaneously gain it. John Keating had been right. The things beyond literature were all noble pursuits, necessary for sustenance, but literature was love, it was friendship, it was life. It was impertinent.
She pointed to a very pretty brunette in the front row, who was waving her hand enthusiastically, reminding her of herself.
"Dead Poet's Society. It's the movie that convinced me to take this course." She replied, smiling widely.
"That's wonderful, Miss ..."
"Hinks. Lora Hinks."
She smiled at the girl and continued on, "Everyone one of you had a book, movie, piece of poetry or even person that inspired you to consider this course. For me it was, as clichè as this may sound, Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet to be precise. You see-"
She went on to explain her reasoning, reiterating the perfectly prepared speech she delivers in every first class, when she heard a small cough sound from behind her. She outwardly rolled her eyes, knowing exactly whom it was that had interrupted her.
"Professor Avery. What can I do for you?" She asked, false niceness oozing from her voice.
"Professor Kepner, I am here to observe your class. Were you not made aware of my being here?" He replies, stepping into the classroom, earning a few rounds of gasps from students who had clearly being waiting for an opportunity to see their devastatingly handsome Dean once more.
April, having gotten used to people's reactions towards her colleague, rolled her eyes once more.
"No, actually, I wasn't made aware. So if you don't mind-"
"Oh well, must have slipped my mind." He says, his careless tone accompanied by a cold smile.
She could sense the students starting to understand that there was a hostile tension between the two, some cocking their eyebrows in confusion, unable to understand why their beautiful Dean had to be a jerk to the most loved member of the faculty. Professor Kepner's kindness was as popular knowledge as their Dean's cold, disengaged attitude. The latter seemingly more obvious with the way he was treating her.
"I'm sure it did." She muttered, although loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Well, Professor Kepner, carry on." He waved a hand, walking up the steps of the lecture halls and taking a seat in an empty row.
"Um, yes, where was I? Okay, let's see ..." She was clearly flustered, her annoyance at his actions painstakingly clear.
"You were telling us how Shakespeare inspired you." Lora whispered.
"Oh yes, thank you. Anyway-"
"Quite forgetful, aren't we Professor?"
"No I am not. I am merely-"
"Distracted? From the moment I walked in. Hm, I wonder why-"
"There's no need to wonder, Professor. I was ... distracted, for a lack of a better word, because barging into a classroom unannounced is highly unprofessional. But I wonder why you forgot to inform me of your presence today. Old age, perhaps?" She remarked, smiling innocently at him.
She heard a few concealed snickers from the crowd although some students were too gob smacked, clearly wondering if she was insane enough to risk her career by back talking the Dean.
He wasn't by any means old. He was actually only 5 years her senior. However, his family having made considerable donations to the university overtime had ensured that by the time the old Dean had retired, he would be hired for the job, although he lacked the experience. She knew, whatever said and done, he hadn't wanted the job out of nepotism. She knew hating him for that reason was unwarranted.
"Continue." He merely said, and she grinned knowing she had won this one.
"I actually hated Romeo and Juliet. It's true. I thought, God how stupid could they be? Dying for someone you knew all of 3 days? Falling in love to that capacity when you were 14? 16? No. So I came to the conclusion that Shakespeare was overrated." She stated, seeing a collective surprise for such a bold statement, even from the one person she was trying very hard to ignore.
"Until I realised, what if... what if Romeo and Juliet was actually a satirical commentary on lust filled teenage relationships? Not a love story at all, but a story about how insipid young love truly is. The possibility opened my mind to the realization that literature is yours to discover. You adapt it to fit your mold and I loved that."
She finished, looking on to see her student's allowing that interpretation to sink in. She loved it when she reached through to them.
"A bit of a cynic, aren't we?" Jackson asked, scoffing at her analysis.
"I'm sorry, I almost forgot you were there for a minute," she replied, "and no, I am not a cynic. I more or so believe that Shakespeare is capable of portraying love better, take his-"
"Sonnet 124? Let me not to the marriage?"
She doesn't know why she's surprised. His brilliance wasn't a point of contention, it was even part of his charm.
"Yes, but-"
"And you're saying teenagers can't feel that way, because?" He questioned, eyebrow raised and a cocky grin to boot.
"Because," she stammered, angry at herself for letting him rile her up, "Teenage relationships are transcendent. They are not made to last. They are lustful, driven strongly by hormones and rom-com expectations of romance."
"Well, aren't we bitter?" He says, eyebrows raised, standing up from his chair.
"I'm not-I'm not bitter, I'm just being ... realistic." She feels the heat rise to her cheeks, mostly because she hates admitting to herself that he may be partially right.
"Hm, but you are. Let me guess, failed high school romance or ... boys scared you too much, Miss Kepner?" He teases, and she knows he's not being malicious because she knows he's addressing her virgin status she had kept until she'd met him, because there was no way he knew about her high school days. Maybe he does, she thought, maybe it was just that obvious to anyone. She just hadn't ever expected him to be one of them.
