Previously on ER: Gallant's sister Valerie flirted with Pratt and told him he could still slip her the crotch catheter despite her multiple sclerosis. Sam gratefully and a little tenderly hugged Luka to thank him for escorting home her wayward son, Alex. Carter, meanwhile, spent some fun time in the Congo knocking up Thandie Newton; he asked her to return home with him to have the baby in the U.S.
An alarm clock goes off -- the real kind, rather than the digital variety -- and we pan over to a dozing John Carter lying in a plush bed. "Remind me to put the clock on your side of the bed," Carter yawns, turning to where Kem ought to be lying. But she isn't there, so Carter sits up in groggy surprise, staring around the empty room in Gamma's mansion. It's a palatial bedroom, with a dark-wood four-poster bed, a portrait of something hideous and unrecognizable hanging on the wall, and a chandelier dangling near the bay window. The whole thing's so cold and sterile. Didn't Carter live there for ages? Why doesn't he have anything personal in there? Unless he's taken to sleeping in Gamma's room, in which case Kem should make herself a bacon cheesesteak hoagie and then run like the fucking wind. Also, Carter's sleeping on a different side of the bed than he did in a episode -- he now sleeps on the same side Gamma ostensibly did, which we know because we saw her cold, dead carcass lying in her death bed. None of this matters, really, but it's taking my focus off the outcropping of evil that's persistently springing from Carter's facial follicles. Yes, that's right: The Beard is still rebelliously affixed to his cheeks and chin. Gamma would be rolling in her grave, were rolling in dirt not such an appallingly plebeian thing to do.
Carter hops down the stairs in his sweatpants and socks, calling for Kem. He slides across the floor in his socks and skids to a halt with a flourish; there's a moment where I'm grateful he didn't go full Risky Business and do it in tighties. The maid scurries up and disapprovingly rats out Kem. "She's been in the kitchen since dawn," the woman says, screwing up her features. "She insisted on making me eggs again." Carter shrugs. "That's nice," he grins. The maid shoots Carter a glare that would melt the prosthesis off Romano, were that not already a done deal. "That's not nice?" Carter asks, jogging off to the kitchen.
Carter and Kem greet each other with a kiss. "You know you've got twenty types of tea, six sets of china, and glasses for every kind of drink?" Kem gawks. What, is she just now cluing into the fact that Carter's rich? There are Bentleys and maids, Kem. He really ought to have thirty kinds of tea and a specially trained tea monkey to make it and serve it while doing amusing tricks. Kem cracks that she got lost again trying to find the kitchen, and that she'll need a map of the Carter Compound. "You'll get used to it," Carter smiles. "You'll be sliding through the halls in your socks in no time." Kem wonders if that would offend anyone. Only staid types with no sense of humor...so, yeah, probably. Carter laughs that she shouldn't keep making Emily breakfast, because you shouldn't piss off the help by annexing any of their territory. They're acting like it's a turf war. I half expect Emily to come around the corner Warriors-style, clinking three beer bottles on her fingers and drawling, "Keeeemmm...come out to plaaaaay." Kem smiles, and then perches on the counter. "I'm going to miss you today," she says with quiet affection. Carter can't resist this, and shuffles over to her while suggesting that she have the chauffer take her around Chicago and show her the sights. How romantic of him to have his servants show her his hometown. Kem says she's thinking about just taking a walk, prompting Carter to offer not to return to County. "I don't have to," he points out. Kem grins. "What I'd rather you do," she begins, hopping off the counter, "is give me your socks." In a flash, she's at foot level, tearing off his socks and putting them on her feet. I'd make a comment about that being squicky, but that's the least of the intimacies they've shared that give me the willies. They banter in French for a second, until she stands up and innocently asks, "Where's the bedroom again?" And off she goes, skating through the halls in her sock feet, while Carter stares after her and arranges his features into what he imagines is an expression of glowing adoration, contentment, and completeness. It sort of works, except that you can see the wheels turning in Noah Wyle's head, as if he's saying to himself, "You love her. You're a man now. You're in the big-boy bed."
County General. Sam trots up to Abby and apologizes for being late for her shift. Apparently, Alex was being a handful. "Are you ready to sign out?" she asks. Abby gripes that she is, but that she still can't leave. She must have a med-student shift later that day. As they reach the front desk, Weaver exposits for everyone that Susan called in sick with the stomach flu. "How did she sound?" Abby asks. "Better than she should have," Weaver snots. Frank makes a crack about Chuck, so presumably he's still around. This scene exists mostly so that Weaver can say, in front of Abby, that they don't need anyone to cover Susan's shift, because Carter will be there. Abby's head jerks up, and she looks thrown. Malarkey pops up, yet to prove his reason for being, and asks what Carter's story is. "He's richer and better-looking than you or I will ever be," Frank replies. Abby winces. Don't worry, honey, once you've seen the shag carpet on his chin, you'll realize that the only thing you're missing is beard burn. "I feel like crap, and I just want to know if the guy's a jerk," whines Malarkey. Oh, shut up, Med-School Dropout. Go back to high school. He asks Abby what Carter's like, and Frank ducks in between Sam and Abby to coo, "She's not the best one to ask." I feel like Malarkey shouldn't be quite so clueless, considering that he was around during the whole breakup-letter brouhaha. But then again, Malarkey should be a lot of things, one of which is "anywhere else."
Weaver tiredly asks Abby if her narcotics count is off; apparently, they're short ten milligrams of valium, but it's insignificant enough that Abby hopes Weaver will sign off on it so that all the night nurses can go home. "Or, they can just learn to count," Weaver says coolly, handing Abby back the paperwork. Abby stares at her for a second, mentally chooses an orifice up which to implant the cane at her earliest convenience, and then stomps off in a fit.
