"I don't think it's stupid, or that you sound like a broken record. I think that's totally reasonable. I, ah. I haven't lost a parent, but I lost a couple friends, and when I really wish they could be here, sometimes I'll write them a letter. It's never something they'll get, but sometimes writing it out and just... imagining what they might say, it can help work through the problem and makes it easier to deal with it in the end, y'know?"

"It’s stupid, and I get that I sound like a broken record, but I just really wish I had even one more day with my dad. There’s just so many unanswered questions right now, and I wish I knew what he would say to make sense of it all."

... And what was this thing? Not that miserable, drunk, and bitchy is a bad thing, it's still April. Just... a different side of April. Just saying. Anyway, what was this thing?

I think I found it.

The thing - you know, I’ve been miserable and drunk and bitchy and not me, not me at all, but I think - I think I’ve found the thing - you know what I mean by the thing? The one thing that might maybe change everything? You get that?

"Oh, parental love. Isn't it just the best?"

"So, my Dad basically slayed all fathers this morning. We kept telling him really bad Dad jokes, and he said, ‘That’s strange, because my six biggest jokes are sitting right here’. The love is real.”

"Crap, sorry, I slept through the first page. What've you got?"

Does anyone from plastics actually answer their pages?..

"I paged Mark, and Jackson like, 20 minutes ago for a consult…" 

Admittedly, Teddy's reassurance that they'd all been there was more comforting than Jackson had thought it would be. It was true, of course; he knew as well as anyone that they all lost patients, that they all had days when they couldn't take their losses and it came out in the least desirable way possible. It was just uncommon for him to let it shine through in that particular manner, and he was perhaps a bit more ashamed of it than he needed to be.

Clearing his throat as he put the last of the things back on the cart, Jackson straightened up at Teddy's tentative tone, offering her a weak smile. "It's just... been a rough few weeks. I... my nightmares have been really bad lately, which would be okay if I wasn't also waking April up when I wake up from them, and things aren't okay with April right now either, and I had a good feeling for the first time in days going into this surgery and it just... went badly."

He almost didn't admit to the nightmares, almost bottled it up again, but if anyone were to understand, Teddy would be one of them. Different types of trauma were between them, but she likely understood the aftermath of that better than most people did. And venting to her wasn't going to cause her guilt, not like it would April. Not that he would vent to April at the moment anyway, given their questionable relationship status.

A Little Stronger || Jeddy

"Don’t be," Teddy said quietly; looking up at Jackson, she hoped he knew that she wasn’t there to judge. "We’ve all been there."

It was true - every surgeon had experienced the devastation that a flat line could bring, a crushing one that no words could hope to hold. Playing God inevitably took its toll, because no matter how hard they tried to save each and every one of them, there would always be the ones who slipped through the cracks - a tribute to human imperfection, as Teddy liked to think of it. Fate had always been, and always would be, out of their white-gloved hands.

"You don’t look okay," Teddy commented tentatively, knowing how volatile grieved anger could be. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You definitely will. Lemme grab a coffee and we'll start on rounds before surgery.

If you say so, dude. Yeah, the best. Oh yeah? Guess i’ll just have to bring my A-game.

"A tree branch skewering him. That's... fricking insane. Sometimes the surgeries we get are just astounding, I swear. People wind up with the craziest injuries."

"Well, spending it here at the hospital was great. You won’t believe how many penetrating chest traumas that came through the ER this year - one guy had a tree branch skewering him between his ribs, can you believe it?”

"Knowing your mom, she might get you something anyway, even though you told her not to. Comes with being a parent, the wanting to spoil your kids thing, I think. Can I ask what that only other thing is, though?"

"They’re actually from Dr. Angello’s personal collection. She’s letting me borrow them for the holiday. And I made my mom promise not to get me any material gifts this year. Getting better and going home after the surgery is present enough for me. And the only other thing I want won’t ever be possible, so…”

The feeling of lips against his wasn't something Jackson had anticipated, admittedly, but wasn't pulled away from either. He let them linger, pressed into it just a bit, felt the familiar warmth of what he assumed was a cold-induced split blossom against still cool flesh. Hands tightened around hers, if only minutely, at the way his heart leaped into his throat, hammering a mile a minute just from the simple connection of lips slotting together as perfectly as they always did, even if just for the moment. That brush of her tongue, against his lower lip where he knew there would be traces of blood from that small split, though...

He was pulling back in the same moment she was, sucking in a shallow, shaking breath as blue eyes opened to look down at her again in slight question. The breathless tone of voice, the still cool hands still wrapped around her mug, the uncertain explanation that passed her lips... It took the question out of his gaze, the tip of his tongue darting out just briefly to brush over his lower lip and pull it between his teeth.

"Mistletoe," he returned after a moment, taking the mug back from her hands and pulling away briefly to set it on the counter next to his. In just as quick a motion, he was back in front of her, taking her hands in his own and gently, ever so gently, rubbing the cold out of them in smooth, easy motions.

