Last time on ER, Luka was sweating up a storm in the Congo, while Carter was having a bad day at County that led to his making the non-Abby-approved decision to help Luka's short-staffed outpost. His Congolese outpost, that is, because clearly Luka is himself not short-staffed in any way. But, let's face it, it's going to be a long summer without new Luka, so I've got to cure myself of the lust, and I'm hoping I can do that with a little tough love in this recap. Pray for me.
We fade up on a drab plane -- the kind of shaky, crowded, stale-smelling coach cabin that reminds me precisely why I don't relish flying. An enormous ass in an African-print muumuu is waddling down the aisle, and then squeezes into a window seat past two unfortunate people who are clearly thinking, "Why me? WHY ME?" Dr. John "I Dreamed Of Africa" Carter sits tiredly in the window seat ahead of The Giant Ass, looking kind of miserable. "Day One: Travel," reads the Graphic Of Hey, We Didn't Use Our Entire Budget For These Last Week, After All. The plane hits a bump and squeezes a few drops of premature perspiration from Carter's pores -- premature because if his skin knew how much sweating he's going to be doing later, it would save up every drop. The man sitting to Carter says something in French that Carter doesn't understand, because money can't buy language aptitude. "Long journey," the man says in English. "Yeah, I started yesterday," Carter says, appearing rude but probably just out of it. "Chicago," he adds. "Ah, Chicago! Michael Jordan, right?" the man asks with a smile. Carter reciprocates the grin. The man draws out of Carter that he's a doctor, and that from their destination -- the capital Kinshasa -- he's traveling east to Kisangani. "A doctor in Kisangani," the man says with a knowing chuckle. "You will be busy." Carter adopts what will be the first of many nervous expressions.
A man with a French accent meets Carter at the airport. There are men with guns everywhere. They are not the fashion police, though, for if they were, they'd have shot Carter for his open-to-the-navel white blouse and aviator shades. At least he's removed the jean jacket he was wearing, which appeared to have the kind of puffed sleeves that would've sent a young Anne Shirley into dreamy fits. The French man introduces himself as Charles, and asks "Dr. John" how he's feeling. "I could use a shower," Carter says wryly. I wish Charles had handed him a pile of wet-naps and called it a bath, because Carter's expression would've been classic ("Gamma always said that wet-naps were for peasants!"). "The plane is only three hours. And not so much nice as the last one," Charles says helpfully.
Cut to a very small, very loud cargo plane, the likes of which my cowardly princess derrière will never grace. Charles tells Carter that they see a lot of amputees in Kisangani. "Land mines?" Carter asks. "Machetes," Charles answers. Carter asks whether Dr. Kovac is still with them. Charles furrows his brow. "He's tall, Croatian, black hair..." Carter begins, and just as my pants threaten to betray my Luka-immunity oath and catch fire, Charles interrupts with a twinkle, "Ah, Luka! Ah, all the ladies like Luka very much." Phew, trouser crisis averted. It wouldn't be good form for me to break my steely resolve before we've even gotten to the credits. Carter digests this information about Luka with a really hilarious twitch, as if to be like, "Bloody hell, his appeal is global." Charles says that Luka is still in Matanda, a dangerous place where the Mai Mai fight. I don't know if those are the rebels or the government soldiers, so let's just settle on the fact that they are armed men with bad tempers, and leave it at that.
Charles exposits that most of what the doctors see are traumas, diseases, and malnutrition. Now, they're in a jumpy Jeep, traversing rough road. Carter asks if one of those things shows up more than any other. "Depends," Charles says, and he's not referring to incontinence. "On what?" Carter asks. "The day," Charles grins mischievously.
Charles and Carter park in a dirt field later that rainy night. Carter gets out and walks up to a cluster of canopies with families huddled under them, and cots set up for the really ill. This is a wing of the makeshift hospital. Carter drinks this in with wide eyes, thinking, "I thought humanitarianism would be prettier." Charles melodramatically welcomes Carter to Kisangani, and we smash into the credits wondering how long it will take Carter to seek comfort in Luka's manly bosom.
A mosquito buzzes around Carter's face; he slaps it away as he jerks awake. He yawns and sits up, and unlike last week where he woke up at Gamma's mansion, he's in a tiny bed covered with mosquito netting that's apparently not terribly effective. It's one of four beds in a row, all of which are empty. Welcome to Day Two, according to the Graphic of Just Making Sure We're All On The Same Page.
A woman of Indian descent, speaking in accented English, greets Carter and introduces herself as Angelique. She's the on-site NGO physician. Carter quickly asks her where Kovac is, and she informs him that Luka is still in Matanda. "Charles tells me you don't speak French, so I'll get you someone to translate," Angelique says, businesslike. As she and Carter exit the main building and walk through outdoor wards full of more canopies and wailing people, Angelique quickly lays down the law -- how to quickly and cheaply distinguish between pneumonia, cholera, malaria, and late-stage AIDS. Carter asks what drugs she has on hand and is surprised to learn that they are both few and, in some cases, obsolete and no longer used in the U.S. And they also use Beta and ColecoVision! "The horror, the horror," Carter chokes. Seriously, Carter apparently is surprised by everything. He's all, "What? There are Africans here?" There's more hoo-ha about drugs and low life expectancy. "What do you do for resistant bugs?" Carter asks. "Pray," Angelique replies.