With great gusto, Gallant announces that the rack is empty and he's off the board. In plainer language, he's got nothing to do but me. Weaver suggests that he go home. "You saying I can leave early?" he grins. He's so cute. "I'm saying it's slow, and you're an intern. We'll be fine," she says. Well, that's lovely, in a bitchy kind of way.
When Gallant gets home, loud music greets him. He calls out for Valerie to turn it down, knocking confusedly on her bedroom door. She appears behind him, dressed in a nightie. "Mike, you're home early," she gulps. Just then, Pratt's voice floats out from the bathroom, asking Valerie for a fresh razor blade. He emerges and comes face to shaving-cream-covered face with a steaming Gallant. "Morning, Mike," Pratt says with a slick smile. We smash to the credits hoping that Gallant finishes shaving Pratt with a nearby machete.
We come back to see Gallant, looking very much like he wants to throw something, sitting down and chatting with a guilty-looking Valerie. "How many times has he been over here?" Gallant asks, crabby. Valerie seems aware that there's no right answer to this question, because even if she says, "This was the first time," nothing can change the fact that Pratt banged her drum and Gallant's rabidly anti-percussion. "Just a few," Valerie manages. "Now I know why you were so interested in my schedule," Gallant hisses. Pratt coasts out of the bathroom and blithely asks if there's any coffee. Gallant's expression is, "Oh, how rude of me not to offer you some caffeine to get you through the day because you stayed awake all night pounding my sister. Want some condoms, too? Lube? The use of my fuck-swing?" Pratt shrugs that he's on the clock, so he should go, and leans in to kiss Valerie; just as she pulls away a bit, Pratt sees Gallant staring daggers into his heart, and instead takes rapid leave. Irritated, Gallant asks Valerie when her plane leaves. She says it leaves at 2. "Wake me up at noon," he says, stalking off. Wow. I know Pratt's oily and smarmy, but Gallant has got to relax. They're twins -- they share genes, not genitals. Let her use her vagina as she sees fit.
A frustrated Abby slides up to the counter to Luka and shoots him a frazzled expression. "I thought you were off," he says. "Not until she balances her narc count," calls out an eavesdropping Weaver. Abby hides her furious look and continues her pissed-off flounce toward the drug lock-up. Were this a soap opera, I'd expect Weaver to turn up murdered in another three episodes -- just enough time for other characters to be like, "I'd like to kill Weaver," and "Weaver is dead...wrong! Dead wrong. Yes."
"January 18," Luka says. Weaver shakes her head. "Forget it. I already have two Attendings requesting Super Bowl Sunday off," she says. Luka corrects her that he doesn't necessarily want the day off, so much as he's going to quit that day and head back to Africa. She's startled that he wants to go back, but before he unspools another winning oratory about the soul-cleansing benefits of sweating in the Congo, they're interrupted by the sound of the producers throwing Chuny a bone. One that isn't Luka's. She shouts that a Mrs. Webster pulled out her Foley catheter, and Weaver exposits that the woman's a heart patient with some dementia who needs treatment of the medical variety that always flies right over my head. Luka swings the subject back to his resignation; Weaver asks him to write it up and leave the letter on her desk so that she can present it to the administration. "For the record, we need you here as much as they do there," Weaver says plainly.
Pratt swans in, late, and makes up an excuse about a power outage. "Valerie again?" Luka asks. Ah, the workplace grapevine. How well I know thee. And how happy I am that you're not growing on the walls of my apartment anymore. As Luka drifts over to demented old Mrs. Webster, Pratt starts talking about how he wanted to put a Swann-Ganz catheter in one of his patients, and Luka argues it with him. Mrs. Webster gingerly reaches out her hand and clasps Pratt's arm. "How you doin'?" Pratt smiles. "I love you," Mrs. Webster says, quite seriously. "Thank you," Pratt says, flashing her a beam that could light up even the dark crevices of my cold, hardened soul. Pratt needs to stop acting like he'd screw anything with an orifice. It's much more attractive on Luka, who, sure, sticks it wherever he can, but somehow in a more subtle, effortless way. A family beside them interrupts -- the father wants to thank the good Dr. Kovac for saving his child's life, and they present him with gift food, some gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and their youngest daughter, for the purpose of housecleaning, breeding, and massage-with-release. Luka smiles patiently as they shower him with reverence, and then tells Pratt to take the med students around while he goes to get his halo engraved. "Patients really respond to him, don't they?" gushes Neela. "Yeah," Pratt growls.
As if to punish Neela for her adoring comment about Luka, Pratt fires a question at her that she answers correctly. Pratt stops in front of the open drug lock-up, where he catches Abby stretching and yawning. "Lockhart! You belong to me at 4. Better be sharper than that," he calls out. Malik is like, "What crawled up his ureter and used it to hang itself?" "Could this day suck more?" Abby gapes. Which is an overly dramatic rhetorical question, considering that she's had far worse days -- indeed, in case she's forgotten, most days this season have out-sucked this one. Abby's got to start taking her ginseng.
Carter taps on the glass in front of the triage cage. "The sign-in sheet is over there," Sam says politely. Carter snickers, exchanges an amused glance with Kem, and coughs a little as he puts his ID badge against the glass -- almost as if he's amused that this poor illiterate paean doesn't recognize Christ when she sees him. "I'm not a patient," he says. Sam looks up, reads the badge, and breaks into a wide smile. "Dr. Carter! It's nice to finally put a face to the name," she says, buzzing them into Reception. Carter's still wearing the same bemused expression, apparently unsure as to why Sam doesn't recognize him, because surely the hospital has hung a loving portrait of him in the halls, to which all aspiring void-fillers and smug jackasses pay homage when they arrive at work. Sam shakes his hand enthusiastically, and Carter introduces Kem.
