Last week on ER, Romano romanced a helicopter rotor and lost an arm in the deal; the reattachment surgery was successful, but he still acted bitter. Carter hooked up with Abby during the quarantine. Elizabeth's father urged her to adjust to life in London, but she couldn't, so she decided to go back to Chicago.
A radio plays the morning news and traffic report. The camera pans across a bathroom, where we see that Dr. John "Loverboy" Carter is taking a shower while "A"Abby Lockhart wipes steam off the mirror. "You've been in there for twenty minutes," she complains. "Miss me, or am I wasting water?" Carter calls out teasingly. Abby petulantly rubs the mirror. "Both," she whines. Carter can't figure out why Abby's knickers are knotted, since her shift doesn't start for two more hours, and also because she's probably not wearing any. Abby drops the tidbit that she's contemplating attending an AA meeting before work, then waits hopefully for Carter's reaction. He's silent, so she wanders over to the shower. "Helloooo?" she says. "Something wrong?" No, but there's about to be: Carter's decided that it's sausage time. He opens the shower door and yanks her inside with all the force of a snail towing a car. Thus begins the now-infamous Shower Scene, which consists largely of absolutely nothing. Abby's robe drops to the ground, and we get a shot of wet Carter kissing her neck while damp Abby's eyes close in what's supposed to be arousal, but which comes off as "Dammit, now I can't use the 'sorry, but I have to wash my hair' excuse." That, or Noah Wyle pulled an unexpected Free Willy.
There's mayhem in the ER. Again. I don't know what this show would do without mayhem. ["Be Chicago Hope?" -- Wing Chun] A junkie begs Frank for help getting a new "prescription," and Frank rebuffs him. Carter exposits that they're low on beds for patients. Dr. Jing-Mei "Deb" Chen runs her finger over Carter's neck. "Did you cut yourself shaving?" she asks, then a realization dawns on her. "Ooooh, never mind. Lipstick." Since when does Abby wear lipstick?
Dr. Susan "Any Which Way But" Lewis stares in disbelief at the board. "I think we're getting there," Carter says, approaching her. "Hardly," she groans. "Board #2 is for the patients in the halls." Carter's a bit startled. After eight years, he still doesn't recognize mayhem when he sees it. Perhaps it's masquerading as pandemonium. With a wry grin, Susan flips through charts detailing patients' heat exhaustion, smoke inhalation, and boils. "All up for grabs," she says with sarcastic excitement. 'I love my job," Carter deadpans.
Across the room, Junkie is berating a cluster of nervous-looking youths in lab coats. "Why are you dressed like that if you can't prescribe nothin'?" he screams. A smile flits across Carter's lips. "Ah, the smell of fresh med students in the morning," he says. Susan and Frank banter about them, with the former calling them "sweet"-looking, and the latter terming them "gullible, immature, vapid." But the one thing they definitely are at the moment is "underfoot," because no one has time to tend to them. On account of the mayhem. Carter instructs Frank to pass out orientation manuals and let them know that he'll be with them as soon as possible. Which is to say, not any time soon, because some traumas are incoming.
Dr. Greg "Uber" Pratt scampers up. Hungrily, he can smell a trauma from ten miles away. If it bleeds, Pratt feeds. He tries to get Carter to assign him the case, but Carter hands him a rash and a wrist fracture and Pratt looks pissed that he's not taking center stage. Abby follows Carter outside toward the trauma; en route, they pass Junkie, who's now screaming and convulsing on the ground in front of the medical students. Carter blithely notes that people who are really seizing can't speak. "Remember that time," smirks Abby, stepping over him. Clueless Student #1 turns to a pretty brunette and wonders, "Think it's always crazy here?" The girl -- not without smarm -- answers, "Probably." She's the only one with her orientation packet open, and she's the only one played by Leslie Bibb, so we can presume we'll see her again shortly and that her eagerness will make us want to slap her silly.
Outside in the ambulance bay, Luka makes a paramedic load a patient back into the rig. "You guys suck," the EMT curses. Luka moves on to the ambulance. "No beds," he says curtly. "Try Rush; we're completely filled." Is he allowed to do that? Let an ambulance pull up and then kick it out? The driver steams that he's been turned away from Mercy already; he's running out of gas, and so is his increasingly at-risk patient. Luka, however, has stopped paying attention, because he spied Abby and Carter hopping into a rig together and he's scheduled to give her a look of cryptic longing. The Bermuda Triangle has sucked him back in, poor sap. He catches her eye for a cordial nod, then continues staring at Abby as she goes about her job. "Yo, Doc!" shouts the paramedic. Luka snaps out of his reverie, and we head into the credits wondering why the geometric vortex can't go suck on something else for a while. I hear Pratt is horny.
When we return, Dr. Robert "Puts the 'Arm' in 'Smarm'" Romano is undergoing some physical therapy on his hand. Dr. Kerry "Dream" Weaver observes. "You are one sadistic bitch, you know that?" Romano groans to his therapist. "Give me your middle finger," she orders him. "I would if I could," he mutters. Weaver updates him on an emergency administrative meeting to discuss the rash of local ER closures that have sent their patient load skyrocketing by 34%, and hands him some files. Romano skims the paperwork while wincing in pain. "Who'd you take to La Scala's?" he asks suspiciously. "Which board member's ass are you kissing?" Weaver defends herself by saying she was simply making herself handy, compiling a report on patient overload. She defensively insists that she's not sucking up to anyone, and that she only acted as she did out of necessity. Meanwhile, Romano interjects with assertions that his recovery is well in hand, and will be rapid. "It's not my dominant hand," he avers. "I'll be back in the office in two weeks and back in the OR in two months." Weaver levels him with a firm glance. "I hope you are," she says sincerely. Romano ignores her, his face twisted with agony. This doesn't go unnoticed, and Weaver suggests that he arm himself with a higher dose of Vicodin. "Ibuprofen," Romano corrects her. "I want to stay clear-headed." The therapist finishes; Romano -- ever the overachiever -- wants to continue but she's got to hand him off and go help another patient. "Don't get too comfortable, Kerry," Romano warns as he settles into his sling. His tone is light, but with serious undertones.
