Noon
Cafeteria
"…135, 155, 175… 485!"
Izzie was gleefully counting a fat stack of cash, her eyes practically sparkling.
"You guys are the worst," George grumbled, glaring at her with envy. "A pregnant man, and you didn't even tell me?"
"It's a teratoma, not a pregnancy!" Izzie corrected him, rolling her eyes. "Cristina's the one who said to keep it quiet. You were so eager during rounds—didn't you notice we all played dumb? You didn't seriously think we had no clue, did you?"
"…"
George had no comeback.
Sure, he could buy Izzie and Meredith not knowing. But Cristina? The queen of quick answers? She was the sharpest surgical intern after Adam. If he could figure something out, there's no way she'd miss it.
Still, he couldn't blame himself entirely. During rounds, he usually faded into the background. Either Cristina swooped in with the first answer, or Dr. Shepherd picked Meredith. Now, with Dr. Montgomery joining the mix and eyeing Izzie for her supposed pediatric knack, George—the lone guy in their little quartet—was left with zero dignity or spotlight.
So this morning, when all three of his female colleagues blanked out and every eye turned to him, he'd puffed up his chest, riding a rare wave of pride. Totally normal reaction, right?
Emmm. Maybe it was his last shred of testosterone kicking in. Or maybe it was to give his wild fantasies—y'know, the ones where he, Meredith, Izzie, and Cristina all got sweaty together—some kind of real-world footing.
Yup!
Even if everyone, including Meredith and the gang, treated him like their gay bestie, George O'Malley was a man's man! His fantasies of group "exercise" weren't going anywhere!
Too bad the last time he indulged in that daydream, he got hit with a dose of reality—Meredith, Izzie, and Cristina pinning him down for a shot of antivenom, laughing their heads off. Not quite the steamy scene he'd pictured.
And now? He'd eaten another loss. Strutting his stuff during rounds only to miss out on this epic case. Nothing like he'd imagined—again.
"They didn't tell me either," Adam chimed in, strolling over with his tray and a grin. "You didn't know and didn't ask. I did ask, and they guarded it like I was a thief."
"Heh heh." Izzie giggled, stroking her wad of cash smugly.
"If I were you, I'd stash that dirty money quick," Adam teased. "People are gonna get jealous."
"Dirty money? This is honest cash!" Izzie huffed, but after a quick glance at the envious stares around her, she stuffed it into her pocket anyway.
"So, who's handling Mr. Herman—you or Meredith?" Adam asked casually, digging into his food. Unlike Sheldon or Leonard, he could eat and chat without choking.
"You're passing on it?" Izzie's face lit up.
Normally, that'd be settled by now. But this case? Totally different vibe. The room was a circus—doctors everywhere, even the surgical chief hovering. Everyone wanted a front-row seat to this freakshow.
The so-called "primary intern" title was a joke. Who'd dare boss around residents, attendings, and the chief?
Well, maybe Adam. But Cristina—the obvious pick—got stuck with grunt work as punishment. Izzie and Meredith, who'd been there from the start, were just Bailey's errand girls, no official assignment yet.
If Bailey weren't so upright, Izzie bet she'd hog the whole case herself.
So, with no surgery scheduled yet, it was still up in the air who'd scrub in.
"I've got a heart surgery this afternoon," Adam said with a sigh.
If it didn't clash, he'd be all over this rare teratoma case. But Mrs. Griswold's local-anesthesia heart procedure was just as unique—and Leonard would definitely let him take the lead. Compared to trailing the chief and playing gofer, Adam was sticking with the heart.
Oh, and this teratoma extraction? The surgical chief couldn't resist jumping in himself. Good luck stealing that from him!
Bang!
Cristina stormed over, slamming her tray on the table and shoveling food into her mouth.
"What're you staring at? I'm starving!" she snapped, glaring at everyone's raised eyebrows.
"Eww, is that… rectal exam lube on your shirt?" Izzie wrinkled her nose at the greasy spot on Cristina's chest.
Cristina glanced down, then at Izzie's disgusted face. Her morning flashed before her eyes, and she snapped. Her glare turned lethal.
"Yeah, so what? Never used it? Never been used?"
"What?!" Izzie's jaw dropped, her smile freezing.
"What, too loud in Mr. Herman's room? Hearing shot already?" Cristina exploded. "Guess what I've been doing all morning? Two wound infections, one catheter, one groin abscess, four debridements, five explosive diarrheas. This lube you're grossed out by? It's nothing!"
Izzie's sass evaporated, replaced by a pitying look.
"I'm Bailey's best intern! I found Mr. Herman! I stole him from psych!" Cristina ranted, her voice rising. "Why am I the only one getting punished?!"
"Didn't Bailey secretly praise us, though?" Izzie offered weakly.
Sure, Bailey chewed them out publicly for snagging the case from psych, but behind closed doors, she'd given them props.
"I think she knows about me and Burke," Cristina muttered, deflating.
"Oh, well, that's on you then," Izzie said, perking up. "Meredith got punished by Bailey too. That's what you get for dating attendings."
"Shh!" Cristina hushed her, darting a look around. "Keep it quiet—I don't want to end up like Meredith."
"You and Burke are back together?" Adam asked, surprised.
"He found out about… y'know, from somewhere. Came crawling back," Cristina said, gauging their reactions. "Said he wants to keep going. I didn't say no."
"Y'know" meant her ectopic pregnancy—Burke's mess that nearly killed her. Sure, he chased power like the chief, but he wasn't as cold as Richard. Hearing about it (from a certain little bird), he felt awful for dumping her back then.
George buried his face in his food.
"It was you, George!" Cristina zeroed in on him.
"It's not my fault!" George mumbled, sheepish. "Burke said I'm his right-hand man…"
"Ha!" Adam couldn't hold back a laugh.
Hospital hierarchy was brutal. Interns lived for a scrap of praise from their superiors—"You're my guy," "You're my people." Some rougher attendings even tossed out, "You're my bitch." Crude? Sure. But every intern, guy or girl, secretly craved it. Some even said it first: "I'm your bitch."
Take Chandler back in his IT days. His boss loved smacking the butts of his favorite underlings, praising their work. At first, Chandler hated it—called the guy out, risked pissing him off. But when the boss stopped, only smacking his coworkers, Chandler… missed it.
The boss, wise to it all, grinned and asked if he still wanted out. Chandler hesitated, then practically skipped over for a solid whack—back in the boss's good graces.