Ambulance sirens cut through another chilly Chicago morning. The camera pans down from the window to a sleeping Dr. Susan "Haircut 100" Lewis. Her mouth hangs open slightly, and the camera is way too close because you can see the makeup setting up camp in her pores. Lydia nudges Susan awake; we learn she slept from 1:30 to 7 AM. "Oh my God," groans a weary Susan. "I was just going to lie down for a second." She craves a shower and some mouthwash. Lydia says Weaver will have other ideas -- Susan isn't scheduled to start until noon, but someone has to cover for Mark while he hovers at Ella's bedside. Lydia exposits to a concerned Susan that Ella hasn't been extubated yet and is still on oxygen.
At Reception, Frank's getting an earful from Dr. Kerry "Boo Capitalism!" Weaver -- it seems a drug manufacturer sent them a free spread of bagels and cream cheese, and she figures it's a marketing expense that consumers end up paying for when drug prices skyrocket. She blathers that it's the elderly consumers who get screwed. "I'm elderly," whines Frank. "No free lunch, Frank," Weaver scolds. Susan grabs the phone to call the PICU for an Ella update, which Weaver ends up supplying -- the baby's slowly being weaned off the oxygen and is off sedation. Susan hangs up. "I'll take the rack, you clear the pass-ons," Weaver instructs dully. "You want to at least ask me to cover after staying all night?" sighs Susan. "All night was your choice," points out Weaver. "Welcome to management. No whining allowed." That must be why I'm not in management.
Susan wanders over to the bagel spread, where a gluttonous Frank shovels his bagel into his mouth and teases Susan about sleeping with her eyes open. "Half-open," she corrects. Except it was her mouth that was open, but whatever. Frank deems that "freaky." "Not as freaky as watching you eat with your mouth open," Susan winces. Greed gives me a foot rub as Yosh loads up his bagel with cream cheese, and Frank gobbles his, putting the "ew" in "chews." Susan reaches for one, which wins her Weaver's lecture about how the free food is a company's attempt to curry favor so County will prescribe the more expensive drugs instead of generic brands. She's convinced Susan will be beholden to the company because of its bagel bribe. Susan's all, "Whatever, Anal McFussy," and tosses hers in the trash. She hasn't touched it. Shouldn't Waste, or perhaps Bagel Abuse, be the eighth deadly sin? Susan announces she's stopping at Doc Magoo's for breakfast before grabbing some clean underwear -- thanks for that image, Susan -- and returning to work her double shift. "If I keep the undies I've got on, can we keep the food out?" Frank whispers to Weaver. Now, that line just makes no sense. I seriously think the writers just wanted to hear Frank say the word "undies."
Drs. Mark "Drug Czar" Greene and Elizabeth "Iron Fist" Corday watch with bated breath as a doctor slowly extubates a fake baby standing in for the tot who plays Ella. We're treated to all sorts of medical jargon about why that's a tricky and risky procedure for babies. We're treated to an ominous rendition of The Extubation Waltz, during which Elizabeth looks scared and wan. "She's not breathing," Elizabeth panics. "Come on, Ella," Mark urges, as if she can hear or understand. And even if she could, given Mark's track record with his kids, she'd probably ignore him. Rubberella still isn't breathing. The doctor wants the airway box, but somehow Mark decides he knows better, and wants to give Rubberella a few more seconds to turn into a real girl. Sure enough, the props department replaces her with the blonde Ella, who twitches and gurgles encouragingly. "We're here," coos Elizabeth, smiling at Mark. She's relieved that Ella's breathing on her own. "We're here," she repeats. And...scene.
Abby "O Wagon, My Wagon" Lockhart apparently let Joyce spend the night after her most recent fright. As the morning sunlight filters through the blinds, Joyce peers out to spy on Brian. "Is his car there?" asks Abby. Joyce nods, but feels sure that even if Brian skips his Marketing class, he won't ditch Cost Accounting. Um, that clinches it -- the guy's priorities are definitely askew. Abby has convinced Joyce to demand that Brian attend some kind of anger-management group therapy, and she offers to be with Joyce when she delivers the decree. Joyce shakes her head and says she's telling him at the library because Brian won't lose his temper in front of his study group. Abby, sensing Joyce feels trapped in the apartment, wonders aloud if this should be Bring Your Battered Neighbor to Work Day. Joyce thinks that's unnecessary, but asks for asylum in Abby's apartment until Brian leaves for school. "Call me after you talk to him," Abby instructs. She's almost out the door when Joyce backpedals, blurting that Brian only lasted two sessions in counseling and she's pretty sure he won't stick with a group any longer than that. Abby's impatient with Joyce's sense of futility, and her flakiness. "You can go back to him if he gets better," she points out. "He'll do this," Joyce decides shakily. "If he knows I'm serious, he'll do this for me." Abby raises an eyebrow subtly and simply tells Joyce to call her. On her way out, she calls, "Lock the door." Foreshadowing runs in front of the television and moons me.
As Abby passes Brian's door, which is to hers, she hears the lock rattle and knows he's about to come out. I should point out that in "Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic," it was an old woman who lived in that apartment, and she poked her head out of the door to commiserate with Abby about the loud, arguing couple living upstairs. If Continuity would stop stealing Rachel's Ecstasy, this might have been avoided. Abby speeds up guiltily and ignores his shouts until she's at the bottom of the stairs and he's staring right at her, calling her name. "What?" she asks innocently. Brian frets that Joyce didn't come home all night, and never called him. "Did you call the police?" Abby queries, her eyes too wide. Brian figures she's just mad because they had an argument, and tells Abby to have Joyce call him. Abby bites back her irritation and escapes through the front door.
Susan listens attentively as Mark explains Ella's good progression -- her extremities are moving, she's pinking up, and if she goes seizure-free for two days, she's in the clear. But the step is milking Elizabeth for a feeding, so Mark grabs a breast pump and heads upstairs, thanking Susan for covering his shift. She's polite and insists that he should take care of his child.
