By Heathen
Before beginning this week's madcap adventure, the good people at ER would like to remind you that Carter's Gamma refused to heed her grandson's warning that her fainting spells might foreshadow heart problems. Luka got Neecole a job at County General and admitted to Abby that the French babe is shacking up with him because he wants to help her. Roger reminded a gloating Benton that Reese's paternity is far from certain. Elizabeth stressed about the fact that four consecutive patients died of post-op infections; a criminal investigator implied she's euthanizing them. Oh, and in case anyone missed the memo, an old friend called Susan Lewis has returned to the ER.
A very cute young man stands motionless on the pavement, staring at a piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand. It's the ER ratings, which he decides far outweigh the show's descent into crapulocity; his last-minute misgivings about the role finally vanish. Stylish director-siren Laura Innes convinces us that he's actually looking at a map of the hospital; she cuts to a close-up of it as the kid rotates the page, studies it and finally decides that the giant thing in front of him that resembles the main entrance is, in fact, The Main Entrance. He's all adorable and eager and clad in a necktie. Crouching to the ground, he picks up a white glove and purposefully carries it inside.
Boy Wonder clears his throat behind Haleh, who is on the phone. Without looking, she calls, "Sign in." She's trying to get T-sheets from the obviously-in-error supplier, but Boy Wonder interrupts to explain that he's the new med student. Given that we've seen two other new med students in the past two weeks, Boy Wonder might want to be a bit more specific. Haleh boredly says, "Congratulations," and keeps right on talking. Boy Wonder flashes a huge, sweet smile, because for the time being, he thinks this will be a fun place to work. Ha! Just wait until he meets Elizabeth. And Mark. And Weaver, and Romano, and the rest of the good-times gang. Haleh tells him to check in with the doctors. Boy Wonder, lonely white glove in hand, wonders where the Lost & Found box might be; "Somebody stole it," Haleh says, walking away.
Dr. Susan "The Hair Up There" Lewis breezes to the front desk. "Excuse me, ma'am," Boy Wonder says politely. "Are you Dr. Carter, by chance?" Strike one. "Lewis," she corrects. "I don't think he's in yet. And I'm not old enough to be a 'ma'am.'" The first two times I watched this scene, I honestly thought she said, "I'm not old enough to be a man." And I laughed out loud, because it made no sense and I loved it that way. Alas, the writers aren't that playful. Boy Wonder apologizes and explains that he's due to meet Carter at 8 AM. "You're a tad early," she grins. Boy Wonder is just too excited, and decided to come early. "You'll get over it," Susan chuckles, strolling away.
Dr. Susan "The Hair Up There" Lewis breezes to the front desk. "Excuse me, ma'am," Boy Wonder says politely. "Are you Dr. Carter, by chance?" Strike one. "Lewis," she corrects. "I don't think he's in yet. And I'm not old enough to be a 'ma'am.'" The first two times I watched this scene, I honestly thought she said, "I'm not old enough to be a man." And I laughed out loud, because it made no sense and I loved it that way. Alas, the writers aren't that playful. Boy Wonder apologizes and explains that he's due to meet Carter at 8 AM. "You're a tad early," she grins. Boy Wonder is just too excited, and decided to come early. "You'll get over it," Susan chuckles, strolling away.
Susan walks up to a Mr. Hopper and spits out the rote "what seems to be the problem?" line. "I can't eat, I can't sleep," Hopper complains. "I just don't feel like myself." He's a deeply bored-looking man, and he sits cross-legged on the bed. Susan wonders whether he's been under any stress at work or at home, to which Hopper replies that the symptoms all started when he met a girl in an after-hours club and she bit him. "She bit you? Where?" Susan asks. Hopper leaps to the obvious punch line: "In the alley outside the club," he answers. That knee-slapping sound? Comes from me slapping my knee...against my forehead. Hopper pulls down his collar to reveal the alleged bite mark. Susan peers at it. "That's a hickey," she groans.
Dr. Mark "All Bare Up There" Greene holds up a skull x-ray. They're twins, except for the obvious fact that the x-ray has more charm and charisma. And hair. "Is that a zygoma fracture?" Boy Wonder asks, appearing behind Mark. "Maybe," evades Mark. Boy Wonder wants to know if Mark is Carter. Strike Two. "I'm Michael Gallant," Boy Wonder exposits. Bing! We have a name. It rhymes with "savant," for those who read but don't watch. Gallant adds that he's there to meet Carter. "Well, you found the ER," Mark notes. "That's half the battle." His attention diverted by a British banshee, Mark sheds Gallant and follows the ruckus.
"You called for a surgical consult!" rages Dr. Elizabeth "The Glare Up There" Corday, chasing a probably frightened Dr. Luka "An Insect Up Where?" Kovac. She thinks he changed his mind once he saw her; Luka just tries to escape from the scene unscathed. "He's got rectal pain!" Luka insists of his patient. "It's probably prostatitis." No dice. "That's precisely why I need to look at him," she argues. "If it's an appy, he's going to need surgery." Mark noses into the fight by offering a second opinion, so Luka exposits that his patient is a twenty-two-year-old man with right-sided tenderness and a burning sensation during urination. He's still waiting on urine and white-count test results, and claims that he didn't expect the surgical consult to come down until after the labs came back; when Elizabeth appeared earlier than expected, he decided she'd be wasting her time. "Fine!" Elizabeth shouts. "When it bursts, you can operate!" As everyone disperses, steeped in crabbiness, we faintly hear Gallant asking Kovac if he is the mythical Dr. Carter. Strike fifty-three.
Down the hall, Mark chases Elizabeth, who angrily repeats all her suspicions about Kovac's reluctance to let her touch his patients. She feels like the hospital is ganging up on her, an accusation which might've had weight if we'd seen it start to build, say, last week. Still, it's clear why her reputation might be taking a beating, especially if she's a tornado of saliva and fury. Mark thinks Elizabeth is being a tad egocentric and paranoid. "AM I?" she screams.
Because his system has worked so well thus far, Gallant decides to accost yet another ER employee -- this time, it's Abby "The Despair Up There" Lockhart, who speculates that Carter should show up in a few minutes. Gallant conspiratorially notes that he would happily find Carter himself if she could just tell him where to look. Did he not hear? Carter isn't there. That means he's probably at home. As in, not at the hospital, not within scouting distance, not crouching in the corner playing jacks. In any sense of that phrase. Abby more politely shares that she really, truly can't point him in Carter's direction. Frank waddles into the reception area and bitches that the lounge is devoid of donuts. Abby attributes it to a lack of petty cash, but Frank insists there was $50 in the lockbox yesterday. I'm throwing my support behind those who think Neecole pocketed the cash.
Susan tiredly wanders over and calls out to anyone listening that she needs a Psych consult for a patient who thinks he's a vampire. "Count Fred?" Abby asks, walking toward Susan. "Where is he?" Susan refers her to Exam Two, then follows, wondering why Abby's so worried that Count Fred -- a.k.a. Mr. Hopper -- isn't being supervised. "He's a vampire," Abby says casually, quickening her step. "He drinks people's blood." Susan doesn't believe it, but sure enough, they find Count Fred in one of the trauma rooms sucking blood from a bag like Capri Sun from its convenient foil package. His jacket is thrown about his shoulders like a cape, and he peers up sheepishly at Susan, Abby and Gallant. But he keeps drinking. Susan just stares. "That's nasty," she complains. Abby rolls her eyes. Gallant doesn't react at all; it's nothing he didn't see onSurvivora few weeks ago.
