My Scar's Gnarlier Than Yours
Owen Hunt had been back at work for a few weeks. He had been lucky and the bullet had gone all the way through his shoulder without seriously damaging any nerves. He thought he had only really cared about saving lives, but the truth was he would have been devastated if he had sustained an injury that prevented him from operating – maybe he wasn't so different from Cristina when it came to cutting after all. He pushed through the pain through the first week and now the only reminder of his injury was an occasional twinge after a long day of surgery – like now. Cristina noticed him rubbing his shoulder.
"Come on, your office," she ordered.
"Cristina . . ." he protested.
"Now" she marched him to his office, sat him down in his chair and removed his scrub top to check at the wound. Her breath caught a moment as it always did – he really was beautiful even if his skin was ridiculously pale – Cristina got the feeling she would always have this reaction, that she would get a thrill from being close to him for the rest of their lives.
But back to the task at hand, she began to examine his shoulder when the door, already slightly ajar, was pushed open and Alex rushed in.
"Dr. Hunt . . . , " began Alex, stopping short as he noticed the scene before him. "Um . . . I can come back . . . just wanted to give you an update on the car crash victim." For Alex's second week back at work he had volunteered for Hunt's service, hoping to brush up his trauma skills. Plus he admired Owen and appreciated that he always felt like part of a team with him – something he had come to value more and more recently.
"Don't worry, Evil Spawn, you didn't interrupt anything . . . yet," teased Cristina. "Anyway, I think the shoulder looks fine and I have surgery, so I'll see you at home, Owen." Cristina gave Alex a friendly squeeze on the arm as she walked out. Knowing they had almost lost him too, had made Cristina realize how much she really cared about Alex – to her surprise, he really had become a good friend and she had sobbed her relief when they knew he was going to be okay.
"Nice scar, Hunt, but kinda . . . I don't know, pretty, don't you think?" Alex provoked.
"Pretty?" scoffed Owen. "You really know how to hurt a guy, don't you? What's so pretty about this? I'll give you the entry is a little symmetrical, but look at it from the back – the jagged torn flesh where the bullet exited, the discoloration, the buildup of scar tissue only sure to get worse over time . . ."
"Please, save your breath," laughed Alex as he pulled up his scrub top. "Now this is a manly scar." He proudly displayed a truly gruesome 8-inch long patch of mangled flesh from which the industrial strength stitches had just been removed. Owen nodded his appreciation. "Not to mention, I didn't get the luxury of being operated on in a nice clean operating room – I had a dirty old conference room table and no painkillers," boasted Alex. "Plus, I had to drag myself down the hall from the closet to the elevator – kinda badass if I do say so myself."
"Cute little story you got there," Derek laughed as he walked into the office, his first week back on the job. "But if you want to talk gross and badass, let me show you what a real scar looks like." He removed his shirt, displaying discolored flesh with a line of massive, ugly stitches descending from his heart. "And this isn't anything compared to the true horror of what my x-rays look like. It's going to be really hard to hold on to my McDreamy title with this unsightly disfigurement."
"Well, Derek, I'll admit it's very impressive right now, but can I remind you what an incredible job Cristina did on your surgery. Her skill with the scalpel and clean stitches mean it's likely you'll be ready for that Times Square Calvin Klein ad within a year. And you've still got the hair."
Alex snorted.
"And you, well you may have a fine looking Frankenstein scar now, but you did have one of the best plastic surgeons in the country also working on you, so you may be ready for a billboard yourself before too long," continued Owen turning to Alex.
"That's just fine coming from you, Mr. Most Beautiful Person, but I don't think I'd be talking so big if I had such a cute little through-and-through nick. What, are you afraid the exit wound scar tissue will build up so much you'll grow a hump?" countered Derek.
"Hey, it could happen," defended Owen.
Alex refused to be outdone. "You forget, both of you are with someone, you don't have to worry about picking up chicks – I have to go back out there into the dating world with this – looks like an alien burst out of my side."
"The women will love it, Karev. Just give them the hero story, make sure you mention you didn't have painkillers, and they will be falling at your feet," laughed Owen.
"I still say scar from bullet to the heart trumps side or shoulder wound."
"We're just talking scar potential here"
"No, no, I think we can only consider the current disfigurement"
. . .
Bailey heard animated voices coming from the open door of Dr. Hunt's office as she approached. As she entered the room, it took a moment for the scene to register – three of the hospital's best doctors, shirtless and pointing at each others' scars. She stood there in stunned silence.
"Bailey! Come settle this—who has the grossest, manliest scar?" asked Derek cheerfully.
Bailey regained her power of speech, barely. "I am not judging your damn scars. Get your shirts back on you fools. Have some dignity." She promptly walked out shutting the door behind her, quickly found the nearest on call room and collapsed in paroxysms of laughter.