A/N: I'm so glad you all enjoyed that last chapter! Here's the new one :D Lots happens here, as well!


Chapter Seven

Jackson and April sat sprawled on her couch, the bottle of vodka that he brought nestled between them. April grabbed the bottle and tipped her head back as she took a large sip.

"Vodka makes everything better," she slurred, resting her head on the couch and closing her eyes. "I'm gonna put that on t-shirts. And mugs. I'll sell those instead of being a doctor."

"You could open your own novelty t-shirt store," Jackson suggested, laughing at the thought. "Your own alcohol-themed-novelty t-shirt store."

"Despite the economic climate, I think it would do wonderfully," April said. "There. Future planned. What's so great about being a doctor anyway? You work long hours. You get puked on once a week."

"If you're lucky," Jackson interjected.

"Exactly. Why would I want a job where I'm lucky if I get puked on only once a week?"

Jackson was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "Because you love it."

April frowned. "I do love it, don't I?"

"This isn't the end. It's a setback, but it's not the end."

"I'm not used to failing," she said, reaching for the vodka and taking another swig.

"None of us are."

"But you guys didn't."

"No, but we've all failed in other things. We're only human. You're only human."

"This is different, though. I'm not good enough. This literally means that I'm not good enough."

"No, it means you had an off day. Or your proctors were ass holes. Either way, we all know you, April, and we know that you're a damn good doctor."

"I am," she said resolutely.

"And this doesn't mean you can't get a fellowship."

"It puts me behind everyone else, though," she said. "Think about it. If you were an interviewer, wouldn't you choose the board certified person?"

"Not necessarily."

"You're lying."

"Being a doctor is about more than passing a test. It's skill. It's personality."

"Oh, and we all know how far my personality gets me," she said sardonically.

"Stop that," Jackson said, turning toward her. "You need to stop putting yourself down."

"Self deprecation," she said sheepishly. "It's my defense mechanism."

"You don't need a defense mechanism. You are a good doctor and any program would be lucky to have you."

"It's just a blow," she said, looking down at the vodka bottle. She pulled it into her lap, pulling at the label. "It makes you take a hard look at yourself. Think about things."

"You better be thinking positive things."

She chuckled. "I'm trying."

There was a knock on the door, and April pulled herself from the couch as she wondered who it was. She looked back at Jackson and said, "You didn't tell anyone, right?"

He shook his head. She walked to the door and pulled it open, mouth falling open when she found Dave there with a pint of ice cream.

"Look, I know you said that you didn't want me here, but you shouldn't alone," he began. "I may say all the wrongs things, but I care about you and I'm trying. I brought ice cream, because in the movies that's what they always do, and…" he trailed off when he saw Jackson on the couch. "And you're not alone."

"Dave-"

"I thought you wanted to be alone. You said-"

"No, I did. But Jackson…he's different. I just needed someone who got it and- "I could have gotten it," Dave said, voice pained. "I wanted to get it, but you wouldn't give me a chance. I wanted to be there for you, but you pushed me away."

"I didn't push you away," she said helplessly. "At least I didn't mean to. Dave-"

"You know, it's fine. I'll just talk to you tomorrow."

He turned around and she watched him walk away, unable to say a word. It wasn't until Jackson gently pulled her from the doorway and closed the door that she mumbled, "Why can't I do anything right?"

"It is time for Phase 2 of the plan," Callie said, falling in step beside Mark Sloan.

"Is it? What does Phase 2 entail?"

"Getting their heads out of their asses," Callie said. "They obviously like each other. Care about each other."

"What are you leaving out?" he asked knowingly.

Callie quickly looked around them and grabbed onto his arm. "You cannot tell anyone this."

"My lips are sealed."

"I mean it. Not one word."

"Torres, I said I wouldn't say anything. Now, spit it out already."

"Jackson and Kepner slept together."

"What?" He looked down at her with wide eyes. "Are you serious?"

"It happened when they were in San Francisco," she said, going through the story that Kepner told her. All the while Mark nodded his head, following the story closely.

"Very interesting," he said. "So, there's obviously sexual attraction."

"Exactly. So, I say we get these crazy kids together."

"What's your plan?"

"Well, we have the boyfriend to contend with," Callie said, wrinkling her nose unhappily. "This means we have our work cut out for us. But I believe there is the perfect opportunity coming up."

"What's that?"

"The benefit for the ALA is next weekend," Callie said. "Fancy dresses and tuxes. Open bar. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Tickets for that were sold out months ago."

"Our table isn't full," Callie said. "Just so happen to have two seats open. So, I will invite April."

"And I invite Jackson," Mark finished, nodding his head appreciatively. "Not a bad idea."

"We'll position it as a networking event," Callie said. "People from many of the big hospitals in the area will be there. Some from out of town, too."

