Chapter 8 – Atlantis

Cause in my heart and in my head

I'll never take back the things I said

She said, in my heart and in my head

Tell me why this has to end

I can't save us, my Atlantis, we fall

We built this town on shaky ground

I can't save us, my Atlantis

.

She puts down her phone as soon as she spots them, walking down the day care's hall and towards her. She'd texted Jackson earlier on, telling him she wanted to see Harriet before he checked her in for the day.

"Hi Ladybug!", she smiles brightly, unable to move too much due to the banana bag hooked onto her arm.

He frowns as he reaches her, Harriet in his arms, still feeling slightly out of touch since their exchange the night before at the bar. When he'd left, she'd looked okay – albeit leaving him with some pointed parting words, so why the sudden need to carry around a drip? "Are you okay? Are you – huh – sick?"

She takes Harriet in her arms, still cooing at her with pure joy of seeing her cute face – she misses her every day, but some days where they aren't together feel harder than others. "I'm fine, I just drank a lot last night."

"You drank a lot."

"After you left." She rectifies, nuzzling her nose to Harriet's.

"Oh," he feels guilty, now – sad, even, at the thought of her alone in that bar. But he'd had to leave and get back to Harriet and his mother, or he would've never heard the end of it from the latter. "I organized a dress fitting for you today."

Her head darts up, confused, "A what?"

"For the ball. It's this Friday, remember?" He says it like it's supposed to make sense to her.

"I know that." She gives him a piercing look, "What do you mean dress-fitting?"

"Dana organized a stylist that's going to bring you a selection of gowns to choose from."

She shakes her head, "Absolutely not."

"April –"

"No. I'm a grown-up, I can go and buy my own outfit."

"You're a doctor, you don't have time – and, anyways, these are some of the best designers in the world wanting to lend you a gown, it's not just any dress." He tries to rationalize; it makes sense to him, considering his mother always had similar fittings around the Harper-Avery's, and that this event was supposed to surpass it in terms of innovation and opulence.

"It's not the Oscars, Jackson."

"Will you just go? Please?" He looks down at her, a little closer now as he adjusts one of Harriet's curls that has fallen into her eyes, "You're leading this entire contest, everyone's eyes will be on you."

Oh, so it's about what everyone thinks. It makes more sense to her, now. "Fine." She sighs, exasperated but ready to drop this conversation.

They stand there for a few seconds, and it's painfully obvious neither of them want to leave Harriet. They don't get to spend too much time just the three of them since she's moved out, and this takes them back to when she was first born. To the beginning.

"I'll see you later," he bends down to kiss Harriet's cheek, and as his eyes dart to hers, he realises just how close they are; his warm breath on her cheek as their daughter sits in the small distance between them.

She feels it, too, and for a small moment all she does is just look into his eyes. She expects to see the past, as she usually does when it comes to Jackson, yet this time, they glint under a different light.

She pulls back, Harriet in her arms, "I-uh- later."

He doesn't add anything else, just nods and does his best to turn away and walk back to the elevator.

.

.

"I can't even say anything because of the April Kepner defence squad over here." Cristina remarks, pointedly, as she laces up her sneakers in the resident's lounge.

Jackson rolls his eyes, turning away from his own locker to face her barbed voice and Alex's retaliating laugh. "You don't have to be such a dick to her."

She doesn't mean to be so callous about it, after all, Kepner's grown on her, but the bitterness of losing Chief Resident and the end of a 48 hour shift doesn't help her tone. "She doesn't know what that is."

"Yang." His voice is stern, still annoyed from overhearing her giggling at the expense of the girl he's now guessed is practically his best friend.

"Avery, come on man." Alex finally says, smacking his shoulder in a way that makes Jackson want to smack him, but he'd already done that a few months back after a failed romp between him and April. "No one actually hates her, you need to relax every once in a while."

To be fair – he's not wrong, which is why Jackson has no good answer rather than roll his eyes and continue putting his lab coat on.

"You don't have to be so defensive over your girlfriend." Cristina teases, but he doesn't crack a smile, instead feeling a deep sense of discomfort.

"It's not like that."

She's halfway out the door when he hears her voice, loud enough to startle the whole hallway, "Sure thing, lover boy."

.

.