Just then, Dr. Elizabeth "The Bitch is Back" Corday rounds the corner and pauses, shooting an extremely out-of-character affectionate smile at the sight of Romano. Seriously, it's more pure joy than was on her lips at any time last season. "Lizzie!" Romano exclaims, barely masking the extent of his delight. Looks like someone's crush isn't completely dead. Weaver, on her way out, pauses to Elizabeth and asks how she's doing. "Good," Elizabeth says coolly, the bitch wall firmly erect. Weaver sputters that she'll try to catch up with her later, and beats a quick retreat, without even getting a direct glance from Elizabeth. Charming. Romano gazes at her for a second. "I heard rumors," he says. "All true, I'm afraid," she smiles. Romano sighs. "The one face I missed seeing in recovery," he says, attempting casualness but hitting a few soft notes in the process. "I'm so sorry, Robert," Elizabeth whispers gently. "What, about my arm or about not being there?" he asks. Elizabeth, sensing that this is inching toward being a real discussion, changes the subject in order to remain as detached as possible. "How are you healing?" she asks. "It hurts like a son of a bitch," Romano shrugs. "You?" Again, Elizabeth steers the conversation out of personal territory by asking about his arm's sensory function, but she's paged to the ER almost immediately and makes a reluctant -- yet paradoxically, relieved -- exit.
Shirley catches up with Elizabeth in the hall and peppers her with perfectly pleasant questions about her trip. In this, she slips that it's been two months since the monkeypox scare. I'm not completely sure why the show insists on skipping entire chunks of time. It won't make the season end any sooner. Shirley asks about Ella and tries to be polite and interested, but Elizabeth rewards her with curt answers. "Nice to be back?" Shirley finally asks. "I'm off to the ER," Elizabeth says. "I'll let you know." She hops into the elevator and waits for it to descend, a stony expression on her face. She looks antsy, but it might be the Muzak making her crazy.
The first things Elizabeth hears when she steps into the ER are two roaring cries of bitchery from a patient: "Bite me, panty smellers!" and "Die, scum-sucking pervert!" This shrill rage should make Elizabeth feel quite at home. It's like she's looking in a slightly more obscene mirror. Chen and Gallant are trying to restrain an angry old woman who we'll call Mad Madge, for no good reason; the old girl is spewing obscenities the way characters on this show usually spew vomit. Chen shouts out a greeting to Elizabeth, who couldn't give a shit if she was pumped full of Ex-Lax. Mad Madge hauls off and punches Gallant in the left eye. "Dr. C, looking good!" whistles Malik. "Thanks," she says insincerely, asking immediately about the motorcycle accident victim she's here to examine. Malik doesn't know, but he follows her into Trauma Yellow to assist.
Elizabeth barks out a few preliminary orders. Abby, already in the trauma room, welcomes Elizabeth back and gets nothing in return except a request for specifics on the case. "Sixteen-year-old girl, motorcycle versus utility pole, no helmet," Abby rattles off. Elizabeth follows this up with another list of orders, never looking at either Abby or Malik. They exchange unnerved glances. Elizabeth whips her head around, perhaps sensing something, and Abby manages a slight smile. "It's...like you never left," she says politely. Elizabeth resumes staring stiffly into space, waiting coldly for the trauma to arrive. Amazing how such a flaming bitch can be so chilly.
Carter and Chen burst in with the girl, Sasha, who's losing blood fast. "Didn't know you were back yet," Chen tells Elizabeth, who doesn't answer. "First day," Carter says in her stead. Sasha hits asystole just as Elizabeth establishes that they've not yet been able to establish a pulse; the girl abruptly coughs up two liters of blood. Carter calls out treatments, but Elizabeth -- who's been groping Sasha's back and neck area -- pulls away a bloodied hand. "Don't bother," she says. "Obvious c-spine fracture. She's not even a good organ donor now." Brusquely, she asks whether the family has arrived; no one has. Carter offers to handle alerting the family. "No, fine, just let me know when they arrive," she interrupts, trucking out of the trauma room. Motionless, they watch her leave, drowning in the wake of the S.S. Raging Wench.
Tearing off her ER smock, Elizabeth throws it violently into the trash can. It clearly offended her. Perhaps she feels yellow washes her out. "I could pull the trigger right now if I wanted to, because it's all right here," delights a nerdy-looking guy called Milo being wheeled around by Gallant. Susan follows, and taps Elizabeth for a consult, but not without a polite welcome. "What's he have? Belly pain?" Elizabeth asks, flipping distractedly through the chart. "Only because he swallowed a small handful of nitroglycerine," Susan replies. Milo is edgy, but happily so. He revels in his tummy full of TNT. "No sudden moves, unless you want me to blow," Milo cautions. "I'm a human time bomb!" Elizabeth takes one look at him and diagnoses him as having upper right-quadrant tenderness caused by the presence of anvils in his stomach. "I could go off at any minute!" he screams. Yeah, we get it, Elizabeth's a time bomb, she's gonna blow, she could go off at any minute. At least this guy's an amusing, if heavy-handed, plot tool. Elizabeth prescribes saline plus a few hours of monitoring his symptoms. She then leaves to go quaff some nitro of her own and put herself out of the misery. It's weird -- she's acting like she didn't choose to come back here, which she completely did. Unless she tried getting a job at another hospital and failed, which would be really interesting, so of course that's not part of the story.
Susan seems annoyed that Elizabeth couldn't chalk Milo's case up to simple insanity, and trots after Elizabeth. "Gallant hasn't turfed a patient to Psych all day," she moans. "Well, you wanted the consult," Elizabeth snaps. "We're to capacity, I take it?" Susan nods that since Mission and St. Paul's closed, Coutny is swamped. "It doesn't help that Weaver's gone so much," Susan notes. Elizabeth's eyes gleam with malicious realization. "She's gunning for Romano's job," she breathes knowingly. "It keeps her very busy," Susan nods. An itchy patient diverts her attention, so Susan leaves Elizabeth alone at the front desk to tick, tick, tick her way toward an emotional explosion.
A trauma patient's gurney bursts through into the ER. The girl, Alma, took a bullet in the neck during a gang war, but she's breathing steadily. "Where's Ricky?" murmurs the girl. "Hang in there, Alma," Carter tells her, while Elizabeth takes care of her usual favorite task -- barking orders. Pratt appears, having once again smelled a chance to shine in the face of human suffering. "Carter, you've still got these med students waiting on you," he says. "Want me to jump on [the trauma]?" Carter replies. "Better idea -- you talk to them." Pratt, clearly pissed, turns to face the eager, white-coated wannabes. "Newbies, huh?" he says. "You don't want to work here." He storms off in a tizzy. Leslie Bibb jots something down in her book. Honey, this isn't "ER Protocol 101: Anatomy of an Asswipe." You won't be quizzed.
In Trauma Yellow, Elizabeth bumps into Sasha's dead body, still on its gurney. She yells at Haleh to move her. "Where?" Haleh sasses. "Someplace else," Elizabeth snaps. "They shot him," wails Alma. "Please, God, don't let them be hurt." Carter tries to talk her down and asks her to describe exactly where it hurts. "Can't tell," she weeps. "Your legs?" he asks. "No, I can't feel them!" she cries. Carter and Corday swap a knowing look.