Chuny spies Carter and squeals. "How are you?!?" shouts a delighted Haleh. Both swarm him, followed by Malik and a few other nurses. Okay, Carter gets the homecoming of a long-lost son, but Luka almost dies and his return merits banter no more emotional than "Oh, hey, dude, did you get new pants?" Maybe it's because I think Luka is a hot piece of ass, but I don't think that treatment is entirely equitable. Kem hangs back a little, almost as if she's shy, or just letting Carter have his moment. Frank bows a little toward Kem and gently asks, "And who's this lovely lady?" Carter replies, "This is Kem Likasu. She's visiting from the Congo." The smiles that greet this remark make it obvious that they assume "visiting from" means "shagging me in," and "Congo" means...well, "Congo," actually. "It's good to meet you all," Kem says. Carter shares that she's got an appointment with someone in OB. "Second trimester," he says. Kem rests her head cutely against Carter's chest. Everyone exclaims delightedly over the pregnancy.
Pratt oozes over and shakes Carter's hand. Carter asks how it's going. "Life is good," Pratt grins. "I see it's better for you." He greets Kem warmly and asks if Carter's back on shift work. "Yeah, about five minutes ago," he answers. A nurse steps forward to escort Kem upstairs while he gets things going. "You're coming, right?" she asks, nervously. Carter squeezes her and assures her he will. They kiss. Smile. Backward glance. Smile, smile, Beard, smug smile, smile.
Behind him, medics wheel in forty-four-year-old Larry, whose car met and married a utility pole. The medics say that he may have suffered a syncopal episode. Unless that's an offbeat reference to a seizure brought on by a sudden lack of rhythm, then I have no idea what that means. A kid's coming in with him. "Who's worse?" Carter asks. "Dad, by a long shot," the medic says. Carter gets down to business and asks for a portable chest and some O-neg. "Sure," one of the nurses says. "Cool," says a surprised Carter. Before, he was like, "There are black people in Africa?" And now he's all, "There's MEDICAL STUFF in Chicago?" His face is a question mark all the time now. God, how I'd like to repunctuate him. My fist would make a great period. Malarkey shows up and declares himself a second-year resident. "Barely," snorts Pratt. Carter sends Pratt off after the kid, who is also the vehicle driver. The boy's nineteen, and apparently crashed the car because he was trying to revive his father from the rhythmless funk. The kid, Martin, also cracked some ribs and is wearing a homemade neck brace fashioned by his father because he suffers from ankylosing spondylitis -- that is, a bone disease.
Larry lies in Trauma Green, doing his best impersonation of Frank. By which I mean, he looks a hell of a lot like him, and not that he's spewing bigoted epithets, jokes, and venom from every pore. Luka enters and spots Carter. "You're back!" he says. "Yeah, a week ago. Holed up at the house," he says. Wait, he's been there a week and he hadn't bothered to show Kem around town? What a great host. I have an impossible time believing that Carter's so dynamic in the sack that Kem wouldn't sit up and say, "Can we PLEASE get out of your grandmother's deathbed, just once?" Chuny giggles that Carter hasn't been alone. "Kem, right?" Luka asks. I assume he knows of her from his correspondence with Carter about the whole triple cocktail thing, and not because Carter has been sending Luka lots of letters asking him how to woo a lady, and what the clitoris is, and whether it's supposed to go limp like that quite so quickly.
Meanwhile, we shouldn't gloss over this momentous occasion: Malarkey said something correct. I've no idea what it was, but Carter replied to it, "EXCELLENT, Malarkey!" And that's how I know it happened. I'm still wondering why they didn't pony up the cash to keep Coop, who was compelling and not annoying, but I guess both those things are anathema to TPTB, so it makes sense on that level, at least. Carter exposits to Luka that Kem was setting up the anti-retroviral therapy in Kinshasa -- which, presumably, Luka already knew. Larry asks what happened to his son. "He's in good hands," Luka says. Fucking Allstate, those ambulance-chasing bastards. Luka asks if they should call his wife, but like all good Tertiary Medical Stories Of The Week, Larry doesn't have a wife, because she's dead. This means one of two things: (a) Larry or Martin will die, or (b) Larry or Martin will come to some kind of tragic harm. Those are the rules. There always has to be a sad solitary figure with a dead spouse/mother and a newly fucked-up child/remaining parent. That's just how it is. Carter swings it back to himself: "Did you ever meet [Kem]?" he asks. "Nope. Must've gotten past me," Luka says lightly, shooting a "Yep, I am a man-whore" smirk at Carter, who meets Luka's joke with a knowing smile. They so can't wait to have have a roll in the Reunited And It Feels Good hay.
Luka yells for an ultrasound, and the machine appears and is handed to Carter. "It's good to be home," Carter grins. Sam bursts in and asks for help, so Carter hands off the ultrasound and follows Sam into Trauma Yellow. There, Martin's being propped up carefully. Pratt shows Carter the x-rays, and Carter immediately notices the ankylosing whatever condition, making it twice now that Pratt's been informed as to the problem with the kid's bones. "Unusual to have a degenerative bone disease at his age," Neela says. "It's like juvenile arthritis," Pratt says. "Weakens the spine." Lester's there, too. I guess that's not important. I just thought I'd mention it. Martin decides to crack a joke: "It sucks living life in bubble wrap." Really? I think it sounds a little fun. He probably just hasn't tried hard enough. Lester points out that Martin has a pulmonary contusion and a small pneumo on the right side. Neela -- who now primarily exists to be our medical dictionary -- translates that Martin has a bruise on his lung that is impeding his breathing. "Great. Gives my dad another reason to keep me in the house," rasps Martin with trouble. Carter calls for a bunch of tests, to which Pratt bitterly points out that Luka's always on at them about performing practically zero tests. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" he whines. "Isn't he the Attending?" Sam says pointedly. Frank enters just then and calls Sam away to Alex's school, because the teacher needs to speak with her. She flees as Pratt yells at her to find another nurse. Paging Contrivance: we need you to send Abby to Trauma Yellow.
