Fic: A Scribbled Out Name
Title: A Scribbled Out Name
Author: Lindsay (nylana)
Beta: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Rating: R (language, violence)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Romance
Word Count: 10,072
Characters/Pairings: April, Simon, Nathan (April/Simon)
Summary: For a recovering addict, every day is a fight against the demons inside. Simon Gates is no exception. There's a saying about apples and trees.
A/N: So this was an idea that the braintwin really wanted me to write, and let's face it Simon and April angst so pretty that I couldn't resist. I had intended it to be fairly short (lolz) but once I started I really had to work at evolving the fight and angst and resolution between Simon and April. Then along the way daddy!Gates showed up (because what would an angsty Gates family story be without Nathan? NOTHING GOOD THAT'S WHAT.). So my little short one-shot became a 10K word opus. SHUT UP. There's Nathan/April cuteness and daddy!Gates like whoa. This makes up for me being long winded and wordy *nods*
Once an addict, always an addict.
Simon learns this at his first Narcotics Anonymous meeting, on a Tuesday night in the basement of a YMCA. It's three years before he truly understands what it means. Every day there are cut crystal glasses of warm amber liquid and small plastic bags tucked in the inside pockets of jackets. Every day there are temptations calling out with their siren songs, tugging insistently at the darkness inside him.
He will always be in recovery.
And the darkness will always be there.
It's a Tuesday.
April makes dinner and Simon arrives just as she pulls the casserole dish from the oven. Nearly a decade and he still visits the same old gymnasium. Nearly one year and he still manages to have impeccable timing when it comes to her cooking.
"How do you always manage to get out your meetings and arrive half way across town right as the food is done?" she asks with a smile and a crooked eyebrow. Setting the dish on the table, she hurries across the room to greet him with a quick kiss, and then turns to head back to the kitchen and retrieve the rest of their meal.
"I'm that good," he says, grinning as he catches her arm, pulling her back to him for another, more satisfying kiss. She giggles as he releases her and flashes him the patented April Newcastle megawatt smile.
He turns to slip his coat and suit jacket off, hanging them on hooks by the door. "You're in quite the mood tonight. Good day at work?"
"We got a new guy in the Press office," April calls out from the kitchen, and he can hear the smile in her voice.
Simon pulls out a chair and sits down, eyeing the delicious looking rice dish taunting him from the middle of the table. "Oh?"
April sticks her head around the doorway, smiling. "His name is Charles."
"So is there anything other than Charles that happened today?" Simon asks, setting the plate on the counter harder than he intends. His annoyance is showing and he knows it, but listening to his girlfriend going on and on about another guy is not his idea of interesting dinner conversation.
The sharp noise of the dish startles April. "What?"
Simon sighs and braces his hands on the edge of the counter, turning his head to look at April. "All you've talked about since about two minutes after I got here is Charles. Charles said this, Charles did that, Charles thinks periwinkle is a brilliant color for the report covers. I just don't want to hear any more about some bloody intern."
The sponge falls from April's limp hand and she stares open mouthed at Simon. "I didn't -" she starts, pausing to shake her head. "He's just -"
"Just what?" Simon straightens and pushes away from the counter, pacing in the small kitchen space. "Just better looking? Smarter?" He stops and spins to face April again. "Is that it? Is he smarter than me, went to some Ivy League school, magna cum laude and all that?"
April backs up as Simon moves towards her, wary of the way his hands keep clenching at his sides. "What? Yeah, Princeton, but he - Simon, what does that have to do with anything? "
Unconsciously, Simon stalks forward as he speaks. "Does he get all your little bullshit quotes too? Like Sam?"
April's eyes go wide and her hands snap to her hips in anger. "What is wrong with you?"
Simon exhales and turns away, running a hand through his hair as he leaves the kitchen. Behind him he hears April sigh in exasperation and the clang of a pot being put away.
He takes several deep breathes in an effort to calm down, but all he can think about is this mysterious Charles, making April laugh, making April smile. He wonders if that's the reason why she said she couldn't have lunch with him today. Maybe she's starting to want more than he can offer. Maybe a Secret Service agent isn't good enough for the White House Press Secretary after all.
His fingers tug at his hair, messing it into a chaotic array of spikes and tufts, and then fall to his side in clenched fists.
It's jealousy, he knows it is, but it's something he's never had to deal with before. There's never been a woman like April in his life, someone that he cared about enough to actually make him jealous. The thought of her smiling and laughing and leaning on Charles's arm as they walked down the halls makes him angry, and anger, he knows from experience, makes him dangerous. He takes another deep breath, and runs his hands over his face.
April gives Simon a few minutes alone, thinking he'll come to his senses and wander back into the kitchen to apologize. When he doesn't, she frowns and wipes her wet hands on a towel. Striding past the dining table, she stops at the entrance to the living room where Simon is pacing like a caged animal.
"Simon?"
His gaze flicks to her and then away again as he pivots and walks around the end of the couch. He hears the exasperated huff as she folds her arms over chest. She's pissed at him, like this is his fault, like he was the one who spent all day flirting with a new coworker and then talking endlessly about it over dinner. Like he's the one who thinks he deserves better than her, when he knows to his very soul that there is no better woman that April Newcastle.
Anger roils beneath his skin. How dare she, he thinks, and his fists clench tighter.
"Simon," she says again, in that way that reminds him of a mother scolding a child. "Stop walking away from me."
He can sense her moving towards him, and he steps away, trying to keep as much space between them as possible before he speaks. "So is there anything else you want to tell me about Charles?"
April frowns at the way Simon spits out the name. "No," she replies, shaking her head in confusion. "Why?"
"Oh just thought maybe there was something between the two of you I should know about," he says snidely.
She rolls her eyes and smiles humorlessly. "You can't be serious." He stares at her, but says nothing. "Simon, you're being ridiculous."
He feels the last straw snap.
"I'm being ridiculous?" he says incredulously, pointing a finger at his chest. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that I spent the entirety of the evening babbling incessantly about some preppy, pretty boy intern."
April stalks towards him, stopping at the corner of the sofa near the side table, her mouth set in a thin line. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Me?" he shouts, crossing the distance in two long strides.
"Yes you!" she yells. "You're flipping out over nothing."
"Just tell me what's with you and Charles," he says, voice dropping to a deadly serious tone.
She huffs again and pushes her hair out of her eyes. "There's nothing to tell."
Simon's eyes narrow and he stares at her a moment before moving towards the door. "Fine."
"Fine?" she repeats, hurrying to follow him. "Where are you going? Stop acting like -"
"Just shut up, April!" he snaps, slipping his shoes and suit jacket on hastily, not caring that his shirt sleeves are still rolled up and damp from washing dishes.
She startles and her eyes go wide for a moment. She's not used to hearing those words from him in anything other than a playful tone. But this is dismissive and harsh and unlike Simon.
"No!" she shouts, moving swiftly across the room. "We're not done talking about this." He's lifting his coat off the hook when she reaches his side. She raises a hand to touch his shoulder and stop him. "Simon."
He shrugs off her hand with a sharp jerk of his arm, and she pulls it back as if burned. His eyes are dark, his eyebrows knitted in a scowl. For the first time she realizes how angry he is, and feels a twinge of fear. She takes a step back as he turns and moves towards her, then another and another until her back collides with the wall.
She tries to swallow the lump in her throat. "Simon," she says softly. "What -"
"Just tell me the truth, April."
His voice is dark and low, his breathing slow and calm, but she can see the twitch of his jaw as it tenses. He looms over her, looking down at her with a steady stare. Her mouth opens but she hesitates to answer. She's never been afraid of him before, never thought she would feel this way with him. She promised herself after Michael she'd never be a victim again, and to be in this position with Simon of all people makes her angry.
She snaps her mouth shut and glares up at him. A tense silence stretches between them until he finally crooks an eyebrow at her.
"Get out!" she snaps. He straightens and blinks, fingers tightening around the collar of his jacket as it hangs by his side.
"Get. Out," she repeats, tilting her chin up defiantly.
Simon's fist rears back and slams into the wall, cracking the plaster and tearing at the skin of his knuckles. April flinches as a shower of dust rains down, forcing her to turn her face away. A second later, her hands come up and press against his chest. She launches herself off the wall and shoves him away. He stumbles backwards and looks from her to the wall to the back of his hand, dotted with blood. His mouth falls open in shock.
"April," he gasps as reality hits him. "Oh god, April, I'm sorry, I -"
"Don't!" she shouts, stabbing a finger in his direction. Her eyes are wide and wild, nostrils flaring as she takes a deep breath. "Don't you dare."
Simon drops his coat to the floor and steps towards her with his hands raised. "April, please, I -"
She backs away, keeping her arm outstretched and an accusing finger raised. "No! Leave."
He pauses as he tries to work out what to say to fix this, but it's clear she doesn't want to hear it.
"Leave," she says again. "Now."
He sighs heavily and trudges towards the door. April doesn't move from her position by the sofa, ready to put furniture between them if necessary. He opens the door and glances back at her, standing with her arms wrapped protectively around her and a fiery look in her eyes. Then he steps into the hall and pulls the door shut behind him.
April takes a deep breath and then strides over to Simon's discarded jacket. Snatching it up off the floor, she crosses the room and yanks open the door. He hears her come out and turns hopefully, only to see her toss his coat in the middle of the hallway and slam the door. The click of the dead bold sliding into place echoes in his ears.
Simon thinks about going to his father's, even sits outside in his car for twenty minutes, before deciding he'd rather be alone. He doesn't know how long he drives, aimlessly following the street lights, turning on red to keep moving like he was taught in training. Never be blocked in, never stop and let your vehicle be a target. The simple rules run through his head, mixed with the memories of their fight and his infinite stupidity.
He's forced to stop at an intersection for a man walking his dog, and when he finally looks around to see where he is he finds that he's less than a block from April's apartment again. It's like his mind is writing her name over and over again, leading him back to her unconsciously. But he can't go back now. She's too angry, too hurt. She probably wouldn't even open the door, leaving him standing there in the corridor, dejected, alone and unforgiven.
With a heavy sigh, he twists his hands over the steering wheel and turns left.
The neon lights of the bar are bright, cutting through the cloudy evening with their vivid promises of refreshment and fun. Thunder rumbles in the distance and he can smell the coming rain, feel the shift in the wind as the cold front moves in. He looks up and down the street, then back at the door of the bar. He knows exactly what it would taste like, how the warm burn would feel as it slinked down his throat and the cool tingle of the ice as it hit his lips.
He reaches out to touch the brass handle, but jumps back as the door swings open.
Two men stumble out onto the sidewalk, arms around each other's shoulders, laughing at something that's probably only funny because they're drunk. He turns to watch as they step off the curb, leaning on each other and wobbling on four legs. Simon can hear their hoots and hollers even after they round the corner.
He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, tipping his head up to the sky as the first drops of rain fall. His fingers brush over the coin in his right pocket. He pulls it out and stares at it, shining dully in the red blue glow of the beer sign behind him. As the rain becomes more insistent, he closes a fist around the coin in his palm and shoves it back in his pocket.
Stepping off the curb, he crosses the street to his car, squeezing the medallion tight, pressing the cheap brass into his skin and stretching the torn skin of his knuckles. If they start bleeding again, he doesn't know or care.
