Note: For the past few months, I've been toying with the idea of writing something centered about Jackson, and more particularly around some of the themes his character has at the beginning, but that weren't developed that much on the show: his issues with fatherhood, his relationship with his dad, the weight of the Avery name, to name a few.

This will be, hopefully, a way to show slices of Jackson's life in Boston, sprinkled with some Japriet fluff but also deep-seated issues, because who doesn't love a character that should have gone to therapy years ago?

Hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave a review!


He didn't remember Boston being this cold.

He'd maybe gotten too used to Seattle's rain and more temperate weather, but he was entering his second winter as a newly returned Bostonian and was still surprised by how cold it got this early in the fall.

Flicking the collar of his coat, Jackson hurried inside the Catherine Fox Foundation building, making a beeline for his office on the second floor. Before he could even remove his coat, he was greeted by his assistant (and no matter how early Jackson would go to work, Devin seemed to come in even earlier), and he groaned when he saw the stack of documents waiting for him on his desk. Devin grimaced.

"I know, I know, but after the last board meeting, all the department heads have finally sent all of their numbers, and I know you want to review them. They all expect some news by the end of the week. And then you have that meeting with Newark, and after that with Lewis. But there's good news."

"There is?"

"There are new pastries at the coffee cart."

See, he knew he had hired Devin for a reason.

Jackson had not expected everything to go the way it did. When he had first arrived at the headquarters of the Catherine Fox Foundation, he had been determined not to lose sight of what was important. That his position offered him unprecedented resources to achieve what he wanted, but that he would do his best not to stay stuck in an office. He wanted to get his hands dirty, to practice what he had been taught. He might had been raised in the hopes he would take over the foundation one day, but his first love was surgery. Operating on someone, bringing them back to a healthy state, was the first time he'd felt useful in his life. What he did mattered, and he'd never wanted to lose the feeling. So in his head, everything was clear. He would run the foundation, yes, trying to ground it more into the 21st century, but he would also see patients. Meet the people he was doing this for. He would not become like his grandfather, losing track of what really mattered in medicine. He wanted to stay in touch with what was happening, not only in his field, but in the OR, and exam rooms, and clinics. He still wanted to perform miracles, one patient at a time.

But of course, it was easier said than done.

There were days where all he saw were the four walls of his office and his computer screen. He had refused to have a secretary, but had hired Devin, who had quickly become his right-hand man, and he tried to delegate as much as he could, but the truth was that more often than not, the scalpel in his hand was replaced by a phone or a folder, and he was wearing a suit more often than scrubs. And of course he'd known that you can't be everywhere at once, but he'd honestly thought he could somehow change the world, operate, do his research and still be home in time to spend time with his daughter. So, since time with his daughter wasn't the thing that was going to get cut from his day, he'd had to get some perspective and lower his expectations. Pro bono surgeries weren't a weekly occurrence, and his visits to Fox centers were mostly about the doctors and not the patients, but he had held his ground.

Maybe that made him an idealist, but Jackson figured there were worse things in the world to be.

And then there was the matter of the board. Jackson knew some of his ideas wouldn't necessarily be welcomed with open arms. He had expected some pushback, a little resistance. He hadn't expected that much opposition. The old guard – some of them having been here for decades – was not interested in his "liberal agenda" (that was a direct quote from one of the last meetings) and had no qualms into letting him know. Others agreed with some of his ideas, but weren't sure about how to implement them or were worried about the foundation's image, their bottom line. He had pointed out that any concern about the foundation's image had gone right out of the window when Harper Avery was exposed as a predator, and, well. That meeting had been quickly adjourned and he had spent the rest of the day fielding calls and mostly shaking his head. He wasn't sure if the pushback had to do with the new direction the foundation was taking, or if they just didn't trust him as the new leader. He knew some of them still saw him only as Harper's grandson, as the 15-year-old who attended board meetings with a scowl on his face, not necessarily deserving of the position, and he sometimes wondered if they would think the same if he was Harper Avery's white grandson.

