So, true to form, NBC started this episode a bit early, and this was a first attempt at taping with TiVo, so of course it kicked on right at 10 PM and I missed the "previously on" and may have missed part of the opener. Sorry about that.
Dr. Mark "It's baaaa-aack!" Greene sits alone in a posh waiting room. ["If that's where it started, all you missed were some establishing shots of New York." -- Wing Chun] A receptionist kindly apologizes for the delay. "I can wait," Mark says listlessly, weighed down by the heavy chips of irony sitting on his shoulders. Suddenly, out comes his brain surgeon, Dr. Humperdinck, a.k.a. Chris Sarandon. He's smiling at a glowing female patient who's ever so grateful that she's about to receive life-saving surgery. Scrooge McMark glowers at her slightly. He's been there, done that, and sold the tumor-in-a-jar on eBay for barely more than the price of postage. Humperdinck greets Mark warmly and exchanges pleasantries about his flight. "Elizabeth with you?" Humperdinck asks. "Not this time," sighs Mark. They disappear into his office.
Humpy points to an x-ray film of Mark's brain. It's blank. Mystery solved. Let's all go home. Actually, there's a mark on the film that corresponds with the site from which Mark's tumor was removed. Mark desperately throws out ideas -- some vaccine is causing inflammation of the area, or perhaps it's a side effect of radiation. But Humpy dusts off his finest set of syllables and uses them in perplexing order to convey that none of Mark's simple, easy-to-understand theories is correct. "I'm afraid it's definitely tumor re-growth," Humperdinck says flatly. Mark gulps, and tries to remain stoic even as fear creeps into his eyes. He twitches a tad. "How soon can you operate?" Mark quizzes. Humperdinck clears his throat in order to ensure clear delivery of the fatal news: "I think no man will suffer as greatly as you will," he hisses, jacking the machine up to fifty while the six-fingered man gawks in heady terror. Mark is stunned to learn that his tumor is inoperable. "The tumor invaded the eloquent areas of the brain that control speech and motor function," explains Humperdinck. "If I start digging around in there now, the side effects would be devastating. You wouldn't be able to walk, talk, feed yourself." Mark points out that the same will happen if his tumor's allowed to grow anew. "So what are my options, other than sticking a shotgun in my mouth?" Mark smiles joylessly. ["Hey, hey now! Don't rule that one out so hastily! -- Wing Chun] Humperdinck suggests Stereotactic Radio Surgery, performed with a Gamma knife, which is available in Chicago. Why can't they do it in New York? Mark flew all this way, and isn't Humperdinck a brain specialist? Oh, I get it -- Gamma herself lives in Chicago, and it's her knife. Sterling silver, too. The Hump says the average life after Gamma surgery lasts four to five... "Years?" Mark brightens. "Months," Humpy says quietly. The last drop of hope vanishes from Mark's eyes and hitchhikes to a better place. Humperdinck tries to console him. "You should've been dead a year ago," he notes, with jarring frankness. "You got married, saw your daughter be born...I'd say that was time well-spent." Mark just stares emptily at him, as if to say, "Dude, have you MET Elizabeth?"
Mark exits onto a cold and crowded New York City street, surveying it one last time, drinking in the throng of life as his own starts to ebb. Roll credits. And there he is, Eriq La Salle, pumping his fist and dreaming that he's jamming it right up the bean counters' asses.
Mark is asleep when Rachel enters to wake him for work. She's going out of her way to be an attentive child, but Mark can't appreciate it, what with having his own death warrant in his pocket. Devoid of energy, he stares at the ceiling, promising to come downstairs in a second. Rachel is about two synapse-firings away from darting him a concerned look, but instead she just shrugs and heads back down to the kitchen. Mark rolls into a sitting position so that we get another look at his tumor scar, that familiar, thin pink Bridge Over Troubled Hairline.
Once Mark joins her, Rachel shares that Elizabeth called, and instead of leaving a number, she dictated a list of things she needs for Ella. Rachel then offers to bag them for Mark, but he gently waves her off and pours coffee. "How'd it go?" she asks. Mark stiffens, just the way everyone does when they're gripped by a guilty secret. If this was Days of Our Lives, we'd fade to commercial on a close-up of Mark's wildly darting eyes and feverish brow. But of course, she's speaking only of the conference Mark invented to cover his trip to Humperdinck's lair in Florin. "Uh, good, you know, the usual," Mark covers. "Boring." He makes sure she's all set to sleep over at a friend's house that night. "Are you sure you should be doing this?" Rachel asks, worried. Mark fogs up again. "Working a double shift?" she prods. Mark shakes it off and swears he'll be fine.
At the hospital, Drs. John "Son of Frosty" Carter and Jing-Mei "Deb" Chen pedeconference about a few different patients; he's giving her varied bullets, one of which is, "Dr. Lewis is crashed out in [Exam] Three." Chen looks up. "Susan?" she asks. No, Emmanuel. This is WebstER. Man, I hate stupid lines like that. There's no way Chen would've needed to clarify. Real people don't do that when there's no other Dr. Lewis. Carter exposits that Susan worked a double shift, so she shouldn't be disturbed. "And last but not least, the lovely but kind of spooky Miss Armstrong in Two, who's waiting on a Psych consult before the sewer people come and get her," Carter grins. "What sewer people?" Chen asks. "She's crazy, Deb," deadpans Carter. "Hence the Psych consult." Chen twinkles at him. That one goes out to all the Carter/Chen 'shippers out there. Carter flippantly tells her there's a burn trauma on its way in, as well, and flees for the day.