Sloan smirked and said, "Pitch it that way to, Kepner. All I will be needing are the two words open bar and Avery will be on board."

"Whatever works. We just need to get them there and then the magic happens."

"Dr. Kepner."

April turned toward Owen Hunt and gave him a subdued smile. This day was not exactly one she would put in the books. It started off with a terse conversation with Dave. Then she had to come to the hospital where every single person seemed to ask about the boards. Each time, she had to put on a brave face and tell them that she didn't pass, nodding through their apologies and words of encouragement. It was hell.

"Dr. Hunt, how are you?"

"I'm fine. You?"

She took a deep breath. "Fine. I'm fine."

"I, uh, heard about the boards," Owen said carefully. "I'm sorry about that."

She screwed her mouth into something between a smile and a grimace while she dipped her head into a nod. "Yes. Thank you."

"You shouldn't be discouraged by this," he said. "It's not uncommon for people to have to retake their boards."

"I know," she said. Everyone told her the same thing each time they asked about the boards.

"It doesn't mean you're not a good doctor. You just have to stick it out and move onwards."

She nodded, not quite able to muster a smile. "Yes, thank you. I'll do my best."

"So, chin up soldier."

She smiled slightly at that. "I will. Thank you, Dr. Hunt."

When he walked away, she found that she felt marginally better.

The rest of the day got April thinking long and hard about her current situation. She failed the boards. That was done. Finished. There wasn't a single thing she could do right now to change that or make it better.

The problems with Dave? Those she could fix. She knew that he didn't like Jackson. Similarly, Jackson didn't like Dave. As the two most important men in her life, she found this mutual dislike both disheartening and downright unacceptable. Therefore, she decided that something must be done.

"Do you have plans for tonight?" she asked Jackson, sitting down across from him in the cafeteria.

"No. Why?"

"You are coming to my house for dinner at seven," she told him.

"Okay. What-"

"Dave will be there, too, and you are to bond. There will be no snarky words. No power plays. And absolutely no mention of what happened in San Francisco."

"Wait, April I-"

"The two men in my life don't get along and I intend on changing that," she said curtly, cutting him off. "There is a lot in my life that I can't control. I can't control that I failed the boards. I can't control that I have to wait a whole year before tackling them again. You know what I can control? I can control whether or not it's the Cold War every time my boyfriend and best friend are in the same room. So, you will be there at seven. And don't be late."

"Fine," Jackson said unhappily. "You give him this little speech, too?"

"Yes," she said. Dave hadn't been exactly thrilled with the idea, either. "I left out the San Francisco part, though, for obvious reasons."

"Alright. I'll be there."

"Good," she said with a curt nod. "Now, I have a surgery to scrub into. I'll see you at seven."

April thought long and hard throughout the day about what to make for the dinner. She knew that a menu could make or break such a fragile dinner party as the one she was planning for. The correct menu would facilitate the bonding. It would carry along pleasant conversation and warm feelings. The wrong menu would harbor ill feelings toward its guests and the entire thing would end up a disaster. Therefore, it was exceedingly important that April chose the correct dishes to serve.

She decided to serve Italian, because never in her life had she served her baked mostaccoli and not have wonderful things happen. She made it when she scored a near perfect on her MCAT. It was made again when she got into her top choice medical school. It made an appearance when she finished her internship. If there were ever a dish to bring together two unlikely people as Jackson and Dave, it was her baked mostaccoli.

Dave showed up a full fifteen minutes early, no doubt as a way for him to ensure that he was there before Jackson. She let it go without comment, though. It wouldn't be wise to bait him so early in the evening.

"Whatever you're making smells delicious," Dave said, giving her a quick kiss.

"Baked mostaccoli. It's an April Kepner special."

"Well, if I hadn't already fallen for you, this would probably do the trick."

Jackson typically ran late with social engagements, but she showed up a cool five minutes early. He brought a bottle of white wine, and Dave said, "Hm, I don't know how well this'll go with the baked mostaccoli, but it looks good."

April shot him a look, taking the wine from Jackson with a wide smile and thanking him profusely. She led them to the table and said, "Sit down both of you. Talk amongst yourselves while I get the salad!"

She listened to their stilted conversation while she readied the salad. The awkwardness was so evident that she didn't know whether to wince or laugh.

"So, you're an accountant?" Jackson asked.

"Yep. Going on seven years."

"What do you do?"

"I work with numbers. Keep track of money for different companies."

Jackson nodded his head. "Yeah. Sounds like a lot of fun."

"Tell him about the coffee machine!" April called out from the kitchen.

"Oh, uh, we have a good coffee machine," Dave said, voice about eight miles from enthused. Jackson answered with a similarly anemic, "Nice."