Inside a different area, Angelique introduces Carter to Gillian, a pretty French-Canadian nurse with thick, long brown hair pulled into a ponytail. "Enchanté," Gillian says with a slow smile, shaking Carter's hand. In French, Angelique says that Carter will need a translator. Gillian scopes him lightly and Frenches, "He's cute. Married?" As Carter watches cluelessly, Angelique replies that she doesn't see a ring, but that it's never stopped Gillian before. Smiling testily, Gillian retorts semi-sarcastically that she's trying to exercise new restraint; her wounded, brittle demeanor indicates that Angelique might be judging Gillian a tad harshly, for reasons we will never know, because this will never go anywhere. Props to the actresses for giving it nuance, though. It's certainly gotten people talking. "Gillian's an old hand; she'll get you started," Angelique says to Carter, a touch of bitterness in her voice, as if to imply that Gillian's old hand have gotten a lot of men started. Yet again, I smell backstory that we'll likely never hear. I hate that smell. It smells like fish. "Don't let him kill anyone," Angelique Frenches. "I'll do my best," Gillian replies. Carter just smiles and pretends he doesn't care that he can't understand a word of this.
"She seems great," Carter observes, watching Angelique leave. "She is," Gillian replies, expositing that Angelique is from Bombay and has been in Congo six years. We also learn that there are four doctors, including Carter; two hundred patients spread across six wards; and five nurses. Thank god I can zip through the exposition. Carter chuckles, which Gillian hears, shooting him a quizzical look. "It's just that the nurses back home are always complaining about their patient load, and it's usually about eight," he explains. "Also, they're either litigious, boozy and unstable, or wearing pageboy haircuts." Gillian sighs, "I wouldn't use the conditions here as a positive example of anything." Yeah, like Carter was going to run back to County and suggest outdoor wards and minimal medicine. Although it'd probably only be one or two steps down from County's current standard of care.
Carter and Gillian enter a room teeming with people. "What ward is this?" Carter asks. "This is Admitting," she replies. Carter's jaw drops into Stunned Look #14: That Wasn't The Answer I Was Expecting.
Working with Gillian, who translates the French, Carter diagnoses malaria in a little girl and prescribes two tablets of Whatever Drug. "We'll fix you right up," Carter says sweetly, patting the girl on the back as her mother scoops her up and leaves. "She doesn't get a bed?" Carter asks. "For simple malaria, no," Gillian replies. Carter's face twists into Stunned Look #3: What's Simple About Malaria?
A man brings in his son, who suffers from trouble urinating, a fever, and a cough. "He's about sixty years too young for an enlarged prostate," Carter muses. They lie the patient onto a table as Carter goes to work trying to diagnose him. Carter mutters things about urinary tract infections and full bladders, while Gillian calmly lifts the boy's body three times a certain way. "Tripod and head-drop signs," she tells Carter. "Sorry...?" Carter bumbles. Gillian explains that those are tests they use to determine polio, because they can't perform a spinal tap. "He has polio?" Carter gasps. The father hears and Frenches, "Polio?" Gillian gives him a rueful "Oui," while Carter helps them lift the boy back into his father's arms. The dad gives an anguished sigh and then shoots a really long glare at Carter, as if the crazy new American boy brought polio over with him from the States. Carter just sort of looks at him in Stunned Look #3.5: Not Quite As Stunned As Last Time, But Still Fairly Stunned. Gillian complements this with Empathy Expression #2: Poor Sap Doesn't Know What He's Gotten Into Here, But He'll Learn, And He'll Probably Become A New Man Because Of This And Go Home With Fresh Determination To Fix All His Problems With Work And The Woman He Left Behind.
At the cafeteria, Carter eats cold mush, the likes of which Miss Hannigan might serve on a good day. Gillian saunters over in her tight tank top and scrub pants and sits down beside him, lighting a cigarette sexily, but strangely not flirtatiously. "How's the jet lag?" she asks. "Terrible," Carter yawns. He asks if carcinogens are her only meal for the day. "I've had the food before," she smirks. "It lacks a little something," he says diplomatically. "Taste," she cracks. "Besides, I'm on a liquid diet, consumed entirely after dark." She sucks on her cigarette to convey that there are other things she consumes after dark, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. I'm referring to male genitalia, if you follow me. Specifically, penises, if you get the gist. Gillian exposits that she's from Montreal and serves time in Congo for a month a year. "My penance, I suppose," she shrugs. "Penance for what?" Carter asks. "My wanton ways back in the world," she says in a half-kidding way, with what she imagines is a charming grin. People have come down pretty hard on Gillian for being a slut, and TPTB definitely gave her some lines to that effect, but I'm guessing she's not such a bad person -- maybe she drinks a lot and smokes, like Abby, but I don't think she's a ho, and I certainly don't think that reaching out to men when you're in a scary and shocking situation like this automatically makes you a tramp. I think it makes you human. I know I'd want something warm to cuddle at night if I had to deal with death all day. I mean, all I do is recap this show, and it makes me desperate for a warm body.