, Susan meets up with Dr. Jing-Mei "Deb" Chen, who's accompanying a new patient to the trauma room. This man was attacked by a sloth at the zoo and his right arm is caked in blood. He gives a sassy lecture explaining that sloths aren't the same as monkeys, which is heartening information I will use time I'm face-to-face with one -- it's almost as helpful as pointing out that llamas are larger than frogs. I figure that the writers didn't feel like looking up what Sloth means, so they got all clever on us and used the critter instead. Now wave goodbye to Slothy! He won't be back. And you know what? It so doesn't matter.
Chen ditches Slothy like a bad subplot and flags down Mark. A bad trade? Probably. She's relieved to hear that Ella is finally thriving, then clears her throat and broaches an awkward subject. "Um, look, I didn't file an H5122 with the chart," she begins. Mark blinks blankly. "Mandatory reporting of illegal substance abuse," Chen defines for him, and us. "Oh, right," Mark says, pretending he simply forgot. Chen presses that she thought he might want to handle the paperwork, and Mark lies that he'll take care of it. The elevator doors slide shut, and he collapses against the wall, tense.
Eleanor sits upstairs with Mickey, the Leukemia Boy Who Knew Too Much. His IV is beeping and Eleanor's clearly agitated that no one is rushing in to fix it. "Sometimes it takes longer during the shift change," Mickey says weakly. Eleanor's all, "The who with the what now?" Mickey actually has to explain to her what "shift change" means. Eleanor stops short of asking him what a nurse is. Instead, she bolts outside, where her son -- Dr. John "Awwwwww!" Carter -- is gabbing with Mickey's physician, Angel of Death nominee Dr. Alexander "Mr. Laura Innes" Babcock. Carter explains to his concerned mother that Mickey's cells are almost 100% leukemic, so a second chemotherapy cycle is imperative, and the IV contains a pretreatment solution leading up to that. "And then a bone marrow transplant?" she asks. Carter sadly points out that Mickey's suffered through one failed transplant already, so a second would just weaken him further. "And chemotherapy alone is going to save him?" Eleanor scoffs, her eyes flinty. Carter points out that the drugs are new this time, which riles her more -- she doesn't want Leukemia Boy to become Experimental Treatment Boy. Carter's irritated that Eleanor is grilling him so rudely -- he's only there as a favor to her. Mickey waves angelically at Eleanor and the twinkle in his eye heals forty lepers. Eleanor seethes that if Carter's going to pump more junk through the little angel child's veins, she's not leaving his side for a second. Carter angrily chews on his lip, then softens when he sees Eleanor put on a happy face for Mickey. He's confused by his feelings.
Susan treats a man whose midget whore sucked on his finger -- per his instructions -- and swallowed his oversized wedding ring. The midget whore is totally bored by this scenario. She's also very familiar, a total "Hey, It's That Midget Whore!" Check IMDb for Debbie Lee Carrington's résumé, because the list of her credits is longer than she is. Susan shrugs off the oddity of it all and brightly points out that this is all very normal, and that the ring should vacate her bowels in two to three days. The man flips. "He's not worried about me," Midget Ho midget-grouses. "He's afraid his wife will notice." Susan's all, "Ooookay," and suggests an endoscopy. Naughty Midget of the Night doesn't like the sound of having a tube rammed down her throat -- not for medical purposes, anyway. Susan's assurances that it won't hurt much fall on tiny, deaf ears. "I need my job -- I'm on stage in an hour," Midget Ho wails, leaping off the bed. "I gotta get to work, and I ain't searchin' my stool." That line got rewritten, though, because the captioners were told it would be, "And my bowels ain't for sale." You go, small ho! Yosh staggers in, a lovely shade of green, and says Abby's covering for him on the vaginal bleeding case -- he's puking and called the registry for a temporary replacement so that he can go home and empty his stomach in private. Susan's frustrated, but there isn't much she can do about it. Big Trouble Little Ho butts in on the conversation. "Hey, how much would you charge to stick a tube down your throat?" she demands. Susan senses that some negotiations are taking place, and backs away so they can debate pricing in private.
The scene elsewhere isn't much better. Frank vomits violently into a garbage can. "Frank, are you sick, too?" Susan grimaces, confused and repulsed. "I ain't praying," he spits before hurling anew. Given this show's propensity for goo, I'm stunned they aren't showing what's coming up Frank's esophagus. Stunned, but ever so grateful.
In an exam room, Susan and Abby check out the vaginal bleeder. She's gone through two pads and started the bleeding yesterday after having skipped her period for two straight months. "Do you think you may be pregnant?" Susan asks. "My parents would freak," Vag answers. "My older sister just had a baby." Yeah, but that doesn't mean you aren't pregnant, Vag, honey. There isn't a one-fetus-per-family rule in effect here. Malik ducks in and tells Abby that Joyce is on the phone for her, so she sneaks outside and grabs the receiver. We only get her side of the conversation, but it's apparent that Joyce locked herself out of Abby's place and isn't sure what to do, but somehow isn't equipped to get to the hospital to pick up the key. Abby clenches her jaw.