Jerry interrupts to give Chen a phone message from someone called Randall, who has called five times in the past eighteen hours. Frank noses his way up to Chen. "Sounds like a stalker," he whispers. "Want me to talk to him?" Chen rolls her eyes and refuses, and a mite rudely, too. Who among us would mind having a Frank to do our dirty work? Jerry is skeptical, though. "What are you looking at?" Frank gritches. Before Jerry can answer, Chen runs off to greet the incoming Teresa Matthews, who's been comatose for a year but whose mother thought Teresa was experiencing discomfort. "How could she tell?" Chen wonders. "That was my question," sniffs the paramedic. Oh, but don't worry -- we won't see Teresa again, so put her misfortune right out of your mind.
Abby "Bangs" Lockhart breezes past Reception, sporting her new hairdo rather nonchalantly, as if she thought we wouldn't notice. She's also sporting traces of a shiner underneath the eye Brian battered before the Olympics stole our hearts. Frank flags her down and says that Luka needs her to meet him in the ambulance bay with x-rays from a night's patient. This sparks a quick Jerry/Frank spat about who proffers more helpful details.
Abby runs outside just as a black sports car screeches to a halt in the ambulance bay, tailed by a cop car with its flashers on and siren screaming. Dr. Luka "Crotch Rocket" Kovac bolts out of the sleek ride, waves at the cop and makes a grand show of studying the x-rays intently. Abby impatiently demands an explanation. "He was going to ticket me," Luka admits sheepishly, darting back to his Dodge Viper as soon as the cop drives away. Lord. A Dodge Viper. That's the best you can do, Luka? It's a midlife-crisis car for people who aren't fully financially committed to having a midlife crisis. Abby snarks that she's glad he yanked her away from needy patients just so he can skip traffic school. Luka cranks his stereo, shrugs boyishly, and winks. "I owe you one," he giggles, driving away. Oh my. Is it hot in here? It must be, because even my stuffed bear just tore off his shirt and ordered a Bud Light. Abby chuckles affectionately as she watches him go.
Carter sidles up to Abby, vaguely entertained by Luka's display of crotch rocketry. "You off?" he asks. "Not until 10," she sighs. "This way, I'm never home when my neighbor is." Carter is surprised Brian's still out on bail, and Abby exposits that it's just until Brian's trial ends and he goes to prison, at which time he'll be behind bars and she'll regain a modicum of normalcy. The Jinx Fairy sadly puts away the tequila and puts on her gut-kicking boots. Carter awkwardly inquires about Joyce -- who is safe -- and then gently asks about Abby's well-being, lightly touching her bruised eye. It's a very sweet gesture, caring instead of clinical. Abby appears to combine a flinch with a blush. Strange, but I don't think I imagined it. They must be loading up on Carter/Abby/Luka moments to refresh our memories about the old triangle. "I think my Good Samaritan days are over," she observes. Carter credits her for saving Joyce's life, then carefully tries to make sure she's not suffering post-traumatic stress. Abby cottons to it and excuses herself, but with silent appreciation of his concern; Carter offers to buy her coffee and pie if she needs to talk. Briefly, I'd like to bitch again about how we've officially gotten screwed out of both Luka and Carter's reactions to finding out that Abby, a once and maybe future object of their affections, got the tar beaten out of her. To me, that's this story's payoff -- seeing what this does to change this stale non-triangle, and seeing these people in the moment instead of joining them afterwards. Argh. And, ugh.
Mark spaces out at a coffee stand near the hospital. He's crowding the front right side of the shot, and my God, are these people intending to make him look hideous? It's the worst shot of him since the infamous Head vs. Towel Dispenser bout a few weeks back. Susan scampers over on her way home and says something really dumb that's supposed to be chatty and perky. "I'm a little slow getting started today," Mark apologizes weakly. He offhandedly breaks the news that the tumor's back, and this time, it's pissed off. Susan's all, "That blows," as if Mark just told her he saw a penny, picked it up, and all day long he had bad luck. At least act like your character cares, Sherry. Mark tiredly explains that he's going under the Gamma knife. "How's Elizabeth taking it?" Susan asks. Mark drops the bomb: she doesn't know yet. Susan's appalled, but more because Mark's being the jolly loner and even trying to pull off a day of work, rather than reaching out. "I'll see her this afternoon," he says evasively. Susan promises to stop by after his 1:30 surgery to make sure he's feeling okay. He resists; she insists. Dr. Michael "I Am So Great! I Am So Great! Everybody Loves Me, I Am So Great!" Gallant interrupts to unload some work on to Mark, so Susan dashes home to sleep in a real bed.
Immediately, Mark's called to a trauma room to cope with a burn victim. Frank follows Mark as he deposits his stuff and dons his lab coat, threatening to "fire that new guy." Mark boredly points out that Jerry was technically there first, despite his hiatus. "So was that Neanderthal man, but he didn't last either," mutters Frank. Some psycho wheels himself past and screams at Mark, "You, you! You will be hearing from my lawyer!" Mark's like, "What the fuck? Did I screw you out of playing Rachel's boyfriend in season ten?" He's fatigued. Needs coffee.
The burn victim is covered with goo -- red and yellow scorched-flesh substitute. It's nasty. And oddly, it's making me crave a hot dog. Help me. Mark, still in his brown skull cap, assesses the situation and permits Haleh to titrate ten ccs of morphine. "He's not moving too much air," she frets. "That's because he's in too much pain to breathe," Mark booms darkly. Everything kind of went quiet right around that line. I think it was supposed to be a really dramatic moment. Except that when the man's skin has just been liquefied and he's a giant ball of pus and blood, it's not catching me by surprise that breathing is agony for him.
In the lounge, Chuny and Malik watch Abby peruse apartment ads. Luka arrives and overhears this. "That freak who hit me moved back in," Abby explains glibly. Luka offers to let her stay with him. "Thanks, but I don't know if that's a good idea," Abby decides. "Why not?" Luka wonders. "Yeah, Abby, why not?" prods the ever-annoying Chuny. Abby scowls. "Don't you guys have something to do?" she asks, but she's amused. Chuny giggles and Malik just canNOT believe the sass from that girl!