Angelique thumps down a tray. "Am I interrupting, or can anyone just drop in?" she asks. "You're not interrupting anything, yet," Gillian teases. In French, the two talk about Carter and how he's getting along and whether he's freaked out by the primitive conditions -- when all you have to do is look at his face and you know that he's in a permanent state of alarm and barely a rough shove away from needing an adult diaper. Even now, when he's shoveling food in his face, he's wearing Eau de What The HELL?! "You two do know that I'm sitting right here, right?" Carter notes dryly. Gillian claims she was saying Carter is doing great.
"Where are you from?" Angelique asks. "Chicago," Carter answers. "I work with Dr. Kovac. He called me when you got short-handed." Gillian and Angelique swap knowing glances on hearing Luka's name, and Angelique faux-innocently asks what Luka's like back at home. Gillian's expression darkens and she shoots out of her seat and announces that she needs to go back to work. Angelique explains to a somewhat bewildered Carter that Luka took an immunization team to Matanda three days ago, because when they get vaccines, they have problems refrigerating them and so teams go out to disperse them. "When do you expect him back?" Carter asks. "Yesterday," she replies. Carter gapes a bit, opting to use the classic, the original, the best -- Stunned Look #1: That's Not What I Expected To Hear. "It happens," Angelique shrugs.
A fabulous French-speaking Congolese nurse named Basinake is translating for Carter. He's with a coughing little boy who's had a fever for a week. Carter determines that it's pneumonia, and promises to make it better. The boy's mother thanks him frantically. "You're welcome," Carter says, walking away. He comes upon an old man sitting against a wall, a frail woman slumped against him. He pats her lovingly; Carter takes her pulse and chokes to Basinake that the woman is dead. "I knew," the man says in English. "She has been very ill." Carter wails that the man should've told them when he arrived that his wife was so sick. "She has had AIDS for many months. I didn't know where else to go," the man whimpers. He strokes his wife adoringly and sob-sings to her in French, then tells her he loves her. Carter backs away, affected, then turns to leave. We fade to black on Stunned Look #26: Damn, Girl.
It's Carter's sixth day in Kisangani, according to the Graphic of Time Is Our Bitch. A more comfortable-looking Carter strolls through the medical tent, addressing children in beds by their names. "How's Fazila today?" he asks. "She's in pain, Doctor," Basinake says. "Tell her I'm sorry it's painful, but I need her to be brave like I know that she is," Carter says. He walks through another row of sick children, winking at a few and grinning at others. Suddenly, the lights flicker. "Great," he curses.
Outside, where it's pouring rain, Angelique is indulging her nicotine craving. Carter trots up to her so that she can put on a tutu and play Exposition Fairy. "Power is out everywhere," she shouts, adding that there's one line from the turbine and the Mai Mai cut it periodically because they're crabby fucknuggets. But, crabby fucknuggets with machine guns, so everyone learns to get nothing and like it. They chit-chat about how he's enjoying himself, Carter babbling about how nice it is that these poor, sickly, underfed, and generally disadvantaged people lack any kind of health insurance, which reduces Carter's workload considerably. What a lovely sentiment. Angelique offers Carter a drag on her smoke and snits that she'd trade it all for an ultrasound. Carter takes a puff, pretending it looks normal, when really it would look more natural if he was trying to smoke a fork. This show really likes to teach that when you find yourself in times of trouble, Mother Marlboro comes to you.
A honking horn breaks Carter and Angelique's conversation, followed by the sight of a speeding truck. It screeches to a stop in the mud as Carter and Angelique run to it. Dr. Luka "The African Queen" Kovac hurriedly unloads four injured people, one of whom has a bullet wound and one of whom sustained a machete wound to the upper thigh. Angelique screams for Charles to fire up the generator.
Bursting inside Trauma Shabby, everyone shouts frantically at everyone else: put him there, cut this, pack that, peas and carrots. "Water's cold," Carter points out. "Want to wait for someone to boil it again?" yells Angelique snarkily. Carter's face is like, "Well...no...but... Gamma, help!" Carter gets assigned the fourth trauma -- they don't know yet what's wrong with him, and it's Carter's job to find it. Encyclopedia Carter is on the case.