Lizzie tries to feed Rubberella, who isn't taking the bottle, being immobile and fake and all that. These people could've just gotten Baby Uh-Oh With Realistic Suckling Action for thirty dollars and it would be just as realistic as the more expensive Rubberella. Mark suggests Ella might not be hungry, but that's not the right answer: Elizabeth snaps that the kid hasn't eaten in twelve hours, so of course she's hungry. As if on cue -- oh wait, she is -- Real Ella sucks down some milk. A nurse enters with word that Rachel's on the phone, but Mark waves that off with the promise that he'll call her later. Elizabeth won't look up, and stiffens. "They charge her with anything?" she quizzes. Mark seems stupefied. "Who?" he asks, stupidly. "The police," Elizabeth huffs. "No," Mark says guiltily. Elizabeth glares at him. "You didn't tell them, did you?" she says through a tight, angry smile. I want so badly to slap her, because she is so nasty right there. Mark tries to pretend it's a protocol issue -- Chen was the Attending that night, not him -- but Elizabeth knows he's just trying to avoid involving the fuzz altogether. "Mark, she was in possession of a controlled substance that could've killed our daughter!" Elizabeth barks. Mark feebly says that Rachel wasn't actually trying to kill Ella, adding that he figures the cops won't waste time on a three-pill possession case. How dumb can he be? It could not be more obvious how inadequate Elizabeth will find that answer. "You're already making excuses for her," Elizabeth fumes. Mark denies it lamely. "Well you're certainly not doing anything, are you?" she wails. Mark sasses that turning Rachel over to the cops seems an imperfect option, but Elizabeth isn't in the mood for sarcasm today and is fed up with Mark's sudden castration. "I want you to do something. You haven't even bloody well called her mother!" complains Elizabeth. "She's in court all day," Mark offers. Oh, man, if you can't grow a spine, at least find some common sense! You should say, "Oh, good idea," and LEAVE, you idiot. Step away from the shrew. "You're refusing to deal with a problem that you should've handled way before this ever had a chance of happening," Elizabeth rants, her anger drying up tears. Mark can't believe she's blaming him, but the cries of his sick baby save him from any more of Elizabeth's foul temper and his own utter idiocy.
Frank moans that he needs to bolt before both ends start to leak. Do you suppose we really needed three straight weeks of barfing? First Eleanor, then Lizzie and Ella, and now the rest of the damn hospital? Lord, if it's not a pregnant person, it's a puking person. Between heaves, Frank tells Susan that he called reinforcements and establishes that anyone who ate the free bagels is destined for a romp with the Technicolor yawn. Chen watches him yak with growing discomfort. "I ate one of those bagels," she groans. It's here that I noticed she's performing the endoscopy on Midget Maeve the Love Slave, and the images flashing on the monitor are, in fact, the ho's innards. It's gross. The tunnels look like raw, coiled shrimp, no wordplay intended. It's not pleasant.
Abby briskly approaches her front stoop, and slows down in utter shock when she sees a badly beaten Joyce sitting dazedly on the steps. The right side of Joyce's face is bloodied and bruised, with a big gash on her cheek. She's half-conscious and shivering uncontrollably, barefoot. "He came back," Joyce mutters vacantly. "I just started running. I hid down the street until he left again." People pass by the steps, which is odd because it implies people walked right past the scene of the beating and the bleeding Joyce and didn't think twice about it. ["That gave me the willies, too." -- Wing Chun] Abby insists on taking Joyce to the hospital for an x-ray because she thinks Brian shattered her cheekbone. Joyce protests weakly and meekly, staring emptily into space, but lets Abby wrap her ghostly frame in a coat and doesn't fight her as they prepare to leave.
Susan and a nauseated Malik treat a man whose lung collapsed when a falling icicle pierced his chest. "Am I dying?" the man moans. And that's it. The lottery winner who immediately succumbed to lousy luck -- the one from the episode description -- disappears right here. So much for that backstory. ER's scripts have been so chopped up lately that the show always gets busted by its episode descriptions. I'm not even sure what sin "lottery winner" is supposed to be. Greed? Satanic Good Fortune? Whatever. Malik threatens to puke just as a green-hued Weaver ducks into the trauma room and shares that Mark will come down to pick up her shift. "If I'm working a double, you're not stiffing me after a few hours," scolds Susan. Weaver shakily adds that she called Luka to help, but she has to go home now. Like, NOW. Susan whirls around, amused and irritated at once. "You ate the bagels?" she gapes. Hee. Who can resist a sweet pillowy bagel? So she's a food hypocrite -- so what? Susan should, if you think about it, be grateful that Weaver stopped her, because if she hadn't, Susan would be riding the vomit comet just like everyone else.
Babcock and Carter babble about leukemia things. Babblecock notices Carter's mother hovering over Mickey, which confounds him. Eleanor promptly charges out of the room and screams that Mickey is coughing up blood; as they run to his bedside, we see red goop dribbling down his chin like so much tasty strawberry jelly. Mickey stares gloomily into space and mouth-breathes, resisting the urge to swab his chin with some toast. Carter's all, "Ain't no thang," but Eleanor won't have it. "This isn't normal," she hisses. Carter and Babcock again hurl medical jargon, which frustrates Eleanor enough that she yells at them to shut up, and please just to help Mickey live, live, live. Mickey thanks her by upchucking a few more jars of jelly -- seriously, the "blood" drips from his lips in thick, dark chunks, and it's utterly vile. Remember when I complimented ER on its unusual restraint with the gratuitous vomit? Yeah, I recall that, too. Color me hasty. Eleanor, visibly agitated, can't handle the gravity of all this, and backs out of the room in distress.
Carter catches his mother frantically slamming her hand against the elevator call button. "Mom?" Carter quizzes. "What are you doing?" Eleanor stammers that she can't do it -- she can't coddle Mickey through this. "I can't see him in that kind of pain -- not again," she breathes. "What did you expect?" spits Carter. "You cannot get this kid's hopes up and then leave!" Eleanor hurries into the open elevator and turns, begging Carter with her eyes to give up and let her flee. He regards her with clear distaste. "You're really going to do this," he realizes. "You're going to drag me back here and then bail when it gets too tough!" As the doors close, Carter grabs them and throws them open violently. He's fuming. Eleanor pulls her fur coat up, covering most of her face so that only those blinking, beseeching, irritating eyes are exposed. She looks like a frightened six-year-old, except for the bags and wrinkles. Mary McDonnell hasn't aged too well since Independence Day. "This kid didn't think he'd have to go through this alone!" Carter yells. A nurse shoves her way onto the elevator, so Carter steps back and shakes his head accusingly as the doors close on his current of wrath. Or rather, Wrath. Pesky little bugger.
