Props to Sars, whose tales of childhood family vacations gone awry recently made me laugh until I blacked out.
Previously on ER: Carter took some Vicodin, then confessed to Abby, who told him to tell Weaver; Weaver, for her part, was dissed and dismissed by Kim Legaspi, who was attracted to Weaver in spite of Weaver's heterosexuality; Kynesha brought a "Tiny" over to Finch's house; Finch got all bent out of shape about it, and Benton cowered like a dog and promised it wouldn't happen again; someone cut open Mark's head, and then put it back together -- I know, I don't get it either.
Over the usual black screen, a phone rings. The lights go up on a bed containing Cleo "Cleossus: The Forbin Project" Finch and Peter "Hey, Did You Know the Word Gullible Isn't in the Dictionary?" Benton. Finch rouses herself and reaches for the phone. She testily asks who it is; then, hearing the answer, she flicks on the light and sits up in her nearly transparent spaghetti-strapped stretch tank top, asking the caller to tell her what happened. Taking in the set decoration, I experience a moment of terror at seeing what appears to be a crib in the corner of the room. No! No, Benton! Don't breed! Didn't you see Demon Seed?! But it turns out just to be a knickknack table with a white cloth the folds of which, at first glance, suggested the slats of a crib. Anyway, Finch says into the phone, "Kynesha, slow down," and behind her, Benton covers his mouth, and groans. Resigned, he sits up and takes the phone from Finch, allowing her to "express" "annoyance" by pinching the bridge of her nose and pursing her lips. "Did he put his hands on you?" Benton asks Kynesha "Braids" Nolastname, rather urgently and sounding fully awake, where she is, then tells her to wait there, and he'll pick her up. He hangs up, and Finch snips, "You're going?" Benton says that Braids "got into it with somebody at the halfway house," and took off. Finch asks whether Braids "report[ed] it to the manager," and Benton mutters, "I guess there's some kind of problem there, too." I don't know how he could get that from what we heard; I guess we're supposed to think Braids was talking extremely fast. Finch asks where Braids is, and Benton says she's in (at?) South Federal. Finch crabs that she thought that neighbourhood wasn't safe for Braids, and Benton huffs, "That's all she knows, Cleo." Finch suspiciously asks whether Benton doesn't think it's strange that Braids didn't call until 4 AM; Benton rhetorically asks Finch whether she expects him to leave Braids "on the street" when "it's ten degrees outside." Pfft. Wuss. Oh, wait -- that's Fahrenheit. Okay, I guess that's pretty cold. Finch makes sure she gets the last word: "You're never going to get rid of her." She settles back into bed, turning off the light. I have to say that I agree with Finch here, but 4 AM on a cold, cold winter night is really not the time to debate -- besides which, she didn't even ask exactly what Benton planned to do with Braids once he picked her up, so whatever.
In the kitchen at Valium Villa, Elizabeth "Lock, Stock, and Two Choking Barrels" Corday stands in her pyjamas, staring off, and then seems to doze a moment on her feet. In the background, Mark "Go Into the Freaking Light, Already" Greene gingerly picks his way down the stairs. At the bottom, he pants at the effort, but still manages to sound chipper and even jaunty, calling, "Hey!" "Mark, go to sleep," Elizabeth cold-cocks him, without even turning around. And I mean, she is cold. Her voice could not be flatter or wearier. Undeterred by the fact that she just knocked his ass flat, he continues his approach, asking her if she's feeling nauseous. "No," she sighs, offering no further information. "Have a bad dream?" he presses. "Please, Mark. You've got to get your rest," she moans. "So do you," he says, moving toward the...family room? Living room? It's a room with couch and a fireplace, anyway. She helps him to the couch, reminding him that he shouldn't be walking around, since he could fall -- which is funny, because a moment ago, she really sounded like that's what she hoped would happen. Or I could be projecting. "Good thing you're a doctor," he cracks. She leans against the arm of a chair, carefully arranging the folds of her robe around herself in order to conceal how much more Alex Kingston's pregnancy is showing (versus how much Elizabeth's is supposed to be), and then sinks into the chair. Mark asks her how long she's been up, and she admits that she never really fell asleep. Mark sprawls on the couch like a rag doll, lolling his head against the back of the couch so that she's barely in his line of vision, like, he's an invalid, we get it. With the surpassing serenity of a man who should be dead right now, he muses, "No point worrying about it. Nothing you can do." Elizabeth asks, "Gordon didn't say anything else -- any indication why this meeting was so urgent?" Mark says, "Just that Patterson's lawyers called it. It's probably not bad -- they want to talk." "Yeah, but what about?" she pouts. All Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (And It's All Small Stuff), Mark reminds her, "You'll know soon enough."
Sketchy neighbourhood. Benton pulls around a corner in a sensible family sedan and stops, glancing back and forth. Presently Braids slams into the passenger door, squealing at him to open it up. He unlocks the door and she tumbles in. He asks what's going on, but her urgency becomes clear immediately, as three or four young guys swarm the car, pounding on her window and bellowing at them to open up. She screeches at Benton to "go! Go!" The back window shatters (though we don't hear a gunshot or anything), and Benton peels out, Braids's associates yelling after them, "You owe me, girl! I'm-a find you!" Benton demands to know what that was, and Braids dismissively replies, "Just a bunch of fools used to be my friends!" Her voice softens from the screech she's been screeching through the scene, and she strokes, "I told them you a doctor." She beams, and then turns her attention to the radio, tuning the dial until she finds some hip-hop and turns it the hell up. Benton knits his brow. Somewhere, Jessica knits a sweater.
Ambulance bay at County. Luka "My Demon Lover" Kovac and Abby "Lisa" Lockhart wander into the ER, bickering mildly: it seems she doesn't want to eat breakfast at the hotel because (according to her) the room-service guy has seen all her pyjamas. He suggests that they get up earlier, and she wheedles, "Or, we could sleep in, at my place...?" Before he can answer (or shut her down, as the case may be -- the point is, we will never know), Haleh comes over to tell Luka that a "possible hip fracture" is on his way in. Luka says he'll take the patient, and, without any particular affect, tells Lisa he guesses she's "eating breakfast alone." He wearily heads into the lounge, and Lisa, deciding to complete their little triangle early on in the day and get it over with, spots John "Gomer Pill" Carter at the desk and heads over to him, brightly asking, "How'd it go last night?" He doesn't know what she's talking about, and she prompts, "With Weaver." He breezily replies, "I think I'm going to wait until after my mid-year performance evaluation." She fixes him with as level a gaze as she can, being a foot shorter than he is and all, and declares, "You're procrastinating." "You're nagging," he shoots back mildly. "No, I'm being your sponsor," she reminds him. "Which is different than being my mother, don't you think?" he snipes. "Okay," she whatevers, and huffs off. Carter turns back toward the board just as Kerry "Eager Beaver" Weaver crutches up behind him, trailed by Finch, who's going over charts and telling Weaver where various patients are. Weaver tells Carter that his evaluation will be at 11 AM, in the lounge, and he apple-polishes, "Yes, ma'am!" Finch points toward chairs and tells her that "Mrs. Furtado" is in chairs, and that she's like a bird, and will only fly away. Oh, and that she's experiencing "vaginal bleeding." Weaver dismissively says that Mrs. Furtado was in the ER with the same complaint last month, which most women know not as vaginal bleeding but as menstruation. Finch pauses a beat, and then chuckles awkwardly as a PA gives her cue by poking her in the back. Some other repeat customer is in the ER with back pain, and Weaver goes to examine him.
