Lover // g. o'malley

Scars and Souvenirs

People have scars in all sorts of unexpected places. Like secret roadmaps of their personal histories, diagrams of all their old wounds. Most of our old wounds heal leaving nothing behind but a scar, but some of them don't. Some wounds we carry with us everywhere and though the cuts are gone, the pain still lingers.

In our hotel room, George and I are eating dinner together, arguing over Izzie Stevens. "No, she's selfish is Izzie's problem," I complain to him.

"She's not selfish, she's just generous. But she's also self absorbed. Her problem is that she doesn't see other people's perspectives," he explains.

"Can you please pass me the salad?" I ask him, already over the current topic of conversation.

"It's weird because she's so ridiculously compassionate with all of her patients, you think she'd roll some of that off with her own friends," George says, completely ignoring me.

"How about we don't talk about her anymore," I suggest.

"That's a great idea," George says, passing me the salad. I kiss him quickly before eating again.

In the locker room, everyone is talking to Meredith since she had a very eventful week. There was this huge ferryboat crash and she got pushed into the water and drowned. It took her a long time to wake up and when she did, her mother had passed away. Only Meredith.

"Does anyone know who the new chief candidate is?" Cristina asks us, trying to move all of the attention off of Meredith. Before anyone could answer her, Bailey walks in.

"O'Malley, you're with Shepherd today. Yang, Dr. Montgomery. Stevens and Lopez, down to the clinic. Karev, Jane Doe. Grey, scut," Bailey orders. I huff since I have to work with Izzie, but I keep it professional, even though Bailey shoots me a nasty look for huffing.

"Once again, I am fine," Meredith complains.

"You can tell everybody you're fine until you're blue in the face. Your mom died and you almost joined her, you're taking it easy for a while," Bailey orders. Now Meredith huffs and Bailey gives her a dirty look. We all rush out of the room to our cases.

In the x-ray room, I find George waiting. Izzie is staying back with our patient. "So, our room service bill, at the Archfield, is that a part of the deal?" he asks me.

"Yeah, sure," I shrug.

"I mean, breakfast alone is what, fifty bucks a day and they still only charge us $400 a week?" he asks me.

"Sometimes I pay them a little bit more for room service," I tell him.

"Okay, well then just tell me how much it is and we'll split it like the rest of the bill," he suggests.

"Don't worry about it George," I tell him.

"No, come on, I'm not going to have you pay for all of the food. Just tell me how much the room service bill is," he argues.

"We pay about $800 a week," I honestly tell him.

"Dollars?!" he asks, raising his voice.

"I told you not to worry about it," I say.

"You can't afford that," he says to me.

"Yes I can," I tell him.

"How? I'm your husband now, you're supposed to tell me this stuff," he complains.

"Okay, just come over here," I say, pulling him off to the side. "All right, my grandparents basically raised me since my parents only cared about two things. Alcohol and drugs. My grandparents have a lot of money and so I have more money than I actually make. We don't actually have a special deal through family friends at the Archfield, I just pay for it all," I admit to him. I don't like talking about my money but now that we're married, I feel like I have to tell him the truth.