He's already made one terrible mistake tonight; he doesn't need to make another.
April props herself up and stares at the alarm clock, sighing when she sees it's already after four in the morning. She flops back against her pillow and sighs. The events of the evening keep replaying in her head. Every time she gets to that moment when Simon's fist hit the wall she squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to flinch all over again.
After he left, she sat leaning on the sofa for an hours, holding one of the pillows to her chest, sobbing into the embroidered pattern. She avoided looking at the cracked wall until she got up to drag herself to bed, body aching from crying. She shivered when she saw the bits of blood staining the light beige paint.
She swallows and fights the tightness in her throat. Her eyes burn, her chest feels heavy, but she tells herself she's done crying over this. She did the right thing, throwing him out, and she won't take it back. Still, part of her wants him to come back, wants him to sit outside her door until she lets him back in. If he wants to talk, she'll talk, but she's wary of apologies and ‘it won't happen agains.'
She knows where that leads.
"So what happened to your hand?" Nathan asks as he and Simon walk down the hall towards his office.
Simon sighs and looks down at the carpet, slipping his bandaged hand into his pocket. "It's nothing," he replies.
Nathan hums, unconvinced. "Same nothing that happened to April's wall?"
Simon winces at Nathan's snide tone. He knows that he hasn't just hurt April; he's also disappointed his dad. It's an old, well learned habit. They reach the office and Simon pulls open the door, holding it for his father before stepping inside. Nathan walks over to his desk and sits down, glancing up at Simon with an expectant scowl.
"I should have known she'd call you," Simon mutters.
Nathan leans back in his chair, folding his hands over his chest. "I called her, actually, but that doesn't answer my question."
Simon takes a deep breath and says, "I'm sorry, Dad. I was stupid, I know. I lost it, but -"
Nathan silences him with a hand and a quick shake of his head. "I'm not the one who needs to hear this apology."
"I know." Simon slumps into the chair across from Nathan, leaning back and staring up the ornate ceiling. "I let my emotions get the better of me. I got angry and lost control. I don't know how to fix that."
Nathan sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Trust me when I say I know how you feel," he says ruefully.
He rubs a thumb over the inch long scar on the back of his right hand, remembering a cold November evening, shattered glass and a shattered life. He takes a deep breath and buries the memory.
"Were you - tempted?" Nathan asks carefully, unsure if he really wants to know the answer.
Simon swallows, not needing to ask what his father means. He remembers the light spilling out of the bar onto the sidewalk, casting vibrant shadows around his feet, and the smell of beer mixing with the musty scent of rain.
"You were," Nathan says, shaking his head.
"Yeah," Simon whispers, sitting up and running a hand over his face. He stares down at his shoes as he speaks. "I just stood outside, staring at the door, thinking about what it would taste like, what it would feel like, how easy it would be to make the pain go away again." Then he lifts his head and looks Nathan in the eye. "But I didn't want to fuck up a second time."
Nathan nods, feeling a swell of pride at his son's strength and ability to resist the ever present temptation. He picks up a pen, rolling it between his fingers, and waits for Simon to continue.
"So I just drove around for a while and went home." Simon flexes his injured hand and exhales. "She threw me out, Dad. I'm not even sure she wants to see me again, much less let me apologize."
"She does."
Simon looks up hopefully. "She does?"
"God knows what she sees in you," Nathan replies, dropping the pen onto the blotter. He smirks and Simon smiles, then he turns serious again as he continues. "She loves you."
"I know," Simon sighs. "And I do too. Love her I mean."
"So what's the problem?"
Simon shakes his head and stands up, pacing in front of the desk. "I can't lie to her." Nathan looks at him, confused, and Simon stops moving, hands shoved in his pockets. "I can say I'm sorry all I want, but I can't say this won't happen again. I just -"
"Why did it happen in the first place?"
Simon gives a short laugh and tugs on his earlobe. "I got jealous," he answers with a small shrug. "She was talking about this new intern, Charles. The whole time we were eating, Charles this, Charles that. I started to think maybe she wanted to be with someone like him, someone smarter, with more letters after his name and a fancy degree. It made me so mad. I felt worthless and angry, and I got -" He waves his hand and trails off.
"Jealous," Nathan finishes. Simon nods and hangs his head. "Why?"
Simon looks up again. "What?"
Nathan pushes his chair back and stands, moving around desk to stand by his son. "Why were you jealous?"
Simon smiles slightly and says, "Because she makes me crazy. Because I can't stand the thought of losing her, or seeing her with anyone else."
Nathan puts a comforting hand on his shoulder and smiles back, knowing exactly how his son feels. "Then tell her," he says quietly. "Be honest. Tell her how you feel and listen to how she feels. She'll understand." Simon looks at him warily. "Even if she doesn't right away, don't give up."
Simon nods and gives his father a quick hug before heading to the door. He heads back down the hallway, running over all the things he wants to tell April, everything he needs to say to make things right again. He stops near the end of the corridor, across from the stairwell door, and makes a snap decision to see if she's in her office. Maybe he can try to talk to her, or get her to meet him later so they can talk.
He yanks open the door and takes the stairs two at a time, using the railing to whip around each turn as impatience overwhelms any thought of safety. When he reaches the Press Office, April's secretary, Laurie, gives him an odd look. He strides into April's office and stops cold. It's completely dark, so he turns around and walks back to Laurie.
"Where's April?" he asks, pointing a thumb over his shoulder towards the empty office.
Laurie looks up at him with raised eyebrows. "I thought you knew."
"Knew what?" he asks, frowning.
"She called in sick today," Laurie replies. Then her gaze flicks away from him for a moment, her face shifting to something unsure and concerned. "She said -"
Simon spins on his heel and hurries out the door before Laurie can finish. He can hear her shoes clicking loudly in the short corridor as she chases after him, but he catches the elevator before he can hear what else she has to say. His mind whirls as he waits for the lift to take him down to the parking garage.
April never calls in sick. A few months ago when she had the flu, she showed up to work and Sam had to pull her chair away from her desk, push it down the hall and into the elevator, with her in it, to get her to go home. The only explanation he can come up with for her to call in today is that she's too angry and upset with him to even risk seeing him at work. He has to see her, has to explain himself and beg for forgiveness if necessary. He's afraid if he loses her now he won't have the strength to walk away from the bar door the next time.
The elevator doors open to the first level of the garage, and he sprints to his car.
April shoves the stack of papers aside and sets her laptop on the coffee table. Standing, she pulls off her glasses for a moment and rubs a hand over her weary eyes as she ambles to the kitchen. The coffee pot is empty and she sighs, leaning against the counter. She hasn't accomplished anything, despite staring at her email and reports for most of the morning. Her thoughts keep drifting to Simon and last night and the dent in her wall she can't look at.
A short while ago she looked down at her notepad and discovered she'd written his name instead of the word she meant to write. She'd gotten angry and scribbled it out, covering the letters in heavy strokes and swirls of black ink. Then she crumpled the page up and tossed it across the room.
When she called in this morning, after sleeping through her alarm, Laurie was so astounded that she hung up without saying goodbye. Twenty minutes later, Nathan called, concerned and full of questions. She smiles as she remembers the worry and kindness in his voice, even as her mind wonders if the same darkness she saw come out in Simon is somewhere in Nathan too. She wonders if that's one of the things hiding in his past, and in the memory of Emily.
She shivers and shakes her head, forcing the thoughts away.
There's a hard knock on her door and a muffled voice calling out her name as she steps back into the living room. Pausing, she stares at the door until the knocking becomes an insistent pounding. She knows there are two agents positioned at either end of her hall, but even that doesn't calm her nerves. The voice says her name again and she gasps quietly when she realizes it belongs to Simon.
April runs her fingers through her hair, trying to smooth the tangles, and then peers through the peephole. Simon fidgets in the hallway, hands in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot as he waits. Just as he raises his hand to knock again, she flips the deadbolt and pulls the door open. It catches on the security chain and he flinches.
"April?" he says hesitantly, unsure of whether he should move closer.
He hears the heavy lock slide open, but sees the chain still attached. In all the times he's been to her apartment he's never known her to use it; the Secret Service personnel standing watch twenty-four seven seem to make it a moot point. The fact that she feels she needs it now, that she would feel unsafe in her own home, compounds his guilt.
"What do you want?" she asks. Her voice is hard and clipped, her hand gripping the edge of the door so hard her knuckles turn white.
"I just want to talk," he replies. He can see how tired she looks and wonders if she got any sleep at all last night.
She shakes her head. "I don't want to see you right now, Simon. Please leave."
She moves to shut the door, but he steps forward and puts his hand flat against the door, stopping it from closing. "Please, April, just let me in for a few minutes. I want to explain -"
"I'm not interested in your explanations," she says, pushing back to try to shut the door, but he's stronger than she is and takes another step forward, shoving the door until the chain goes taut.
April backs away, letting go of the door and eyeing him through the gap. "Go away, Simon. I don't want you here."
"Just one minute," he says, voice strained and desperate, pressing his face into the small space between the door and the frame. "Please."
For a moment she almost gives in, but then she takes a deep breath and shoves the door roughly, knocking him backwards and slamming the door shut in his face.
"April!" he shouts, banging a fist against the door. "Please don't do this!"
Tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She turns and presses her back against the door, feeling the thump of his hand through the wood. "Go away!" she calls out, fighting the quiver in her voice.
"I'm not leaving until we talk about this." He steps back from the door as the two agents stationed at either end of the corridor move towards him, alarmed by their shouting. "Please, April, open the door!"
One of the agents reaches for Simon's arm and tries to pull him away, but Simon shakes him off and pounds the palm of his hand against the door. "April -" he pleads.
"No!" she shouts, slumping to the floor. She pulls her knees up to her chest and buries her face in her folded arms.
There's a commotion on the other side of the door and she can hear the agents arguing with Simon. A few seconds later, there's a gentle knock. She wipes her eyes and nose with a hand and pushes herself to her feet. Opening the door cautiously, she sees Agent Williams peering at her, concern knitting his brow. Behind him Agent Miller holds Simon against the wall with a forearm across his chest.
"Do you want him to leave?" Williams asks.
April sniffles and nods, swiping at a tear as it breaks free and slides down her cheek. Williams gives her a sympathetic look and nods in return. She shuts the door again, flipping the deadbolt and dissolving into sobs as the agents drag Simon towards the elevator.
Nathan knows there's only one person who would ring his doorbell at two o'clock in the morning on a Thursday. Pulling open the door, he sighs at the picture Simon makes, standing in the porch light, long coat draped over an arm, tie pulled loose and hanging crooked over his rumpled dress shirt.
"She wouldn't let me in," Simon says, looking up at his father.
Nathan steps aside to let him in, catching the unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke and beer, and frowns.
Following Simon to the kitchen, Nathan watches as his son tosses his coat over one of the stools and yanks his tie free, laying it over the coat. He moves around to the other side of the counter, rubbing at his tired eyes before fetching two mugs from the cabinet and filling them with coffee. As he slides the mug across the granite, his eyes narrow.
"How much did you have?" Nathan asks, keeping his voice flat and level as if he had asked about the weather instead of whether his son had just undone eight years of sobriety.
Simon slides onto a stool and pulls the mug of coffee to him, taking a long sip.