The lights flicker on, and there is much merriment, if by that you mean jaded mock-joy. Carter asks Gillian how they stabilize necks here, and she points him to some sandbags. He then asks for tubes that they don't have, because in case you missed it, they can't do fancy medicine here. A brooding boy who we learn is the patient's brother stands with Patrique, the outpost's driver. "Mai Mai?" Carter asks. Gillian nods. Patrique translates that the brother claims a bee flew into Injured Man's armpit. They're all, "Whaaa?" Carter checks, and sure enough, there's a bee-hole right under the arm. Welcome to Volunteer Medicine 101: "Bee" Is For "Bullet." French French French, wailing, French French. Carter makes a face. French. Carter figures out that the bullet ended up lodging in Bee Man's thigh. Meanwhile, Luka and Angelique are stressing that the generator only has an hour of juice in it; they decide to switch off all other hospital lights, which buys them closer to four hours. Gillian darts a look at Luka, who's too wrapped up in his trauma to notice her. She seems upset about it and vows to pass him a note later with a scathing quiz: U R A QT. Do U Think I'm Gr8? Yes, No, Maybe, Circle One.
Carter grabs Angelique and gives her the bullet on Bee Man's bullet: It entered via the pit, passed through a lung, traversed the belly, and buried itself in his thigh. Damn. Odysseus wasn't that well-traveled. Carter once again wants to try something fancy, but Angelique blows him off, claiming that this guy's a waste of resources because he's all kinds of messed up. She grabs an instrument and basically cuts Bee Man's leg and rips out the bullet. It's nasty. You don't want details. She identifies the bullet as being from a Dragonov rifle, which does intense internal damage from close range, as if regular guns are only a step above water pistols when fired near a person's body. "So we're just going to let him die?" Carter grieves. "If I take him first, he's going to be at least five hours to stabilize, and then he'll probably die anyway," Angelique barks. "I have four hours of fuel left and three boys with injuries I can fix. Keep him stabilized. If the lights are still on, I'll come back." Carter glances at Bee Man's brother and sighs glumly.
Charles runs through the hospital, turning off all the lights. We dissolve to Angelique making Luka assist her on a particular procedure: "Now's as good a time as any to start your training as a vascular surgeon." Carter watches all of this while hunched over Bee Man. Gillian bags him. By which I mean, she's doing the thing where she pumps oxygen into his mouth, and not that she's working with his stinger. Carter is getting impatient, and they're running out of O-negative. "I could donate," Carter suggests. "You can't save the world," Gillian smiles. "Is that why you're here, working at The Ritz?" Carter asks. "Nah, I'm in it for the money," she chuckles. The lights cut out again. Carter curses, but they come on again, and apparently it's because they roll the generator to milk it for every last drop and sometimes it dims the lights. Okay. I'm getting a little bored.
Dissolve into more surgery. Angelique clamps the femoral artery on one patient and Luka gleefully reports that the foot has a strong pulse. He's very sweaty and dirty, and it's so...unattractive. God, he's so ugly when he's wet. Ugly. So ugly. Excuse me, I need some chocolate. Satisfied, Angelique grabs a fresh pair of gloves and progresses to the Bee Man. "Still alive?" she asks. "Barely," Carter says. "Prolonged hypotension. Could be eschemic." They have about half an hour of electricity left.
Bee Man is a bloody mess. They've cut him open and are chopping up all kinds of things while packing him with lap pads to absorb the blood. When they run out, they just wring dry the bloody ones and hope that will do it. It's pretty foul. They've fixed up the liver, removed the spleen and a chunk of lung, and need to repair the diaphragm and the bowels. Angelique staples the duodenum shut. Carter shoots her Stunned Look #72: You Can Do That With A Stapler? "Faster than sutures," Angelique says curtly. Then, the lights go off. "Out of time," Angelique says, like this is some kind of game show and Carter failed the lightning round and now he's going to have to go home with nothing but a spleen and some bowel fragments. "Leave him open. If he survives, I'll come back tomorrow and repair the bowel," Angelique says. Ew! Leave him open? So that a small family of insects can build a home in his abdomen? That's the worst idea ever. Carter fights it until Gillian notices that Bee Man is oozing blood from his gums and fingertips. Gillian loses his pulse, so Carter digs around inside his chest for the heart. He can't find it. Try the left side, Carter. The left. Under the ribs. Ah, there you go. He begins manual compressions while Angelique and Gillian watch in surprise; Luka wears a smirk. I guess that's supposed to mean that he's all jaded and he knows better. Angelique yells at Carter to stop this futility, and then stomps away, her braids all in a knot over this shameless display of dedication. By the light of dim lanterns, Carter perseveres for a few seconds, then sighs and realizes that Bee Man won't live to buzz another day. The brother looks distraught. "Tell him I'm sorry," Carter says with difficulty. "He knows," Gillian whispers, affected.
Luka is in what passes for the lounge, looking so hideous. The opposite of hot. And he's sweating. I bet he smells. Yeah, that's right. He's ugly and smelly. I need a Diet Coke. As Luka rubs his foul, foul temple, Carter plops down to him. "When did you get here?" Luka asks. "Didn't you see the graphic?" Carter replies. "Six days ago." He asks how long Luka will stay, to which Luka replies that he's not sure. He's headed back to Matanda the day because he has patients that can't be moved; he only came back this time to get supplies. Carter acts sort of disappointed that Luka didn't greet him with more fanfare.