All in all, it hadn't been what he had expected to be, and he had struggled to get the hang of it. Some days, he thought he was doing an adequate job. Some days, he felt like a helpless intern, swimming against the current, with a to-do list that had no end in sight. It didn't help that his mother kept calling him to give her opinion on current projects or to present new ones, and that Catherine Webber didn't seem to get how that was a problem. "I call your personal cell phone when I want to talk to my son or my granddaughter. When it's business and I want to talk to the head of my foundation, I only call your office. I don't see what's the problem here," she had huffed when he had tried to point it out to her, and the fact that she was still calling it "her foundation" summed it up. Semi-retirement didn't always agree with Catherine Fox Webber. She wasn't going to back off easily, and frankly, he had other problems to address first.

Baby steps, April kept telling him. You can't expect to change the world in one day. What we're doing will take time. She was right (she usually always was), but it didn't mean that it was easy.

Devin finished his recap about his schedule and pushed the pile of folders further on his desk, knocking a picture frame in the process. He apologized and quickly picked up the frame displaying a picture of Harriet, beaming, sandwiched between her parents, putting it back in its original position.

"Oh, and your mother called. I told her you were in meetings all day."

See? The guy just got him.


Received, 09:27am

Hi Jackson, I hope you're doing okay and that Boston is not too cold. Bozeman just got its first snow and the Center was filled with twisted ankles yesterday. Hope April and your little girl are doing good too. Robert

Staring at his phone's screen, at the notification that had been there since morning, Jackson frowned.

So far, he could say his day was going well. His meetings had been conclusive, he had managed to dodge another one of his mother's calls, and the pastries from the coffee cart had never let him down. His favorite part so far, though, was currently happening as a certain redhead knocked on his door just after lunch. Seeing her enter his office, he put his phone on his desk and looked at her, returning her wide smile.

"Hey stranger."

In his life, Jackson had had many "pinch me" moments, times when he couldn't believe this was his life. Positive ones, like when he got into med school, or passed his boards. Terrifying ones, like when he stood up at a wedding that wasn't his. Heart-breaking ones, like when his son became his late son, or when he found himself in a showy, sad lawyer's office, signing away his marriage. Life sometimes doesn't turn out the way we expect, and he'd learned to make peace with it. But the past year and a half had been full of these kinds of moments. Happy ones.

April agreeing to move to Boston with Harriet.

Him stepping into his office as head of the foundation.

Him showing Harriet all the places he'd loved as a child.

April's teary smile when she had agreed to give him another chance he wasn't sure he deserved.

He was not a sap, but sometimes he would shake his head and couldn't believe his luck.

"Stranger?"

"I haven't seen you all morning."

"That's because I'm busy and important."

"Keep telling yourself that."

He grinned. A bantering April meant a happy April, and they kept the conversation light for a few minutes, until his gaze fell back to his phone.

"Something on your mind?" she asked, perching herself on his desk.

"Why?"

"The frown, mostly. Also the fact that Devin said your mom called you at work again and you haven't complained about it yet."

It was scary sometimes to see how April knew him better than he knew himself.

"Oh no, it's nothing. Well. I got a message from my dad."

"Your dad? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's still... happy, in his Montana bubble, or whatever."

She nodded, her hand moving mindlessly up and down his arm, in a soothing, classic April Kepner gesture.

"We've been in contact lately. He started sending me these texts when he learned I moved to Boston, and I started answering, I guess."

Back when they moved to Boston and started to talk (about them, about Harriet, about everything), they'd both insisted on honesty and transparency, even more since they'd gotten back together. Maybe that's why he felt like he'd been duplicitous, keeping this from her. Even though this was not that big of a deal, he felt relieved to tell her.

"That's good, right?"

"That's... something. He told me that my last visit prompted him to want to do something to help, so he's been going back to the Fox Center in Bozeman. Helping out, picking up shifts." He shook his head. "Being an Avery still opens a lot of doors, even when you left decades ago."

He could see April studying him and put a hand on her knee.

"I'm fine. Every few months, he'll text, give some news, ask how we are, I tell him nothing except that we're fine, and that's it. No arguments, no yelling, no heart-breaking discussions, I promise."

She was still watching him, opening her mouth, ready to say something, before closing it.

"What?"

"Nothing, I just, I'm just happy you guys are talking. Even just a little. I just don't want him..."