"Simon." Nathan's voice is stern. He adjusts his glasses and braces his hands on the counter on either side of his body.
"I didn't," Simon replies, taking another sip before looking up at his father. "But thanks for the vote of confidence."
Nathan smiles sourly and glares at Simon. "Don't lie to me, Son. I'd know that smell anywhere. It doesn't matter if it's cheap light beer or -"
Simon smacks his palm on the counter and stands, leaning over the counter as close to Nathan's face as he can get. "I. Didn't!" he repeats, raising his voice a bit and then taking a deep breath when he realizes that he's getting worked up again. Then he pushes away and starts pacing. "I went inside, yes, but I didn't drink."
Nathan crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head, eyeing Simon carefully.
"I didn't," Simon insists, feeling his father's eyes on his back. "I just - I left April's and went driving again. I ended up in front of the same bar as last night and this time I didn't hesitate, I just went in." He pauses and sighs, running a hand through his already mussed hair. He feels grimy and tries not to think about how it's been almost twenty four hours since his last shower.
"And?" Nathan prompts, sighing and lifting his own mug to take a long swallow.
"And I walked up to the bar with every intention of drinking myself into oblivion," Simon replies honestly. He wanders back to the island and picks up the mug, staring down into the rich brown liquid. "Then some idiot reached for what was probably his fifth or sixth beer, and he spilled it on my arm."
Nathan nods and the corner of his mouth turns up slightly, relieved that his son didn't give in after all. Before Simon can notice he raises his coffee and takes a sip.
"It hit me what I was about to throw away," Simon continued, pausing to take a drink. "And I ran out of there so fast I knocked this girl over coming in the door. She scraped her arm falling on the sidewalk and then her boyfriend wanted to kick my ass, and I ended up having to show him my badge to get him to back off."
Nathan chuckles and Simon looks up, giving him a small smile. "I'm glad I can amuse you, old man."
Nathan grins and walks around the island to stand by his son. He rests a hand on Simon's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "So she didn't let you in, eh?"
Simon sighs and hangs his head. "Nope. She had Miller and Williams toss me out."
Nathan runs a hand over his face and thinks for a moment. "Do you want me to talk to her?"
Simon shakes his head. "No. Thanks, but no. This is my mess and I have to sort it out."
Nathan nods and yawns. "Well, as much as I love our late night chats, I have to get up in -," he pauses to glance at the time on the microwave, "In three hours and twenty four minutes."
Simon laughs and gives his dad a sheepish look. "Sorry."
"Don't be." Nathan gathers the empty coffee cups and sets them by the sink. "You know I don't care what time of day or night it is. If you need to talk, I'm here."
Simon smiles softly. "Thanks, Dad."
Nathan yawns again and stretches his arms over his head, lifting his t-shirt a little as he ambles towards the back staircase across from the butler's pantry. "If you want to stay here -" he starts, looking back to Simon.
Simon rubs his eyes and stands. "I think I'm just gonna head home."
Nathan nods and watches his son pick up his tie and coat and head towards the kitchen door. "Simon," he calls out. Simon stops and turns his head. "I'm proud of you."
Later, Nathan is lying awake, staring up at the ceiling. He sighs and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, willing his mind to calm down. He's afraid for his son and what might happen if things continue to fall apart with April.
Rolling over, he glares at the clock and forces his eyes closed, resolving to talk to stop by her apartment after work.
April pads softly to the door, hesitant to open it. She thinks it's probably Simon and she really doesn't have the energy for another fight. Sleep hasn't been easy and her stomach has been unsettled. Peering through the peephole she is surprised to see Nathan standing in her hallway, wearing jeans and a dress shirt, flanked by his usual security detail.
She opens the door but leaves the chain on. "Hi," she says weakly. "What are you doing here?"
Nathan smiles and motions to his security to leave. "Hey," he replies once the agents are out of earshot. "Can I come in?"
She closes the door partly and slips the chain free, opening the door and stepping aside. Nathan enters and pushes the door shut behind him, watching as April moves a few feet away. She looks tired and weak, and the pajama pants and long t-shirt she's wearing make her look too thin. The way she's trying to put distance between them, the way her arms wrap around her body is defensive and anxious. It makes his heart ache.
"So what are you doing here?" she asks. Her voice only wavers a little, but she knows he can tell.
"Oh it's a Thursday, and I was in the neighborhood." She doesn't give him an amused look, doesn't react in any way and he sighs. "I'm worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay." He inches closer, noticing how her eyes flit between his face and the floor and random spots around the room.
"I'm fine," she replies, turning away and walking to the sofa.
"April," Nathan says, waiting until she stops and turns back. "You're not fine."
"Yes, I am," she insists. "I'm just tired that's all. I didn't sleep Tuesday night and I just decided to work from home for a few days."
He shrugs off his overcoat and hangs it up while she talks, then crosses the room to where she's standing. She looks up at him and bites her lip. Her glasses do nothing to hide the dark circles, or the redness in her eyes. He's surprised at how pale her face is and if he didn't already know better he'd think she was ill. She doesn't look much like the April he knows and he wonders just how bad the fight really was.
"April," he says softly, stepping closer and into her personal space, relieved when she doesn't move away. "You're not fine."
Her lip quivers slightly and moisture builds in her eyes. She blinks and a single tear falls, trailing down the side of her face. He takes hold of her shoulders and pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her slender frame. It takes her a moment, but she unfolds her arms and hugs him tight, shutting her eyes and fighting the urge to cry. He feels her tense and drops a kiss to the top of her head, giving her a gentle squeeze.
"Don't fight it," he whispers. "Just let it out."
April clings to him as she cries, letting all the fear and anger and hurt come out full force. Her body shakes and she feels like her legs are going to give out, but Nathan holds her up, rubbing his hand up and down her back and whispering soothing words she barely hears through her gasping sobs.
After a short while, her eyes finally dry up and she pulls away, sniffling and wiping her nose. She looks at the front of his shirt and sees three damp spots. "Sorry," she says quietly, touching her fingertips to the stains.
He takes her face in his hands and tips her head up. "You have nothing to be sorry about. I don't even like this shirt."
She smiles weakly and he frowns.
"What?" she asks, swiping a hand at the dampness remaining on her cheeks.
"How long has it been since you've eaten anything?"
She looks towards the kitchen and then back to him. "Um, I had some toast."
He raises his eyebrows. "When?"
"Uh," she hesitates. "Yesterday?"
He sighs and shakes his head at her, wondering if there's any food in her kitchen to be had.
She runs a hand through her hair, and then pulls it away, rubbing her fingers together. There's an oily residue on her fingertips. "Yuck," she says, wrinkling her nose and feeling a flush of embarrassment at her appearance. "I didn't realize I'd gotten quite so disgusting."
Nathan chuckles softly and takes hold of her shoulders, turning her around. He nudges her forward and guides her to her bedroom, stopping just inside the door. She looks back over her shoulder at him and he points towards the bathroom.
"You go in there," he instructs. "Take a long hot shower, and don't come out until you look like the April I know and love again."
She smiles at his words and opens her mouth to say something, but he shakes his head and gives her a soft shove. "No arguments," he says. "Go."
The shower feels heavenly and she chides herself for wallowing in self pity for so long and not taking care of herself. Stepping out of the shower, she wraps a towel around herself and walks into the bedroom in search of clothes. As she pulls a clean t-shirt over her head, she sniffs the air and catches a whiff of something. She tugs the shirt down over a pair of yoga pants and wanders into the living room. The light in her kitchen is on and she can hear a soft humming and the sounds of cooking. Following the delicious scent, she smiles and sticks her head through the doorway.
She finds Nathan moving swiftly around her small kitchen, peering in cupboards, glancing back at a pot on the stove every so often. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his shirt is half unbuttoned, revealing a faded white t-shirt underneath. He's also relieved himself of his shoes, pattering around her kitchen in socks. It seems he's made himself right at home.
On the counter next to him are some vegetable scraps and random assorted seasoning bottles. She raises an eyebrow and grins.
He senses her presence and turns to her, smiling. His eyes look her up and down, taking in her damp hair, fresh clothes and wide smile. "Much better," he says. "Feel better?"
"Yeah," she replies. "Thank you."
He nods and opens her fridge, pulling out a carton of milk.
She moves into the room and leans against the counter across from the stove, watching him work. "What are you doing?" He gives her a look and her eyes narrow. "If you say cooking I'm going to smack you."
He smirks and stirs the contents of the pot before lifting the spoon out and using his finger to sample it. "I'm making sure you're taken care of," he says. Then he holds the spoon out for her. She leans forward and sniffs it, eyeing him with feigned suspicion, the corner of her mouth curving up.
He rolls his eyes at her. "Yes, I came all the way over here to make sure you were okay, and now I'm going to poison you with chicken soup."
"You made soup?" she asks. She takes the proffered spoon and lifts it to her mouth. It tastes wonderful and she hums in appreciation.
He nods. "World's greatest comfort food," he replies. "Plus it's the only thing I could find the ingredients to make. Your cupboards are quite bare."
He takes the spoon back and shifts the pot off the burner. She pulls two bowls out of a nearby cabinet, setting them on the counter and fetching two soup spoons from a drawer by the sink.
"Hold on," she says, turning towards him and waving the spoons back and forth in her fingers. "You made chicken soup while I took a shower?"
He just shrugs as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You were in there a long time," he answers, spooning some of the soup into her bowl and then into a second one for him.
She smiles and shakes her head, following him as he carries the two bowls to the dining table.
Nathan fills the silence with a rundown of the goings on at the White House. Sam has been in New York City all week, trying to talk sense into the local government as only he can, and Harrison has been verbally sparring with the governor for at least the fourth time this year. She's hungrier than she thought and accepts a second helping, much to his delight.
He insists she not help him clean up, making her sit in a dining room chair by the door while he does impressions of various staff, reliving the meetings she missed. She laughs and tells him where each dish goes before he can put them back in the wrong places, making fun of the terrible falsetto voice he uses for Harrison's secretary.
Dinner and dishes done, Nathan moves into the living room. April follows, sighing as he takes his coat off the hook and slips on his shoes. She moves to stand next to him, leaning against her apartment door.
He looks at her and smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I really need to get going."
"I know." She wraps her arms around him and gives him a tight hug.
He presses a kiss to her forehead and smiles softly. "He's going to come back you know."
She nods and steps back, watching as he puts his coat on. "I know."
"He's not good, April. He went to a bar last night and -"
A look of fear flashes across her face. "He didn't - did he?"
"No," Nathan replies, shaking his head. "He didn't. But he thought about it and he wanted to. That's how much this is affecting him."
"Nathan," she sighs. "He was the one who -"
He holds up a hand and nods. "This is still his fault, and he knows that." He pauses and takes hold of her arms, rubbing his thumbs over her skin. "I just wanted you to know that you weren't the only one falling apart over this."
"I know," she says. "He was still so angry when he came here yesterday. It scared me, Nathan."
He gives her a sympathetic look and pulls her in for another hug. "You had every right to be scared. I know how he can be, and I probably would have thrown him out on his arse too." She laughs quietly and squeezes him one last time before pulling away. "Just don't shut him out too quickly, okay?"