Outside in the ambulance bay, "Dr." Dave Malucci and Luka amble toward a rig. "Like, a bishop bishop?" Dr. Dave is asking, and the female paramedic at the rig -- I don't think we've seen her before, or if we have I don't recognize her -- says she thinks he may have confirmed her. I get a flash to my own Confirmation picture, beaming beside Arch-Bishop Halpin in a ruffly white blouse, a teal and green plaid full taffeta skirt, and a neo-mullet. It was 1986. As Sars says, mistakes were made. The paramedic opens the doors, and says that she started a line and gave the bishop morphine. We see that it's the stuntcast James "Farmer Hoggett" Cromwell on the bed, in full vestments and with a rather becoming beard. Too bad he and Anthony Edwards don't have any scenes together in which to rekindle all our happy memories of Revenge of the Nerds. Oh, wait. It totally isn't too bad, at all. Luka asks Bishop Cromwell whether he was able to get up after his fall, and a priest that evidently accompanied him in the ambulance says that Bishop Cromwell tried, but that "several of us had to help him." "I can speak for myself," snaps Bishop Cromwell, though gently. Dr. Dave tells Luka Bishop Cromwell's pulse, adding, "I think you're supposed to call him 'Your Excellency.'" Bishop Cromwell twinkles that "'Bishop' is fine." They carefully guide the gurney toward the doors.
At Finch's house, Benton is on the phone lining up a new rear window for his car when Braids, in a robe and slippers, wanders in, sits on a bench, and crows, "That shower felt good!" Benton silently walks into the living room, where she is, and goes for his notebook computer, which is open on the coffee table. Braids flops onto the couch and tells him not to worry about the window -- that she'll pay for it. "With what?" growls Benton. Braids insincerely offers, "I don't know! Something!" Benton snaps his computer closed and mutters, "You know what, Kynesha? You need to learn how to start respecting people." Okay, Braids is now lolling on the couch with a red throw pillow...between her knees. "I respect you," she coos. Benton goes on, "I called the halfway house. They said you started a fight, and then took off." Braids whines that she hates the halfway house, and that "the lady who runs it is a bitch!" Benton firmly tells her, "Yeah, well, that's where you live now, so you'd better try to make it work." Throwing her legs wide apart -- just saying -- to get up, she moves toward him and pouts, "I'd rather live with you!" Without meeting her eye, Benton reminds her that they've "been over this," and that she can't stay at Finch's indefinitely. Braids wheedles, "I could if you had your own place! Be a lot easier!" I think this is some exposition we never had before. Was he living with Jackie before he moved in with Finch? I thought he had his own place for a while -- the one where he listened to Miles Davis with Reese on the couch when he first found out Reese might be deaf. Or did he give up that place when he took Carla to court, to make his home situation seem more stable? Oh, it's all so long ago. Anyway, Braids reaches out and tentatively puts her hand on Benton's shoulder; the actress is either so young that she doesn't really know what she's doing, or is acting like Braids is so young that she doesn't really know what she's doing, because it's an awkward gesture. Benton angrily glances up and smacks her arm away, demanding to know what she's doing. Braids Lolitas, "Depends. What you want me to do?" Benton looks at a point on the wall above Braids's head and cautions, "Kynesha, you better --" "Where she at? At work?" Braids asks. "Hey," he snaps. They lock eyes. His gaze fixes her in place, and he moves toward the door, to leave. Behind him, Braids calls, "It's all good. I'm too tired now, anyway." She turns on the TV and settles onto the couch, still in her robe. Benton books.
Weaver heads in to see Mr. Pilarsky, the back-pain guy who's apparently been in the ER many times before. He's wearing a long cloth coat and an Elmer Fudd hat, and looks a bit like a younger Michael J. Pollard. Weaver asks him whether he's stopped taking his Mellaril, and he says he hasn't. She asks how long his belly's been bothering him -- I thought he had back pain, but whatever -- and he says it's been a few days, but it's "definitely gotten worse since [he's] been here." Conni gives Weaver his vitals and moves away. Weaver asks whether Mr. Pilarsky is "upset," and he offers, "Depressed, mostly. I haven't had intimate contact in eleven years. It takes its toll after a while." Weaver looks like she's thinking of adding, "Girl, please," but doesn't say it; instead, she opens his coat to take a look at him, and sees that he's stuck a pair of scissors into his gut. It must only be superficial, since he seemed to be talking without strain or anything, and...sorry, I'm not a doctor, I only watch them on TV. Weaver makes an exasperated groan and calls Conni back, demanding, "Mr. Pilarsky, why do you do this to yourself?!" "I'm an only child, you know," he non-sequiturs. Conni comes back over and asks, "Are those [scissors] ours?" "Yeah," mutters Weaver, annoyed. Mr. Pilarsky adds that he never got married. Conni asks Weaver whether she wants to call for a Psych consult, but Weaver immediately says she doesn't. Suspicious, no? As Mr. Pilarsky blathers, Weaver adds, as an afterthought, that they should "clear him surgically first" before calling Psych. Mr. Pilarsky totally sees his opening and asks Weaver, "You wanna catch a movie later?" Weaver blinks, and then turns toward him with a flat stare, thinking, "Men are so ludicrous. Who needs 'em? Hey, maybe I don't!"