Haleh wheels the corpse through the hall, summoning Gallant from Milo's side to help her. "I'm talking smithereens, here!" screams Milo. "Have you ever seen smithereens?" Gallant ignores him and grabs the gurney. "I'm on Psych rotation. I shouldn't be helping you," he tells Haleh. Then he stops and stares at the gurney for a second. "Haleh, this is a dead body," he says. "You ought to go to med school," snarks Haleh. Hee. I love her. Although now that she's lost all that weight, she looks really...baggy. Extreme weight loss tends to leave facial skin hanging a bit, which in turn highlights wrinkles. I'm betting she'll have something nipped and tucked in the year. Don't get me wrong, though -- she's healthier, and I'm happy for her because Yvette Freeman's one of my favorite parts of this show. She manages to stand out without having to jockey for attention. Anyway, at Haleh's quip, Gallant simply blinks. Haleh explains that they can't turf Sasha to the morgue until the family has been notified of her death. Suddenly, Milo hurls himself at the wall and drops to the ground with an expectant thud. Then, he panics. "Why am I not exploding?" he gasps. I feel like that every Thanksgiving, Milo.
Elizabeth works soullessly on Alma -- whose name, coincidentally, is Spanish for "soul" -- while the girl wonders why she can't feel her extremities. Um, honey? Two plus two. Add it up. Carter bluffs that she might have a bruised spinal cord. "Where the hell is x-ray?" Elizabeth brays. "Behind you," Chuny calls out. Alma screams for Ricky. Elizabeth makes a snarky comment to the effect that what she'd really love right now, more than anything, is to see the results of Alma's ultrasound. Carter -- who is administering it as she says this -- gracefully ignores Crabby McNasty and her Flaming Britches of Bitchery so that he can do his job. "Wait, wait," he sputters urgently. "She's pregnant. Looks like eleven weeks. Baby is healthy and intact." Alma whimpers for Ricky again, as if this act is going to conjure him the twentieth time she tries it.
In Trauma Green, a bald-by-design thug is screaming. Presumably, this is Ricky, and presumably, it's going to be awhile before he can answer Alma's whimper. "My arm! It hurts like a.... Do something!" he yells. He's in the kind of pain where you can't sit still because your only hope of cutting it is to wriggle and wiggle and hope that manufactures some adrenaline. Luka tries to calm Ricky down so that they can inject him with something -- anything -- but he so far hasn't sat still long enough. The bullet went through his right triceps. "You were lucky," Luka observes. "You should see the other guy," brags Ricky. "So, what, you go back and forth shooting each other until all of you are dead?" Luka moralizes. Whatever. Practice medicine before you preach, doc. "An eye for an eye, man," Ricky snarls. Luka informs Ricky that Alma got shot, and after a weird too-long pause, Ricky convulses himself into a seating position and howls at the moon. "Come on, dawg!" a cop says, trying to restrain Ricky. "I've got to kill those bitches!" Ricky screams. What a dumb thing to say in front of the cop who's about to arrest you. Because when the bitches turn up dead, and they always do, it's not like the cop's going to stand there scratching his donut gut and saying, "Hmm, wonder who killed those bitches?" Luka shouts, "You already did!" Oh. Well. Bye, bitches. But there will be more. There are always more bitches. Abby stares at Ricky because she has nothing else to do in this scene.
Elizabeth is busy sending Alma up to the OR for surgery, offering her nothing but cold information. "Don't let me die," Alma begs Elizabeth, who lets her eyes linger on Alma briefly before she turns away and shuns the girl. "You're one cold-hearted bitch, you know that?" screams Mad Madge as Elizabeth passes her. "I don't have any damn pity for you, whore! Hey, I'm talking to you, piss face! Don't you dare turn your back on me, you stuck-up little ass shaker! Where the hell do you think you're going?" Oh my God, it's like this woman is my voice. She's more or less pegging Season Eight Elizabeth. As Elizabeth ambles emptily down the hall, devoid of anything, we go to commercial wishing that Mark had been possessed by Mad Madge for a second before he kicked off to the great doctors' lounge in the sky.
Pratt wanders crankily through the ER. A baseball player grabs him and whines that he's in a hurry to get out of there. "Keep your cup on," Pratt crabs. "I should've been off two hours ago and you don't see me complaining." Weaver enters and makes a beeline for Frank. "County HHS needs to talk to you, and so does human resources," Frank says. "Anything from Romano?" Weaver asks. Frank sighs that he's only called twice in the last ninety minutes. "And Dr. Rydell's office called to confirm your appointment for..." Weaver's head snaps up and she darts a nervous look first at Frank, then around all of Reception, as if she's paranoid someone heard this. I smell a plot twist. Weaver's saved by the bell, by which I mean the cloying toll of her own shrill bellow: She has noticed that a patient called Stella Willits -- a noted hypochondriac -- is on the board as an active patient. This upsets her. Gallant tries to defend the reason he hasn't sent her up to Psych, but Weaver won't hear it. "She's nuts -- a frequent flier with a history of bogus medical complaints," Weaver insists. Gallant wants to figure that out for himself, but Weaver party-lines that the ER doesn't have the manpower to indulge hypochondriacs. "That's your department," she says. "Turf her and get her off my board." Gallant looks crushed, although it may be the weight of his enormously swollen shiner that's bringing down his whole face.
Carter asks Pratt how the med students are doing, because Carter can't be arsed to check on them himself. Looks like he's caught a touch of the mayhem. It's been going around. Pratt smirks that he gave them three volumes of Rosen to read. "Can't you come up with something more interactive?" Carter sighs. Um, can't you? Did you not know they were coming and have something planned for when they arrived? It's called a datebook, Carter, and it's not just a diary for recording the times you and Abby have dinner and some forced, mechanical gropings on the front stoop.
Grabbing the phone, Carter calls up to check on some test results. Leslie Bibb selects this as the moment to make herself known. "Hi, I'm Erin Harkins," she says. "I'm on the phone," Carter replies. "Yeah, you're busy, we get that, but can we get an approximate time that orientation will begin?" Erin asks. I think that's supposed to be spunk. Whatever. Weaver overhears this exchange and bristles that Carter's keeping the med students waiting, which is a correct reaction except for the fact that, hi, your ER is crowded, Weaver, and you're not helping much, so check your ass-pole at the door. "Check with Pratt," Carter says glibly. "I'm checking with you," Weaver snarls. Carter completely ignores her, so she turns to the passel of white-coats and introduces herself. "I will give you a brief tour of the ambulance bay, after which the Chief Resident will give you his undivided attention because, as he'll learn, it's his primary responsibility." The last part is uttered in very pointed high volume, coupled with a glare at Carter. But he's oddly impervious to daggers today. As Weaver leads the kids outside, Chuny tells Carter that a demolition-site accident is bringing in a horde of injuries right now, and he hangs up abruptly.
