IMPERFECTLY PERFECT
Cristina explores her feelings for the men of Seattle Grace as she says goodbye to one of them.
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This isn't the way things are supposed to happen.
Looking around the dismal, rain-soaked cemetery, I can't help but think that somebody got it wrong. That John Doe wasn't George. That the man in the oak casket is some unknown bus accident victim with no family and no friends.
He didn't deserve this. Of all the men I know, he probably deserved this the least.
The men in this hospital are still a mystery to me. One minute I think I've got them figured out and the next minute, they do nothing but confuse the hell out of me. Most of the time I try to ignore them, but they stick around, pissing me off or giving me grief or messing with my friends' minds.
To my left, Derek Shepard holds Meredith as the tears streak down her face. He wraps his hands around hers, playing his quintessential McDreamy role. I can't fault him for that. It is who he is. But he's not perfect. Mer may not see it, but he's far from her knight-in-shining whatever. He expected her to kick her roomates out. He had no idea that she needs them as much as she needs him ... especially now. He constantly tries to fix everything. That's what got him in trouble in the OR months ago. It's what brought about his very own dark and twisty phase. He can't be God for her. They both need to realize that.
At the end of the row, seated in a wheelchair, Izzie is sobbing as much as her disease-stricken body will allow. She's weak and completely inconsolable. For all his faults, Alex is right there beside her holding her hand and whispering in her ear as she mourns the man that she loved once. Alex is growing, there's no doubt about that. Hell, in the past few months, he's given Derek's McDreamy title a run for its money. Even before the cancer struck, she would tell me and Mer how he baked her a birthday cake and crap like that. But he's still Alex. Still cocky, volitile, Evil Spawn Alex. Just days ago he was barking orders at his wife, willing her to remember. And she did. And she died. Fortunately it was also his caveman-like reaction that convinced the Chief to ignore the DNR. He fought for her, but I can't help but wonder if it was what she really wanted.
Behind me I hear Lexie's sniffles as she cries into Mark's shoulder. Mark isn't a good man. Not by anyone's measure. But Lexie doesn't need to know that. He's crude and he's rude and he usually thinks with the wrong head, but for some reason the bastard treats her well. She's a lot like Izzie in that she looks for the nonexisitant fairytales in life. Unlike Izzie, though, she hasn't figured out or accepted that the man she loves isn't Prince Charming. He'll prove it soon enough, I'm certain.
The Chief is seated next behind Mrs. O'Malley and George's brothers. He lowers his eyes, clearly effected by the loss of one of his students ... one of his kids. Whether he knew it or not he had become a bit of a parental figure for all of us, not just Meredith. I saw the look on his face a week ago in a church as he watched Alex and Izzie get married. He looked like a proud father. Now he just looked sad, angry at himself, like he could have done more. That is his problem. He always thinks he can do things himself. He can fix the hospital single-handedly. He can change the way surgeons do things. He never listens when people make suggestions. He's a stubborn man. I guess that's what makes him a great surgeon.
Someone shifts into the seat beside me. I look over and my weary eyes meet his shining blue ones. The last seventy-two hours have been hell and Owen was the one person who had been able to make me smile. He held me last night and made me tell him stories of our intern year. I hadn't thought about that time in a while, and some of the stories that came to mind just made me laugh. Like the time George gave Alex a black eye. Or Izzie's "small get together" that turned into a major block party. Or about when Meredith dated the vet. Owen knew how to get a smile on my face. But as we slept in each other's arms later that night, that nagging little voice in my head wouldn't shut up. He's making progress, I argued with myself. But he's not stable the voice answered back. Owen has issues. I know that. He's been through and seen so much. Even now, I know that he paritally blames himself for George's death. I still can't trust him a hundred percent, but I'm getting there. I'm learning to let my guard down. He's doing that to me.
But George O'Malley was different. Sure he pissed me off more times than I want to think about. And sure I taunted him endlessly, calling him Bambi and 007. Sure he may have been clumsy, awkward and not nearly as suave as some of the others. He wasn't sure of himself or confident around women. He second guessed himself. But he was a kind soul and a good doctor. George he didn't have a God-complex. He didn't act like a neanderthal. He wasn't a manwhore. He listened to people. He was steady and stable. He was George.
He wasn't perfect, except in his imperfections. But he was a good man.
And I'll miss him.