Luka follows Abby into the hall, insisting she shouldn't put herself in harm's way again and that he is genuine in his desire for her to stay with him. Abby's certain that Brian will be a non-issue and go to prison soon enough, but the apartment's lost its luster now that it's become a crime scene. "What's with the car?" she asks, deftly deflecting further questions. Blah blah blah life-is-shortcakes. Mmm, shortcake. "You look tired," Abby notes. "I was up late," Luka says. "Oh, really? What's her name?" teases Abby. Luka doesn't get it, so she has to clarify that she's kidding. He then reiterates his offer to have her stay. "Stay as long as you need, and you only have to sleep with me on the weekends," he says casually. "Excuse me?" Abby's jaw drops. "It's a joke, Abby," Luka grins triumphantly. God, he's cute when he's funny. And impish. And offering to sleep with her on weekends. Why did she have to look so horrified? Clearly she's insane. Clearly. I want to pass out.
Oh, good, its Dr. Elizabeth "Old Yeller" Corday, here to remind me how unwatchable she's become. She snipes that someone called for a surgical consult, and then blanches when Abby informs her that it was Mark. Professionalism calls me from a beach in Tahiti and tells me it's been living there for six months now and has a wicked tan.
Trauma Green. Burn Victim. We'll call him Guy Fawkes for all the British readers. Elizabeth isn't happy with Guy's stats or the flow of his breathing, but Mark insists he isn't ready to intubate yet. Elizabeth rudely disagrees with that assessment, but the arrival of Mrs. Fawkes interrupts this glimpse into Chapter Ten of Oops! I Did It Again: Office Romances And Me. Mark bounds out to deal with his patient's wife.
Mrs. Fawkes is freaking out. Mark explains that the burns caused Guy's chest tissue to swell, which in turn has impeded his breathing. Elizabeth is assessing whether he'll need a procedure to fix this. "An escharotomy?" Mrs. Fawkes gasps, horrified. Apparently, she's a nurse at Mercy Hospital, so she proceeds to ask knowledgeable questions and then gets weepy when Mark supplies honest answers. Guy? Isn't doing so well. Mrs. Fawkes explains that he had been painting furniture for their son's bedroom, but that he paints cars for a living, so he knows not to mix heat with the fumes. Mark promises to do what he can, and returns to Trauma Green.
Before he gets there, though, Mark sees that Elizabeth has already left, so he trails her instead. She makes a bitchy comment to the effect that Guy needs to be intubated. I hate her all over again. As she hoofs it for the elevator, Mark trots along and shares that he brought everything she requested for Ella. "What are we doing?" he whispers. Elizabeth ducks and feints to avoid direct eye contact. Mark begs her to come home because he misses them desperately, acknowledges her right to be angry, but swears that hotel living isn't going to solve any of their problems. "I'm not trying to punish you," she sighs, exasperated but clearly unwilling to throw him a bone of any kind. "I'm just trying to do what's best for Ella," she lies. Mark figures living at home with both parents is probably high on the What's Best For Ella list, although I'm sure room service for Mommy is a close second. Elizabeth concurs. "So when are you coming home?" he persists. "I don't know," Elizabeth says firmly, emotionlessly, as the elevator doors shut.
In Trauma Yellow, Mark toils over a boy named Aaron, assisted by Dr. Kerry "With Hair This Nice, I Don't Need A" Weaver. The boy can't feel his extremities, but Weaver can't detect any sign of nerve infraction. Mark still wants Aaron to stick with the neck collar, and they want to sandwich his head with sandbags to keep it from moving in case there has been some kind of spinal-cord damage. Mark pushes on Aaron's chest. The boy doesn't feel it. He looks scared. Officer Exposition enters so that we learn Aaron fell victim to a sledding accident, most likely engineered by his drunk father, who pulled the mini-chariot behind a snowmobile. Weaver's head snaps up. "You smelled alcohol on his breath?" she gapes. Officer Expo shrugs and says he didn't, but the man just seems out of it, so perhaps it's drugs instead of booze. Aaron's eyes dart from side to side. Mark checks the clock. "Going somewhere?" Weaver asks Mark, who feigns innocence. "That's the third time you've looked at the clock," Weaver adds. Perhaps he's wondering why it reads 5:10, which makes zero sense given how light it is already, how Rachel was awake and functioning at least an hour ago, and how Mark's surreptitious glances leads one to believe his 1:30 appointment is fast approaching. Nice prop, ER. Mark ignores Weaver and the obvious space-time continuum issues, preferring to poke Aaron's arm as hard as he can, ostensibly to determine the extent of his injury, although it doesn't hurt that it could double as a stress ball. "Why can't I feel my arms?" Aaron panics woodenly.
Mark pops out to meet with Aaron's father, Mr. James, a.k.a. Billy from that old Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russell movie Overboard. Give TBS a week and you'll catch it at least twice. The poor guy is distraught, and admits the whole thing was his fault. "I told them!" Billy frets. "Told who?" Mark asks. "Aaron and Chris, that we shouldn't, but they kept bugging me to," Billy says. "That's where adult judgment comes in," Mark condescends. This from the man whose adult judgment has a worse track record than a broken go-cart. Chris's father rages up to Billy and tries to start a fight, demanding the man be arrested. "He shouldn't even be allowed to operate a motor vehicle!" seethes the man. "He's only got half a brain!" Billy hangs his head, ashamed. I want to hug him. He's so well-intentioned and lost. The evil angry man spouts evil venom about how Billy's wife left him because he's stupid. Shut up, man! Even though I know he's a plot device to sway my pity toward Billy, I still...just shut up, evil goblin!