Elizabeth fidgets nervously and leaps to her feet when Robert "Rocket" Romano and her lawyer, Matt Craven, walk in. Romano figures that she didn't get his message, and tells her that the meeting was cancelled, and that they took a conference call instead, and "agreed on a settlement figure." Elizabeth asks whether that means they've "accepted guilt," and Romano tells her that it means "the hospital's gonna take it in the shorts to the tune of $1.5 million." Elizabeth sinks into a chair (as Alex Kingston carefully holds her jacket out to conceal the fact that her suit doesn't really fit her) and asks whether the hospital's insurance will cover it. Romano complains about rising premiums, and Matt Craven says that it could be worse. Romano barks at him not to put a good face on it, since Elizabeth's getting away without paying anything. Matt Craven ignores Romano, basically, and tells Elizabeth, "There was a general recall on the endoscopic curettes that you used." Elizabeth considers, and then says that she doesn't remember having any trouble with the curette. Romano repeats that there was a recall, regardless. Matt Craven adds that they also signed a confidentiality agreement about the details of the suit, so she can't talk to anyone about it. Elizabeth insists that "there was nothing faulty with the equipment"; Matt Craven informs her, "Apparently there was, and the manufacturer has deeper pockets." Elizabeth, gobsmacked, nervously laughs that "that's wrong." Matt Craven tells her to "look at it as a gift." Elizabeth agrees, and starts raising the roof, squealing, "Go Lizzie! It's your birthday!" But, not really. Romano adds, "We pay out [sic] the nose, and you get a little ding at the National Data Bank. How lucky is that?" Matt Craven temples his fingers and silently judges her. Elizabeth looks stricken.
At the desk, Dr. Dave is philosophically looking off into space, and yammering on about his parents' "whole charismatic phase," and that they're "still pretty Catholic," while Amira stands by working, not even bothering to pretend to listen. Dr. Dave breaks his ecclesiastical reverie by asking Amira, "So, what religion do they practice in your country?" I could parse that question for all its myriad stupidities -- like the assumption that any country practices only one religion, and the assumption that because Amira isn't white, she's from some exotic, non-Catholic country -- but it's Dr. Dave, so neither his ignorance nor his boorishness is out of character, and what would be the point getting annoyed at him when he doesn't know any better? You might as well try to teach a goat to play tennis as educate Dr. Dave. Even Amira, the target of his idiocy at the moment, doesn't bother getting offended: "This is my country, Dave." Dr. Dave pushes everyone's indulgence by pressing her, "That's not what I meant." "Smooth!" taunts Carter, walking by. Amira smirks at Dr. Dave, and a woman with a yellow backpack approaches her, moaning in unspecifically accented English, "Excuse me, I need --" Amira thrusts a clipboard and a pen at her, and Yellow Bag chokes out that she needs a laxative. Carter intervenes, suggesting that Amira "get an emesis basin for Miss...?" Yellow Bag starts heaving, and instead of offering her last name, lurches over to a waste basket and hurls into it. Vomit at 10:12: I think that's a new record. "Never mind!" Carter calls to Amira, and hurries over to Yellow Bag. She stammers, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He tells her it's all right, and helps her over to chairs, where several people waiting clear a path for Elizabeth Hurl-y, who groans that her stomach hurts, and she just needs "to go to the bathroom," and she can't. Carter sits with her, and...ew, she still has a ring of white, baby-like spit-up all around her mouth. Carter asks her name, which is Anne. She swipes at her face with her hand. He asks her whether anything like this has ever happened to her before, and she shakes her head and says, "It started on ze plane." Carter asks where the plane was coming from, and she whispers, "Texas." He asks her whether she's just arrived in Chicago, and she nods. His question is whether she ate anything unusual, and she says she ate the food on the plane. Carter seems to think this is the cause of her distress. She starts to heave again, this time spitting up blood all over her hands. Gross.
In a curtain area, Luka is asking a now-gowned Bishop Cromwell whether he landed on his side or on his back. "On my keester," twinkles Bishop Cromwell, adding that "several small children found it amusing." Yeah, and one not so small twenty-six-year-old. Hee! He fell on his bottom. The priest hovers, saying, "We were quite worried." Luka seems to be feeling around the bishop's ass (one of my favourite Agatha Christie novels, by the way), and asks whether the bishop feels any tenderness; apparently, he doesn't. The bishop tells the priest, Joe, that he's making Bishop Cromwell nervous, and suggests that he go get himself a cup of coffee. Joe is all a-flutter, but the bishop adds, "Please" before Joe can protest. He leaves, and Bishop Cromwell cracks, "The last thing I need is an entourage." Luka checks out what appears to be the bishop's pelvis, asking whether he has any pre-existing conditions about which Luka should be informed. Through the window, we can see Joe, standing in the hall and peering in, anxiously, to watch the proceedings, before sighing visibly and moving on. Aw. The bishop says that he has osteoarthritis, which runs in his family. Luka asks whether he's on any medication, and the bishop says that he takes Tylenol, "and the occasional glass of wine." Girl, please. My dad was a Jesuit and nearly took orders before getting sidetracked by my mom. My mom worked at a Catholic college. We counted among our family friends priests from all walks of life. Priests have a lot more than "the occasional glass of wine." Like, a few tumblers of scotch, every night. In my experience. But anyway. He turns all his TwinklePower™ on Luka, who seems impervious, as well as more gruff than usual, and who doesn't look Bishop Cromwell in the eye. The bishop politely asks where Luka's from: "You have an accent." Luka looks up at this, and after a beat, answers, "Croatia." Luka moves down to the bishop's legs, asking whether there's any numbness there; there isn't. Luka says that someone will take the bishop to x-ray, and asks whether he wants anything for pain; the bishop calmly says that he has "a high threshold." Luka nods, and quickly makes to leave. The bishop calls after him, "Croatia is a very Catholic country." Luka stops, impatiently, and tersely agrees, "Yes." "Are you Catholic?" Okay, are you Bishop Cromwell, or Bishop David Frost? Why are you interviewing your physician? Whatever, Luka curtly replies, "No," and takes off. Bishop Cromwell makes a very subtle "huh" sound -- not like, "Huh?" but like, "Huh, imagine that." Or, "Huh. Well, whatever."
In the hall, Finch and Benton walk along, Benton clearly performing damage control. "That's it? That's all you're going to tell me?" Finch asks, mildly. Benton says, "She got into a fight at Creekside, took off, and went to hang out with some friends." Finch needles him, "So this whole 'I was attacked' was blown out of proportion." "A little," Benton allows. Finch asks whether he took her back to the halfway house, and Benton admits, "Not yet." Finch, knowing the answer, slowly asks him where he took Braids. Benton stammers -- actually stammers, like he's scared! -- that "s-she needed to take a shower." Finch gives him the neck crook, and he begs, "Cleo, it's just for the day." "That's what you said when she stayed three weeks," she reminds him. Benton tells her he'll handle it, and leaves. Finch stews. So if it's Finch's house -- and hers alone -- why doesn't she just call the cops on Braids, if she's that adamant? Get a pair, Finch.