Gillian enters in her trademark tight pants and tank. A moth dances near the lantern, and Carter gazes at it, rapt. Gillian refuses to make eye contact with Luka, who pointedly looks nowhere. "Welcome back," she says curtly. "Thank you," he says, amused, lips twitching in a really, um, unattractive way. I certainly don't want to lick them, that's for sure. Gillian sneers her way to the fridge, grabs a soda, and sits down opposite Carter. She pours vodka into two glasses. "I thought you might be upset about that boy," Gillian tells Carter kindly. She dilutes one glass with a lot of Pepsi and passes it to Carter, sloshing barely a drop into her own glass and gulping the vodka-heavy drink like a shot. Carter notices that Luka is going to a lot of trouble to stare at walls, and that Gillian is watching Luka without appearing to see him at all. Carter seems both amused and uninterested in all this interpersonal drama. Now he knows how we have felt about his life all season. Luka exhales a cloud of smoke. As Carter gingerly sips his drink, Gillian tersely packs away the booze, grabs the Pepsi, and storms away. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed. And, I hope someone will join me," she says, darting a glance at Luka's back before leaving. I think she's pissed that they hooked up and yet he still disappeared to Matanda, leaving her without her nighttime comfort.
Carter drops his head onto his arms and then sits up again, weary. "How's Abby?" Luka asks him pointedly. "I didn't do anything with Gillian, I swear," Carter defends himself instantly. Luka bites back a snicker and says, "So you won't mind if I..." He says it as if he's fake-asking for permission, enjoying the fact that Carter doesn't know he's already Frenched her Canadian several times. Carter gives him leave to go get his jollies, because let's face it, Carter's not an idiot and he could tell Gillian was romancing Luka's stones. Luka puts out his cigarette and ambles away. "See you in the morning," he says. Carter sips from his glass, then holds it to his sweating forehead. We fade to black craving a swig of the vodka that's been chilling in my freezer.
Day Ten. Graphic of This Show Loves To Skip Over Chunks Of Time. Carter's with Basinake, examining the same little girl who came in days ago with malaria. It's gotten more advanced, so Carter orders her a bed and some quinine. We're supposed to be impressed with how much more at-ease Carter is. And yet, we've watched enough TV to know that his comfort zone's about to get invaded again. Angelique grabs him and introduces him to two more extras who are fresh off the plane. "Damn, it's hot," one of them says jovially, upping his wage for this episode by a considerable amount. "And we've got a little bit of a breeze blowing today," Carter says, all cocksure and comfortable in making cracks at the newbies. Gillian is summoned to orient the two new extras, and she escorts them away, and potentially out of their trousers.
Angelique invites Carter to take an immunization team and deliver more vaccines to Matanda. He enthusiastically agrees, because his boy crush Luka is back there, and maybe they can bump chests or something. "You'll have to find a nurse who's willing to go with you," Angelique says. Carter's neck snaps to the left so he can stare at Gillian, and then he looks back to see Angelique grinning. He shrugs and then breaks into a giggle, shaking his head.
On Day Eleven, according to the Graphic Of I Can't Think Of Any More Names For These, Patrique drives Carter and Gillian to Matanda. They pass a village whose people are evacuating, carrying all their belongings on their shoulders as dead bodies lie by the side of the road, covered in tarps. People dig giant holes that will serve as mass graves. Carter gazes at them with Shocked Look #26: Maybe Gamma's Funeral Really Could Have Been Worse. Charles points to a convoy of cars and identifies them as government troops. "I grew up near here," Patrique interrupts, hollowly. "Everyone was so happy. It was beautiful. I wish you'd seen it then." He seems distraught, gutted. It's sad.
The truck parks outside another ratty building. This is Matanda, distinguishable only from Kisangani by the fact that Luka is there. Looking, you know, horrible. With the shirt open and the hair and the sweat, he's just awful. He does not, absolutely does not, make me want to grab my frozen Skyy Vodka bottle and shove it down my pants. The back doors open and Gillian hops out, stopping for a second to give Luka a lip twitch. He appreciates this. "What did you bring?" Luka says, still smirking at Gillian. Carter rattles off some vaccines and notices a long queue of people. "What are they waiting for?" he asks. "You," Luka answers.
A little girl sniffles as Luka jabs a needle into her arm. Carter watches. He's manning a separate line. "Hello, little one," he says in awkward French. Luka sing-songs in French, "It's just a little sting," and he smiles, and the entire effect is...repellant, really. Luka's good with kids, he's multi-lingual. How gross. Gross, I tell you. Carter asks how to say "Don't be afraid," and Luka gives him "Don't be afraid, little bird" in French. Carter butchers it into "Don't be afraid, my little swimming pool." Gillian snorts, as does the little girl. Carter beams. "Your French is terrible," Gillian laughs. Carter is still delighted and shoots the girl with the vaccine. It's really cute. "See, didn't even hurt," he says proudly, tossing the needle into a giant bowl that's brimming with them.