She knew him better than he knew himself, but the opposite was also true, and he knew what she meant. She didn't want him to get his hopes up and be disappointed, again, by Robert Avery. To get his heart broken by the man who already broke it too many times. He took her hand, squeezing it to show her they were on the same wavelength.

"He doesn't have the same hold on me that he used to. I'm not expecting anything from him. I swear. Don't worry, babe."

She snorted, because asking her not to worry was like asking him not to frown, and covered his hand with her own.

"I'm glad you told me."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm grown up, I talk now."

He was grown up, but he was still deflecting, because as much as he wanted to share everything with April, Robert Avery was still a subject he had no idea how to approach.

"I know. Sometimes I feel like you talk more than Hattie," and he clutched his chest, pretending to be offended by the comparison with his chatterbox of a daughter. "But I thought you never wanted to hear from him again. What changed your mind?"

He considered the question for a few seconds, but as he opened his mouth to answer, his computer beeped, indicating an incoming call. He rolled his eyes as April chuckled, sliding off his desk and squeezing his hand.

"Duty calls. I'll see you later when you're not busy kicking ass."

He rolled his eyes but his smile gave him away.


Received, 09:27am

Hi Jackson, I hope you're doing okay and that Boston is not too cold. Bozeman just got its first snow and the Center was filled with twisted ankles yesterday. Hope April and your little girl are doing good too. Robert.

Hours later, the damn notification was still taunting him.

He had seen it this morning, but had opted to wait until his barrage of emails, meetings and calls had passed before doing anything about it. April had once said to him that he was good at compartmentalizing, and he used to be the king of burying any feeling or event he didn't want to think about (used to, because thanks to a $200/hour therapist and a certain redhead, he'd gotten better at talking). So he was not quite sure how to feel about the fact that his father's message had stayed in a corner of his head all day long.

The phone on his desk rang, and because he knew Devin was in a meeting (to be more exact, he was in a meeting Jackson should have been in, but hey, the point of being the boss was to be able to avoid getting stuck in meetings you don't want to attend all the while insisting it's because you're great at delegating. Win-win), he answered right away.

"You're a hard man to reach, Jackson Avery."

Maybe he shouldn't have.

"And yet you seem to manage to do it every time, mom."

She shushed him like she'd done all his life, making him feel like he was six all over again.

"What? If you haven't noticed, I don't blow up your personal cell phone for foundation-related business."

"Anymore."

He could almost see her roll her eyes at the other end of the line.

"It happened once, Jackson, will you get over i–"

"Five times, mom, and the first two times I thought there was a real emergency and that you were in the hospital."

"Well, technically I was in the hospital..."

"Mom."

"Have you read my email about the grant proposal?"

No, he hadn't.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And we haven't made a decision yet! Everyone has an opinion on who the grant should benefit."

"If you've read my email, then you know that after everything that happened with the Supreme Court, I think that it's only fair it goes towa–"

"And 11 members of the board think that way about 11 other fields of research. And honestly, I have no idea how we're going to decide, because they all have a leg to stand on. It's on the agenda for one of our next meetings, and I can't promise anything."

"Which one?"

"Why do you care? It's not like you're going to be there."

From his 40 years of experience, Catherine Fox Webber being silent had never been a good sign.

"It's not like you're going to be there, right mom?"

"Jackson honey, I know it's your foundation now, and I'm not trying to meddle, but you know that this was a pet project of mine, and–"

"No. Mom, what part of 'I give up my seat on the board, I completely trust you, son!' don't you understand?"

"Of course I completely trust you Jackson, I just want to make sure–"

"You're not doing a very good job at showing it."

Could you hear someone scowl from the other side of the country? Because he swore he could hear her scowl.

"Mom, I know it's hard to let go of the foundation you've ran practically all your life. But you can't show up at some meetings just because you want to have input on some of the decisions, and then go when it suits you. And it really doesn't help when all the other members think I'm a helpless toddler who needs his mommy running every five minutes and can't have a thought for himself."

He'd already gone through this in Seattle, when his co-workers were less than happy that an Avery was on the board of the hospital, and he could do without a repeat.

"I know baby, and it's not that, you know I know you're perfectly capable."