We come back from the opening commercial break with a really strange shot of Carter in drag. No, whoops, that's Gamma. Her grandson comes into the dining room, tie loose around his neck, and finds Gamma dining on a grapefruit and frostily bickering with her driver, Alger. He claims the ignition coil on her car is broken, but Gamma thinks he's lying and just doesn't want her driving. Carter's fine with that -- he figures the reason they have Alger is so that Gamma won't have to do something so lowly as operating a motor vehicle. Right in front of Alger, Gamma snipes that the chauffeur was her husband's idea and now seems like an unnecessary expense. Alger resists the urge to give Gamma a grapefruit facial. Sipping his morning coffee, Carter suggests that Alger just wants to ensure Gamma's safety. "I'm a big girl, John. I don't need a chaperone," Gamma snots. The camera follows Carter while he shrugs on an overcoat; Gamma calls out a query to him, but stops mid-sentence, her pause punctuated by a dull thump. Gamma has collapsed. She did it very carefully, too, taking great pains to land on her back, loll her head to the side and bend her knees just-so, because a lady's skirt never rides up when a lady faints on her imported rug. A lady also knows that it's most flattering to let one's right arm land just above one's head, subtle mimicry of the famed hand-to-forehead flutter of, say, a Scarlett O'Hara wondering whatever shall she do, and wherever shall she go. Gamma's such a damsel. Carter is distressed, though, refusing to acknowledge the artistry of his grandmother's collapse.
Bored, Gallant sneaks up to Abby and confides that he overheard someone say that nurses handle all the triaging at County General, and so he figures it wouldn't kill Abby to sneak him a few minor cases. Hello? You're not a doctor yet, mister. Go stand in Elizabeth's climate and chill. Abby nicely orders him to sit down, read his orientation kit, and wait for Carter like a good little student.
Hurrying down the hall, Abby passes an obviously enthralled Malik being tended to by Neecole. He's grinning at her slavishly. French tarts are his favorite food. Abby's confused as to why Neecole is taking Malik's blood pressure. "I'm learning to be a nurse's aide!" Neecole chirps enthusiastically. Abby's head snaps up so fast that she gives the entire room whiplash. "Really?" she gapes. But before she can verbally slice and dice the idea, Luka bellows for Abby to help him with an incoming trauma patient, and The Flogging of Nurse Frenchie must wait. Abby snaps on her gloves while Luka helps wheel in the gurney. They head for Trauma One, but Luka spies the omnipresent Neecole and decides it'll be good for her to come along and watch the party.
"He must've taken a header off the skateboard," theorizes the paramedic. The kid has a bad head laceration and a hematoma, "right parietal-temporal." Calmly, Luka orders Abby to teach Neecole in the art of taking a pulse ox. Neecole just sort of wafts in the background, wringing her reedy hands and lamenting the fact that her lamentable streak of acting opposite Ethan Hawke didn't breed better opportunities than this. Masking her irritation, but only barely, Abby orders Neecole to don the appropriate gloves and get ready for trauma time. She then glares at Luka, who just nods her in Neecole's direction, apparently ignorant that this isn't the best place in which to play teacher-student. Speaking of which, Gallant bursts right into the trauma room and asks, "Can I watch?" What the...?!?!? Apparently, time I've got a yen to gawk at gruesome wounds, I should show up at County in a lab coat, tell everyone I'm the new med student and throw around the words "triage" and "zygoma." Or, if I show up with an accent and big wet eyes, I might actually get a paying job. Dr. Cleo "MedBot 2001" Finch, hunched over the body of a bleeding, dying boy, takes the time to introduce herself to Gallant. Fortunately, a few people are paying attention to the patient, who has road rash down his chest, a bruised abdomen, a pulse of 115, and blood pressure of 90 over 60. "Jeremy, do you remember what happened?" Luka shouts at the kid, whose eyes flutter. Cleo go-go-gadget-flashlights so she can check Jeremy's eyes, noting that his right pupil is sluggish and slightly larger than the left; she orders up a horde of tests. Jeremy groans. He hates tests. Math, English, paternity, pregnancy -- he fails them all. Neecole squeaks that she can't get a pulse ox. "Abby?" Luka needles her. Sharply ripping off her gloves, Abby huffs around the table, but adopts a patient tone when explaining how to perform the diagnostic. Luka shouts for someone to please page Benton and a neurosurgeon. "Seventy-eight," Neecole yips. Luka's all, "What? I got a C+?" But Abby interjects that seventy-eight is part of the pulse-ox reading -- seventy-eight on fifteen liters. Luka compliments Neecole on a good job, and she glows, because she's never heard that before from a guy who didn't subsequently pull up his pants and tip her. Actually, I wish they would skankify her, so I could rationalize my feelings of intense dislike. As it is, I have to pretend. Finch sums up that Jeremy is hyper-resident on the right, has decreased breath sounds, low sats, and hypertension. "Tension pneumothorax, right?" Gallant asks. "Yeah," the docs acknowledge, grudgingly. It's a collapsed lung, more or less. Gallant beams proudly. He's so adorable. I want to lick his hair.
"I had a fainting spell, John. It happens," Gamma insists. Carter has her laid up in a hospital bed with various machines hooked up to her chest. "In my day, it was acceptable for a lady to swoon," she giggles. But not over your own grandson, babe, unless you come from such towns that consider inbreeding a form of gene-pool refinement. There's another patient in the room, which is laughable, because Gamma isn't complaining about it -- somehow, I have her pegged as a stickler for the royal treatment. The patient, Kid WeNeedAWayToGetSusanInTheRoom, barely registers until Susan bounces through the door. "Hey Carter, there's a new med student looking for you," she calls out. Carter is too busy for such trifles. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Carter," Susan says politely after recognizing the older woman. Gamma swallows hard and tries to be pleasant. "Evan, I talked to your Mom. She found your inhaler in the laundry," Susan shares, so that we feel like she had a reason to be in this scene beyond mere Carter-related eavesdropping. Gamma continues to sass Carter while he plays doctor with her, but she passes out again. "Gamma?" he shouts. "Susan!" But Gamma comes around shortly thereafter; a visibly shaken Carter, after establishing that she's okay and lucid, excuses himself.
Bursting into the hall, Carter exhales and rubs his hair. Susan follows, trying to reassure him that Gamma is probably just dehydrated; he isn't much concerned with her perfunctory soothings, choosing instead to engage in some very complex fretting about big-boy things.
Gallant eagerly begs Finch to let him intubate Jeremy. "Maybe time," she brushes him off, but still, she refuses to boot him from the trauma room. His behavior reeks of inappropriateness, and for those who don't get scratch-and-sniff MBTV, "inappropriateness" smells a lot like burnt toast. No, wait -- shit! My toast! While I dash off to rescue dinner, Finch gives the bullet to Benton: teen skateboarder, tension pneumo, needs a central line, has head injury. Finch intubates. "Bag him, [Neecole]," Luka orders. Excitedly, Neecole throws Jeremy over her shoulder and takes him home for a romp. And I don't even need to touch the "one, two, three, squeeze," line. Abby isn't impressed with Luka's blind determination to involve Neecole in this case. Benton can't believe that Jeremy damaged himself so thoroughly just from falling off his skateboard; Cleo grumps that he was probably hot-dogging with "crazy-ass stunts," and ended up in the ER with a depressed skull fracture. "That's what you used to call a ping-pong fracture, right?" Gallant asks. A few heads turn. Why is he still there? The Swift Boot of Justice, which Sars and Wing Chun would've delivered an hour ago, still hasn't implanted itself in Gallant's perky anus. Jeremy's pressure suddenly plummets. Benton deduces that he's bleeding somewhere -- it was the presence of blood that tipped him off -- and shouts for some of the sweet red juice for a transfusion. Benton and Abby swap diagnostics. "What about the head?" Gallant interrupts. Benton glares. "You're the trauma surgeon, right?" Gallant asks. At this point, no one is paying Jeremy any attention. His innards could be reenacting Hamlet, with a moving performance by his cerebrum as Ophelia, and none of these boneheads would know because they're fixated on The Battle of the Male African-American Cast Members Who Aren't Malik. Benton growls that the young med student would learn more if he shut up and watched, a lesson every young, hot-blooded male should've learned by now from assorted strippers and skin flicks. Quietly, Luka points out that Gallant might be right to consider treating Jeremy's head. "It won't matter if he bleeds out through his chest first," Benton snaps, wheeling Jeremy out of the room.