"I won't," she promises. She watches him walk down the hallway, followed by two agents. When he reaches the elevator, he turns and smiles. She smiles back and waves, then steps inside and closes the door.
For the first time since her fight with Simon, April sleeps peacefully.
There's a knock on her door, but instead of feeling apprehensive she rolls her eyes. Lately her apartment has felt like Grand Central Station, with Simon showing up a couple days ago, then Nathan last night, and her secretary this morning. She sighs and pushes herself up, tugging down the baggy sweatshirt she's wearing so that it covers her leggings.
"April?" she hears a voice call out.
It's Simon and she freezes, staring at the door. She knew he'd be coming back even before Nathan came over, but now that he's here she feels nervous. He knocks again and she hurries to the door, opening it part way before her protective detail can jump to her rescue again.
"Hey," he breathes, hand raised to knock a third time.
She swallows. "Hi."
He lowers his hand and shoves it in his pocket, standing a few feet away from the door to let her know he's not going to try to push his way in again. "Can I come in?"
She exhales the breath she was holding, and shuts the door. Leaning her forehead against the cool wood, she takes a few deep breaths, remembering the things Nathan told her and the promise she made him. Simon says her name again and she sighs, reaching up to slide the chain lock free. When she pulls the door open again, he seems relieved, but afraid at the same time, and somehow it makes her feel better to know that he's as nervous and unsure as she is.
"Thank you," Simon says softly as he steps into the apartment. He makes sure to keep his distance, not wanting to scare her or do anything to make her toss him out on his ass again.
April moves to stand by the coffee table, watching as Simon slips off his coat and hangs it up. Her arms are wrapped around her torso, just as they were when he left, and she feels the same tightness in her chest, pressing in on her and making it hard to breathe.
He turns around and takes in her appearance. Her hair falls in messy waves around her face and she's wearing black leggings with a faded University of Richmond sweatshirt. She looks tired, like she just got out of bed, though judging by the stacks of files and the open laptop she's been attempting to work for the last couple of days. She's always been such a hard worker, such a perfectionist that she can never let anyone else even try to do her job.
He almost smiles at that, but clears his throat instead. "I'm sorry," he says, looking her in the eyes. "I'm so, so sorry."
April bites her lip and lets her head drop, willing herself not to cry or show weakness. He looks so defeated that she wants to run across the room and throw her arms around him, but she makes herself stay put.
"You hurt me," she says quietly. When she looks up she can see him nodding. "And what's worse is I was actually afraid of you."
"I know," he sighs. "I never meant -" He stops and runs a hand through his hair and down to his neck. "You were just talking about that new guy so much, and I -"
"Stop," she orders. "Don't blame this on me. It's not -"
"I know!" he snaps. She flinches and takes a step back, and he mentally kicks himself. "I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head. "I know it's not your fault."
"No, it's not." Her tone is firmer and more confident than she really feels. "I swore, Simon. I swore to myself I'd never be in that position again. That I would never be afraid in my own home or afraid of someone I love. And you made me feel both of those things."
Simon sighs and slips his hands in his pockets. He knows bits and pieces of her previous relationships, the fleeting boyfriends in high school, the friendship she ruined her freshman year at Richmond, and the jerk she fell for as a senior. It's the last one that he hates and that she can hardly talk about. His name was Michael, and everything was sunshine and rainbows until the night before spring break when he showed up at her door drunk.
"I know," he says. "I never meant to. I never wanted to do that to you." He takes a tentative step forward, watching to see if she moves away. "The last thing I ever wanted you to feel towards me is fear. I should be the one protecting you, not scaring you and making you feel unsafe."
As he talks he keeps taking small steps forward, relieved that she isn't running away and that her stance is slowly relaxing. When he gets close enough he reaches out a cautious hand to brush a lock of hair back from her face. She tenses and shies away with a sharp look in his direction, and he lets his hand fall sadly to his side.
He sighs and asks, "Will you let me stay and try to explain?"
After a pause, April nods and moves to the sofa to sit down. Simon follows suit, both of them turning to face each other across the middle cushion. She plays idly with the cuff of her sleeve, waiting for Simon to explain himself.
He thinks for a moment, trying to recall all the words he had in his head earlier but most of them are gone. Staring at the striped pattern of the sofa fabric he begins to speak.
"All I could think about was you and Charles, working together all day, smiling and laughing, and I got -" He hesitates and looks up at her, catching her gaze and swallowing before he continues. "I got jealous. I've never felt like that before. I've never had anyone to get jealous over. I've never - never cared about anyone enough to hate the thought of them being with someone else."
She sighs and dips her head for a moment. "Why didn't you just tell me that?"
"I don't know," he replies with a shrug. "It felt like you wouldn't let me, like you were avoiding telling me what I didn't want to hear. I thought you wanted -"
He stops there and looks away, glancing at the television, tuned to the all day news channel.
April frowns. "You thought I wanted what? To be with Charles the annoying intern?"
Her incredulous look almost makes him laugh. "You know, when you say it like that it seems so much more absurd than in my head." The corner of her mouth curves just a tiny bit and he gives her a brief smile. "I kept thinking that he sounded like such a better catch than me, with all his education and - and his rich New England family and all the connections they probably have. All those things that seem so important in this city."
She shakes her head and stretches her hand into the space between them. "But those things aren't important to me." He reaches his hand forward and catches her fingertips with his, letting out a breath as she curls her hand into his. "And he's not a better catch than you."
Simon sighs and slides his hand more fully into hers, giving it a soft squeeze. He stares at their joined hands as he speaks. "I know, it's just - I -"
"You what?" she asks, dipping her head to see his face.
"I almost lost it," he replies softly, keeping his gaze fixed on their linked fingers. "I thought about how I might lose you over something so stupid, and I couldn't deal with that. I ended up a bar." He glances up at her before he continues. "I didn't do anything though. I just went inside for a minute."
"Why didn't you?" she asks, though she already knows the answer. She wants to hear him say it, wants him to open up to her instead of just closing off and trying to deal with things himself.
"Because," he sighs. "I didn't want to make another stupid mistake. I didn't want to disappoint you again. I figured you really wouldn't forgive me if I ruined the last eight years of my life on top of everything else."
Neither of them speaks or moves for a few moments, until April squeezes Simon's hand.
"I love you," he whispers. Then he looks up to see her smiling and her eyes shining with tears. "Please don't cry," he says, smiling back at her. "I think I've made you do that enough for a while."
She lets out a short laugh and wipes her eyes with her sleeve.
He frowns slightly but she shifts closer to him, until her knee is pressed up against his thigh, their hands resting in her lap. "I really am sorry," he says softly. "I wish I could say it will never happen again, but -"
He pauses and tugs at his earlobe with his free hand, focusing on the shiny pink tint of her nails. He's afraid of what she may think of him, and if she will be able to forgive and accept the darker parts of him that he tries to bury. In the end he knows she deserves the truth.
"I've been fighting this part of me for a long time." He glances at her face before he continues. "I thought I had it beat, but -" He trails off and his shoulders slump.
"I know," she says, her voice barely over a whisper.
She did know, or at least she suspected. There were always moments where she thought he was holding something back, or where he would need to be alone for a while. She doesn't know all the dirty details of his years of addiction, but she knows there's something inside him that still craves it, that wants to give in to the darkness.
He swallows against the tightness in his throat. "I think I'll always be fighting it."
April gives him a sympathetic look and runs her thumb over the back of his hand. "Just promise me that when you feel that way you'll tell me." He looks over at her and she smiles softly. "And if you can't tell me, at least tell someone. Your dad, or someone at AA."
Simon nods and reaches over with his free hand to cup her cheek. "I promise."
She raises up on her knees and leans in to kiss him, slipping her hands around the back of his neck. His lips are gentle, hands holding her face in his palms as his fingers wind in her hair. She pulls away and he smiles, tilting his head to press another kiss to her forehead.
"Thank you," he whispers.
She smiles back and shifts her legs, laying them over his lap and settling against his chest. His arms come up around her, holding her to him. They sit quietly for a while, each knowing that while they've made up, it will take time to truly move on. He tells her how he drove around, how he ended up at the bar, twice. She curls into him, wrapping her arms around his torso and pressing little kisses to his neck as he speaks.
They're disrupted a short time later by the rumbling of Simon's stomach.
April can't help the giggle that erupts out of her as he tips his head back in mock embarrassment. "I didn't realize how late it was," she says.
"Yeah," he agrees. "I couldn't stand it anymore and it was so quiet and boring at work so I signed out and left. Then once I got here I lost track of time."
"You just left work in the middle of the afternoon?" she asks, slipping out of his lap and standing up.
He rubs at the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly. "I wanted to see you. I was worried."
His stomach grumbles again and April grins. "So worried you skipped lunch and then lost track of time?" He nods and pushes himself to his feet. "There's not much here to eat," she continues, wandering towards the kitchen. "Do you want to order something?"
Simon sighs and stretches his arms over his head, humming contentedly as his joints pop. "Actually, I think I'll grab something on the way home."
"Oh." Her face falls as she watches him move towards the door. "You're leaving?"
"Yeah," he replies, slipping his coat on. "I think we both need some more time, to think about things you know?" She folds her arms against her chest and nods, unable to meet his eyes.
"Hey," he says softly, crossing the short distance to stand in front of her. He hooks a finger under her chin and tilts her head up. "I just want to make sure we're both okay. I'm gonna go to a meeting and talk to my counselor before I head home." She nods again but he can tell she's disappointed. "I'll come over on Sunday, okay? We can order pizza, watch a movie and be lazy slobs together."
She smiles and pushes up on her tip toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. "I forgive you," she says seriously. Then she raises an eyebrow at him. "In case that wasn't clear earlier."
He grins and bends to kiss her again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He doesn't intend for it to be anything more than a grateful goodbye kiss, but when her lips part just a touch, he can't resist slipping his tongue against hers. She grabs the lapels of his jacket and presses against him, kissing him back with enthusiasm, and letting him know that she really has forgiven him.
He breaks the kiss before things can go any further, resting his forehead against hers for a moment as he tries to calm his breathing. April gives him one last quick peck on the lips, and then pushes him towards the door, cheeky grin in place. He doesn't turn away from her as he opens the door and steps backwards into the hallway. The door shuts and he strides towards the elevator, smiling the whole way.
April pads softly into the living room, rubbing the towel against her damp hair and feeling a little renewed by her long hot shower.
She crosses the room towards to the sofa, flopping onto the cushion and staring blankly at the pile of files and papers she hasn't really touched in the two days she's been home. She frowns at how much more she will have to get through on Monday, and contemplates going in tomorrow just for a little while. Picking up the remote, she flips channels and turns up the volume on an old black and white movie, wanting something to take her mind off the events of the last few days.
Leaning back, she turns her head to the side and stares at the spidery crack Simon's fist made, hoping he won't let her down, hoping she's made the right decision.
Simon sniffs the air as he exits the side door of the YMCA into the chilly Friday evening.
It smells like rain again and he sighs, hurrying across the street to his favorite all night diner. As he waits for his double cheeseburger he fingers the coin in his pocket, running his thumb over the raised AA logo. He thinks about April and how amazing and understanding she is, and how deserving he isn't.
One day at a time, he tells himself, repeating the same mantra the counselor has used to close every meeting for the last eight years.