"Good. So no meeting for you then."

"But I'll be in Boston anyway in a few weeks, so if by chance the meeting happens then..."

"Mom."

"Oh, hush child. I'll be babysitting your daughter, the least you could do is let me sit in on one little meeting."

"You'll be babysitting..."

"Hattie, yes. I told April the dates, and I told her when I could take my granddaughter to spend the night with her favorite grandma. It's all sorted out."

He was about to ask more questions, but he'd learned over the years that not everything needs to be questioned and to pick his battles. Letting the women in his life plan his schedule was one he didn't mind losing.

"Well, if it's all sorted out, I'll let you go back to whatever retirement activity you decided to take up. Is it knitting this month, or water aerobics maybe?"

"Who raised you to be this disrespectful?"

He hung up a few seconds later, before his mother could properly scold him, and went back to staring at his phone. Finally opening the notification, he reread the message before composing an answer and hitting send before he could talk himself out of it.

Sent, 05:11pm

Everything's fine here, we're all doing okay. Good luck for dealing with all the snow injuries, hope it's not the start of a white flood. Take care.

He hadn't lied to April by saying that he had it under control. Yes, he and his dad were talking, but they were (or, if he were honest, he was) keeping it superficial. Talking about the weather or the Bozeman Center, not going into details about April or Harriet, being polite but nothing more. He didn't want more, and wasn't sure anyway what conversations fathers and sons were supposed to have. He wasn't sure he could give more than small talk at the moment, honestly. Baby steps, had said April, and he guessed there was no point to rushing. Maybe one day, they'd talk about more, though Jackson doubted it. Maybe the small talk would stay and Robert would always be this distant stranger in his life, and Jackson thought he could be fine with that. Better a distant stranger than an absentee loved one.

Another notification, this time coming from April, made him pick his phone back up. She'd finished earlier than him and went to pick Harriet up from school, and had sent him a picture that he eagerly opened. On his screen appeared his two girls, all snuggled in scarves and coats, sticking their tongues out. The caption read "See you at home!", and all the uneasiness he'd been feeling today (about text messages, about board meetings, about life's small and big questions) made way to a now familiar warm feeling.


"I need love, love to ease my mind, I need to find, find someone to call mine

But mama said you can't hurry love, no you just have to wait

She said love don't come easy, it's a game of give and take"

Living with a six-year-old meant that the house was rarely silent.

Living with a six-year-old and April? The house was never quiet. And he loved it.

Music, singing and giggling welcomed him as he opened the door of their house (and it had been a few months now, but he still relished that it was now their home. His, April's and Harriet's). Putting his coat in the closet and his shoes on the rack, he walked inside the house and turned a corner, stopping on the threshold of the kitchen. In front of him, he could see April, facing the stove, shake her hips to the music and sing, using the spatula she was holding as a mic. Sitting at the kitchen counter, Harriet was mixing ingredients and laughing at her mother's antics.

"But how many heartaches must I stand, before I find a love to let me live again?

Right now the only thing that keeps me hanging on, when I feel my strength, yeah, it's almost gone"

He couldn't help the smile that was spreading on his face and the warm feeling rising in his chest. For years he'd thought he'd never have those simple, domestic moments with April and their daughter, and he sometimes got a bit of whiplash at the thought that this was his life now. His family was all under the same roof, safe, happy. He could grumble all he wanted about the number of throw pillows on the couch and the toys Harriet was leaving everywhere, he loved every minute of his life, tantrums, bad moods and late nights included.

Watching April dance and sing and Harriet beam at her mother, her baking task completely forgotten, he was reminded of similar scenes years ago, when Catherine would sing alongside Marvin Gaye or Aretha Franklin while cooking, and he would watch her in awe (or, as a teenager, rolling his eyes while secretly enjoying it).

As a parent, you usually want more for your child than what you had, and he realized the main difference between his daughter and himself. Because while he and his daughter both had a strong mother who would do absolutely anything for them and who could act silly while cooking dinner, Harriet also had a dad who could join in those impromptu scenes.

"No, I can't bear to live my life alone, I grow impatient for a love to call my own."

