LJ Exclusive Series: Number Nine
Tom Sez: Or is it eight? I'm not sure where it is or isn't anymore.
The title is the name of the first track on Def Leppard's new album "Songs from the Sparkle Lounge" - yes, I'm an unapologetic fan of that particular pop-metal band, and that one song - to my ear, a lean, muscular rocker - is worth the price of the whole album...at least for me...but don't let the title or where it came from color your opinion of this story...
I think you might dislike it for lots and lots of other reasons...
...but stick with me...trust in Tom...
Go
George was pissed. Today had been a very unpleasant day. And Izzie had been no help - especially with the way she had treated Callie. From beginning to end, and every moment in between, she had been rude or sarcastic or just flat out mean to her, and on the day that George had finally worked up the nerve to pursue the beautiful Doctor Torres, he had not needed Izzie's careless and thoughtless words echoing throughout the halls, having a direct effect on his intended's mood toward him.
And the worst part of the whole day was that, while Callie had finally agreed to meet him at Joe's for a drink - "Eight o'clock," she'd said, "Not eight-oh-five, or even eight-oh-one. Eight. Sharp." - he was having to depend on, you guessed it, Izzie, for his ride home from work. And Izzie wanted nothing more than to drive slow, and spill more vitriol at Callie and her surgical skills.
Finally, he'd had enough, and he said so, about three blocks from the house. He didn't remember exactly what he had said, he just knew that Izzie's expression went from gleeful to panicked in less than the length of a yard.
At the front door, George pushed in, and Izzie reached for him. "What did I say?" she asked, as she followed a red-faced George up the stairs to his room.
"I can not believe you are asking me that," he growled.
"Can't we talk about this? Please?" she begged.
"No. All you want to do is toss cheap shots at Callie, and I'm sick and tired of it." He swung open his door with not a small amount of force, and the doorknob struck the wall with a hard thud.
"Dammit, George," she groaned, shutting the door behind them. "Stop it."
"No, Izzie. You stop it." George stripped off his sweatshirt, taking his T-shirt with it, and tossed the duo on his bed. "Stop insulting her and ranting about her and giving her those dirty looks when she comes by."
"What dirty looks?" Izzie frowned.
George snorted as he unbuckled his belt. "You know what I'm talking about," he said, sitting on his bed to take off his pants. He stood again, now in his navy boxers, his eyes fixed on her.
Izzie shook her head. "Hey, Callie's a grown-up - she can defend herself," she said.
"Yeah," he replied, pushing past her to open the door again. "Except you won't let her." He sped to the bathroom, where he retrieved his deodorant stick, then looked at her visage in the mirror. "Thanks to you," he said, "I don't even have a chance to take a shower."
Izzie groaned. "When's this going to end, George? Huh? All this Callie crap?"
"'Callie crap'?" he asked, a bit of amazement in his voice. He exhaled hard through his lips, and it came out with a hint of a whistle. He spun around her and started off again. "Wow, Iz, when you are clueless, you're really - "
"Clueless?" she asked, wheeling behind him back to his room. "About what?"
George was at his dresser, sifting through his shirts. "About me," he muttered. "About how I feel."
"Oh, for crying out loud," Izzie almost laughed. "She's not that big of a deal, believe me."
He looked up at her, a wisp of disappointment in his eyes. Then he went back to his dresser. "Yes, she is," he said carefully. "She is very important to me."
"Important?" she frowned. "Please."
George found what he was looking for - a blue and white-striped rugby pullover, one that Callie said she liked seeing on him. "For the first time in my life, I meet someone like her, you know? Someone with courage and heart and intelligence and - " At that split-second of a moment, George thought he had seen a crack in Izzie's stance, like something inside her had been wounded, but then it was gone. He continued, "And she likes me - really likes me, really wants to be with me - and - and - "
Izzie's brow furrowed. "And?"
He hated when he stumbled in front of her - it always made him feel so inadequate. He grabbed at the first words he could find. "And you - the person who is supposedly my best friend - you have to start pulling this garbage, trying to sabotage my relationship," he said, "Which, by the way, is none of your business."