Enter Gluttony. Susan and Mark flock to the side of a little girl being wheeled in from an all-you-can-eat buffet, where she had gorged herself until she began wheezing. As they set her up in Trauma Yellow, Gluttony admits that she was chowing on shrimp and lobster. Mark's all, "Shrimp and lobster?" He's gaping madly, as insensitive as can be. He could've just gone ahead and said, "Hey, show me how the piggy eats, Oinkbag." Tearfully, Gluttony cops not only to eating both, but to eating rather a lot of both. Mark tries ordering a course of solumedrol, yet can't seem to choke out anything but the first syllable. Susan, thrown and curious, fills in the blank for him, then shoots him a thoughtful look. "Mark, I've got this," she offers with forced cheer. But Mark, eager for the distraction, persists in treating Gluttony. He sends the redheaded temp nurse in search of the pulse ox cables...
...and Pointless Bit Part, R.N., barges into the adjacent exam room, where Abby is prepping Joyce for a head x-ray. Bit Part is crabby because she's being forced to work hard, and grunts her way through the room to find the missing supplies. She's not that interesting. Just a human scene transition. Abby ties on her lead apron. "Most of the time we totally click," insists Joyce, who has donned a gown and is perched on the end of a bed. "He makes me laugh," she adds pathetically. Abby doesn't respond, except to make Joyce lie down and get in position for the cheek scan. Joyce continues talking about how sometimes, Brian morphs into a different person, and even though she knows he's not the man she fell for, it's hard to walk away from their past as lovers and best friends. I've figured out why Joyce annoys me -- no matter what she's saying, it seems like there's a wisp of a smile on her face. It makes no sense and it's kind of distracting, much like Christina Aguilera. Abby tells Joyce to hold still, and the x-ray machine clicks. Wryly, Abby sits her back up and notes that Brian's answer to her ultimatum is pretty evident. "I didn't have a chance to give it," Joyce admits. Abby figures his wrathful fists speak volumes.
Elizabeth wants a neurosurgeon to read Ella's EEGs, so she's on the phone pulling rank when she suddenly notices a figure standing to the crib. It's Rachel. Coldly, Elizabeth approaches the crib, unsure what to expect. "She smiled at me," Rachel notes hopefully. "That's good, right?" Her stepmother allows a thin smile. Rachel reveals, unprompted, that she was thinking about taking the Ecstasy at a party but forgot it was in her backpack. She looks guilty and apologizes, but at the last second, I swear she darts an analytical glance at Elizabeth, as if to gauge how well her speech is playing. Elizabeth is impassive. "I know there's nothing I can do to make it right," Rachel begins anew. "You can leave," Elizabeth says calmly. "You can pack up your things and leave my house." Caught off-guard both by the words and by the eerie calm behind them, Rachel stammers that she has to check with Vulcan Jen first. "Then call her," nods Elizabeth serenely. Rachel clamps her mouth shut to keep her jaw from swinging open, and hastily exits the room. Elizabeth decompresses, looking tired and puffy and pink.
Abby chases down a harried Susan and calls her attention to Joyce's chart. She needs a face laceration mended. Susan's more focused on the sudden agglomeration of patients in the halls. "Why is there a pregnant woman squatting in the hallway?" she marvels testily. What, you mean everyone's hallway doesn't have one? Apparently, an accountant is running the desk because of the Great Bagel-n-Bowl Plague, which accounts for the backlog. There's an accountant joke in there somewhere, but since I don't find accountants especially amusing, I'm too lazy to find it.
Mark unloads Gluttony's concerned parents onto Susan, and runs off after Rachel, who babbles that Vulcan Jen will buy the tickets and all Mark has to do is transport her to the airport. Mark tries to calm her down, explaining that no one expects her to leave. "Elizabeth does," she whines petulantly. A clueless Mark insists that his wife just needs time. "No, she asked me to leave!" brats Rachel, tears spilling down her cheeks. "She wants me out of the house....I understand. She's not my mother. She cares about Ella and I hurt her baby. I don't want to cause you any more trouble. I should just go." Mark starts to argue that the decision is far from made, but he suddenly chomps on his tongue and it begins to bleed. Wincing and nursing the wound, he sends Rachel home with the promise that her exile is far from being a reality.
Mark rushes away right past Susan, who is learning that Gluttony put on fifteen pounds in the past couple of months. "I just can't seem to stop her from eating," frets Mrs. Gluttony. Distracted after spying an obviously panicked Mark, Susan promises to send a nutritionist to counsel their daughter, and rapidly scoots after her friend.
Susan finds Mark huddling in a corner holding gauze to his tongue. "Ooh, you did a really good job," she grimaces, noticing the blood and mock-sternly ordering him to stick out his tongue. Mark rolls his eyes, but obliges, twisting his tongue to the right. "You bit it on the right side -- I can't see when you do that!" she laughs. "Come on, stick it out straight!" Mark blinks. "I did," he insists. He puts it out again. A gong strikes. The tongue is askew. Susan's face is awash with fear. "What?" Mark prods. Gong! Sorry, Mark. Thanks for playing. Hey, wouldn't it be a blast to combine ER and The Gong Show? Imagine how different season eight would've been with an interactive internet boot to deposit up people's bums. Mark's ass would rival Imelda Marcos's closet. Gathering her wits, Susan subtly tries to yank Mark's tongue straight to check the cut, pretending everything was fine. "It's not so bad," she sputters. "Just keep applying pressure." But Mark knows something's off.
Cut to the bathroom. Mark's glasses lie on the sink, and we pan up to his reflection in the mirror. Mark rubs his eyes, then lets go and stares at himself, possibly testing how long it takes to focus. He sticks out his tongue and notices the right-side wonk. SinkCam shows him splashing soothing cold water onto his face, with the strange hollow sound one might get if one listened to this through the drainpipe. We're then treated to a glamour shot of Mark's scar, which spans his bald pate; finally, as he dries his hands, frustration overcomes him and he bangs his forehead against the shiny towel dispenser. ["Because that's good for YOUR BRAIN. Yeah, I know the brain is well insulated by the skull. Still, that shit doesn't help any." -- Wing Chun] NostrilCam shoots straight up at Mark's face from the floor, and takes us to commercial with a truly terror-inspiring shot of Mark twisting his face into an expression of pained panic.