So she strikes back, best way she knows how, even though she knows right now she's going to regret the moment she does.
"Well you would know quite a lot about dating a teenager wouldn't you, Professor?"
The dead silence in the room doesn't help. She knows some of them had heard the rumours, and she can see their eyes widening at the boldness of her accusation and the curiousness of those who were unaware.
She doesn't let herself look at him, because she knows she screwed up, but then decides that she needs to know the extent of his anger to fully deduce the damage she's done.
She can see a mixture of emotions in his perfect face. Suprise, anger, hurt and the worst of all, betrayal. She wants to run her fingers over his forehead and smooth the frown he's sporting although his eyes have changed colour like they also do depending on his mood. They're an angry black now and she knows she shouldn't have expected any less.
"I will see you at the meeting this evening, Professor." He finally says, exiting the room without a momentary glance her way.
She wants to run after him, aplogise furiously for what she said, let him know she only suspects the truth of that statement in her most insecure moments but quickly dispels it because she knows he's too good for it to be true. But she can't, she has a class awaiting her to continue to the lecture, maybe even comment on the situation and she's not ready to face him. She's hurt too.
They only pretended to be snarky, so that no one would even suspect their alliance, which was formed one night, a couple of months back, when she had been in his office, late, surrounded by mountains of papers. It had been building up since she'd first met him at his welcome dinner. The sum of the looks shared and intense gazes held for too long was her skirt on the floor and the warmth of a fireplace next to her exposed skin.
It was supposed to be easy, fun, nothing too overwhelming. Yet here she was, scared because she's found herself doing the one thing she said she wouldn't when she started sleeping with the Dean; fall for him and fall for him hard.
She's pretty sure the approval for the arts department in her budget isn't an 'I forgive you.' She's not really sure what it is. Maybe it really doesn't have anything to do with her. Although, she knows that's not true. She knows he loves her enthusiasm for her subject and when it comes to approving the funds she rarely asks for, he's always been willing. Even before all of... this. Maybe it's a guilt trip. If it is, then mission accomplished.
"Hi, Izzie. Is Professor Avery free? I need to run some papers by him." She smiles warmly at his gorgeous secretary, who sits right outside her office in her beautiful pencil skirt and pink blouse that never creases. She's always been a slight insecure when it comes to her, but Izzie has always been warm, kind and loving. And if she'd ever thought about why her of all people would make such constant visits to the Dean she supposedly hated, she didn't let it show.
"Um, you know what, let me check." She smiles back, but April can tell she's not as willing to help her out as she usually is. Jackson is a good friend of hers, beyond the fact that they're colleagues. And he's her husband Alex's best friend. She'd understand her picking her loyalties.
She gets up and walks off, and April digs her heels into the carpeted floor, and runs her hands across the wooden desk. She feels the guilt coming back up again, and she pushes it down. She crossed a line, she knew that. But, she's hoping he forgives her, because she's really starting to need him to.
After what seems like a good 20 minutes or so, right before April decides that maybe it's all over, and she screwed everything up like she always does, Izzie's head pops out of the door.
"You can come in." She says, and holds the door open for her.
April walks into the room, familiar and warm, with the fireplace and the large mahogany desk she's very accustomed to, and the leather couch she's even more accustomed to. She glances at him and her heart races. He's sat at the desk, but he's not looking up from his paperwork.
"Thanks Izzie, you can go home. Tell Alex I'll drop by later." He says, still concentrating heavily on his work.
"Sure thing. Good night, boss," Izzie replies and turns towards her, "Professor Kepner."
April whispers a quick goodnight, and almost wants Izzie to turn back and stay here, but she walks out the door and closes it behind her.
She takes a deep breath and turns towards him.
"Leave the papers on my desk." He says, his usual kindness lost to a clipped tone.
"Um, okay." She walks towards him, hands in the 2 papers she brought with her as an excuse. She could've very well just ask her TA to hand them in.
She walks up to his desk, and she notices how he shoots her a quick look, but stares back down. She sighs, realizing this is probably how he's going to be for the rest of the night. Maybe she should've waited.
She opens her mouth to say her carefully planned apology, when he looks up at her all of a sudden. She's naked under his gaze, and this time he's not looking at her in desire. He's angry, and a little sad.
"Is that all?"
"Uh-"
"Okay then, goodnight Professor Kepner."
He glances away from her as quickly as he looks at her, and she's back to awkwardly standing in front of his desk. She bows her head down, and turns away. There's no point to it now.
She walks back a few steps, and suddenly turns to him. She won't leave without at least an explanation. If she'd screwed it up, he needs to know why.
"Duckie."
He looks up at her, confused, wondering if she'd said anything at all. He raises a brow and April realizes that she just said one word and he probably thinks she's crazy.
"That-that's what they called me. In high school. Duckie." She avoids his gaze, looking down at her hands, but she can tell he's listening.