Outside, Weaver's giving the very helpful ambulance-bay tour, which I imagine consists largely of, "This is the ambulance bay," and "that is an ambulance." Carter bursts out and shouts, "Multiples," and Weaver abandons the kiddies with an order for them to stay out of the way. The first rig coughs up a Mr. Chambers, who was the victim of a walkway collapse. His secretary -- a pretty if slightly mousy brunette -- says that she thinks his ribs are broken; I think it was the whole "something heavy slammed into his chest, where his ribs are located" that spawned this impromptu diagnosis. The secretary has a cut on her face and some chest pain, so Weaver escorts her inside behind Mr. Chambers.
up is a florist named Ken, whose shop fell on his leg in the whole wrecking-ball catastrophe. "It's not a shop, it's a kiosk," he wails. Pratt is all up under his blanket and Ken squeals, "Don't touch it! It hurts!" Pratt yanks back his hand, shocked. "Oh, God, I see a light," Ken bawls. They wheel him inside past the med students, who are so utterly dumbfounded that it's possible they're actually just utterly dumb.
The elevator is at it again, piping lethal Muzak into its chamber. Elizabeth huddles in the corner and sucks on the water bottle, willing it to stop. It does not, so she gets out at the ER again and steps into a scene even more chaotic than the last: there's indiscriminate screaming everywhere. It's a lot like her family reunions, I imagine. She bumps into Haleh and asks to be led to the trauma. "You look wonderful, by the way," Elizabeth says warmly, in such a way that you actually feel like Alex is talking to Yvette. It's a sweet nod to Yvette, but it is really jarring in an episode about how cold and detached Elizabeth is. "Eighty-five pounds and counting," Haleh smiles. "Good for you," Elizabeth grins. "You cut your hair?" Haleh asks. "Mmm hmm," Elizabeth sighs with a smile. What? Weird. Maybe they shot this during a break and decided to use it in the show anyway? It's so not Elizabeth, although I'd be fine with it if it was.
In Trauma Yellow, Elizabeth is all business again, working with Chalmers this time. I wish it were Superintendent Chalmers. She calls for an angio catheter, and Weaver hands it to her. "How can I help?" she asks. "Given that there's only one, I don't see how you can," Elizabeth replies icily. Weaver is flummoxed. The secretary freaks, because she's watching and she has no idea what's happening, so Weaver gently explains that they're tubing Chalmers to help him breathe. He also has a collapsed lung, and they're trying to reinflate it. I think the secretary's name is Tammy, and since they don't really offer an alternative, I'm going with that until someone tells me different. Tammy worries that he's stopped talking. "Because he can't," Elizabeth says rudely. Carter and Weaver gape. Elizabeth unceremoniously urges them to get Tammy, "his wife," to a place where they can stop her face from bleeding. "I'm not his wife," Tammy says. "Then you shouldn't be in here," Elizabeth growls. Weaver hurries to Tammy's side to save the situation, calmly encouraging her to go with Luka -- who has conveniently appeared -- so that they can expediently deal with Supernintendo Chalmers's care. "Let us take care of him, and Dr. Kovac will take care of you," she soothes. Tammy nods and goes with Luka, as would any red-blooded woman.
"AAAAAAHHHHHHHH," screams Ken the Florist, sitting up bone-straight in his bed. "Pratt, what are you doing down there?" asks an exasperated Susan. "Lewis, what are you doing up there?" he snarks. "He's got no DP pulse." Susan, remaining controlled, slowly explains that she's performing the requisite trauma assessment. "Lungs clear, chest tones normal..." she begins. Pratt uncovers Ken's dislocated left foot, which is practically at a right-angle from where it should be, and purple as a plum. It's utterly foul. "Sweet Jesus," Haleh says. Impatient with the rules, Pratt asks Chen if he can borrow her hands. Presumably, he puts them on Ken's leg. "Hold tight," Pratt says. "Ken, been to Hawaii before?" Ken shakes his head. "Pretend you're there now," Pratt advises him before yanking on the foot. With a crunching noise, it repositions. Ken unleashes an unearthly scream, but it turns into bubbling joy. "I feel better! I feel totally better!" he giggles with glee. Chen groans, "I feel sick," and exits hastily, as if she hasn't seen worse before. Odd. Susan gawks at this. "Why would you reduce an ankle with no pain meds?" she marvels, baffled. "No pulse, no blood; it's dead tissue," Pratt triumphs. "In other words, I just saved your foot." Ken is grateful. Susan glares at Pratt, but it bounces off his bulletproof ego.
Elizabeth and Weaver scrutinize Supernintendo's x-rays and disagree over the diagnosis. Elizabeth thinks it's an aortal problem, but Weaver wants to debate it a bit longer and this doesn't sit well with Madam Snit. Elizabeth talks right over Weaver, addressing Carter directly and barely even acknowledging that Kerry has a functioning mouth. "I think there's more to discuss here!" Weaver blurts desperately. "Kerry, I'm a trauma surgeon, and last time I checked, you weren't Chief of Staff," Elizabeth says imperiously, stalking out in what manages to be an eerily calm huff. "Uh, keep me apprised," Kerry chokes out before dashing after Elizabeth. Carter just stands there being window-dressing.
Luka tends to Tammy in the triage area -- which is, given the overload, the hallway. She wants to see the Supernintendo, but Luka calmly explains that they have to make sure his heart isn't bruised and his lungs aren't further damaged. Tammy babbles. She's shaken. She's worked for Chalmers for two years, six days a week, ten hours a day. "I spend more time with him than his wife does," she says. There's a dreamy quality to her rambling to which Luka connects, glancing up at her quickly. "They're really happy, though," she sputters defensively. "She's lucky to have him. He's a good man." Luka stares at her for a second. Abby interrupts by wheeling Ricky into a nearby room and calling for Luka to help irrigate the bullet wound; Luka pats Tammy on the shoulder and leaves her side.