The last time they had stood like this -- or rather, sat like this -- it had been her mending the chafed hands that had mirrored the mental wounds that still weren't yet healed, carefully smoothing over the cracks and too dry bits of skin he had worn open with how he'd scrubbed. This time, it was the opposite, it seemed; Jackson's hands worked carefully, with a practiced precision, over cold-tender skin, transferring warmth into them, smoothing over the cracked surface to ease the ache that still lingered in the air between them.

Funny, mirror images, and how they worked.

Perhaps that was why he was ducking his head now, brushing his nose against hers, staying in close but not quite kissing her -- that was her step to make, another step just maybe on the way to them being, well. Them. For at the moment, it felt almost like they were them again. His words were low, low enough that the music still coming from the living room almost could have drowned them out were they not so close in together.

"Isn't the mistletoe rule that you have to kiss for as long as you're standing under it? I never learned many holiday traditions, so I'm a bit lacking on that one."

Here But For The Grace Of God || Japril

But for the warm, fuzzy feeling of the season, for the red and green, for the mythical baby magically saving the world in a bloody festival in four months’ time, she wouldn’t be standing there - they wouldn’t be standing there. April pressed her lips together but kept her eyes high above the infinity shape of Jackson’s hands around hers around the cup, circles around circles. Even a chaste conception followed by an excruciating crucifixion couldn’t explain the connection between them, the thread which still ran to her heartstrings, the pure bright power that made her want to be red instead of black, to step back from whatever edge in her mind she was tiptoeing towards when she thought nobody was looking.

"Jackson." She was acknowledging the food, the movies, the gifts, the deep sound of his laughter, or trying to. She was trying to nod and agree with the sentiment, with the familiar touch that burned her pale skin like fire on ice, the white ceramic another ring of fire. She was trying to smile, and let it be, and honour God, and let it be, and hold true to whatever values her parents had drummed in hard enough, and let it be.

But she couldn’t.

She didn’t let him get far enough away from her to draw breath, not after the rasp of his cheek on hers, not after the crisp smell of him, not musky, not yet. She put her mouth on his mouth, not chaste but excruciating, like ice on fire, felt the little split where the cold had made a mark open up, well up just a little. There was bad blood there, always blood, of friends or lovers or from love bites. She always tasted salt when she tasted him, and when the tip of her tongue went seeking to stop it, it brushed over his lower lip instead.

April pulled back with a harsh, fish-out-of-water breath, still clasping her cocoa. “Mistletoe,” she informed him breathlessly. “I’m, uh…sorry, but I’m going home and you did all this and nobody else is home, so…mistletoe, and, uh…merry Christmas, Jackson.”

He hadn't noticed it as first, but as he found himself increasingly more present, Jackson noted the dark jeans and pretty white blouse that Haddie wore, things he probably should have noticed long before this moment. How he had completely missed her casual clothing, the obvious indicator that she wasn't, in fact, working, he wasn't certain -- but then, his presence prior to these last few moments was questionable at best, wasn't it? At least he was here again now, breathing and level and much, much more himself than he was when he'd thrown the cart.

Pushing himself to his feet as she explained why she had known how upset he was -- of course, she would have seen his face from the gallery, and even having not talked as much as he had with some of the other interns, the cloud on his features was likely an obvious one, to say the least. Jackson wasn't proud of the outburst, of the clear nature of his emotions across his own face, but perhaps it was a good thing this time. This time, it meant he wasn't alone after an outburst of anger more intense than his norm, and that was... beneficial, or something along those lines.

Sliding his own hands into the pockets of his scrubs, a momentary look of curiousity overtook what had been an almost tired look when Haddie mentioned something to show him. "Something to show me?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow and letting his mind focus on that for the moment. Distraction -- perhaps she was distracting him intentionally, but whether it was intentional or not, it was successful, at least for the moment. "Alright, what've you got, then?"

A Little Stronger || Jaddie

Moments passed by, moments in which none of them said a thing. He was standing there, watching her, or at least that was what Haddie suspected, given the fact that her head was lowered to look at the mess on the floor. All she knew was that he stood silent, and she had a task to fulfill, even if it was only something as easy as picking up those little surgical bags. It kept her occupied, and gave her some time to think. There were different aspects to think of: how would he react, and how would she react when he finally spoke up? What would she tell him, and what would she do? Haddie was clueless. "Don’t apologize." Their words cut through the silence likes knives. It sounded shrill in her ears, and forced. Both of them were trying to keep the tone low and the temper down in order to prevent another anger incident. Wrapping her fingers around another bag, she kept on talking. "It happens to the best of people, and it consumes you once you’re down. But I’m glad I saw it, and I’m glad I’m here." She had some experience with anger; while she didn’t have those issues herself, one of her closest friends in college tended to get outbursts like those rather often. She put the bag into the cart, still a frown on her face — his voice had sounded too raspy, too emotional for her liking. With the last object in her hands, Haddie stood up again. She put it away, and straightened herself. “Oh, we’re off. At least I’m off, no idea about most of the other interns, though. And I’m not working.” The fact that she wore a black jeans, a white blouse and a gray pullover over it prove her point, yet she chose to ignore the fact that Jackson hadn’t noticed that; his mind was somewhere else. “I did something which I can’t do in the hotel because it’s often too noisy there — I studied. Up in the gallery.” Haddie explained, slowly, finally making him understand why she even knew about his condition in the first place. Sliding her hands in the back pocket of her jeans, she tilted her head slightly. “I need to show you something.”