Carter, assisted by Haleh, performs an endoscopy on Anne (formerly known as Yellow Bag). Carter locates a "foreign body obstructing the gastric outlet," and Haleh congratulates him on calling it. Oh goody, it's already time for this week's installment of Wacky Object Extraction. Last week it was a beeper up someone's ass. This is in the woman's gut, so I'm going to guess...hornets' nest? He asks her for the "grasper" so that he can fish it out. They can't tell what it is, though Anne's blood pressure rises as he pulls it out. At first, it looks like a really big Playtex or o.b. tampon (work with me -- they're shaped differently than Tampax), but when Carter drops the object on a tray, a little spray of white powder puffs out. Oh, ANNE. How could you? After we'd come to know and love you, with your vomit and your colourful flight from Texas, you're a DRUG MULE? Well, I am shocked. SHOCKED. Carter -- stay away from that tray. I mean it. Anyway, it's a condom full of, probably, cocaine, which Carter surmises has "probably leaked." Carter calls out a bunch of orders and then tsks, "A drug mule." Yeah, she's so low-class. She muled common street drugs instead of stealing nice, clean prescription drugs. I hate her. Not. Shut up, Carter.
Weaver is puttering in a supply closet when Kim "Mitchell" Legaspi comes in, clutching her clipboard to her chest and asking after Mr. Pilarsky. Weaver jocularly complains about the fact that he injured himself with the ER's own suture scissors, and Mitchell smiles tolerantly and asks, "You sent him home?" Weaver dismissively tells Mitchell that Mr. Pilarsky's wound was superficial, and didn't reach the peritoneum. Mitchell steps closer and asks whether Weaver doesn't think there should have been a Psych consult. Weaver even more dismissively says, "He's a frequent flyer -- he has a new injury every week." Mitchell presses, "Could be part of an accelerating pattern." Weaver loses her patina of mild detachment and blurts, "Look, he's never had a serious suicide attempt. Your department's refused to admit him on three separate occasions." Mitchell makes a squinty Lumbergh face and declares, "He tried to harm himself. We're supposed to be called." Weaver insists that all Mr. Pilarsky needed was food and company, and then adds, to twist the knife just a little bit, "Frankly, I thought you'd be grateful." Mitchell's hair looks a lot better this week; the curl, while still fake and crispy, reaches all the way to the ends of her hair. Actually, it looks like she's taken off an inch or so. Anyway, she sadly says, "Kerry, I think that we should not let what happened between us interfere with patient care." Weaver wheels on her and mutters, "What?" "We're both professionals," Mitchell adds. Weaver, with steely self-control, says, "Excuse me, I did what I thought was medically appropriate." Mitchell snorts, "And it had nothing to do with the fact that you've been avoiding me." Weaver loses it and yells, "It doesn't, and I haven't!" She lowers her voice as Mitchell rolls her eyes, and adds, "But if you'd like me to call you every time someone the least bit disturbed comes into the ER, you've got it." "Thank you," purrs Mitchell, and leaves. Why don't you two just DO IT and get it over with? No, seriously, why?
I really can't wait for the release of the straight-to-video porn movie, Fucking Forrester.
Post-stomach pump, Anne lies in bed, charcoal around her mouth, looking downtrodden. Carter paces around her bed acting superior, which is so very very annoying. He jovially asks her where she really flew in from: "South America?" "Belize," she says. He tells her she's lucky the condom didn't pop when she was in the air, since she could have died. "Maybe that would have been better," she mumbles. Still smirking that maddening trust-fund smirk, Carter asks her how she got into the muling business. She says that she was robbed of her money, passport, clothes, and even her shoes. "So you decided to smuggle drugs to get back," Carter surmises, sighing sadly -- at the way she's completely let him down, I guess. She says she met a man who was nice to her, and who said he'd be nice to her if she'd just stop in the U.S. for him. She starts to cry. Carter? STILL SMIRKING. "But you knew what he was asking you to do," he tells her. She sobs, "I just wanted to go home. That's all. I just wanted to go home!" Carter's face finally falls. At least she didn't stick it up her nose, George F. Pills, so CRAM IT.
In the bishop's curtain area, Dr. Dave is musing, "That whole celibacy thing was always the sticking point for me, though." You mean he's not celibate now? Is he married? Because...just kidding. Shut up, Dave. "Yeah, me too," says Bishop Cromwell. "But I got over it." Well, good. Because I would hate to think you were one of those bad bishops that keep getting arrested in the Maritimes. Though I think your friend Joe might have a little crush on you, so you might want to keep an eye -- or whatever -- on that. Luka comes in with an x-ray, and Dr. Dave non-sequiturs that St. Peter was married. Luka has no response to that. He throws the film up on a light and tells Bishop Cromwell, "You have a lot of degenerative changes, but no fracture. There will be some bruising, but the worst of it should be over in a few days." "Yeah, I know the drill," says the bishop off-handedly. "You fall a lot?" Luka asks. The bishop says that his arthritis makes him "wobbly," especially when it's cold. Luka asks whether the bishop ever uses a walker; the bishop says he does not, because it would "cramp [his] style." Luka says that a walker would save his hips. The bishop says that the last time he had a "flare-up," his regular doctor put him on a Solumedrol IV, and that it "worked wonders." Luka tells him that it's a temporary fix, and the bishop says that he'll take whatever he can get, as long as it gets him "through the hard bits." Luka says he'll give the bishop the steroids if he'll promise to use a walker. The bishop asks whether they're negotiating, and Luka snaps, "Not really. Do you want the steroids?" The bishop offers to use a cane, and Luka barks, "Yosh?" Okay, that might be a shout-out. How long has it been since we've seen him? Have we seen him this season at all? And don't we talk about him on the boards all the time? Anyway, Luka tells Yosh to put in the IV, and to get the bishop a cane from Central Supply. Yosh agrees, and takes off. We won't be seeing him again, so I hope you got your fill. Luka, once again, turns to leave, but the bishop has another parting shot: "What was your Confirmation name?" "Mihael," says Luka. "After the patron saint of the sick. How appropriate," exposits the bishop. Hagiographers, help me out: wasn't Michael demoted to "Blessed"? Wasn't he de-canonized? ["St. Michael the Archangel, usually referred to as 'the archangel Michael,' is the patron saint of sickness, as well as that of grocers, mariners, policemen, and paratroopers (whatever). The saints' calendar lists ten other St. Michaels and about twelve Blessed Michaels, but an archangel is technically a saint, and I assume this is who Bishop Cromwell means." -- Sars] Anyway, Luka stares at him blankly for a second, and then leaves the room.