Neela heads into Trauma Green to get something called a bipap mask, which will apparently help Martin's breathing. Luka calls for her to read what she sees on the ultrasound screen. "Uh, I can do that," whines Malarkey. Luka ignores him. Malarkey frowns. Ah, the tragic plight of the suckmonkey. That should be the title of his autobiography. Neela reads the screen correctly, but the ultrasound isn't quite enough to determine the full problem. Larry takes this moment to grab Luka's arm and plaintively mutter, "He's fragile." Luka's like, "I've said that to every hooker in this town who's gone near my zipper. Your words are meaningless without context."
Martin wheezes, "Is he mad? ...I talked him into letting me drive today." Carter figures that Larry probably isn't mad. Pratt wants to think about establishing an airway, but Carter thinks Martin is moving enough air with the bipap mask, at least for now. Contrivance -- having responded to my earlier page by donning a nurse's costume -- enters to let Carter know that Kem's exam has begun; Pratt helpfully shoos Carter away so that he can be with her. And of course Abby enters a split second after Carter vacates the room. Pratt and Neela exchange relieved and amused glances. "What?" Abby duhs, annoyed.
Carter busts into Kem's exam room as her ultrasound is underway. She reaches for him delightedly and they stare at the screen with elation as the doctor informs them that it's a healthy fetus. The baby on the screen is sepia-toned and with really, bizarrely well-defined contours -- I half-expect it to hop up and start dancing, inspiring me both to rent movies from Blockbuster and send David E. Kelley a hate letter. "It's our son," Kem beams. She can tell by the downy fuzz already springing up on the fetus's chin. That Beard is contagious. Warn your loved ones. Carter's thrilled and kisses her, patting her hair lovingly mid-liplock. We fade to black thinking how well Thandie Newton is selling that she's in love with this man whose facial hair is worth its own segment on VH-1's I Love The '70s.
Abby sulks through the halls, trailed by Haleh, Malik, and Lily, all with coats on and eager to go home. "Count's the same," Abby sighs, frustrated. "That's WACK," Malik says. I hope they pay Deezer D well, because he's turning into that character in Not Another Teen Movie who announces himself as the token ethnic character whose only function is to appear and say things like "Word," and "DAAAAMN." Abby dials Weaver to beg her to reconsider and sign off on the discrepancy, but when she plonks her ass down on Weaver's desk, something pricks her. Recognition washes over her face as she pulls a stray needle out of a lab coat draped across the table. As she uses it to underline the name on the coat -- Dr. Weaver -- she bites back a grin and tells Weaver that they finally found the valium, which someone had inexplicably left in his or her coat. "She says whoever did it is an idiot," Abby says mischievously, hanging up the phone. The other nurses all bail, relieved, as Abby stares at the syringe and chuckles.
Suddenly, Carter and Kem drift into Abby's vision; she watches them talk to Chuny, arms around each other, the very picture of pompous couplehood. Incidentally, the captioners catch Kem saying the words "June second, two days before John's," but the line itself is not heard in the episode. There's one for everyone who's been wondering about the conception date. Abby gets up with a sigh to hide in the drug lock-up, and then doubles back reluctantly and with a buck-up-little-camper deep breath, figuring that if she makes the first move, it will at least prove that one of the people in the Abby/Carter relationship had balls.
"Hey," Abby says, awkwardly, planting herself in front of Carter and Kem. "Heyyyy," Carter drawls, leaning in for an uncomfortable hug. "How are you?" Abby answers that she's well, and then offers her hand to Kem, who introduces herself. "How have you been?" Carter asks. "Good," Abby nods. "I'm back in med school." Carter replies, "Really?" Oh, NOW he LOSES the quizzical expressions? He's not really even showing any interest -- it's as if she told him, "I have a bunion." Knob. He's pleasant enough, but still hollow. Abby notices that Kem and Carter are clutching a picture and asks what it is; Carter hands it to her and gulps that it's an ultrasound. Kem, meanwhile, shows no sign that she knows who Abby is, but presumably she can guess, because everything about this situation screams that Abby and Carter used to sleep together and haven't seen each other in a long time and have no idea how to act. Abby gasps at the picture and breathes, "Wooooow!" Her tone is both pleased for them and winded at the surprise, which maybe isn't entirely easy for her to swallow but which isn't killing her either. "Congratulations," she says, sincere but still shell-shocked.
Luka saves the moment by showing up and introducing himself to Kem, who gives him a happy double-cheek kiss when she realizes that he's the original African Queen and not the shaggy Version 2.0 she bedded. "If it wasn't for you, John and I would never have met," she grins, which is a bit like saying, "Thanks for being presumed dead, because it got me laid." Unless she means that if it wasn't for Luka needing to get sent home, she wouldn't have given Carter the time of day, so rapt would she be by the Croatian love God. Wow, I'm unkind to Carter. But, hey, I've got loins, and they must be allowed to speak their piece. Abby tilts her head a little at Kem's statement, as if she's stashing it away for future use. "Boy or girl?" Luka asks. "It's a boy," the couple beams. Luka smiles that he's a handsome little fetus. "Like his daddy," Kem gushes pathetically. Okay, no. Kem wouldn't say that. We've only known her for one episode, but I don't think she'd be that cheesy. Abby apparently agrees with me, because she darts her face away from view for a split second while resisting the urge to roll her eyes all the way to Maine. Carter politely decides that it's time to get back to work, and get out of this moment, so he excuses himself and walks Kem out. "Good to meet you both," Kem says, happily. "You too," Abby and Luka say, waving in unison.