Mark pulls Billy aside. "It's okay. He's kinda right," Billy admits. "I would've never done something like this before I was stupid." Mark sits Billy down, because stupid people can't sit on their own. Billy shares that a lead pipe clocked his noggin at work. "My brain doesn't work as good as it used to," he says sadly. Apparently, Aaron lives with Billy "occasionally" now that their relationship is good. "We're buddies now," swears Billy earnestly. "We don't fight like we used to." Mark is touched because, in many ways, he is Billy and Rachel is Aaron, and thank the Lord for scripts, because how else would he know how to live his life?
Mrs. Fawkes wants attention now, so Mark promises to update Billy when he can and follows the worried woman down the hall. "Nobody's telling me anything," she frets. Mark vows to investigate Guy's condition.
Frank hands Abby a phone message. The district attorney called to tell her that her subpoena to testify against Brian has been revoked. "Revoked?" she echoes, coughing up the Jinx Fairy. Evidently, the trial got cancelled, but Frank doesn't have details. "You know lawyers," he notes. "They're half as smart as doctors, but twice as sneaky." Is that the slogan for John Wells's new show, The Court? Starring Sally Field and Chris Sarandon? And about lawyers? You should watch! Watch John Wells Presents Yet Another NBC Show: The Court. Just to see if it's true, this myth. Watch. Abby purses her lip and stares skyward, mentally counting to ten to prevent some kind of outburst. She's clearly thrown that Brian's trial, the would-be tidy trim of her mind's split ends, is a no go.
Mark enters Trauma Green to tell Guy that his wife is here, and wants to see him. Guy flips, as much as an immobile and badly burned man can. He desperately doesn't want her, or especially his sons, to see him in this condition. Mark warns him that once he's been intubated, he won't be able to talk to them at all, but that doesn't faze the patient. Casually, Mark flips through the chart and reveals that Guy's urine tested positive for amphetamines. "I've been working two jobs," Guy chokes, his breathing labored. "Sometimes I need a little help to keep me going." Mark asks how he takes it. Guy is silent. Even he knows what a dense question that is. "You smoke it?" Mark realizes. "Did you light up with all those fumes in the garage?" Guy whimpers that he just wanted to finish the dresser in time for his son's birthday on Saturday. Mark frowns, distraught that drugs ruined some perfectly good workmanship. Damn you, drugs!
Elizabeth clomps down the hall, especially matronly today in her enormous clogs. Dr. Robert "Fame" Romano chases her. "I was down in the ER," she says. "Let me guess -- rule out an [appendicitis] on a corpse?" he sasses. She shakes her head. "You're lucky," Romano grins. "I was beginning to think 'ER' stands for 'Everyone's Retarded.'" Oh my God. That's a shout-out to everyone who's ever watched this show or one of its promos. Elizabeth isn't charmed by Romano's ribbing about how frequently the ER docs want surgical consults. "I know your hubby's one of the big giant heads down there, but ...it's a wonder they all find their way to work every day." I'm crossing my fingers that this doesn't foreshadow a gripping episode in which Mark gets lost one morning and accidentally shows up at the Chicago Board of Trade, and ends up performing remarkable feats of medicine on the traders with nothing but an old orange jumpsuit and a stapler as tools. Romano gets to the point here, so let's get there with him: He has a memo from NBC demanding some Eriq La Salle face time, so he wants Elizabeth to call him in The Bahamas and make him book a ticket home. It seems Benton left some delinquent reports, and Romano wants them done by tomorrow on pain of death for Elizabeth. She crabs that it isn't her problem because Benton was the surgeon, and he left the show already, and this is the most contrived thing ever; Romano knows Benton won't come back to the hospital to take care of the paperwork, so he wants Elizabeth to handle things, or else Benton will be reported to the state medical board. Elizabeth answers a page that saves Romano from getting a swift bite to the bald pate.
Jerry presents Chen with a bouquet of red roses that's just been delivered from Randall. She's disturbed. This is the weirdest tertiary story -- reminding us that Chen has a sex life, or something. Ick. Frank leans in and quietly offers to have his police pals run a background check on Randall. I think it's sweet that he's protective. But I've loved Frank long time, so I'm biased. Jerry indiscreetly scoffs at Frank's offer, complaining that law enforcement officers too often abuse their ability to invade people's privacy. "Malcontent," gripes Frank. "Psycho fascist," Jerry fires back. This really rankles Frank's nads. Furious, he spins around and starts yelling at Jerry. "Bring it on, Gramps!" Jerry dares him. Frank lunges at him and they throw each other around inside the front desk area while Chen screams and gets in the way. The men bump into her and knock her to the floor, banging up her knee a bit. Frank and Jerry bicker about who was at fault. "Will you both shut up?" she screams.
A paramedic wheels in Dennis Cooper, victim of multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. Chen hobbles over to handle the case. His daughter is wheeled in behind him, seemingly unhurt but covered in dried blood and staring off into space, as if in shock.
Elizabeth and Chen crack open Dennis's chest so that we get a nifty trick-of-the-week. It's gross. There's blood. The smooth, gray fleshy body looks exactly like every fake C-section this show's ever done. Chen refers Weaver to the daughter, who is door under Gallant's care. She potters off to see about it. "No evidence of any penetrating injuries," he reports. "I don't think any of this is her blood." The girl nervously clutches a stuffed animal and has her knees drawn halfway to her chest. She shies away from Weaver's friendly gestures. Gallant whispers that from the looks of things, the moppet saw her father get shot and knows who the culprit is. Weaver sits down to examine her, but a lurking cop has to supply her name -- Brianne -- because the moppet isn't saying a word. Weaver is mildly annoyed by the cop's presence, but largely ignores him in favor of trying to draw out Brianne. She promises to try and make Dennis better. "Are you hurt?" Weaver asks gently. "I don't think so," squeaks the girl tightly. Officer Poirot over there hunches down and demands to know if Brianne saw the person who shot her father. Disgusted, Weaver kicks him out of the room. She is sassy! She promises Brianne that no one can hurt her here, and that she's safe.