In the lounge, Carter reads aloud from his performance review: "On occasion, he has questioned the decision-making of more senior physicians in critical-care settings." Weaver offers to show him a detailed list of instances to which she refers, but he declines fairly politely. As he continues flipping through the sheaf of papers, Weaver says, "Interpersonal skills, how you deal with patients and staff -- all excellent. In fact, it's hard to find fault with your work." "Really?" Carter asks, beaming delightedly, and very sweetly. Weaver continues, "You've made a remarkable comeback from a serious addiction, and I think I speak for everyone when I say that we're proud of you." Carter seems really touched and surprised that she has so many nice things to say. She points out that they're "slammed" and that time is of the essence, so unless he has any questions, he should sign the form and get back out. Carter folds his hands on top of the page and hesitates a few moments with his mouth open, until she prompts, "Is there something you want to talk about?" Carter opens his mouth a little more but before any sound can come out, Lisa shoves open the door in a yellow trauma gown and goggles and says that a multi-victim trauma is coming in, and all personnel is needed. Carter exhales, looking relieved that not only was he saved from making his confession to Weaver, but saved by Lisa herself. Weaver crutches out, and Carter makes to sign the form.
Outside, Pam gives Finch the bullet on a seven-year-old girl struck in a crosswalk by a pickup truck. Oh, dude. They pull her gurney out, and Finch asks her name, which is Amy. Amy asks where her mom is, and Pam says she's in the ambulance. Lisa asks Amy to take a breath, and Finch asks whether Amy's stomach hurts. Amy says it doesn't, and asks whether her dad's okay; Finch promises that they'll find out once they've taken care of her. Finch calls out orders for a chest tube; we hear another ambulance pull up behind them.
In another part of the ambulance bay, a short Latino paramedic gives Weaver the bullet on Julie Hembree, thirty-two, who I'm going to guess is Amy's mother. Weaver asks about the father, but he was DOA at the scene. Weaver and Carter catch up to Julie's bed, where she's asking after her husband, and after Amy. Carter touches her chest, and she winces; he diagnoses a possible rib fracture. Weaver calls that she needs an ultrasound, and they push their way inside.
Upstairs, Elizabeth -- now in scrubs -- walks toward the desk and starts cooing over an enormous flower arrangement sitting there. The nurse tells her it's a good thing she likes them, since they're for Elizabeth. She fishes out the card and reads it, smiling. "From Dr. Greene?" asks the nurse; they are. Now, why didn't we get to see that touching, life-affirming scene, in which Mark manfully struggles, despite his invalid state, to heft a phone book onto a table, flick through the pages to find just the right florist that speaks to him and his new outlook on life, bravely dial the unfamiliar number, carefully remove his credit card from his wallet, and choke out the number: "Four...five...one...[the Timpani of Imminent Trauma begin to sound] I'm sorry! I'm going to have to...call...you...back!! Augh!" Anyway. The nurse picks up the phone as Elizabeth continues gazing at her flowers, and tells Elizabeth that they need her in the ER. "On my way!" chirps Elizabeth, and makes for the elevator. The doors glide open and Roseanne Roseannadanna and a whole bunch of other people pour out, leaving a man in a wheelchair (wearing street clothes) alone in the back. Elizabeth stops dead, as we can practically hear the air hissing out of the balloon of her good mood, because the man is, of course, Mr. Patterson, of "The Case of the Sidelined Surfer" fame. She manages to yelp his name; he looks nearly as surprised to see her there as she is to see him. She asks what he's doing there, and he tells her, duh, he's there to see her. She stammers an apology that she's been called to the ER and can't talk (a convenient excuse that happens to be true -- the very best kind!), and he politely offers to ride down with her. The elevator doors close, and he swivels his chair so that he's facing her. She murmurs, "Please allow me to say that I feel terrible about what's happened." He clips, "Which part? Me being crippled, or you getting sued for malpractice?" She looks down and throatily replies, "My concern is for your situation, not mine," and I believe her. "Yeah. Doesn't really compare, does it?" he asks quietly, adding, "Strange how it all comes down to faulty equipment. [Elizabeth's face betrays her a bit] My lawyer tells me I can't really blame you, but I can't quite forgive you, either. Imagine I'll always remember your face." The elevator comes to a stop with a ding, and just as the doors open, Mr. Patterson muses, "I wonder if you'll remember mine." As soon as the elevator doors open, people are calling Elizabeth's name, and Conni steps forward to put a yellow gown on her, telling her she's needed right away. As Conni gowns her, Elizabeth says -- as sincerely as one could, under the circumstances, "Mr. Patterson, I'm really sorry." "Go, go," says Mr. Patterson stoically. "I'm so sorry!" she repeats. "Please! You have people to maim! Now, off you get!" he tells her. Not. Really, he rolls off, his jaw set.
Elizabeth hurries toward the trauma room, Conni giving her the bullet; the daughter looks worse than the mother. In Amy's trauma room, Finch tells Elizabeth that Amy suffered a blunt chest wound, with a "hemo pneumo" on the left. Elizabeth asks whether they scanned her belly, and Luka says it "seemed pretty benign," which I guess is a no. Elizabeth asks where the ultrasound is, and Lisa tells her it's in the room. Luka asks Elizabeth why she doesn't just examine it first. Elizabeth stares back, looking terrified. "Where's my mom?" Amy quavers. Elizabeth reluctantly reaches her arms out toward Amy's torso. Finch tells her she'll feel better when they take her collar off (which they do). Amy looks dazed as various machines start beeping. Luka asks how the abdomen is, and Elizabeth says it's "non-tender," though she can't clear it until they have an imaging study. "Ow, that hurts!" says Amy as Elizabeth presses near her right hip. Luka gently tells her it's okay. Lisa asks whether he wants to intubate Amy, and Luka tells her to wait until they get the chest tube in. Orders are called. Amy bellows for her mother. A huge spray of blood squirts onto Luka, and the machines start beeping more urgently. Lisa says that Amy's bleeding out, and Elizabeth calls for someone to intubate Amy immediately. Conni enters and tells Elizabeth that Weaver needs her.
In the room, Weaver is performing an ultrasound on Julie's stomach and tells Elizabeth that it "looks like a surgical belly." Heh. That sounds funny, like it's a particular piece of equipment you wear for surgery -- like surgical gloves. Maybe it's a sterile belly you can scratch while performing, or in the navel of which only sterile lint would collect and spontaneously form itself into gauze pads. Anyway, Julie is totally awake and not in nearly the distress Amy -- from the sound of the machines attached to her -- is. Anyway, Julie asks how Amy is, and Elizabeth says that "there's some bleeding in the chest." Julie asks what that means: "Is she okay?" Oh, yeah, she's fine. She's just bleeding from her chest. It's a perfectly normal thing for a young girl to be doing -- in fact, it's part of puberty. Elizabeth says that Amy's stable for the moment but that her injuries are serious. Julie asks about her husband: "Is he here, too?" Elizabeth and Weaver exchange a look of alarm, like that's not totally transparent. Julie looks from Elizabeth to Weaver, and starts to cry, "Oh, God, no!" Weaver says, "We don't know anything for sure, yet," which is a kind lie for her to tell. Carter detects a liver laceration on the ultrasound screen. Elizabeth tells Julie that she's having some internal bleeding from her abdominal injury, and Weaver adds that they need to get her up to the OR right away. Julie says nothing, and Weaver tells Carter to notify the OR. They cover her up and move her out.