At his interruption, Harriet shrieked and turned towards him, jumping out of her stool and running towards him. Taking her hands into his, he spun her around, butchering the lyrics as they danced around the kitchen.

Anything to make his daughter smile.

April raised an eyebrow, not used to him belting out song lyrics at the top of his lungs (okay, he may had done it once, but he was young. And drunk. And she had no proof, because he had spent the next day chasing her and deleting the incriminating evidence from her phone. He had a family reputation to protect after all), but soon smiled and joined them, putting her hands on Harriet's shoulders and singing (and because she was April, of course she knew the correct lyrics). He bent down to kiss April's cheek, and then widened his eyes and made a goofy face, making both of his girls laugh.

Well, anything to make his family smile.

Harriet's giggles and antics lasted all the way through dinner, where she regaled her parents with tales about her day (who knew the life of a pre-schooler would be so busy?). She was in the middle of a story about a classmate when she loudly declared, without any preamble, "I want a baby."

"You want a baby?"

"Not me. You!"

"I want a baby?"

Harriet rolled her eyes, as if she couldn't believe she had to spell it out for her parents.

"I want you to have a baby. So I can play with it."

He looked at April, who seemed as taken aback as he was.

Their daughter knew about Samuel. Well, knew as much as a six-year-old could understand. They had never wanted to hide him (it didn't feel right), and had both researched how to talk to her. So Harriet knew there was a baby before her, that he went to heaven (and Jackson still wasn't sure if he really believed in heaven, but for now it was the easiest explanation their little girl could wrap her head around), and that mom and dad were sometimes sad because they missed him a lot.

It was strange talking to his daughter about her brother. As much as he was glad that she wasn't in pain (you can't miss someone you've never met, and for Hattie, Samuel was as real as her favorite cartoon characters), he still had moments when he wished their two children could have met, played together, even fought, and that Harriet could remember her brother.

Their daughter had a brother. But their daughter was also an only child, and some days it was hard to reconcile the two.

"You'd want a little brother or sister?" April asked, as if to make sure.

"Yes!" Harriet yelled, almost spilling her glass of water in the process.

"To play with him?"

"Yes! And I'll teach him all about Boston and animals and midicine and–"

He couldn't help but laugh as Harriet started listing all the subjects she felt very knowledgeable about (and it turned out there were quite a few).

"And you'd share your toys and your snacks?"

That was enough to shut his daughter up as she looked at her mom, uncertainty in her eyes.

"If I have to, I guess," she said, lowering her gaze to her plate, and Jackson felt his heart jump. His daughter was too much.

"Well, for now you don't have to, and I know there's a piece of apple pie that has your name written on it..." Harriet jumped from her chair before he could finish his sentence, and April sent him a warm look, grateful for his intervention.

As they cleaned and then put Harriet to bed, he knew that it was a conversation they were going to have to have. Truthfully, it was one he was not sure he was ready to have. He couldn't count the number of times where he'd felt a yearning watching April read a story to their daughter, imagining another curly-haired head listening to her voice. And yes, he had gotten better at talking about his feelings, but this was something else.

When they'd moved to Boston, they'd started talking about everything. Their marriage, their divorce, and everything in between. Samuel was the first difficult topic they approached, and he'd felt such relief to finally be able to talk to someone, to talk to her about him. Jordan and grieving were another one. Montana. Their other relationships. Their childhoods, even. They'd spent hours, on her couch, at his kitchen counter, at work even, just talking. They'd talked about what getting back together meant, but surprisingly, there was one subject they had avoided though, and it was the prospect of having more children one day.

How do you say to your wife "I think I want another baby with you, but given our track records with pregnancies and childbirth and parenthood, I'm freaking terrified and I'm not sure I want us to go through it again"?

He smiled as April came into the bedroom, ready for bed. Climbing under the sheet, she put her cold feet on his calves, and he glared at her all before taking her into his arms (he'd missed this, too, but there was no way he'd tell her that) and kissing her neck, making her softly giggle.

It was a conversation they needed to have, but maybe not right away.


Note: The song the Kepner-Avery family is dancing to in the kitchen is of course You Can't Hurry Love by The Supremes, and it goes without saying that I don't own it.

Thank you for reading!