Poirot finds Weaver in the hall and demands to speak with Brianne. Weaver, though, wants the child to finish with the pediatric Psych consult because she's showing signs of post-traumatic stress disorder. "She just saw someone put five bullets into her father!" she argues. "Yeah, and I need to know who did it," Poirot insists, claiming Dennis is a known drug dealer with big enemies. And now, many small bullet holes. Poirot tries to scare Weaver, claiming that the shooter will probably show up and try to wax young Brianne because she's the only witness. Her junkie mother is even a suspect. This kid's life couldn't be worse, America. Open your hearts. Weaver agrees that she should have an officer outside Brianne's door, but wants to talk to her before the cop does.
Elizabeth reports that the bullets shattered Dennis's heart, rendering him entirely dead. She offers to speak with Brianne, but since she's as comforting as an icicle enema, Weaver declines and vows to deal with the child herself.
Mark is strapped into a funky helmet thing that reminds me of Doc Brown's 1950s mind-reading hat from Back to the Future, except for the fact that they actually look quite different. Never mind. The technician, who our forum eagle-eyes identified as Vondie Curtis-Hall's wife, apologizes for keeping him waiting and promises that the procedure shouldn't exceed forty minutes. With 210 Gamma rays, she plans to pinpoint the tumor and fry its ugly shriveled ass. "What happens if I sneeze?" Mark asks. "Try not to," She-Vondie advises. "It could vaporize all the brain matter in your skull cavity." Mark blinks. It's the wittiest comeback this side of a toe wiggle. The machine sucks Mark in to the tune of Beethoven's lesser-known work, "My Brain Hurts," in D minor.
Jerry hangs out at the front desk, blissfully unaware of the terror that's about to visit him. Her name is Elizabeth, and she gritchily points out that she's been waiting for Mark. "He left," Jerry says innocently. Irritated and dumbfounded, Elizabeth wants to know if he left a message as to his whereabouts. "Sorry," Jerry says pleasantly. Elizabeth furrows her brow so as to induce a right tantrum, and scowls at the wall when Jerry offers to page Mark.
Mark, clad in a standard-issue hospital gown, sits forlornly in a darkened room. She-Vondie enters and pleasantly advises him to take it easy in the few days, since many patients report headaches, nausea or actual vomiting after undergoing the Gamma treatment. I'm sure Carter can relate. And oh, dear God, this is when it all starts to unravel. Mark whips off his gown and stands there, shirtless, while the technician blathers on about seizures. I think I might have one. Picture the famed Top Gun volleyball scene, add fifteen years and some stray hairs, and then flog yourself with a hair dryer. It approximates this experience. She-Vondie tactfully refrains from screaming. Instead, she warns Mark to make sure he's got adult company that evening in case any side effects overwhelm him; he lies that Rachel will be around. Because he's stoic. He's a hero.
It's imperative that Mark pretend he's fine, so he shows up at Ella's doctor's appointment in his brown penis cap. The pediatrician cheerfully informs Mark that he's too late; Elizabeth and Ella just left. Mark deflates, aware that by the time Elizabeth's done with him, his ears will be bleeding and his soul will shrivel.
At the courthouse, Abby chases down an attorney who we can only presume is the assistant DA in charge of her case. Although he treats her with the disrespect one might assume would come from Brian's lawyer. Abby is protesting the abandonment of Brian's trial, and we learn that both sides cut a deal -- no jail time, but a year of parole and forty hours of community service. Which is, like, the same thing people got in my old dorm for getting drunk at a winter formal and puking on a nun. Abby is aghast. "The guy attacked me!" she shouts. "This is his first offense," Lawyer O'Ugly points out. "But he's pathological!" Abby insists. "I've had to call the police on him before." O'Ugly says the court also insisted on mandatory anger management. "So, what, he counts to ten before he hits somebody now?" Abby gapes. O'Ugly whirls and shoots Abby a look of pure poison. "Let's not overlook the fact that somebody beat the hell out of Brian Westlake a couple hours after you were attacked," he sneers. "But you didn't know anything about that, right?" He drips with derision. Abby narrows her eyes. "No," she spits, but sincerely. O'Ugly's eyes are filled with dubious contempt as he departs, leaving Abby alone and confused and feeling jilted by the justice system.
At Mark's bidding, young Aaron wiggles his toes, then his fingers. "I'm not paralyzed?" Aaron asks. Mark assures him that he's improving fast ,and sits him up in the hospital bed. "Your dad's going to be glad to hear this," he says, sitting casually beside the bed. "The police think he was drinking." Aaron swears that Billy doesn't drink. Mark muses that Billy sure should know better than to pull young boys behind his snowmobile. "He does," Aaron says flatly. This kid is a bad actor. Mark cleverly deduces that the kids goaded Billy into tying the sled to the snowmobile, but his epiphany is disturbed by The Flame of the Damned. Which his to say, the sight of Elizabeth's hair. She's glaring through the glass, having spotted Mark doing his job again. She hates when Mark does what the hospital pays him to do. Nothing riles her more than seeing Mark be a doctor when he could be fulfilling his role as Village Pissant. Mark feels the crack of leather against his ass and knows the sensation of his wife's whip, so he leaps out of his seat and chases her down despite the fact that he's about to weasel a confession out of Aaron, who is, like, yelling after Mark to try to keep the conversation going. But no, Mark would rather get eaten alive by the preying mantis.