Watching through the glass doors, Luka sees Julie and her posse on the move, just as Lisa tells him that Amy's lost over a litre of blood. Finch says that they need to intubate her immediately, and Luka overrules the order, asking that they just bag her for now. He bolts from the trauma room and into the hall, where he intercepts Julie's bed on its way to the elevator and tells Elizabeth to bring the patient into Amy's room. Elizabeth says that she's "redlining" her to the OR. He stands at the end of Julie's bed and turns it toward Amy's room. Elizabeth angrily tells him that they're barely maintaining Julie's blood pressure, and asks what he's doing. Luka leans into her face and urgently says, "Her daughter should see her first," when he really means, "She should see her daughter...for the last time." Julie faintly speaks up that she'd like to see Amy.
Luka and Elizabeth continue arguing even as the trauma team scuttles Julie's bed into Amy's room. They push Julie's bed up so that her head is in line with Amy's. Amy looks pretty out of it. Julie reaches out and strokes Amy's forehead, and Amy's eyes flutter open. Julie says that Amy will be all right, and that Julie is about to go up for surgery, but she'll see Amy soon. Amy's eyes drift closed, and Finch says, "She's out." "That's it, we're going, now," growls Corday. "Amy?" Julie calls, starting to cry again. They hustle Julie out as Finch intubates Amy. Orders. Beeping. Lost pulse. Starting compressions. Get more blood. Shock Amy. The Velcro Sneaker of Pathos tumbles off the end of her bed as her body lurches at the paddles.
Upstairs, Elizabeth's capped and gowned for surgery and leading Julie's bed into the OR. She confers with the anaesthesiologist, who wants to know why she didn't give Julie FFP. "We were rawthah busy," sniffs Elizabeth, like, I don't think this guy imagined you were downstairs doing your nails, so simmah. She goes to scrub up as he follows, asking, "Any chance you'll be doing an atrial-caval shunt?" "I won't know until I open her up," Elizabeth retorts, a little too loudly. "It would help if I knew what you were planning," he mutters, and she yells, "Yes, well, when I decide, I'll tell you!" Uh. It's a good thing Julie's out, because I don't think that's the tone of voice I'd like to hear from a person who was about to stand over me with a scalpel. Shirley comes into the scrub room, and Elizabeth, her voice lower and shaking, asks her to get Anspaugh to assist. Shirley tells her that he's needed on another procedure. Elizabeth asks whether there are any other attendings available, and Shirley tells her it's just Elizabeth on this one. Elizabeth makes a "shit!" face.
Amy's trauma room. Amy's still in the process of dying. Luka doesn't want to let go, and manages to get a cardiac rhythm back.
Weaver walks into the open area around the desk. Anne's bed is out by the desk; Carter is standing at its head, and Mitchell is leaning over it. Weaver stops and asks, "What's this?" Carter glances up; Mitchell turns with a sunny smile and says, "I'm admitting her." Weaver asks why, and Mitchell, stepping closer to Weaver, curtly replies, "Danger to self." Lowering her voice, Weaver sarcastically asks, "Does the pound of cocaine she swallowed figure into this?" Carter joins the party to snort, "It wasn't a pound, and we're not obligated to report drug use to the authorities." Weaver says, "But I'd imagine in the case of drug smuggling, we'd make an exception." Mitchell breezily says, "She's not a dealer, she's a kid. She made a stupid mistake, and she almost got herself killed." Carter nods along emphatically to all of this. "Kid"? She looked about thirty, to me. Weaver's self-control starts to ebb as she replies, "Maybe, but she's not suicidal!" Mitchell goes all Psychiatrist of the Corn with very creepy snake-y eyes and asks, "What's your problem, Kerry?" "What?" Weaver barks. "She's eighteen years old!" says Mitchell. Uh, then I'm five. Weaver quietly asks Carter to excuse them. Carter unwisely tries to argue with her, and Weaver firmly repeats, "Excuse us." Carter wanders off. Mitchell continues staring at Weaver with that maddening, condescending, "aw, your anger is so cute and misplaced, unself-aware civilian" psychiatrist look, but obviously, Weaver is having none of that, and whispers, with utmost gravity, "Don't you ever talk to me like that in front of a resident again." Mitchell patronizingly murmurs, "I wouldn't have to, if you didn't insist on interfering with my admission." "She's an ER case," says Weaver. "Which I was called into. I'm admitting her," Mitchell storms off.
Amy continues to die. Luka finally stops, and tells Finch to call it. Haleh comes in and says that paramedics just brought in another trauma (and we can hear him, in the hall, groaning with pain), and they need a doctor. Luka says he's got it, and lopes off.
Through the glass in Julie's former trauma room, we see Doris giving Luka the bullet: "Kevin Poole, forty-two, and very drunk. Under police pursuit until he plowed into a concrete column; needed the Jaws of Life to pull him out." Cut to Kevin's belligerent face, bellowing with pain. Doris says that his vitals are stable but that he's a pain in the ass, and makes for the door. Luka yells at Kevin to calm down. Kevin exhales in Lisa's direction, and she sniffs, "Ooh, lovely," I guess smelling his stank breath. Luka asks Doris why the police were chasing Kevin, I guess because he's never heard of a little device known as irony. Doris tells him that Kevin was driving drunk and "took out a whole family of pedestrians at a crosswalk." Well, of course he did. Luka sets his jaw. A nurse hands him a kit and Luka yells at Kevin -- who's still bellowing and grunting and trying to get up -- that they're going to put a tube in his nose. Lisa asks Luka whether he wants her to "numb him up first," but Luka doesn't. Well, of course he doesn't. Luka indelicately shoves the tube up Kevin's nose, making sure that he really feels every inch of it. Apparently it hurts. A lot. Luka's jaw works as he gets that bastard all up in there.