"So, um, you're a doctor too, right?" Dave said. It was clear that he didn't want to continue the conversation, but the look he received from April while she tossed the salad pushed him forward. "How's that?"

"It's good," Jackson said.

April came out of the kitchen with a bowl full of salad and placed it in the middle of the table. She settled in a seat between the two of them and said, "Jackson, you fixed a harelip today, didn't you?"

Jackson perked up for the first time since they sat down.

"Yeah. This kid came in with this harelip. One of the worst that I've ever seen," Jackson said. "We had to do some serious work on the upper lip to make it look natural. He'll have to have corrective jaw surgery before he's done, but it's looking good. You should have seen the kid when we showed him a graphic of what he'd look like when we were all done."

"I bet that was fantastic," April said, smiling herself at the memory of patients when they received good news. That was something she always loved about being a doctor. Being able to give patients and their families the relief that they so craved. Of course, there were times when you handed them their worst nightmares, as well.

"That's pretty amazing," Dave said.

"You should see some of the work him and Dr. Sloan do," April gushed. "It's remarkable."

"Speak for yourself, Kepner," Jackson returned. He glanced toward Dave and asked, "Has she told you about some of the neurological procedures she's done at the hospital?"

"I did them with one of the attendings," April corrected, blushing slightly.

"Remember that case where the guy had a tumor pressing on this prefrontal cortex?"

"Yes!" April said excitedly, turning to Dave to explain. "We had a man come in with behavioral problems. His wife said that one moment he was fine, and the next he would be yelling at their kids or acting completely crazy. We did a CT scan and found that he had a tumor."

"It was pressing on the prefrontal cortex, which controls personality and behavior," Jackson added. April nodded, grinning wide. This was one of her favorite cases.

"So, Dr. Sheperd went in and removed the tumor and his behavior went back to normal. Pretty cool, right?"

April noticed Dave's tight smile and the way he pushed around his salad instead of eating it. They were making him uncomfortable, she realized that then. Going on and on about work when he had absolutely nothing to contribute to the conversation besides remarks on how amazing or remarkable something was.

"Sorry," she said quickly. "Get two doctors in a room together and the conversation always ends up about medicine. Why don't you tell that golfing story, Dave? The one about the VP and driving range?"

"This already sounds promising," Jackson said with a grin.

Dave launched into the story, starting off slow but then building in charisma as her and Jackson's laughter filled the room. By the end they were all laughing, something akin to comfort filling the air. She stood up and collected their plates, rebuffing both of their attempts to help, and pulled the pasta out of the oven. Behind her at the table Jackson and Dave were chatting in a manner that was almost natural. Shutting the oven, she thought to herself that against all odds tonight seemed to be working.

Dave stayed behind to help her wash dishes, much like Jackson had after the surprisingly successful end-of-board party. He was silent for much of the clean-up, and she wondered what was going through his mind.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

He didn't answer for a moment, but then asked, "Did you and Jackson ever date?"

"No," she answered immediately.

There was another beat and then he asked, "Have you slept together?"

"What? Dave, why-"

"Look, I can see that there is something between you guys. Or there was. If I didn't see it before, tonight proved it."

"What are you talking about? I thought tonight went well. You guys were getting along!"

"Yeah, he's a cool guy," Dave said dismissively. "I'm not arguing that. I never didn't like him. I didn't like him with you."

"Dave-"

"Just tell me, have you guys slept together?"

She shook her head, irritation flooding her chest. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to like Jackson and drop the whole jealousy thing.

"Yes," she finally said. "We did. Once."

Dave clenched his jaw, his cheekbones showing prominently as his mouth pressed into a frown.

"Dave-"

"The first night we met, you were looking at him like he was the greatest thing to ever walk into that bar. But you came to my table and offered to buy me a drink, so I thought it was just an unreciprocated attraction. We all have 'em. So, I let it go. I thought it would pass when we got together, but it hasn't."

"Dave, please stop. This is all wrong."

"No, it's not. You still have feelings for him. And after tonight, and I can 100% say that so does he."

"You don't know him," April said. "Not like I do. We're just friends."

"No, you're not. The two of you can say that all you want. You can lie to your friends and your colleagues. You can even lie to yourselves, but you're not just friends. And the sooner you realize that, the better."

"Dave, if you knew how wrong you were…"

"I wish I was," he said, eyes pained. "I really wish that I was wrong. But I'm not."

"Dave-"

He stepped forward and gently took a hold of her face, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Don't wait too long to tell him," he said.

She watched him walk out of the kitchen, and she felt like her body was rooted to the spot. Her feet were glued to the floor, and she couldn't move. Even when she heard the door open and close, when she knew that she was really alone, she couldn't move. She couldn't speak. Couldn't cry. All she could do was stare at the spot where he stood and wonder how she had managed to mess up again.

A/N: Thoughts?