"You did good," Luka tells Neecole, who smiles nervously. "Really? I was so scared," she replies. "You get used to it," he insists. "I don't know," mutters Neecole, removing the surgical specs she'd donned. "You saved his life." Luka hopes so. Neecole decides she has work to do, and leaves; Luka stares after her a second, then walks in the other direction -- and straight into a waiting Abby. "What are you doing?" she barks, unable to believe that Neecole went from supply runner to learning blood pressure to the trauma room. "She's learning!" Luka argues. "To be an aide, not a nurse!" yells Abby, totally affronted that Luka seemed to equate the two positions. Luka thinks Abby just doesn't like Neecole, which is true, but Abby rightly points out that her feelings for the girl are moot in this situation. "It's inappropriate for her to be in a trauma, and you know it," she lays into him. Luka weakly protests that he just asked her to help Neecole. "That's not my job, Luka!" Abby says, exasperated. "Do you even realize what I do in there?" This bewilders Luka. The look on his face is classic: his eyes pop out a bit and he chokes on his words, because obviously, he can't quite articulate exactly what Abby's role would be. He's so very, very busted. He's Aretha Franklin busted. He's Anna Nicole Smith busted.
Benton tells Finch that he'll scrub in, if she'll please page neurosurgery again. Just then, a yobbo whose nice suit can't hide his utter yobbodom enters and serves Big B with some papers. Grimly, he opens the envelope, notes it's from Roger, and reveals to Finch that the Klingons are suing to regain control of their heir.
Gallant trots behind Luka, pestering him with questions about Jeremy's brain injury. A security guard strolls unnoticed behind them, until he wonders aloud whether Jeremy will be okay. "You his father?" Luka asks. No, he's David Hilliker, the man who called 911. David exposits that Jeremy was screwing around with his buddies in the mall; he regurgitates too cheerfully that Jeremy stupidly wasn't wearing a helmet, because helmets seem uncool to kids today, so watch out kids, because skateboards are silent killers, and isn't it twisted that the law doesn't require motorbike riders to wear helmets, and hasn't the advent of Entenmann's non-fat pound cake changed the world as we know it? Or, in more technical terms, "Blah, snore, PSA, whee." While the man blathers, Gallant notices he's walking with a slight limp; David cheerfully explains he twisted it a tad chasing after Jeremy and his evil posse of rapscallions. Luka decides to examine it, and even as David deflects that an ice-pack and some beers will cure what ails him, he lets the good doc escort him to an exam room.
Cut to Abby patiently explaining to two fully-garbed nuns that Carter just isn't available right now to change any bandages. The Strumpet Sisters insist their thighs would rather wait for the soft, smooth hands of Dr. Erotica. "I'm very patient," leers the older of the two. "Look, Sister," Abby starts to spit. "Helen," interrupts the woman. Abby nods. "The sooner you let me change the bandage..." "I'm Monica!" chirps the drippy younger nun, leaning toward Abby. Sister Helen darts her a hilarious look of pure skepticism, as if she doesn't quite feel right about her protégé's appraising glances and enthusiasm for Abby. It's only on-screen for a split second, but it's fairly awesome. Abby squints at Monica by way of acknowledgement and continues talking. "...the sooner you can get out and get back to doing your...stuff," she says, lamely. "And quite frankly, I need the bed." Helen sighs condescendingly and suggests that Abby notify Carter of their divine presence. Abby visibly tenses, fighting back all the slapping urges she's pent up, and bolts toward the suddenly approaching Carter.
"Your fans are getting restless," she tells him. "What is it with you and nuns, Carter?" Haleh asks. "It's almost kinky," chips in Chuny, who is otherwise very busy licking clean a piece of Tupperware. What a waste of a Chuny. Give her lines, not dirty plastic. Carter looks a tad rumpled in his suit, staring defeatedly at the nuns before begging Abby to handle it because of Gamma's illness. "I just want to make sure she gets settled before I clock in," he explains. Abby promises to handle it, apparently unconcerned that other people might be waiting for the bed that went to Carter's grandmother, based solely on preferential treatment. I admittedly know little about how hospitals work, and I'm glad of that in a way, but it feels wrong that Gamma can get in so easily when we've seen so many episodes with patient backlogs and crammed waiting rooms. I say, make Gamma sit shoulder-to-shoulder with the Great Unwashed.
Frank bitches about Tequila Willy, a man covered in his own puke and bodily fluids and emitting a potent aroma. "This place always reeks," Chuny says, having now resorted to taking whole bites out of the plastic container. Haleh happily notes that it's Abby's turn to clean up after him, so Abby turns right around and summons Neecole. "Grab some gloves," she orders. "I'm going to show you how to bathe a patient." Ha! That's inspired. Abby is my evil soulmate. As they walk past Reception, we see Haleh and Chuny swap mischievous smiles.
Dr. Robert "Clean Hands, Dirty Mind" Romano scrubs in for surgery. Elizabeth charges up to him and bellows the ultimate of blooper-reel lines: "Robert! Dale's doing my Whipple!" Be sure and Lysol yourself, then, Dale. If Mark was around, he'd summon all the machismo his sissy body can muster, march right up to Dale and deliver the most painful, devastating poke on the arm in the history of the putz kingdom. Romano notes that Dale is an arrogant asshole, sure, but a decent surgeon, and isn't that kettle over there just the blackest thing ever? Elizabeth thought she was back on rotation today, but Romano shoots her down. "I've complied with every insulting, demeaning request!" she rants, right down to taking a lie-detector test. Romano half-heartedly tries to appease her by noting the criminal investigation of last week has apparently been halted due to lack of evidence. "So what does that mean? 'We think you're killing your patients, we just can't prove it'?" she yells. Romano suggests that this doesn't have anything to do with her, but she bitterly insists that if he speaks the truth, she'd still be in the OR. Biting his lip a bit, Romano tells her to use the time to catch up on dictation and spend time with her baby. "Enjoy the down time," he smirks. But by now, Elizabeth has stopped paying attention...
...because she spied something in a room behind Romano. Bursting inside, she rails on Kit -- who's tending to one of her patients -- accusing her of injecting something into a central line. Kit is stunned. "It was clogged," she sputters. "I couldn't draw [blood]." Elizabeth snarls a promo-worthy "What did you inject into my patient?" and "Don't lie to me! I saw you!" and she might as well have come out and said, "Are you the Angel of Death?" because that's what the NBC promo department wanted us to think when it cut together last week's ad. Romano intervenes, and Kit reasserts that she was simply injecting eurochinase into the central line to bust a clot. "Where's the vial?" screams a frenzied Elizabeth. Romano just watched, amused, while she makes a complete ass of herself rooting around for the medicine bottle. Naturally, Elizabeth finds it, Kit is telling the truth, and the whole tantrum was for naught. Disgusted at that bitch nurse for not being a saboteur, Elizabeth throws down the bottle, mutters an insincere apology, and stalks out of the room.