Benton waits at Doc Magoo's, fidgeting with a bottle of water. Braids strolls in, asking what's good. Benton awkwardly glances around, and Braids asks, "What's wrong? You ain't hungry?" Adele Newman, the little-seen-this-season social worker, approaches and tentatively says, "Hi, Kynesha." Braids coldly asks Benton who she is, and Benton tells her Adele's name and occupation. Adele sits down beside Benton. Braids, hurt, says she thought Benton called her down so that she could be with Benton. Benton patiently explains that he's trying to find Braids a permanent place to live. Adele tells her about a pair of foster parents she thinks would be a good fit for Braids. Braids ignores her, and says to Benton, "I thought you said you cared about me!" Benton clarifies that he said he cared what happens to her. Braids starts to get agitated: "Yeah, right. You're only doing all this because of Jesse. You think I don't know that?" Benton says that isn't true. Braids, yelling now: "And I know that bitch Cleo don't like me!...I knew that from jump street!" Uh...what? Sorry, I'm white, and Canadian, and I am really not familiar with inner-city Chicago slang. I don't know what that means. ["It means 'from the get-go.'" -- Sars] ["Oh." -- Wing Chun] Adele reminds Braids that she is a minor with no means of supporting herself, and sets out her options: "It's either foster care, or becoming a ward of the state. Which would you prefer?" Braids's little face folds in on itself, and she turns back to Benton and sobs, "Fine. You don't want me? I'm gone." She storms out; Benton makes to follow her, but Adele volunteers to do it instead, and takes off. Benton huffs.
Without getting into all the jargon of this scene, Elizabeth operates on Julie, and it's not going well. Elizabeth's voice shakes and she pants...basically, she completely chokes on a procedure we're to think is fairly routine. Elizabeth finally yells for Shirley to get Romano. Shirley, seeming a bit scared by Elizabeth's loss of composure, says she doesn't know if he's available. Elizabeth, more urgently, screeches for her to "get Romano, get Benton [hee!] -- get somebody!"
Kevin's trauma room. Kevin is handcuffed to the bed as a cop asks Lisa how he's doing. Lisa tells the cop Kevin's blood-alcohol level, and says he's stable. The cop arrests Kevin for vehicular manslaughter. "Whaaaat?!" Kevin drones. Luka scans the belly and says, pretty much, that Kevin's fine. The cop gets his SAG card by shirtily informing Lisa, "Three DUIs, a revoked license, and the idiot still gets behind the wheel." Kevin keeps trying to get up; no one in the room really has any patience for it. Benton comes in to consult and finds some tenderness near Kevin's navel. He calls for a CT. Luka asks if he really thinks it's necessary, and Benton says that it's hard to assess patients when they're very drunk, and that he likes to be sure.
Lisa goes out to the hall to call for a CT, and Carter strolls past her. She touches his arm on his way by, as she's put on hold. Carter comes back, and Lisa asks, "How'd it go?" Carter disingenuously says that the evaluation went very well. "And...?" Lisa prompts. "What?" says Carter. "Forget it," she snorts. Carter whines, "Well, I didn't get a chance; you interrupted with the big trauma." "Forget it!" she snaps, and Carter ambles off. The person on the other end of the phone picks up just as Luka comes along and asks what's happening with her and Carter. She says it's nothing. He says it looked like they were fighting, and she admits they were. He gives her a look like, "Yeah...?" and Lisa impatiently says, "I would tell you, but it's a privacy thing -- his, not mine." Luka clasps his hands for a moment, seemingly waiting, and moves on. Aw. You know I really wanted these two to make it. I still think they can. Stupid Carter, with the wedge he's driving between them. And, stupid Lisa and her issues. Though I admire her not spilling everything to Luka. God knows I couldn't keep a secret half that big.
Romano rides into Julie's OR to save the day. He can't believe how bad things are, and that Elizabeth didn't think to do...some really minor fix that he hyperbolizes she learned "in grade school." She says that she thinks it would be best if he had another assistant, and takes off, ignoring his angry protests.
Luka is at the desk when Mark shows up to annoy us all with his sunny disposition and mellow world-view. Get lost, you damn hippie! Anyway, Luka offers to help him to walk, but Mark says he's fine. They both go into the lounge. Luka asks what he's doing, and Mark says he's having radiation therapy, "every day for six weeks," and that Elizabeth was supposed to give him a lift, but she's still in surgery. They exposit that Chen's still out on leave. Luka asks Mark when he's coming back to work, and Mark says, "week, I hope." week? Dude. I have long-term disability in order to assure that I continue to enjoy an income in the unlikely event -- let's all touch wood, now -- that I ever experience a health scare like this. And I mean it covers me for over a year. Why is Mark coming back to work not even a month after his brain surgery?! He can barely walk! What the hell good will he be to any patients?! Whatever. He settles onto the couch and then stretches out on it. Luka remarks that he's had a "fast recovery," and Mark agrees, "Speed of light." Luka says he heard that Mark was doing immune therapy, and Mark says he will be, "as soon as the tumour vaccine's ready." Luka nods. Mark asks if everything's okay in the ER, and Luka says, "Okay as ever. Don't worry." Mark smiles, "I don't. Honest. Life's too short, you know?" Oh MAN. Here we go, with the clichés and the platitudes. Of course, your job is not your life, and you should never get so worried about it that it's at the forefront of your mind when you have just had a tumour taken out of your brain. But this superior attitude people -- only on TV, mind -- have when they've just been through a health scare, like they somehow engineered the whole thing to give themselves a break, like Mark's trip to New York for incredibly invasive surgery was a month in fucking Club Med and that now he's the original Hakuna Matata...it's so patronizing to real people who have had health scares like this, and who still have a sense that there is more to the function of the world than themselves and their own surpassing happiness and fulfillment -- which is not to say that people shouldn't be happy and fulfilled in their jobs as much as in their lives, but that you can't just wake up one day and decide not to give a rat's ass anymore because your happiness and fulfillment are more important than anything else, especially when you are a doctor and people's lives are literally in your hands, okay? There are some things you cannot shine on! And if your job is such a drag that you can't muster the energy to care about it at the expense -- from time to time -- of yourself, then you should quit. And I really hope Mark does, because then I wouldn't have to see his Deepak Chopra-spouting ass week in and week out, which would do wonders for my own happiness and fulfillment vis-à-vis my job. Anyway, Mark patronizingly tells Luka that life's too short, and Luka quietly says, "I know." Because, Mark? HE KNOWS. Like, first-hand. So SHUT UP. Mark pretends to care about someone other than himself by asking how Luka is, and he says he's "the same," which is an interesting answer. Luka adds that it's good to see Mark, and leaves.
Luka goes into a curtain area looking for the bishop, but Conni tells him that the bishop went to Trauma One to perform Last Rites.
Sure enough, Bishop Cromwell is performing Last Rites over Kevin. Benton tells Luka that Kevin crashed during CT from a large intra-abdominal hemorrhage. The jargon and the absolution overlap, which is actually a pretty effective device. Luka tells the bishop to leave, and takes over stabilizing him; Luka and the bishop exchange a long look. Over his shoulder, the Bishop calls, "That'll do, Drunk. That'll do."