As Abby offloads him onto a bed, she notices a knife scar on Ricky's back. "Where'd you get that one?" she asks, curious. "Some lowlife stuck me in the back with a switchblade," Ricky says. Luka digests this as if he just heard the pot bitching about how black makes the kettle look fat. "An inch to the left and you'd have lost a kidney," Luka points out tightly. "You should see who did it to me -- he got snuffed with a sawed-off," cackles Ricky. "Dude was bite-sized!" Abby cocks her head. "That's funny?" she says. Ricky swallows his mirth. "Whatever, bitch," he mutters. Luka's nostrils flare like sexy flaps of love. What? They do. "Hey, watch your mouth," he booms. Abby shoots him an intrigued look, which he meets with one of almost guilty esteem, as if he knows he's not the guy in her life, but he can't help wanting to protect her. God knows I don't think Luka and Abby are the ideal couple, but this episode has carried the first clear signs in a while that, for the moment at least, Luka is carrying some kind of affection for Abby, however deep or shallow it may be. So I appreciate this moment of clarity in the sinkhole that is the Bermuda Triangle. Ricky impatiently asks whether they're almost finished dressing his wound. "Why? In a hurry to go to jail?" Luka sneers. Abby interrupts this moment of masculinity to ask if Ricky wants her to check on Alma in recovery. "She's probably okay, then," Ricky interprets. "No, she could wind up paralyzed," Luka says. Ricky stares at the bed sheet. "All over, or just her legs?" he asks. "They're not sure yet," Abby says. Ricky leans back against the pillow and ganstas that Alma should've just gone ahead and died, then. This is true love. Luka snaps. "An hour ago you were ready to get revenge," he barks. "That's personal -- it's about my name, honor," Ricky argues. "But, she's paralyzed. That blows." He shrugs. Luka storms off in a huff.
Abby chases Luka into the hallway. "Piece of work, huh?" she smirks. Luka, still smoldering, nods and exhales. "And she's pregnant," Abby says, in a tone that's rather appallingly tinged with amusement. Brat. "Says it's his baby," she adds. "You want to tell him?" Luka shakes his head. "You?" he asks. "Not really," she says, her slight grin still in place. They swap smiles. What? They're cheering each other up by talking about this paralyzed girl's child and its murderous father? Okay, kids. Have fun. Don't stay out past curfew.
Gallant enters Stella's room, and they swap introductions. Yay! Stella is Chem Glass. I'm so glad she's back after her one-liner last week. I always liked Diane Delano. She's all made up with long hair, as opposed to her harsh Bio/Chem Glass look in Popular. I'm going to start calling her Chem, since that's what I called her last week. Gallant starts running through a symptom checklist -- recent weight gain, dehydration, both of which she has -- until Chem snatches it to make his job quicker. "Intolerance to cold? Yes," she checks it off. "Arthritis, sore muscles, constipation? Yes, yes, YES." Gallant politely rescues his list and asks whether she's been fatigued. She nods. "What about depression?" he asks. "No, I'm a glass half-full, silver-lining girl. I'm an optimist," she says too brightly. Gallant nods and starts to leave. "Um," she revises. "I guess I do get a little blue sometimes." She shoots him an endearingly pathetic look, and he digests this.
Weaver beats a fast path through the hospital toward Elizabeth. She's waylaid by her urge to lecture Chen for not turfing a food-poisoning patient. "Waiting on a consult," Chen complains. "From who? The Naked Chef? The guy ate bad shrimp," Weaver cracks. Hee. A purple man with a wifebeater tan asks for something for his skin. "Sunblock," Weaver sasses. Two for two! Gallant grabs Weaver , eager to discuss Chem's situation, but Weaver won't listen and they're almost immediately interrupted by Elizabeth. She shows up long enough to gloat that her diagnosis of Supernintendo Chalmers was correct. "I'm taking him up to surgery now," Elizabeth says airily. "Unless you have any objections." Weaver unevenly asks to speak with Elizabeth in private first, and they head off behind closed doors as Gallant stares after them, silenced.
Weaver and Elizabeth enter the room where Sasha's cooling her heels. "Who left a cadaver in here?" Weaver asks. There's something consistently, inherently amusing in a misplaced corpse. I don't know what it is. It might be that I'm addled from hours of typing. "Sasha's a bad penny," Elizabeth says pitilessly. "We're moving her around while we try to locate her family. I don't mind, if you don't." This throws Weaver, but not too far; she crosses the room and turns to face Elizabeth. "I'm concerned that you might be taking on too much, too soon," she begins. "Particularly in the area of trauma." Elizabeth does not appreciate this. "Based on?" she asks. "What I saw earlier," Weaver answers. "A pronounced inability to work with others, a lack of professional respect..." "You're joking, right?" gapes Elizabeth. Weaver babbles about how stressful life can be and how coping mechanisms are different, but "copping an attitude with the staff does not make a trauma go easier." Elizabeth hisses that she saw a dissected aorta and stuck up for herself. Weaver is doing a ham-handed job at this lecture, which could've been a lot stronger if she'd spoken to someone like Carter first, since he's worked two traumas with the new, less loudly bratty Elizabeth. Instead, she just looks desperate, and Corday can smell it. She feeds off it.
As Weaver continues to ramble about intense pressure, Elizabeth snorts, "Given my position, I didn't think it necessary to seek your approval." More Weaver babble about sensitivities. She doesn't know what she's saying and neither does Elizabeth. "Quite frankly, if anyone has an attitude here, it's you," Elizabeth rants. This rolls right over Weaver, who continues talking about not letting sensitivities interfere with...well, we don't know what she was going to say, because Elizabeth takes control. "No, it's YOU!" she shouts. "With your insistence at being kowtowed to at every bloody opportunity!" Weaver stares at her, and slowly cracks from bumbling boss into a weepy mess. Her hands over her face, Weaver starts sobbing. Elizabeth groans. "Oh my GOD," she winces, looking away with unabashed irritation mixed with sheer disbelief. Weaver turns away to contain her tears, but can't, and barrels out the door, leaving Elizabeth alone. We go to commercial wondering why that confrontation wasn't more satisfying, and what knocked Weaver's ass-pole loose from its berth.