By the time Mark reaches his wife, the irate fires of So I Married A Wussbag are roiling in Elizabeth's eyes. "Where were you?" she demands, her jaw set in anger. "Something came up," Mark offers. "Something more important than our daughter," Elizabeth interprets snottily. Funny, she's never once inquired as to Mark's general well-being. And she thinks Mark is being self-centered? Mark tries to soothe her by pointing out that he did, in fact, make it to the doctor's office, but he just missed them. "I talked to the doctor," he shares. "Everything's going to be okay." Elizabeth snorts that some long-term effects might still manifest themselves. Way to be an optimist, Lizzie. It's as though she's rooting for Ella to get brain damage so Elizabeth can screech, "I told you so!" Silly cow. Haleh flags down Mark to drag him back to Guy Fawkes's bedside. Elizabeth brats that she's "down for a GSW" -- Dennis's, I assume. "You'd better hope you can still intubate him," she bitches about Guy. God, it's like they're siblings fighting over whose stethoscope is the best. I totally hate what they've done to Elizabeth. Mark, I feel, was a lost cause the minute he became the put-upon Job of the show, but I missed the memo that explained why marriage and pregnancy had to turn Elizabeth into a whining, screechy fuckwit.
Weaver quietly enters Brianne's room and perches to the young girl's bed. Carefully, and with great compassion, she breaks the news that Brianne's father didn't survive the shooting -- they tried, but they couldn't fix his heart. Brianne stares at her knees, lip jutting out, her hands playing with a rubber band that's looped around her fingers. "I know it's hard, and you feel really sad, but it's very important that you talk with the police," cajoles Weaver. Brianne tearfully refuses. Weaver reassures her that it's a safety measure to ensure that the bad guy doesn't hurt anyone else again. "Did you see who shot your father? And do you know who they are?" she asks. To both questions, Brianne replies with a shaky "yes." But she's loath to tell the police, and that's because it was Brianne herself who pulled the trigger. Weaver's face registers the perfect blend of shock, disbelief, and fear -- mostly, fear for this poor child who's so emotionally and developmentally damaged. Brianne has a scarily defiant glint in her eye. "He fell asleep on the couch and left his gun on the coffee table," Brianne explains with a hurt pout. Weaver assumes Dennis was abusing Brianne, but that's not it. "He wouldn't let me watch TV," she mopes. "He said if I turned on the TV while he was asleep, he'd shoot me, so I shot him first." Weaver sighs.
Mrs. Fawkes leaps out of her seat as Mark approaches. Surgery is a must, he reveals, so she's desperate to see Guy just once before the intubation removes his ability to speak. "He'd prefer if you didn't [come in]," Mark explains. But Mrs. Fawkes is defiant, swearing she's seen worse than body burns in her days as a Mercy nurse. Her wifely determination sways Mark, and he agrees to escort her to Guy's bedside if she promises to leave the children behind. She acquiesces.
Mark leads Mrs. Fawkes into Trauma Green, where she gasps lightly at the sight of her husband's sticky latex makeup. He looks like a hot dog that's been left in the 7-11 warming machine for three months. "I said no," Guy growls at Mark. "And I said yes," Mrs. Fawkes says firmly. Guy looked touched and slightly turned on by his wife's stubbornness. He foams at the mouth from talking too much, and Haleh cedes the sucker to Nurse Fawkes so she can stay there for a few more minutes. "I'm sorry," murmurs Guy. His wife is sympathetic, until she gets a glimpse of his labs -- by which I mean, grabs them and reads them. "He tested positive for amphetamines?" she huffs. Guy feebly tries to employ the "it was an accident" excuse, but she owns the 2002 print edition of The Big Book of Bad Excuses and that one's so lame, it got excised during editing. Self-righteously, Mrs. Fawkes lays into him for lying, mocking his promise to stay clean. "Was it good?" she fumes. "Did you get nice and stoned?" Guy sputters that he just wanted to finish the dresser for their son. "No," she yells. "You just wanted to get high!" I'm so glad we got to face this important social issue, because I've been meaning to discuss it with you. Doing drugs isn't good, people. It will burn you on the outside, and you'll end up divorced with singed hair. So please, just say no -- don't say, "No -- unless, of course, I have to build a dresser." Thanks.
Abby walks briskly down a snowy Chicago street toward her apartment, then slows down when she sees Brian coming in the other direction. He doesn't see her. Nervously, Abby stops completely and watches him let himself into the building, then slowly turns around with great resignation and starts walking in the opposite direction.
Mark goes looking for Mrs. Fawkes, but can't find her. He bumps into Adele instead; she has just been investigating the case of Billy and the Careless Pulling, which sounds like a Hardy Boys sex mystery. Adele isn't comfortable, because she can't reach the mother and the father just recklessly endangered his son by tying his sled to a snowmobile. "I don't want to split up this family, but the father is as much a kid as his son," she says ruefully. Mark swears that Aaron and his pal coerced their dim chaperon and deserve to take some of the blame -- which still makes Billy an easily manipulated authority figure, which in turn makes him an unlikely candidate for any kind of custody. Adele says she did consult the boys, and they confessed to nothing.