Luka sits near David's bed, finishing up his examination. David brags that he spent twenty-five years in the Chicago police department, but never once fired his gun. "These are different times," he sighs. Really? Is there more call to shoot people these days? Hmm. Color me ignorant. Luka orders him to stay off the ankle and keep it elevated, and promises a lesson in crutches from one of the nurses. Haleh pokes her head into the room. "Jeremy's mother's here," she says.
A sad-looking brunette rubs her face. She's Mrs. Norris, Jeremy's mother, and she's fairly aggrieved at her son's fate. "How is he?" she implores Luka. To minimize the panicked woman's mounting fear, Luka soothes her with word of her son's hematoma, collapsed lung and pool of blood collecting in his chest cavity; as a bonus, he adds that Jeremy's in the OR, and then ices the tragedy cake with news of his probable head injury. Mrs. Norris celebrates by covering her mouth and sobbing. The kid with her, presumably Jeremy's prepubescent skater pal, bolts upright and points at David, who is limping toward them. "There's the idiot who was chasing him! Right there!" he shouts. Mrs. Norris bristles and flings accusations at the man, supported by helpful comments from Skippy like, "He threw a stick at him!" and "You knocked him off his skateboard!" The hysteria engendered by Runty Puberty Friend's Finger of Blame continues to devolve into shouts and screams, matched with David's fervent denials. Gallant escorts the guard away. "I saw it all," Runty Oily Squeak Boy whimpers. "That man should be arrested, or something." Mrs. Norris wants to see her son, so Luka promises to check on him quickly and return with an update. "Dr. Kovac," calls Gallant. "I think [David is] having a heart attack!" Spotty Pimple Pus Child snorts, "Good." Mrs. Norris stares down the hall. Luka totally wants a Tylenol, but Tylenol didn't sponsor this week's show, so nobody offers him one.
David, suffering from chest pains, is hyperventilating. "I don't feel so good," he groans, hunched on a bed in an exam room. "My head is spinning." Luka sends Gallant in search of oxygen, aspirin, and some EKG equipment. David insists he was only trying to offer his condolences, and didn't mean to upset Mrs. Norris. "He rode by me, stole my hat," pants David. "[He kept] tossing it back and forth, threatening to throw it in the fountain. They were terrorizing the entire mall!" Yeah! Take note, Hat Terrorists! Vengeance is coming for you, in the form of portly men in tan uniforms -- just like The Bible said it would happen. Without making eye contact, Luka softly asks whether David lobbed his nightstick at Jeremy. No answer.
Elizabeth, carrying a fat stack of files, hails Dr. Zogoiby with a question about a patient of hers that he worked on several weeks ago. "I'm having a little difficulty reading your notes," she says, apologetically. "You put in a central line." Zogoiby checks the file, and reminds her that he skipped out before performing the procedure because his son fell off the monkey bars at school. The on-call anesthesiologist subbed for him. "Babcock," he says. "Babcock!" Elizabeth whispers. "Babcock!" I shout. "Babcock," the wind whistles. "Bad cock!" yells Mark, before realizing he woefully misheard the chorus.
Romano and Benton burst out of the OR after tweaking Jeremy. "Think that kid'll ever wake up?" Romano wonders cheerfully. "I don't know," Benton says flatly. Romano cracks that Benton's scaring him by not acting his usual jolly self. "You haven't developed a drug addiction or drinking problem like the rest of your misfit [pals] in the ER, have you?" he smirks. "No," Benton sighs. "Give it time," cracks Romano. That man is a slice of heaven. Fortunately for Benton, he's shredding his contract just in time. Jacy pops by and tells the wacky docs that Mrs. Norris awaits word on her son. Romano totally doesn't want to deal with it, so he's relieved when Benton offers. "Have you tracked down my sister yet?" he asks Jacy. "I left another message," she says, miraculously unpeeved by this gross misuse of her services.
Mrs. Norris rises when she sees Benton approach. "How is he?" she quizzes desperately. Benton shares that he tied off the bleeding vessels, but that the neurosurgeon is still working on the brain swelling; from here, it's a waiting game, which must be a popular cliché in the ER, given that Susan said the same thing when meningitis felled our fair Fraulein. "Waiting to see if he wakes up, [or] to see if he's a vegetable?" Mrs. Norris asks plainly. Yes, and yes. "They've got to be able to do something," she wails, dropping the "he's all I've got" card on the table and daring Benton to beat her hand.
Gallant follows Mark around like a puppy. No! Latch onto someone, anyone, other than Mark! You're still pure! "Ever gotten an arythropoeitic porphyria?" he asks. "Nope," Mark says charismatically. "What about a porphyria cutanea tarda?" Gallant wonders, and here, I think he really speaks for all of us. "Nope," Mark says. He needs to get out more. For that matter, so does Mr. Multisyllable over there. Gallant queries Mark as to his most unusual case. "I had a guy with a live bullfrog in his ass once," Mark muses. Feh. That's just nature. Gallant gobbles this up, though, tailing Mark through the hospital, mercifully oblivious to the desperate look Mark shoots Susan. You know, Gallant is certainly relentless, but he's not as vile as Lucy Knight. He's being peppered throughout the episode instead of dominating it, and that's much more appropriate than Lucy's first foray into my cold, coal heart. Suddenly, Mark spies a patient and becomes inspired. "Ever seen a patient scratch through his skin into the bone?" he asks. Gallant hasn't. And, ew. "We figure he'll hit gray matter by spring," Mark says, gesturing to a man perched in the hallway and bleeding from the head while Carter's patrician grandmother reorganizes her purse in a snuggly, clean bed. "Mr. Elden? Show the young med student your itch."
After dumping Gallant, Mark grabs Susan and urgently whispers, "Save me!" She snickers that Gallant sure seems nice. "Of course he does. That's how they all start, until they grow up to become residents like Carter," Mark snorts. Does he have a feud with Carter? Or is jealous Mark probing for information? Regardless, he should shut up, because I'm racking my brain to remember the last time Carter abused his power as a doctor and let a man die in an elevator -- and you know what? I'm coming up blank. So piss off, Milquetoastius Maximus. Susan, though, reacts with a genuine "I wish!" that catches Mark off-guard. "What? He turned into a good doctor," she argues. Mark, still stunned, asks Susan whether she and Carter are...and he can't quite get out the words. He's more than off-kilter; he traded his kilter for a bottle of Jack Daniels and a clue, but accidentally dropped both down a sewer and ended up sober, unsteady and just plain stupid. Susan and Mark share a long look, his of curiosity and slight affront, hers of mounting amusement with a tinge of blush. Gallant picks this moment to pop up again. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting?" he asks. Aw. He is, and I love him for it. Susan beams that he absolutely isn't, and lets the student accost Mark anew.
Susan runs into Carter near the stairwell. "I was just talking about you," she grins, giggling to herself. "How's your grandmother?" Carter hangs his head and reveals that she's got Shy-Drager Syndrome, scratching his neck and grimacing in a fairly appealing, boyish way that betrays his discomfort. In a show of support, Susan blathers about two treatments she's heard that have good success rates in combating Shy-Drager, then asks how Gamma took the news. "I haven't told her yet," Carter confesses. "Anything I can do?" Susan asks, as an extra swaddled in a Burberry scarf rounds the corner behind her and heads upstairs. "I don't think so," he says sadly. Cut. The extras reset; lights, camera, action. "Let me know," Susan says, as all the same extras come from all the same positions they did in the last shot, moving in all the same directions and wearing all the same blatantly displayed Burberry items they did before. It's pretty jarring, actually, because the two shots are very close together and are identical but for Susan's line. Bad editing, there, ER.