He stands in the lunch queue as Arizona continues telling him about how her project is going. She's been working away for weeks, the faces of the women lost in childbirth haunting and inspiring her every decision.

It's a fascinating project, really, and as she tells him her inspiration behind it, he can't help but picture April as she'd told him one night, perhaps in the snowy streets of Boston or in between a souvenir and bookshop the next day, about Matthew's wife Karen that'd passed.

The day it'd happened, two months prior, he vaguely remembers his name falling from her mouth as she tried to help him out of the pit he'd built for himself emotionally as he treated a young black patient that was a victim of police brutality.

Jackson. Her voice is soft; it always is in his memories, when he thinks back to his name between her lips. Why hadn't he turned around? Or given her more than a lewd look and a dismissive attitude? He'd needed nothing more than to speak to her – that much he knows, to feel better, or at least to feel understood, and yet… he'd just stood there, oblivious to her and her feelings.

In retrospect now, after hearing the cracks in her voice when she told him about her crisis of faith, her fear of not belonging anywhere or not being able to believe in anything… after all of that, he wishes for nothing more than to turn back time just a little – just so he could turn around, and April and letting each other be there for one another.

Alas, time cannot be turned back, so he remains here, in the present, where he's entered a strange realm in his relationship with her. Between strangers and knowing everything in the world about each other. A somewhat grey area.

"Carina's been showing me stats from Italy, and I'm just trying to figure out at what point we're going wrong, you know?" Arizona's voice next to him snaps him back to reality, and he does his to suggest he's been listening the entire time.

"Makes sense." He nods as he eyes the choices of salads, a little intimidated at hearing the competition. He knows that his project doesn't have the winning title sprawled all over it like aerosol skin grafts would have, but it's for a far nobler cause, and lately that seems to be the road he wants to take for himself.

Hearing Arizona speak about her project supports the whole reason why he decided to pour a sum of his inheritance into this project, so that doctors could have a chance to change the face of medicine in all of their respective fields.

Jackson's head snaps up when he hears a voice he doesn't completely recognize in front of him and Arizona speak a little too loudly, "I'm telling you, she was totally up for it anytime until last week."

"So you're not hitting it anymore?"

"No, she's being a total bitch," he shrugs, and Jackson's finally pinpointed who he is: the intern that ran out of the on-call room the day he'd heard April crying. "Not my fault she was so easy."

"Dr Roy," Jackson's voice is loud, louder than their gossiping, and the man looks scared suddenly as he's faced with the man that practically owns the hospital. "I advise you watch your mouth, it'd be a real shame to suspend you."

He's pissed. Arizona can tell, the two interns facing him now can tell, heck – the whole lunch queue can tell.

"Dr Avery I-"

Jackson's eyes are furious, and yet he's oblivious to the commotion that's turned around to see where the raised voice came from. He doesn't care that he's this man's superior, and that technically, he should be able to rise above it. No, he doesn't care – but rather, is blinded by absolute anger someone could even talk about April that way.

"Now walk out of here, and get out of my face." His voice is cold, and anyone that heard it would be glad to not be on the receiving end of it. Vik starts walking past him and towards the door when Jackson's hand grabs his arm, his grip is forceful and forces him to stare up at his superior, "If I ever hear you speaking about her again, you'll be glad if you find a job at any hospital in the whole country."

It's obvious it isn't an empty threat, while he's often burdened by his last name, it is plastered over hundreds of facilities across the country, and members of the medical world across the world aspire to one day have the award that has his very own letters engraved upon it.

The two interns scurry out of the cafeteria, and Arizona turns back to Jackson, mouth slightly agape. She slaps his shoulder and he looks at her, too. Her tone is shocked, "What was that?"

.

.

It's not until April has a late lunch with Amelia and Arizona comes to join them that she hears about the outburst in the cafeteria earlier on. From the moment she hears about her ex-husband's outburst, she's fuming.

Going through lunch silently, basking in her own anger, she thinks about the fact that he has no right to speak to someone she's slept with like that. Is the guy an ass? Sure. Is it worth making a scene in front of all of their colleagues? Absolutely not.

She's still angry when she makes her way to the attending's' lounge, where the very same person that's annoyed her organized a dress fitting for her. There are about a thousand places she'd rather be on her way to, for one surgery – considering that's her job, and wearing a prop gown and mask wasn't part of the job description.