Mark gingerly enters Aaron's room, ready to lay the smack down with a force equaled only by one who picks up Sweet-N-Low packets and then drops them defiantly onto the counter. That's right: Mark's going to get downright mild. We're through the looking glass here, people. He challenges Aaron's statement to Adele and the police. "You want to get your dad arrested?" Mark sneers. "Maybe it'll smarten him up," Aaron bristles. Mark is thoroughly disgusted. "He's always doing stupid stuff and saying things that are embarrassing," Aaron complains. Mark hangs his head and confesses that every teenager feels that way about his or her parents. It's the way of the world. "But my dad's really a moron," whines Aaron. Mark should have him talk to Rachel. She at least manipulates her moron stealthily. Mark sings The Ballad of Oh, Just Wait Until Foster Services Gets Here. "He could've said no," argues Aaron. "Could he?" Mark fires back. "You think your father likes what happened to him? He lost his wife, he lost his job, he lost himself...You're the only thing he has left. And he still thinks the two of you are buddies." I am too tired even to comment on the whole brain-damage parallel. I'm sick of bitching about this show's lack of imagination. But one reader pointed out that Mark sounds like Steven Seagal in this scene. It's true -- it's like he was told to practice a Voice of Justice, so he aped Seagal's husky and expressionless pipes. How very sad. Aaron defiantly swears that he and Billy still are buddies. "Then you need to grow up and start acting like one," Mark growls. This is more or less the same "forceful" faux-parenting that he should've given Rachel. We're watching the Re-Nadification of Mark. Naturally, Aaron calls out to Mark and asks for one last pass at the police. It seems Mark's touching words and belief in common human decency have combined to change another life for the better. Gratified, Mark promises to find the cop so that Aaron can set things right.
But once he's in the hallway, Mark's cool demeanor collapses. He sinks onto a seat and grabs the bridge of his nose, blinking away tears and choking back nausea. His eyes redden.
Mark escapes outside for some fresh air, popping an aspirin and sinking tiredly onto a bench in the ambulance bay. He's clearly weak. Susan approaches and scolds him for still being on his feet attempting to work. "Do you have a headache?" she softens. "Just a little stress," Mark downplays, all Brave Little Tumor about it. "That, and several hundred beams of radiation zapped into your brain this afternoon," Susan sighs. She wants him to go home, but Mark staunchly -- if listlessly -- wants to serve out the remaining half-hour of his shift. "Did you tell her?" Susan queries gently. Mark stares into her eyes sadly, then shakes his head. Susan's upset that Mark has kept this secret from everyone, including Rachel. Mark confesses he's scared of being treated differently, of unintentionally coloring everyone's emotions with a deep pity that could be mistaken for something more profound. "They start giving you that look," Mark mopes. "That look...like you're half-there. Like you're already gone. Believe me, I've seen it before." You've been seeing it for two years from home viewers, Mark. "Well, you're still here," Susan says dryly. God, she's prickly. Mark gazes at her, then stands quickly and bids her farewell. The motion is too much, though, and a wave of nausea knocks him back onto the bench. Susan freaks and threatens to rat him out to Weaver unless he allows Susan to escort him home. Wordlessly, Mark complies. "You better not puke in my car," Susan grouses good-naturedly. Except it's also mildly annoying. Even when she's expressing concern, Susan acts irritated. Every word of sympathy shooting from her mouth feels barbed.
Elizabeth tries to collect her thoughts in the medicine supply room, but Haleh interrupts her because Guy Fawkes is ready to be delivered to the burn unit, and he hasn't been intubated so he needs an escort in case his airway becomes constricted. "He's Dr. Greene's patient. Why don't you ask him?" frosts Elizabeth, who isn't at all pleased to learn that Mark left a half-hour early and fobbed Guy off onto her. So she's even cooler than usual in dealing with poor Guy, who's broken-hearted and physically crumbling. He babbles to Elizabeth that his wife's gone and he let her down, and broke a promise. "Even if I live, she'll leave me," he gasps. "I'm sure that's not true," she says. "Wouldn't you?" he pants. "Look at me." Elizabeth tries to kindly reassure him that they'll soldier on through the rough patches, but Guy isn't done trying to beef up his résumé. "Could you find her? Tell her I love her?" he begs with effort.
Elizabeth tracks down Mrs. Fawkes and introduces herself. The woman is frosty and has called Guy's mother for relief, because she can't stand to be there. "I didn't tell her about the drugs," Mrs. Fawkes snips. "I should. I should let the boys see him, show them what drugs did to their father!" Her venom is hard to digest. It feels like such a ham-handed attempt at a social-issues storyline. Elizabeth argues that, although Guy erred in judgment, he truly needs Mrs. Fawkes to help him through the rough patches. "What about my sons?" Mrs. Fawkes spits. "They need a father, but they don't have one now." Elizabeth is all gentle, insisting that the boys do have a father, but Mrs. Fawkes is dead set that smoking amphetamines means Guy is dead to her and her children. "He's in unbelievable pain," argues Elizabeth calmly. "He'll be permanently disfigured. He'll never look like the father your sons remember. I think he's suffered enough pain, don't you?" Mrs. Fawkes stares at Elizabeth with a mixture of awe and irritation.
Weaver casually hands Frank and Jerry suspension notices because of their earlier fistfight. The two men band together and pretend it's all been a monstrous joke at Kerry's expense, because there was no fight, not at all. "I love this...old guy," Jerry says, choking back disgust long enough to wrap his arm around his nemesis's shoulders. Weaver grabs Chen for confirmation that Jerry and Frank knocked her over during their horseplay, but she denies it all. "I tripped over a phone cord earlier, but that was my own fault," Chen says blithely. Weaver grimaces knowingly. I can't tell if Chen's just trying to gloss over the Frank/Jerry spat by giving them one last chance, or if she's trying to subtly get at Weaver. Either way, Weaver knows this is fishy, but lets it slide.