It's Luka! Dr. Luka "Hot Hot Hot" Kovac! He came back for me! This is almost enough to make me recommit to religion. Luka surveys the crowded ER and bemusedly wonders why Susan didn't call for backup. "What do you think you are?" she snarks. "Clear the rack, I'll take the fast-tracks," she orders. Luka watches Susan's silence with interest. "'Please,'" he suggests. Susan doesn't get it, so Luka points out that he flew all night and that technically this should be a day off, and that he's the perfect example of why testosterone exists. "Flying all night was your choice," Susan says. "And it's not my fault you answered your phone." Kudos to the forums for pointing out that Susan parrots Weaver almost to the word ("All night was your choice"). One night of hectic patient madness, and Susan's become a management drone. Luka's new spiky haircut finds this amusing.
Abby corrals Susan in the hall to ask if Joyce's broken cheekbone merits some attention. Susan sends her in Luka's direction. Perplexed, Abby shifts her gaze to the reception desk; the sight of Luka brings a tiny smile to her lips. She picks up speed. "You're back!" she grins. "I was getting worried. I thought I'd at least get a postcard." Luka chuckles, "You need to get email." Yes, that mystical "email" that young people use. I'll ignore the lunacy of this detail because the sheer heat from Luka's body has melted me into a puddle of curly hair and sarcasm. As Abby hands him Joyce's x-ray, Luka warmly says it's great to see her. "You too," she replies, clearly juiced. She basks in the glow of having seen this splendid specimen naked, then gives him the bullet on Joyce.
Susan performs a quick and routine exam on Mark, and determines that cranial nerves two through eleven are operating normally. "But not twelve," he clarifies. Susan tries to blow it off as a routine glitch and excuses his "solumedrol" slip-up with a lame coffee joke. Mark abruptly shrugs it off and dons his bravery specs so he can soldier through another day of mediocrity. He grabs an incoming gurney and takes command. The patient is a child with first- and second-degree burns inflicted by the front seatbelt. "You don't put kids in the front seat!" Mark shouts accusingly. Susan flinches at Crabby McJerkpants and his jerky crabulosity. She tactfully suggests that Luka could take over the case, but Mark ignores her and hightails it into Trauma Yellow with his new patient. Susan's all contemplative and sad, mourning the day her Milquetoast curdled.
Abby notices Pointless Bit Part, R.N., relaxing at the front desk. There's tomfoolery about how Bit Part is taking a break. You don't need to hear it. She exists so that Abby can whirl around and bump smack into Brian. "Where is she?" he demands, a calm demeanor belying his anxiety. Abby tries to play dumb, but Brian calls her on her lies. "I know she stayed at your place," he fumes. "Well, I know you beat the crap out of her," Abby spits. Brian testily claims that Joyce swung a bat at his head, and tries to showcase the bruise. Um, wouldn't a bat to the head do a bit more damage than that? Abby muscles past him, but Brian persists in quizzing her about Joyce. Snapping, Abby sasses that she'll happily deliver him to his wife -- because the cops are with Joyce, and might not mind a friendly chat with Brian. Abby's more pissed than intimidated by him, and holds her ground well. Luka pops out of the exam room behind Abby, and his presence seems to scare off Brian. "Who's that?" Luka asks. "The husband," Abby groans.
Elizabeth finds Mark in the trauma room and impatiently asks whether he got her page. Mark doesn't point out that, you know, there's a bleeding person on a slab in front of him, and maybe that is also important. Instead, he says the page he saw came from neurology; Elizabeth brats that it's because she was up there examining "[his] daughter's EEG." Susan good-naturedly takes over as Mark bolts out to pay attention to at least one of his children.
In the hall, Elizabeth delivers the good news that Ella's EEG -- a measure of brain activity, I believe -- is normal, but Elizabeth's mightily rankled that Mark skipped the consultation. He apologetically explains that the ER got swamped. "Swamped," Elizabeth repeats, uncomprehendingly. She scowls, then shakes her head as if to say, "Typical." What a bitch. Is she aware that this is Mark's job? And that he's scheduled to be doing it right now? During a staff shortage? Elizabeth stalks through the hall in a black cloud of ire. She's toxic. Mark defends himself by noting that Ella's breathing on her own and showing signs of recovery, but Elizabeth is irate that she's been left alone to deal with watching Ella in the PICU. I suppose she has a right to feel a little shafted, but still -- she's bitchier than a pregnant Collie. She snarls that she's going home to shower and change. "Be careful, because the evil daughter's there waiting for me," Mark brats. Oh no. It's coming. I'm going to do it. I can't...suppress...it: Hee! And ha! And go Mark, even! I feel like Jessica during her painful pro-Dawson period. I feel dirty. I need a whore to cleanse my feet in sweet oils and holy water. Elizabeth appreciates her husband's shred of personality about as much as you'd expect: she glares at him so hard, her left eye pops out. "Just go upstairs and sit with your baby," she seethes. Mark objects to her telling Rachel to leave, contending that banishment isn't going to solve the problem. "What has to happen, Mark?" Elizabeth shouts, all but literally throwing up her hands. "Does she actually have to succeed in killing her?" Oh, like she was ever trying to in the first place. Elizabeth vows that it's her turn to take control, and as such, Rachel's a goner. She bolts out the sliding doors in a whirl of hatred, and probably stench.