Then he squeezes the medallion and silently prays for the strength to never let her down again.
Author: Lindsay (nylana)
Beta: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Rating: R (language, violence)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Romance
Word Count: 10,072
Characters/Pairings: April, Simon, Nathan (April/Simon)
Summary: For a recovering addict, every day is a fight against the demons inside. Simon Gates is no exception. There's a saying about apples and trees.
A/N: So this was an idea that the braintwin really wanted me to write, and let's face it Simon and April angst so pretty that I couldn't resist. I had intended it to be fairly short (lolz) but once I started I really had to work at evolving the fight and angst and resolution between Simon and April. Then along the way daddy!Gates showed up (because what would an angsty Gates family story be without Nathan? NOTHING GOOD THAT'S WHAT.). So my little short one-shot became a 10K word opus. SHUT UP. There's Nathan/April cuteness and daddy!Gates like whoa. This makes up for me being long winded and wordy *nods*
Once an addict, always an addict.
Simon learns this at his first Narcotics Anonymous meeting, on a Tuesday night in the basement of a YMCA. It's three years before he truly understands what it means. Every day there are cut crystal glasses of warm amber liquid and small plastic bags tucked in the inside pockets of jackets. Every day there are temptations calling out with their siren songs, tugging insistently at the darkness inside him.
He will always be in recovery.
And the darkness will always be there.
It's a Tuesday.
April makes dinner and Simon arrives just as she pulls the casserole dish from the oven. Nearly a decade and he still visits the same old gymnasium. Nearly one year and he still manages to have impeccable timing when it comes to her cooking.
"How do you always manage to get out your meetings and arrive half way across town right as the food is done?" she asks with a smile and a crooked eyebrow. Setting the dish on the table, she hurries across the room to greet him with a quick kiss, and then turns to head back to the kitchen and retrieve the rest of their meal.
"I'm that good," he says, grinning as he catches her arm, pulling her back to him for another, more satisfying kiss. She giggles as he releases her and flashes him the patented April Newcastle megawatt smile.
He turns to slip his coat and suit jacket off, hanging them on hooks by the door. "You're in quite the mood tonight. Good day at work?"
"We got a new guy in the Press office," April calls out from the kitchen, and he can hear the smile in her voice.
Simon pulls out a chair and sits down, eyeing the delicious looking rice dish taunting him from the middle of the table. "Oh?"
April sticks her head around the doorway, smiling. "His name is Charles."
"So is there anything other than Charles that happened today?" Simon asks, setting the plate on the counter harder than he intends. His annoyance is showing and he knows it, but listening to his girlfriend going on and on about another guy is not his idea of interesting dinner conversation.
The sharp noise of the dish startles April. "What?"
Simon sighs and braces his hands on the edge of the counter, turning his head to look at April. "All you've talked about since about two minutes after I got here is Charles. Charles said this, Charles did that, Charles thinks periwinkle is a brilliant color for the report covers. I just don't want to hear any more about some bloody intern."
The sponge falls from April's limp hand and she stares open mouthed at Simon. "I didn't -" she starts, pausing to shake her head. "He's just -"
"Just what?" Simon straightens and pushes away from the counter, pacing in the small kitchen space. "Just better looking? Smarter?" He stops and spins to face April again. "Is that it? Is he smarter than me, went to some Ivy League school, magna cum laude and all that?"
April backs up as Simon moves towards her, wary of the way his hands keep clenching at his sides. "What? Yeah, Princeton, but he - Simon, what does that have to do with anything? "
Unconsciously, Simon stalks forward as he speaks. "Does he get all your little bullshit quotes too? Like Sam?"
April's eyes go wide and her hands snap to her hips in anger. "What is wrong with you?"
Simon exhales and turns away, running a hand through his hair as he leaves the kitchen. Behind him he hears April sigh in exasperation and the clang of a pot being put away.
He takes several deep breathes in an effort to calm down, but all he can think about is this mysterious Charles, making April laugh, making April smile. He wonders if that's the reason why she said she couldn't have lunch with him today. Maybe she's starting to want more than he can offer. Maybe a Secret Service agent isn't good enough for the White House Press Secretary after all.
His fingers tug at his hair, messing it into a chaotic array of spikes and tufts, and then fall to his side in clenched fists.
It's jealousy, he knows it is, but it's something he's never had to deal with before. There's never been a woman like April in his life, someone that he cared about enough to actually make him jealous. The thought of her smiling and laughing and leaning on Charles's arm as they walked down the halls makes him angry, and anger, he knows from experience, makes him dangerous. He takes another deep breath, and runs his hands over his face.
April gives Simon a few minutes alone, thinking he'll come to his senses and wander back into the kitchen to apologize. When he doesn't, she frowns and wipes her wet hands on a towel. Striding past the dining table, she stops at the entrance to the living room where Simon is pacing like a caged animal.
"Simon?"
His gaze flicks to her and then away again as he pivots and walks around the end of the couch. He hears the exasperated huff as she folds her arms over chest. She's pissed at him, like this is his fault, like he was the one who spent all day flirting with a new coworker and then talking endlessly about it over dinner. Like he's the one who thinks he deserves better than her, when he knows to his very soul that there is no better woman that April Newcastle.
Anger roils beneath his skin. How dare she, he thinks, and his fists clench tighter.
"Simon," she says again, in that way that reminds him of a mother scolding a child. "Stop walking away from me."
He can sense her moving towards him, and he steps away, trying to keep as much space between them as possible before he speaks. "So is there anything else you want to tell me about Charles?"
April frowns at the way Simon spits out the name. "No," she replies, shaking her head in confusion. "Why?"
"Oh just thought maybe there was something between the two of you I should know about," he says snidely.
She rolls her eyes and smiles humorlessly. "You can't be serious." He stares at her, but says nothing. "Simon, you're being ridiculous."
He feels the last straw snap.
"I'm being ridiculous?" he says incredulously, pointing a finger at his chest. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that I spent the entirety of the evening babbling incessantly about some preppy, pretty boy intern."
April stalks towards him, stopping at the corner of the sofa near the side table, her mouth set in a thin line. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Me?" he shouts, crossing the distance in two long strides.
"Yes you!" she yells. "You're flipping out over nothing."
"Just tell me what's with you and Charles," he says, voice dropping to a deadly serious tone.
She huffs again and pushes her hair out of her eyes. "There's nothing to tell."
Simon's eyes narrow and he stares at her a moment before moving towards the door. "Fine."
"Fine?" she repeats, hurrying to follow him. "Where are you going? Stop acting like -"
"Just shut up, April!" he snaps, slipping his shoes and suit jacket on hastily, not caring that his shirt sleeves are still rolled up and damp from washing dishes.
She startles and her eyes go wide for a moment. She's not used to hearing those words from him in anything other than a playful tone. But this is dismissive and harsh and unlike Simon.
"No!" she shouts, moving swiftly across the room. "We're not done talking about this." He's lifting his coat off the hook when she reaches his side. She raises a hand to touch his shoulder and stop him. "Simon."
He shrugs off her hand with a sharp jerk of his arm, and she pulls it back as if burned. His eyes are dark, his eyebrows knitted in a scowl. For the first time she realizes how angry he is, and feels a twinge of fear. She takes a step back as he turns and moves towards her, then another and another until her back collides with the wall.
She tries to swallow the lump in her throat. "Simon," she says softly. "What -"
"Just tell me the truth, April."
His voice is dark and low, his breathing slow and calm, but she can see the twitch of his jaw as it tenses. He looms over her, looking down at her with a steady stare. Her mouth opens but she hesitates to answer. She's never been afraid of him before, never thought she would feel this way with him. She promised herself after Michael she'd never be a victim again, and to be in this position with Simon of all people makes her angry.
She snaps her mouth shut and glares up at him. A tense silence stretches between them until he finally crooks an eyebrow at her.
"Get out!" she snaps. He straightens and blinks, fingers tightening around the collar of his jacket as it hangs by his side.
"Get. Out," she repeats, tilting her chin up defiantly.
Simon's fist rears back and slams into the wall, cracking the plaster and tearing at the skin of his knuckles. April flinches as a shower of dust rains down, forcing her to turn her face away. A second later, her hands come up and press against his chest. She launches herself off the wall and shoves him away. He stumbles backwards and looks from her to the wall to the back of his hand, dotted with blood. His mouth falls open in shock.
"April," he gasps as reality hits him. "Oh god, April, I'm sorry, I -"
"Don't!" she shouts, stabbing a finger in his direction. Her eyes are wide and wild, nostrils flaring as she takes a deep breath. "Don't you dare."
Simon drops his coat to the floor and steps towards her with his hands raised. "April, please, I -"
She backs away, keeping her arm outstretched and an accusing finger raised. "No! Leave."
He pauses as he tries to work out what to say to fix this, but it's clear she doesn't want to hear it.
"Leave," she says again. "Now."
He sighs heavily and trudges towards the door. April doesn't move from her position by the sofa, ready to put furniture between them if necessary. He opens the door and glances back at her, standing with her arms wrapped protectively around her and a fiery look in her eyes. Then he steps into the hall and pulls the door shut behind him.
April takes a deep breath and then strides over to Simon's discarded jacket. Snatching it up off the floor, she crosses the room and yanks open the door. He hears her come out and turns hopefully, only to see her toss his coat in the middle of the hallway and slam the door. The click of the dead bold sliding into place echoes in his ears.
Simon thinks about going to his father's, even sits outside in his car for twenty minutes, before deciding he'd rather be alone. He doesn't know how long he drives, aimlessly following the street lights, turning on red to keep moving like he was taught in training. Never be blocked in, never stop and let your vehicle be a target. The simple rules run through his head, mixed with the memories of their fight and his infinite stupidity.
He's forced to stop at an intersection for a man walking his dog, and when he finally looks around to see where he is he finds that he's less than a block from April's apartment again. It's like his mind is writing her name over and over again, leading him back to her unconsciously. But he can't go back now. She's too angry, too hurt. She probably wouldn't even open the door, leaving him standing there in the corridor, dejected, alone and unforgiven.
With a heavy sigh, he twists his hands over the steering wheel and turns left.
The neon lights of the bar are bright, cutting through the cloudy evening with their vivid promises of refreshment and fun. Thunder rumbles in the distance and he can smell the coming rain, feel the shift in the wind as the cold front moves in. He looks up and down the street, then back at the door of the bar. He knows exactly what it would taste like, how the warm burn would feel as it slinked down his throat and the cool tingle of the ice as it hit his lips.
He reaches out to touch the brass handle, but jumps back as the door swings open.
Two men stumble out onto the sidewalk, arms around each other's shoulders, laughing at something that's probably only funny because they're drunk. He turns to watch as they step off the curb, leaning on each other and wobbling on four legs. Simon can hear their hoots and hollers even after they round the corner.
He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, tipping his head up to the sky as the first drops of rain fall. His fingers brush over the coin in his right pocket. He pulls it out and stares at it, shining dully in the red blue glow of the beer sign behind him. As the rain becomes more insistent, he closes a fist around the coin in his palm and shoves it back in his pocket.
Stepping off the curb, he crosses the street to his car, squeezing the medallion tight, pressing the cheap brass into his skin and stretching the torn skin of his knuckles. If they start bleeding again, he doesn't know or care.