Chen turns around and warmly greets Carter. "Just the man I want to see!" she chirps. "Look, I've got six patients for you!" But she's interrupted by the arrival of Randall, The Randall, the one who won't leave her alone, the one who only exists to prove Chen has a life outside County General. ["I thought I recognized Randall as Groosalugg from Angel, and indeed, it is he." -- Wing Chun] Chen is clearly uncomfortable that Randall chose to follow his myriad phone calls and the huge bouquet of roses with a personal appearance at her place of business. "Are you off?" Randall asks. "Uh..." Chen fumbles. "Aren't you supposed to be covering Dr. Greene?" Carter interrupts innocently. Chen, relieved, runs with the excuse. But it's not flying, so she uncomfortably breaks up with Randall, who's incredibly dense about it, yet manages to look sort of hot in the process. Chuny is bewildered. "We just went out once," Chen defends herself. "One date and he's buying you flowers?" Carter gapes. "Can you believe it?" Chen quizzes rhetorically. "You give a guy a hand release during Harry Potter and he wants to marry you!" Of course he does, Chen. Unexpected "hand releases" -- what a stupid, stupid term -- get every guy in the world excited. But the image of Chen choking Randall's chicken makes Carter choke on his coffee. I can't tell if she was kidding or not, because Ming-Na isn't terribly adept at comedy anyway, plus it sure sounds like she's playing that line straight. Still, I laughed, because that movie's about as sexual as Mark in leather.
Abby arrives at Luka's door and knocks uncomfortably, then has second thoughts when no one answers and she detects music blaring from behind the wall. She turns to leave, but a pretty blonde opens the door and greets her. "Can I help you?" asks the very young strumpet. No wonder the cops were chasing Luka this morning. She's practically jailbait. Luka appears behind her and is genuinely delighted to see Abby. "I...just wanted to say hi," she says lamely. Luka dismisses his company as "just a couple friends," and seems hopeful that Abby is accepting his offer of free temporary lodgings. Abby weighs this in her head, wanting to accept, but inclined to decline until Luka smiles gorgeously and implores, "Please. For me. I need you." She looks up tentatively. SAY YES. Don't be stupid, Abby. He's the kind of eye candy that could solve world hunger. "They're kicking my ass at Pictionary," Luka adds mischievously. He grabs her arm and Abby lets him draw her inside.
Elizabeth meets up with Benton outside and hands off the unfinished paperwork. "This doesn't have to be so clandestine, Peter," she scolds affectionately. "You won't burst into flames if you actually step inside the hospital." Benton metas that he just wanted to make a clean break. We hear you, Benton. You're so played. Politely, Benton asks about Ella. "You seem to be holding up okay," he notices. "Yeah," Elizabeth breathes vacantly. Benton, no dummy, knows a plea for an inquiry when he hears one. Elizabeth gives him a long, hard look and then blurts, "I think I may have left my husband." Benton snorts. "You think?" he asks. Blah blah, she's living in a hotel. But this is the best part ever: Elizabeth starts blathering on about how she has never "made demands on" Mark, and how this is the only time she's begged him to put his family first and yet he won't do it because he won't kick Rachel out. She actually says this. Was that not her in the first few episodes of the season? You know, when she was ranting and raving about Mark not helping out enough, and basically blaming everyone but herself for her maternal fatigue? She's being a hypocrite, too, because obviously Rachel is as much Mark's family as Ella is. Elizabeth implies that Mark's refusal to boot Rachel stems from his weird need to prove he loves her. Eh? More like, his weird need to attempt a parenting method other than letting Rachel walk all over him, which is what she'd be doing if he just shipped her back and forth between himself and Vulcan Jen every time Rachel did something stupid. Actually, let's face it, Rachel will walk all over him either way. But you know if Elizabeth was in Vulcan Jen's position, she'd be reaming Mark if he tried to send Rachel home, and accusing him just as virulently of not putting his family first and trying to be a sensible parent. I don't know -- I just find this little speech insufferably self-indulgent. Peter deduces that Elizabeth wants Mark to evict Rachel because she seeks proof that he loves her and Ella. Elizabeth both agrees and disagrees, confused by her own feelings. "I don't know if I'm protecting my daughter or just angry," she sniffles. "I think I do blame him for what happened. And I think I've found a way to avoid being with him because I blame him." Benton looks sad. He doesn't want to be here. He could be in Tahiti right now. Elizabeth shakes her head and posits that Mark's suddenly...different, and in an unfavorable way. "It's like he's disconnected from us, somehow," she reflects. I don't quite see this, either -- he's busy now, but in every other scene he's been the same old don't-rock-the-boat Mark that he's been since he married the harridan. Selfishly, Elizabeth heaves a sigh. "I just don't have the energy to figure it out," she says. And, oh my. He's evil because he isn't putting Ella first, yet she's unwilling to expend the energy to TRY to patch things up with Ella's father, and is therefore not putting Ella first either. Ugh. Tumor, don't fail me now. This storyline is poison and it needs to end before anyone else falls prey.
Back at Valium Villa's new Tumor Town exhibit, Mark's crashing out on the couch as Susan tries to pamper and feed him. "Starve a cold, feed a tumor," Mark rambles, barely conscious. Susan sits down to him with a hot bowl of soup, but he'd rather take a nap. "I'll help you upstairs if you have some soup," she bargains. "No, right now, right here," Mark says, which would be a come-on if he wasn't as energetic as a beige carpet. Susan is in the middle of lecturing Mark about getting rid of Rachel for the night, because he needs a watchdog after the Gamma knife therapy, when Mark grouches, "Oh, great." His right eye isn't closing. And yet? He immediately blinks. This is the best show ever. "I've heard of cowboys who sleep with one eye open," Susan deadpans. I kind of laughed there, but the rest of the episode's been such a downer that I feel I'm entitled to a chuckle. Mark's mildly wounded by her humor, because he's upset, but he's actually more heartened to have her there at all, nurturing him the way Elizabeth should be. Delicately, she tapes his eye closed, then watches him in complete distress. The pain of his deterioration shines clearly in her eyes, as she stares at someone she once loved. She carefully covers him with a blanket, settles back on the couch and lets him curl up with his head on her lap. Absently, she rubs his tumor scar.