We fade up on a tub of lard in a diaper. Gallant and Susan are wheeling a large man-child around. "The landlord found him crying and hyperventilating. His girlfriend left him," Susan explains. Gallant, toting a textbook, amends, "The correct term is 'Mommy.' He's an 'abie' -- an adult baby." As Susan stares at him, stunned, Gallant cheerfully explains that it's a fetish wherein the person's needs are all met by a Mommy or Daddy. "Mommy," smiles Abie, gurgling with joy. Susan can't believe Gallant has heard of this before. ["Good lord, anyone who's seen more than one episode of Jerry Springer has heard of this before." -- Wing Chun] "It's like a form of relaxation," Gallant clarifies, adding that it mostly occurs in people who need to get away from the extreme stress of their day jobs. The Abie offers that he works in shoe sales. Susan triumphantly announces that he's a double fetishist, then, and clearly needs to be bounced up to Psych. Gallant disagrees. "When's the last time someone changed you?" he asks Abie. "This morning," Abie giggles, luxuriating in his diaper, rolling around like a pig in shit. Which, in essence, he actually is. Gallant diagnoses him with diaper rash and deems it a condition the ER should address. Susan shoots him a look of amused poison. "Remind me to give you some serious scut work," she says, narrowing her eyes. Gallant is just delighted to have cracked another case. He's so cute.
Frank carries a bouquet of flowers to the front desk and reads the card: "Thanks from a grateful patient." Chen can't believe Florist Ken sent Pratt some flowers. A woman lying nearby complains that she's here for her allergies, and that the bouquet is exacerbating them beyond belief. Frank offers to move them. "Or give them to someone more deserving," Chen smirks. Pratt glides over with an indignant grin. "Hey, who saved flower boy's foot, and who moved more patients than anybody today?" he gloats. "Me, that's who. And you guys are going to miss me, because I'm outta here." He skips off into the wild blue yonder. Chen sidles up to Carter. "What's up with your boss? Is it true that she was crying?" Carter shrugs. Chen notes with a gossip's concern just how moody Weaver's been lately. "Lately?" Carter snorts under his breath.
Erin bursts in with a patient. "This man needs immediate attention!" she screams. Two adorable kids accompany her, begging for someone to help their father. Aw, man. The minute they bring moppets into it, you know there will be tears. "What happened?" Carter asks. Erin starts to answer that she saw him arrive and knew right away that he was diaphoretic. "I'm not asking you," Carter says firmly. The kid wearing the #9 shirt says they were playing ball when Pa grabbed his chest and sat down. This was an hour ago. "I thought it would go away," Pa croaks. He starts to collapse, and Pratt -- who hadn't had a chance to leave yet -- arrives from nowhere toting a wheelchair. "On a scale of one to ten, how's the pain?" Carter asks. "Forty," groans Pa with difficulty. They leave the kids, Pete and Derek (#9), with a nurse. Erin grabs Frank. "Would it be possible for us to wait in the doctors' lounge?" she asks hopefully. "As soon as you're a doctor," he sasses. She sighs, frustrated.
In Trauma Yellow, Carter diagnoses Pa's heart attack. They push drugs just as Abby arrives and calls Cardiology. Pratt exposits that Pa has a blocked heart vessel that they need to open up with a balloon; Carter hands Pa the paperwork so he can sign off on the procedure. Abby returns and informs them that cardio can send someone in thirty minutes, when they're done with a pacer-related surgery. "While they're messing around with an elective procedure, he's killing off heart cells!" Pratt rants. This is indeed a calming thing to bellow in front of your scared patient. Carter calmly says they have plenty of time to medicate, but then Pa's pulse disappears, and Carter grabs the paddles while Abby opens up an intubation tray.
Luka discharges Ricky. "Later, I guess," Ricky says, unconcerned. "She's pregnant," Luka calls out to him. Ricky stops. "Who?" he says dumbly. "Your girlfriend," Luka says. "I told you she's not my girlfriend," Ricky protests, still not turning to look at Luka. "Whoever she is to you, she's carrying your baby," Luka snaps. "Why don't you care?" Ricky snorts, "Why do you?" He leaves Luka alone to contemplate the demise of the nuclear family, which displeases Luka quite a bit. He storms off in a dark rage and a cloud of testosterone, breezing past Tammy, whose sensors recognize the presence of The Sexy and cause her to ogle him curiously. Oh boy. I have a bad feeling about this.
Carter, Pratt, and Abby continue trying to revive Pa. Dr. Kayson comes down from cardiology and gets the bullet. "How about TNK?" Carter asks. "He sure isn't going to make it to the cath lab," nods Kayson. Pratt decides to argue this, because he's really, really stupid. "I've been compressing for ten minutes," Pratt says. "He'll bleed out with thrombolytics." Kayson stares him down. "Who's talking?" he asks. "Pratt. First-year resident," Carter explains quietly. "Then shut up," Kayson spits. Bravo. It's about time. Pratt looks to Carter for backup; Carter quietly says that the incompatibility between CPR and thrombolytics is a long-debunked myth, and shoots a firm warning glare at Pratt's gaping mouth. They charge up the paddles again and continue to zap Pa's heart.
Malik lets Susan know that a load of drunk adults are coming in from Lake Michigan. She exhales tiredly. "Is it too late to go into dermatology?" she wonders. Just then, a pleasant, gray-haired guy enters and identifies himself as Sasha's father. He's the actor who played Marty McFly's older brother, Dave. Yay Dave! ["Ah. To me, he's the cute across-the-street neighbour Boris from Freaky Friday." -- Wing Chun] Susan's eyes widen with recognition. "Yeah, yeah," she nods. "I'll check on her for you. Wait there." She leaves in a hurry and rushes through the hallway to locate Elizabeth. "Can we talk?" Susan begs. "I'm on my way to the OR for a bowel reconstruction," Elizabeth warns coldly. Hell, no wonder she's a chapped wench. I'd be crabby, too, if my job was stitching intestines back together. Susan awkwardly explains that Dave is there, asking about Sasha, and offers to handle giving him condolences. "Why would I want that?" Elizabeth says. "What's his name?" Susan tells her and begins to point him out, but Elizabeth whirls on her heel. "I'll find him," she says, exiting.
Derek wanders into Trauma Yellow and spies them laboring to revive Pa. He looks scared. "Call it," Kayson says. "You can stop." Derek hears Carter announce the time of death, and his lip trembles. Carter spies him in time to see him scurry away. "Can't lie to him now," Carter sighs. He and Kayson exit. Pratt angrily rips off his gloves. Suddenly, Pa's machine beeps a different rhythm. "Whoa!" Pratt shouts. "He's in v-tach! I can shock that!" Abby whirls in disbelief and reminds Pratt that Pa's already been pronounced dead, but Pratt's certain he can resurrect this one. He shocks once. Nothing happens. "He's dead!" Abby yells, but she doesn't exactly try to muscle him out of the way, either. She's so passive. Pratt shocks Pa again, and this time...it works. "Oh my God," Abby chokes. "Bag him," Pratt smarms, then scampers off to measure his penis again in case it just grew.