A man sets down his coughing boy, who proceeds to hork up a lung. This gives both Luka and Carter pause. Gillian translates that the boy's been coughing like this for two weeks. "Pertussis?" Luka asks quietly. Carter nods. Aw, that's so sad. I hate that. I have no idea what that is, of course. "Tell him that his son is sick, and we're going to give him medicine to try and make him feel better," Carter says softly. The kid chucks up half his innards as Gillian leads him away. "Merci," the father says, adorably grateful. Carter rubs his eyes, then shakes it off and beams at the little boy. "Don't be afraid, my little bird," he says. The kid cracks up at the big white man-child.
Luka sits by a lake staring across the water. We're supposed to be hearing gunfire, but I can't, and not because all I can hear are fireworks going off in my pants at the sight of Luka, because no such thing is happening. Carter grabs two beers and a crate, and goes to sit to his man crush, hoping that they can spray beer on each other and talk about breasts. "Sounds close," he says of the gunfire. "A mile or two," Luka says, zoned out. Carter laments that they don't have enough drugs to treat the pertussis -- whooping cough, evidently -- which could be cured with a ten-dollar prescription if only they were in Chicago. Yeah, yeah, life is different here. You should get that by now. Luka leans forward. "When's the last time you saved two hundred lives in one afternoon?" he intones. Then, having used up his platitude quota for the day, he gets up and leaves. Carter stays where he is, rubbing his face. He's so dirty. All he does is sweat and then rub it around. How does he not have horrible acne? How is Gillian not a walking pustule?
More explosions that we can't hear, and that I only know exist because the closed-captioners say it's so. It's night now, and Carter's trying to sleep, but there's a party raging on without him. Realizing that he doesn't want to be thought of as a giant wet blanket, Carter ambles out from under the mosquito netting and toward the medical tent. Charles has turned it into a bar. He's playing Willie Nelson and dancing with Basinake, while Gillian and Luka slow-dance. "Willie Nelson?" Carter asks. "Charles went to college in Texas," Patrique says. Gillian stares up into Luka's eyes, one hand on his shoulder; he rubs her arms. Carter smiles delightedly at this little bit of normalcy. Now, Gillian's left cheek is pressed to Luka's right shoulder, her right arm reaching up so she can fondle his neck. His cheek's resting against her hair, and he's stroking her right shoulder. They're barely moving. It's a tight and really affectionate dance. I'm sure they're clinging together less out of genuine love and more out of a need for human contact, and hello, who can blame them. Wartime sex is hot. Luka languidly dips Gillian at the end of the song, to her delight. Carter grins and bows, maybe as if to ask for a dance, but an explosion behind him knocks him off-balance. He flails hilariously and can't decide whether to hit the floor or stand up and gawk, so instead he flaps his arms and squawks. The rebels shoot him and deep-fry him for dinner. "Dr. John, get down!" shouts Charles. Carter belly-flops onto the ground.
Silence. The screams of a child jerk Luka's head up; a woman races toward them carrying her wounded daughter. They snap into trauma mode. The girl's foot got blown off, and for reasons I don't really understand but which probably stem from the show's desire to push that envelope right into the hands of the person announcing Emmy winners for Best Re-Enactment Of An Amputation Below The Knee, they decide they have to amputate below the knee. They don't have anesthesia or proper surgical equipment, but they have a trusty saw, and Luka isn't afraid to use it. French. More French. Yet more French. And then, for a change of pace, some French. The girl screams so hard that I'm worried her throat is going to explode. Her frightened mother touches the girl's face. She doesn't have acne either. Whither the pimples?
Gillian urges them to flee before Whoever Is Bombing Them gets there and sends them all up to Gamma's big DAR meeting in the sky. Luka refuses to leave until the offending limb is gone. Charles sterilizes the saw, and Luka grabs it and lumberjacks his way through the girl's leg. Slice, dice, and then Timber -- it's off, and Luka didn't even have to wear suspenders and a bra. Luka bandages the leg, scoops her up, and they all dash through the jungle toward an old plantation where Charles figures they can hide. Willie Nelson plays as they flee. Everyone stops and ducks behind trees, Luka still holding the girl. "Weep for me," Willie sings. Luka looks stressed and Carter's deep into Shocked Look #67: They Didn't Say Anything About This In The Brochure. We fade to black wondering why they make Carter look like such an idealistic bumbling doofus all the time, if indeed this is his "Coming Of Age -- Yet Again" episode. It doesn't help his cause if everything he does, Luka tops somehow with some act of sexy -- er, by which I mean, unattractive and unhygienic -- rebellion.