This leaves Abby and Luka alone, and they stand around and clear their throats and practically whistle while they wait for a suitably sharp knife with which to cut the tension. "They got together after I left," Luka says, almost as if he figures Abby's wondering why he never told her about Kem. "You okay?" he asks after a beat. "Yeah," Abby says immediately. "Okay," he says, just as fast. Another pause. Abby checks the temperature and decides it's warm enough to dive right into Gossip Lake. "Boy, did he knock her up the minute he got there?" she says conspiratorially, hiding her hurt with a joke. Luka, though, doesn't follow her in, because he fears the water's still cold enough to cause some hurtful, rumor-mongering shrinkage. Instead, he shrugs awkwardly, trying to remain jolly. Silence. "Going home?" he asks. "No, the on-call room," Abby says. They both nod uncomfortably, and then flicker their gazes toward each other -- the first time their eyes have met in this scene -- before totally giving up and turning away in sync, hightailing it in opposite directions. That was a well-timed segment. And, Abby certainly gave voice to what a lot of the posters have been writing. She didn't really come across as bitchy, though, so much as trying to make a joke out of the fact that she not only got dumped via mail, but got replaced with a quickness.
A stabbing victim gets wheeled in, screaming as much as you'd expect a person to scream when he's punctured like the plastic over microwave lasagna. He's got two wounds in the upper left thigh, and he's bleeding copiously. But the wound's in a weird place, and they can't find anything to stem the tide. Suddenly, Luka gets a sexy brainwave. "Undo my belt," he blurts. Neela's eyes fly open. "What?" she gapes. It takes all the will power I have to keep from lunging at my television set and scraping at it myself in the vain hope of breaking into that beautiful, beautiful fortress. These writers are total teases. "I need a tourniquet!" Luka explains. Neela offers up her own belt rather than rip off his, which I feel is a heart-rending example of her short-sightedness and poor judgment. She tears off her belt and wraps it around the man's thigh, but he's fighting them too vigorously for her to make it work. Luka heaves himself up onto the gurney and sits on the guy to pin him down, and I think I'd honestly be willing to score some puncture wounds if Luka would hurl himself atop me. Neela gets the tourniquet in place. "Where'd you learn that trick?" she asks, admiringly. "From a Congolese nurse named Mwadi," he grins. They head off into the sunset, passing Pratt, who is instructed to grab a med student and check on Martin.
Before Pratt can go anywhere, Mrs. Webster wanders past him. He gently grabs her and escorts her back to her bed, because that's how he's used to herding the ladies. "Oh, you're a good boy," she murmurs appreciatively. "That's what all the ladies say," Pratt schmoozes. If they're calling you a boy, Pratt, then you've got to let 'em descend a little further because you're no man.
Lester and Malarkey present to Carter a thirty-year-old mother who's getting migraines. Malarkey is looking a little peaked, and he's breathing heavily. Perhaps he's experiencing withdrawal from the anti-asshat medication that he's clearly forgotten to take. Malarkey nods that he's fine, so Carter proceeds with the exam; the mother begs for them to feed her kids something hearty. She rattles off a list of foods that triggers something in Malarkey's belly. Specifically, the NBC Vomit Comet, which was installed just this morning. Malarkey winds up and hurls all over the hospital floor; we don't see him do it, so of course they cut to a close-up of the pukesplash. It's lumpy, and red-orange...yes, I think I detect vodka sauce. Lester, overcome, chucks up his lunch so as not to be antisocial. "Think you should be working?" Carter asks, biting his lip to stifle a laugh. Malarkey nods that he'll call in somebody else, and flees. Lester waves off Carter's pointed look. "Sympathy hurl," he insists. Hee. Migraine Mom is strangely unaffected by this, and we figure it's because she's got nothing in her belly to puke. Carter asks her suspiciously when she last ate, and Migraine Mom very cleverly throws him off the trail by ignoring him and letting her eyes dart around, frowning all the while. Smooth.
Back with Larry: he's getting a scan to determine his exact problem. He's babbling about Martin's bone condition, and how he knows Martin isn't happy, but it's a fact that he can't live like a normal boy. Pratt tells him to let the kid live a little, and heads back behind the glass to cue the technician. But Larry suddenly goes into some kind of distress. "His pressure's down. We have to pull him," the technician insists. "We have to define his pathology first!" Pratt announces, bolting into the scan room to try to save the day. "You need lead!" shouts the technician. Pratt's like, "Whatever, heroes don't wear aprons," and tosses the lead cover to the female student with him, who is thinking, "Awesome, thanks -- I was hoping to poison you later anyway." Pratt has decided that for these twenty seconds, his body is stronger than Radiology. "Page Corday!" he booms.
Carter peers into the family room at Migraine Mom's kids. Luka sneaks up behind Carter and proffers his hand. Carter clasps it and they shake. There's affection between them -- friendly this time, despite my frequently and loudly pinging gaydar. Carter absently shares that the kids' mother thought her migraines were returning, but really, she and her kids were just starving. This is the last mention of this subplot; it almost feels like the rest of it ended up on the cutting-room floor. As they walk away, Luka grins, "She's beautiful, by the way." He's talking about Kem, and Carter seems proud. "When are you going back?" he asks. "Two weeks," Luka replies. "I'm on my way up to drop off my resignation letter." He asks how long Carter's staying; Carter replies that Kem's returning in a few weeks to visit her family -- there's no mention of her work, interestingly, which had been her chief problem with leaving the Congo -- and he says she's planning to return to deliver the child. "Does she miss home?" Luka asks. "We both do," Carter says pointedly. Luka smiles, and then cracks, "Give yourself a week of hot showers and an unlimited glove supply, and you'll miss it less." He hops into the elevator and gives Carter a little wave.
Neela grabs Carter to tell him that Martin's breathing is getting worse, and that the anesthesiologist who was supposed to come down to aid in the intubation has not appeared. Carter checks in on the suffering Martin and resolves to go drag an anesthesiologist down there if he has to snare the bastard in his beard to do it.