Carter treats the kids, and us, to an excruciatingly long "Daddy's gone to a special farm for happy fathers" speech that is basically the shovel he uses to dig the hole he'll drop into in a second. They worked for an hour, they did all they could, they gave him drugs and shocked his heart, but Pa didn't respond. "Why not?" whimpers Pete. "His heart was sick," Carter says. "Too sick to save." Derek's nose twitches, his eyes fill with tears, and he blames himself for making Pa play ball with them. He's a great little child actor. Carter swears that no one knew about the problem -- not even their father -- and that getting him to the hospital was in fact the best thing that could've happened. The moppets cry. Oh, how they grieve. But we haven't seen enough. "He can't be dead," Pete whines. Can't he, Pete? Can't he? "I'm sorry, Pete, he is dead," Carter replies gently. Is he, Carter? Is he? Carter reminds them that it's okay to cry, because it means they loved their father. Their stone-dead father, who is both dead, and very dead, in addition to being dead. He offers to let the tots see their father and bid him farewell. "Yeah," Derek says, tears sliding down his cute little round cheeks. Pete nods. Carter leads them toward the trauma room, reminding them that the sheer number of tubes attached to their definitely not breathing father shouldn't scare them.
The trio rounds the corner and it slowly dawns on Carter that all the Pratt-centric activity around Pa's death is a weird sign. Does a dead man need lidocaine? It would seem like an insult. "I got him back," Pratt puffs proudly. Kayson bursts in after Carter, irate. "He's alive?" Derek gasps, delighted. "He's not dead," Pratt smiles.
Elizabeth approaches Dave and introduces herself as the surgeon who treated Sasha. "Did you operate on her?" he asks, hopefully. "Is she all right? I mean, where is she, can I see her?" Elizabeth swallows and blurts that Sasha died. "She came in essentially DOA with massive internal injuries," she rattles off. "Oh my God," Dave reels, almost knocked backward. "Someone can take you to see the body. We kept it in the department for your benefit," Elizabeth continues. "Afterwards, we can make arrangements with the morgue." Dave's contorted face leaks out anguished tears. "A nurse can give you information about grief counseling," she offers. "I'm sorry." She turns on her heel and leaves, and we see that Susan's witnessed the whole thing with great concern. Dave slumps into a chair, trying to digest what he's been told, and not doing too well. His gasping, breathless sobs echo through the ER.
As Pratt waits in Trauma Yellow with a silent Abby, Carter and Kayson have it out through the swinging doors in Trauma Green. "No one walks out of here after forty minutes of CPT," Kayson growls. "There was improvement..." Carter tries. "Which means he's either dead or should be dead, which means your resident is either cruel or stupid," Kayson hisses. Carter notes that Pratt simply saw a shockable heart rhythm and made a split-second decision, because sometimes thrombolytics take half an hour to work. "Are you defending this?" spits Kayson. Carter suggests that Pratt merely thought he was acting in Pa's best interests. "Well, he was wrong, and now we have a vegetable with a pulse on our hands," Kayson rails. Carter stiffens and promises that they'll take full responsibility for this outcome. "You bet your ass you will," Kayson snarls, leaving in a fit.
Carter slowly walks back into Trauma Yellow, defeated and upset. Pratt thanks him for the support, but Carter is quiet, tapping his forehead to quiet the throbbing vein that's threatening to burst out of his face and wrap itself around Pratt's neck. "A chief resident and a cardiologist with more than twenty-five years of experience pronounce a man dead, and you decide to resurrect him?" he queries laboriously. "Well, just like you said..." Pratt peters out. "You think I defended you because I like you?" Carter asks. "Or because I approve of the way you practice medicine?" Pratt blinks in shock. "You are my responsibility," Carter continues. "You are my job." Pratt shouts that he's doing his job, too. Carter points out that if Pratt felt so compelled to act on the improved heart rhythm, he could've paged Carter urgently and they'd have resolved it together. "Instead you go off without any regard for authority, or even the best interests of the patient!" he rants. Abby watches silently. Pratt swears he was just thinking of the children, we must remember the children, won't anyone think of the children? "You brought the man back," intones Carter furiously, "because you wanted to see if you could." Shaking his head wearily, Carter leaves Pratt alone with his shame. Which would be effective, had Pratt ever met shame before; as it is, I'm not sure he recognizes it. We fade to commercial wondering what Abby wrote in her diary that night.
Derek and Paul are hovering near their father's bedside. Pratt enters quietly and watches. "Why is he still sleeping?" Derek asks. Pratt explains that his brain didn't get enough oxygen, and that there's a chance Pa will never wake up from this sleep. "He's just taking a nap," argues Pete obtusely. "Your dad's still pretty sick," Pratt begins. Derek shakes it off. "But you saved his life," he avers. Pratt puts a hand on Paul's shoulder sadly, then puts an arm around Derek. "Come on, let's go down to the cafeteria and I'll get you something to eat, all right?" he offers. They leave.
Pratt and the boys pass Carter and Abby. "My daddy doesn't like doctors, but I bet he'd like you," the boys tell Pratt, who at least has the grace to look embarrassed, for once, by this praise. Carter tosses his clipboard down bitterly and groans. "Tired?" Abby asks. "There's got to be a better word for it," he says, spewing a few multisyllabic options before Abby offers, "Pooped." She rubs his back and they flirt about their plans for the evening. "Shoot, keep working that spot, and I'll do whatever you want," he says dreamily. "I do need my sock drawer reorganized," she giggles.
Suddenly, a woman approaches -- she's Pa's wife, the moppets' mother, and the instrument of our plot climax. Thanks for coming, Ma'am. We were getting tired.
Over Pa's unconscious body, Carter explains that Pa's basically brain-dead. Ma crushes her husband's hand in sorrow. "How long can he last like this?" she asks. "Indefinitely," Carter says sadly. Gingerly, he asks whether Pa ever left behind instructions as to what he'd want done -- or not done -- in a situation like this. "He's forty-two years old!" Ma answers. Carter clarifies that he needs to know whether they should try to resuscitate him in the event of another arrest, or if she plans to sign a DNR. "Is it the right thing to do?" she whispers. "I can't make that decision," Carter stalls. Ma turns, teary-eyed. "Is that.. the right...thing...to do," she intones huskily, chewing on each word like it's delicious Emmy™ gum. "Yes," Carter nods sadly. She nods, too.
Gallant walks a calm, sweet Mad Madge out of the hospital. "I guess I get panicky in public places," she shrugs, confused. "I know," he grins. "That's why you need to take your Klonopin." She bats her eyelashes at him. "I hope I wasn't too much trouble," she simpers. "Not at all," he says, waving her off as he touches his eye, glowing with pride over his good deeds and constant thwarting of the dreaded Psych Turf.