As Susan leaves, Mark spies Carter and flags him down, introducing Gallant and foisting him upon our swarthy Chief Resident. Carter distractedly tells him to grab the orientation package and get to work on it, but Gallant has of course already done that, since he's been waiting for Carter all morning. As Gallant approaches Carter, who is still positioned in front of the stairs, The Burberry Scarf appears -- the one that not two shots ago disappeared up to the second floor -- and walks right in front of Gallant, having just broken the land-speed record during its lap up and down the hospital steps. Same extra, same costume, same suspicious hat covering his face, same spy-movie trenchcoat that screams, "The plaid pig clucked in Czech at midnight." Carter explains that he's been preoccupied with a family emergency; he and Gallant commence pedeconferencing. "Nothing serious, I hope," Gallant says smoothly. "Want to talk about it?" Carter just looks at him. "Oookay. Well, I watched a trauma already and helped Dr. Kovac with a possible MI, both of which were very interesting," Gallant chirps. Carter disappears just as he begins pleading for his own cases. Abby notices this and arrives to Gallant at the exact moment he realizes Carter ditched him. "He stepped into the men's room," she chuckles, then kindly offers to hook him up with a few patients. Gallant's angelic smile is well worth the effort.
Elizabeth hunts down Kit and offers a semi-heartfelt apology for her unprofessional behavior earlier. "I know it's not an excuse," she notes. "But I have been under a lot of stress lately." Kit understands. Elizabeth gets to her point, because of course she's not admitting error without an ulterior motive. Whipping out Mr. Durning's file, she jogs Kit's memory as to his case -- hemicolectomy, colon cancer -- and shows that the chart indicates Kit removed the central line on October 16. "No, we didn't do it," Kit recalls. "Babcock did." Narrowing her eyes, Elizabeth growls, "Babcock!" Babcock. Kit shares that sometimes, Babcock likes to pull his own line. Don't all men? "In fact, occasionally he insists on it," Kit says. Again, don't all men? Maybe week, I'll challenge myself to write the entire recap without sexual humor. Think I can do it? Yeah, me neither.
An elderly gent who wishes he were William H. Macy explains to Gallant that he gave his aging wife some penicillin from his medicine cabinet to combat her sore throat. "You should never share prescriptions," Gallant advises. A girl sitting just beyond the curtain peeks at the scene, clearly eavesdropping. Gallant gently examines Mrs. Macy's throat, learns she's suffered from basic flu-like symptoms, and diagnoses "hypersensitivity vasculities" brought on by the use of the old antibiotics. "Thank you, Dr. Kevorkian," Mrs. Macy mutters lovingly at her husband. Aw. They're kinda cute. Gallant smiles brightly and promises to return with proper medicine to treat her condition. Drawing the curtain, he struts away.
"You might want a CBC," the girl calls out to Gallant. He turns and gets an eyeful of her: thin, pale bordering on wan, dark hair, large brown eyes. She's in a schoolgirl kilt and knee-high boots and looks a tad smug. She elaborates that Mrs. Macy's history indicates that she might suffer from undiagnosed thrombocytopenia -- low platelets. Gallant arches an eyebrow. "You are...?" he asks, quizzically. "Grace, second-year med student," she replies. "Ask if she has any unusual bleeding when she brushes her teeth." Bristling, Gallant haughtily asks whether she's assigned to County General, learns she isn't, and reprimands her for not minding her own business. Carter overhears this much and stops, intrigued. "Is he your med student?" Grace asks, exasperated. Gallant protests that she's a second-year who reckons she can skip around and diagnose people; she counters again that Gallant takes lousy patient histories and might have overlooked thrombocytopenia. With one glance at the chart, Carter confirms that Grace is correct and rattles off a list of tests for Gallant to order. He has the good manners to accept his mistake and politely comply with the orders. Snottily, Grace waves at his retreating back. "You're welcome," she calls out. Ugh. How fucking superior of her.
Carter turns his attention to Grace, wondering whether she does self-diagnosis. Need he ask? The girl earnestly flaunts her skills, so of course she's going to assume she's ten watts brighter than all the other doctors. "I've let myself get a little run down, and I can feel the flu coming on," she begins, babbling about her upcoming exam and how it's a bad time to be sick, so she wants Relenza or Tamiflu. Carter figures he can hook her up; maybe she should've begged for something stronger. She exposits that she's attending two colleges right now, simultaneously working toward law and medical degrees because her parents would only pay for the latter if she studied the former. Carter sympathizes.
Neecole juggles an armload of hospital supplies, which I believe are officially called "blue plastic thingamajigs." Gallant mistakes her for a nurse, but she cheerfully corrects him and they swap introductions. Luka briefly descends to check on her progress. "[It's going] okay," Neecole smiles. "Abby showed me how to bathe a homeless man!" Hee. I love the way she says that, as though it's a life skill she'll need to nurture. She's so enthusiastic about it all. I give her credit -- she never complains, which makes it tough to hate her, which in turn makes me loathe her even more. Luka gasps a bit, practically turns beet red, and quickly tells her to stick with Haleh, because Abby gets pretty busy; clearly he knows Neecole's a bit of a fool. Luka unearths David the Security Guard's test results, which show he just suffered a slight anxiety attack. Gallant gets to deliver the news while Luka disappears to answer a page. "It can get a little crazy here," Neecole pants to Gallant. He empathizes and they make small talk while heading into one of the hospital's many rooms, into which I can only assume Neecole is about to deposit her mountain of supplies. They shove open the door and hear raspy, labored breathing emanating from behind a drawn curtain. Neecole hesitates while Gallant rushes forward and throws back the curtain to reveal David, swinging from the ceiling by a noose fashioned crudely from his own belt. Neecole drops everything and does her best Macauley Culkin. As he screams for help, Gallant tries to lift David's body so that the noose will loosen, but he can't shoulder the weight; inspired, he smashes into a cabinet, grabs a shark file and climbs up to saw through the leather. The belt snaps and both men collapse onto a gurney, breathing heavily.
Carter inches toward Gamma's room, peering sadly through the blinds before mustering his courage and entering to break the news. He dallies a bit first, but Gamma calls him on it and demands the information he's trying to avoid revealing. "You have Shy-Drager Syndrome," he finally tells her. "It's a progressive condition that affects blood pressure and puts you at greater risk for heart attack and stroke." Gamma blinks, then asks very calmly whether the beast will kill her; Carter informs her that most victims die within ten years. Is that it? God, based on his hangdog expression all day, I was expecting something gorier, more degenerative, and more immediate. Basically, I wouldn't have been content with anything but Ebola. "Ten years," Gamma considers, figuring she's got it pretty good given that she's already in her seventies. "I'm not even sure I want to be around ten more years. Ten days -- now that might've put a kink in my plans." Well, prepare to get kinky, Gamma, because I saw the preview for week and it doesn't look warm or fuzzy. Carter tries to convince her that one more night in the hospital is essential, but Gamma won't have it, which is precisely why Carter should never have been allowed to handle her case -- she just isn't taking him seriously, and he's a sucker for her independent-old-biddy schtick.