There it was; that was the voice he had been waiting to hear, the soft mezzo tones raising over the light sound coming from the living room to echo in the kitchen space around him as he moved the pan he'd been heating cocoa in off of the stove and, carefully, doled the liquid out into mugs for the two of them. "In the kitchen," he called out softly, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater briefly to pull the pans of food from the oven -- left there to keep warm while he awaited her arrival -- before turning back to see the redhead in the doorway to the kitchen.

A laugh sounded at her slow words, and he picked up one of the two warm mugs, approaching her and pressing it into hands that were too cold, far too cold for being inside. His hands wound around hers where they gripped the mug then, letting the cup warm from one side while his hands warmed from the other. "I know you're going back to Moline soon, to see family, but it's still Christmas today, and I know you love Christmas. And normally we'd do something with the group, have our Secret Santa thing and get drunk, but this year... This year's different, so, I wanted to do something for you. To make it a good day for you." 

And perhaps referencing the past wasn't the brightest idea, if he wanted to make it a good night, but Jackson had never claimed to always have the best moments. He was more speaking what popped into his head at the moment, and the way Charles would have teased him for making this so... cliche... was what popped into his head, if only for a brief moment before he smothered it down and silenced those memories. 

"Warm your hands up first, and then grab a plate. I'm not promising it's great or anything, but I tried my best, so hopefully it came out edible at least." Jackson never had been much of a cook, but he made the effort, and he could make a mean spaghetti, so he figured it couldn't have come out too badly. It would be nothing compared to April's cooking, admittedly, but then, he wasn't attempting to live up to that. Not now, not when he had worked as hard as he had on this meal. 

"And then we'll head into the living room to eat. We can change the movies, if you want to, but I found a station playing the classics, and after we eat, I've got a couple gifts for you." He had moved in a bit closer, inadvertently, and so he ducked down to press a kiss to her jaw, light and easy and not expectant of anything more than the opportunity to make the day as good as he could from here on out. "Merry Christmas."

Here But For The Grace Of God || Japril

Clink. That was the sound the neck of the beer bottle made, hitting her boot. Clink. It bounced of the brake pedal, rolled back to tap the steel-capped toe again. Clink. April stared at the smoked brown glass, at the God’s honest truth that it shouldn’t have been in her car, that she didn’t know what she was trying to achieve by drinking it anyhow. Clink. One more thing to deal with after the holidays. Clink. One more thing for Moline to exorcise her of, like coffee or reality television of. Clink. It was just one bottle, anyway, one bottle of low ABV beer on Christmas Day, what did one bottle matter. Clink.

To say she’d been surprised by his message would be…actually, false. She already felt sore inside over how hard Jackson was trying, how hard she should be trying…she couldn’t summon the energy, somehow, to be more present than she was, to push harder than she was. What more was there to say, to do? Enough. Enough, but that had meant more when there’d seemingly been a choice to make, a sense of free will, a little destiny in the mix like seasoning - but her choice had turned out to be no choice at all, had become just another thing to work through in the new year.

April opened her car door and threw the bottle away from her, into the night, but didn’t wait long enough to hear it shatter.

Instead, she went up the steps to Meredith’s house, her house, and went in, shutting the door on the picture-perfect snow scape behind her.

"Jackson?" She hung up her coat on the hook, shook droplets of damp off her scarf. "Jackson, you here?" He was, all six and a little more feet, all wrapped up in warm wool, making her icy fingers twitch. There would be time afterward for what ailed her, but then - then, she was glad to see him, standing smack-dab in the middle of her favourite holiday, not mad, not desperate, not anything really, except standing there, looking a little like he’d been frozen in carbonite.

"Jackson," said April slowly, chafing her hands together. "I think you may have gotten caught in a Christmas-themed explosion. What is all this?"

Any time, Emery.

Christmas was pretty good, I got a couple calls from back home and didn't work a double this time, so no complaints. How was yours?

Thanks! I love candy canes. 

How was your christmas? 

Peds is my next stop, actually. Christmas was pretty good, can't complain about it. How was yours?

I’m sure the kids up in Peds would love them. How was your Christmas?

"You got it, Delia. Didja get anything good this year? I see you found the Christmas movies -- or a nurse did to torture you, if you're not into them.

"You’re the best, thank you. And Merry Christmas."

Holiday season, you're welcome to call me Jackson. No worries.

The blonde looks good, by the way. What sparked the change?

Awh, thank you Jackson!

I mean, Dr. Avery.

Did you ever forgive Brad? Will you ever be able to?

I don't blame Brad. Not really. I don't really blame either of them. It's... It's a process, but I'm getting over it. Which means not being angry with either of them anymore. So, yeah. I forgive him. Things happen, I'm not... I'm not blaming him for it.

"Have a candy cane, I have a surplus of them. Merry Christmas."