When she walks in, a small man wearing a bright purple bowtie greets her. "This must be the Dr Kepner!" he beams at her in a strong Italian accent.

Slightly confused, she smiles and hands him her hand to shake, but instead he gets on his tippy toes and gives her two kisses. Ah, she thinks, the European way.

"I mean – I wouldn't say the Dr Kepner but –"

He cuts her off, disregarding what she's saying by waving his hands exaggeratedly in the air, "I don't want to hear niente about it, Doctor, I have heard meraviglioso things about you."

She smiles, easing into the exchange. It's always flattering to hear that some people still have good things to say about her, although she can't help but wonder who could have possibly spoken to the man when –

"It's the Dr Avery, he could not stop speaking about you during his fitting."

She rolls her eyes, then, "Of course he couldn't."

Did he speak about embarrassing her in front of a cafeteria filled with people they work with? It seems to be a recurring theme today, him not being able to just shut his mouth.

Turning her gaze away from him, she looks at the three racks of dresses behind him, filled with the most beautiful and glistening gowns she's ever laid her eyes on. They all have different styles, ranging from ball gowns to embellishments in every colour of the rainbow.

He turns to her, "Any preferences, signorina?"

And then, an idea strikes her.

"I was thinking strapless."

.

.

He detects there may be something wrong when he see the familiar head of red curls head straight for the on-call room at the end of the corridor, and he detects it may have something to do with him when she slams the door after making eye-contact.

Without hesitation, he follows her into the room, opening the door as she's sat down on the bed under a small window, head between her hands.

"Is everything okay?"

She wants to laugh, truthfully. For someone who's head of a whole hospital board, he's pretty clueless when it comes to other matters. "Arizona told me you caused a scene."

"Wait," he furrows his brows. "Why are you angry that I defended you?"

"Because, Jackson, I'm mortified." Her green eyes spark with anger now, shooting daggers at him from across the room, "It wasn't your place to say anything."

"What, so I'm supposed to just stand there and watch as some interns talk down about you?"

"You always just stand there and watch, what's changed?" Her gaze is defiant, and she thinks that he flinches, but doesn't think about it twice.

"A lot's changed." There is a rasp to his voice that wasn't there before.

They both know that he's right. A month ago, he'd stood outside the very same room unable to come in – unable to help her. And he's here, now, and he knows that it's not enough, but perhaps one day it will begin to be.

He timidly walks over to the bed she is sat on, and sits down, leaving a space between them.

She can hear it in his voice that he didn't mean any harm by snapping at the man she slept with, that he was trying to salvage her honour like he'd once done at any chance given when they were only residents and she was her peers' scapegoat for any anger or mockery. That seemed like light-years ago, now, and the man sat next to her only gives her glimpses of the boy she once knew. But she knows she's not the same person either; and a small part wonders whether he also stays up at night wishing for the girl that'd once shared everything in the world with him.

The room is quiet as she sits and thinks – and he sits right next to her, both basking in a momentary moment of quiet between snaps at each other.

"I don't want to do this anymore," her voice is soft, softer than he'd expected after she'd berated him, and the glow of the evening dusk pours out from the window and onto her red hair and pink cheeks. "Fighting. I'm too tired."

She means it, he knows she does. He looks down at the floor, thinking of the countless therapy sessions, the fights and the make-ups and every awkward conversation in between. "Me too."

After all of the years, all of the arguments and separations, he realizes that these kinds of fights can never be won. They're both sat full of their own thoughts in a silent on-call room, so who'd won? Him, by getting her to sign the divorce papers he'd asked her to? That's the thing, even if you're the victor, you've hurt the other person, and there has to be some loss associated with that.

"I've given you everything, Jackson. All of my love – once, and now, all of my anger. I have nothing left to give, but just… just this empty carcass of someone you once knew. I'm done, I have no more to give." There isn't a trace of anger left in her voice, but rather the reiteration of the emptiness she feels.

He wishes she would yell. Or throw things at him – or, or say anything. But rather, she looks blankly ahead, and he's left reeling from her words. "You're not done, April."

She turns to him, slightly surprised of his choice of words, as she'd faintly expected him to argue about their relationship or something else, rather – he'd caught onto the core of what she told him. Onto her.