So she continues, "It's for... it's for ugly duckling. I had braces, and acne and I had no idea how to condition my hair for the longest time. I was... duckie. So no, boys didn't like me. They didn't even look at me. I actually preferred that, really. Because when they did look at me, it was to let me know how unattractive they thought I was. Kids can be mean."
She shrugs, "I am- was... duckie. It's not easy growing up like that. That's why I said what I said. I was just... hurt. And I lashed out. And I hurt you. I am so sorry."
She can't help that there's a few tears, and she quickly wipes them off, hoping he doesn't notice. She carried the darkness into her adulthood. She carried all that ugliness they put into her, even though now she might be deemed beautiful by their stupid, shallow standards. April didn't care anymore, but she still carried Duckie in her back pocket.
She finally lets herself look up, and she sees his face. His eyes narrowed, he looks like he's ready to attack someone. His forehead is creased into worry lines, and if she thinks his eyes were dark before, now she could see a storm brewing inside.
"I'll go then." She says, finally, noticing how he doesn't say anything in return. She did her best, after all.
"April."
His voice, stops her from walking any further. She pauses, wonders for a second if she made it up in his head, and takes a chance. She turns around and tentatively looks at him.
His eyes are much softer, the blue hue he gets when he's sad.
"Lock the door." He commands, and a part of her doesn't want to get too happy about this. What if he just wants privacy before he breaks up with her?
She walks towards the door, placing her hands on the knob and pushes the lock in. She takes a deep breath and wonders what to do next.
"Come here?" He asks this time, rather than commands and it makes her want to sprint towards him.
She nods her head, and takes small steps towards him. She steps around his desk and stands in front of his chair, watching him swivel around and face her. He stands up then.
His hands fall to hers, and he takes them in his. He brings them to his lips, and he softly kisses her knuckles.
"I'm sorry they did that to you." His voice is soft, and she can't help some of the tears that fall down her cheek.
She shrugs her shoulders and feels his thumbs swipe across her cheeks, wiping away her stray tears. She doesn't mean to cry about this. Especially not in front of him. And yet, it's him who tends to make her the most vulnerable.
"It's alright." She mumbles.
"It's not, really."
He pulls her in then, and wraps his arms around her body, and she's a little surprised but eventually she sets her head on chest and wraps herself neatly around him. Like puzzle pieces, she thinks.
"April, you're-" He begins, but she cuts him off, placing a finger across his mouth, and lingering it there for just a second after he'd shut up.
"Not now." She tells him, "After."
He grins, and she realizes that he meant something very different to what she did.
She blushes, but looks up at him, her face determined, no longer shying away, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," He says, nodding to confirm his words, "But I didn't... I would never-"
"I know that! Of course I know that! I was just... speaking out of my ass." She sighs, and then blushes because she's not even crude enough to say the word 'ass'.
"Well, it's a very cute ass, so you're forgiven." He teases, and she swats him, the blush deepening.
"I didn't care that you said it," He continues, pulling her against him, dropping his hands to her waist, "I cared that you thought I was that kind of a guy."
"I know you're not," She tells him, as he hooks his thumbs on the belt loops on her skirt, "You're..."
"What?" He whispers, as he leans his head down, placing a soft kiss on her earlobe.
She gasps, momentarily losing her train of thought, "You're... a really good person."
"Yeah?" His voice is low against her ear and his hands drop to the edges of her skirt, scrunching up the material around his fists.
"Yeah."
"I'm glad you think so." He says, turning her around.
She reaches her arms out to hold the sharp edge of the mahogany, the wood rough under her skin. He pulls her behind to meet his front, and she moans in preparation of what is to come.
"We need to tell people," She manages to squeeze out, even though his hands are moving across her lower body, angling her just the way he wants her.
"You know what they'll say right?" He asks her, and she nods. She's very well aware of the consequences of going public with him. It's the reason she's pushed it off for so long.
"I know, but... I don't care anymore." She breathes, as his hands roughly pull her up against him, her back colliding with his chest.
"The rumours will only get worse," He whispers, his breath tickling the back of her neck, as she pushes back into him.
"Let them. I don't want to pretend to hate you anymore, because I don't. Quite the opposite, actually."
She can almost feel his grin. He loves it when she doesn't give a crap, when she's confident in them, when she's confident, period.
"I agree." He bends her fully over the desk, and she slides her hands forward, papers falling off into heaps of messes on the floor. She's usually neurotic, but she can never bring herself to care in these moments.
"You know, Professor Kepner, I read poetry in my free time."
She hears the zip of his pants being pulled down, and a slight shuffling of material as they a soft thump follows with his pants hitting the carpet.
"Really?"
She pretends not to have read his collections, in bed, at his place, after they've made love.
"She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies."
She chuckles breathlessly, unable to process the fact that he was murmuring Byron in her ears, while pulling down her panties.
"Jackson." She calls out for him, breath hitched, and teeth gritting against one another as he slips into her.
"Should I go on?"
"Please."
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