Morning has broken. Carter's dirty. The amputee is sleeping with her head in her mother's lap, while Gillian's is resting to Luka's groin. How unpleasant for her. I can't imagine a fresher hell. Carter checks the little girl's pulse and reports that it's strong, and that her stump looks clean and infection-free. "Should make a nice seat for a prosthetic," Carter smiles. Um, exactly where does he think she's going to get one? The stork? The Whoever Is Trying To Kill Them medical staff? Luka can do a lot of things but I'm not sure he can whittle a fake leg from a tree. Carter compliments Luka on a chop well done. "You look like you did it before," he laughs. "I have," Luka replies, silencing Carter, who isn't sure what to do and so chooses to stare at the nearby foliage. "In the beginning there's always a lot of talk about national pride, and patriotic speeches, but after a few weeks, it becomes this," Luka says, gesturing at the frightened people around them. "Nothing but death and sadness." He adds that these people just want their kids to live and laugh and be happy, and so they don't care who's running the country or how they're doing it. That sounds a bit revisionist to me. I'm politically ignorant, but I doubt these people were so ambivalent before the war. Luka admits as much later, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Carter says that Congo politics are way over his head. "You are an American, Carter," spits Luka condescendingly. "You believe that if people are given a chance to convert to democracy, the world will be a better place." Carter wonders what the alternative is -- military rule? An oligarchy? An autonomous collective with an Executive Officer of the Week? "You fight wars from the sky with bombs and missiles, and then the planes land and the pilots watch Drew Carey on satellite," Luka says. Hey, asshole, tell that to the families of people who died in the Gulf. Carter agrees with me. "But your children don't starve while your men fight," Luka says. "Your women aren't raped." I get his point, I do, but does that make it any less tragic that people died? Like, I wasn't sexually violated, so if my ex had been killed in the war, it wouldn't be that big a deal and I should quit my whining because at least I had dinner and my crotch is intact? I guess I just think this is extremely heavy-handed, and Luka comes across as so irritatingly superior, like he is the Oracle and Carter is twelve and stupid simply because he's American and his family is still alive. Except for Gamma.
Luka continues, "I remember watching the television, reading the newspapers, certain that we had to fight. And then my family was gone, and I couldn't remember why it was all so important." Carter snacks on the inside of his cheek. "And what difference did it all make?" Luka whispers, pained. "My children were dead." I feel sorry for him. Life sucks. War sucks. Dying sucks. But acting like it's all wine and roses for U.S. soldiers isn't fair. Yeah, some of them get to watch TV on a carrier. But some don't, and no matter who you are, fighting isn't fun or safe or cushy.
The convoy shuffles back to camp, wading through a veritable stream of dead bodies. Carter wears Stunned Look #90: Now I Know How Scarlett O'Hara Felt. Patrique finds one who's still alive, and they lug him into their building. The food and supplies have been pilfered, the room ransacked. Luka sets up the amputee in a bed and checks to make sure she's okay, before moving on to the injured man.
We dissolve into Day Thirteen, according to the Graphic of It Could As Easily Have Been Day Twelve, But Twelve Isn't a Jinxed Number. Luka Frenches repeatedly and it's nasty (I can't hide it anymore -- I love you; don't tell) and sexually unappealing (You're so hot it hurts). The boy with whooping cough isn't getting better. The lone survivor, a government soldier, screams that he needs to rejoin the army because he doesn't feel safe here. Carter distractedly watches Luka go outside with Charles, and tells the soldier he can leave as soon as he's able to walk.
Charles is telling Luka to evacuate, per Angelique's orders, but Luka insists that his patients can't be transported, and he refuses to leave them. "The fighting is headed back here," Charles says. Luka doesn't care. He won't leave. Carter bursts outside to join them, because he doesn't like being left out of manly confabs and he misses the unmistakable whiff of Luka's pheromones. Carter offers to stay and help Luka. "No," Luka says. "I will," Carter puppies. Luka insists that Carter take Gillian back to Kisangani, and Carter acknowledges this display of affection with a smile.
An eavesdropping Gillian snaps, "What was that about?" Carter turns and clears his throat. "The road's open," he nods.
Cut to Gillian ripping Luka a new one, as if his old one wasn't cute enough -- er, I mean, disgusting enough (I'm kidding, Luka, but keep that on the down-low). Luka tries to stay calm and insists that Patrique can stay with him, but Gillian rages that he'll be short-handed and needs a trained nurse. "You're not staying!" Luka yells finally. "It's not your decision!" Gillian screams. He tries to appease her by insisting that it's only for a few days. She's not comforted.