He's already made one terrible mistake tonight; he doesn't need to make another.
April props herself up and stares at the alarm clock, sighing when she sees it's already after four in the morning. She flops back against her pillow and sighs. The events of the evening keep replaying in her head. Every time she gets to that moment when Simon's fist hit the wall she squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to flinch all over again.
After he left, she sat leaning on the sofa for an hours, holding one of the pillows to her chest, sobbing into the embroidered pattern. She avoided looking at the cracked wall until she got up to drag herself to bed, body aching from crying. She shivered when she saw the bits of blood staining the light beige paint.
She swallows and fights the tightness in her throat. Her eyes burn, her chest feels heavy, but she tells herself she's done crying over this. She did the right thing, throwing him out, and she won't take it back. Still, part of her wants him to come back, wants him to sit outside her door until she lets him back in. If he wants to talk, she'll talk, but she's wary of apologies and ‘it won't happen agains.'
She knows where that leads.
"So what happened to your hand?" Nathan asks as he and Simon walk down the hall towards his office.
Simon sighs and looks down at the carpet, slipping his bandaged hand into his pocket. "It's nothing," he replies.
Nathan hums, unconvinced. "Same nothing that happened to April's wall?"
Simon winces at Nathan's snide tone. He knows that he hasn't just hurt April; he's also disappointed his dad. It's an old, well learned habit. They reach the office and Simon pulls open the door, holding it for his father before stepping inside. Nathan walks over to his desk and sits down, glancing up at Simon with an expectant scowl.
"I should have known she'd call you," Simon mutters.
Nathan leans back in his chair, folding his hands over his chest. "I called her, actually, but that doesn't answer my question."
Simon takes a deep breath and says, "I'm sorry, Dad. I was stupid, I know. I lost it, but -"
Nathan silences him with a hand and a quick shake of his head. "I'm not the one who needs to hear this apology."
"I know." Simon slumps into the chair across from Nathan, leaning back and staring up the ornate ceiling. "I let my emotions get the better of me. I got angry and lost control. I don't know how to fix that."
Nathan sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Trust me when I say I know how you feel," he says ruefully.
He rubs a thumb over the inch long scar on the back of his right hand, remembering a cold November evening, shattered glass and a shattered life. He takes a deep breath and buries the memory.
"Were you - tempted?" Nathan asks carefully, unsure if he really wants to know the answer.
Simon swallows, not needing to ask what his father means. He remembers the light spilling out of the bar onto the sidewalk, casting vibrant shadows around his feet, and the smell of beer mixing with the musty scent of rain.
"You were," Nathan says, shaking his head.
"Yeah," Simon whispers, sitting up and running a hand over his face. He stares down at his shoes as he speaks. "I just stood outside, staring at the door, thinking about what it would taste like, what it would feel like, how easy it would be to make the pain go away again." Then he lifts his head and looks Nathan in the eye. "But I didn't want to fuck up a second time."
Nathan nods, feeling a swell of pride at his son's strength and ability to resist the ever present temptation. He picks up a pen, rolling it between his fingers, and waits for Simon to continue.
"So I just drove around for a while and went home." Simon flexes his injured hand and exhales. "She threw me out, Dad. I'm not even sure she wants to see me again, much less let me apologize."
"She does."
Simon looks up hopefully. "She does?"
"God knows what she sees in you," Nathan replies, dropping the pen onto the blotter. He smirks and Simon smiles, then he turns serious again as he continues. "She loves you."
"I know," Simon sighs. "And I do too. Love her I mean."
"So what's the problem?"
Simon shakes his head and stands up, pacing in front of the desk. "I can't lie to her." Nathan looks at him, confused, and Simon stops moving, hands shoved in his pockets. "I can say I'm sorry all I want, but I can't say this won't happen again. I just -"
"Why did it happen in the first place?"
Simon gives a short laugh and tugs on his earlobe. "I got jealous," he answers with a small shrug. "She was talking about this new intern, Charles. The whole time we were eating, Charles this, Charles that. I started to think maybe she wanted to be with someone like him, someone smarter, with more letters after his name and a fancy degree. It made me so mad. I felt worthless and angry, and I got -" He waves his hand and trails off.
"Jealous," Nathan finishes. Simon nods and hangs his head. "Why?"
Simon looks up again. "What?"
Nathan pushes his chair back and stands, moving around desk to stand by his son. "Why were you jealous?"
Simon smiles slightly and says, "Because she makes me crazy. Because I can't stand the thought of losing her, or seeing her with anyone else."
Nathan puts a comforting hand on his shoulder and smiles back, knowing exactly how his son feels. "Then tell her," he says quietly. "Be honest. Tell her how you feel and listen to how she feels. She'll understand." Simon looks at him warily. "Even if she doesn't right away, don't give up."
Simon nods and gives his father a quick hug before heading to the door. He heads back down the hallway, running over all the things he wants to tell April, everything he needs to say to make things right again. He stops near the end of the corridor, across from the stairwell door, and makes a snap decision to see if she's in her office. Maybe he can try to talk to her, or get her to meet him later so they can talk.
He yanks open the door and takes the stairs two at a time, using the railing to whip around each turn as impatience overwhelms any thought of safety. When he reaches the Press Office, April's secretary, Laurie, gives him an odd look. He strides into April's office and stops cold. It's completely dark, so he turns around and walks back to Laurie.
"Where's April?" he asks, pointing a thumb over his shoulder towards the empty office.
Laurie looks up at him with raised eyebrows. "I thought you knew."
"Knew what?" he asks, frowning.
"She called in sick today," Laurie replies. Then her gaze flicks away from him for a moment, her face shifting to something unsure and concerned. "She said -"
Simon spins on his heel and hurries out the door before Laurie can finish. He can hear her shoes clicking loudly in the short corridor as she chases after him, but he catches the elevator before he can hear what else she has to say. His mind whirls as he waits for the lift to take him down to the parking garage.
April never calls in sick. A few months ago when she had the flu, she showed up to work and Sam had to pull her chair away from her desk, push it down the hall and into the elevator, with her in it, to get her to go home. The only explanation he can come up with for her to call in today is that she's too angry and upset with him to even risk seeing him at work. He has to see her, has to explain himself and beg for forgiveness if necessary. He's afraid if he loses her now he won't have the strength to walk away from the bar door the next time.
The elevator doors open to the first level of the garage, and he sprints to his car.
April shoves the stack of papers aside and sets her laptop on the coffee table. Standing, she pulls off her glasses for a moment and rubs a hand over her weary eyes as she ambles to the kitchen. The coffee pot is empty and she sighs, leaning against the counter. She hasn't accomplished anything, despite staring at her email and reports for most of the morning. Her thoughts keep drifting to Simon and last night and the dent in her wall she can't look at.
A short while ago she looked down at her notepad and discovered she'd written his name instead of the word she meant to write. She'd gotten angry and scribbled it out, covering the letters in heavy strokes and swirls of black ink. Then she crumpled the page up and tossed it across the room.
When she called in this morning, after sleeping through her alarm, Laurie was so astounded that she hung up without saying goodbye. Twenty minutes later, Nathan called, concerned and full of questions. She smiles as she remembers the worry and kindness in his voice, even as her mind wonders if the same darkness she saw come out in Simon is somewhere in Nathan too. She wonders if that's one of the things hiding in his past, and in the memory of Emily.
She shivers and shakes her head, forcing the thoughts away.
There's a hard knock on her door and a muffled voice calling out her name as she steps back into the living room. Pausing, she stares at the door until the knocking becomes an insistent pounding. She knows there are two agents positioned at either end of her hall, but even that doesn't calm her nerves. The voice says her name again and she gasps quietly when she realizes it belongs to Simon.
April runs her fingers through her hair, trying to smooth the tangles, and then peers through the peephole. Simon fidgets in the hallway, hands in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot as he waits. Just as he raises his hand to knock again, she flips the deadbolt and pulls the door open. It catches on the security chain and he flinches.
"April?" he says hesitantly, unsure of whether he should move closer.
He hears the heavy lock slide open, but sees the chain still attached. In all the times he's been to her apartment he's never known her to use it; the Secret Service personnel standing watch twenty-four seven seem to make it a moot point. The fact that she feels she needs it now, that she would feel unsafe in her own home, compounds his guilt.
"What do you want?" she asks. Her voice is hard and clipped, her hand gripping the edge of the door so hard her knuckles turn white.
"I just want to talk," he replies. He can see how tired she looks and wonders if she got any sleep at all last night.
She shakes her head. "I don't want to see you right now, Simon. Please leave."
She moves to shut the door, but he steps forward and puts his hand flat against the door, stopping it from closing. "Please, April, just let me in for a few minutes. I want to explain -"
"I'm not interested in your explanations," she says, pushing back to try to shut the door, but he's stronger than she is and takes another step forward, shoving the door until the chain goes taut.
April backs away, letting go of the door and eyeing him through the gap. "Go away, Simon. I don't want you here."
"Just one minute," he says, voice strained and desperate, pressing his face into the small space between the door and the frame. "Please."
For a moment she almost gives in, but then she takes a deep breath and shoves the door roughly, knocking him backwards and slamming the door shut in his face.
"April!" he shouts, banging a fist against the door. "Please don't do this!"
Tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She turns and presses her back against the door, feeling the thump of his hand through the wood. "Go away!" she calls out, fighting the quiver in her voice.
"I'm not leaving until we talk about this." He steps back from the door as the two agents stationed at either end of the corridor move towards him, alarmed by their shouting. "Please, April, open the door!"
One of the agents reaches for Simon's arm and tries to pull him away, but Simon shakes him off and pounds the palm of his hand against the door. "April -" he pleads.
"No!" she shouts, slumping to the floor. She pulls her knees up to her chest and buries her face in her folded arms.
There's a commotion on the other side of the door and she can hear the agents arguing with Simon. A few seconds later, there's a gentle knock. She wipes her eyes and nose with a hand and pushes herself to her feet. Opening the door cautiously, she sees Agent Williams peering at her, concern knitting his brow. Behind him Agent Miller holds Simon against the wall with a forearm across his chest.
"Do you want him to leave?" Williams asks.
April sniffles and nods, swiping at a tear as it breaks free and slides down her cheek. Williams gives her a sympathetic look and nods in return. She shuts the door again, flipping the deadbolt and dissolving into sobs as the agents drag Simon towards the elevator.
Nathan knows there's only one person who would ring his doorbell at two o'clock in the morning on a Thursday. Pulling open the door, he sighs at the picture Simon makes, standing in the porch light, long coat draped over an arm, tie pulled loose and hanging crooked over his rumpled dress shirt.
"She wouldn't let me in," Simon says, looking up at his father.
Nathan steps aside to let him in, catching the unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke and beer, and frowns.
Following Simon to the kitchen, Nathan watches as his son tosses his coat over one of the stools and yanks his tie free, laying it over the coat. He moves around to the other side of the counter, rubbing at his tired eyes before fetching two mugs from the cabinet and filling them with coffee. As he slides the mug across the granite, his eyes narrow.
"How much did you have?" Nathan asks, keeping his voice flat and level as if he had asked about the weather instead of whether his son had just undone eight years of sobriety.
Simon slides onto a stool and pulls the mug of coffee to him, taking a long sip.