Abby sneaks a smoke outside, taking great pains to peek around the side of the parked ambulance to check for prying eyes, somehow forgetting that she's standing in front of a sliding-glass door. When she hears muffled sobs, she does a quick double-take and realizes it's Neecole sniffling away in secret. Abby sneaks away, wrestles at length with her conscience and her basic dislike for the girl, and then finally figures her conscience should take one for the team because the devil on her shoulder already made Neecole sponge-bath a puke-encrusted man. Her mind made up, Abby tentatively grimaces while approaching Neecole, uncomfortable with her surge of goodwill and wondering whether her time might be more enjoyably spent stapling her tongue to her own small intestine. "You on a break?" Abby blurts before she can turn back. "No," Neecole sobs prettily. Abby offers to fetch her some soothing coffee. "No, thanks," Neecole blubbers, refusing to turn and face Abby. Rolling her eyes, Abby figures she'll let Neecole swing at one more pitch before she ends the inning. "Want to talk?" she asks, hating herself even before she utters the words. Neecole wants to know whether David's going to die. "No, not today," Abby says, praising Neecole's and Gallant's timing. "Try not to let it upset you too much. Everyone once in a while, some freak comes in and tries to off himself in the hospital. I wish they would just do it at home." So naturally, Neecole reveals that her father did it at home, and her eight-year-old self found his hanging body. "He lost another job. I found him in the kitchen," she weeps. "I was too little to do anything." Abby scratches her esophagus with her big-toe nail. "God, I'm sorry," she sputters. "Does Luka know this?" Neecole ruefully replies, "No, I never told him," as though they've had some long-lasting relationship built around the lie that her father didn't commit suicide. Except we all think she's lying about the hanging, since it's a trifle too convenient. I think she relishes making Abby feel stupid, in a well-hidden and conniving way. "I don't think I can do this," Neecole cries. "It's not always this bad," Abby says soothingly. "We've all cried. Sometimes, it's the only thing you can do." I liked Abby in that scene. It sucks that she's been so gloomy lately, but her helplessly immature attitude toward Neecole cracks me up, and her last line got to me.
Elizabeth hunts down Mark and excitedly tells him she's finally found the common link between all her post-op infection mortalities. Mark scans the paperwork she hands him. "Babcock?" he asks. Elizabeth glows with her triumphant revelation, noting that she only missed the link because he subbed for a few people. Wouldn't this have come out during a CDC and/or criminal probe? Why, after all these weeks, has this research-and-discovery operation been left for Elizabeth to perform herself? Sounds a bit shoddy to me. Mark doesn't even act surprised about the news, just calmly states that it sure sounds like Babcock's headed for a date with Carmen from Infection Control. God, he's devoid of spark. Has Anthony Edwards been sleepwalking this whole season? Idiotically, Elizabeth wonders why Babcock didn't step forward once he found out Elizabeth was being investigated. Sheesh. Would you? Doubt that very much; I don't have her pegged as an altruist. Frank steps in to awaken Mark and inform him that Rachel's school is on the phone to tell him that she's being suspended and sent home. "For what?" Mark asks, incredulous. "I don't know. I really don't think it's any of my business," Frank insists. The Greenes protest that it must all be a misunderstanding. "It's probably drug-related," suggests Frank helpfully. No, Frank, not yet. That's called "blowing the wad." Mark flees to collect his hairy hell-spawn.
Luka checks on David and finds the ever-avid Gallant testing his pulse ox. We're treated to the gag-worthy extubation process, which involves yanking a very long plastic tube from the man's throat and making him choke and cough. "When I say blow, blow as hard as you can," Luka instructs. I'm sorry, everyone. I really am. I physically cannot keep my mind from wandering down dark and naughty avenues of sin. I guess I keep hoping to bump into Romano. Very tasty. David rasps, "I'm...sorry..." Drool glistens on the corner of his mouth and the noose bruise glows angrily on his jawline. Gallant shares with Luka that David doesn't want them to report him to the cops because he's still got hordes of old pals on the force. "I have to," Luka says curtly. David starts to freak out, but Gallant assures him that things will end happily and bolts after Luka's exiting figure. "His wife died last year. Breast cancer," Gallant exposits. Luka looks up from his paperwork, but doesn't react. "He was a respected and decorated officer," Gallant presses. "The only reason he took [the mall] job was so he could still be out there helping people." David apparently blinks in Morse code, because up until two minutes ago, he had a conversation-inhibiting tube jammed down his throat. Gallant hopes this information will make Luka more sympathetic to the man, but Luka reveals nothing and simply orders Gallant to keep an eye on David's vitals and call for a Psych consult.
Grace registers a 100.8-degree temperature. "Feels like 108," she groans. Carter announces that she's a bit anemic, and she grabs her chart while spouting the factoid that 40 percent of menstruating women are. Carter rushes ahead with his diagnosis that she's simply overworked and badly rested. "Time to pick a career," he tells her; meanwhile, she's sitting in her hospital bed with a textbook and highlighter, insisting that she won't forego medicine and therefore must study law in order to snag her parents' cash. Grace hasn't heard of student loans. Grace doesn't have my sympathy. "If your parents are attorneys, how come you have no health insurance?" Carter asks casually. "Let's just say I have a sad and complicated relationship with them you couldn't begin to understand," Grace sighs. Carter understands, though. Maybe she'll be Carter's bastard sister. He tries to finagle a promise to rest, eat right and resist caffeine, but Grace won't commit because of her schedule. "I haven't had eight hours [of] sleep in months," she sighs. "Think you could get me some Halcyon?" Carter is loath to agree. She oozes rationality, explaining that she just needs to go home and crash and write off the day; then, she playfully bribes him with the reminder that she diagnosed Gallant's patient. Reluctantly but respectfully, Carter writes her a prescription but makes her swear to change her habits. Grace's eyes darken with deception as they flicker across the prescription. "Cross my heart," she says insincerely. For his big finish, Carter quizzes her about medical trivia and is impressed when she answers correctly. Grace is way too self-satisfied for my liking, plus the actress rushes through her lines. There's nothing endearing about her, so I find myself wishing she'd pass out and leave us all alone.
Susan encounters Carter, as has been her pattern lately. He's still crabby and she's still worrying about Gamma. "She pretended [the diagnosis] didn't bother her and went home," Carter sighs. Susan's shocked that he let her drive, but apparently, Carter did make Alger come collect her. They bicker about whether Carter should notify the DMV that Gamma's a fainting risk and could be dangerous on the road. Carter didn't have the nads to start that fight with Gamma. "Dying is one thing. Not being able to drive is a whole different story," he says inanely. Susan won't let him worm his way out of this one, though, and even offers to rat out Gamma on his behalf. "She already doesn't like me," Susan notes. Carter seems interested in laughing, but a bellow from Abby interrupts the impulse. "Carter! Your patient went down!" she yelps.
Grace obliged me and collapsed on the linoleum. Thanks, G-Money, I owe you one. She apparently took a fainting lesson from Gamma, landing in exactly the same graceful, careful, fiddle-dee-dee position. As Carter and Susan scoop her up and onto a gurney, Grace's sleeve rolls back and they spy a gruesome set of cuts on her inner forearm, just south of the elbow joint. They look like tally marks, as if she's counting the number of doctors she's duped.
Elizabeth locates Romano and begs for an audience, but he's about to scrub into surgery because a crossing guard got mowed down by gunfire. He's prepared to let her rant right there in the prep room, but a second gowned figure which turns to listen turns out to be Babcock. Balking, Elizabeth covers by claiming she needs Romano's undivided attention, and simply pleads for his time once the procedure is finished. Romano regards her dubiously, but with implied assent.
Benton finally hooks up with Jackie at Doc Magoo's. She's chowing on some soup, having worked up an appetite doing leg work for her brother. It seems her pals who work on family-court cases think the worst thing Peter could do is fight the paternity test because it makes him look like he's trying to hide the truth. "Well, what if I'm just offended by the whole principle?" he asks, startled. Jackie reassures him that it'll be a quick and easy swab test that can nip the case in the bud in mere minutes and prove Reese is a full Benton. "What if he's not, Jackie?" Benton whispers. "Is that really a possibility?" she doubts, but Benton's eyes drip with unease.