A caravan of armed men, looking pretty annoyed with life, surrounds the area. "Mai Mai?" Carter whispers. Charles nods, and so Carter fumbles for his badge that identifies him as an aid worker. Tons of French words are thrown around. Charles explains that they're with the World Medical Group, while Pissy McUzi rails that they're in Mai Mai territory. Luka offers up some French (slurp) and it's ear-splitting agony (balm to my soul). But the Mai Mai have found the enemy soldier, and drag him toward their trucks. Carter tries to go to him, but gets restrained by a Mai Mai. French French. Charles and Luka both get guns shoved against their foreheads, the latter kicked down to his knees when the Mai Mai soldier gets offended by whatever French bubbled forth from those Croatian lips. Luka closes his eyes, tense, while Gillian begins to cry silently. Carter peers up at a soldier towering over him, but the glare from the bright sun obscures the face. He squints. Bright fiery light. Maybe it's God. Suddenly, though, God jams a gun to Carter's head, so maybe it's not Our Father after all. He always preferred a good stoning. Carter looks scared and nauseated by the gun barrel. French. The expression that washes across Carter's face -- orgasmic bliss, tempered by "Holy Crap" -- sadly resembles that of a man whose full bladder, ignoring reason and social decorum, has chosen to empty itself.
A boy spies Carter and summons Angry McPantywad. The boy is Bee Man's brother, and he recognizes that Carter tried really hard to save Bee Man. Patrique translates all this for me; otherwise I'd be completely lost and trying to claim that they're admiring Carter's pants. "Hello," the boy says to Carter, who peers up at him confusedly and still can't quite see anything. "Hello," he croaks. Shirty O'Pistol snaps the gun away from Carter, and it leaves a tiny mark on Noah Wyle's forehead, so that actor must've been jamming that thing right up in there. Hot. "Merci," calls out the boy. "Uh, you're welcome," Carter says. The soldiers all hightail it out of there, pausing to jostle Luka and smack Gillian to the ground. She immediately rights herself, crying harder than ever. Luka is a kettle of rage.
Two gunshots ring out behind them: The soldier is being executed. Gillian and Luka convulse, caught off-guard because it happens behind them, whereas Carter sees the whole thing and averts his eyes a second too late. A third shot hits the soldier in the head. Carter squeezes his eyes shut, turning red, while Gillian grabs onto her neck and weeps with abandon. Luka seems angry and upset. He meets Carter's gaze and seems to silently will his friend to keep it together. Carter's eyes are moist, but he stays as calm as he can, sinking slightly closer to the ground as the trucks pull away.
Later, when things have calmed down, Carter and Charles wait in the van for Luka to remove his tongue from Gillian's mouth. This takes a while. Carter and Charles even take the time to swap a glance, like, "Do you think their braces got locked together?" Finally, they separate. Luka rubs her cheek affectionately, but Gillian pouts and storms off, ripping her hand from hers. She climbs into the van while Carter stands near the door, gazing awkwardly at Luka, the dirtiest and most foul incarnation of the species (sex on legs). "What should I tell Weaver?" Carter asks. "Whatever you want," Luka shrugs, surprised that it even came up, because seriously, what the hell is Carter even doing thinking about Weaver at a time like this? "Ah, death, civil unrest -- God, how I miss that crutch." Carter kicks at the ground and asks if he can at least tell Weaver that Luka will be returning. Luka's all, Eh, whatever, feh. Carter nods his acceptance and then grins, "Don't do anything stupid." Luka's face splits, his smile is so wide. "Like what?" he asks. "Like get yourself killed," Carter says, hopping into the truck.
Gillian, sobbing, waves through the back window at Luka, who watches the truck go with something resembling sadness and acceptance. Then he shrugs it off and goes back inside, where he immediately warms up and sits down to the amputee, a happy expression on his face. He asks the little girl if her mother knows how lucky she is to have such a beautiful daughter. "Yes. She is my treasure," the mother Frenches. Luka exhales, and we back out of the modest room and see that the father is still cradling his whooping-cough-afflicted son. Luka has finally found something that makes him feel like a doctor again.
In the car, Gillian lays her head in Carter's lap and weeps, pained to leave the one thing that made her feel human amid all this. Carter absently pats her head.
We dissolve into a cleaner Carter back in Chicago. A cab drops him off, and he lets himself into a pitch-black apartment. We don't see that it belongs to Abby "Out Of Africa" Lockhart until Carter's in her bedroom. She is sound asleep with the drapes open, so that the moon can light her face attractively. That Abby's so clever. She knows lighting schemes. Carter strokes her cheek gently, and then bends down and kisses her head. Still she doesn't stir. Is she passed out? I would have woken up at the sound of the doorknob, but maybe that's because I'm a paranoid freak.
Exhaling, Carter gently sits down at the foot of Abby's bed. And that's it. Will he stand up? Will Luka stand up? Will everyone spend season perched on a mattress? Who can say. I don't care that much that there isn't a cliffhanger, but I do care that the ending hasn't given me any reason to look forward to Season Ten. This didn't feel like a season finale. In a way, it felt like a series finale -- Luka found his calling, and Carter realized that no fight he can have with Abby can compare to what he's seen in Africa. Everyone's entering a new phase. End the show! Or, you know, add three more seasons. Whatever.
It's been a long ride this year. Thank you very much for reading, for putting up with my hormonal adoration of Luka, and for helping make the forums a better place. Thanks for the support of TWoP, and of me. Happy summer!