Lisa, in her street clothes, sets a pile of folders on the desk and makes to leave. Carter, standing by the board, asks if she's taking off, and she curtly says she is. Carter follows, saying he knows a guy who's playing in a blues club later, if she's interested. She hurries along without looking at him, and says she's just going to go home. Carter suggests that they go another night this week, and turns to go, but she calls him back and says, "I need to talk to you about this Weaver thing." Carter lowers his voice and says, "Look, nothing really happened! I threw them up." Lisa looks down and smiles sadly, "Carter..." Carter persists, "I know I'm fine, you know I'm fine, Weaver thinks I'm fine, so why give her any reason not to?" Lisa, still looking at the floor, says, "I don't know. Maybe you could take that up with your sponsor." "What?" Carter asks. "I don't want to be your sponsor anymore," she blurts, gently. Carter, a little rocked, it seems, asks where that's coming from, and Lisa says, "I care about you, and I care about your recovery, but I can't keep saying the same things over and over, because it's hard enough to do it for myself." Carter asks if she's serious, and she says she is. Carter, reacting to his hurt by getting pissy, says, "Fine, I'll get another sponsor." "Okay," says Lisa. There's an awkward beat, and she leaves.
Finch heads into post-op recovery to see Julie and break the news that Amy died. Julie says, "No! No!" about forty times. I know she's sad. I don't know what I would say in the same position. But Julie's saying "no" like they can argue about it. Hi, she's dead. It's not like Finch had her repossessed.
The bishop contemplates his new cane as Luka tells him he'll take Prednisone for the few days. Joe comes in and, a little to excitedly, tells the bishop that their car has arrived. The bishop thanks him, and dismisses him. Alone again with Luka, the bishop asks what happened to Kevin Poole. "The drunk?" Luka barks. The bishop stares. Luka goes on, "He died on the table." The bishop comments, "At least he found absolution." Luka gives him a "girl, please" look, and the bishop intuits, "You don't believe that." Luka says, "He ran down a family in the street. The mother is upstairs in surgery." "I see," says the bishop. "And does that make him any the less worthy of salvation?" Uh. Yeah. I mean, sorry, but, yeah. It's not like he had a heart attack and lost control of his truck and hit the Hembrees. He was drunk. Luka opines that Kevin was more scared than sorry, at the end, and the bishop agrees, "Yes, but he found God in his final moments, and he asked for forgiveness." Luka growls, "So any fool can get into heaven if he's scared enough to say he's sorry right before he dies?" The bishop gets up (on the moral high ground) and declares, "Everybody deserves to be comforted in their darkest hour." Luka sniffs, "Too bad you weren't there to comfort the little girl he killed." The bishop says, "I didn't need to be. God was there." "Was he?" Luka wonders. The bishop has no response. Luka clenches his jaw, and then tells the bishop to see his doctor this week, and to use the cane. He takes off.
Weaver, in a great beige wool Paddington Bear coat, crutches off with an armful of folders. Carter intercepts her and offers to help with her files, and asks if she has a minute to talk.
In an x-ray viewing room, Weaver starts to tell Carter that if he's going to talk about Mitchell's admission of Anne, but Carter interrupts, "A couple of weeks ago, I took some Vicodin out of a patient's prescription bottle, and I swallowed them. And then I went into the bathroom and stuck my finger down my throat." Weaver carefully asks whether he "successfully expelled them." Carter says he did. She sighs loudly. Carter tells her he didn't know why he did it: "I just found myself...doing it. I just thought you should know." She says she appreciates his telling her, and that she'll see him tomorrow; she steps forward to retrieve her files. He asks what she's going to do, and she replies that she's going to "give it some thought," and that, in the meantime, he should keep going to his meetings. Nice scene. Understated.
Mark struggles out of the hospital, all bundled up. Elizabeth rushes over to him and says she can't believe he waited, and she thought he would have taken a cab. They gingerly go down the stairs together, and he tells her he thought she could use some company, and asks how the meeting went. She tells him that they settled "rather cheaply." He asks if they should go out and celebrate, and snickers, "What, with you like this?" He suggests that they could go home and take a nap instead, and she says she doesn't feel like celebrating, anyway. He intones, "You're off the hook. It's okay to be happy." She helps him into the van, saying, "I can't. It's my fault, Mark!" He suns, "Elizabeth, we're not saints. We just try to get it right as often as we can." She curtly tells him that she doesn't want to talk about it. "Elizabeth --" he says, and she snaps, "Mark, please!" She slams the door on him. Break up. Break up!
Benton holds the car door open for Finch, outside her house. She blahs about Amy's brand-new shoes. Benton agrees that it's harder when dead patients are young. They talk sickening pre-sex sexy talk.
Finch opens the door to her house, and then both their faces fall. The place is totally trashed, up to and including slashing open upholstery and pulling out the stuffing, spray-painting on the walls, and apparently smashing all available glass. "Look what she did to my house!" Finch breathes, and Benton says, "It's okay, I'll take care of it." Finch wheels around and barks, "No, it is NOT okay! LOOK at this!" Benton repeats that he'll take care of it. She cries, and looks shell-shocked.
Weaver crutches into Doc Magoo's and spots Mitchell sitting alone in a booth. Weaver goes straight to her and sits down opposite her. Mitchell checks her watch and says she was just about to leave, if Weaver wants the table. Weaver stops her and says that she called Mitchell's office and they told Weaver she might find Mitchell there: "I was hoping that we could talk." Mitchell smirks, "I don't know, Kerry. We've already talked a lot today." Weaver, tearing up, murmurs, "I know that it's been tense between us, and I really don't mean it to be." Mitchell quietly says that she's sure it'll pass. Weaver tells her that she respects Mitchell as a colleague. "Today notwithstanding," Mitchell adds. "I miss you," Weaver says, without any pauses or pretenses. Mitchell raises an eyebrow and says, "Well, that'll pass, too. In a few weeks, we'll just be friendly co-workers again." Weaver says, "I've been thinking, and I'm not sure that's what I want." Mitchell takes a deep breath and gets up, telling Weaver to have a good night. Weaver gets up and follows her, throatily saying, "I'd like you to stay." Mitchell gazes at her, looking for a sign to bolt. Weaver stares back, looking vulnerable. Mitchell's not good enough for Weaver, frankly. But good for them! Weaver, you get down with your bad bi self!
Benton and Finch slowly work on setting things right in Finch's house. It's sad. I kind of hate Benton right now. Benton breaks the silence: "Look, I know you might not want to hear this right now. I know it's been rough, with everything. Between us. I'm not easy. I haven't been there for you -- not the way you've been there for me. I never worked at being with someone. I never even wanted to. But I want to, with you. I love you." Ah. And now I hate him even more. Benton? Look into my eyes. This isn't the droid you're looking for.