Stealthy as a tank on gravel, Elizabeth barges into Babcock's research lab and surreptitiously begins rifling through his things. The Tell-Tale Heart beats loudly in the background. She unearths old pizza and stares suspiciously at his gallery of rats before finally yanking open a desk drawer. Bingo! A key, which unlocks a tiny dorm-size fridge tucked under Babcock's desk. She crouches down and scans its contents, convinced there's going to be a test tube marked "Death Juice," or "You're Mine, Corday. Mine! Bwa-ha-ha!" But alas, not one item in this very obvious "hiding place" bears sinister markings. Damn Babcock for being a criminal mastermind. "What are you doing?" a voice asks. Leaping to her feet, Elizabeth spots Babcock leaning against the door frame and realizes she's completely screwed. "You're out of surgery!" she stammers suavely. Rather than make up a stupid lie about how she was looking for a ratty month-old Meat Lovers Supreme, she instead coughs up something about her patients and needing to chat with him briefly. He furrows his forehead. "Doesn't matter anyway," she smiles too pleasantly. "It'll have to wait. I've just been paged." But before she can make a clean getaway, Babcock points out that she's about to make off with his keys. Hesitantly, she returns them, then runs away as fast as possible. All in all, that went about as well as any of us expected, and confirms our long-held theory that people on television all have fatally bad judgment.
Grace sips from a paper cup and tries to be blasé about her fall. "I must be dehydrated," she laughs mirthlessly. "All I've had is coffee and a muffin since last night." She's had that excuse ready since she scammed the last hospital. Susan and Carter totally call her out on the cutting, and aren't terribly impressed by her Neecole-worthy sob story about neglectful parents, high-school geekdom and eating disorder, and her subsequent addiction to the idea of becoming a doctor. It's all very involved and delivered with minimum passion. Grace is a totally hollow character, so if they do end up bringing her back at some point, I hope the actress corrects that. She's a cold fish. A weird duck. A strange bird. And don't get me started on what she does to the badger's previously unsullied reputation. After lengthy protestations, Grace hikes up her sleeve and lets them peek again at her arm scars, but she remains blasé about them. "Grace, you have a fever and a borderline white count," he tells her, speculating that she's gotten an infection, perhaps from a dirty blade. When she tries to blame her condition on hunger, Susan asks, "So the eating disorder continues?" Grace is a bad liar. She backtracks that she's been cramming for exams, leaving little time for cramming food into her mouth. Her eyes dart nervously between the two doctors. Narrowing his eyes, his whole face falling in dismay, Carter quietly requests that Grace lift up her skirt. "Pardon me?" she gapes. Susan waits until Grace is firmly entangled in a spat with Carter, then yanks up her skirt to reveal one deep fresh cut above her knee, and several smaller ones around it. "You ASS!" shrieks Grace, covering herself up and grabbing her backpack. They detain her, with Carter going so far as to threaten to put her on a Psych hold -- unless she agrees to sit down and be honest, they'll get Security to bar her from leaving, on the grounds that she's a danger to herself. Grace wriggles away, but Susan accosts her. "Stop!" Grace wails. "You're blowing this way out of proportion." Gallant arrives, intrigued. "Why are you doing this?" Grace moans. "Because I know what it's like to need help when you least want it," Carter quietly confesses. Grace begs to be left alone, but her cool veneer has cracked, and it begins a rapid crumble the minute she spots Gallant watching the confrontation with interest. "What are you staring at?" she spits, irate. "You couldn't even diagnose thrombocytopenia." Guilty, Gallant averts his gaze. Susan calls for five ccs of Dropiderol. "No, no, no no, stop," screams Grace, sinking into a real tailspin and sagging slowly to the ground, hands flailing, face contorting and acting very much like a Popstars reject. "Don't touch me, don't TOUCH me! Please, please, you'll ruin everything!" Gallant gingerly approaches with the needle of medicine, and Grace whimpers in protest but lacks the strength to fight it. When the needle breaks through her skin, Grace weeps openly, hopelessly. Carter stands over her, exhaling tensely, having finally succeeded in teaching the youth of America that ambitious people are insane.
We return from break to a very unpleasant sight indeed -- Rachel and Mark, positioned at the end of a very long hallway and headed straight for us. We should run. "Scissors, Rach?" he asks, disbelieving. "It's not like they said," whines Rachel. Apparently, she's being accused of threatening to stab Natalie Curtis with a pair of scissors, but Rachel helpfully explains that she was really just threatening to hack off the girl's dreadlocks. Mark doesn't take much comfort in this clarification, wondering aloud why his child would behave so monstrously. Mark, have you met yourself and Vulcan Jen? Her mom's a big bitch and her dad's a soggy rag of a man. Of course she's going to have enormous problems. Rachel complains that Natalie has been trying to steal Andrew away from her by sending him notes in class and inviting him over for study groups. "This is over a boy?" Mark gapes. "Trust me, Rachel, boys aren't worth the trouble. I should know." Except I think he only said that last bit to me, telepathically. Rachel blows off the situation, and manages to spit out a sassy remark about Gym class that rips a bit on how far removed Mark is from kids today. "Don't get smart with me, Rachel," he warns. Um, no real fear of that, I don't think. "You've been suspended," he reminds his daughter. "time, you might be expelled permanently." He takes great pains to emphasize "permanently," like, Mark, since when is an expulsion not permanent? Not many schools renege on those. That's why they differentiate expulsions from, say, suspensions. And, for good measure, shut up. Anyway, Mark puffs up with the sweet air of delusional courage and tells Rachel that this is the dawn of a new era, with a fresh set of rules. By my calculations, this era will last about 7.3 days. Even Rachel can't contain her disdain for Mark's proclamations of discipline. As they descend the school stairs, Mark forbids her from getting rides to school from anyone but him or Elizabeth, and grounds her for a month. He also assigns her chores. "I have chores now?" she squeaks. "She didn't have chores before?" I yelp. "You're Cinderella and I'm your evil stepmother," Mark announces. "I've already got one of those," she grumbles. Ha!
Mark and Rachel exit the school. Students flow in and out of the door because no one could decide what time of day it's supposed to be. Mark threatens to ship her back to St. Louis, which must be a fate worse than death, because Rachel stops trying to fight him and instead switches to whiny protestations of his treatment of her. "Why are you doing this to me?" she whimpers. Mark sighs, weighed down by the gravity of the lessons life's taught him, and imparts to Rachel that he's seen teen girls in the ER who are drug addicts, suicidal, pregnant, homeless or victims of gang rape, all because no one in their lives cared enough to protect and guide them. Keep it up, Mark, and the Trite Police will slap you in jail for a month. He passionately blathers that he cares too much about Rachel to let her waste her life. "You may not like it now, hell you may never like it, but this is how it's going to be," he finishes, having arrived at the car and backed a pouty Rachel up against it. She broods energetically.
Cleo finds Reese and Peter in the day-care center, smiling brightly and sitting down to the little boy. "Hi, Reese!" she signs animatedly. "How are you?" He grins and replies. "Good," she replies. Michael Michele looks gorgeous here, and she's actually sort of sweet with Reese. I'm sorry they broke her and Benton up, if only because it might've added a nice level to the custody storyline if she, too, got attached to Reese and then faced losing him. Or, maybe she'd have sided with Roger, and...well, it's all moot, so I'll move along. Peter admits that he's been advised to take the DNA test. "What happens if you're not a genetic match?" she asks gently. Peter shrugs that it makes Roger's custody case that much stronger. "Nothing's changed," Cleo whispers soothingly. "You're still his father." Beaming brightly, Cleo invites the duo to her place for Reese's favorite fish sticks, but Reese interrupts by throwing a wee tantrum and shoving his jigsaw across the table, signing furiously. "Daddy can't take you home," Peter says stiffly. "I have to work." Reese cries. Benton won't look at Cleo. "He wants his other daddy to come take him home," he despairs.