Larry's heart rate, meanwhile, is dropping. "You've got a kid who needs you," Pratt growls, unafraid at this hackneyed point to barf up whatever platitudes seem apt. The scan starts; Elizabeth enters the technician's room and grabs the microphone. "Pratt, what in God's name are you doing in there?" she asks, exasperated. "Keeping this guy alive so we can get the CT and show you where to cut," Pratt retorts. The image comes up, and Elizabeth identifies the problem, getting back on the microphone and congratulating Pratt. "He would've bled out while I focused on the liver and the spleen," she applauds. Right before we cut out of the scene, Pratt purrs to the female student -- whose name is Sheila, apparently -- that "it's all in the wrist." I'm betting that's not the first time he's said that to a woman. Hell, it might not even be the first time he's said it over the unconscious naked body of a portly old man.
Neela barges into a dark exam room. "Is Dr. Carter in here?" she pants. "My patient's in respiratory failure." There's a shout of "NO" from underneath the covers. Neela leaves, and doesn't see that Abby emerges from beneath the sheet. "Dr. Carter is not in here," she mumbles. That's true on several levels.
Neela is frantic, unable to find Luka or Carter. Pratt strides into Trauma Yellow basking in the afterglow of having mentally masturbated his way through yet another crisis. Neela informs him that Martin's failing to take in oxygen, so Pratt says, "If he's not breathing, bag him!" Neela points out that they're waiting for someone from Anesthesia to come down and take care of the intubation, but Pratt decides that they can't wait any longer, and practically busts a nut in his eagerness to run to Martin's side and be his hero. "What are you doing?" she panics. "He needs oxygen!" Pratt insists. He's going to intubate. But Pratt can't see anything, and Martin's gone stiff, and it's tough to focus. Carter charges in with doctors in tow, and exclaims, "Pratt!" But it's too late: Pratt thinks he's got the intubation done. Then, as he's applying some pressure, Martin's head tilts backward, and a sickening crack cuts through the heavy-handed background music, Hubris in the Key of G. Pratt sucks wind. "Oh, God," he breathes. No one moves. It's like they're afraid to, lest that make this real. "Did he break his neck?" Neela whispers, unmoving, eyes flickering in terror toward Carter. God, she really is becoming a simple mouthpiece for laymen's terms. Carter simply stares, and Pratt lets distress wash over his face, tinged with denial. We fade to black thinking that, although Pratt's been with many, many women in his years, this is the first time he's been well and truly fucked.
Back in Trauma Yellow, Pratt's trying desperately to convince himself and others that everything's going to be okay. "Sats are up," he says. "Still no motor tone in the legs," Carter counters. Pratt points out that intubation meds can do that to a person, to which Carter replies that sux only paralyzes for ten minutes. Gutted, Pratt attempts to claim that he just broke off a bone bridge and nothing more: "Even if his neck's broken, it doesn't mean he's paralyzed." Carter figures Pratt ought to take Martin up to MRI so that they can get a definite answer on that. Pratt turns around and exits with a heavy sigh, stopping at the water fountain to gaze at his navel and wonder why these things don't happen to Malarkey. I feel for him, because Martin was dying and no Attendings could be found, but Pratt knew from the get-go that Martin had a bone condition that made intubation risky, and I wonder if he was as careful as he could've been. Basically, I think Pratt's an arrogant assbag a lot of the time, and I think that showed through in his attempts to downplay what happened, contrasted with Carter's quiet acceptance of the reality of the situation: as the Attending, in the long run Carter's probably almost as accountable for the outcome as Pratt is, yet still he didn't backpedal as Pratt did. But I also feel bad for Pratt, because he was trying to do what he thought was right, and well, that shit just sucks.
As Pratt suffers silently, Mrs. Webster creeps up behind him and coos, "It's okay, baby." Tiredly, Pratt repeats that she has to get back to bed before she has an accident. "I know you're busy. But Mama still loves you," Mrs. Webster murmurs. Pratt watches sadly as a nurse takes her away.
Sam returns to the hospital, a pouting Alex in tow. "Hi Chuny," he says gloomily. Frank gleefully tells Sam that the nursing director called, and will put her on probation if she takes another emergency break. "Perfect," she curses. Luka overhears, as is his wont, and asks if everything's okay with Alex. He ought to know by now that the answer to that question is always "No." Sam lies that it's fine, and that he just didn't have school today, and hightails it over to Carter. "I know we just met, but I wondered if you could do me a favor," she begs.
A woman with AIDS-related lymphoma is wheeled into Trauma Green. Gallant is with her, having returned to County because Malarkey went home sick. Why did they write out Coop? I don't get it. Luka joins him in treating the woman, whose name is Ruthie; Pratt ends up on the case, too. "Sorry about this morning," he says to Gallant during a quiet moment. "Yeah? You didn't look too sorry," crabs Gallant. Of course he didn't. It's called "afterglow." In the meantime, Luka is quietly attending to his patient, drawing out that she doesn't have a doctor, and revealing that her problem today is heart-related. He promises to take care of her. This means she's going to die. Everything on this show, so I've learned, more or less foreshadows some form of doom.
Alex sustained a nasty scrape that Carter is examining. "I can't believe he sutured himself," Sam exhales. God, neither can I. With what? Where in his school did MacGyver Jr. find the right kind of thread and a needle? The Home Ec room? Carter is impressed at what a good job Alex did. "I numbed it with an ice cube," Alex says proudly. Carter can't hide his interest. "Don't encourage him," Sam groans. Carter smiles that he's adding one more stitch to be safe, and that they can come out in seven days. "I can do it!" Alex chirps. "I don't think so," Sam says immediately. She thanks Carter, and then forces a laugh. "You ever see a kid do something this crazy before?" she asks, and you can tell that through the mirth she's desperately hoping Carter will say, "Oh, all the time -- five times today, in fact." But he doesn't; rather, he shakes his astonished head. Sam's face falls.