"Simon." Nathan's voice is stern. He adjusts his glasses and braces his hands on the counter on either side of his body.
"I didn't," Simon replies, taking another sip before looking up at his father. "But thanks for the vote of confidence."
Nathan smiles sourly and glares at Simon. "Don't lie to me, Son. I'd know that smell anywhere. It doesn't matter if it's cheap light beer or -"
Simon smacks his palm on the counter and stands, leaning over the counter as close to Nathan's face as he can get. "I. Didn't!" he repeats, raising his voice a bit and then taking a deep breath when he realizes that he's getting worked up again. Then he pushes away and starts pacing. "I went inside, yes, but I didn't drink."
Nathan crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head, eyeing Simon carefully.
"I didn't," Simon insists, feeling his father's eyes on his back. "I just - I left April's and went driving again. I ended up in front of the same bar as last night and this time I didn't hesitate, I just went in." He pauses and sighs, running a hand through his already mussed hair. He feels grimy and tries not to think about how it's been almost twenty four hours since his last shower.
"And?" Nathan prompts, sighing and lifting his own mug to take a long swallow.
"And I walked up to the bar with every intention of drinking myself into oblivion," Simon replies honestly. He wanders back to the island and picks up the mug, staring down into the rich brown liquid. "Then some idiot reached for what was probably his fifth or sixth beer, and he spilled it on my arm."
Nathan nods and the corner of his mouth turns up slightly, relieved that his son didn't give in after all. Before Simon can notice he raises his coffee and takes a sip.
"It hit me what I was about to throw away," Simon continued, pausing to take a drink. "And I ran out of there so fast I knocked this girl over coming in the door. She scraped her arm falling on the sidewalk and then her boyfriend wanted to kick my ass, and I ended up having to show him my badge to get him to back off."
Nathan chuckles and Simon looks up, giving him a small smile. "I'm glad I can amuse you, old man."
Nathan grins and walks around the island to stand by his son. He rests a hand on Simon's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "So she didn't let you in, eh?"
Simon sighs and hangs his head. "Nope. She had Miller and Williams toss me out."
Nathan runs a hand over his face and thinks for a moment. "Do you want me to talk to her?"
Simon shakes his head. "No. Thanks, but no. This is my mess and I have to sort it out."
Nathan nods and yawns. "Well, as much as I love our late night chats, I have to get up in -," he pauses to glance at the time on the microwave, "In three hours and twenty four minutes."
Simon laughs and gives his dad a sheepish look. "Sorry."
"Don't be." Nathan gathers the empty coffee cups and sets them by the sink. "You know I don't care what time of day or night it is. If you need to talk, I'm here."
Simon smiles softly. "Thanks, Dad."
Nathan yawns again and stretches his arms over his head, lifting his t-shirt a little as he ambles towards the back staircase across from the butler's pantry. "If you want to stay here -" he starts, looking back to Simon.
Simon rubs his eyes and stands. "I think I'm just gonna head home."
Nathan nods and watches his son pick up his tie and coat and head towards the kitchen door. "Simon," he calls out. Simon stops and turns his head. "I'm proud of you."
Later, Nathan is lying awake, staring up at the ceiling. He sighs and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, willing his mind to calm down. He's afraid for his son and what might happen if things continue to fall apart with April.
Rolling over, he glares at the clock and forces his eyes closed, resolving to talk to stop by her apartment after work.
April pads softly to the door, hesitant to open it. She thinks it's probably Simon and she really doesn't have the energy for another fight. Sleep hasn't been easy and her stomach has been unsettled. Peering through the peephole she is surprised to see Nathan standing in her hallway, wearing jeans and a dress shirt, flanked by his usual security detail.
She opens the door but leaves the chain on. "Hi," she says weakly. "What are you doing here?"
Nathan smiles and motions to his security to leave. "Hey," he replies once the agents are out of earshot. "Can I come in?"
She closes the door partly and slips the chain free, opening the door and stepping aside. Nathan enters and pushes the door shut behind him, watching as April moves a few feet away. She looks tired and weak, and the pajama pants and long t-shirt she's wearing make her look too thin. The way she's trying to put distance between them, the way her arms wrap around her body is defensive and anxious. It makes his heart ache.
"So what are you doing here?" she asks. Her voice only wavers a little, but she knows he can tell.
"Oh it's a Thursday, and I was in the neighborhood." She doesn't give him an amused look, doesn't react in any way and he sighs. "I'm worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay." He inches closer, noticing how her eyes flit between his face and the floor and random spots around the room.
"I'm fine," she replies, turning away and walking to the sofa.
"April," Nathan says, waiting until she stops and turns back. "You're not fine."
"Yes, I am," she insists. "I'm just tired that's all. I didn't sleep Tuesday night and I just decided to work from home for a few days."
He shrugs off his overcoat and hangs it up while she talks, then crosses the room to where she's standing. She looks up at him and bites her lip. Her glasses do nothing to hide the dark circles, or the redness in her eyes. He's surprised at how pale her face is and if he didn't already know better he'd think she was ill. She doesn't look much like the April he knows and he wonders just how bad the fight really was.
"April," he says softly, stepping closer and into her personal space, relieved when she doesn't move away. "You're not fine."
Her lip quivers slightly and moisture builds in her eyes. She blinks and a single tear falls, trailing down the side of her face. He takes hold of her shoulders and pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her slender frame. It takes her a moment, but she unfolds her arms and hugs him tight, shutting her eyes and fighting the urge to cry. He feels her tense and drops a kiss to the top of her head, giving her a gentle squeeze.
"Don't fight it," he whispers. "Just let it out."
April clings to him as she cries, letting all the fear and anger and hurt come out full force. Her body shakes and she feels like her legs are going to give out, but Nathan holds her up, rubbing his hand up and down her back and whispering soothing words she barely hears through her gasping sobs.
After a short while, her eyes finally dry up and she pulls away, sniffling and wiping her nose. She looks at the front of his shirt and sees three damp spots. "Sorry," she says quietly, touching her fingertips to the stains.
He takes her face in his hands and tips her head up. "You have nothing to be sorry about. I don't even like this shirt."
She smiles weakly and he frowns.
"What?" she asks, swiping a hand at the dampness remaining on her cheeks.
"How long has it been since you've eaten anything?"
She looks towards the kitchen and then back to him. "Um, I had some toast."
He raises his eyebrows. "When?"
"Uh," she hesitates. "Yesterday?"
He sighs and shakes his head at her, wondering if there's any food in her kitchen to be had.
She runs a hand through her hair, and then pulls it away, rubbing her fingers together. There's an oily residue on her fingertips. "Yuck," she says, wrinkling her nose and feeling a flush of embarrassment at her appearance. "I didn't realize I'd gotten quite so disgusting."
Nathan chuckles softly and takes hold of her shoulders, turning her around. He nudges her forward and guides her to her bedroom, stopping just inside the door. She looks back over her shoulder at him and he points towards the bathroom.
"You go in there," he instructs. "Take a long hot shower, and don't come out until you look like the April I know and love again."
She smiles at his words and opens her mouth to say something, but he shakes his head and gives her a soft shove. "No arguments," he says. "Go."
The shower feels heavenly and she chides herself for wallowing in self pity for so long and not taking care of herself. Stepping out of the shower, she wraps a towel around herself and walks into the bedroom in search of clothes. As she pulls a clean t-shirt over her head, she sniffs the air and catches a whiff of something. She tugs the shirt down over a pair of yoga pants and wanders into the living room. The light in her kitchen is on and she can hear a soft humming and the sounds of cooking. Following the delicious scent, she smiles and sticks her head through the doorway.
She finds Nathan moving swiftly around her small kitchen, peering in cupboards, glancing back at a pot on the stove every so often. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his shirt is half unbuttoned, revealing a faded white t-shirt underneath. He's also relieved himself of his shoes, pattering around her kitchen in socks. It seems he's made himself right at home.
On the counter next to him are some vegetable scraps and random assorted seasoning bottles. She raises an eyebrow and grins.
He senses her presence and turns to her, smiling. His eyes look her up and down, taking in her damp hair, fresh clothes and wide smile. "Much better," he says. "Feel better?"
"Yeah," she replies. "Thank you."
He nods and opens her fridge, pulling out a carton of milk.
She moves into the room and leans against the counter across from the stove, watching him work. "What are you doing?" He gives her a look and her eyes narrow. "If you say cooking I'm going to smack you."
He smirks and stirs the contents of the pot before lifting the spoon out and using his finger to sample it. "I'm making sure you're taken care of," he says. Then he holds the spoon out for her. She leans forward and sniffs it, eyeing him with feigned suspicion, the corner of her mouth curving up.
He rolls his eyes at her. "Yes, I came all the way over here to make sure you were okay, and now I'm going to poison you with chicken soup."
"You made soup?" she asks. She takes the proffered spoon and lifts it to her mouth. It tastes wonderful and she hums in appreciation.
He nods. "World's greatest comfort food," he replies. "Plus it's the only thing I could find the ingredients to make. Your cupboards are quite bare."
He takes the spoon back and shifts the pot off the burner. She pulls two bowls out of a nearby cabinet, setting them on the counter and fetching two soup spoons from a drawer by the sink.
"Hold on," she says, turning towards him and waving the spoons back and forth in her fingers. "You made chicken soup while I took a shower?"
He just shrugs as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You were in there a long time," he answers, spooning some of the soup into her bowl and then into a second one for him.
She smiles and shakes her head, following him as he carries the two bowls to the dining table.
Nathan fills the silence with a rundown of the goings on at the White House. Sam has been in New York City all week, trying to talk sense into the local government as only he can, and Harrison has been verbally sparring with the governor for at least the fourth time this year. She's hungrier than she thought and accepts a second helping, much to his delight.
He insists she not help him clean up, making her sit in a dining room chair by the door while he does impressions of various staff, reliving the meetings she missed. She laughs and tells him where each dish goes before he can put them back in the wrong places, making fun of the terrible falsetto voice he uses for Harrison's secretary.
Dinner and dishes done, Nathan moves into the living room. April follows, sighing as he takes his coat off the hook and slips on his shoes. She moves to stand next to him, leaning against her apartment door.
He looks at her and smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I really need to get going."
"I know." She wraps her arms around him and gives him a tight hug.
He presses a kiss to her forehead and smiles softly. "He's going to come back you know."
She nods and steps back, watching as he puts his coat on. "I know."
"He's not good, April. He went to a bar last night and -"
A look of fear flashes across her face. "He didn't - did he?"
"No," Nathan replies, shaking his head. "He didn't. But he thought about it and he wanted to. That's how much this is affecting him."
"Nathan," she sighs. "He was the one who -"
He holds up a hand and nods. "This is still his fault, and he knows that." He pauses and takes hold of her arms, rubbing his thumbs over her skin. "I just wanted you to know that you weren't the only one falling apart over this."
"I know," she says. "He was still so angry when he came here yesterday. It scared me, Nathan."
He gives her a sympathetic look and pulls her in for another hug. "You had every right to be scared. I know how he can be, and I probably would have thrown him out on his arse too." She laughs quietly and squeezes him one last time before pulling away. "Just don't shut him out too quickly, okay?"
"I won't," she promises. She watches him walk down the hallway, followed by two agents. When he reaches the elevator, he turns and smiles. She smiles back and waves, then steps inside and closes the door.