Weaver appears and once again harps on Chem's continued presence in the ER. "I'm waiting on labs," Gallant says. Weaver lectures him again on following orders and booting hypochondriacs from the ER so as not to waste precious resources. But Gallant gets the last laugh -- Chem's labs come back, and she's got a thyroid disorder that needs treatment. Hooray! Gallant wins! Weaver rattles off one last speech about how he's not a member of the ER until his rotation ends week, so he should do his department's work and not the ER's. But she then acknowledges with a half-smile, "Good catch." She then asks him to discharge Chem so she can leave early. "I feel like crap," she winces. You know, the Weaver and Gallant relationship is sort of interesting to me. She is hard on him but she always seems to like him, and he seems to really enjoy her approval. Aw.
Abby is on the phone when Derek yells for her. "Pratt!" Abby calls out frantically. They both chase Derek into Pa's room, where Ma is watching his machines beep frenetically. "Did you sign the DNR?" Abby asks. Silence. Beeping. More silence. Abby repeats her question and The Crashing Drums of A Family Torn Apart By Death smash in the background. Derek demands to know what a DNR is. "It means your dad is too sick for us to try to help him," Abby explains gently. "He's already gone, baby," Ma cries. Derek screams. "He saved him!" the boy sobs desperately, pointing to a guilty Pratt. "He said he was gonna be okay!" Pratt hangs his head and whispers that they really did try. "Why are you letting him die?" Derek wails, trembling completely. This kid really is a better actor than half the people on this show. "Baaaaaaby, pleeeeeeeease," Ma overacts, scrunching her face in what she imagines is a stirring replica of agony. "Mama, tell them to do something," Derek pleads. "Why are you doing this?" When Abby calls asystole, Ma's face scrunches even tighter. Derek bolts from the room in tears, leaving Ma and Pete to weep alone at Pa's bedside. Pratt stares at the floor, ashamed of all the manly mental chest-beating he was doing earlier when he decided to play God.
Elizabeth and Chen are together at Reception. Chen tries to ask how Elizabeth's feeling, and Elizabeth works her hardest to avoid saying anything meaningful; Frank helps by interrupting her with the news that Alma's a quadriplegic. Elizabeth nods gruffly and enters the doctors' lounge, where she leans against the closed door with a sigh and closes her eyes, for the first time letting the tensions of the day wash over her even a little bit.
Shuffling over to the coffee maker, Elizabeth stops short when she notices a photograph taped to a cupboard. Gently she reaches up and removes it, bringing it close for examination. It's Mark and some of the ER gang. She stares at it as if this is the first photo she's seen of Mark since he died, like she doesn't keep pictures of him around the house and was alarmed to remember what he looks like. I was going to say how weird this is, but since it was such a loveless union, I'm not actually that surprised. Elizabeth starts to caress the photo lightly, but she's interrupted by Pratt entering the room. He greets her quietly and proceeds to his locker, then darts her a guilty glance when he realizes his masking-tape nameplate resides on the locker where Mark's once did. Elizabeth stares at him. Uncomfortably, Pratt yanks his jacket from his locker and beats a hasty but polite retreat. Wordlessly, Elizabeth returns her gaze to the photo, sighs shakily, and reaches to reaffix it to the cabinet.
Time lapse. Abby closes the cupboard and wanders over to a sleeping Carter, who crashed on the couch. She rubs his shoulder, then leans down to kiss his forehead. Luka enters. "Sssh," Abby says, gesturing to Carter. "You're not going to wake him up?" Luka asks curiously. "Didn't you come in together?" Ooh, nosy. "I'm sure he can find his way home without me," Abby says blithely. Luka offers her a ride, but she declines warmly. "Have a good night," she whispers, leaving with a grin. Luka stares after her with a slight, lonely smile.
Pratt approaches his apartment door and hears a ruckus behind it. When he unlocks the door and enters, he sees a party -- movies, beer, and pizza. "Dawg, if I gotta come over there I'm gonna smack fire at'choo," Pratt streets. "Come here, man." He grabs the ringleader and drags him outside, snarling that he'd best not be stepping into this apartment ever again. "You his mama?" the ringleader asks. Pratt grabs him by the collar and throws him down the hall. "Don't play with me, man, the party's over!" Pratt yells, returning to his living room and screaming for the entire cast of characters to vacate. A tubby, gentle-looking guy remains, calling out, "I'll holler at y'all later." Pratt slams the door and turns to face his roommate. "Those are my friends," Roomie whines. "Well, this is my house," Pratt snorts, collapsing on the couch and rubbing his forehead. "Mine, too," sniffs Roomie. "What, you pay rent?" Pratt asks. "No," giggles Roomie. "Does that mean I can't have no friends?" Pratt breathes hard and blinks. "Leon," he says gently. "you know those guys are just using you, right?" Leon ignores this, transfixed by the television set. "How you blow up a whole town like that without killing anybody?" he gapes at the movie. Pratt shakes his head. "They don't," he says impatiently. "And if you shot the gun that close, he'd blow his eardrums out." Leon stares at Pratt. "Gee, it's just a movie, man," he sniffs. Then he cheerfully offers Pratt some pizza; despite himself, Pratt grins and agrees to a piece. And we get a piece of his heart. But I don't really want it that badly.
Carter wakes up with a start and stiffly sits up, stretching. He bursts out into the ER and encounters...Randi! Hello, Randi. Way to miss a season. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty," she greets him. "How long have I been in there?" he yawns. "Since before my shift started," she answers, handing him a Post-It that Abby left him. On the front desk computer. That is so very intimate of her. She might've just tacked it onto the public bulletin board, you know, but she chose to put it on a computer. Sniffle. Love. Randi points Carter in Erin's direction; she's the only remaining med student, and she's conked out in the waiting area.
Nudging Erin's arm, Carter plops down beside her as she jolts awake. "Look, I'm sorry," he says. "The day got away from me. Try again tomorrow?" He smiles and gets up. Erin follows, not one to give up easily. "No, no, I don't think so, no," she sputters. "I've been here for sixteen hours. I have been ignored and yelled at and called 'honey' and 'sweetie' and 'bitch' -- twice. I don't smell good and all I've had to eat is Gummy Bears and Diet Coke." She pauses and stares him squarely in the eye. "I'm not leaving until I get what I came for," she says firmly. Carter regards her for a second and shoots her The Eye Twinkle of Newly Dawning Respect For The Spunky Newbie. After a beat, he gestures for her to follow him, and the camera pulls back as Carter starts to orient Erin. She besieges him with questions as we fade to black.