Mark trails Elizabeth. "I'm not choosing between my two daughters!" he protests. "You don't have to!" Elizabeth yells. "I'm choosing for you." Mark tells her back that this is a shitty lesson to teach the demon fruit of his loins. He grabs Elizabeth by the elbow to turn her around and wails that he doesn't understand what kicking out Rachel will prove. "That she needs to take responsibility!" Elizabeth screams, violently freeing herself from his grip. "That what she does has very real consequences for people besides herself!" And how, exactly, would exile teach that? It seems to me that Rachel would be the only one paying consequences for her actions. Also, it's not as if she didn't confess; she took responsibility for what she did, she just didn't act responsibly enough to prevent it from happening. I'm not trying to defend the repellent brat, but I do think that Elizabeth's approaching the punishment completely the wrong way. As a parent herself, she should have some empathy for how hard it is to love your child and be irate and disillusioned with her at the same time. Mark's convinced Rachel will tread carefully now. "Either she's out of the house by the time I take that baby home, or I'm not taking that baby home," Elizabeth challenges him. She whirls again and he grabs her. "[Ella's] my CHILD, Mark!" bellows Elizabeth tearfully. "I know that," he breathes. "She's mine, too." Or is she? No, just kidding -- I'm sure she is. I just prefer to believe she was immaculately conceived somehow, because Mark is about as sexual as my high-school yearbook. Anyway, Elizabeth shoves her weak husband and spits, "Then start acting like it!" As she storms away near tears, Mark tenses and then throws something in frustration. Elizabeth, in her fierce protectiveness of her child, can't seem to grasp that Mark might feel just as fiercely about Rachel, his child. She's also a hypocrite, in a way. What a nasty woman. I get so tired of watching Mark be unable to defend himself against her.
Abby walks in on Joyce trying to dodge questions from the cops. She's irate that Abby called them. "He fractured your face," Abby says plainly. "No, no he didn't," lies Joyce for the benefit of Officer Truncheon and Detective What's All This, Then. Abby unwaveringly tips them off to Brian's usual hangouts -- the University, the apartment complex, and The Windbreaker at Fourth and Ashland. Luka listens with interest as Joyce frantically begs Abby to stop all this. "Call if he comes again," Officer Nightstick says pleasantly as the cops quit the room. "He was here?" shrieks Joyce. Abby tries to quiet her as Luka explains Joyce will be safer if they put her in a shelter. "What if you have a kid with him?" levels Abby. "This is what you want for your children -- you want him to beat them?" Joyce whines that Brian wouldn't dare. "Wake up, Joyce!" blurts Abby, exasperated. "This is it. This is your chance to get away." Joyce cocks her head, appearing to listen as Abby continues that the good times mean little if the bad times involve broken bones and bloody noses. "If you go back now, you're telling him it is okay to do this to you, and it is not okay," Abby finishes. Luka appreciates this in an extremely good-looking way. "It's not okay!" Abby repeats, gently this time, as Joyce succumbs to her logic.
Carter exits Chill Castle and finds his mother leaning against the wall, wrapped in her fur coat and painted to look vaguely human. She's done up like a male Russian figure skater. Run, sweet Carter! She's an ice troll in disguise! He appears in The Turtleneck to inform her that the car is ready. "I managed a flight to Looogan, but I'm on staaaandby. Can you imagine?" Eleanor enunciates, back to the diction I know and loathe. The Turtleneck of Quiet Disappointment gazes sadly at her. Eleanor apologizes, and Carter points out that children have short memories -- Mickey would probably forget all about her abrupt disappearance if she returned to his side in short order. "No, you were right -- I became too involved," she muses. Carter admires his sweater for a second and then softly admits that perhaps he wasn't right at all. Eleanor stares off into space and tells a story about when Carter and Bobby used to play Tarzan, except she says "Tarzn," as if frosty patrician women don't believe in gratuitous vowels. "Bobby played Tarzan. I played Cheetah," Carter corrects wryly. The Turtleneck cuddles him. Eleanor continues, explaining that she always knew Carter sprained his wrist because Bobby pushed him, although Carter never squealed because he and his brother had their special secrets and stuck together through everything. "I didn't spend much time thinking about how your brother's death affected you," she confesses, choking up. "I didn't spend much time on anyone." Carter's eyes fill. "Do you have time now?" he asks, twelve again. He looks adorable. I think the legislature should make it illegal not to hug him. Eleanor shakes her head. "I won't betray another little boy," she swears. "Hope is all either of you have. Your brother believed me when I told him he'd get better....He died believing me." Carter shakes his head and says earnestly, with real emotion, "No. He was pretending for you. That was another one of our secrets -- I was supposed to not let you be sad." A tear threatens to dampen The Turtleneck. "I was supposed to make you happy," he whispers. "I'm sorry, Mom." Eleanor, her eyes wide and wet, throws herself into her son's arms. "I love you," she shouts into the night air. "Do you hear me? I love you!" Words cannot express how shrill and terrifying her voice sounded just then. Our giant black stuffed bear, Michael Clarke Duncan, just dove under the coffee table out of fear. And he's, you know, not alive. Carter and his mother weep with abandon.