He looks back up to meet her gaze, and she wonders how long it's been that she's looked at him, really looked at him. Sure, they've exchanged longing exchanges throughout the last few months, and more so in the last one, yet here in the evening dusk, she sees him.

She sees it, then. That he's also carrying the shell of someone that's been hollowed out from the inside out by the world, putting up a front that could've even had her fooled. "We save lives, that's what we do," she sighs, her frame slightly hunched on herself as he listens to her every word, "and yet we've neglected to save ourselves."

It baffles him, really, that even in moments of utmost vulnerability; April Kepner still manages to find words scathing enough for him to physically wince. "I don't think this is the end," he says, finally. "Just a pit stop along the way."

"You don't?"

"I don't." And in his voice, she finds the smallest shred of reassurance.

They both stay silent, and her gaze falls back on the wall ahead of them, but he doesn't look away. He thinks of her, child-like and smiling in a random souvenir shop in Boston, embracing the awkwardness and joy that once imploded between them both. He thinks of her small sleeping frame the night he'd taken her home, broken and accusing.

All of these things that have happened to them, with them, between them. These people and these places and these events, and yet she's right here, sat next to him. They're not fighting anymore, and yet both of them have shown the fissures in their souls – no longer the two residents full of hope on their way to their board exams. Perhaps they hadn't been whole since the day they got onto that bus.

She'd once told him he was good at compartmentalizing and yet as his eyes stay fixed on her, he sees everything that she is swirling around like his own inner tornado. She's Harriet's mom, but she's also the girl that stayed up studying for the boards until delirious hours with him, and the girl that would wake him from his nightmares months on end after their friends died, she's the girl that tasted like strawberries and mint, and the woman that held his hand as their child lay in their arms, dying, she's the person standing waiting for him after he's met his dad, after a patient has affected him, after everything. She's everything that's ever happened to him of note. She's everything.

His voice comes out a little louder than a whisper, "I don't want to fight, either." He can't help but just keep staring at her, his eyes skimming over her every feature like they hold the universe's truths. He tentatively extends his hand towards her, "Friends?"

She stares down at the hand that hovers a few inches above her thigh, outstretched and slightly trembling – which is out of the ordinary for a plastic surgeon known for his impeccable precision. And yet, his fingers do have the smallest quiver to them, a movement so small and fleeting one may miss it. But not her. Never her. Not after all this, after all the years of laughs and cries and promises. Her eyes meet his, and they look rueful too, uncertain. Perhaps it's a moment of weakness, or just an admission that sometimes, life is a little too hard to live with grudges, but she lowers her hand to his and clasps it on his warm skin. She can hear his breath hitch, "Something like that."

Fourteen years, he thinks. Fourteen years and they've ended up right here.

.

.

.

To my lovely, patient and incredible readers: I cannot thank you enough for the continued support on this story, and to the amazing individuals that have checked up on me on tumblr to see if I'm okay after news about Jessica and Sarah.

I'm sorry I took a little break; I was going to update to finish up the chapter the day I got the news and frankly, couldn't bring myself to write for a few days after it.

I don't want this to be pages long, because frankly I could go on forever about how much better these two women deserve, but feel free to go to my blog to see my little rants over it.

There is a is a petition to keep Sarah and Jessica on the show, it only takes a few seconds to sign and I would highly recommend you do: even if it turns out to be pointless, I'm sure both actresses hold the outpouring of support close to their hearts. It's the least that we can do after they brought us these characters we cherish so dearly. I can't link it due to FF regulations, but it's super easy to find and I'll make sure to reblog it again tonight on my tumblr if you want to find it more easily there :)

This story will be continuing, because unlike Krista Vernoff, I believe they are not done creatively. I'm going to be honest with you guys, this chapter actually ended with a fight originally. I scrapped that after reading the news, deciding we all need a little love and light right now. The beautiful quote about there being no winners is by David Levithan.

Jackson and April have genuinely been one of the greatest joys of my entire life. I will carry their love in my heart for the rest of my life, they are the reason I decided to start writing and will always be one of the greatest reflections of love I have ever seen. I'm devastated that they won't end up together in the Grey's universe, but I know that in thousands more parallel ones, in different worlds and different galaxies, in different fictions and AUs and in all of our hearts, they will spend the rest of their lives together.

"We loved with a love that was more than love."

-Edgar Allan Poe