"I am not trying to sabotage anything," Izzie said, bristling. "But I am trying to make you see that she's not right for you."
A large false grin spread across his face. "Well, then, I guess your immature behavior makes sense now. Thanks, Iz!" The grin melted into a grimace as he found a pair of blue jeans. "Then who is? Hm? Who do you recommend for me, O Great Matchmaker? I've seen your recent personal choices - they don't exactly speak well of your instincts."
Izzie frowned hard. "You did not just bring up Denny."
"No, I was thinking of Alex," George said, because it was true. And speaking of truth: "But hey, since we're on the subject - "
"Denny is a wonderful man," Izzie replied softly.
"Wonderful? He's a saint," George said clearly. "But he's also your patient, and that's a line that you know you aren't supposed to cross."
Izzie's tone was sharp. "I have not crossed any line with him."
"Well, you're doing a great job avoiding any appearance to the contrary," George replied, sarcasm burning the air between them. "Rushing to his side at the slightest provocation? Staying with him for hours at a time?"
"He's in the cardiac ICU, George," she said.
"He's stable in the cardiac ICU," he corrected. "Stable. As in not in critical condition. As in not going anywhere, especially to the morgue. You know this as well as I do: a stable case there - anywhere, really - means that we as doctors start taking care of the ones who actually could need us right then."
Izzie rolled her eyes. "I know that, George. But I also need to stay on top of a case like his, especially when there's a transplant possibly involved, and every other surgeon in the program is breathing down your neck, just itching for you to lose your focus so they can steal it."
George knew that was true, but he couldn't stop now. "Fine. Keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, that whole hospital whispers about you and how close you are to a patient." He applied his deodorant, and pulled on the rugby shirt.
"And what about your whispers?" Izzie asked. "Everybody I talk to thinks that Callie is taking advantage of you. She's decided to keep you all to herself, and protects her time with you so selfishly, it's like the rest of us can't get near you. I mean, even just to talk, she's right there, standing over you."
George shook his head. "That's not true."
"Yes, it is," she replied. "You just don't see it."
Her surety made George think for a moment. Think about how Callie could be intimidating to others. Think about how her attentions were sometimes more focused on keeping others out of conversations with them than including more people. Okay, maybe Izzie had a point, but, "So what?" he asked. "She's special to me; my girlfriend, maybe, and I - "
Izzie looked like she was going to pop. "Girlfriend, maybe?"
"Yeah," he said, exasperated. "I'm thinking that she might be the one, and - "
"Oh, good God, George," she fairly shouted. "She is definitely NOT the one."
He wasn't stunned by her reaction - but he couldn't deny that it grated against him. "Really," he said flatly. "You know this."
"Yes," she replied. "I do."
"And why do you care?" George asked.
"Why? Because I'm worried about you," she said. "I'm worried that you are jumping into a relationship, maybe, that could be the worst mistake you've ever made, maybe, with the absolutely wrong woman." Izzie was shaking. "And not maybe, either. Definitely."
"I'm making a mistake?" George just shook his head in disbelief. "You are a hair away from derailing your surgical career before it begins because of your relationship with a patient, but I'm the one making a mistake." He chucked bitterly at that.
Izzie gritted her teeth. "My situation with Denny is, first off, nothing compared to you falling for that - woman, and secondly, none of your damn business."
"Oh, I see," George replied. "I'm not allowed to be concerned that you might be ruining your best shot at being the doctor everyone in this program knows you can be because you fell head over heels for a patient."
Izzie's lower lip quivered with rage, and she stomped to the door and flung it open. "Fine, George," she hissed as she left him. "Go ahead and move out. See if I care."
George stood there for a moment, feeling like he'd just taken a hard shot he hadn't seen. He'd missed something in the conversation, went right past it somehow. And then he caught it, like a leaf floating in a pool. So that's what he'd said in the car that had freaked her out so much: he'd threatened to move out if she didn't stop insulting Callie.
It was then that a stranger feeling began to rise in him - and it wasn't sadness or fear. It was a calmness, like leaving was going to be the absolute right thing to do; for him, for Callie, for Izzie. And he decided to trust it - because how wrong could his feelings be?
The End