At home, Abby puts the kettle on the stove and sips casually from a glass of red wine. She's wearing a bathrobe, buzzes up the food delivery man, and appears to be diffusing the day's stress while telling Joyce via telephone that she can stop off at the apartment when she knows Brian isn't there. She doesn't sound drunk to me -- I'm guessing that she's not perilously off the wagon, but slipping gradually from it. A beer here, a glass of wine there, and then it becomes two beers, two glasses of wine, etc. So it's a slow build, and I'm glad of that: if they're really having her falter, I'd rather it was thoughtfully mapped out instead of rushed. Responding to a loud knock at her door, Abby opens it without checking the peephole and discovers Brian on the other side. Her eyes glaze, and she abruptly hangs up the phone without telling Joyce what's happening. Brian is carrying her food, having paid the delivery man, and weasels inside the apartment to place the brown paper bag on a table. "Listen, I screwed up," he begins. "I have a problem, I need to get some help for it, but I love my wife." Abby says nothing, opting instead to dart him a series of looks from The Withering Collection. "I just have these strong feelings, you know?" Brian babbles. "It's not an excuse, and she might not talk to me, and I understand I don't deserve to have her forgiveness, but I just want to tell her I'm sorry." This comes off as quietly troubled, but mostly by rote, as if Brian's either given this speech before or is making a half-hearted effort at sincerity. He probes Abby for information about Joyce's whereabouts, but Abby remains cool and only assures him that the county's Social Services people can get Joyce a letter. Brian tries another tack -- concern for his wife's health. It doesn't work. "She's my life, don't you get that?" he pleads, hysteria mounting behind his inscrutable dark eyes. Abby hightails it to the telephone and brandishes it, threatening to call the cops unless Brian promptly leaves. "I'm pretty sure you're not interested in talking to them again," she sasses. Lord. Maybe she is drunk. Why else would you give lip to a known loose cannon? She probably watches Dawson's Creek and figured that all criminals are really just sarcastic and sassy heroes with hearts of gold who've fallen on mysterious hard times. Brian takes a menacing step toward Abby, but then calms himself and exhales a very measured breath. "You're right," he sneers. "I'm sorry. Good night." It's odd that Abby's being so sassy to this brute, but I don't think it's the alcohol -- she stood up to him just as firmly in the hospital, for better or worse. ["I did think that if Abby were totally in her right mind, she would do a better job of at least pretending deference to him, knowing that he's a complete maniac and all. The explanation that the wine lowered her inhibitions (advanced to me by Sars, since I have to say I'm so used to seeing characters drink casually on TV that I didn't even take note of the wine or remember that she's an alcoholic) makes a lot of sense to me." -- Wing Chun]
As soon as he's gone, Abby bolts and chains the door. Turning away, she jumps out of her skin when there's another loud series of knocks. She nervously picks up the phone and dials 911, and then Abby makes the most mysterious mistake -- she opens the door. To a wife-beater. With fists that have no shame and a volatile personality that has no "Mark" button. The kettle whistles, as if to say, "Perhaps you should reconsider inviting any contact with such a strange and violent man, and also, you are dumb." Through a tiny gap the length of the chain lock, Abby sees one angry Brian eye. Cut to a shot of one frightened yet defiant Abby eye. He breaks down the door, snapping the insufficient chain lock. "Brian!" she shouts. Brian hauls off and slugs her almost square in the face. She lands with an unforgiving thud on her hard floor, and the phone falls from her open palm and skids into the kitchen. The thing about this story is, it's been pretty clear since it began that it would end this way, yet the show did a good job of making me nervous every time Brian was in Abby's presence. I figured it was coming, but I didn't know when, and I got tense. Even in this episode, I knew she'd get beaten, but I still found myself on tenterhooks. Nicely done.
We fade up on the screaming kettle, and pan across the silent apartment to the cordless phone. Finally, we reach Abby, who awakens with a start. Blood sullies her upper lip, trickling from her nose, and a nasty cheek-and-eye bruise actively swells shut her left eye. She instinctively grabs her face and rolls up onto her knees, then stands slowly, as if her aching limbs won't work on command. Here, she first glimpses blood on her hand, and realizes it's coming from her face. The music booms so that we know she's experiencing something traumatic. Suddenly afraid, Abby instinctively shuffles over to close the door, trying to chain-lock it clumsily until she clicks that it's broken. Whirling, she sees the bag of food, chokes back emotion as she touches her throbbing face, and silently wonders if she's alone in the apartment. The music implies Brian is still around, but he isn't; still, Abby grabs the phone and flees to the sanctuary of the bathroom, another door she can lock. Smart of her to make sure she had at least one secure room in the place. The harsh bathroom light reveals the bloodstains on her mint satin robe. Suddenly, Abby catches sight of herself in the mirror, and trembles in horror. She sniffles through her battered nose, and gingerly touches her badly swollen eye and purpling cheekbone. "Oh my God," she whispers, yanking open the medicine cabinet and grabbing whatever bandages she can find. She sheds inadvertent tears as she tries to blot the blood, while ambulance sirens howl ever closer to her apartment building. Maura Tierney is brilliant.
Susan sits down at Gluttony's bedside. "Did you talk to your parents?" she asks gently. "My mom," Gluttony corrects her, lightning-quick. Susan explains that if she eats better, she'll feel better; Gluttony swears she's completely happy being fat. "I'm glad you're comfortable with your body," Susan insists, but warns her that extreme weight gain in such a short time can be a health hazard. "And you know, you'll be in high school soon, and you'll be interested in boys...." Susan adds. Idiot! As Susan explains that someday, Gluttony might want a boyfriend, it's becoming increasingly annoying that she's tying it to a conversation about the girl's weight. ["I could not agree more, dude." -- Wing Chun] I think it's insensitivity. Although it cracks me up that Sherry Stringfield, she of the vilified weight gain, got saddled with a story about a girl who suddenly chubbed up. I hope she gave the writers paper cuts with their own script. Susan's alarm bells toll when Gluttony swears she never wants a boy to touch her, ever. "When did your mom marry your stepfather?" Susan asks carefully. A nurse enters. "Three months ago," Gluttony confesses. Susan silently realizes that this coincides with the gorging, but she's called away by the nurse, who informs her of Abby's assault. Little Gluttony is forced to take a back seat to Wrath and Pride.
When Susan bursts into the exam room, Luka is already helping Abby, checking her eyes. This makes me angry. Susan and Abby have no history together, except for a thinly sketched mutual interest in Carter. Luka and Abby had a relationship, wherein bodily fluids were shared and sharing an apartment was briefly discussed, and yet we're cheated out of seeing his reaction to his ex's badly beaten face. That's the scene I wanted -- that's the emotional moment I wanted to see, rather than Susan's reaction which I don't care about, and I'm feeling really ripped off right now. And no, it's not just because Luka's hot and deserves more screen time -- although now that you mention it, Hot Luka crying would be so very tasty. At least we might still see Carter hear the news. Anyway, Susan gloves up while Abby fills them in on the details. "My neighbor's pissed because I sent his wife to a battered women's shelter," she says flatly, full of bravado. Luka connects that her neighbor is the guy who showed up at the hospital earlier. "So he knows where you live?" Luka quizzes. Oh, honey, you were doing so well, and now suddenly your synapses are on a plane back to Bosnia. He's her neighbor and he beat her up in her apartment. But bless him for being worried. Susan completes her scientific prodding and establishes that Abby's innards appear intact. Squirming and self-conscious at all this attention, Abby uncomfortably requests a gown. Luka turns away and tries prescribing morphine or Vicodin, but Abby staunchly insists that Tylenol is sufficient. I can't tell if she's somehow worried about the effects of using heavy-duty painkillers (see: Carter, plus her own addictive tendencies) or if she's trying to downplay the severity of her injuries. Susan notices a contusion on Abby's thigh. His back to them, his face pointed at us (yay!), Luka tenses. "She got kicked?" he chokes. Abby shrugs that she's not sure. Susan demands a rape kit even though Abby vehemently denies the possibility that Brian sexually violated her. Luka, still facing the camera, is desperately trying not to flip his lid. Abby stares morosely into space, the bridge of her nose sporting the crustiest purple bruise-welt I've ever seen.