Huddled under a desk, Carter yells at Gamma through the telephone. He cautions her not to drive, but obviously, she ignores his orders. He has no business making himself her doctor for precisely that reason. Carter, we know you want to make her proud and prove you're all grown up, but come ON. You're letting pride impair your judgment, and you've forced me to counsel you as if you're a real person. Please make it stop. Susan sits down near him just as he hangs up in total impotent frustration. "She just called me from the car," he exposits. "She's been driving around for two hours just to prove me wrong." Susan chuckles, but it isn't funny, it's irritating. Carter agrees with me, fretting that she'll end up hurting herself or someone else. "What do I do?" he implores her. "Call the cops on my grandmother? You already made me call the DMV." Susan snorts that she's not the bad guy here, then brightly offers to go with Carter to the house and wait for Gamma there. She's pretty transparent. I can actually see her kidneys. Carter seems interested. "I mean, yeah, if you want," she amends, nerdy and timid. Carter pauses, perks up a tad, realizes Susan is dragging out the goalie's net to help him score, and agrees.
Romano opens the door to his office and lets Elizabeth inside. He's wearing a purple shirt and a fuchsia tie, yet somehow he pulls it off. This confirms my thesis that Romano is a superhuman who can do absolutely anything. Elizabeth hesitates when she notices that Babcock is there; it's gonna get ugly. Romano busts her for trespassing and allows her to defend the action. "I wanted to talk to him," she begins, trying very hard to be pleasant. "You knew I was in surgery!" protests Babcock. Elizabeth leans forward and intensely blurts that Babcock was involved in all her cases that ended up dead from infections, and she's gathered evidence to prove it. "So what?" Babcock grunts. "So, you have made it abundantly clear on more than one occasion that you are not opposed to euthanasia!" she bellows. I remember the first time I ever heard that term, I thought it was some kind of social action group called Youth in Asia, so I couldn't for the life of me understand why we had to debate its legality in class. I was all, "Go youths! Get in there!" Then I saw it on paper and realized the depth of my error. Ahem. Babcock grouses that all humane doctors should be pro-euthanasia. "I HAVE FOUR BODIES IN THE MORGUE!" yells Elizabeth, giving the NBC promo department yet another orgasm. Babcock tells her to take responsibility for her own "gross misjudgment," and Romano gets sick of the bickering and calls a time-out. "This is a load of crap!" argues Babcock. "You allow her to operate on these elderly lost souls who should never be in surgery, and then when they die, which they inevitably will, she comes crying to you looking for someone to blame!" Um, Babcock? Get a lawyer, because you sound awfully defensive. Elizabeth seethes that they died from post-op infections, not from surgery, although the latter can't happen without the former -- which Babcock notes gleefully. "OKAY!" shouts Romano. "ENOUGH!" Bless you, Robbie. He bans both of them from the OR, pending the CDC's investigation results. Elizabeth and Babcock both protest this, and swear up and down that they'll never work together again. Romano kicks them out of his office. "God is Love," he reminds them before slamming the door. Incongruity, thy name is Robert. I'm thisclose to building a shrine. This was the best moment of the episode, and one that I missed until I romanced my rewind button.
Abby tells Gallant that he can probably go home, since Carter left already. Eager Beaver, though, wants to stay and study. Abby's a bit startled by that, but she knows it's pointless to quibble with The Beav. "Maybe I'll pick up some stuff by osmosis," he grins. "You'll pick up something," Abby says under her breath, but she's smiling, too.
The Beav strolls into Grace's room. "What do you want?" she sighs. Pleasantly, The Beav admits he overheard her fretting about a pathology exam, and proffers a related textbook for her perusal. Grace brightens and scoots upright, apologizing lightly for her earlier rant and ascribing it to stress. Somehow, she's forgotten that everyone knows she has bigger problems. Ah, drugs. Thank you for the sweet fog of amnesia. The two book lovers bond over medical conditions, and all is well in the land of the wonder children.
Benton perches on a cold table. A friendly nurse identifies him as "Mr. Benton," so he must be at a different hospital, and reveals that he's there for his DNA test. "Don't worry, it's painless," she says, the larger implication being that it's not so devoid of agony if it causes him to lose Reese. The camera stays on Peter's face while he opens wide and lets her swab his cheek. There's a really quick cut, as fast as a flicker of Benton's eye, to the nurse putting the Q-tip swabs into a safe container; then we go straight back to Benton's face. "All done," she smiles. "That wasn't so bad, now, was it?" Meta, meta, double-meaning, meta. Benton's visibly nervous.
At Gamma's manse, Susan perches on a poolside bench while Carter teeters along the edge of the water, dipping his shoe-clad foot into it. Fun? Not so much. "I can't believe it," she exhales. "Fentanyl!" Carter smirks, "If you're going to abuse drugs, abuse a good one." Susan is shell-shocked to hear what Carter's been up to, sitting quietly on the bench swaddled in a smashing Burberry wool coat. Burberry is this year's iBook. It's everywhere. week it will be on lab coats, gurneys, and puke buckets. Carter proclaims that he's been sober for more than a year, but when Susan translates that into conquering his cravings, Carter shakes his head. "I wouldn't say that," he admits. She peers up at him, and Carter smiles ruefully, certain she's disappointed in him. "No, no!" she insists. "I'm just...you were stabbed!" Carter sits down to her and brave-little-toasters, "Twice." They giggle like fourth-graders who want to figure out how French kissing works. "Can I see your scar?" she twinkles. "No!" he protests. Susan: "Why not?" Carter: "Why?" Susan: "Don't be bashful." Carter: "Get your own!" Susan laughs loud and long, which ends up sounding a bit forced. She's aiming for flirty puppy love, I think, and missing. "Why do I feel like a schoolkid sitting out here?" she wonders. Carter clears his throat and wiggles out a bit further on his limb. "Must be the adolescent sexual tension," he offers. "Mmm, that's it," she nods. They both gulp and get tingly. There're plenty of sidelong glances. Carter mulls asking her to the prom. A paper airplane flies by, and the teacher kicks Joey out of study hall for being a nuisance. "You know, I used to have a crush on you," Carter confesses, surprising no one, not even Susan. "'Used to'?" she asks, knowingly. "It's all coming back to me," he chuckles. Susan fibs that she had a crush on Carter, too, which I totally don't buy. She might've been attracted to him, but that's a bit different. Implying that she carried a torch for him smacks of revisionism. Carter agrees with me. "You were cute!" she protests. "Real cute, [but] you were a med student, I was a resident..." Carter interrupts, "I'm a resident now." Susan clarifies his Chief Resident title. They stare at each other, they get lost in each others' eyes, there's a wetting of lips and some serious blushing, and the potential for some serious naughty before the bell rings. "I'm glad you came back," he breathes. "Me too," she beams. Suddenly, harsh headlights illuminate their faces and their gooey, shmoopy glances turn to startled squints. "Gamma's home," drawls Susan. Carter nods, and we're done. Wow, that was a bit abrupt.
up is The ER Of The Century. Again. It's "The Storm," and I hear it involves fishermen and George Clooney. Cross your fingers.