Pratt and Gallant continue to spar verbally over Ruthie's sick body. "She's a grown woman," Pratt says. "We work together -- some respect for that would've been nice," offers Gallant. Pratt would prefer it if Gallant acknowledged that they're all consenting adults with consenting genitalia. "Take it outside," Luka snaps. Thank God someone finally said it -- these people argue all the time in the trauma rooms and I've long wanted one of the patients to sit up and be like, "This is about ME, nadsucks!" They leave as Luka gently props Ruthie up. "Just when it was getting good," she scolds him.
Outside, Gallant insists, "It's not personal." Pratt figures that being deemed unsuitable for entry certainly is personal, especially when Valerie herself was fine with it. "I got news for you, Mike -- it's not your call," Pratt seethes. Valerie was totally the one who pursued Pratt, too. Granted, not because Pratt was respecting Gallant's boundaries, but because he didn't know if he should nail a girl with MS. Still, she pounced the most. Suddenly, the door of an exam room flies open, and a tousled, unrested Abby darts out. "I give up," she grumbles. Gallant argues that Pratt barely knows Valerie, and right when Pratt's trying to blame that on Gallant himself, Sam interrupts that Martin's finished with his MRI, and Pratt's presence is required.
Luka tells Ruthie that she's got a tumor in her heart that requires surgery. Ruthie essentially tells him not to bother, because she's already hosed and it's not really a life-saving operation if she's going to die of AIDS, so they should save it for the patient who has a chance. Luka is sad to hear this, and we're supposed to be as well, but since we've only known Ruthie for four minutes, we're too busy rooting around in the fridge for that can of frosting to care what she does.
Abby, clad now in her white lab coat, ties back her hair and grabs a patient from the rack. "I thought you weren't on until 4," Sam says. "I'm not, but I couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd make myself useful," Abby replies. Sam picks at her scrubs, and then casually asks Abby if she knows what their benefits are like -- say, for instance, if she wanted to get family counseling. Abby doesn't pick up on the "My son is a sociopath" vibe, cheerfully telling her that it's covered up to 80%, but with an annual limit. Then she toddles off so that Sam can look pensive all by her lonesome.
Valerie enters and begins to ask Sam something, but Gallant interrupts. "What are you doing here?" he asks. "Looking for you," she answers. "Yeah, right. Seen Pratt anywhere around here?" he sasses to Sam. Valerie nudges him away from the desk and whispers that she did come to see him, because she didn't want to leave things so bad. "For real?" Gallant softens. God, he's acting like a jealous lover. She's your sister, Gallant. Step off. Val promises to be more considerate the time she visits, and then hugs him and exits to find her cab. "Don't be so serious all the time," she cautions him lightly. Gallant looks happy. What a waste of Joy Bryant's cameo -- she came, she had MS, she conquered Mount Pratt, and she left. Boring. But I guess she taught the world that MS sufferers can have orgasms, too, so that's something.
The MRI technician totally rubs it in that Martin's royally screwed. "Kid thought he had it bad before," he snorts. Pratt looks mortified and storms out in a snit. Elizabeth chases him down to let him know that Larry will be just fine, and that she wants to report back to him about Martin's condition. Pratt tries not to answer, but apparently Larry's been demanding to know. "Complete cervical cord injury with quadriplegia. His neck snapped during intubation," Pratt monotones morosely. Elizabeth is shocked, more so when Pratt admits he's the one who did it. She touches his arm sweetly. "I'm sorry. You okay?" she asks. Oh my GOD. I didn't know they were actually making and marketing the kind of industrial-strength chill pill necessary to take the bitch out of Elizabeth. Pratt lies that he's fine, but he's lying; rattled, he leans against the window and spots Valerie easing herself into a cab.
Naturally, Pratt gives chase, somehow getting downstairs, outside, and to the cab in roughly three seconds. Valerie has the driver stop and opens her door so that Pratt can help her to her feet. "You all right?" she asks. "Rough day," he downplays. Then he leers at her. "You know, it's been good with you," he intones. "Very good." Val grins and agrees, but her face freezes when Pratt announces that he'd like to come visit when he gets his four days off. "That's sweet," she says emptily. "I'm serious!" Pratt grins. "I'm sure you are, but..." she trails off. Then she patronizes that it's been a blast, but that this was really nothing more than a vacation to her. Pecking Pratt, she hops back into the cab. "Bye, baby," she coos. Pratt can't believe it: that's the second woman to leave him in a cab this season, and both were supposed to be sure things. I guess that goes to show him that the karma police are pretty vigilant.
Luka is in the lounge watching Alex give himself an insulin shot. He's clearly supervising, but there's something creepily...familiar...about the way he's watching while Alex has his shirt rolled up and is poking at his own chest. Sam enters and seems a bit startled, too. "He needed to be reminded [about the shot]," Luka says. Oh, so fatherly. Sam gives Alex his lunch as Luka reveals that he found out about the sutures. "I wanted you to know that I didn't show him how," he says. Ha! Sam admits that she, in fact, taught him. "Didn't think he'd ever try it," she says. Has she met him? Alex pouts mightily when he hears that Sam's trying to get a babysitter to come and take him home. "Eat," she tells him, leaving. Luka follows. "She's wigging out over nothing," Alex whines. Kid, you took a needle to your own skin. You are WEIRD. "Just do what your mother says," Luka lectures him warmly.
The gangbanger is absolutely covered in blood. He's a geyser. "This guy's got an entrance wound for every two years of his life," Carter says, amazed. They try to restart Old Faithful's heart, but it's not happening, so Carter cracks his chest. "Everybody watch your feet," he warns. Sure enough, blood somehow splashes out of the kid and onto the floor, getting onto Carter's pants. That will give Emily something to do when Kem fully takes ownership of the kitchen. Abby comes around to do internal compressions while Carter teaches the students certain incisions and makes lots of important decisions about blood and other assorted goo. Abby informs him that the heart's empty and that there's a giant hole in the left ventricle. They're going to try plugging it.