For the first time since her fight with Simon, April sleeps peacefully.
There's a knock on her door, but instead of feeling apprehensive she rolls her eyes. Lately her apartment has felt like Grand Central Station, with Simon showing up a couple days ago, then Nathan last night, and her secretary this morning. She sighs and pushes herself up, tugging down the baggy sweatshirt she's wearing so that it covers her leggings.
"April?" she hears a voice call out.
It's Simon and she freezes, staring at the door. She knew he'd be coming back even before Nathan came over, but now that he's here she feels nervous. He knocks again and she hurries to the door, opening it part way before her protective detail can jump to her rescue again.
"Hey," he breathes, hand raised to knock a third time.
She swallows. "Hi."
He lowers his hand and shoves it in his pocket, standing a few feet away from the door to let her know he's not going to try to push his way in again. "Can I come in?"
She exhales the breath she was holding, and shuts the door. Leaning her forehead against the cool wood, she takes a few deep breaths, remembering the things Nathan told her and the promise she made him. Simon says her name again and she sighs, reaching up to slide the chain lock free. When she pulls the door open again, he seems relieved, but afraid at the same time, and somehow it makes her feel better to know that he's as nervous and unsure as she is.
"Thank you," Simon says softly as he steps into the apartment. He makes sure to keep his distance, not wanting to scare her or do anything to make her toss him out on his ass again.
April moves to stand by the coffee table, watching as Simon slips off his coat and hangs it up. Her arms are wrapped around her torso, just as they were when he left, and she feels the same tightness in her chest, pressing in on her and making it hard to breathe.
He turns around and takes in her appearance. Her hair falls in messy waves around her face and she's wearing black leggings with a faded University of Richmond sweatshirt. She looks tired, like she just got out of bed, though judging by the stacks of files and the open laptop she's been attempting to work for the last couple of days. She's always been such a hard worker, such a perfectionist that she can never let anyone else even try to do her job.
He almost smiles at that, but clears his throat instead. "I'm sorry," he says, looking her in the eyes. "I'm so, so sorry."
April bites her lip and lets her head drop, willing herself not to cry or show weakness. He looks so defeated that she wants to run across the room and throw her arms around him, but she makes herself stay put.
"You hurt me," she says quietly. When she looks up she can see him nodding. "And what's worse is I was actually afraid of you."
"I know," he sighs. "I never meant -" He stops and runs a hand through his hair and down to his neck. "You were just talking about that new guy so much, and I -"
"Stop," she orders. "Don't blame this on me. It's not -"
"I know!" he snaps. She flinches and takes a step back, and he mentally kicks himself. "I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head. "I know it's not your fault."
"No, it's not." Her tone is firmer and more confident than she really feels. "I swore, Simon. I swore to myself I'd never be in that position again. That I would never be afraid in my own home or afraid of someone I love. And you made me feel both of those things."
Simon sighs and slips his hands in his pockets. He knows bits and pieces of her previous relationships, the fleeting boyfriends in high school, the friendship she ruined her freshman year at Richmond, and the jerk she fell for as a senior. It's the last one that he hates and that she can hardly talk about. His name was Michael, and everything was sunshine and rainbows until the night before spring break when he showed up at her door drunk.
"I know," he says. "I never meant to. I never wanted to do that to you." He takes a tentative step forward, watching to see if she moves away. "The last thing I ever wanted you to feel towards me is fear. I should be the one protecting you, not scaring you and making you feel unsafe."
As he talks he keeps taking small steps forward, relieved that she isn't running away and that her stance is slowly relaxing. When he gets close enough he reaches out a cautious hand to brush a lock of hair back from her face. She tenses and shies away with a sharp look in his direction, and he lets his hand fall sadly to his side.
He sighs and asks, "Will you let me stay and try to explain?"
After a pause, April nods and moves to the sofa to sit down. Simon follows suit, both of them turning to face each other across the middle cushion. She plays idly with the cuff of her sleeve, waiting for Simon to explain himself.
He thinks for a moment, trying to recall all the words he had in his head earlier but most of them are gone. Staring at the striped pattern of the sofa fabric he begins to speak.
"All I could think about was you and Charles, working together all day, smiling and laughing, and I got -" He hesitates and looks up at her, catching her gaze and swallowing before he continues. "I got jealous. I've never felt like that before. I've never had anyone to get jealous over. I've never - never cared about anyone enough to hate the thought of them being with someone else."
She sighs and dips her head for a moment. "Why didn't you just tell me that?"
"I don't know," he replies with a shrug. "It felt like you wouldn't let me, like you were avoiding telling me what I didn't want to hear. I thought you wanted -"
He stops there and looks away, glancing at the television, tuned to the all day news channel.
April frowns. "You thought I wanted what? To be with Charles the annoying intern?"
Her incredulous look almost makes him laugh. "You know, when you say it like that it seems so much more absurd than in my head." The corner of her mouth curves just a tiny bit and he gives her a brief smile. "I kept thinking that he sounded like such a better catch than me, with all his education and - and his rich New England family and all the connections they probably have. All those things that seem so important in this city."
She shakes her head and stretches her hand into the space between them. "But those things aren't important to me." He reaches his hand forward and catches her fingertips with his, letting out a breath as she curls her hand into his. "And he's not a better catch than you."
Simon sighs and slides his hand more fully into hers, giving it a soft squeeze. He stares at their joined hands as he speaks. "I know, it's just - I -"
"You what?" she asks, dipping her head to see his face.
"I almost lost it," he replies softly, keeping his gaze fixed on their linked fingers. "I thought about how I might lose you over something so stupid, and I couldn't deal with that. I ended up a bar." He glances up at her before he continues. "I didn't do anything though. I just went inside for a minute."
"Why didn't you?" she asks, though she already knows the answer. She wants to hear him say it, wants him to open up to her instead of just closing off and trying to deal with things himself.
"Because," he sighs. "I didn't want to make another stupid mistake. I didn't want to disappoint you again. I figured you really wouldn't forgive me if I ruined the last eight years of my life on top of everything else."
Neither of them speaks or moves for a few moments, until April squeezes Simon's hand.
"I love you," he whispers. Then he looks up to see her smiling and her eyes shining with tears. "Please don't cry," he says, smiling back at her. "I think I've made you do that enough for a while."
She lets out a short laugh and wipes her eyes with her sleeve.
He frowns slightly but she shifts closer to him, until her knee is pressed up against his thigh, their hands resting in her lap. "I really am sorry," he says softly. "I wish I could say it will never happen again, but -"
He pauses and tugs at his earlobe with his free hand, focusing on the shiny pink tint of her nails. He's afraid of what she may think of him, and if she will be able to forgive and accept the darker parts of him that he tries to bury. In the end he knows she deserves the truth.
"I've been fighting this part of me for a long time." He glances at her face before he continues. "I thought I had it beat, but -" He trails off and his shoulders slump.
"I know," she says, her voice barely over a whisper.
She did know, or at least she suspected. There were always moments where she thought he was holding something back, or where he would need to be alone for a while. She doesn't know all the dirty details of his years of addiction, but she knows there's something inside him that still craves it, that wants to give in to the darkness.
He swallows against the tightness in his throat. "I think I'll always be fighting it."
April gives him a sympathetic look and runs her thumb over the back of his hand. "Just promise me that when you feel that way you'll tell me." He looks over at her and she smiles softly. "And if you can't tell me, at least tell someone. Your dad, or someone at AA."
Simon nods and reaches over with his free hand to cup her cheek. "I promise."
She raises up on her knees and leans in to kiss him, slipping her hands around the back of his neck. His lips are gentle, hands holding her face in his palms as his fingers wind in her hair. She pulls away and he smiles, tilting his head to press another kiss to her forehead.
"Thank you," he whispers.
She smiles back and shifts her legs, laying them over his lap and settling against his chest. His arms come up around her, holding her to him. They sit quietly for a while, each knowing that while they've made up, it will take time to truly move on. He tells her how he drove around, how he ended up at the bar, twice. She curls into him, wrapping her arms around his torso and pressing little kisses to his neck as he speaks.
They're disrupted a short time later by the rumbling of Simon's stomach.
April can't help the giggle that erupts out of her as he tips his head back in mock embarrassment. "I didn't realize how late it was," she says.
"Yeah," he agrees. "I couldn't stand it anymore and it was so quiet and boring at work so I signed out and left. Then once I got here I lost track of time."
"You just left work in the middle of the afternoon?" she asks, slipping out of his lap and standing up.
He rubs at the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly. "I wanted to see you. I was worried."
His stomach grumbles again and April grins. "So worried you skipped lunch and then lost track of time?" He nods and pushes himself to his feet. "There's not much here to eat," she continues, wandering towards the kitchen. "Do you want to order something?"
Simon sighs and stretches his arms over his head, humming contentedly as his joints pop. "Actually, I think I'll grab something on the way home."
"Oh." Her face falls as she watches him move towards the door. "You're leaving?"
"Yeah," he replies, slipping his coat on. "I think we both need some more time, to think about things you know?" She folds her arms against her chest and nods, unable to meet his eyes.
"Hey," he says softly, crossing the short distance to stand in front of her. He hooks a finger under her chin and tilts her head up. "I just want to make sure we're both okay. I'm gonna go to a meeting and talk to my counselor before I head home." She nods again but he can tell she's disappointed. "I'll come over on Sunday, okay? We can order pizza, watch a movie and be lazy slobs together."
She smiles and pushes up on her tip toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. "I forgive you," she says seriously. Then she raises an eyebrow at him. "In case that wasn't clear earlier."
He grins and bends to kiss her again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He doesn't intend for it to be anything more than a grateful goodbye kiss, but when her lips part just a touch, he can't resist slipping his tongue against hers. She grabs the lapels of his jacket and presses against him, kissing him back with enthusiasm, and letting him know that she really has forgiven him.
He breaks the kiss before things can go any further, resting his forehead against hers for a moment as he tries to calm his breathing. April gives him one last quick peck on the lips, and then pushes him towards the door, cheeky grin in place. He doesn't turn away from her as he opens the door and steps backwards into the hallway. The door shuts and he strides towards the elevator, smiling the whole way.
April pads softly into the living room, rubbing the towel against her damp hair and feeling a little renewed by her long hot shower.
She crosses the room towards to the sofa, flopping onto the cushion and staring blankly at the pile of files and papers she hasn't really touched in the two days she's been home. She frowns at how much more she will have to get through on Monday, and contemplates going in tomorrow just for a little while. Picking up the remote, she flips channels and turns up the volume on an old black and white movie, wanting something to take her mind off the events of the last few days.
Leaning back, she turns her head to the side and stares at the spidery crack Simon's fist made, hoping he won't let her down, hoping she's made the right decision.
Simon sniffs the air as he exits the side door of the YMCA into the chilly Friday evening.
It smells like rain again and he sighs, hurrying across the street to his favorite all night diner. As he waits for his double cheeseburger he fingers the coin in his pocket, running his thumb over the raised AA logo. He thinks about April and how amazing and understanding she is, and how deserving he isn't.
One day at a time, he tells himself, repeating the same mantra the counselor has used to close every meeting for the last eight years.
Then he squeezes the medallion and silently prays for the strength to never let her down again.