Mark rocks Rubberella in the PICU, and I must say, he appears damned crabby about it. He's all, "She smells like tires!" Elizabeth enters quietly. "Did she eat?" she asks. "She passed out," Mark replies. "Have you?" Mark has neither passed out nor eaten. "Go, I'll take her," Elizabeth says gracelessly. Mark wants to talk, but Elizabeth puts her foot down all over his spinal cord and refuses to say one more word about the evil cocktail of genetics and adolescence that's brooding at home. She sits down with Rubberella, and Mark turns briskly and exits, saying nothing and barely looking at his wife. Elizabeth stares emptily after him.
Abby perches awkwardly in the stirrups as Susan checks her for signs of rape. Abby's pride is further dented when she has to answer probing questions about her lack of sex life, and hear a detailed analysis of her vaginal condition. Susan concludes that there's no proof of rape, and even stoic Abby can't conceal her relief. "I didn't think so," she whispers, wiping a tear from her good eye. Her nose is broken, but it's a non-displaced fracture so it will heal without needing to be rebroken and reset. "Could've been a lot worse," Susan offers. "Yeah," Abby snorts, tears coursing down her cheeks, against her will. Susan picks absolutely the wrong time to caution Abby about involving herself in domestic disputes. Abby gulps. "I was trying to help the girl," she says, crying freely, helplessly. "I did help the girl. Somebody needed to do something." Susan, clearly unsure how to appease her, offers to call her mother. Abby sniffles and snickers at once. "No," she says strongly. She tries to insist she'll be fine at home, but Susan refuses to accept this and talks Abby into spending the night on her pull-out couch.
Luka paces outside the exam room until Susan emerges. He's relieved to hear that Abby apparently wasn't raped. They emerge into the reception area, where Susan is stunned to see that the triage patients have been completely cleared. Luka quickly excuses himself, claiming he needs to unpack from his Bosnia trip. "I've lived here five months and I haven't unpacked," Susan mutters, but Luka's already gone. "Yeah, bail," she sighs to herself. Bitter schmitter. She then stares confusedly at the empty board, and whips around in delight when she hears a familiar voice touting his skills as a temp. It's Jerry! He's back! He's working triage magic and he's shoving a bagel in his face! Wait...yeah, he's shoving a bagel in his face, and as Susan points out, that means triage magic will turn into reverse peristalsis in a matter of minutes. The grossest part is, Jerry appears to freely admit that he nabbed the bagel from somewhere under the desk and stole the "dip" from the trash. Oh, Jerry. Triage magic? Triage tragic. Susan sends him home in anticipation of his violent stomach pyrotechnics.
Luka storms into The Windbreaker and spies Brian on the pay phone. For music trivia buffs, the song playing is "Easy Tonight" by Five For Fighting. The second Brian lays eyes on Luka, he bobbles the phone, hangs it up, and scurries around the pool table as if to use it as a shield. "I don't have a problem with you, man," he says. "I have a problem with you," Luka menaces. Brian claims it was all an accident, and that he had no intention of losing his temper. Luka advances on him and bitch-slaps him on the chest. "Let's see you hit me," he dares Brian. "Lose your temper with me." Brian swears he'll turn himself in, backpedaling in a thousand different ways and basically reducing himself to a quivering, ineffectual mullet-stand. Luka punches him, and then picks him up by the scruff of his neck. "Wait, I was wrong, I was angry! She took away my wife!" wails Brian. Luka clocks him again. "You took away your wife," he fumes, throwing Brian onto the pool table and clamping a hand on his neck. "I know, but I loved her," snivels Brian. "She's everything to me and I lost her." Luka leans in and very angrily hisses that if Brian touches Abby again, Luka will kill him. ["He fails to add, 'I really will. Ask around.'" -- Wing Chun] He drops the bitch on the felt table and sweeps out of the room, as bar patrons stare after him, agape and aghast and undoubtedly aroused. Violence is bad. But...damn! Wrath qua Luka is baaaaaad! He's so scorching that my smoke alarm just went off. Brian cries and bleeds.
Mickey, The Little Leukemia Boy That Could, grimaces his way through a spinal tap. Carter watches but does not assist, choosing instead to clench the boy's hand. Cut to Mickey's other hand, which is getting a whopping case of frostbite from Eleanor. Oh sure, she's squeezing it "warmly," but there's only so much heat a subzero organism can generate. Except, oh, they're giving Mickey strength, and giving each other strength, and nodding, and being there, and sucking the marrow out of life. Wow -- either Mickey is toast, or Eleanor is going to adopt him and he'll be Dennis the Menace to Rachel's...Rachel.
Mark hops into the MRI machine and is shot back into the very confining tube for his test. I wish I could tell whether these close-ups are stock footage from last time. There's a creepy-ass shot of Mark lying down, with some manner of mirror reflecting his eyes so that they're staring right at us even though he's prone. It's even more nightmarish than when his skull made love to the paper-towel machine. MRICam shows Mark looking emotionless. We fade to black on a shot of his glasses and his wedding ring sitting on a table. And so we can probably look forward to a very touching episode in which he gets divorced and goes blind.