Meanwhile, little David is out cold with an arm wound. Luka's trying to fix it, but a vein's split, and they can't get anyone from Vascular to come down for a consult. Man, surgeons at this place are a bunch of assholes. Luka asks Sam for a vascular clamp. "Can you repair that?" Neela asks. "It's our best shot," Luka says, adding that if they can't restore blood flow, there's a much greater chance they'll lose the arm.
Old Faithful's still leaking, and his heart isn't beating. Carter's trying all kinds of things, oddly calmly.
Meanwhile, Luka deals with this really nasty-looking arm wound on David, and basically uses a little tube-type thing to reconnect the vein. He promises that it will hold until the vascular surgeons put away their golf clubs and show up to operate. As he stitches the tube into place, blood flows neatly through it, and Neela's face shines with admiration. "Nails are pinking up," Sam says appreciatively. "I didn't think you could do that," Neela says, delighted. As ever, Luka remains impassive, because God forbid he should actually enjoy any of these little successes.
Old Faithful is in asystole. He's basically toast, and Carter finally admits it and calls a time of death. They wheel him out, and the mess in Trauma Green is pretty disgusting. Naturally, everyone else manages to clean up and depart rather quickly, so that only Abby and Carter remain. "I'm glad you went back," he suddenly says. "To med school?" she asks, wheeling. "Yeah, me too." Carter thinks she never should've left. That's helpful, considering that I don't think she had much of a choice, financially. Carter's so sensitive. "Timing is everything, right?" Abby chuckles hollowly. Carter looks at her and laughs, prompting her to wonder what he thinks is so amusing. "You...seem happy," he says, some wonderment on his face. "Right back at you," she replies. "So we're okay?" Carter asks immediately. Oh, like her current happiness erases the fact that you dumped her in prose that a dead cat could've written better? Stuff it, dickwing. Abby looks at him, and her face shines a little with something resembling pride as she answers honestly, "We're okay." I guess being elbow-deep in a gangbanger's gushing, draining chest makes people have forgiving epiphanies. I hope never to find this out first-hand. Carter exhales and teases that he's glad, because he and Kem wanted her to go grab some dinner with them later. Shut up, Carter. You're not charming. Abby snorts. "We're not that okay," she says. Carter grins and takes his leave. Abby watches him leave and does seem totally fine. She's a better woman than I am.
Alex is conked out on the couch. Sam nudges him awake and affectionately whispers that it's time to leave, but Alex is groggy and having trouble waking. Luka spots this and gallantly offers to carry Alex to the car if Sam pulls up to the door. Gratefully, she agrees.
Outside, Kem is reveling in the snowflakes alighting on her face. Carter exits the hospital and joins her. "You should've waited in the car," he says boringly. "Come on! I haven't seen snow since I was a kid," she giggles. She wonders if he arranged it, and he jokes that he did, which I buy -- Mother Nature likes a suck-up, and Carter certainly can act like a mama's boy. He kisses Kem warmly; she puts her freezing bare hands on his back and he mock-protests. "Good thing I love you," he groans. "Want me to stop?" she teases. "Not necessarily," he husks, and they start making out. She'll be flossing beard hairs out of her teeth for weeks.
Luka carries Alex out of the hospital, the kid practically straddling him. It looks so damn comfortable. Carter and Kem split apart, and Carter flashes Luka an interested smile. "Good night," he says. Luka returns the sentiment, and Carter and Kem leave just as Sam parks her car and hops out to open the door for Luka. He loads Alex in, and then rights himself. Sam gingerly offers him a lift, but Luka quietly decides he's got some business to take care of before he can leave. She hops in her car to leave, and Luka shoots the whole scene a soft look before dashing back into the hospital.
Cut to Luka rummaging through Weaver's desk. She catches him; naturally, he was fishing out his resignation letter, and coyly refuses to tell Kerry anything other than that he's decided to postpone his return to Africa. The hell? I don't buy for a second that Sam and Alex have become so important to Luka's life that he's blowing off the one thing that seemed to make him feel connected to the world again. It's too soon for Sam or Alex to fill that role for him. Lame. I call bullshit. Weaver's curious, but can't quite hide her glee that Luka's not leaving so soon.
Pratt is drowning his sorrows at a bar -- the same one where Luka managed to pick up a hooker in his hour of need, so maybe they swapped notes earlier today. Gallant slides onto a barstool to Pratt, who doesn't take kindly to this. "Come by to give me some more?" he snots. "I'm not in the mood." Gallant orders a beer and commiserates about the neck incident. "That's hard stuff," he says. Then he awkwardly explains that Valerie is the only girl in a big family that tends to get overprotective of her. Pratt decides to share that his mother died when he was twelve. "That's some hard-ass stuff right there," he says. Are we supposed to think he can win in the Shit-Ass Stuff Derby he's running here against Martin? Because I think Martin wins, what with having brittle bones and quadriplegia on top of having a dead mom of his own. Shut up, Pratt. He goes on about how you have to get used to being alone when you have a dead mom and a deadbeat dad, and I think we're supposed to feel sad that Pratt's love-starved, but I really don't. "Truth is, all anybody's got is themselves," he mutters. Gallant doesn't agree with that, but Pratt's in no mood to have friends right now, because he's already decided that he's alone in life and very pathetic -- completely forgetting that he has a brother that he sent away, and a loving aunt in Baltimore who took in said exiled brother. Pratt wants Gallant to hurry up and make his point, which Gallant had been trying to do before Pratt's pity party started; Gallant begins, "My sister..." and Pratt interrupts, "...played me. She played me." Gallant smirks. And I have to say, props to Valerie for playing the player. "You can't say I didn't warn you," Gallant says lightly. "You were protecting me, huh?" Pratt spits, not without amusement. They sort of make up with some half-assed utterances of "I'm sorry," and then Gallant leaves, bricking a full beer. The bartender moves to clear it, but Pratt snags it, and we leave him alone to drown his sorrows in a vat of barley and hops.